Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

lot. I was content to let my mind go void, to simply be in harmony with the rhythms of the sea.

      ‘Angry gods at last took note of my peace, and chose then to inflict the second of my curses. A day, a month, mere moments, I do not know how long passed, for time had become meaningless to one dwelling blind in the depths of the sea, but suddenly the waters receded and I was again in the light and air! Fire rained down from above, and majestic clouds of flame and ash tore across the heavens as war on a scale unimagined by mortals raged across the land. Engines of destruction vast beyond my imagining, making my proud fleet seem like mere toys, cruised the skies, delivering obliteration to all below.

      ‘Mortals in armour unlike any seen before hurried across broken lands with lances of red light and fire-belching engines on treads, destroying all before them.

      ‘Then hordes of demons appeared, sweeping mortals away as a scythe shears grain, and answering them was a host of angels, swords aflame, horns sounding notes so pure that I was reduced to weeping at the first note.

      ‘This world was torn asunder and oceans vanished as energies hotter than a star burned across the lands. And yet I abided.’

      He fell silent for a moment, and to the four travellers it was unclear if he was merely organizing his thoughts or experiencing some emotion at the memory of this unbelievable narrative.

      ‘So, in sum, my second curse was to watch any shred of a thing I might have loved destroyed in the war between gods and men.’ His voice softened. ‘A war I began. Ages passed and my third curse was made apparent.’

      ‘What is that?’ asked Nakor.

      ‘Upon this world remain scattered remnants of nations, which I gathered.’ He pointed to the assembled bits and scraps he had cobbled together to make a shelter. A bit of something served as a chair; there was also an ancient-looking table. Shreds of fabric had been woven together into a quilt. Pepan himself wore a simple breechclout that was revealed when he finally stood up.

      ‘For uncounted days I wandered, gathering what I could find, always to return here.’

      ‘Why here?’ asked Magnus. ‘There must be more hospitable places on this world.’

      ‘Not really,’ answered Pepan. ‘And this is where the gods left me. This is where I am to abide. I no longer rebel but I do question.’ Raising his eyes to the sky, he shouted, ‘I was a sinner, All Father! I admit my transgressions, All Mother! I sinned most of my days!’ His voice broke. ‘But not every day. I lived but a few score years, yet I have paid for my sins for an eternity.’ With a sob, he whispered, ‘Enough, please.’

      Just as Pug and the others were verging on sympathy for the abject creature, Pepan erupted in a howl of rage. ‘And my third curse, most hateful of all, making me the gatekeeper!’

      ‘Gatekeeper?’ asked Nakor.

      ‘See you then, mortal, that the ultimate jest piled upon me by the gods is that when those who wander this destroyed world, or who fall here from some other realm, when at last they find their way here, I am obliged to help them on their way. I cannot, even out of lonely spite, keep them here to mitigate my endless sorrow through pleasant discourse, nor may I exchange tales of lives spent in other realms, but rather I must endure solitude.

      ‘For upon your arrival, I began to feel pain, and with each passing minute the pain increases. It will not cease until I send you on your way, returning to my isolation. I may not end the suffering by my own hand or the hand of another,’ he sobbed. ‘Alone on this world I am immortal and indestructible.’

      ‘Why endure the pain?’ asked Magnus. ‘Why tell us your tale? Why not just hurry us along?’

      ‘The pain is a price worth paying to interrupt my loneliness,’ Pepan said, weeping openly. ‘Now it must end.’

      He waved his hands in precise pattern and a vortex appeared in the air. It was obviously an opening of some sort, but as they readied themselves to leap through it, Pepan held up his hand. ‘Wait!’

      ‘What?’ asked Pug.

      Pepan closed his eyes, tears now streaming down his cheeks. ‘Each of you must follow a different path.’

      ‘We must split up?’ asked Miranda, obviously not happy with the idea.

      ‘Apparently,’ said Pug. ‘If someone laid a trap for the four of us, then it’s literally set for the four of us.’

      ‘It waits for all of us,’ said Nakor. ‘Yes!’ His expression turned gleeful. ‘You do not spring a trap on soldiers when only the scout is there: you wait for all of them to gather.’

      Pepan’s expression now contorted into one of abject pain. He waved a hand and the size and colour of the vortex changed, growing smaller and tinged with orange energy. ‘You!’ he said, pointing at Nakor.

      Without a word, Nakor leapt into the vortex.

      Again Pepan waved his hand and the colour of the vortex changed to a faint, shimmering blue. ‘You,’ he said, pointing at Miranda.

      She glanced at Pug and Magnus, hesitating for a brief moment, then with a quick nod she leaped into the swirling air and vanished.

      Again the colour changed, this time to a brilliant white, and Pepan pointed at Magnus. Without hesitation, Pug’s son jumped into the magic portal.

      One more wave and Pepan said, ‘I am to tell you one thing, magician.’

      ‘What?’ asked Pug. He watched the vortex turn dark until it became a black maw.

      ‘This is the beginning of the end. You will meet your companions again, but only at the most dire moment, when you must all be ready to sacrifice everything to save everything.’

      ‘I’m not sure—’

      ‘Go!’ commanded the wretched creature, and Pug obeyed.

      He ran and jumped, crouching as he entered a cone of darkness.

      • CHAPTER TWO •

      Confrontation

      SHIPS DOTTED THE HORIZON.

      Hal stood on the battlements of the royal palace at Rillanon, at its heart still a castle, but one which had not seen conflict for centuries. This portion of the ancient rampart, a large, flat rooftop of thick stonework, had once supported war engines defending outer walls long torn down to expand the royal demesne. A fortification that once hosted massive ballista had been converted to a garden, one lush with flowers as summer faded. The stone merlons had been replaced in centuries past with a stone balustrade cleverly carved to be both strong and graceful. Yet the footing beneath Hal’s boots felt as solid as the palisades of Crydee Castle had. And given the forces gathering below, he wished those long-gone outer walls were once again in place here in Rillanon, with ballistas and trebuchets instead of fading blooms.

      He let out a slow breath. It was hard to find ease, despite the rigours of the past few weeks fading into memory as troubles associated with fleeing Roldem with the Princess Stephané had been replaced by troubles on a far grander scale. His personal distress over knowing he would never have the woman he loved had been made to seem a petty concern in the face of the threats now confronting his nation.

      Yet he was constantly haunted by her memory, along with his friend Ty Hawkins, who had spirited her away from her home and brought her safely to the Kingdom. All of it seemed unreal at times, yet other times it was vivid. Every detail of Stephané was etched in his memory: the grace of her movement, the laughter as she found delight in small things, her worry for those she loved. He struggled to let go, even though he knew that to wallow was to prolong the pain.

      He glanced around, and saw his brother Martin was looking his way. Martin inclined his head: a wordless gesture asking if he was all right. Hal returned a slight nod. Their brother Brendan, standing beside Martin, had his attention fixed on the ships in the harbour. Hal turned his attention that way as well.