Magician. Raymond E. Feist

was traditional, they stood with their backs to the boys, waiting upon the Duke.

      The large oaken doors of the keep began to swing out ponderously, and several guards in the Duke’s brown and gold darted through to take up their positions on the steps. Upon each tabard was emblazoned the golden gull of Crydee, and above that a small golden crown, marking the Duke a member of the royal family.

      The herald shouted, ‘Hearken to me! His Grace, Borric conDoin, third Duke of Crydee, Prince of the Kingdom; Lord of Crydee, Carse, and Tulan; Warden of the West; Knight-General of the King’s Armies; heir presumptive to the throne of Rillanon.’ The Duke stood patiently while the list of offices was completed, then stepped forward into the sunlight.

      Past fifty, the Duke of Crydee still moved with the fluid grace and powerful step of a born warrior. Except for the grey at the temples of his dark brown hair, he looked younger than his age by twenty years. He was dressed from neck to boot in black, as he had been for the last seven years, for he still mourned the loss of his beloved wife, Catherine. At his side hung a black-scabbarded sword with a silver hilt, and upon his hand his ducal signet ring, the only ornamentation he permitted himself.

      The herald raised his voice. ‘Their Royal Highnesses, the Princes Lyam conDoin and Arutha conDoin, heirs to the House of Crydee; Knight-Captains of the King’s Army of the West; Princes of the royal house of Rillanon.’

      Both sons stepped forward to stand behind their father. The two young men were six and four years older than the apprentices, the Duke having wed late, but the difference between the awkward candidates for apprenticeship and the sons of the Duke was much more than a few years in age. Both Princes appeared calm and self-possessed.

      Lyam, the older, stood on his father’s right, a blond, powerfully built man. His open smile was the image of his mother’s, and he looked always on the verge of laughter. He was dressed in a bright blue tunic and yellow leggings and wore a closely trimmed beard, as blond as his shoulder-length hair.

      Arutha was to shadows and night as Lyam was to light and day. He stood nearly as tall as his brother and father, but while they were powerfully built, he was rangy to the point of gauntness. He wore a brown tunic and russet leggings. His hair was dark and his face clean-shaven. Everything about Arutha gave one the feeling of quickness. His strength was in his speed: speed with the rapier, speed with wit. His humor was dry and often sharp. While Lyam was openly loved by the Duke’s subjects, Arutha was respected and admired for his ability, but not regarded with warmth by the people.

      Together the two sons seemed to capture most of the complex nature of their sire, for the Duke was capable of both Lyam’s robust humor and Arutha’s dark moods. They were nearly opposites in temperament, but both capable men who would benefit the Duchy and Kingdom in years to come. The Duke loved both his sons.

      The herald again spoke. ‘The Princess Carline, daughter of the royal house.’

      The slim and graceful girl who made her entrance was the same age as the boys who stood below, but already beginning to show the poise and grace of one born to rule and the beauty of her late mother. Her soft yellow gown contrasted strikingly with her nearly black hair. Her eyes were Lyam’s blue, as their mother’s had been, and Lyam beamed when his sister took their father’s arm. Even Arutha ventured one of his rare half smiles, for his sister was dear to him also.

      Many boys in the keep harbored a secret love for the Princess, a fact she often turned to her advantage when there was mischief afoot. But even her presence could not drive the day’s business from their minds.

      The Duke’s court then entered. Pug and Tomas could see that all the members of the Duke’s staff were present, including Kulgan. Pug had glimpsed him in the castle from time to time since the night of the storm, and they had exchanged words once, Kulgan inquiring as to his well-being, but mostly the magician was absent from sight. Pug was a little surprised to see the magician, for he was not properly considered a full member of the Duke’s household, but rather a sometime adviser. Most of the time Kulgan was ensconced in his tower, hidden from view as he did whatever magicians do in such places.

      The magician was deep in conversation with Father Tully, a priest of Astalon the Builder and one of the Duke’s oldest aides. Tully had been adviser to the Duke’s father and had seemed old then. He now appeared ancient – at least to Pug’s youthful perspective – but his eyes betrayed no sign of senility. Many a keep boy had been impaled upon the pointed gaze of those clear grey eyes. His wit and tongue were equally youthful, and more than once a keep boy had wished for a session with Horsemaster Algon’s leather strap rather than a tongue-lashing from Father Tully. The white-haired priest could nearly strip the skin from a miscreant’s back with his caustic words.

      Nearby stood one who had experienced Tully’s wrath upon occasion, Squire Roland, son of Baron Tolburt of Tulan, one of the Duke’s vassals. He was companion to both Princes, being the only other boy of noble birth in the keep. His father had sent him to Crydee the year before, to learn something of the management of the Duchy and the ways of the Duke’s court. In the rather rough frontier court Roland discovered a home away from home. He was already something of a rogue when he arrived, but his infectious sense of humor and ready wit often eased much of the anger that resulted from his prankish ways. It was Roland, more often than not, who was Princess Carline’s accomplice in whatever mischief she was embarked upon. With light brown hair and blue eyes, Roland stood tall for his age. He was a year older than the gathered boys and had played often with them over the last year, as Lyam and Arutha were frequently busy with court duties. Tomas and he had been boyish rivals at first, then fast friends, with Pug becoming his friend by default, because where Tomas was, Pug was certain to be nearby. Roland saw Pug fidgeting near the edge of the assembled boys and gave him a slight nod and wink. Pug grinned briefly, for while he was as often the butt of Roland’s jokes as any other, he still found himself liking the wild young Squire.

      After all his court was in attendance, the Duke spoke. ‘Yesterday was the last day of the eleventh year of the reign of our Lord King, Rodric the Fourth. Today is the Festival of Banapis. The following day will find these boys gathered here counted among the men of Crydee, boys no longer, but apprentices and freemen. At this time it is proper for me to inquire if any among you wishes to be released from service to the Duchy. Are there any among you who so wish?’ The question was formal in nature and no response was expected, for few ever wished to leave Crydee. But one boy did step forward.

      The herald asked, ‘Who seeks release of his service?’

      The boy looked down, clearly nervous. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘I am Robert, son of Hugen.’ Pug knew him, but not well. He was a netmender’s son, a town boy, and they rarely mixed with the keep boys. Pug had played with him upon a few occasions and had a sense the lad was well regarded. It was a rare thing to refuse service, and Pug was as curious as any to hear the reasons.

      The Duke spoke kindly. ‘What is your purpose, Robert, son of Hugen?’

      ‘Your grace, my father is unable to take me into his craft, for my four brothers are well able to ascend to the craft as journeymen and masters after him, as are many other netmender’s sons. My eldest brother is now married and has a son of his own, so my family no longer has room for me in the house. If I may not stay with my family and practice my father’s craft, I beg your grace’s leave to take service as a sailor.’

      The Duke considered the matter. Robert was not the first village boy to be called by the lure of the sea. ‘Have you found a master willing to take you into his company?’

      ‘Yes, Your Grace. Captain Gregson, master of the ship Green Deep from Margrave’s Port is willing.’

      ‘I know this man,’ said the Duke. Smiling slightly he said, ‘He is a good and fair man. I recommend you into his service and wish you well in your travels. You will be welcomed at Crydee whenever you return with your ship.’

      Robert bowed, a little stiffly, and left the courtyard, his part in the Choosing done. Pug wondered at Robert’s adventuresome choice. In less than a minute the boy had renounced his ties with his family and home and was now a citizen of a city he had never seen. It was custom that a sailor was