The Complete Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon. Raymond E. Feist
dried himself and put on the clean nightshirt that had been left for him. In spite of the early hour he fell into the warm bed. His last thought was of the sandy-haired boy with the ready grin. As Pug slipped into sleep, he wondered if Dolgan had found his friend.
He awoke once during the day, hearing a nameless tune being hummed, while water was being splashed about with great zeal as Kulgan soaped his large body. Pug closed his eyes and was quickly asleep again.
He was hard asleep when Kulgan roused him for dinner. His tunic and trousers had been cleaned and a small rent in the shirt mended. His boots were polished and shone with a black gleam. As he stood inspecting himself in a mirror, he noticed for the first time a soft black shadow on his cheeks. He leaned closer and saw the early signs of a beard.
Kulgan watched him and said, ‘Well, Pug. Shall I have them fetch you a razor so you can keep your chin bare like Prince Arutha? Or do you wish to cultivate a magnificent beard?’ He exaggeratedly brushed his own grey beard.
Pug smiled for the first time since leaving Mac Mordain Cadal. ‘I think I can leave off worrying about it for a time.’
Kulgan laughed, glad to see the boy’s spirits returning. The magician had been troubled at the depth of Pug’s mourning for Tomas and was relieved to see the boy’s resilient nature assert itself. Kulgan held the door open. ‘Shall we?’
Pug inclined his head, imitating a courtly bow, and said, ‘Certes, master magician. After you?’ and broke into a laugh.
They made their way to the dining room, a large and well-lit hall, though nothing as large as in the castle of Crydee. The Duke and Prince Arutha were already seated, and Kulgan and Pug quickly took their places at the table.
Borric was just finishing his account of the events at Crydee and in the great forest when Pug and Kulgan sat. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I chose to carry this news myself, so important I believe it to be.’
The merchant leaned back in his chair as servants brought a wide variety of dishes for the diners. ‘Lord Borric,’ said Talbott, ‘when your man Meecham first approached me, his request on your behalf was somewhat vague, due, I believe, to the manner in which the information was transmitted.’ He referred to the magic employed by Kulgan to contact Belgan, who had in turn sent the message to Meecham. ‘I never expected your desire to reach Krondor would prove as vital to my own people as I now see it to be.’ He paused, then continued, ‘I am, of course, alarmed by the news you bear. I was willing to act as a broker to find you a ship, but now I will undertake to send you in one of my own vessels.’ He picked up a small bell that sat near his hand and rang. In a moment a servant was standing at his shoulder. ‘Send word to Captain Abram to ready the Storm Queen. He leaves on tomorrow’s afternoon tide for Krondor. I will send more detailed instructions later.’
The servant bowed and left. The Duke said, ‘I thank you, Master Kilrane. I had hoped that you would understand, but I did not expect to find a ship so quickly.’
The merchant looked directly at Borric. ‘Duke Borric, let me be frank. There is little love lost between the Free Cities and the Kingdom. And, to be franker still, less love for the name conDoin. It was your grandfather who laid waste to Walinor and siege to Natal. He was stopped only ten miles north of this very city, and that memory still rankles many of us. We are Keshian by ancestry, but freemen by birth, and have little affection for conquerors.’ Kilrane continued as the Duke sat stiffly in his chair, ‘Still, we are forced to admit that your father later, and yourself now, have been good neighbors, treating fairly with the Free Cities, even generously at times. I believe you to be a man of honor and realize these Tsurani people are likely all you say they are. You are not the sort of man given to exaggeration, I think.’
The Duke relaxed a little at this. Talbott took a sip of wine, then resumed his conversation. ‘We would be foolish not to recognize that our best interests lie with those of the Kingdom, for alone we are helpless. When you have departed, I will summon a meeting of the Council of Guilds and Merchants and will argue for support of the Kingdom in this.’ He smiled, and all at the table could see that here was a man as confident in his influence and authority as the Duke was in his. ‘I think I will have little difficulty in making the council see the wisdom of this. A brief mention of that Tsurani war galley and a little conjecture on how our ships would fare against a fleet of such ships should convince them.’
Borric laughed and slapped his hand upon the table. ‘Master merchant, I can see your wealth was not acquired by a lucky cast of fate’s knucklebones. Your shrewd mind is a match for my own Father Tully’s. As is your wisdom. I give you my thanks.’
The Duke and the merchant continued to talk late into the night, but Pug was still tired and returned to his bed. When Kulgan came in hours later, he found the boy lying restfully, a peaceful expression on his face.
The Storm Queen ran before the wind, her topgallants and sky sails slamming her through the raging sea. The swirling, stinging icy rain made the night so black that the tops of her tall masts were lost in hazy darkness to those who stood on her decks.
On the quarterdeck, figures huddled under great fur-lined oilcloth cloaks, trying to stay warm and dry in the bitterly cold wetness. Twice during the last two weeks they had run through high seas, but this was by far the worst weather they had encountered. A cry went up from the rigging, and word was carried to the captain that two men had fallen from the yards. Duke Borric shouted to Captain Abram, ‘Can nothing be done?’
‘Nay, my lord. They are dead men, and to search would be folly, even if possible, which it is not,’ the captain shouted back, his voice carrying over the storm’s roar.
A full watch was above in the treacherous rigging, knocking away the ice that was forming on the spars, threatening to crack them with additional weight, disabling the ship. Captain Abram held the rail with one hand, watching for signs of trouble, his whole body in tune with his ship. Next to him stood the Duke and Kulgan, less sure of their footing on the pitching deck. A loud groaning, cracking sound came from below, and the captain swore.
Moments later a sailor appeared before them. ‘Captain, we’ve cracked a timber and she’s taking water.’
The captain waved to one of his mates who stood on the main deck. ‘Take a crew below and shore up the damage, then report.’
The mate quickly picked four men to accompany him below. Kulgan seemed to go into a trance for a minute before he said, ‘Captain, this storm will blow another three days.’
The captain cursed the luck the gods had sent him and said to the Duke, ‘I can’t run her before the storm for three days taking water. I must find a place to heave to and repair the hull.’
The Duke nodded, shouting over the storm, ‘Are you turning for Queg?’
The captain shook his head, dislodging snow and water dripping from his black beard. ‘I cannot turn her into the wind for Queg. We will have to lie off Sorcerer’s Isle.’
Kulgan shook his head, though the gesture was not noticed by the others. The magician asked, ‘Is there nowhere else we can put in?’
The captain looked at the magician and the Duke. ‘Not as close. We would risk the loss of a mast. Then, if we didn’t founder and sink, we’d lose six days rather than three. The seas run higher, and I fear I may lose more men.’ He shouted orders aloft and to the steersman, and they took a more southerly course, heading for Sorcerer’s Isle.
Kulgan went below with the Duke. The rocking, surging motion of the ship made the ladder and narrow passageway difficult to negotiate, and the stout magician was tossed from one side to the other as they made their way to their cabins. The Duke went into his cabin, shared with his son, and Kulgan entered his own. Gardan, Meecham, and Pug were trying to rest on their respective bunks during the buffeting. The boy was having a difficult time, for he had been sick the first two days. He had gained sea legs of a sort, but still couldn’t bring himself to eat the salty pork and hardtack they were forced to consume. Because of the rough seas, the ship’s cook had been unable to perform his usual duties.
The ship’s