The Complete Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon

The man’s head came up, and he fixed Fannon with a narrow gaze. Martin’s mouth fell open. ‘By Kilian! I think he understands what you said.’

Fannon stood directly before Tchakachakalla. ‘Do you understand me?’

‘Little, master.’ His accent was thick, and he spoke with a slow singsong tone alien to the King’s Tongue. ‘Many Kingdom slaves on Kelewan. Know little King’s Tongue.’

Fannon said, ‘Why didn’t you speak before?’

Again without any show of emotion, he answered, ‘Not ordered. Slave obey. Not . . .’ He turned to Tully and spoke a few words.

Tully said, ‘He says it isn’t a slave’s place to show initiative.’

Arutha said, ‘Tully, do you think he can be trusted?’

‘I don’t know. His story is strange, but they are a strange people by our standards. My mind contact with the dying soldier showed me much I still don’t understand.’ Tully spoke to the man.

To Arutha the Tsurani said, ‘Tchakachakalla tell.’ Fighting for words, he said, ‘I Wedewayo. My house, family. My clan Hunzan. Old, much honor. Now slave. No house, no clan, no Tsuranuanni. No honor. Slave obey.’

Arutha said, ‘I think I understand. If you go back to the Tsurani, what would happen to you?’

Tchakachakalla said, ‘Be slave, maybe. Be killed, maybe. All same.’

‘And if you stay here?’

‘Be slave, be killed?’ He shrugged, showing little concern.

Arutha said, slowly, ‘We keep no slaves. What would you do if we set you free?’

A flicker of some emotion passed over the slave’s face, and he turned to Tully and spoke rapidly. Tully translated. ‘He says such a thing is not possible on his world. He asks if you can do such a thing.’

Arutha nodded. Tchakachakalla pointed to his companions. ‘They work. They always slaves.’

‘And you?’ said Arutha.

Tchakachakalla looked hard at the Prince and spoke to Tully, never taking his eyes from Arutha. Tully said, ‘He’s recounting his lineage. He says he is Tchakachakalla, Strike Leader of the Wedewayo, of the Hunzan Clan. His father was a Force Leader, and his great-grandfather Warchief of the Hunzan Clan. He has fought honorably, and only once has he failed in his duty. Now he is only a slave, with no family, no clan, no nation, and no honor. He asks if you mean to give him back his honor.’

Arutha said, ‘If the Tsurani come, what will you do?’

Tchakachakalla indicated his companions. ‘These men slaves. Tsurani come, they do nothing. Wait. Go with . . .’ He and Tully exchanged brief remarks and Tully supplied him with the word he wished. ‘. . . victors. They go with victors.’ He looked at Arutha, and his eyes came alive. ‘You make Tchakachakalla free. Tchakachakalla be your man, lord. Your honor is Tchakachakalla’s honor. Give life if you say. Fight Tsurani if you say.’

Fannon spoke. ‘Likely story that. More’s the odds he’s a spy.’

The barrel-chested Tsurani looked hard at Fannon, then with a sudden motion stepped before the Swordmaster, and before anyone could react, pulled Fannon’s knife from his belt.

Longbow had his own knife out an instant later, as Arutha’s sword was clearing its scabbard. Roland and the other soldiers were only a moment behind. The Tsurani made no threatening gesture, but simply flipped the knife, reversing it and handing it to Fannon hilt first. ‘Master think Tchakachakalla enemy? Master kill. Give warrior’s death, return honor.’

Arutha returned his sword to his scabbard and took the knife from Tchakachakalla’s hand. Returning the knife to Fannon, he said, ‘No, we will not kill you.’ To Tully he said, ‘I think this man may prove useful. For now, my inclination is to believe him.’

Fannon looked less than pleased. ‘He may be a very clever spy, but you’re right. There’s no harm if we keep a close watch on him. Father Tully, why don’t you take these men to soldiers’ commons and see what you can learn from them. I’ll be along shortly.’

Tully spoke to the three slaves and indicated they should follow. The two timid slaves moved at once, but Tchakachakalla bent his knee before Arutha. He spoke rapidly in the Tsurani tongue; Tully translated. ‘He’s just demanded you either kill him or make him your man. He asked how a man can be free with no house, clan, or honor. On his world such men are called grey warriors and have no honor.’

Arutha said, ‘Our ways are not your ways. Here a man can be free with no family or clan and still have honor.’

Tchakachakalla bent his head slightly while listening, then nodded. He rose and said, ‘Tchakachakalla understand.’ Then with a grin he added, ‘Soon, I be your man. Good lord need good warrior. Tchakachakalla good warrior.’

‘Tully, take them along, and find out how much Tchak . . . Tchakal . . .’ Arutha laughed. ‘I can’t pronounce that mouthful.’ To the slave he said, ‘If you’re to serve here, you need a Kingdom name.’

The slave looked about and then gave a curt nod.

Longbow said, ‘Call him Charles. It’s as close a name as I can imagine.’

Arutha said, ‘As good a name as any. From now on, you will be called Charles.’

The newly named slave said, ‘Tcharles?’ He shrugged and nodded. Without another word he fell in beside Father Tully, who led the slaves toward the soldiers’ commons.

Roland said, ‘What do you make of that?’ as the three slaves vanished around the corner.

Fannon said, ‘Time will tell if we’ve been duped.’

Longbow laughed. ‘I’ll keep an eye on Charles, Swordmaster. He’s a tough little fellow. He traveled at a good pace when we brought them in. Maybe I’ll turn him into a tracker.’

Arutha interrupted. ‘It will be some time before I’ll be comfortable letting him outside the castle walls.’

Fannon let the matter drop. To Longbow he said, ‘Where did you find them?’

‘To the north, along the Clearbrook branch of the river. We were following the signs of a large party of warriors heading for the coast.’

Fannon considered this. ‘Gardan leads another patrol near there. Perhaps he’ll catch sight of them and we’ll find out what the bastards are up to this year.’ Without another word he walked back toward the keep.

Martin laughed; Arutha was surprised to hear him. ‘What in this strikes you as funny, Huntmaster?’

Martin shook his head. ‘A little thing, Highness. It’s the Swordmaster himself. He’ll not speak of it to anyone, but I wager he would give all he owns to have your father back in command. He’s a good soldier, but he dislikes the responsibility.’

Arutha regarded the retreating back of the Swordmaster, then said, ‘I think you are right, Martin.’ His voice carried a thoughtful note. ‘I have been at odds with Fannon so much of late, I lost sight of the fact he never requested this commission.’

Lowering his voice, Martin said, ‘A suggestion, Arutha.’

Arutha nodded. Martin pointed to Fannon. ‘Should anything happen to Fannon, name another Swordmaster quickly; do not wait for your father’s consent. For if you wait, Algon will assume command, and he is a fool.’

Arutha stiffened at the Huntmaster’s presumption, while Roland tried to silence Martin with a warning look. Arutha coldly said, ‘I thought you a friend of the Horsemaster.’

Martin smiled, his eyes hinting at strange humor. ‘Aye, I am, as are all in the castle. But anyone you ask will tell you the same: take his horses away, and Algon is an indifferent thinker.’

Nettled by Martin’s manner, Arutha said, ‘And who should take his place? The Huntmaster?’

Martin laughed, a sound of such open, clear amusement at the thought, Arutha found himself less angry at his suggestion.

‘I?’ said the Huntmaster. ‘Heaven forfend, Highness. I am a simple hunter, no more. No, should the need come, name Gardan. He is by far the most able soldier in Crydee.’

Arutha knew Martin was correct, but gave in to impatience. ‘Enough. Fannon is well, and I trust will remain so.’

Martin nodded. ‘May the gods preserve him . . . and us all. Please excuse me, it was but a passing concern. Now, with Your Highness’s leave, I’ve not had a hot meal in a week.’

Arutha indicated he could leave, and Martin walked away toward the kitchen. Roland said, ‘He is wrong on one account, Arutha.’

Arutha stood with his arms folded across his chest, watching Longbow as he vanished around the corner. ‘What is that, Roland?’

‘That man is much more than the simple hunter he pretends.’

Arutha was silent for a moment. ‘He is. Something about Martin Longbow has always made me uneasy, though I have never found fault with him.’

Roland laughed, and Arutha said, ‘Now something strikes you as funny, Roland?’

Roland shrugged. ‘Only that many think you and he are much alike.’

Arutha turned a black gaze upon Roland, who shook his head. ‘It’s often said we take offense most in what we see of ourselves in others. It’s true, Arutha. You both have that same cutting edge to your humor, almost mocking, and neither of you suffers foolishness.’ Roland’s voice became serious. ‘There’s no mystery to it, I should think. You’re a great deal like your father, and with Martin having no family, it follows he would pattern himself after the Duke.’

Arutha became thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you’re right. But something else troubles me about that man.’ He left the thought unfinished and turned toward the keep.

Roland fell into step beside the thoughtful Prince and wondered if he had overstepped himself.

The night thundered. Ragged bolts of lightning shattered the darkness as clouds rolled in from the west. Roland stood on the southern tower watching the display. Since dinner his mood had been as dark as the western sky. The day had not gone well. First he had felt troubled by his conversation with Arutha by the gate. Then Carline had treated him at dinner with the same stony silence he had endured since their meeting on this very tower two weeks earlier. Carline had seemed more subdued than usual, but Roland felt a stab of anger at himself each time he chanced a glance in her direction. Roland could still see the pain in the Princess’s eyes. ‘What a witless fool I am,’ he said aloud.

‘Not a fool, Roland.’

Carline was standing a few paces away, looking toward the coming storm. She clutched a shawl around her shoulders, though the air was temperate. The thunder had masked her footfalls, and Roland said, ‘It is a poor night to be upon the tower, my lady.’

She came to stand beside him and said, ‘Will it rain? These hot nights bring thunder and lightning, but usually little rain.’

‘It will rain. Where are your ladies?’

She indicated the tower door. ‘Upon the stairs. They fear the lightning, and besides, I wished to speak with you alone.’

Roland said nothing, and Carline remained silent for a time. The night was sundered with violent displays of energy tearing across the heavens, followed by cracking booms of thunder. ‘When I was young,’ she said at last, ‘Father used to say on nights such as this the gods were sporting in the sky.’

Roland looked at her face, illuminated by the single lantern hanging on the wall. ‘My father told me they made war.’

She smiled. ‘Roland, you spoke rightly on the day Lyam left. I have been lost in my own grief, unable to see the truth. Pug would have been the first to tell me that nothing is forever. That living in the past is foolish and robs us of the future.’ She lowered her head a little. ‘Perhaps it has something to do with Father. When Mother died, he never fully recovered. I was very young, but I can still remember how he was. He used to laugh a great deal before she died. He was more like Lyam then. After . . . well, he became more like Arutha. He’d laugh, but there’d be a hard edge to it, a bitterness.’

‘As if somehow mocking?’

She nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, mocking. Why did you say that?’

‘Something I noticed . . . something I pointed out to your brother today. About Martin Longbow.’

She sighed. ‘Yes, I understand. Longbow is also like that.’

Softly Roland said, ‘Nevertheless, you did not come to speak of your brother or Martin.’

‘No, I came to tell you how sorry I am for the way I’ve acted. I’ve been angry with you for two weeks, but I’d no right. You only said what was true. I’ve treated you badly.’

Roland was surprised. ‘You’ve not treated me badly, Carline. I acted the boor.’

‘No, you have done nothing but be a friend to me, Roland. You told me the truth, not what I wanted to hear. It must have been hard . . . considering how you feel.’ She looked out at the approaching storm. ‘When I first heard of Pug’s capture, I thought the world ended.’

Trying to be understanding, Roland quoted, ‘“The first love is the difficult love.”’

Carline smiled at the aphorism. ‘That is what they say. And with you?’

Roland mustered a carefree stance. ‘So it seems, Princess.’

She placed her hand upon his arm. ‘Neither of us is free to feel other than as we do, Roland.’

His smile became sadder. ‘That is the truth, Carline.’

‘Will you always be my good friend?’

There was a genuine note of concern in her voice that touched the young Squire. She was trying to put matters right between them, but without the guile she’d used when younger. Her honest attempt turned aside any frustration he felt at her not returning his affections fully. ‘I will, Carline. I’ll always be your good friend.’

She came into his arms and he held her close, her head against his chest. Softly she said, ‘Father Tully says that some loves come unbidden like winds from the sea, and others grow from the seeds of friendship.’

‘I will hope for such a harvest, Carline. But should it not come, still I will remain your good friend.’

They stood quietly together for a time, comforting each other for different causes, but sharing a tenderness each had been denied for two years. Each of them was lost in the comfort of the other’s nearness, and neither saw what the lightning flashes revealed for brief instants. On the horizon, beating for the harbor, came a ship.

The winds whipped the banners on the palisades of the castle walls as rain began to fall. As water gathered in small pools, the lanterns cast yellow reflections upward off the puddles to give an otherworldly look to the two men standing on the wall.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sea, and a soldier said, ‘There! Highness, did you see? Three points south of the Guardian Rocks.’ He extended his arm, pointing the way.

Arutha peered into the gloom, his brow furrowed in concentration. ‘I can see nothing in this darkness. It’s blacker than a Guis-wan priest’s soul out there.’ The soldier absently made a protective sign at the mention of the killer god. ‘Any signal from the beacon tower?’

‘None, Highness. Not by beacon, nor by messenger.’

Another flash of lightning illuminated the night, and Arutha saw the ship outlined in the distance. He swore. ‘It will need the beacon at Longpoint to reach the harbor safely.’ Without another word, he ran down the stairs leading to the courtyard. Near the gate he instructed a soldier to get his horse and two riders to accompany him. As he stood there waiting, the rain passed, leaving the night with a clean but warm, moist feeling. A few minutes later, Fannon appeared from the direction of the soldiers’ commons. ‘What’s this? Riding?’

Arutha said, ‘A ship makes for the harbor, and there is no beacon at Longpoint.’

As a groom brought Arutha’s horse, followed by two mounted soldiers, Fannon said, ‘You’d best be off, then. And tell those stone-crowned layabouts at the lighthouse I’ll have words for them when they finish duty.’

Arutha had expected an argument from Fannon and felt relieved there would be none. He mounted and the gates were opened. They rode through and headed down the road toward town.

The brief rain had made the night rich with fresh odors: the flowers along the road, and the scent of salt from the sea, soon masked by the acrid odor of burned wood from the charred remnants of gutted buildings as they neared town.

They sped past the quiet town, taking the road along the harbor. A pair of guards stationed by the quayside hastily saluted when they saw the Prince fly past. The shuttered buildings near the docks bore mute testimony to those who had fled after the raid.

They left the town and rode out to the lighthouse, following a bend in the road. Beyond the town they gained their first glimpse of the lighthouse, upon a natural island of rock joined to the mainland by a long causeway of stone, topped by a compacted dirt road. The horses’ hooves beat a dull tattoo upon the dirt as they approached the tall tower. A lightning flash lit up the sky, and the three riders could see the ship running under full sail toward the harbor.

Shouting to the others, Arutha said, ‘They’ll pile upon the rocks without a beacon.’

One of the guards shouted back, ‘Look, Highness. Someone signals!’

They reined in and saw figures near the base of the tower. A man dressed in black stood swinging a shuttered lantern back and forth. It could be clearly seen by those on the ship, but not by anyone upon the castle walls. In the dim light, Arutha saw the still forms of Crydee soldiers lying on the ground. Four men, also attired in black with head coverings that masked their faces, ran toward the horsemen. Three drew long swords from back scabbards, while the fourth aimed a bow. The soldier to Arutha’s right cried out as an arrow struck him in the chest. Arutha charged his horse among the three who closed, knocking over two while his sword slashed out, taking the third across the face. The man fell without a sound.

The Prince wheeled around and saw his other companion also engaged, hacking downward at the bowman. More men in black dashed from within the tower, rushing forward silently.

Arutha’s horse screamed. He could see an arrow protruding from its neck. As it collapsed beneath him, he freed his feet from the stirrups and lifted his left leg over the dying animal’s neck, jumping free as it struck the ground. He hit and rolled, coming to his feet before a short figure in black with a long sword held high overhead with both hands. The long blade flashed down, and Arutha jumped to his left, thrusting with his own sword. He took the man in the chest, then yanked his sword free. Like the others before, the man in black fell without uttering a cry.

Another flash of lightning showed men rushing toward Arutha from the tower. Arutha turned to order the remaining rider back to warn the castle, but the shouted command died aborning when he saw the man pulled from his saddle by swarming figures in black. Arutha dodged a blow from the first man to reach him and ran past three startled figures. He smashed at the face of a fourth man with his sword hilt, trying to knock the man aside. His only thought was to open a pathway so he might flee to warn the castle. The struck man reeled back, and Arutha attempted to jump past him. The falling man reached out with one hand, catching Arutha’s leg as he sprang.

Arutha struck hard stone and felt hands frantically grab at his right foot. He kicked backward with his left and took the man in the throat with his boot. The sound of the man’s windpipe being crushed was followed by a convulsion of movement.

Arutha came to his feet as another attacker reached him, others only a step behind. Arutha sprang backward, trying to gain some distance. His boot heel caught on a rock, and suddenly the world tilted crazily. He found himself suspended in space for an instant, then his shoulders met rock as he bounced down the side of the causeway. He hit several more rocks, and icy water closed over him.

The shock of the water kept him from passing into unconsciousness. Dazed, he reflexively held his breath, but had little wind. Without thinking, he pushed upward and broke the surface with a loud, ragged gasp. Still groggy, he nevertheless possessed enough wits to duck below the surface when arrows struck the water near him. He couldn’t see a thing in the murky darkness of the harbor, but clung to the rocks, pulling himself along more than swimming. He moved back toward the tower end of the causeway, hoping the raiders would think him headed in the other direction.

He quietly surfaced and blinked the salt water from his eyes. Peering around the shelter of a large rock, he saw black figures searching the darkness of the water. Arutha moved quietly, nestling himself into the rocks. Bruised muscles and joints made him wince as he moved, but nothing seemed broken.

Another flash of lightning lit the harbor. Arutha could see the ship speeding safely into Crydee harbor. It was a trader, but rigged for speed and outfitted for war. Whoever piloted the ship was a mad genius, for he cleared the rocks by a scant margin, heading straight for the quayside around the bend of the causeway. Arutha could see men in the rigging, frantically reefing in sails. Upon the deck a company of black-clad warriors stood with weapons ready.

Arutha turned his attention to the men on the causeway and saw one motion silently to the others. They ran off in the direction of the town. Ignoring the pain in his body, Arutha pulled himself up, negotiating the slippery rocks to regain the dirt road of the causeway. Staggering a bit, he came to his feet and looked off toward the town. There was still no sign of trouble, but he knew it would erupt shortly.

Arutha half staggered, half ran to the lighthouse tower and forced himself to climb the stairs. Twice he came close to blacking out, but he reached the top of the tower. He saw the lookout lying dead near the signal fire. The oil-soaked wood was protected from the elements by a hood that hung suspended over it. The cold wind blew through the open windows on all sides of the building.

Arutha found the dead sentry’s pouch and removed flint, steel, and tinder. He opened the small door in the side of the metal hood, using his body to shield the wood from the wind. The second spark he fired caught in the wood, and a small flame sprang into existence. It quickly spread, and when it was burning fully, Arutha pulled on the chain hoist that elevated the hood. With an audible whoosh, the flames sprang fully to the ceiling as the wind struck the fire.

Against one wall stood a jar of powder mixed by Kulgan against such an emergency. Arutha fought down dizziness as he bent again to pull the knife from the dead sentry’s belt. He used it to pry the lid off the jar and then tossed the entire contents into the fire.

Instantly the flames turned bright crimson, a warning beacon none could confuse with a normal light. Arutha turned toward the castle, standing away from the window so as not to block the light. Brighter and brighter the flames burned as Arutha found his mind going vague again. For a long moment there was silence in the night, then suddenly an alarm sounded from the castle. Arutha felt relief. The red beacon was the signal for reavers in the harbor, and the castle garrison had been well drilled to meet such raids. Fannon might be cautious with chasing Tsurani raiders into the woods at night, but a pirate ship in his harbor was something he would not hesitate to answer.

Arutha staggered down the stairs, stopping to support himself at the door. His entire body hurt, and he was nearly overcome by dizziness. He drew a deep breath and headed for the town. When he came to where his dead horse lay, he looked about for his sword, then remembered he had carried it with him into the harbor. He stumbled to where one of his riders lay, next to a black-clad bowman. Arutha bent down to pick up the fallen soldier’s sword, nearly blacking out as he stood. He held himself erect for a moment, fearing he might lose consciousness if he moved, and waited as the ringing in his head subsided. He slowly reached up and touched his head. One particularly sore spot, with an angry lump forming, told him he had struck his head hard at least once as he fell down the causeway. His fingers came away sticky with clotting blood.

Arutha began to walk to town, and as he moved, the ringing in his head resumed. For a time he staggered, then he tried to force himself to run, but after only three wobbly strides he resumed his clumsy walk. He hurried as much as he could, rounding the bend in the road to come in sight of town. He heard faint sounds of fighting. In the distance he could see the red light of fires springing heavenward as buildings were put to the torch. Screams of men and women sounded strangely remote and muted to Arutha’s ears.