Magician (19 page)

Tomas looked pained. “Gods, you
sound like my mother.”

Pug mimicked an exasperated manner. In
a tone that was high-pitched and nasal, he said, “And don’t
come running to me when you’re all blue with chill, and
coughing and sneezing, looking for comfort, for you’ll find
none here, Tomas Megarson.”

Tomas grinned. “Now you sound
exactly like her.”

They turned at the sound of the great
doors opening. The Duke and Elf Queen led the other guests from the
central keep, the Duke holding the Queen’s hand in a parting
gesture of friendship. Then the Queen placed her hand to her mouth
and sang out a musical series of words, not loud, but carrying over
the noise of the crowd. The servants who were standing in the court
became silent, and soon the sound of hoof-beats could be heard
outside the castle.

Twelve white horses ran through the
gates and reared up in greeting to the Elf Queen. The elves quickly
mounted, each springing up on an elf steed’s back without
assistance. They raised their hands in salute to the Duke, then
turned and raced out the gate.

For a few minutes after they were gone,
the crowd stood around, as if loath to admit that they had seen their
last of the elves, probably their last in this lifetime. Slowly they
began to drift back to work.

Tomas looked far away, and Pug turned
toward him. “What is it?”

Tomas said softly, “I wish I
could see Elvandar, someday.”

Pug understood. “Maybe you will.”
Then he added, in lighter tones, “But I doubt it. For I will be
a magician, and you will be a soldier, and the Queen will reign in
Elvandar long after we are dead.”

Tomas playfully jumped atop his friend,
wrestling him down in the straw “Oh! Is that so. Well, I will
too go to Elvandar someday.” He pinned Pug under him, sitting
atop his chest. “And when I do, I’ll be a great hero,
with victories over the Tsurani by the score. She’ll welcome me
as an honored guest. What do you think of that?”

Pug laughed, trying to push his friend
off. “And I’ll be the greatest magician in the land.”

They both laughed. A voice broke
through their play. “Pug! There you are.”

Tomas got off, and Pug sat up.
Approaching them was the stocky figure of Gardell the smith. He was a
barrel-chested man, with little hair but a thick black beard. His
arms were grimy with smoke, and his apron was burned through with
many small holes. He came to the side of the wagon and placed fists
on hips. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I have that
hood Kulgan asked me to fashion for your fire pot.”

Pug scrambled out of the wagon, with
Tomas close behind. They walked after Gardell toward the smithy
behind the central keep. The burly smith said, “Damned clever
idea, that hood I’ve worked the forge for nearly thirty years
and never thought of using a hood for a fire pot. Had to make one as
soon as Kulgan told me of the plan.”

They entered the smithy, a large shed
with a large and small forge and several different-sized anvils. All
manner of things lay about waiting for repair: armor, stirrup irons,
and kitchen utensils Gardell walked to the larger forge and picked up
the hood. It was about three feet to a side, about three feet high,
and formed a cone with a hole at the top. Lengths of round metal pipe
lay nearby, fashioned especially thin.

Gardell held out his creation for them
to study. “I made it fairly thin, using a lot of tin for
lightness, for were it too heavy, it would collapse.” With his
toe he pointed to several lengths of metal rods. “We’ll
knock some little holes in the floor and use these for support. It
may take a bit of time to get it right, but I think this thing of
yours is going to work.”

Pug smiled broadly. He found great
pleasure in seeing an idea of his taking concrete form. It was a
novel and gratifying sensation. “When can we install it?”

“Now if you like. I would like to
see it work, I must confess.” Pug gathered up some of the pipe,
and Tomas the rest, as well as the rods. Juggling the awkward load,
they set out toward the magician’s tower, with the chuckling
smith following.

Kulgan was deep in thought as he
started to mount the stairs to his room. Suddenly a shout from above
sounded: “Watch out!” Kulgan glanced up in time to see a
block of stone come tumbling down the stairs, bounding over the steps
as if in some fit of drunken craziness. He leapt aside as it struck
against the wall where he had stood and came to rest at the bottom of
the stairs. Mortar dust filled the air, and Kulgan sneezed.

Tomas and Pug came running down the
stairs, expressions of worry on their faces. When they saw no one was
hurt, they both looked relieved.

Kulgan leveled a baleful gaze upon the
pair and said, “What is all this?”

Pug appeared sheepish, while Tomas
tried to blend in with the wall Pug spoke first. “We were
trying to carry the stone down to the yard, and it sort of slipped.”

“Sort of slipped? It looked more
like a mad dash for freedom. Now, why were you carrying the stone,
and where did it come from?”

“It’s the loose one from my
wall,” answered Pug. “We took it out so that Gardell
could put the last pipe in place.” When Kulgan still appeared
uncomprehending, Pug said, “It’s for my fire pot hood,
remember?”

“Ah,” said Kulgan, “yes.
Now I do.” A servant arrived to investigate the noise, and
Kulgan asked him to fetch a couple of workmen from the yard to carry
the block away. He left, and Kulgan said to the boys, “I think
it would be better to let someone a little larger tote that stone
out. Now let us see this marvel.”

They climbed the stairs to the boy’s
room and found Gardell installing the last length of pipe. The smith
turned when they entered and said, “Well, what do you think?”

The pot had been moved a little closer
to the wall, and the hood sat on four metal rods of equal length over
it. All of the smoke was trapped by the hood and carried away through
the light metal pipe. Unfortunately, the hole where the stone was
missing was considerably larger than the pipe, so most of the smoke
was blown back into the room by the wind.

“Kulgan, what do you think?”
said Pug.

“Well, boy. It looks rather
impressive, but I can’t see much improvement in the atmosphere
here.”

Gardell gave the hood a solid whack
with his hand, causing it to ring out with a tinny sound. His thick
calluses kept his hand from being burned by the hot metal. “She’ll
do, soon as I plug up that hole, magician. I’ll fetch some bull
hide that I use for making shields for the horsemen and cut a hole in
a piece, slip it around the pipe, and nail it to the wall. A few
slaps of tanning agent on it, and the heat will dry it out all stiff
and hard. It will take the heat and keep the rain and wind out of the
room, as well as the smoke.” The smith looked pleased with his
handiwork. “Well, I’ll fetch the hide. Back in a moment.”

Pug looked as if he would burst from
pride, seeing his invention before him, and Tomas reflected Pug’s
glory. Kulgan chuckled softly to himself for a moment. Suddenly Pug
turned to the magician, remembering where he had spent the day. “What
is the news from the council?”

“The Duke sends messages to all
the nobles of the West, explaining what has occurred in great detail,
and asking that the Armies of the West be made ready. I am afraid
Tully’s scribes have some rigorous days ahead of them, since
the Duke wants them all finished as soon as possible. Tully’s
in a state, for he has been commanded to stay and act as Lyam’s
adviser, along with Fannon and Algon, during the Duke’s
absence.”

“Lyam’s adviser? Absence?”
asked Pug, uncomprehendingly.

“Yes, the Duke, Arutha, and I are
going to journey to the Free Cities, and on to Krondor, to speak with
Prince Erland. I am going to send a dream message to a colleague of
mine tonight, if I can. Belgan lives north of Bordon. He will send
word to Meecham, who should be there by now, to find us a ship. The
Duke feels it best that he should carry the word in person.”

Pug and Tomas looked excited. Kulgan
knew they both wanted to come along. To visit Krondor would be the
greatest adventure of their young lives Kulgan stroked his grey
beard. “It will be difficult to continue your lessons, but
Tully can brush you up on a trick or two.”

Pug looked as if he were going to
burst. “Please, Kulgan, may I come too?”

Kulgan feigned surprise. “You
come? I never thought of that.” He paused for a moment while
the suspense built. “Well . . .” Pug’s eyes
pleaded. “. . . I guess it would be all right.” Pug let
out a yelp and jumped in the air.

Tomas struggled to hide his
disappointment. He forced a thin smile and tried to look happy for
Pug.

Kulgan walked to the door. Pug noticed
Tomas’s dejected expression. “Kulgan?” Pug said.
The magician turned, a faint smile on his lips.

“Yes, Pug?”

“Tomas, too?”

Tomas shook his head, for he was
neither a member of the court nor the magician’s charge, but
his eyes looked at Kulgan imploringly.

Kulgan smiled broadly. “I guess
we’re better off keeping you together, so we need look for
trouble in only one place. Tomas, too. I’ll arrange things with
Fannon.”

Tomas shouted, and the two boys slapped
each other on the back.

Pug said, “When do we leave?”

Kulgan laughed. “In five days’
time. Or sooner, if the Duke hears from the dwarves. Runners are
being sent to the North Pass to see if it is clear. If not, we ride
by the South Pass.”

Kulgan departed, leaving the two boys
dancing arm in arm and whooping with excitement.

P
ug
hurried across the courtyard.

Princess Carline had sent him a note
asking him to meet her in her flower garden. It was the first word
from the girl since she had stormed away from their last meeting, and
Pug was anxious. He did not want to be on bad terms with Carline,
regardless of any conflicts he might be feeling. After his brief
discussion with Calin, two days earlier, he had sought out. Father
Tully and talked with him at length.

The old priest had been willing to take
time out to speak with the boy, in spite of the demands the Duke was
placing upon his staff. It had been a good talk for Pug, leaving him
with a surer sense of himself. The final message from the old cleric
had been: Stop worrying about what the Princess feels and thinks, and
start discovering what Pug feels and thinks.

He had taken the cleric’s advice
and was now sure of what he would say should Carline start referring
to any sort of “understanding” between them. For the
first time in weeks he felt something like a sense of direction—even
if he was not sure what destination he would eventually reach,
holding to such a course.

Reaching the Princess’s garden,
he rounded a corner, then stopped, for instead of Carline, Squire
Roland stood by the steps. With a slight smile, Roland nodded. “Good
day, Pug.”

“Good day, Roland.” Pug
looked around.

“Expecting someone?” said
Roland, forcing a note of lightness that did little to hide a
belligerent tone. He casually rested his left hand on the pommel of
his sword. Apart from his sword, he was dressed as usual, in colorful
breeches and tunic of green and gold, with tall riding boots.

“Well, actually, I was expecting
to see the Princess,” Pug said, with a small note of defiance
in his manner.

Roland feigned surprise. “Really?
Lady Glynis mentioned something about a note, but I had come to
understand things were strained between the two of you . . .”

While Pug had tried to sympathize with
Roland’s situation over the last few days, his offhanded,
superior attitude and his chronic antagonism conspired to irritate
Pug. Letting his exasperation get the better of him, he snapped, “As
one
squire to another,
Roland, let me put it this way: how
things stand between Carline and myself is
none of your business!”

Roland’s face took on an
expression of open anger. He stepped forward, looking down at the
shorter boy “Be damned it’s none of my business! I don’t
know what you’re playing at, Pug, but if you do anything to
hurt her, I’ll—”

“Me hurt her!” Pug
interrupted. He was shocked by the intensity of Roland’s anger
and infuriated by the threat “She’s the one playing us
one against the other—”

Abruptly Pug felt the ground tilt under
him, rising up to strike him from behind Lights exploded before his
eyes and a bell-like clanging sounded in his ears. It was a long
moment before he realized Roland had just hit him. Pug shook his head
and his eyes refocused. He saw the older, larger squire standing over
him, both hands balled into fists. Through tightly clenched teeth,
Roland spat his words. “If you ever say ill of her again, I’ll
beat you senseless.”

Pug’s anger fired within him,
rising each second. He got carefully to his feet, his eyes upon
Roland, who stood ready to fight. Feeling the bitter taste of anger
in his mouth, Pug said, “You’ve had two years and more to
win her, Roland. Leave it alone.”

Roland’s face grew livid and he
charged, bowling Pug off his feet. They went down in a tangle, Roland
striking Pug harmlessly on the shoulders and arms. Rolling and
grappling, neither could inflict much damage. Pug got his arm around
Roland’s neck and hung on as the older squire thrashed in a
frenzy. Suddenly Roland wedged a knee against Pug’s chest and
shoved him away. Pug rolled and came to his feet. Roland was up an
instant later, and they squared off. Roland’s expression had
changed from rage to cold, calculating anger as he measured the
distance between them. He advanced carefully, his left arm bent and
extended, his right fist held ready before his face Pug had no
experience with this form of fighting, called fist-boxing, though he
had seen it practiced for money in traveling shows. Roland had
demonstrated on several occasions that he had more than a passing
acquaintance with the sport.