Читать книгу The Riftwar Saga Series Books 2 and 3: Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 17

PUG SAT SULKING ON HIS SLEEPING PALLET.

Fantus the firedrake pushed his head forward, inviting Pug to scratch him behind his eye ridges. Seeing that he would get little satisfaction, the drake made his way to the tower window and with a snort of displeasure, complete with a small puff of black smoke, launched himself in flight. Pug didn’t notice the creature’s leaving, so engrossed was he in his own world of troubles. Since he had taken on the position of Kulgan’s apprentice fourteen months ago, everything he had done seemed to go wrong.

He lay back on the pallet, covering his eyes with a forearm; he could smell the salty sea breeze that blew in through his window and feel the sun’s warmth across his legs. Everything in his life had taken a turn for the better since his apprenticeship, except the single most important thing, his studies.

For months Kulgan had been laboring to teach him the fundamentals of the magician’s arts, but there was always something that caused his efforts to go awry. In the theories of spell casting, Pug was a quick study, grasping the basic concepts well. But each time he attempted to use his knowledge, something seemed to hold him back. It was as if a part of his mind refused to follow through with the magic, as if a block existed that prevented him from passing a certain point in the spell. Each time he tried he could feel himself approach that point, and like a rider of a balky horse, he couldn’t seem to force himself over the hurdle.

Kulgan dismissed his worries, saying that it would all sort itself out in time. The stout magician was always sympathetic with the boy, never reprimanding him for not doing better, for he knew the boy was trying.

Pug was brought out of his reverie by someone’s opening the door. Looking up, he saw Father Tully entering, a large book under his arm. The cleric’s white robes rustled as he closed the door. Pug sat up.

‘Pug, it’s time for your writing lesson—’ He stopped himself when he saw the downcast expression of the boy. ‘What’s the matter, lad?’

Pug had come to like the old priest of Astalon. He was a strict master, but a fair one. He would praise the boy for his success as often as scold him for his failures. He had a quick mind and a sense of humor and was open to questions, no matter how stupid Pug thought they might sound.

Coming to his feet, Pug sighed. ‘I don’t know, Father. It’s just that things don’t seem to be going right. Everything I try I manage to make a mess of.’

‘Pug, it can’t be all black,’ the priest said, placing a hand on Pug’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t you tell me what is troubling you, and we can practice writing some other time.’ He moved to a stool by the window and adjusted his robes around him as he sat. As he placed the large book at his feet, he studied the boy.

Pug had grown over the last year, but was still small. His shoulders were beginning to broaden a bit, and his face was showing signs of the man he would someday be. He was a dejected figure in his homespun tunic and trousers, his mood as grey as the material he wore. His room, which was usually neat and orderly, was a mess of scrolls and books, reflecting the disorder in his mind.

Pug sat quietly for a moment, but when the priest said nothing, started to speak. ‘Do you remember my telling you that Kulgan was trying to teach me the three basic cantrips to calm the mind, so that the working of spells could be practiced without stress? Well, the truth is that I mastered those exercises months ago. I can bring my mind to a state of calm in moments now, with little effort. But that is as far as it goes. After that, everything seems to fall apart.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The next thing to learn is to discipline the mind to do things that are not natural for it, such as think on one thing to the exclusion of everything else, or not to think of something, which is quite hard once you’ve been told what it is. I can do those things most of the time, but now and again I feel like there are some forces inside my head, crashing about, demanding that I do things in a different way. It’s like there was something else happening in my head than what Kulgan told me to expect.

‘Each time I try one of the simple spells Kulgan has taught me, like making an object move, or lifting myself off the ground, these things in my head come flooding in on my concentration, and I lose my control. I can’t even master the simplest spell.’ Pug felt himself tremble, for this was the first chance he had had to speak about this to anyone besides Kulgan. ‘Kulgan simply says to keep at it and not worry.’ Nearing tears, he continued. ‘I have talent. Kulgan said he knew it from the first time we met, when I used the crystal. You’ve told me that I have talent. But I just can’t make the spells work the way they’re supposed to. I get so confused by it all.’

‘Pug,’ said the priest, ‘magic has many properties, and we understand little of how it works, even those of us who practice it. In the temples we are taught that magic is a gift from the gods, and we accept that on faith. We do not understand how this can be so, but we do not question. Each order has its own province of magic, with no two quite alike. I am capable of magic that those who follow their orders are not. But none can say why.

‘Magicians deal in a different sort of magic, and their practices are very different from our practices in the temples. Much of what they do, we cannot. It is they who study the art of magic, seeking its nature and workings, but even they cannot explain how magic works. They only know how to work it, and pass that knowledge along to their students, as Kulgan is doing with you.’

‘Trying to do with me, Father. I think he may have misjudged me.’

‘I think not, Pug. I have some knowledge of these things, and since you have become Kulgan’s pupil, I have felt the power growing in you. Perhaps you will come to it late, as others have, but I am sure you will find the proper path.’

Pug was not comforted. He didn’t question the priest’s wisdom or his opinion, but he did feel he could be mistaken. ‘I hope you’re right. Father. I just don’t understand what’s wrong with me.’

‘I think I know what’s wrong,’ came a voice from the door. Startled, Pug and Father Tully turned to see Kulgan standing in the doorway. His blue eyes were set in lines of concern, and his thick grey brows formed a V over the bridge of his nose. Neither Pug nor Tully had heard the door open. Kulgan hiked his long green robe and stepped into the room, leaving the door open.

‘Come here, Pug,’ said the magician with a small wave of his hand. Pug went over to the magician, who placed both hands on his shoulders. ‘Boys who sit in their rooms day after day worrying about why things don’t work make things not work. I am giving you the day for yourself. As it is Sixthday, there should be plenty of other boys to help you in whatever sort of trouble boys can find.’ He smiled, and his pupil was filled with relief. ‘You need a rest from study. Now go.’ So saying, he fetched a playful cuff to the boy’s head, sending him running down the stairs. Crossing over to the pallet, Kulgan lowered his heavy frame to it and looked at the priest. ‘Boys,’ said Kulgan, shaking his head. ‘You hold a festival, give them a badge of craft, and suddenly they expect to be men. But they’re still boys, and no matter how hard they try, they still act like boys, not men.’ He took out his pipe and began filling it. ‘Magicians are considered young and inexperienced at thirty, but in all other crafts thirty would mark a man a journeyman or master, most likely readying his own son for the Choosing.’ He put a taper to the coals still smouldering in Pug’s fire pot and lit his pipe.

Tully nodded. ‘I understand, Kulgan. The priesthood also is an old man’s calling. At Pug’s age I still had thirteen years of being an acolyte before me.’ The old priest leaned forward. ‘Kulgan, what of the boy’s problem?’

‘The boy’s right, you know,’ Kulgan stated flatly. ‘There is no explanation for why he cannot perform the skills I’ve tried to teach. The things he can do with scrolls and devices amaze me. The boy has such gifts for these things, I would have wagered he had the makings of a magician of mighty arts. But this inability to use his inner powers …’

‘Do you think you can find a solution?’

‘I hope so. I would hate to have to release him from apprenticeship. It would go harder on him than had I never chosen him.’ His face showed his genuine concern. ‘It is confusing, Tully. I think you’ll agree he has the potential for a great talent. As soon as I saw him use the crystal in my hut that night, I knew for the first time in years I might have at last found my apprentice. When no master chose him, I knew fate had set our paths to cross. But there is something else inside that boy’s head, something I’ve never met before, something powerful. I don’t know what it is, Tully, but it rejects my exercises, as if they were somehow … not correct, or … ill suited to him. I don’t know if I can explain what I’ve encountered with Pug any better. There is no simple explanation for it.’

‘Have you thought about what the boy said?’ asked the priest, a look of thoughtful concern on his face.

‘You mean about my having been mistaken?’

Tully nodded. Kulgan dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. ‘Tully, you know as much about the nature of magic as I do, perhaps more. Your god is not called the God Who Brought Order for nothing. Your sect unraveled much about what orders this universe. Do you for one moment doubt the boy has talent?’

‘Talent, no. But his ability is the question for the moment.’

‘Well put, as usual. Well, then, have you any ideas? Should we make a cleric out of the boy, perhaps?’

Tully sat back, a disapproving expression upon his face. ‘You know the priesthood is a calling, Kulgan,’ he said stiffly.

‘Put your back down, Tully. I was making a joke.’ He sighed. ‘Still, if he hasn’t the calling of a priest, nor the knack of a magician’s craft, what can we make of this natural ability of his?’

Tully pondered the question in silence for a moment, then said, ‘Have you thought of the lost art?’

Kulgan’s eyes widened. ‘That old legend?’ Tully nodded. ‘I doubt there is a magician alive who at one time or another hasn’t reflected on the legend of the lost art. If it had existed, it would explain away many of the shortcomings of our craft.’ Then he fixed Tully with a narrowed eye, showing his disapproval. ‘But legends are common enough. Turn up any rock on the beach and you’ll find one. I for one prefer to look for real answers to our shortcomings, not blame them on ancient superstitions.’

Tully’s expression became stern and his tone scolding. ‘We of the temple do not count it legend, Kulgan! It is considered part of the revealed truth, taught by the gods to the first men.’

Nettled by Tully’s tone, Kulgan snapped, ‘So was the notion the world was flat, until Rolendirk – a magician, I’ll remind you – sent his magic sight high enough to disclose the curvature of the horizon, clearly demonstrating the world to be a sphere! It was a fact known by almost every sailor and fisherman who’d ever seen a sail appear upon the horizon before the rest of the ship since the beginning of time!’ His voice rose to a near shout.

Seeing Tully was stung by the reference to ancient church canon long since abandoned, Kulgan softened his tone. ‘No disrespect to you, Tully. But don’t try to teach an old thief to steal. I know your order chops logic with the best of them, and that half your brother clerics fall into laughing fits when they hear those deadly serious young acolytes debate theological issues set aside a century ago. Besides which, isn’t the legend of the lost art an Ishapian dogma?’

Now it was Tully’s turn to fix Kulgan with a disapproving eye. With a tone of amused exasperation, he said, ‘Your education in religion is still lacking, Kulgan, despite a somewhat unforgiving insight into the inner workings of my order.’ He smiled a little. ‘You’re right about the moot gospel courts, though. Most of us find them so amusing because we remember how painfully grim we were about them when we were acolytes.’ Then turning serious, he said, ‘But I am serious when I say your education is lacking. The Ishapians have some strange beliefs, it’s true, and they are an insular group, but they are also the oldest order known and are recognized as the senior church in questions pertaining to interdenominational differences.’

‘Religious wars, you mean,’ said Kulgan with an amused snort.

Tully ignored the comment. ‘The Ishapians are caretakers for the oldest lore and history in the Kingdom, and they have the most extensive library in the Kingdom. I have visited the library at their temple in Krondor, and it is most impressive.’

Kulgan smiled and with a slight tone of condescension said, ‘As have I, Tully, and I have browsed the shelves at the Abbey of Sarth, which is ten times as large. What’s the point?’

Leaning forward, Tully said, ‘The point is this: say what you will about the Ishapians, but when they put forth something as history, not lore, they can usually produce ancient tomes to support their claims.’

‘No,’ said Kulgan, waving aside Tully’s comments with a dismissive wave. ‘I do not make light of your beliefs, or any other man’s, but I cannot accept this nonsense about lost arts. I might be willing to believe Pug could be somehow more attuned to some aspect of magic I’m ignorant of, perhaps something involving spirit conjuration or illusion – areas I will happily admit I know little about – but I cannot accept that he will never learn to master his craft because the long-vanished god of magic died during the Chaos Wars! No, that there is unknown lore, I accept. There are too many shortcomings in our craft even to begin to think our understanding of magic is remotely complete. But if Pug can’t learn magic, it is only because I have failed as a teacher.’

Tully now glared at Kulgan, suddenly aware the magician was not pondering Pug’s possible shortcomings but his own. ‘Now you are being foolish. You are a gifted man, and were I to have been the one to discover Pug’s talent, I could not imagine a better teacher to place him with than yourself. But there can be no failing if you do not know what he needs to be taught.’ Kulgan began to sputter an objection, but Tully cut him off. ‘No, let me continue. What we lack is understanding. You seem to forget there have been others like Pug, wild talents who could not master their gifts, others who failed as priests and magicians.’

Kulgan puffed on his pipe, his brow knitted in concentration. Suddenly he began to chuckle, then laugh. Tully looked sharply at the magician. Kulgan waved offhandedly with his pipe. ‘I was just struck by the thought that should a swineherd fail to teach his son the family calling, he could blame it upon the demise of the gods of pigs.’

Tully’s eyes went wide at the near-blasphemous thought, then he too laughed, a short bark. ‘That’s one for the moot gospel courts!’ Both men laughed a long, tension-releasing laugh at that. Tully sighed and stood up. ‘Still, do not close your mind entirely to what I’ve said, Kulgan. It may be Pug is one of those wild talents. And you may have to reconcile yourself for letting him go.’

Kulgan shook his head sadly at the thought. ‘I refuse to believe there is any simple explanation for those other failures, Tully. Or for Pug’s difficulties, as well. The fault was in each man or woman, not in the nature of the universe. I have often felt where we fail with Pug is in understanding how to reach him. Perhaps I would be well advised to seek another master for him, place him with one better able to harness his abilities.’

Tully sighed. ‘I have spoken my mind of this question, Kulgan. Other than what I’ve said, I cannot advise you. Still, as they say, a poor master’s better than no master at all. How would the boy have fared if no one had chosen to teach him?’

Kulgan bolted upright from his seat. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said, how would the boy have fared if no one had chosen to teach him?’

Kulgan’s eyes seemed to lose focus as he stared into space. He began puffing furiously upon his pipe. After watching for a moment, Tully said, ‘What is it, Kulgan?’

Kulgan said, ‘I’m not sure, Tully, but you may have given me an idea.’

‘What sort of idea?’

Kulgan waved off the question. ‘I’m not entirely sure. Give me time to ponder. But consider your question, and ask yourself this: how did the first magicians learn to use their power?’

Tully sat back down, and both men began to consider the question in silence. Through the window they could hear the sound of boys at play, filling the courtyard of the keep.

Every Sixthday, the boys and girls who worked in the castle were allowed to spend the afternoon as they saw fit. The boys, apprentice age and younger, were a loud and boisterous lot. The girls worked in the service of the ladies of the castle, cleaning and sewing, as well as helping in the kitchen. They all gave a full week’s work, dawn to dusk and more, each day, but – on the sixth day of the week they gathered in the courtyard of the castle, near the Princess’s garden. Most of the boys played a rough game of tag, involving the capture of a ball of leather, stuffed hard with rags, by one side, amid shoves and shouts, kicks and occasional fistfights. All wore their oldest clothes, for rips, bloodstains, and mudstains were common.

The girls would sit along the low wall by the Princess’s garden, occupying themselves with gossip about the ladies of the Duke’s court. They nearly always put on their best skirts and blouses, and their hair shone from washing and brushing. Both groups made a great display of ignoring each other, and both were equally unconvincing.

Pug ran to where the game was in progress. As was usual, Tomas was in the thick of the fray, sandy hair flying like a banner, shouting and laughing above the noise. Amid elbows and kicks he sounded savagely joyous, as if the incidental pain made the contest all the more worthwhile. He ran through the pack, kicking the ball high in the air, trying to avoid the feet of those who sought to trip him. No one was quite sure how the game had come into existence, or exactly what the rules were, but the boys played with battlefield intensity, as their fathers had years before.

Pug ran onto the field and placed a foot before Rulf just as he was about to hit Tomas from behind. Rulf went down in a tangle of bodies, and Tomas broke free. He ran toward the goal and, dropping the ball in front of himself, kicked it into a large overturned barrel, scoring for his side. While other boys yelled in celebration, Rulf leaped to his feet and pushed aside another boy to place himself directly in front of Pug. Glaring out from under thick brows, he spat at Pug, ‘Try that again and I’ll break your legs, sand squint!’ The sand squint was a bird of notoriously foul habits – not the least of which was leaving eggs in other birds’ nests so that its offspring were raised by other birds. Pug was not about to let any insult of Rulf’s pass unchallenged. With the frustrations of the last few months only a little below the surface, Pug was feeling particularly thin-skinned this day.

With a leap he flew at Rulf’s head, throwing his left arm around the stockier boy’s neck. He drove his right fist into Rulf’s face and could feel Rulf’s nose squash under the first blow. Quickly both boys were rolling on the ground. Rulf’s greater weight began to tell, and soon he sat astride Pug’s chest, driving his fat fists into the smaller boy’s face.

Tomas stood by helpless, for as much as he wanted to aid his friend, the boys’ code of honor was as strict and inviolate as any noble’s. Should he intervene on his friend’s behalf, Pug would never live down the shame. Tomas jumped up and down, urging Pug on, grimacing each time Pug was struck, as if he felt the blows himself.

Pug tried to squirm out from under the larger boy, causing many of his blows to slip by, striking dirt instead of Pug’s face. Enough of them were hitting the mark, however, so that Pug soon began to feel a queer detachment from the whole procedure. He thought it strange that everybody sounded so far away, and that Rulf’s blows seemed not to hurt. His vision was beginning to fill with red and yellow colors, when he felt the weight lifted from his chest.

After a brief moment things came into focus, and Pug saw Prince Arutha standing over him, his hand firmly grasping Rulf’s collar. While not as powerful a figure as his brother or father, the Prince was still able to hold Rulf high enough so that the stableboy’s toes barely touched the ground. The Prince smiled, but without humor. ‘I think the boy has had enough,’ he said quietly, eyes glaring. ‘Don’t you agree?’ His cold tone made it clear he wasn’t asking for an opinion. Blood still ran down Rulf’s face from Pug’s initial blow as he choked out a sound the Prince took to mean agreement. Arutha let go of Rulf’s collar, and the stableboy fell backward, to the laughter of the onlookers. The Prince reached down and helped Pug to his feet.

Holding the wobbly boy steady, Arutha said, ‘I admire your courage, youngster, but we can’t have the wits beaten out of the Duchy’s finest young magician, can we?’ His tone was only slightly mocking, and Pug was too numb to do more than stand and stare at the younger son of the Duke. The Prince gave him a slight smile and handed him over to Tomas, who had come up next to Pug, a wet cloth in hand.

Pug came out of his fog as Tomas scrubbed his face with the cloth, and felt even worse when he saw the Princess and Roland standing only a few feet away as Prince Arutha returned to their side. To take a beating before the girls of the keep was bad enough; to be punished by a lout like Rulf in front of the Princess was a catastrophe.

Emitting a groan that had little to do with his physical state, Pug tried to look as much like someone else as he could. Tomas grabbed him roughly. ‘Try not to squirm around so much. You’re not all that bad off. Most of this blood is Rulf’s anyway. By tomorrow his nose will look like an angry red cabbage.’

‘So will my head.’

‘Nothing so bad. A black eye, perhaps two, with a swollen cheek thrown in to the bargain. On the whole, you did rather well, but next time you want to tangle with Rulf, wait until you’ve put on a little more size, will you?’ Pug watched as the Prince led his sister away from the site of battle. Roland gave him a wide grin, and Pug wished himself dead.

Pug and Tomas walked out of the kitchen, dinner plates in hand. It was a warm night, and they preferred the cooling ocean breeze to the heat of the scullery. They sat on the porch, and Pug moved his jaw from side to side, feeling it pop in and out. He experimented with a bite of lamb and put his plate to one side.

Tomas watched him. ‘Can’t eat?’

Pug nodded. ‘Jaw hurts too much.’ He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and chin on his fists. ‘I should have kept my temper. Then I would have done better.’

Tomas spoke from around a mouthful of food. ‘Master Fannon says a soldier must keep a cool head at all times or he’ll lose it.’

Pug sighed. ‘Kulgan said something like that. I have some drills I can do that make me relax. I should have used them.’

Tomas gulped a heroic portion of his meal. ‘Practicing in your room is one thing. Putting that sort of business into use while someone is insulting you to your face is quite another. I would have done the same thing, I suppose.’

‘But you would have won.’

‘Probably. Which is why Rulf would never have come at me.’ His manner showed he wasn’t being boastful, merely stating things as they were. ‘Still, you did all right. Old cabbage nose will think twice before picking on you again, I’m sure, and that’s what the whole thing is about, anyway.’

Pug said, ‘What do you mean?’

Tomas put down his plate and belched. With a satisfied look at the sound of it, he said, ‘With bullies it’s always the same: whether or not you can best them doesn’t matter. What is important is whether or not you’ll stand up to them. Rulf may be big, but he’s a coward under all the bluster. He’ll turn his attention to the younger boys now and push them around a bit. I don’t think he’ll want any part of you again. He doesn’t like the price.’ Tomas gave Pug a broad and warm smile. ‘That first punch you gave him was a beaut. Right square on the beak.’

Pug felt a little better. Tomas eyed Pug’s untouched dinner. ‘You going to eat that?’

Pug looked at his plate. It was fully laden with hot lamb, greens, and potatoes. In spite of the rich smell, Pug felt no appetite. ‘No, you can have it.’

Tomas scooped up the platter and began shoving the food into his mouth. Pug smiled. Tomas had never been known to stint on food.

Pug returned his gaze to the castle wall. ‘I felt like such a fool.’

Tomas stopped eating, with a handful of meat halfway to his mouth. He studied Pug for a moment. ‘You too?’

‘Me too, what?’

Tomas laughed. ‘You’re embarrassed because the Princess saw Rulf give you a thrashing.’

Pug bridled. ‘It wasn’t a thrashing. I gave as well as I got!’

Tomas whooped. ‘There! I knew it. It’s the Princess.’

Pug sat back in resignation. ‘I suppose it is.’

Tomas said nothing, and Pug looked over at him. He was busy finishing off Pug’s dinner. Finally Pug said, ‘And I suppose you don’t like her?’

Tomas shrugged. Between bites he said, ‘Our Lady Carline is pretty enough, but I know my place. I have my eye on someone else, anyway.’

Pug sat up. ‘Who?’ he asked, his curiosity piqued.

‘I’m not saying,’ Tomas said with a sly smile.

Pug laughed. ‘It’s Neala, right?’

Tomas’s jaw dropped. ‘How did you know?’

Pug tried to look mysterious. ‘We magicians have our ways.’

Tomas snorted. ‘Some magician. You’re no more a magician than I am a Knight-Captain of the King’s army. Tell me, how did you know?’

Pug laughed. ‘It’s no mystery. Every time you see her, you puff up in that tabard of yours and preen like a bantam rooster.’

Tomas looked troubled. ‘You don’t think she’s on to me, do you?’

Pug smiled like a well-fed cat. ‘She’s not on to you, I’m sure.’ He paused. ‘If she’s blind, and all the other girls in the keep haven’t pointed it out to her a hundred times already.’

A woebegone look crossed Tomas’s face. ‘What must the girl think?’

Pug said, ‘Who knows what girls think? From everything I can tell, she probably likes it.’

Tomas looked thoughtfully at his plate. ‘Do you ever think about taking a wife?’

Pug blinked like an owl caught in a bright light. ‘I … I never thought about it. I don’t know if magicians marry. I don’t think they do.’

‘Nor soldiers, mostly. But Master Fannon says a soldier who thinks about his family is not thinking about his job.’ Tomas was silent for a minute.

Pug said, ‘It doesn’t seem to hamper Sergeant Gardan or some of the other soldiers.’

Tomas snorted, as if those exceptions merely proved his point. ‘I sometimes try to imagine what it would be like to have a family.’

‘You have a family, stupid. I’m the orphan here.’

‘I mean a wife, rock head.’ Tomas gave Pug his best ‘you’re too stupid to live’ look. ‘And children someday, not a mother and father.’

Pug shrugged. The conversation was turning to provinces that disturbed him. He never thought about these things, being less anxious to grow up than Tomas. He said, ‘I expect we’ll get married and have children if it’s what we’re supposed to do.’

Tomas looked very seriously at Pug, so the younger boy didn’t make light of the subject. ‘I’ve imagined a small room somewhere in the castle, and … I can’t imagine who the girl would be.’ He chewed his food. ‘There’s something wrong with it, I think.’

‘Wrong?’

‘As if there’s something else I’m not understanding … I don’t know.’

Pug said, ‘Well, if you don’t, how am I supposed to?’

Tomas suddenly changed the topic of conversation. ‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’

Pug was taken by surprise. ‘Of course we’re friends. You’re like a brother. Your parents have treated me like their own son. Why would you ask something like that?’

Tomas put down his plate, troubled. ‘I don’t know. It’s just that sometimes I think this will all somehow change. You’re going to be a magician, maybe travel over the world, seeing other magicians in faraway lands. I’m going to be a soldier, bound to follow my lord’s orders. I’ll probably never see more than a little part of the Kingdom, and that only as an escort in the Duke’s personal guard, if I’m lucky.’

Pug became alarmed. He had never seen Tomas so serious about anything. The older boy was always the first to laugh and seemed never to have a worry. ‘I don’t care what you think, Tomas,’ said Pug. ‘Nothing will change. We will be friends no matter what.’

Tomas smiled at that. ‘I hope you’re right.’ He sat back, and the two boys watched the stars over the sea and the lights from the town, framed like a picture by the castle gate.

Pug tried to wash his face the next morning, but found the task too arduous to complete. His left eye was swollen completely shut, his right only half-open. Great bluish lumps decorated his visage, and his jaw popped when he moved it from side to side. Fantus lay on Pug’s pallet, red eyes gleaming as the morning sun poured in through the tower window.

The door to the boy’s room swung open, and Kulgan stepped through, his stout frame covered in a green robe. Pausing to regard the boy for a moment, he sat on the pallet and scratched the drake behind the eye ridges, bringing a pleased rumble from deep within Fantus’s throat. ‘I see you didn’t spend yesterday sitting about idly,’ he said.

‘I had a bit of trouble, sir.’

‘Well, fighting is the province of boys as well as grown men, but I trust that the other boy looks at least as bad. It would be a shame to have had none of the pleasure of giving as well as receiving.’

‘You’re making sport of me.’

‘Only a little, Pug. The truth is that in my own youth I had my share of scraps, but the time for boyish fighting is past. You must put your energies to better use.’

‘I know, Kulgan, but I have been so frustrated lately that when that clod Rulf said what he did about my being an orphan, all the anger came boiling up out of me.’

‘Well, knowing your own part in this is a good sign that you’re becoming a man. Most boys would have tried to justify their actions, by shifting blame or by claiming some moral imperative to fight.’

Pug pulled over the stool and sat down, facing the magician. Kulgan took out his pipe and started to fill it. ‘Pug, I think in your case we may have been going about the matter of your education in the wrong way.’ Searching for a taper to light in the small fire that burned in a night pot and finding none, Kulgan’s face clouded as he concentrated for a minute; then a small flame erupted from the index finger of his right hand. Applying it to the pipe, he soon had the room half-filled with great clouds of white smoke. The flame disappeared with a wave of his hand. ‘A handy skill, if you like the pipe.’

‘I would give anything to be able to do even that much,’ Pug said in disgust.

‘As I was saying, I think that we may have been going about this in the wrong way. Perhaps we should consider a different approach to your education.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Pug, the first magicians long ago had no teachers in the arts of magic. They evolved the skills that we’ve learned today. Some of the old skills, such as smelling the changes in the weather, or the ability to find water with a stick, go back to our earliest beginnings. I have been thinking that for a time I am going to leave you to your own devices. Study what you want in the books that I have. Keep up with your other work, learning the scribe’s arts from Tully, but I will not trouble you with any lessons for a while. I will, of course, answer any question you have. But I think for the time being you need to sort yourself out.’

Crestfallen, Pug asked, ‘Am I beyond help?’

Kulgan smiled reassuringly. ‘Not in the least. There have been cases of magicians having slow starts before. Your apprenticeship is for nine more years, remember. Don’t be put off by the failures of the last few months.

‘By the way, would you care to learn to ride?’

Pug’s mood did a complete turnabout, and he cried, ‘Oh, yes! May I?’

‘The Duke has decided that he would like a boy to ride with the Princess from time to time. His sons have many duties now that they are grown, and he feels you would be a good choice for when they are too busy to accompany her.’

Pug’s head was spinning. Not only was he to learn to ride, a skill limited to the nobility for the most part, but to be in the company of the Princess as well! ‘When do I start?’

‘This very day. Morning chapel is almost done.’ Being Firstday, those inclined went to devotions either in the Keep’s chapel, or in the small temple down in the town. The rest of the day was given to light work, only that needed to put food on the Duke’s table. The boys and girls might get an extra half day on Sixthday, but their elders rested only on Firstday. ‘Go to Horsemaster Algon; he has been instructed by the Duke and will begin your lessons now.’

Without a further word, Pug leaped up and sped for the stables.