The Riftwar Legacy: The Complete 4-Book Collection. Raymond E. Feist

easily if I don’t have something to occupy myself with, and Laurie said that Gabot had wanted someone up here who knew about magic to advise him about these Dark Brother Spellweavers, so I came up and have been working with the Baron for the last year or so.’

      ‘What have you discovered about the moredhel Spellweavers?’ asked James.

      ‘Got some notes back at Northwarden. A lot of little things. Not much that makes sense, at least as I understand magic. I wish I knew more about the elves out in the west, then I might have a better idea about what I’ve learned. When we get back to the castle, I’ll show you what I’ve come up with. But right now,’ he said, pointing ahead, ‘I think we have a problem.’

      James slowed down as they approached two bands of warriors, humans on one side and a mix of humans and moredhel on the other. They were involved in a heated exchange and by the time James and his companions reached them, they appeared to be on the verge of open conflict.

      ‘I don’t care what he says,’ exclaimed the apparent spokesman for the human-only faction. ‘Kroldech isn’t fit to command fleas attacking a dog.’

      ‘You’re bound by oath! You took gold, human!’ retorted a moredhel war chieftain. ‘You’ll go where you’re ordered, or you’ll be branded traitor.’

      ‘I signed on with Moraeulf! I took his gold. Where is he?’

      ‘Moraeulf serves his father, Delekhan, as we all do. Moraeulf is in the west, because his father wills it. If Delekhan places Kroldech at our head, then that is who we’re following.’

      James appeared uninterested as they rode by, but he listened to every word.

      When they were a short distance past, Locklear said, ‘Dissent in the ranks.’

      ‘Pity,’ said James, dryly.

      James reined in.

      ‘What is it?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘Look at that catapult.’

      Locklear looked at the war engine. ‘What about it?’

      ‘Does something about it strike you as funny?’

      ‘Not particularly,’ said Locklear.

      Patrus laughed. ‘You’ll never make general, boy. If you were to move that thing, what would you do first?’

      Locklear said, ‘Well, I’d unload it –’ Suddenly Locklear’s eyes widened. ‘It’s loaded?’

      ‘That’s what your sharp-eyed friend was trying to make you see,’ said Patrus. ‘Not only is it loaded, it’s pointed the wrong way.’

      ‘And unless I’m mistaken, that rather large rock in the basket end of the arm is sighted to land right over there on that inn.’ James moved his horse’s head around and started riding toward the inn in question.

      ‘Is this a good idea?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘Probably not,’ replied James.

      As they approached the inn, a pair of moredhel warriors walked toward them. ‘Where do you go, human?’ asked one.

      ‘Is that headquarters?’ asked James.

      ‘It is where Kroldech holds camp.’

      ‘Is Shupik in there with him?’

      ‘I know of no one named Shupik inside,’ replied the guard.

      ‘I guess he’s not here yet,’ said James, turning his horse off toward the centre of town.

      They rode away and James said, ‘Someone really doesn’t like the idea of Kroldech being in command.’

      ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘Locky, my best friend, let’s you, Patrus, and I go and see if we can sow a little dissent.’

      Patrus chuckled his evil laugh as they approached another inn. Locklear and James dismounted, tied their horses to a line before the inn, and went inside with the old magician.

      

      Pug sat wearily at his study table, in the small apartment set aside by Arutha for those times when he and Katala visited from Stardock. His eyes grew unfocused as he tried to read yet another report from one of Arutha’s patrols, regarding an encounter with moredhel near Yabon.

      He had spent hours sifting through reports, rumours and accounts from soldiers, spies and bystanders regarding the Six, Delekhan’s mysterious magical advisors. The time he had spent with Owyn Belefote discussing his encounter with Nago, and what was before him now convinced Pug of an unsettling possibility.

      He stood up and crossed to stand before a window that looked out over the harbour and the Bitter Sea beyond. Whitecaps danced on the sea as cold north winds cut down the coast. In the late-afternoon light, he could see ships racing for the harbour, attempting to reach safe haven before the storm arrived in full fury.

      At times like these, Pug wished he had spent more time studying what was commonly known as the Lesser Path. Weather magic was an intrinsic part of that canon. His mind wrestled with a concept, one that he had been formulating for years, since he had returned to Midkemia as the first practitioner of the Great Path, as the Tsurani called their magic. Sometimes he felt as if he was peeling an onion, where every layer revealed only showed another layer below, made all the harder to perceive by the tears in his eyes. Then it hit Pug, it’s always an onion.

      He laughed. ‘There is no magic. There are only onions!’

      He knew he was too tired to continue, yet he returned to the table. He had come to one frightening conclusion, a possibility he really didn’t want to accept, but it was the only answer. Somewhere along the way, the moredhel had encountered and recruited a new ally.

      A soft gong sound caused Pug to look up. The sound was a signal sent by a Tsurani Great One prior to arriving at the domicile of another, but he had not heard such a tone since leaving Kelewan, nine years earlier. He had no pattern here, so how his visitor had located him was a mystery.

      The air before him shimmered for a brief instant, then Makala was standing before him. ‘Greetings, Milamber,’ said the Tsurani magician. ‘Forgive the presumption of calling unannounced, but I felt it was time for us to come to an understanding.’

      Pug said, ‘How did you manage to arrive here without a pattern?’

      Makala said, ‘You are not the only member of the Assembly –’

      ‘Former member,’ said Pug. Despite the fact of his rank and powers being returned to him after the Riftwar, he had never returned to assume a position among the other members of the Assembly of Great Ones on the Island of Magicians on Kelewan.

      ‘As you wish. Former member of the Assembly. You are not alone in your ability to progress beyond what many consider to be the conventional limits of our arts. I find that one can move at will to a location or person without the constraints of a pattern.’

      ‘A useful ability,’ said Pug. ‘I would like to learn how to do it some day.’

      ‘Perhaps some day you will,’ said Makala. ‘But I came here on another matter.’

      Pug indicated a seat. The Tsurani magician declined. ‘I will not be here long. I came to give you warning.’

      Pug was silent. He waited and after a moment Makala continued. ‘I and some of our brethren are involved in an undertaking that will not tolerate your interference, Milamber.’

      ‘Pug,’ he corrected. ‘On this world I am Pug.’

      ‘To me you will always be Milamber, the barbarian Great One who came to our world and sowed destruction among us.’

      Pug sighed. He had thought that particular debate was a decade behind him. ‘You’re not here to revisit the past, Makala. What are you doing and what warning are you trying to convey?’