Magician. Raymond E. Feist

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 thank 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