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Riftwar 1MAGICIANRaymond FeistTo celebrate the tenth anniversary of the firstpublication of his classic fantasy novel Magician, Raymond EFeist has prepared a new, revised edition, to incorporate15,000 words of text omitted from previous editions sothat 'it is essentially the book I would have writtenhad I the skills I possess today'.Raymond E. FiestAt Crydee, a frontier outpost in the tranquil kingdomof the Isles an orphan boy, Pug is apprenticed to a mastermagician. Before long Pug's emerging powers haveproduced two miracles and won him a Duke's favour and aPrincess's heart. But suddenly the peace in Crydeeis shattered as mysterious alien invaders swarm through thekingdom. For Pug and his warrior friend, Tomas,the journey into the unknown has only just begun. Tomaswill inherit a legacy of savage power from an ancientcivilisation. Pug will be thrust into the strangest adventure ofall, and the destinies of two worlds will be changed forever.Epepic scope. fast moving action. vlvld tlon.'Warkifigron PvstgToae ofiatrlgue and sctlon'PVbIisherr WaakZyBIAGICIkNreymond E. Feist was born and raised in Southern California. Hewas nted at the University of California, San Diego, where hegraduated honours in Communication Arts.He is the author of the bestsellingcritically acclaimed Riftwrar Saga (Magician, Silverthorn, and Adarkness at Sethanon), Prince of the Blood, Faery Tale and The King'sbuckaneer, and co-author (with Janny Wurts) of Daughter of the Empire,
Servant of the Empire and Mistress of the Empire.Feist and his wife,Starbuck, live in San Diego, California, where they collectart and vintage wines.BY THE SAmE AUTHORSilverthornA Darkness at SethanonPrince of the BloodFaerie TaleThe King's BuccaneerWITH JANNY WURTSDaughter of the EmpireServant of the Empiremistress of the EmpireMAGIfIAIVThis book is dedicated to the memory of my father,ReIix E. Fiest,in all ways, a magicianACKNOwLEdGMENtSMany people have provided me with incalculable aid in bringingthisnovel into existence. I would like to offer my heartfeltthanks to:The Friday Nighters: April and Stephen Abrams; Steve Barett;DavidBrin, Anita and Jon Everson, Dave Guinasso; Conan LaMotte; TimLeSelle, Ethan Munson, Bob 8otter, Rich Spahl, Alan Springer,andLori and Jeff Velten, for their useful criticism, enthusiasm,suphort,belief, wise counsel, wonderful ideas, and most of all, theirfriendship.Billie and Russ Blake, and Lilian and Mike Fiessier, foralways being willing to help.Harold Matson, my agent, for taking a chance on me.Adrian Zackheim, my editor, for asking rather than demanding,and for working so hard to build a good book.Kate Cronin, assistant to the editor, for having a sense ofhumor and for so gracefully putting up with all my nonsense.Elaine Chubb, copy editor, for having such a gentle touch and forcaring so much about the words.And Barbara A. Feist, my mother, for all of the above andmore.RAYmoND E. FEISTSan Diego, California
,uIy 198ZICLNOWLEIGMENHOHEBE V I S E ll E ll1l1 ONOn this occasion, the publication of the author's preferred edition, Iwould like to add the following names to the preceding list,people who, though not known to me at the time I made the foregoingacknowledgment, proved invaluable aid to me in bringing-Magician to thepublic and contributed materially to my success:Mary Ellen Curley, who took over from Katie and kept us all on course.Peter Schneider, whose enthusiasm for the work gave me a valued allywithin Doubleday and a close friend for the last decade.Lou Aronica, who bought it even when he really didn't want to doreprints, and for giving me the chance to return to my first work and'rewrite it one more time."Pat Lobrutto, who helped before it was his job, and who took over at atough time, and whose friendship endures beyond our business relationship.Janna Silverstein, who despite her short tenure as my editor has shownan uncanny knack for knowing when to leave me alone and when to stayin touch.Nick Austin, John Booth, Jonathan Lloyd, Malcolm Edwards, and everyoneat Granada, now HarperCollins Books, who made the work an internationalbestseller.Abner Stein, my British agent, who sold it to Nick in the firstplace.Janny Wurts, for being my friend, and who, by working with me on theEmpire Trilogy, gave me a completely different perspective on theTsurani, she helped turn The Game of the Council from a vague conceptto a murderously real arena of human conflict. Kelewan andTsuranuanni are as much her inventions as mine. I drew the outlinesand she colored in the details.And Jonathan Matson, who received the torch from a great man's handand continued without faltering, for wise counsel and friendship. Theacorn fell very close to the tree.And most of all, my wife Kathlyn s. Starbuck, who understands my painand joy in this craft because she toils in the same vineyard, and who isalways there even when I don't deserve to have her there, and whomakes things make sense through her love.RAYmoND E. FEISTSan Diego, CaliforniaApril 1991roBrwoBn 1 0 lIEBEVISEI EIXHONIt is with some hesitation and a great deal of trepidation that an authorapproaches the task of revising an earlier edition of fiction. This isespecially true if the book was his first effort, judged successful by moststandards, and continuously in print for a decade.
Magician was all this, and more. In late 1977 I decided to try myhand at writing, part-time, while I was an employee of the University ofCalifornia, San Diego. It is now some fifteen years later, and I havebeen a full-time writer for the last fourteen years, successful in this craftbeyond my wildest dreams. Magician, the first novel in what becameknown as The RiHtwar Saga, was a book that quickly took on a life of itsown. I hesitate to admit this publicly, but the truth is that part of thesuccess of the book was my ignorance of what makes a commerciallysuccessful novel. My willingness to plunge blindly forward into a talespanning two dissimilar worlds, covering twelve years in the lives ofseveral major and dozens of minor characters, breaking numerous rulesof plotting along the way, seemed to find kindred souls among readersthe world over. After a decade in print, my best judgment is that theappeal of the book is based upon its being what was known once as a"ripping yarn." I had little ambition beyond spinning a good story, onethat satisfied my sense of wonder, adventure, and whimsy. Itturned out that several million readers-many of whom read translations in languagesI can't even begin to comprehend-found it one that satisfiedtheir tastes for such a yarn as well.But insofar as it was a first effort, some pressures of the marketplacedid manifest themselves during the creation of the final book. Magicianis by anyone's measure a large book. When the penultimate manuscriptversion sat upon my editor's desk, I was' informed that some fifty thousandwords would have to be cut. And cut I did. Mostly line by line, buta few scenes were either truncated or excised.While I could live out my life with the original manuscript as publishedbeing the only edition ever read, I have always felt that some ofthe material cut added a certain resonance, a counterpoint if you will,to key elements of the tale. The relationships between characters, theadditional details of an alien world, the minor moments ofreflection and mirth that act to balance the more frenetic activity ofconflict and adventure, all these things were "close but not quite what Ihad in mind."In any event, to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the original publicationof Magician, I have been permitted to return to this work, toreconstruct and change, to add and cut as I see fit, to bringforth what isknown in publishing as the "Author's Preferred Edition" of the work.So, with the old admonition, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it,"ringing inmy ears, I return to the first work I undertook, back when I had nopretensions of craft, no stature as a bestsdling author, and basically noidea of what I was doing. My desire is to restore some of those excisedbits, some of the minor detail that I felt added to the heft of thenarrative, as well as the weight of the book. Other material was moredirectly related to the books that follow, setting some of the backgroundfor the mythic underpinning of the Riftwar. The slightly lengthy discussionof lore between Tully and Kulgan in Chapter Three, as well as someof the things revealed to Pug on the Tower of Testing were clearly in thisarea. My editor wasn't sold on the idea of a sequel, then, so some of thiswas cut. Returning it may be self-indulgent, but as this was material Ifelt belonged in the original book, it has been restored.
To those readers who have already discovered Magician, who wonder ifit's in their interests to purchase this edition, I would like to reassurethem that nothing profound has been changed. No characters previouslydead are now alive, no battles lost are now won, and two boys stillfind the same destiny. I ask you to feel no compulsion to read this newvolume, for your memory of the original work is as valid, perhaps moreso, than mine. But if you wish to return to the world of Pug and Tomas,to rediscover old friends and forgotten adventure, then consider thisedition your opportunity to see a bit more than the last time. And tothe new reader, welcome. I trust you'll find this work to your satisfactionIt is with profound gratitude I wish to thank you all, new readers andold acquaintances, for without your support and encouragement, tenyears of "ripping yarns" could not have been possible. If I have theopportunity to provide you with a small part of the pleasure I feel inbeing able to share my fanciful adventures with you, we are equallyrewarded, for by your embracing my works you have allowed me tofashion more. Without you there would have been no Silverthorn, ADarkness at Sethanon, Faerie Tale, and no Empire Trilogy. The letters getread, if not answered-even if they sometimes take months to reach meand the kind remarks, in passing at public appearances, have enrichedme beyond measure. But most of all, you gave me the freedom to' practice a craft that was begun to '"see if I could do it," while working atthe Residence halls of John Muir College at UCSD.So, thank you. I guess I did it." And with this work, I hope you'llagree that this time I did it a little more elegantly, with a little morecolor, weight, and resonance.RAYmOND E. FEISTSan Diago, CaliforniaAugust 1991MAGICIANBooK I1StormtHE STORM hAD BROKEN. Pug danced along the edge of the rocks, his feetfinding scant purchase as he made his way among the tide pools. His darkeyes darted about as he peered into each pool under the cliff face, seekingthe spiny creatures driven into the shallows by the recently passed storm.His boyish muscles bunched under his light shirt as he shifted the sack ofsandcrawlers, rockclaws, and crabs plucked from this water garden. Theafternoon sun sent sparkles through the sea spray swirling around him, asthe west wind blew his sun-streaked brown hair about. Pug set his sackdown, checked to make sure it was securely tied, then squatted on a clearpatch of sand. The sack was not quite full, but Pug relished the extra houror so that he could relax. Megar the cook wouldn't trouble him about thetime as long as the sack was almost full. Resting with his back against alarge rock, Pug was soon dozing in the sun's warmth. A cool wet spray woke
him hours later. He opened his eyes with a start, knowing he had stayedmuch too long. Westward, over the sea, dark thunderheads were forming abovethe black outline of the Six Sisters, the small islands on the horizon. Theroiling, surging clouds, with rain trailing below like some sooty veil,heralded another of the sudden storms common to this part of the coast inearly summer.To the south, the high bluffs of Sailor's Grief reared up against the sky, aswaves crashed against the base of that rocky pinnacle. Whitecaps started toform behind the breakers, a sure sign the storm would quickly strike. Pugknew he was in danger, for the storms of summer could drown anyone on thebeaches, or if severe enough, on the low ground beyond. He picked up hissack and started north, toward the castle. As he moved among the pools, hefelt the coolness in the wind turn to a deeper, wetter cold. The day beganto be broken by a patchwork of shadows as the first clouds passed beforethe sun, bright colors fading to shades of grey. Out to sea, lightningflashed against the blackness of the clouds, and the distant boom ofthunder rode over the noise of the waves. Pug picked up speed when he cameto the first stretch of open beach.The storm was coming in faster than he would have thought possible,driving the rising tide before it. By the time he reached the secondstretch of tide pools, there was barely ten feet of dry sand betweenwater's edge and cliffs. Pug hurried as fast as was safe across the rocks,twice nearly catching his foot. As he reached the next expanse of sand, hemistimed his jump from the last rock and landed poorly. He fell to thesand, grasping his ankle. As if waiting for the mishap, the tide surgedforward, covering him for a moment. He reached out blindly and felt hissack carried away. Frantically grabbing at it, Pug lunged forward, only tohave his ankle fail. He went under, gulping water. He raised his head,sputtering and coughing. He started to stand when a second wave, higherthan the last, hit him in the chest, knocking him backward. Pug had grownup playing in the waves and was an experienced swimmer, but the pain of hisankle and the battering of the waves were bringing him to the edge ofpanic. He fought it off and came up for air as the wave receded. He halfswam, half scrambled toward the cliff face, knowing the water would be onlyinches deep there. Pug reached the cliffs and leaned against them, keepingas much weight off the injured ankle as possible. He inched along the rockwall, while each wave brought the water higher. When Pug finally reached aplace where he could make his way upward, water was swirling at his waist.He had to use all his strength to pull himself up to the path. He laypanting a moment, then started to crawl up the pathway, unwilling to trusthis balky ankle on this rocky footing. The first drops of rain began tofall as he scrambled along, bruising knees and shins on the rocks, until hereached the grassy top of the bluffs. Pug fell forward exhausted, pantingfrom the exertion of the climb. The scattered drops grew into a light butsteady rain.When he had caught his breath, Pug sat up and examined the swollen ankle.It was tender to the touch, but he was reassured when he could move it: itwas not broken. He would have to limp the entire way back, but with the
threat of drowning on the beach behind him, he felt relatively buoyant. Pugwould be a drenched, chilled wretch when he reached the town. He would haveto find a lodging there, for the gates of the castle would be closed forthe night, and with his tender ankle he would not attempt to climb the wallbehind the stables. Besides, should he wait and slip into the keep the nextday, only Megar would have words for him, but if he was caught coming overthe wall, Swordmaster Fannon or Horsemaster Algon would surely have a lotworse in store for him than words. While he rested, the rain took on aninsistent quality and the sky darkened as the late-afternoon sun wascompletely engulfed in storm clouds. His momentary relief was replaced withanger at himself for losing the sack of sandcrawlers. His displeasuredoubled when he considered his folly at falling asleep. Had he remainedawake, he would have made the return trip unhurriedly, would not havesprained his ankle, and would have had time to explore the streambed abovethe bluffs for the smooth stones he prized so dearly for slinging. Nowthere would be no stones, and it would be at least another week before hecould return. If Megar didn't send another boy instead, which was likelynow that he was returning empty-handed. Pug's attention shifted to thediscomfort of sitting in the rain, and he decided it was time to move on.He stood and tested his ankle. It protested such treatment, but he couldget along on it. He limped over the grass to where he had left hisbelongings and picked up his rucksack, staff, and sling. He swore an oathhe had heard soldiers at the keep use when he found the rucksack rippedapart and his bread and cheese missing. Raccoons, or possibly sand lizards,he thought. He tossed the now useless sack aside and wondered at hismisfortune. Taking a deep breath, he leaned on his staff as he startedacross the low rolling hills that divided the bluffs from the road. Standsof small trees were scattered over the landscape, and Pug regretted therewasn't more substantial shelter nearby, for there was none upon the bluffs.He would be no wetter for trudging to town than for staying under a tree.The wind picked up, and Pug felt the first cold bite against his wet back.He shivered and hurried his pace as well as he could. The small treesstarted to bend before the wind, and Pug felt as if a great hand werepushing at his back. Reaching the road, he turned north. He heard the eeriesound of the great forest off to the east, the wind whistlingThrough the branches of the ancient oaks, adding to its already forebodingaspect. The dark glades of the forest were probably no more perilousthan the King's road, but remembered tales of outlaws and other, lesshuman, malefactors stirred the hairs on the boy's neck. Cutting across theKing's road, Pug gained a little shelter in the gully that ran alongsideit. The wind intensified and rain stung his eyes, bringing tears to alreadywet cheeks. A gust caught him, and he stumbled off balance for a moment.Water was gathering in the roadside gully, and he had to step carefully tokeep from losing his footing in unexpectedly deep puddles. For nearly anhour he made his way through the ever growing storm. The road turnednorthwest, bringing him almost full face into the howling wind. Pugleaned into the wind, his shirt whipping out behind him. He swallowed hard,to force down the choking panic rising within him. He knew he was in dangernow, for the storm was gaining in fury far beyond normal for this time ofyear. Great ragged bolts of lightning lit the dark landscape, briefly
outlining the trees and road in harsh, brilliant white and opague black.The dazzling afterimages, black and white reversed, stayed with him for amoment each time, confusing his senses. Enormous thunder peals soundingoverhead felt like physical blows. Now his fear of the storm outweighed hisfear of imagined brigands and goblins. He decided to walk among the treesnear the road; the wind would be lessened somewhat by the boles of theoaks. As Pug closed upon the forest, a crashing sound brought him to ahalt. In the gloom of the storm he could barely make out the form of ablack forest boar as it burst out of the undergrowth. The pig tumbled fromthe brush, lost its footing, then scrambled to its feet a few yards away.Pug could see it clearly as it stood there regarding him, swinging its headfrom side to side. Two large tusks seemed to glow in the dim light as theydripped rainwater. Fear made its eyes wide, and it pawed at the ground.The forest pigs were bad-tempered at best, but normally avoided humans.This one was panic-stricken by the storm, and Pug knew if it charged hecould be badly gored, even killed. Standing stock-still, Pug made ready toswing his staff, but hoped the pig would return to the woods. The boar'shead raised, testing the boys smell on the wind. Its pink eyes seemed toglow as it trembled with indecision. A sound made it turn toward the treesfor a moment, then it dropped its head and charged. Pug swung his staff,bringing it down in a glancing blow to the side of the pig's head, turningit. The pig slid sideways in the muddy footing, hitting Pug in the legs. Hewent down as the pig slipped past. Lying on the ground, Pug saw the boarskitter about as it turned to charge again.the pig was upon him, and Pug had no time to stand. Hethrustt the staff before him in a vain attempt to turn the animal again.The boar dodged the staff and Pug tried to roll away, but a weight fellacross his body. Pug covered his face with his hands, keeping his armsto his chest, expecting to be gored.", After a moment he realized the pig was still. Uncovering his face, hediscovered the pig lying across his lower legs, a black-feathered,clothyard arrow protruding from its side. Pug looked toward the forest. Aman garbed in brown leather was standing near the edge of the trees,carefully wrapping a yeoman's longbow with an oilcloth cover. Once thevaluable weapon was protected from further abuse by the weather, theman crossed to stand over the boy and beast. He was cloaked and hooded, hisface hidden. He knelt next to Pug and shouted over the sound of the wind,"Are you 'right, boy?" as he liffted the dead boar easily from Pug's legs."Bones broken?".'I don't think so," Pug yelled back, takingaccount of himself. His right side smarted, and his legs felt equally bruised.with his ankle still tender, he was feeling ill-used today, but nothingseemed broken or permanently damaged. Large, meaty hands lifted him to hisfeet. "Here," the man commanded, handing him his staff and the bow. Pugtook them while the stranger quickly gutted the boar with a large hunter'sknife. He completed his work and turned to Pug. "Come with me, boy. You hadbest lodge with my master and me. It's not far, but we'd best hurry. Thisstorrn'll get worse afore it's over. Can you walk?" Taking an unsteadystep, Pug nodded. Without a word the man shouldered the pig and took his
bow. "Come," he said, as he turned toward the forest. He set off at a briskpace, which pug had to scramble to match. The forest cut the fury of thestorm so little that conversation was impossible. A lightning flash lit thescene for a moment, and Pug caught a glimpse of the man's face. Pug triedto remember if he had seen the stranger before. He had the look common tothe hunters and foresters that lived in the forest of Crydee:large-shouldered, tall, and solidly built. He had dark hair and beard andthe raw, weather-beaten appearance of one who spends most of his timeoutdoors. For a few fanciful moments the boy wondered if he might be somemember of an outlaw band, hiding in the heart of the forest. He gave up thenotion, for no outlaw would trouble himself with an obviously pennilesskeep boy. Remembering the man had mentioned having a master, Pug suspectedhe was a franklin, one who lived on the estate of a landholder.He would be in the holder's service, but not bound to him as a bondsman.The franklins were freeborn, giving a share of crop or herd inexchange for the use of land. He must be freeborn. No bondsman wouldbe allowed to carry a longbow, for they were much tooValuable-and dangerous. Still, Pug couldn't remember any landholdings inthe forest. It was a mystery to the boy, but the toll of the day's abuseswas quickly driving away any curiosity.AFtER WHAT SEEMED to be hours, the man walked into a thicket of trees. Pugnearly lost him in the darkness, for the sun had set some time before,taking with it what faint light the storm had allowed. He followed the manmore from the sound of his footfalls and an awareness of his presence thanfrom sight. Pug sensed he was on a path through the trees, for hisfootsteps met no resisting brush or detritus. From where they had beenmoments before, the path would be difficult to find in the daylight,impossible at night, unless it was already known. Soon they entered aclearing, in the midst of which sat a small stone cottage. Light shonethrough a single window, and smoke rose from the chimney. They crossed theclearing, and Pug wondered at the storm's relative mildness in this onespot in the forest. Once before the door, the man stood to one side andsaid, "You go in, boy. I must dress the pig." Nodding dumbly, Pug pushedopen the wooden door and stepped in. "Close that door, boy. You'll give mea chill and cause me my death.' Pug jumped to obey, slamming the doorharder than he intended.He turned, taking in the scene before him. The interior of the cottage wasa small single room. Against one wall was the fireplace, with a good- sizehearth before it. A bright, cheery fire burned, casting a warm glow. Nextto the fireplace a table sat, behind which a heavyset, yellow-robed figurerested on a bench. His grey hair and beard nearly covered his entire head,except for a pair of vivid blue eyes that twinkled in the firelight. A longpipe emerged from the beard, producing heroic clouds of pale smokePug knew the man. "Master Kulgan . . . was the Duke'smagician and adviser, a familiar face around the castle keep. Kulganleveled a gaze at Pug, then said in a deep voice, given to rich rollingsounds and powerful tones,"So you know me, then?"
"Yes, sir. From the castle.""What is your name, boy from the keep?""Pug, Master Kulgan.""Now I remember you." The magician absently waved hishand."Do not call me 'Master,' Pug-though I am rightly called a master of myarts,'' he said with a merry crinkling around his eyes. 'I am higher-bornthan you, it is true, but not by much. Come, there is a blanket hanging bythe fire, and you are drenched. Hang your clothes to dry, then sit there."He pointed to a bench opposite him.Pug did as he was bid, keeping an eye on the magician the entiretIme. He was a member of the Duke's court, but still a magician, an objectof suspicion, generally held in low esteem by the common folk. If a lirmerhad a cow calve a monster, or blight strike the crops, villagers were aptto ascribe it to the work of some magician lurking in nearby shadows. Intimes not too far past they would have stoned Kulgan from Crydee as like asnot. His position with the Duke earned him the tolerance of the townsfolknow, but old fears died slowly. After his garments were hung, Pug sat down.He started when he saw a pair of red eyes regarding him from just beyondthe magician's table. A scaled head rose up above the tabletop and studiedthe boy.Kulgan laughed at the boy's discomfort. "Come, boy. Fantus will not hurtyou." He dropped his hand to the head of the creature, who sat next to himon his bench, and rubbed above its eye ridges. It closed its eyes and gaveforth a soft crooning sound, not unlike the purring of a cat. Pug shut hismouth, which had popped open with surprise, thenasked, "Is he truly a dragon, sir?"The magician laughed, a rich, good-natured sound. "Betimes hethinks he is, boy. Fantus is a firedrake, cousin to the dragon,though of smaller stature." The creature opened one eye and fastened it onthe magician. "But of equal heart," Kulgan quickly added, and the drakeclosed his eye again. Kulgan spoke softly, in conspiratorial tones. "He isvery clever, so mind what you say to him. He is a creature of finelyfashioned sensibilities." Pug nodded that he would. "Can he breathe fire?"he asked, eyes wide with wonder. To any boy of thirteen, even a cousin to adragon was worthy of awe. "When the mood suits hih, he can belch out aflame or two, though he seems rarely in the mood. I think it is due to therich diet I supply him with, boy. He has not had to hunt for years, so heis something out of practice in the ways of drakes. In truth, I spoil himshamelessly."Pug found the notion somehow reassuring. If the magician caredEnough to spoil this creature, no matter how outlandish, then he seemedsomehow more human, less mysterious. Pug studied Fantus, admiring how thefire brought golden highlights to his emerald scales. About the size of asmall hound, the drake possessed a long, sinuous .neck atop which rested an alligatorlike head. His wings were foldedacross his back, and two clawed feet extended before him, aimlesslypawing the air, while Kulgan scratched behind bony eye ridges. His long
tail swung back and forth, inches above the floor.The door opened and the big bowman entered, holding a dressed andspitted loin of pork before him. Without a word he crossed to thefireplace and set the meat to cook. Fantus raised his head, using his longneck to good advantage to peek over the table. With a flick of his forkedtongue, the drake jumped down and, in stately fashion, ambled over to thehearth. He selected a warm spot before the fire and curled up to doze awaythe wait before dinner. The franklin unfastened his cloak and hung it on apeg by the door. "Storm will pass afore dawn, I'm thinking." He returned tothe fire and prepared a basting of wine and herbs for the pig. Pug wasstartled to see a large scar that ran down the left side of the man's face,showing red and angry in the firelight. Kulgan waved his pipe in thefranklin's direction. "Knowing my tight- lipped man here, you'll not havemade his proper acquaintance.Meecham, this boy is Pug, from the keep atCastle Crydee." Meecham gave a brief nod, then returned to tending theroasting loin.Pug nodded back, though a bit late for Meecham to notice. "I neverthought to thank you for saving me from the boar."Meecham replied, "There's no need for thanks, boy. Had I not startledthe beast, it's unlikely it would have charged you." He left thehearth and crossed over to another part of the room, took some browndough from a cloth-covered bucket, and started kneading. "Well, sir," saidPug to Kulgan, "it was his arrow that killed the pig. It was indeedfortunate that he was following the animal." Kulgan laughed. "The poorcreature, who is our most welcome guest for dinner, happened to be as mucha victim of circumstance as yourself." Pug looked perplexed. "I don'tfollow, sir." Kulgan stood and took down an object from the topmost shelfon his bookcase and placed it on the table before the boy. It was wrappedin a cover of dark blue velvet, so Pug knew at once it must be a prize ofgreat value for such an expensive material to be used for covering. Kulganremoved the velvet, revealing an orb of
Raymond Feist To celebrate the tenth anniversary of the first publication of his classic fantasy novel Magician, Raymond E Feist has prepared a new, revised edition, to incorporate 15,000 words of text omitted from previous editions so that 'it is essentially the book I would have written had I the skills I possess today'. Raymond E. Fiest
