Authors: Raymond E. Feist
Magician’s End (56 page)
T
RUMPETS SOUNDED.
Drums beat a tattoo and orders rang out as Brendan hurried to Prince Edward’s command tent. Outside he saw a dozen lackeys holding horses for the nobles. Prince Edward’s was a powerful grey gelding covered in a deep-blue bard, embroidered with the full coat of arms of Krondor, the eagle-and-mountain crest. Brendan had been sleeping since he reported back early in the morning with the count of the enemy mercenaries, who numbered between eleven and thirteen hundred by his best estimate – enough to make a difference, but not an overwhelming addition to Oliver’s forces.
Seeing the prince, Brendan ran to him, and Edward turned and said, ‘I want you to ride with me, sir. Get your horse.’
Brendan hurried back to where his horse was resting from the previous night’s travels, quickly had him saddled and rode back to the prince’s retinue. Edward now wore full armour, and despite his age wore it well. He was dressed in a full coif of chain with a mail coat and heavy leather leggings. His tabard was identical to all those worn by the men of Krondor, save that his bore the royal crown above the coat-of-arms of the principality. He motioned Brendan near. ‘The dukes, earls, and barons will be leading their forces, but I’ll have a few nephews and younger brothers, such as yourself, nearby. You I would like on my right, behind me, at all times, so I know where you are. If I need to send word to one of our commanders in the field, I will send you.’
‘Yes, your highness,’ said Brendan. He reined back his horse, giving the prince room to mount up and organize his men, and rode behind Edward and a squad of palace guards, twenty hand-picked men who would give their lives to save their prince. They rode to the top of the hill behind which they had camped, and looked down on the armies of Prince Oliver.
‘Gods!’ Brendan whispered.
Before, it had seemed a sprawling sea of tents and campfires. But to see the whole army now arrayed in battle formation less than a half mile away was staggering.
Prince Edward said loud enough for all to hear, ‘Looks to be perhaps ten thousand, wouldn’t you say?’
If Brendan was a judge of such things, perhaps more.
‘Will Oliver parlay?’ asked the Earl of Hush, a distant cousin to the prince and his aide-de-camp.
‘Most likely,’ replied Edward. ‘He’ll wish to gauge my resolve, I should think. There you are,’ he said, pointing. ‘A parlay call.’
Four riders moved out from the army below, riding slowly forward under a white banner, while a trumpet sounded a truce call. Edward turned to Brendan and said, ‘Ride along, my young friend. You might learn something.’
They rode down the hill until they met in the middle. It was Brendan’s first look at Prince Oliver of Maladon and Simrick. He seemed a tall man by how he sat his horse, and big without being stocky. Brendan’s first impression before the man said a word was that he was a bully. He wore a white tabard, quartered with opposing blocks of red in the upper right quadrant with a single white cross, and a block of blue in the lower left quadrant with a white horse rampant. His horse was also covered in a bard with the crest of Maladon and Simrick on it. His companions wore the same tabards without the royal crest.
‘Highness,’ said Edward in an affable tone. ‘You have something to say?’
‘Good day, your highness,’ replied Oliver. His helm was open-faced, showing a man of sharp features, cold, dark eyes and thin lips. ‘We could end this now, if you’d be willing. I am the only male heir related to King Gregory, my beloved uncle, and yet you press a claim without foundation.’
‘This should have been a conversation before the High Priest of Ishap in the Congress of Lords, not between two armies on the verge of battle. Why bother now? We know that the Crown will be settled by force of arms, no matter what you say. Or do you make an offer of compromise?’
Oliver made a show of sighing dramatically. ‘Your highness, in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve been a man of no ambition, yet now you seek a crown?’
‘I already have a crown, Oliver,’ said Prince Edward with growing impatience. ‘What are your terms?’
‘Retire from the field. Return your armies to your various garrisons, and come to Rillanon and stand before the Congress. Do not oppose my claim and peace will reign. No more bloodshed and your friends’ and family’s offices, titles, lands, chattels and appurtenances are guaranteed. If you seek no gain for yourself or your family, why stand opposed?’
‘Any discussion of my personal motives is not germane. I will not see a foreign-born lout sit on the throne of my ancestors, is all the reason I need.’
‘You wound me, Edward,’ said Oliver with a nasty grin.
‘That is my intention, Oliver. Severely and with malice.’
‘Then look for me on the field, old man. I’ll be easy to find,’ Oliver said, turning his horse and riding back to his lines.
Edward turned his horse without comment, then, as they were halfway to their own lines said, ‘Brendan, my young friend, what did you see?’
‘A bully, highness, who wished to engage you in pointless conversation while his aides counted your forces and marked your deployment. I think he might also have wished you to believe there was an easier way out of this, to sow doubt at the last moment.’
‘Very astute, my young friend,’ said Edward. ‘Now we surprise him.’ Edward glanced again at Brendan. ‘What else?’
‘Highness,’ said Brendan. ‘It’s what I didn’t see. I didn’t notice those Keshian mercenaries that marched in this morning.’
‘That’s because Oliver is hiding them,’ said Prince Edward. He signalled to a captain of horse, who turned and waved his arm.
Suddenly, two things occurred at once. Oliver’s forces began a slow march up the hill and Edward’s cavalry began to shift position, moving from the centre, pulling out from the rear, as archers ran out from behind a wall of shielding infantry.
Brendan watched in fascination. He knew the prince and his generals had been preparing the ground for battle since arriving and that three features on the field that were judged critical were fortified. There was a large knoll to the south-east which was a perfect defence against any attempt Oliver might make to swing around and take Edward on his right flank. There was a rocky ridge rising up to the north that was a natural defensive position upon which waited two hundred archers. That protected Edward’s left.
And in the middle of the battlefield was a shallow depression which was misleading in appearance, but which Brendan had just experienced. Once a horse dropped down into it, it had to gather itself to charge upward, which meant it lost momentum. It was a natural defence to break any charge.
Brendan lowered the visor of his helm, and glanced down at the brown-and-gold tabard of Crydee. By rank he was entitled to a cadence mark over the crest, but he hadn’t found time or a tailor to sew one on. He prayed quietly, ‘Oh, gods, do not let me shame this tabard of my family.’
The army of Prince Oliver started moving uphill, the infantry at a leisurely trot, and the horses in the middle started their canter. Brendan heard a trumpet blow behind him and glanced back towards Prince Edward’s lines. To his surprise he saw the remaining cavalry pull out. A squad of men hurried forward carrying heavy poles, two men per pole, and fanned out to form a line before the infantry and archers.
Brendan understood now why Prince Edward had resisted the attempt to attack while Oliver was arriving. That would have been a mêlée without planning, while this was going to be the battle he chose.
As Oliver’s cavalry reached the depression, Brendan watched and things proceeded exactly as he had anticipated. The cantering horses suddenly found themselves dropping down, and instinctively braced, then gathered for an uphill lunge, slowing down, and blocking those horses behind. Like a ripple, the break in rhythm flowed back to the second, third and fourth ranks, completely breaking the charge without a blow being struck.
Edward nodded and a banner was raised: his archers fired. Now Brendan understood why the traditional distance markers had not been placed in the field, for every bowman knew exactly how far downhill that depression lay. A flight of shafts took riders out of their seats and sent horses down screaming as they attempted to come out of the depression. More horses stumbled and became enmeshed in the thrashing mess in the misleadingly shallow hollow in the ground.
As arrows pelted the riders, they broke as a group to the right, circling around the far end of the depression, and Brendan saw the men on the ground get ready. Kneeling beside the poles, they formed a hedgehog barrier that would prevent the horses from attacking the infantry.
Where was Edward’s cavalry? Brendan wondered, for he, like Oliver, obviously, expected the two cavalry forces to meet in the centre of the field, reinforced by the infantry. Instead, Oliver’s cavalry was moving to his right, Edward’s left, towards the very defensible rocky ridge to the north. Two hundred archers waited and unloosed on Oliver’s cavalry when they came into range.
Dozens of riders fell and Oliver’s cavalry was in shambles. Commands were relayed and the hedgehog poles were abandoned: there would be no continuing charge from the east.
Oliver’s cavalry fled back toward his line to regroup. Whatever use they were in the coming attack was blunted. Brendan looked and saw more than two hundred riders dead or wounded on the ground, with another hundred sporting wounds limping back to their own lines. And Edward’s forces had not suffered a single injury.
Prince Edward drew his sword. ‘On my command … advance!’
He rose up in his stirrups and swung his sword in an arc, and his infantry moved out in an orderly fashion. Edward and his guards hung back, and Brendan also rose up in his stirrups and looked around. ‘Where
is
our cavalry?’ he thought.
Pug meditated on what he had just encountered with one part of his consciousness. With another he reached out to Magnus, Miranda, and Nakor.
Come see this.
Soon he felt their minds link to his and said aloud, ‘Can you see what I’m seeing?’ He attempted to share what he was seeing through the Orb of Ocaran as it hovered outside the boundary of the dome. He would control it and Magnus would attempt to place it inside the dome.
After another moment, he heard the three voices in his mind say they could. ‘Magnus, if you would be so kind?’
‘Not all of us have to see what is inside,’ Magnus said. ‘I’m better than any of you at transporting objects without physically carrying them myself. So, you three link to the orb, and I’ll send it inside. Once done, I’ll try to link with you and see what you do.’
‘But you have to know where you’re sending it,’ said Miranda.
‘I’ve seen the breaches in the dome. It’s perhaps five or six yards thick. So I’ll transport the device six feet above ground and ten yards in a straight line into the city.’
‘That’s fine if you don’t materialize it inside a wall,’ said Pug.
‘Or inside one of the Dread,’ added Nakor.
‘I would welcome a better approach,’ said Magnus. ‘Sugges-tions?’
Pug broke the mental link as they were all standing around him. He was silent, then said, ‘I have, I think, found a way to invert the dome, or a small section, which was what I was going to do – open a window for a second, then close it.’
‘Opening a breach is a better idea?’ Miranda almost shrieked, Pug hearing her voice echo what she thought.
Pug said, ‘If we are to close that rift inside, we’re going to have to either shut down that dome—’
‘A very bad idea,’ Nakor inserted.
‘Or use it to plug up the rift, driving everything inside it back.’
‘Which means at some point inverting the magic and shrinking everything inside,’ finished Magnus. ‘We know, but isn’t it better to learn once that we have a problem with doing that than twice?’
Pug sighed. ‘You’re probably right. I just hate not having some means of testing my theory. This will be the single most powerful spell anyone has undertaken; we’ll have hundreds of magic-users and priests linked in to the spell, and there’s no telling what the effect will be.’
Miranda put her hand on Pug’s arm. ‘Pug,’ she said softly. ‘I have all Miranda’s memories, including everything you muttered in your sleep.’
He blushed, causing Nakor to chuckle.
She continued, ‘I’ve heard you chatter over dinner about this and that, and what I’ve come to know is, if there is one being on this planet who’s capable of designing a … piece of magic … a spell that will save this world, you are that person.’
Magnus nodded.
Nakor shrugged. ‘If we do nothing, everything dies. If we try and fail, everything dies. Might as well try, right?’
‘It’s not even a question,’ admitted Pug. ‘Very well. Link into the orb with me,’ he said to Nakor and Miranda, ‘then Magnus can send it into the dome.’
The Orb of Ocaran was one of several devices that Pug had discovered years ago in the abandoned lair of an artificer of magic devices by that name. Ocaran was legendary for making one-of-a-kind items: but this orb was particularly useful, so he had built several. However, it was the only working one Pug had seen. There were many types of far-seeing spells, scrying, and distant vision, but they all had limits: exhaustion on the part of the caster was foremost. The orb, on the other hand, needed only to be guided and, as it was a physical item, once its use was mastered, it was nearly effortless to operate.
They exchanged glances. Unspoken was the thought,
Better sooner than later
, so Pug, Miranda, and Nakor sat down, while Magnus walked as close to the boundary of the ruby dome as he could. He gauged his distances, then mentally asked,
Ready?
When the answer came back affirmative, he sent the orb into the dome.
Tomas grunted with exertion as he attempted to remove Draken-Korin’s head, but the blow was deflected away. Both fighters were now labouring and despite their inhuman endurance and strength, soon one of them was bound to take a wound that would be beyond their ability to magically heal.
