Silverthorn.

Riftware Sage.

by Raymond E. Feist.

Our Story So Far . . .

Pug and Tomas, two kitchen boys at Castle Crydee, were caught up in the invasion of their homeland, the Kingdom of the Isles on the world of Midkemia. Four years had pa.s.sed since Pug's capture by soldiers of the Empire of Tsuranuanni. He was working as a slave in a swamp camp on the Tsurani homeworld, Kelewan, with newcomer, Laurie of Try-Sog, a minstrel. After trouble with the camp overseer they were taken by Hokanu, youngest son of the Shinzawai, to his father's estate. Pug and Laurie were ordered to train Kasumi in every aspect of Kingdom culture and language. There Pug also met a slave girl, Katala, with whom he fell in love. The brother of the Lord of the Shinzawai, Kamatsu, was a Great One, a magician of power, beings who were a law unto themselves. One night the Great One, Fumita, learned Pug had been apprenticed as a magician on Midkemia. He claimed Pug for the a.s.sembly, the brotherhood of magicians, and they vanished from the Shinzawai estate.

Back on Midkemia, Tomas had by then grown to a figure of stunning power, made so by his ancient armor, once worn by a Valheru-a Dragon Lord-the legendary first people of Midkemia, masters of all. Little was known about them save they were cruel and powerful and had kept the elves and moredhel as slaves. Aglaranna, her son Calin, and Tathar, her senior advisor, feared Tomas was being consumed by the power of Ashen-Shugar, the ancient Dragon Lord whose armor he wore. They feared an attempted return of Valheru domination. Aglaranna was doubly troubled, for beside fearing Tomas, she was falling in love with him. The Tsurani invaded Elvandar, and were repulsed by Tomas and Dolgan's forces, aided by the mysterious Macros the Black. After the battle, Aglaranna admitted her feeling to Tomas, took him as a lover, and thereby lost her power to command him.

Pug was cleansed of him memory by the teachers of the a.s.sembly and, after four years of training, became a magician. He learned he was a gifted follower of the Greater Path, a magic nonexistent upon Midkemia. Kulgan was a Lesser Path magician, so he had been unable to teach Pug. Pug was given the name Milamber when he became a Great One. His teacher, Shimone, watched as Milamber pa.s.sed the final test, standing upon a thin spire at the height of a storm while having the history of the Empire revealed. There he was steeped in the first duty of a Great One, to serve the Empire. Pug met his first friend in the a.s.sembly, Hochopepa, a shrewd magician who instructed Pug on the pitfalls of Tsurani politics.

By the ninth year of the war, Arutha feared they were losing the struggle, then learned from a captive slave that new troops were arriving from Kelewan. With Martin Longbow, his father's Huntmaster, and Amos Trask, Arutha traveled to Krondor to seek additional aid from Prince Erland. During the journey, Amos discovered Martin's secret, that Martin was Lord Borric's b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Martin made Amos swear never to reveal the secret until he allowed it. In Krondor, Arutha discovered the city under the control of Guy, Duke of Bas-Tyra, an avowed enemy of Lord Borric. Arutha then ran afoul of Jocko Radburn, Guy's henchman and head of the secret police, who chased Arutha, Martin, and Amos into the arms of the Mockers, the thieves of Krondor. There they met Jimmy the Hand, a boy thief, Trevor Hull, a former pirate turned smuggler, and his first mate, Aaron Cook. The Mockers were hiding Princess Anita, who had fled the palace. Jocko Radburn was furiously trying to recapture Anita before Guy du Bas-Tyra returned from a border skirmish with the neighboring Empire of Great Kesh. With the Mockers help, Arutha, his companions, and Anita, fled the city. During a sea chase, Amos lured Radburn's ship onto the rocks and the head of the secret police drowned. Upon returning to Crydee, Arutha learned that Squire Roland had been killed in a skirmish. By then Arutha was in love with Anita, though he would not admit as much to himself, counting her as too young.

Pug, now known as Milamber, returned to the Shinzawai estate to claim Katala, and discovered he was a father. His son, William, had been born during his absence. He also learned that the Shinzawai were involved in a plot with the Emperor to force peace on the High Council, dominated by the Warlord. Laurie and Pug were to guide Kasumi, who had by then mastered the language and custom of the Kingdom, to the King, bearing the Emperor's offer of peace. Pug wished them well, and then took his wife and child to their home.

Tomas underwent a great change, bringing the forces of the Valheru and the human boy into balance, but only after nearly killing Martin Longbow. In a t.i.tanic inner battle, the boy was nearly overcome, but at the end he mastered the raging thing that once was a Dragon Lord, and at last, discovered peace within his soul.

Kasumi and Laurie came through the rift and made their way to Rillanon, where they discovered the King had become thoroughly mad. He accused them of being spies and they fled with the aid of Duke Caldric. The Duke advised them to seek out Lord Borric, for it seemed civil war would surely come. Reaching the camp, Laurie and Kasumi met Lyam, who informed them Borric was close to death from a wound.

Milamber-Pug-attended the Imperial Games, given by the Warlord, to commemorate his smashing victory over Lord Borric. Milamber became enraged at the wanton cruelty, especially the treatment of Midkemian prisoners. In a fit of rage, he destroyed the arena, shaming the Warlord, thereby throwing the politics of the empire into shambles. Milamber then fled with Katala and William back to Midkemia, a Tsurani Great One no longer, once again Pug of Crydee.

Pug returned in time to be at Lord Borric's side when he died. The Duke's last act was to legitimize Martin. The King then arrived, angered by his commanders' inability to end the long war. He led a mad charge against the Tsurani and, against all odds, broke their front, driving them back into the valley where they held their rift machine. The King was mortally wounded, and in a rare lucid moment, named Lyam his heir.

Lyam sent word to the Tsurani he would accept the peace offer Rodric spurned, and the date for the truce talk was set. Macros then went to Elvandar, warning Tomas to expect deception at the peace meeting. Tomas agreed then to bring his warriors, as would the dwarves.

At the peace meeting, Macros created an illusion, bringing chaos and battle where peace was the intent. Macros arrived, for now the need was the greatest. Pug and Macros then destroyed the rift, which stranded four thousand Tsurani under Kasumi's command on Midkemia. Pug surrendered them to Lyam, who granted them all freedom if they swore fealty.

All returned to Rillanon for Lyam's coronation, save Arutha, Pug, and Kulgan, who visited Macros's isle. There they discovered Gathis, a goblin-like servant of the sorceror, who gave them a message. Macros, it appeared, died in the destruction of the rift. He left his vast library to Pug and Kulgan, who plan to start an academy for magicians. Macros explained his treachery by saying that a being known only as the Enemy, a vast and terrible power known to the Tsurani in ancient times, could find Midkemia using the rift. That is why he had forced a situation where the rift had to be destroyed.

All then reached Rillanon, where Arutha discovered the truth about Martin. Being the eldest, Martins birth clouded Lyam's inheritance, but the former Huntmaster renounced any claim to the throne, and Lyam became King. Arutha was made Prince of Krondor, as Anita's father had died. Guy du Bas-Tyra was in hiding and, in his absence, was banished as a traitor. Laurie then made the acquaintance of Princess Carline, who seemed to return his interest.

Lyam, Martin, who became Duke of Crydee, and Arutha left for a tour of the Eastern Realm, while Pug and his family, along with Kulgan traveled to the island of Stardock, to begin the construction of the Academy. For a year, peace reigned in the Kingdom . . .

PROLOGUE - Twilight

The sun dropped behind the peaks.

The last rays of warmth touched the earth and only the rosy afterglow of the day remained. From the east, indigo darkness approached rapidly. The wind cut through the hills like a sharp-edged blade, as if spring were only a faintly remembered dream. Winter's ice still clung to shadow-protected pockets, ice that cracked loudly under the heels of heavy boots. Out of the evening's darkness three figures entered the firelight.

The old witch looked up, her dark eyes widening slightly at the sight of the three. She knew the figure on the left, the broad, mute warrior with the shaved head and single long scalp lock. He had come once before, seeking magic signs for strange rites. Though he was a powerful chieftain, she had sent him away, for his nature was evil, and while issues of good and evil seldom held any significance for the witch, there were limits even for her. Besides, she had little love for any moredhel, especially one who had cut out his own tongue as a sign of devotion to dark powers.

The mute warrior regarded her with the blue eyes unusual for one of his race. He was broader of shoulders than most, even for one of the mountain clans, who tended to be more powerful of arm and shoulder than their forest-dwelling cousins. The mute wore golden circle rings in his large, upswept ears, painful to affix, as the moredhel had no lobes. Upon each cheek were three scars, mystic symbols whose meaning was not lost upon the witch.

The mute made a sign to his companions, and the one to the far right seemed to nod. It was difficult to judge, for he was clothed in an all-concealing robe, with a deep hood revealing no features. Both hands were hidden in voluminous sleeves that were kept together. As if speaking from a great distance, the cloaked figure said, "We seek a reading of signs." His voice was sibilant, almost a hiss, and there was a note of something alien in it. One hand appeared and the witch pulled away, for it was misshapen and scaled, as if the owner possessed talons covered with snakeskin. She then knew the creature for what it was: a priest of the Pantathian serpent people. Compared to the serpent people, the moredhel were held in high regard by the witch.

She turned her attention from the end figures and studied the one in the center. He stood a full head taller than the mute and was even more impressive in bulk. He slowly removed a bearskin robe, the bear's skull providing a helm for his own head, and cast it aside. The old witch gasped, for he was the most striking moredhel she had seen in her long life. He wore the heavy trousers, vest, and knee-high boots of the hill clans, and his chest was bare. His powerfully muscled body gleamed in the firelight, and he leaned forward to study the witch. His face was almost frightening in its near-perfect beauty. But what had caused her to gasp, more than his awesome appearance, was the sign upon his chest. "Do you know me?" he asked the witch. She nodded. "I know who you appear to be." He leaned even farther forward, until his face was lit from below by the fire, revealing something in his nature. "I am who I appear to be," he whispered with a smile. She felt fear, for behind his handsome features, behind the benign smile, she saw the visage of evil, evil so pure it defied endurance. "We seek a reading of signs," he repeated, his voice the sound of ice-clear madness.

She chuckled. "Even one so mighty has limits?" The handsome moredhel's smile slowly vanished. "One may not foretell one's own future."

Resigned to her own likely lot, she said, "I require silver." The moredhel nodded. The mute dug a coin from out of his belt pouch and tossed it upon the floor before the witch Without touching it, she prepared some ingredients in a stone cup When the concoction was ready, she poured it upon the silver. A hissing came, both from the coin and from the serpent man. A green-scaled claw began to make signs, and the witch snapped, "None of that nonsense, snake. Your hot-land magic will only cant my reading."

The serpent man was restrained by a gentle touch and smile from the center figure, who nodded at the witch.

In croaking tones, her throat dry with fear, the witch said, "Say you then truly: What would you know?" She studied the hissing silver coin, covered now in bubbling green slime.

"Is it time? Shall I do now that which was ordained?"

A bright green flame sprang from the coin and danced. The witch followed its movement closely, her eyes seeing something within the flame none but she could divine. After a while she said, "The Bloodstones form the Cross of Fire. That which you are, you are. That which you are born to do . . . do!" The last word was a half-gasp.

Something in the witch's expression was unexpected, for the moredhel said, "What else, crone?"

"You stand not unopposed, for there is one who is your bane. You stand not alone, for behind you . . . I do not understand." Her voice was weak, faint.

"What?" The moredhel showed no smile this time.

"Something . . . something vast, something distant, something evil."

The moredhel paused to consider; turning to the serpent man, he spoke softly yet commandingly. "Go then, Cathos. Employ your arcane skills and discover where this seat of weakness lies. Give a name to our enemy. Find him."

The serpent man bowed awkwardly and shambled out of the cave. The moredhel turned to his mute companion and said, "Raise the standards, my general, and gather the loyal clans upon the plains of Isbandia, beneath the towers of Sar-Sargoth. Raise highest that standard I have chosen for my own, and let all know we begin that which was ordained. You shall be my battlemaster, Murad, and all shall know you stand highest among my servants. Glory and greatness now await.

"Then, when the mad snake has identified our quarry, lead forth the Black Slayers. Let those whose souls are mine serve us by seeking out our enemy. Find him! Destroy him! Go!"

The mute nodded once and left the cave. The moredhel with the sign on his chest faced the witch. "Then, human refuse, do you know what dark powers move?"

"Aye, messenger of destruction, I know. By the Dark Lady, I know."

He laughed, a cold humorless sound. "I wear the sign," he said, pointing to the purple birthmark upon his chest, which seemed to glow angrily in the firelight. It was clear that his was no simple disfigurement but some sort of magic talisman, for it formed a perfect silhouette of a dragon in flight. He raised his finger, pointing upward. "I have the power." He made a circular motion with his upraised finger. "I am the foreordained. I am destiny."

The witch nodded, knowing death raced to embrace her. She suddenly mouthed a complex incantation, her hands moving furiously through the air. A gathering of power manifested itself in the cave and a strange keening filled the night. The warrior before her simply shook his head. She cast a spell at him, one that should have withered him where he stood. He remained, grinning at her evilly. "You seek to test me with your puny arts, seer?"

Seeing no effect, she slowly closed her eyes and sat erect, awaiting her fate. The moredhel pointed his finger at her and a silver shaft of light came forth, striking the witch. She shrieked in agony, then exploded into white-hot fire. For an instant her dark form writhed within the inferno, then the flames vanished.

The moredhel cast a quick glance at the ashes upon the floor, forming the outline of a body. With a deep laugh he gathered up his robe and left the cave.

Outside, his companions waited, holding his horse. Far below he could see the camp of his band, still small but destined to grow. He mounted and said, "To Sar-Sargoth!" With a jerk on the reins he spun his horse and led the mute and the serpent priest down the hillside.

ONE - Reunion

The ship sped home.

The wind changed quarter and the captain's voice rang out; aloft, his crew scrambled to answer the demands of a freshening breeze and a captain anxious to get safely to port. He was a seasoned sailingmaster, nearly thirty years in the King's navy, and seventeen years commanding his own ship. And the Royal Eagle Royal Eagle was the best ship in the King's fleet, but still the captain wished for just a little more wind, just a little more speed, since he would not rest until his pa.s.sengers were safely ash.o.r.e. was the best ship in the King's fleet, but still the captain wished for just a little more wind, just a little more speed, since he would not rest until his pa.s.sengers were safely ash.o.r.e.

Standing upon the foredeck were the reasons for the captain's concern, three tall men. Two, one blond and one dark, were standing at the rail, sharing a joke, for they both laughed. Each stood a full four inches over six feet, and each carried himself with the sure step of a fighting man or hunter. Lyam, King of the Kingdom of the Isles, and Martin, his elder brother and Duke of Crydee, spoke of many things, of hunting and feasting, of travel and politics, of war and discord, and occasionally they spoke of their father, Duke Borric.

The third man, not as tall or as broad of shoulder as the other two, leaned against the rail a short way off, lost in his own thoughts. Arutha, Prince of Krondor and youngest of the three brothers, also dwelt upon the past, but his vision was not of the father killed during the war with the Tsurani, in what was now being called the Riftwar. Instead he watched the bow wake of the ship as it sliced through emerald-green waters, and in that green he saw two sparkling green eyes.

The captain cast a glance aloft, then ordered the sails trimmed. Again he took note of the three men upon the foredeck and again he gave a silent prayer to Kilian, G.o.ddess of Sailors, and wished Rillanon's tall spires were in sight. For those three were the three most powerful and important men in the Kingdom, and the sailingmaster refused to think of the chaos that would befall the Kingdom should any ill chance visit his ship.

Arutha vaguely heard the captain's shouts and the replies of his mates and crew. He was fatigued by the events of the last year, so he paid little attention to what was occurring about him. He could keep his thoughts only upon one thing: he was returning to Rillanon, and to Anita.

Arutha smiled to himself. His life had seemed unremarkable for the first eighteen years. Then the Tsurani invasion had come and the world had been forever changed. He had come to be counted one of the finest commanders in the Kingdom, had discovered an unsuspected eldest brother in Martin, and had seen a thousand horrors and miracles. But the most miraculous thing that had happened to Arutha had been Anita.

They had been parted after Lyam's coronation. For nearly a year Lyam had been displaying the royal banner to both eastern lords and neighboring kings, and now they were returning home.

Lyam's voice cut through Arutha's reverie. "What see you in the wave's sparkle, little brother?"

Martin smiled as Arutha looked up, and the former Huntmaster of Crydee, once called Martin Longbow, nodded toward his youngest brother. "I wager a year's taxes he sees a pair of green eyes and a pert smile in the waves."

Lyam said, "No wager, Martin. Since we departed Rillanon I've had three messages from Anita on some matter or other of state business. All conspire to keep her in Rillanon while her mother returned to their estates a month after my coronation. Arutha, by rough estimate, has averaged better than two messages a week from her the entire time. One might draw a conclusion or two from that."

"I'd be more anxious to return if I had someone of her mettle waiting for me," agreed Martin.

Arutha was a private person, ill-humored when it came to revealing deep feelings, and he was doubly sensitive to any question involving Anita. He was impossibly in love with the slender young woman, intoxicated with the way she moved, the way she sounded, the way she looked at him. And while these were possibly the only two men on all Midkemia to whom he felt close enough to share his feelings, he had never, even as a boy, shown good grace when he felt he was the b.u.t.t of a jest.

As Arutha's expression darkened, Lyam said, "Put away your black looks, little storm cloud. Not only am I your King, I'm still your older brother and I can box your ears if the need arises."

The use of the pet name their mother had given him and the improbable image of the King boxing the ears of the Prince of Krondor made Arutha smile slightly. He was silent a moment, then said, "I worry I misread her in this. Her letters, while warm, are formal and at times distant. And there are many young courtiers in your palace."

Martin said, "From the moment we escaped from Krondor, your fate was sealed, Arutha. She's had you in her bow mark from the first, like a hunter drawing down on a deer. Even before we reached Crydee, when we were hiding out, she'd look at you in a certain way. No, she's waiting for you, have no doubt."

"Besides," added Lyam, "you've told her how you feel."

"Well, not in so many words. But I have stated my fondest affection."

Lyam and Martin exchanged glances. "Arutha," said Lyam, "you write with all the pa.s.sion of a scribe doing year-end tax tallies."

All three laughed. The months of travel had allowed a redefinition of their relationship. Martin had been both tutor and friend to the other two as boys, teaching hunting and woodcraft. But he had also been a commoner, though as Huntmaster he stood as a highly placed member of Duke Borric's staff. With the revelation that he was their father's b.a.s.t.a.r.d, an elder half brother, all three had pa.s.sed through a time of adjustment. Since then they had endured the false camaraderie of those seeking advantage, the hollow promises of friendship and loyalty from those seeking gain, and during this time they had discovered something more. In the others, each had found two men who could be trusted, who could be confided in, who understood what this sudden rise to pre-eminence meant, and who shared the pressures of newly inflicted responsibilities. In the other two, each had found friends.

Arutha shook his head, laughing at himself. "I guess I have known from the first as well, though I had doubts. She's so young."

Lyam said, "About our mother's age when she wed Father, you mean?"

Arutha fixed Lyam with a skeptical look. "Do you have an answer for everything?"

Martin clapped Lyam on the back. "Of course," he said. Then softly he added, "That's why he's the King." As Lyam turned a mock frown upon Martin, the eldest brother continued. "So when we return, ask her to wed, dear brother. Then we can wake old Father Tully from before his fireplace and we can all be off to Krondor and have a merry wedding. And I can stop all this b.l.o.o.d.y travel and return to Crydee."

A voice from above cried out, "Land ho!"

"Where away?" shouted the captain.

"Dead ahead."

Gazing into the distance, Martin's practiced hunter's eye was the first to perceive the distant sh.o.r.es. Quietly he placed his hands upon his brothers' shoulders. After a time all three could see the distant outline of tall towers against an azure sky.

Softly Arutha said, "Rillanon."

The light tapping of footfalls and the rustle of a full skirt held above hurrying feet accompanied the sight of a slender figure marching purposefully down a long hallway. The lovely features of the lady rightly acknowledged the reigning beauty of the court were set in an expression of less than pleasant aspect. The guards posted along the hall stood face front, but eyes followed her pa.s.sage. More than one guard considered the likely target of the lady's well-known temper and smiled inwardly. The singer was in for a rude awakening, literally.

In a most unladylike fashion, Princess Carline, sister to the King, swept past a startled servant who tried to jump aside and bow to her at the same time, a feat that landed him on his backside as Carline vanished into the guest wing of the palace.

Coming to a door, she paused. Patting her loose dark hair into place, she raised her hand to knock, then halted. Her blue eyes narrowed as she became irritated by the thought of waiting for the door to open, so she simply pushed it open without announcing herself.

The chamber was dark, as the night curtains were still drawn. The large bed was occupied by a large lump beneath the blankets that groaned as Carline slammed the door behind her. Picking her way across the clothing-strewn floor, she yanked aside the curtains, admitting the brilliant mid-morning light. Another groan emitted from the lump a a head with two red-rimmed eyes peeked out over the bedcovers. "Carline," came the dry croak, "are you trying to wither me to death?"

Coming to stand over the bed, she snapped, "If you hadn't been carousing all night, and had been to breakfast as expected, you might have heard that my brothers' ship had been sighted. They'll be at the dock within two hours."

Laurie of Tyr-Sog, troubadour, traveler, former hero of the Riftwar, and lately court minstrel and constant companion to the Princess, sat up, rubbing at tired eyes. "I was not carousing. The Earl of Dolth insisted on hearing every song in my repertoire, I sang until near dawn." He blinked and smiled up at Carline. Scratching at his neatly trimmed blond beard, he said, "The man has inexhaustible endurance, but also excellent taste in music."

Carline sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over, and kissed him briefly. She deftly disengaged herself from arms that sought to entangle her. Holding him at bay with her hand upon his chest, she said, "Listen, you amorous nightingale, Lyam, Martin, and Arutha will be here soon, and the minute Lyam holds court and gets all the formalities done with, I'm talking to him about our marriage."

Laurie looked around as if seeking a corner in which to disappear. Over the last year their relationship had developed in depth and pa.s.sion, but Laurie had a near-reflexive avoidance of the topic of marriage. "Now, Carline-" he began.

"Now, Carline," indeed!" she interrupted with a jab of her finger into his bare chest. "You buffoon, I've had eastern princes, sons of half the dukes in the Kingdom, and who knows how many others simply begging for permission to pay court to me. And I've always ignored them. And for what? So some witless musician can trifle with my affections? Well, we shall have an accounting."

Laurie grinned, pushing his tousled blond hair back. He sat up and, before she could move, kissed her deeply. When he pulled away, he said, "Carline, love of my being, please. We've covered this ground. "

Her eyes, which had been half-closed during the kiss, instantly widened. "Oh! We've covered this ground before?" she said, infuriated. "We will be married. That is final." She stood up to avoid his embrace again. "It has become the scandal of the court, the Princess and her minstrel lover. It's not even an original tale. I am becoming a laughingstock. d.a.m.n it all, Laurie, I'm nearly twenty-six. Most women my age are eight, nine years married. Would you have me die a spinster?"

"Never that, my love," he answered, still amused. Besides the fact of her beauty, and the slim chance of anyone's calling her an old maid, she was ten years his junior and he regarded her as young, a perception constantly furthered by her outbursts of childish temper. He sat up fully and spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness as he stifled his mirth. "I am what I am, darling, no more or less. I've been here longer than I've been anywhere when I was a free man. I'll admit, though, this is a far more pleasant captivity than the last." He was speaking of the years he had been a slave on Kelewan, the Tsurani homeworld. "But you'll never know when I'll want to roam once more." He could see her temper rising as he spoke, and was forced to admit to himself that he was often what brought out the worst in her nature. He rapidly changed tack. "Besides, I don't know if I'd make a good . . . whatever the husband of the King's sister is called."

"Well, you'd better get used to it. Now get up and get dressed."

Laurie grabbed the trousers she tossed to him and quickly put them on. When he was finished dressing he stood before her and put his arms around her waist. "Since the day we met I have been your adoring subject, Carline. I have never loved, nor will I love, anyone as I love you, but-"

"I know. I have had months of the same excuses." She jabbed him in the chest again. "You've always been a traveler," she mocked. "You've always been free. You don't know how you would fare being tied to one spot-though I've noticed you've managed to endure settling down here in the King's palace."