Magician (36 page)

The Prince stiffened at being addressed
so, but after a tense moment relaxed. “If that is so, then you
are correct, for we are the intruders. We came seeking relief from
the solitary confines of the ship. Nothing more.”

The traveler nodded. “Then you
are welcome at Villa Beata.”

Kulgan said, “What is Villa
Beata?”

The traveler made a sweeping motion
with his right hand. “This home is Villa Beata. In the language
of the builders, it means ‘blessed home,’ and so it was
for many years. As you can see, it has known better days.”

Everyone was relaxing with the
traveler, for they also felt a reassurance in his easy manner and
friendly smile Kulgan said, “What of those who built this
strange place?”

“Dead . . . or gone. They thought
this the Insula Beata, or Blessed Isle, when they first came here.
They fled a terrible war, which changed the history of their world.”
His dark eyes misted over, as if the pain of remembering was great.
“A great king died . . . or is thought to have died, for some
say he may return. It was a terrible and sad time. Here they sought
to live in peace.”

“What happened to them?”
asked Pug.

The traveler shrugged “Pirates,
or goblins? Sickness, or madness? Who can tell? I saw this home as
you see it now, and those who lived here were gone.”

Arutha said, “You speak of
strange things, friend traveler. I know little of such, but it seems
that this place has been deserted for ages. How is it you knew those
who lived here?”

The traveler smiled “It is not so
long ago as you would imagine, Prince of Crydee. And I am older than
I look. It comes from eating well and bathing regularly.”

Meecham had been studying the stranger
the entire time, for of all those who had come ashore, his was the
most suspicious nature “And what of the Black One? Does he not
trouble you?”

The traveler looked over his shoulder
at the top of the castle. “Macros the Black? The magician and I
have little cause to be at odds. He suffers me the run of the island,
as long as I don’t interfere with his work.”

A suspicion crossed Pug’s mind,
but he said nothing, as the traveler continued “Such a powerful
and terrible sorcerer has little to fear from a simple hermit, I’m
sure you’ll agree.” He leaned forward and added in
conspiratorial tones, “Besides, I think much of his reputation
is inflated and overboasted, to keep intruders away. I doubt he is
capable of the feats attributed to him.”

Arutha said, “Then perhaps we
should visit this sorcerer.”

The hermit looked at the Prince. “I
don’t think you would find a welcome at the castle. The
sorcerer is oftentimes preoccupied with his work and suffers
interruption with poor grace. He may not be the mythical author of
all the world’s ills that some imagine him to be, but he could
still cause more trouble than it is worth to visit him. On the whole
he is often poor company.” There was a faint, wry hint of humor
in his words.

Arutha looked around and said, “I
think we have seen all of interest we are likely to. Perhaps we
should return to the ship.”

When none disagreed, the Prince said,
“What of you, friend traveler?”

The stranger spread his hands in a
general gesture. “I continue my habit of solitude, Your
Highness. I have enjoyed this small visit, and the boy’s news
of the occurrences of the world outside, but I doubt that you would
find me tomorrow if you were to seek me.”

It was evident he was unlikely to
provide any more information, and Arutha found himself growing
irritated with the man’s obscure answers. “Then we bid
you farewell, traveler. May the gods watch over you.”

“And you as well, Prince of
Crydee.”

As they turned to leave, Pug felt
something trip his ankle, and he fell hard against Kulgan. Both went
down in a tangle of bodies, and the traveler helped the boy up.
Meecham and Gardan assisted the stout mage to his feet. Kulgan put
weight upon his foot and started to fall. Arutha and Meecham grabbed
him. The traveler said, “It appears your ankle is turned,
friend magician. Here.” He held out his staff. “My staff
is stout oak and will bear your weight as you return to the ship.”

Kulgan took the offered staff and put
his weight on it. He took an experimental step and found that he
could negotiate the path with the aid of the staff. “Thank you,
but what of yourself?”

The stranger shrugged. “A simple
staff, easily replaced, friend magician. Perhaps I shall have the
opportunity of reclaiming it someday.”

“I will keep it against that
day.”

The traveler turned away, saying,
“Good. Then until that day, again farewell.”

They watched as he walked back into the
building, and then turned to face each other, expressions of wonder
upon their faces. Arutha was the first to speak. “A strange
man, this traveler.”

Kulgan nodded “More strange than
you know, Prince. At his leaving I feel the lifting of some
enchantment, as if he carries a spell about him, one that makes all
near him trusting.”

Pug turned to Kulgan. “I wanted
to ask him so many questions, but I didn’t seem to be able to
make myself.”

Meecham said, “Aye, I felt that
also.”

Gardan said, “There is a thought
in my mind I think we have been speaking to the sorcerer himself.”

Pug said, “That is my thought.”

Kulgan leaned on the staff and said,
“Perhaps. If it is so, then he has his own reasons for masking
his identity.” They talked about this as they walked slowly up
the path from the villa.

As they reached the cove where the boat
was beached, Pug felt something brush against his chest. He reached
inside his tunic and found a small folded piece of parchment. He
withdrew it, startled by his find. He had not picked it up, as well
as he could remember. The traveler must have slipped it inside his
shirt when he had helped Pug to his feet.

Kulgan looked back as he started for
the boat and, seeing Pug’s expression, said, “What have
you there?”

Pug handed the parchment over, while
the others gathered around the magician. Kulgan unfolded the
parchment. He read it, and a surprised expression crossed his face.
He read it again, aloud. “I welcome those who come with no
malice in their hearts. You will know in days to come that our
meeting was not by chance. Until we meet again, keep the hermit’s
staff as a sign of friendship and goodwill Seek me not until the
appointed time, for that too is foreordained Macros.”

Kulgan handed the message back to Pug,
who read it. “Then the hermit was Macros!”

Meecham rubbed his beard. “This
is something beyond my understanding.”

Kulgan looked up to the castle, where
the lights still flashed in the single window. “As it is beyond
mine, old friend. But whatever it means, I think the sorcerer wishes
us well, and I find that a good thing.”

They returned to the ship and retired
to their cabins. After a night of rest, they found the ship ready to
leave on the midday tide. As they raised sail, they were greeted with
unseasonably light breezes, blowing them directly for Krondor.

P
ug
was restless.

He sat looking out a window of the
Prince’s palace in Krondor. Outside, the snow was falling, as
it had been for the last three days. The Duke and Arutha had been
meeting with the Prince of Krondor daily. On the first day Pug had
told his story about finding the Tsurani ship, then had been
dismissed. He remembered that awkward interview.

He had been surprised to find the
Prince to be young, in his thirties, if not a vigorous and well man.
Pug had been startled during their interview when the Prince’s
remarks were interrupted by a violent attack of coughing. His pale
face, drenched with sweat, showed him to be in worse health than his
manner indicated.

He had waved off Pug’s suggestion
that he should leave and come back when more convenient for him.
Erland of Krondor was a reflective person, who listened patiently to
Pug’s narration, lessening the boy’s discomfort at being
before the heir apparent to the throne of the Kingdom. His eyes
regarded Pug with reassurance and understanding, as if it were a
common thing to have awkward boys standing before him. After
listening to Pug’s narration, he had spent a short time talking
with Pug about small things, such as his studies and his fortuitous
rise to the nobility, as if these were important matters to his
realm.

Pug decided he liked Prince Erland. The
second most powerful man in the Kingdom, and the single most powerful
man in the West, was warm and friendly and cared for the comfort of
his least-important guest.

Pug looked around the room, still not
used to the splendor of the palace. Even this small room was richly
appointed, with a canopied bed instead of a sleeping pallet. It was
the first time Pug had ever slept in one, and he found it difficult
to get comfortable on the deep, soft, feather-stuffed mattress. In
the corner of the room stood a closet with more clothing in it than
he thought he could wear in his lifetime, all of costly weave and
fine cut, and all seemingly in his size. Kulgan had said it was a
gift from the Prince.

The quiet of his room reminded Pug how
little he had seen of Kulgan and the others. Gardan and his soldiers
had left that morning with a bundle of dispatches for Prince Lyam
from his father, and Meecham was housed with the palace guard. Kulgan
was involved in the meetings as often as not, so Pug had a lot of
time to himself. He wished he had his books with him, for then at
least the time could be put to some good use. Since his arrival in
Krondor there had been little for him to do.

More than once Pug had thought of how
much Tomas would have loved the newness of this place—seemingly
fashioned from glass and magic more than stone—and the people
in it. He thought about his lost friend, hoping Dolgan had somehow
found him, but not believing he had. The pain of loss was now a dull
ache, but still tender. Even after the last month, he would find
himself turning, expecting to see Tomas close by.

Not wishing to sit idle any longer, Pug
opened the door and looked down the hallway that ran the length of
the east wing of the Prince’s palace. He hurried down the hall,
looking for any familiar face to break the monotony.

A guard passed him by, going the other
way, and saluted. Pug still couldn’t get used to the idea of
being saluted every time a guard passed, but as a member of the
Duke’s party he was given full honors due his Squire’s
rank by the household staff.

Reaching a smaller hallway, he decided
to explore. One way was the same as another, he thought. The Prince
had personally told him he had the run of the palace, but Pug had
been shy about overstepping himself. Now boredom drove him to
adventuring, or at least as much adventuring as possible under the
circumstances.

Pug found a small alcove with a window,
providing a different view of the palace grounds. Pug sat upon the
window seat. Beyond the palace walls he could see the port of Krondor
lying below like a white-shrouded toy village. Smoke was coming from
many of the buildings, the only sign of life in the city. The ships
in the harbor looked like miniatures, lying at anchor, waiting for
more propitious conditions under which to sail.

A small voice behind him brought Pug
out of his reverie. “Are you Prince Arutha?”

A girl was standing behind him, about
six or seven years old, with big green eyes and dark reddish brown
hair done up in silver netting. Her dress was simple but fine
looking, of red cloth with white lace at the sleeves. Her face was
pretty, but was set in an expression of deep concentration that gave
it a comic gravity.

Pug hesitated for a moment, then said,
“No, I’m Pug. I came with the Prince.”

The girl made no attempt to hide her
disappointment. With a shrug she came over and sat next to Pug. She
looked up at him with the same grave expression and said, “I
was so hoping that you might be the Prince, for I wanted to catch a
glimpse of him before you leave for Salador.”

“Salador,” Pug said flatly.
He had hoped the journey would end with the visit to the Prince.
Lately he had been thinking of Carline.

“Yes. Father says you are all to
leave at once for Salador, then take a ship for Rillanon to see the
King.”

“Who’s your father?”

“The Prince, silly. Don’t
you know anything?”

“I guess not.” Pug looked
at the girl, seeing another Carline in the making. “You must be
Princess Anita.”

“Of course. And I’m a real
princess too. Not the daughter of a duke, but the daughter of a
prince. My father would have been King if he had wanted, but he
didn’t want to. If he had, I would be Queen someday. But I
won’t be. What do you do?”

The question, coming so suddenly
without preamble, caught Pug off guard. The child’s prattling
wasn’t very irksorne, and he wasn’t following closely,
being more intent on the scene through the window.

He hesitated, then said, “I’m
apprenticed to the Duke’s magician.”

The Princess’s eyes grew round,
and she said, “A real magician?”

“Real enough.”

Her little face lit up with delight.
“Can he turn people into toads? Mummy said magicians turn
people into toads if they are bad.”

“I don’t know. I’ll
ask him when I see him—if I see him again,” he added
under his breath.

“Oh, would you? I would so very
much like to know.” She seemed utterly fascinated by the
prospect of finding out if the tale was true. “And could you
please tell me where I might see Prince Arutha?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t
seen him myself in two days. What do you want to see him for?”

“Mummy says I may marry him
someday. I want to see if he is a nice man.”