Читать книгу The Complete Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 21

PUG 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.

Pug sought to take the advantage and swung a wild, roundhouse blow at Roland’s head. Roland dodged back as Pug swung completely around; then the squire jumped forward, his left hand snapping out, catching Pug on the cheek, rocking his head back with a stinging blow. Pug stumbled away, and Roland’s right hand missed Pug’s chin by a fraction.

Pug held up his hands to ward off another blow and shook his head, clearing it of the dancing lights that obscured his vision, barely managing to duck beneath Roland’s next blow. Under Roland’s guard, Pug lunged, catching the other boy in the stomach with his shoulder, knocking him down again. Pug fell on top of him and struggled to pin the larger boy’s arms to his side. Roland struck out, catching Pug’s temple with an elbow, and the dazed magician’s apprentice fell away, momentarily confused.

As he rose to his feet again, pain exploded in Pug’s face, and the world tilted once more. Disoriented, unable to defend himself, Pug felt Roland’s blows as distant events, somehow muted and not fully recognized by his reeling senses. A faint note of alarm sounded in part of Pug’s mind. Without warning, processes began to occur under the level of pain-dimmed consciousness. Basic, more animal instincts took hold, and in a disjointed, hardly understood awareness, a new force emerged. As in the encounter with the trolls, blinding letters of light and flame appeared in his mind’s eye, and he silently incanted.

Pug’s being became primitive. In his remaining consciousness he was a primal creature fighting for survival with murderous intent. All he could envision was choking the very life from his adversary.

Suddenly an alarm rang within Pug’s mind. A deep sense of wrongness, of evil, struck him. Months of training came to the fore, and it was as if he could hear Kulgan’s voice crying, ‘This is not how the power is to be used!’ Ripping aside the mental shroud that covered him, Pug opened his eyes.

Through blurred vision and sparkling lights, Pug saw Roland kneeling a mere yard before him, eyes enlarged, vainly struggling with the invisible fingers around his neck. Pug felt no sense of contact with what he saw, and with returning clarity of mind knew at once what had occurred. Leaning forward, he seized Roland’s wrists. ‘Stop it, Roland! Stop it! It isn’t real. There are no hands but your own at your throat.’ Roland, blind with panic, seemed unable to hear Pug’s shouts. Mustering what remaining strength he possessed, Pug yanked Roland’s hands away, then struck him a stinging slap to the face. Roland’s eyes teared and suddenly he breathed in, a gasping, ragged sound.

Still panting, Pug said, ‘It’s an illusion. You were choking yourself.’

Roland gasped and pushed himself back from Pug, fear evident on his face. He struggled weakly to pull his sword. Pug leaned forward and firmly gripped Roland’s wrist. Barely able to speak, he shook his head and said, ‘There’s no reason.’

Roland looked into Pug’s eyes, and the fear in his own began to subside. Something inside the older squire seemed to break, and there was only a fatigued, drained young man sitting on the ground. Breathing heavily, Roland sat back, tears forming in his eyes, and asked, ‘Why?’

Pug’s own fatigue made him lean back, supporting himself on his hands. He studied the handsome young face before him, twisted by doubt. ‘Because you’re held under a spell more compelling than any I could fashion.’ He looked Roland in the eyes. ‘You truly love her, don’t you?’

The last vestige of Roland’s anger slowly evaporated and his eyes showed some slight fear remaining, but also Pug saw deep pain and anguish as a tear fell to his cheek. His shoulders slumped and he nodded, his breath ragged as he tried to speak. For a moment he was on the verge of crying, but he fought off his pain and regained his poise. Taking a deep breath, Roland wiped away the tears and took another deep breath. He looked directly at Pug, then guardedly asked, ‘And you?’

Pug sprawled on the ground, feeling some strength returning. ‘I . . . I’m not sure. She makes me doubt myself. I don’t know. Sometimes I think of no one else, and other times I wish I were as far from her as I could be.’

Roland indicated understanding, the last residue of fear draining away. ‘Where she’s concerned, I don’t have a whit of wit.’

Pug giggled. Roland looked at him, then also began to laugh. ‘I don’t know why,’ said Pug, ‘but for some reason, I find what you said terribly funny.’ Roland nodded and began to laugh too. Soon they were both sitting with tears running down their faces as the emotional vacuum left by the fleeing anger was replaced by giddiness.

Roland recovered slightly, holding back the laughter, when Pug looked at him and said, ‘A whit of wit!’ which sent both of them off on another jag of laughter.

‘Well!’ a voice said sharply. They turned and found Carline, flanked by two ladies-in-waiting, surveying the scene before her. Instantly both boys became silent. Casting a disapproving look upon the pair as they sprawled upon the ground, she said, ‘Since you two seem so taken with each other, I’ll not intrude.’

Pug and Roland exchanged looks and suddenly erupted into uproarious laughter. Roland fell over backward, while Pug sat, legs stretched before him, laughing into his cupped hands. Carline flushed angrily and her eyes widened. With cold fury in her voice she said ‘Excuse me!’ and turned, sweeping by her ladies. As she left, they could hear her loudly exclaim, ‘Boys!’

Pug and Roland sat for a minute until the near-hysterical fit passed; then Roland rose and extended his hand to Pug. Pug took it and Roland helped him to his feet. ‘Sorry, Pug. I had no right to be angry with you.’ His voice softened. ‘I can’t sleep nights thinking of her. I wait for the few moments we’re together each day. But since you saved her, all I ever hear is your name.’ Touching his sore neck, Roland said, ‘I got so angry, I thought I’d kill you. Damn near got myself killed instead.’

Pug looked at the corner where the Princess had disappeared, nodding agreement. ‘I’m sorry, too, Roland. I’m not very good at controlling magic yet, and when I lose my temper, it seems all sorts of terrible things can happen. Like with the trolls.’ Pug wanted Roland to understand he was still Pug, even though he was now a magician’s apprentice. ‘I would never do something like that on purpose – especially to a friend.’

Roland studied Pug’s face a moment and grinned, half-wryly, half-apologetically. ‘I understand. I acted badly. You were right: she’s only setting us one against the other. I am the fool. It’s you she cares for.’

Pug seemed to wilt. ‘Believe me, Roland, I’m not so sure I’m to be envied.’

Roland’s grin widened. ‘She is a strong-willed girl, that’s clear.’ Caught halfway between an open display of self-pity and mock-bravado, Roland selected mock-bravado.

Pug shook his head. ‘What’s to be done, Roland?’

Roland looked surprised, then laughed loudly. ‘Don’t look to me for advice, Pug. I dance to her tune more than any. But “there are as many changes in a young girl’s heart as in the fickle winds,” as the old saying goes. I’ll not blame you for Carline’s actions.’ He winked at Pug conspiratorially. ‘Still, you won’t mind if I keep an eye out for a change in the weather?’

Pug laughed in spite of his exhaustion. ‘I thought you seemed a little too gracious in your concessions.’ A thoughtful look came over his face. ‘You know, it would be simpler – not better, but simpler – if she’d ignore me forever, Roland. I don’t know what to think about all this. I’ve got my apprenticeship to complete. Someday I’ll have estates to manage. Then there’s this business with the Tsurani. It’s all come so quickly, I don’t know what to do.’

Roland regarded Pug with some sympathy. He put his hand upon the younger boy’s shoulder. ‘I forget this business of being apprentice and noble is all rather new to you. Still, I can’t say I’ve given too much time to such weighty considerations myself, even though my lot was decided before I was born. This worrying about the future is a dry sort of work. I think it would be benefited by a mug of strong ale.’

Feeling his aches and bruises, Pug nodded agreement. ‘Would that we could. But Megar will be of a different mind, I’m afraid.’

Roland placed his finger alongside his nose. ‘We shan’t let the Mastercook smell us out, then. Come on, I know a place where the boards of the ale shed are loose. We can quaff a cup or two in private.’

Roland began to walk away, but Pug halted him by saying, ‘Roland, I am sorry we came to blows.’

Roland stopped, studied Pug a moment, and grinned. ‘And I.’ He extended his hand. ‘A peace.’

Pug gripped it. ‘A peace.’

They turned the corner, leaving the Princess’s garden behind, then stopped. Before them was a scene of unalloyed misery. Tomas was walking the length of the court, from the soldiers’ commons to the side gate, in full armor – old chain mail over gambeson, full helm, and heavy metal greaves over knee boots. On one arm he bore a heater shield, and in the other hand he held a heavy spear, twelve feet long and iron-tipped, which bore down cruelly upon his right shoulder. It also gave him a comic appearance, as it caused him to lean a little to the right and wobble slightly as he struggled to keep it balanced while he marched.

The sergeant of the Duke’s Guard stood counting out cadence for him. Pug knew the sergeant, a tall, friendly man named Gardan. He was Keshian by ancestry, evident in his dark skin. His white teeth split his dark, nappy beard in a grin at the sight of Pug and Roland. He stood nearly as broad in the shoulders as Meecham, with the same loose-gaited movement of a hunter or fighter. Though his black hair was lightly dusted with grey, his face was young-looking and unlined, despite thirty years’ service. With a wink at Pug and Roland, he barked, ‘Halt!’ and Tomas stopped in his tracks.

As Pug and Roland closed the distance between them, Gardan snapped, ‘Right turn!’ Tomas obeyed. ‘Members of the court approaching. Present arms!’ Tomas extended his right arm, and his spear dipped in salute. He let the tip drop slightly too low, and nearly broke from attention to pull it back.

Pug and Roland came up to stand next to Gardan, and the large soldier gave them a casual salute and a warm smile. ‘Good day, Squires.’ He turned to Tomas for a moment. ‘Shoulder arms! March post . . . march!’ Tomas set off, marching the ‘post’ assigned to him, in this case the length of the yard before the soldiers’ commons.

With a laugh, Roland said, ‘What is this? Special drills?’

Gardan stood with one hand on his sword, the other pointed at Tomas. ‘Swordmaster Fannon felt it might prove beneficial to our young warrior if someone was here to see his drilling didn’t become sloppy from exhaustion or some other petty inconvenience.’ Dropping his voice a bit, he added, ‘He’s a tough lad; he’ll be fine, if a little footsore.’

‘Why the special drilling?’ asked Roland. Pug shook his head as Gardan told them.

‘Our young hero lost two swords. The first was understandable, for the matter of the ship was vital, and in the excitement of the moment such an oversight could be forgiven. But the second was found lying on the wet ground near the pell the afternoon the Elf Queen and her party left, and young Tomas was nowhere in sight.’ Pug knew Tomas had forgotten all about returning to his drilling when Gardell had come with the hood for his fire pot.

Tomas reached the end of his appointed route, did an about-face, and began his return. Gardan regarded the two bruised and dirty boys and said, ‘What have you two young gentlemen been up to?’

Roland cleared his throat in a theatrical fashion and said, ‘Ah . . . I was giving Pug a fist-boxing lesson.’

Gardan reached out and took Pug’s chin in his hand, turning the boy’s face for inspection. Evaluating the damage, he said, ‘Roland, remind me never to ask you to instruct my men in swordplay – we couldn’t withstand the casualty rate.’ Releasing his hold upon Pug’s face, he said, ‘You’ll have a beautiful eye in the morning, Squire.’

Changing the topic, Pug said, ‘How are your sons, Gardan?’

‘Well enough, Pug. They learn their craft and dream of making themselves rich, save for the youngest, Faxon, who is still intent on becoming a soldier next Choosing. The rest are becoming expert cartwrights under my brother Jeheil’s tutelage.’ He smiled sadly. ‘With only Faxon at home the house is very empty, though my wife seems glad for the peace.’ Then he grinned, an infectious smile that rarely could be viewed and not answered. ‘Still, it won’t be too long before the elder boys marry, and then there’ll be grandchildren under foot and plenty of merry noise again, from time to time.’

As Tomas drew near, Pug asked, ‘May I speak with the condemned?’

Gardan laughed, stroking his short beard. ‘I guess I might look the other way for a moment, but be brief, Squire.’ Pug left Gardan talking with Roland and fell into step beside Tomas as he passed on his way to the opposite end of the court. ‘How goes it?’ Pug asked.

Out of the side of his mouth, Tomas said, ‘Oh, just fine. Two more hours of this and I’ll be ready for burial.’

‘Can’t you rest?’

‘On the half hour I get five minutes to stand at attention.’ He reached the terminus of his post and did a reasonably sharp about-face, then resumed walking back toward Gardan and Roland. ‘After the firepot cover was finished, I came back to the pell and found the sword missing. I thought my heart would stop. I looked everywhere. I almost thrashed Rulf, thinking he had hidden it to spite me. When I returned to the commons, Fannon was sitting on my bunk, oiling down the blade. I thought the other soldiers would hurt themselves holding in the laughter when he said, ‘If you judge yourself skilled enough with the sword, perhaps you’d care to spend your time learning the proper way to walk post with a poll arm.’ All day walking punishment,’ he added woefully. ‘I’ll die.’

They passed Roland and Gardan, and Pug struggled to feel sympathy. Like the others, he found the situation comical. Hiding his amusement, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone and said, ‘I’d better get along. Should the Swordmaster come along, he might tack on an extra day’s marching.’

Tomas groaned at the thought. ‘Gods preserve me. Get away, Pug.’

Pug whispered, ‘When you’re done, join us in the ale shed if you’re able.’ Pug left Tomas’s side and rejoined Gardan and Roland. To the sergeant he said, ‘Thank you, Gardan.’

‘You are welcome, Pug. Our young knight-in-the-making will be fine, though he feels set upon now. He also chafes at having an audience.’

Roland nodded. ‘Well, I expect he’ll not be losing a sword again soon.’

Gardan laughed. ‘Too true. Master Fannon could forgive the first, but not the second. He thought it wise to see Tomas didn’t make a habit of it. Your friend is the finest student the Swordmaster has known since Prince Arutha, but don’t tell Tomas that. Fannon’s always hardest on those with the most potential. Well, good day to you both, Squires. And, boys,’ – they paused – ‘I won’t mention the “fist-boxing lesson.”’

They thanked the sergeant for his discretion and walked toward the ale shed, with the measured cadence of Gardan’s voice filling the court.

Pug was well into his second mug of ale and Roland finishing his fourth when Tomas appeared through the loose boards. Dirty and sweating, he was rid of his armor and weapons. With a great display of fatigue, he said, ‘The world must be coming to an end; Fannon excused me from punishment early.’

‘Why?’ asked Pug.

Roland lazily reached over to a storage shelf, next to where he sat upon a sack of grain soon to be used for making ale, and got a cup from a stack. He tossed it to Tomas, who caught it, then filled it from the hogshead of ale that Roland rested his feet upon.

Taking a deep drink, Tomas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, ‘Something’s afoot. Fannon swooped down, told me to put away my toys, and nearly dragged Gardan off, he was in such a hurry.’

Pug said, ‘Maybe the Duke is getting ready to ride east?’

Tomas said, ‘Maybe.’ He studied his two friends, taking note of their freshly bruised countenances. ‘All right. What happened?’

Pug regarded Roland, indicating he should explain the sad state of their appearance. Roland gave Tomas a lopsided grin and said, ‘We had a practice bout in preparation for the Duke’s fist-boxing tourney.’

Pug nearly choked on his ale, then laughed. Tomas shook his head. ‘If you two don’t look a pair. Fighting over the Princess?’

Pug and Roland exchanged glances; then as one they leaped at Tomas and bore him to the floor under their combined weight. Roland pinned Tomas to the floor, then, while Pug held him in place, took a half-filled cup of ale and held it high. With mock solemnity Roland said, ‘I hearby anoint thee, Tomas, First Seer of Crydee!’ So saying, he poured the contents of the cup over the struggling boy’s face.

Pug belched, then said, ‘As do I.’ He poured what remained in his cup over his friend.

Tomas spat ale, laughing as he said, ‘Right! I was right!’ Struggling against the weight upon him, he said, ‘Now get off! Or need I remind you, Roland, of who gave you your last bloody nose?’

Roland moved off very slowly, intoxicated dignity forcing him to move with glacial precision. ‘Quite right.’ Turning toward Pug, who had also rolled off Tomas, he said, ‘Still, it must be made clear that at the time, the only reason Tomas managed to bloody my nose is that during our fight he had an unfair advantage.’

Pug looked at Roland through bleary eyes and said, ‘What unfair advantage?’

Roland put his finger to his lips indicating secrecy, then said, ‘He was winning.’

Roland collapsed back upon the grain sack and Pug and Tomas dissolved into laughter. Pug found the remark so funny, he couldn’t stop, and hearing Tomas’s laughter only caused his own to redouble. At last he sat up, gasping, with his sides hurting.

Catching his breath, Pug said, ‘I missed that set-to. I was doing something else, but I don’t remember what.’

‘You were down in the village learning to mend nets, if I remember rightly, when Roland first came here from Tulan.’

With a crooked grin Roland said, ‘I got into an argument with someone or another – do you remember who?’ Tomas shook his head no. ‘Anyway, I got into an argument, and Tomas came over and tried to break it up. I couldn’t believe this skinny boy—’ Tomas began to voice an objection, but Roland cut him off, holding a finger upright and wiggling it. ‘Yes, you were. Very skinny. I couldn’t believe this skinny boy – skinny common boy – would presume to tell me – a newly appointed member of the Duke’s court and a gentleman, I must add – the way to behave. So I did the only thing a proper gentleman could do under the circumstances.’

‘What?’ asked Pug.

‘I hit him in the mouth.’ The three laughed again.

Tomas shook his head at the recollection, while Roland said, ‘Then he proceeded to give me the worst beating I had since the last time my father caught me out at something.

‘That’s when I got serious about fist-boxing.’

With an air of mock gravity, Tomas said, ‘Well, we were younger then.’

Pug refilled the cups. Moving his jaw in discomfort, he said, ‘Well, right now I feel about a hundred years old.’

Tomas studied them both a moment. ‘Seriously, what was the fight about?’

With a mixture of humor and regret, Roland said, ‘Our liege lord’s daughter, a girl of ineffable charm . . .’

‘What’s ineffable?’ Tomas asked.

Roland looked at him with intoxicated disdain. ‘Indescribable, dolt!’

Tomas shook his head. ‘I don’t think the Princess is an indescribable dolt—’ He ducked as Roland’s cup sailed through the space occupied by his head an instant before. Pug fell over backward laughing again.

Tomas grinned as Roland, in a display of great ceremony, fetched down another cup from the shelf. ‘As I was saying,’ he began, filling the cup from the hogshead, ‘our lady, a girl of ineffable charms – if somewhat questionable judgment – has taken it into her head – for reasons only the gods may fully comprehend – to favor our young magician here with her attentions. Why – when she could spend time with me – I can’t imagine.’ He paused to belch. ‘In any event, we were discussing the proper manner in which to accept such largess.’

Tomas looked at Pug, a huge grin on his face. ‘You have my sympathy, Pug. You most certainly have your hands full.’

Pug felt himself flush. Then with a wicked leer, he said, ‘Do I? And what about a certain young apprentice soldier, well-known hereabouts, who has been seen sneaking into the larder with a certain kitchen girl?’ He leaned back and with a look of mock concern etched upon his face added, ‘I’d hate to think what would happen to him should Neala find out . . .’

Tomas’s mouth fell open. ‘You wouldn’t . . . you couldn’t!’

Roland lay back, holding his sides. ‘Never have I seen such a fair impersonation of a freshly landed fish!’ He sat up, crossed his eyes, and opened and shut his mouth rapidly. All three degenerated into helpless mirth again.

Another round was poured, and Roland held up his cup. ‘Gentlemen, a toast!’

Pug and Tomas held up their cups.

Roland’s voice turned serious, and he said, ‘No matter what differences we have had in the past, you are two fellows I gladly count friends.’ He held his cup higher and said, ‘To friendship!’

The three drained their cups and refilled them. Roland said, ‘Your hand upon it.’

The three boys joined hands, and Roland said, ‘No matter where we go, no matter how many years pass, never again shall we be without friends.’

Pug was stuck by the sudden solemnity of the pledge and said, ‘Friends!’

Tomas echoed Pug’s words, and the three shook hands in a gesture of affirmation.

Again the cups were drained, and the afternoon sun quickly fled beyond the horizon as the three boys lost time in the rosy glow of camaraderie and ale.

Pug came awake, groggy and disoriented. The faint glow from his nearly extinguished fire pot cast the room into halftones of rose and black. A faint but persistent knocking sounded on his door. He slowly stood, then nearly fell, still intoxicated from his drinking bout. He had stayed with Tomas and Roland in the storage room all evening and into the night, missing supper entirely. ‘Putting a considerable dent’ in the castle’s ale supply, as Roland had described it. They hadn’t partaken of any great amount, but as their capacity was slight, it seemed a heroic undertaking.

Pug drew on his trousers and wobbled over to the door. His eyelids felt gritty, and his mouth was cotton dry. Wondering who could be demanding entrance in the middle of the night, he threw aside the door.

A blur of motion passed him, and he turned to find Carline standing in the room, a heavy cloak wrapped around her. ‘Close the door!’ she hissed. ‘Someone might pass the base of the tower and see light upon the stairway.’

Pug obeyed, still disoriented. The only thing that penetrated his numb mind was the thought that it was unlikely the faint light from the coals would cast much brightness down the stairwell. He shook his head, gathering his wits about him, and crossed to the fire pot. He lit a taper from the coals and lit his lantern. The room sprang into cheery brightness.

Pug’s thinking began to pick up a little as Carline looked about the room, taking stock of the disorderly pile of books and scrolls next to the pallet. She peered into every corner of the room, then said, ‘Where is that dragon thing you keep about?’

Pug’s eyes focused a little, and marshaling his balky tongue, he said, ‘Fantus? He’s off somewhere, doing whatever it is firedrakes do.’

Removing her cloak, she said, ‘Good. He frightens me.’ She sat on Pug’s unmade pallet and looked sternly at him. ‘I want to speak with you.’ Pug’s eyes went wide, and he stared, for Carline was wearing only a light cotton sleeping gown. While covering her from neck to ankles, it was thin and clung to her figure with alarming tenacity. Pug suddenly realized he was dressed only in trousers and hurriedly grabbed up his tunic from where he had dropped it onto the floor and pulled it over his head. As he struggled with the shirt, the last shreds of alcoholic fog evaporated. ‘Gods!’ he said, in a pained whisper. ‘Should your father learn of this, he’d have my head.’

‘Not if you’ve wits enough to keep your voice lowered,’ she answered with a petulant look.

Pug crossed to the stool near his pallet, freed of his drunken wobble by newly arrived terror. She studied his rumpled appearance and with a note of disapproval in her voice said, ‘You’ve been drinking.’ When he didn’t deny it, she added, ‘When you and Roland didn’t appear at supper, I wondered where you’d gotten yourselves off to. It’s a good thing Father also skipped the meal with the court, otherwise he’d have sent someone to find you.’

Pug’s discomfort was growing at an alarming rate as every tale of what horrible fate awaits lowborn lovers of noblewomen rushed back into his memory. That Carline was an uninvited guest and that nothing untoward had occurred were niceties he didn’t think the Duke would find particularly mitigating. Gulping down panic, Pug said, ‘Carline, you can’t stay here. You’ll get us both into more trouble than I can imagine.’

Her expression became determined. ‘I’m not leaving until I tell you what I came to say.’

Pug knew it was futile to argue. He had seen that look too many times in the past. With a resigned sigh, he said, ‘All right, then, what is it?’

Carline’s eyes widened at his tone. ‘Well, if that’s how you’re going to be, I won’t tell you!’

Pug suppressed a groan and sat back with his eyes closed. Slowly shaking his head, he said, ‘Very well. I’m sorry. Please, what do you want me to do?’

She patted the pallet next to her. ‘Come, sit here.’

He complied, trying to ignore the feeling that his fate – an abruptly short life – was being decided by this capricious girl. He landed rather than sat beside her. She giggled at the groan he made. ‘You got drunk! What’s it like?’

‘At this moment, not terribly entertaining. I feel like a used kitchen rag.’

She tried to look sympathetic, but her blue eyes sparkled with mirth. With a theatrical pout, she said, ‘You boys get to do all the interesting things, like sword work and archery. Being a proper lady can be such a bore. Father would have a fit if I should ever drink more than a cup of watered wine with supper.’

With rising desperation in his voice, Pug said, ‘Nothing compared to the fit he will have if you’re found here. Carline, why did you come here?’

She ignored the question. ‘What were you and Roland doing this afternoon, fighting?’ He nodded. ‘Over me?’ she asked, a glimmer in her eyes.

Pug sighed. ‘Yes, over you.’ Her pleased look at the reply nettled him, and irritation crept into his voice. ‘Carline, you’ve used him rather badly.’

‘He’s a spineless idiot!’ she snapped back. ‘If I asked him to jump off the wall, he’d do it.’

‘Carline,’ Pug nearly whined, ‘why have—’

His question was cut off as she leaned forward and covered his mouth with her own. The kiss was one-sided, for Pug was too stunned to respond. She quickly sat back, leaving him agape, and she said, ‘Well?’

Lacking any original response, Pug said, ‘What?’

Her eyes flashed. ‘The kiss, you simpleton.’

‘Oh!’ said Pug, still in shock. ‘It was . . . nice.’

She rose and looked down on him, her eyes widening with mixed anger and embarrassment. She crossed her arms and stood tapping her foot, making a sound like summer hail striking the window shutters. Her tone was low and harsh. ‘Nice! Is that all you have to say?’

Pug watched her, a variety of conflicting emotions surging inside. At this moment panic was contesting with a nearly painful awareness of how lovely she looked in the dim lantern light, her features alive and animated, her dark hair loose around her face, and the thin shift pulled tight across her bosom by her crossed arms. His own confusion made his pose seem unintentionally casual, which further fueled her petulance. ‘You’re the first man – not counting Father and my brothers – I’ve ever kissed, and all you can say is “nice.”’

Pug was unable to recover. Still awash with tumultuous emotions, he blurted, ‘Very nice.’

She placed her hands upon her hips – which pulled her nightdress in disturbing new directions and stood looking down on him with an expression of open disbelief. In controlled tones she said, ‘I come here and throw myself at you. I risk getting myself banished to a convent for life!’ Pug noticed she failed to mention his possible fate. ‘Every other boy – and not a slight number of the older nobles – in the West fall over themselves to get my attention. And all you do is treat me like some common kitchen drudge, a passing amusement for the young lord.’

Pug’s wits returned, less of their own accord than from the realization that Carline was arguing her case a little more emphatically than was warranted. Suddenly struck with the insight that there was a fair bit of dramatics mixed in with her genuine irritation, he said, ‘Carline, wait. Give me a moment.’

‘A moment! I’ve given you weeks. I thought . . . well, I thought we had an understanding.’

Pug tried to look sympathetic, as his mind raced. ‘Sit down, please. Let me try to explain.’

She hesitated, then returned to sit next to him. Somewhat clumsily he took her hands in his own. Instantly he was struck by the nearness of the girl, her warmth, the smell of her hair and skin. The feelings of desire he had felt on the bluffs returned with stunning impact, and he had to fight to keep his mind upon what he wished to say.

Forcing his thoughts away from the hot surge he experienced, he said, ‘Carline, I do care for you. A great deal. Sometimes I even think I love you as much as Roland does, but most of the time I only get confused when you’re around. That’s the problem: there’s so much confusion inside of me. I don’t understand what it is I feel most of the time.’

Her eyes narrowed, for this obviously wasn’t the answer she expected. Her tone was sharp as she said, ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’ve never known a boy so caught up in understanding things.’

Pug managed to force a smile. ‘Magicians are trained to seek explanations. Understanding things is very important to us.’ He saw a flicker of comprehension in her eyes at this and pressed on. ‘I have two offices now, both new to me. I may not become a magician, in spite of Kulgan’s attempts to make me one, for I have trouble with a lot of my work. I don’t really avoid you, you see, but with this trouble I have, I must spend as much time with my studies as I can.’

Seeing his explanation was gaining little sympathy, he changed tactics. ‘In any event, I have little time to consider my other office. I may end up another noble of your father’s court, running my estates – small though they might be – caring for my tenants, answering calls to arms, and the rest. But I can’t even think of that until I resolve this other matter, my studies of magic. I must keep trying until I’m satisfied I made the wrong choice. Or until Kulgan dismisses me,’ he added quietly.

He stopped and studied her face. Her large blue eyes watched him intently. ‘Magicians are of little consequence in the Kingdom. I mean, should I become a master magician . . . Well, could you see yourself married to a magician, whatever his rank?’

She looked slightly alarmed. Quickly she leaned over and kissed him again, rupturing his already frayed composure. ‘Poor Pug,’ she said, pulling away a little. Her soft voice rang sweetly to his ears. ‘You don’t have to be. A magician, I mean. You have land and title, and I know Father could arrange others when the time was right.’

‘It’s not a question of what I want, don’t you see? It’s a question of what I am. Part of the problem may be I haven’t truly given myself over to my work. Kulgan took me for his apprentice as much from pity as need, you know. And in spite of what he and Tully have said, I’ve never been really convinced I was especially talented. But perhaps I need to dedicate myself, commit myself to becoming a magician.’ He took a breath. ‘How can I do that if I’m concerning myself with my estates and offices? Or gaining new ones?’ He paused. ‘Or you?’

Carline bit her lower lip slightly, and Pug fought down the urge to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right. He had no doubt that once he did that, matters would quickly be beyond his control. No girl in his limited experience, even the prettier ones in the town, aroused such strong feelings in him.

Lowering her lashes a little as she looked down, she softly said, ‘I’ll do whatever you say, Pug.’ Pug felt relief for a moment, then the full impact of what she had just said hit him. Oh, gods! he thought. No magician’s trick could keep him focused in the face of youthful passion. He frantically sought some way to drive desire from him and then thought of her father. Instantly an image of a scowling Duke of Crydee standing before the hangman’s gibbet banished most of his lust.

Taking a deep breath, Pug said, ‘In my own way, I do love you, Carline.’ Her face came aglow, and forfending disaster, he plunged on. ‘But I think I should try to find out about myself before I try to make up my mind about the rest.’ His concentration was sorely tested as the girl seemed to ignore his remarks, being busy kissing his face.

Then she stopped and sat back. Her happy expression faded into one of thoughtfulness as her natural intelligence overrode her childish need to get everything she wanted. Comprehension came into her eyes as he said, ‘If I chose now, Carline, I might always doubt the choice. Would you want to face the possibility I would come to resent you for the choice I made?’

She said nothing for a while, then quietly said, ‘No. I don’t think I could stand that, Pug.’

He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt tension drain away. Suddenly the room seemed cold, and both of them shivered. Carline gripped his hands tight, with surprising strength. She mustered a smile and said, with forced calm, ‘I understand, Pug.’ She took a long breath, then softly added, ‘That’s why I think I love you. You could never be false with anyone. Least of all with yourself.’

‘Or you, Carline.’ Her eyes grew moist, but she maintained her smile. ‘This isn’t easy,’ Pug said, assaulted by feelings for the girl. ‘Please, please, believe me, this is not easy.’

Suddenly the tension broke, and Carline laughed softly, sweet music to Pug. Caught halfway between tears and laughter, she said, ‘Poor Pug. I’ve upset you.’

Pug’s face showed his relief at her understanding. He felt buoyant with his affection for the girl. Shaking his head slowly, with a smile of released tension that gave him a somewhat silly expression, he said, ‘You’ve no idea, Carline. No idea.’ He reached out and touched her face tenderly. ‘We have time. I’m not going anywhere.’

From under lowered lashes, blue eyes regarded him with worry. ‘You’ll be leaving with Father soon.’

‘I mean when I return. I’ll be here for years.’ Gently he kissed her cheek. Forcing a lighter tone, he said, ‘I can’t inherit for three more years, that’s the law. And I doubt your father would part with you for as many years yet.’ Attempting a wry smile, he added, ‘In three years you might not be able to stand the sight of me.’

She came softly into his arms, holding him tightly, her face resting on his shoulder. ‘Never, Pug. I could never care for another.’ Pug could only marvel at the feel of her. Her body trembled as she said, ‘I don’t have words, Pug. You’re the only one who tried to . . . understand me. You see more than anyone else.’ Gently he pulled back a little and raised up her face with his hand. Again he kissed her, tasting salty tears upon her lips. She suddenly responded, holding him tighter and kissing him with passion. He could feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her gown, and heard soft sighing sounds in his ear as he felt himself drifting back into mindless passion, his own body beginning to respond. Steeling his resolve, he gently disengaged himself from Carline’s embrace. Slowly he forced himself away from her and, with regret in his voice, said, ‘I think you should return to your rooms, Carline.’

Carline looked up at Pug, her cheeks flushed and her lips slightly parted. Her breathing was husky, and Pug fought a mighty struggle to control himself and the situation. More firmly, he said, ‘You had best return to your rooms, now.’

They rose slowly from the sleeping pallet, each intensely aware of the other. Pug held her hand a moment longer, then released it. He bent and retrieved her cloak, holding it for her as she slipped into it. Guiding her to the door, he pulled it open and peered down the steps of the tower. With no hint of anyone nearby, he opened the door fully. She stepped through, then turned. Softly she said, ‘I know you think me a sometimes silly and vain girl, and there are times when I am, Pug. But I do love you.’

Before he could say a word, she vanished down the stairs, the faint rustling of her cloak echoing in the darkness. Pug quietly closed the door and then put out the lamp. He lay upon his pallet, staring up into the darkness. He could still smell her fresh scent in the air around him, and the remembered touch of her soft body under his hands made them tingle. Now that she was gone and the need for self-control gone with her, he let longing rush through himself. He could see her face alive with desire for him. Covering his eyes with his forearm, he groaned softly to himself and said, ‘I’m going to hate myself tomorrow.’

Pug awoke to pounding on the door. His first thought as he scrambled toward the door was of the Duke having learned of Carline’s visit. He’s here to hang me! was all he could think. It was still dark outside, so Pug opened the door expecting the worst. Instead of the girl’s angry father leading a company of castle guards, a castle porter stood outside the door.

‘Sorry to wake you, Squire, but Master Kulgan wishes you to join him at once,’ he said, pointing up toward Kulgan’s room. ‘At once,’ he repeated, mistaking Pug’s expression of relief for one of sleepy confusion. Pug nodded and shut the door.

He took stock. He was still dressed, having fallen asleep again without undressing. He stood quietly as his pounding heart stilled. His eyes felt as if they were packed with sand, and his stomach was upset, leaving a foul taste in his mouth. He went to his small table and splashed cold water on his face, muttering that he would never have another cup of ale again.

Pug reached Kulgan’s room and found the magician standing over a pile of personal belongings and books. Sitting on a stool by the magician’s sleeping pallet was Father Tully. The priest watched the magician adding to the steadily growing pile and said, ‘Kulgan, you can’t take all those books along. You would need two pack mules for them, and where you would keep them aboard ship where they would do you any good is beyond me.’

Kulgan looked at two books he held, like a mother regarding her young. ‘But I must take them along to further the boy’s education.’

‘Pah! So you’ll have something to mull over around the campfires and aboard ship, more likely. Spare me excuses. You will be riding hard to clear the South Pass before it is snowed in. And who can read in a ship crossing the Bitter Sea in winter? The boy will only be away from his studies a month or two. He’ll have over eight years more study after that. Give him a rest.’

Pug was perplexed by the conversation and tried to ask a question, but was ignored by the two old companions as they bickered. After several more remonstrations from Tully, Kulgan surrendered. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said, tossing the books onto his pallet. He saw Pug waiting by the door and said, ‘What? Still here?’

Pug said, ‘You haven’t told me why you sent for me yet, Kulgan.’

‘Oh?’ Kulgan said, eyes blinking wide like those of a barn owl caught in a bright light. ‘I haven’t?’ Pug nodded. ‘Well, then. The Duke orders us ready to ride at first light. The dwarves have not answered, but he will not wait. The North Pass is almost certain to be closed, and he fears snow in the South Pass.’ Kulgan said as an aside, ‘Which he should. My weather nose tells me snow is nearly here. We are in for an early and hard winter.’

Tully shook his head as he stood up. ‘This from the man who predicted drought seven years ago, when we had the worst flooding in memory. Magicians! Charlatans, all of you.’ He walked slowly to the door, then stopped to look at Kulgan, his mock irritation replaced by genuine concern. ‘Though you are right this time, Kulgan. My bones ache deeply. Winter is upon us.’

Tully left and Pug asked, ‘We’re leaving?’

With exasperation, Kulgan said, ‘Yes! I just said so, didn’t I? Get your things together and quickly. Dawn’s less than an hour away.’

Pug turned to leave, when Kulgan said, ‘Oh, a moment, Pug.’

The magician crossed to the door and glanced through it, ensuring Tully was down the stairs and out of earshot. Kulgan turned to Pug and said, ‘I have no fault to find with your behavior . . . but should you in the future find yourself with another late-night caller, I suggest you not subject yourself to further . . . testing. I’m not so sure you would do as well a second time.’

Pug blanched. ‘You heard?’

Kulgan pointed to a spot where the floor and wall met. ‘That fire-pot thing of yours exits the wall a foot below there, and it seems a marvelous conduit for sound.’ Absently he said, ‘I’ll have to look to see how it conducts sound so well when we return.’ Returning to the boy, he said, ‘In any event, I was working late and didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard every word.’ Pug flushed. Kulgan said, ‘I don’t mean to embarrass you, Pug. You acted rightly and showed surprising wisdom.’ Putting his hand upon Pug’s shoulder, he said, ‘I’m not one to advise you in such matters, I fear, as I’ve had scant experience with women, of any age, let alone such young and headstrong ones.’ Looking Pug in the eyes, he said, ‘But this much I do know, it is almost impossible in the heat of the moment to understand long-term consequences. I am proud you were able to do this.’

Pug smiled self-consciously. ‘It was easy enough, Kulgan, I just kept my mind focused on something.’

‘What?’

‘Capital punishment.’

Kulgan laughed, a sharp barking sound, then said, ‘Very well, but the potential for disaster would be as high for the Princess, too, Pug. A citybred noblewoman of the eastern court may indulge herself in as many lovers of any rank that she can enjoy while maintaining discretion, but the only daughter of a frontier duke who is so closely related to the king has no such luxury. She must be above suspicion in all things. Even suspicion could harm Carline. One who cares for her would take that into consideration. Do you understand?’

Pug nodded, fully relieved now that he had resisted temptation the night before.

‘Good, I know you’ll be careful in the future.’ Kulgan smiled. ‘And don’t mind old Tully. He’s just cross because the Duke ordered him to stay behind. He still thinks he’s as young as his acolytes. Now run along and get ready. Dawn’s less than an hour away.’

Pug nodded and hurried off, leaving Kulgan to regard the piles of books before him. With regret he picked the nearest one up and placed it on a nearby shelf. After a moment he grabbed another and stuffed it into a sack. ‘Just one won’t cause any harm,’ he said to the invisible specter of Tully shaking his head in disapproval. He put the rest of the books back on the shelf, save the last volume, which he shoved into the sack. ‘All right, then,’ he said defiantly, ‘two!’