Magician. Raymond E. Feist

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      Roland’s face grew livid and he charged, bowling Pug off his feet. They went down in a tangle, Roland striking Pug harmlessly on the shoulders and arms. Rolling and grappling, neither could inflict much damage. Pug got his arm around Roland’s neck and hung on as the older squire thrashed in a frenzy. Suddenly Roland wedged a knee against Pug’s chest and shoved him away. Pug rolled and came to his feet. Roland was up an instant later, and they squared off. Roland’s expression had changed from rage to cold, calculating anger as he measured the distance between them. He advanced carefully, his left arm bent and extended, his right fist held ready before his face. Pug had no experience with this form of fighting, called fist-boxing, though he had seen it practiced for money in traveling shows. Roland had demonstrated on several occasions that he had more than a passing acquaintance with the sport.

      Pug sought to take the advantage and swung a wild, roundhouse blow at Roland’s head. Roland dodged back as Pug swung completely around; then the squire jumped forward, his left hand snapping out, catching Pug on the cheek, rocking his head back with a stinging blow. Pug stumbled away, and Roland’s right hand missed Pug’s chin by a fraction.

      Pug held up his hands to ward off another blow and shook his head, clearing it of the dancing lights that obscured his vision, barely managing to duck beneath Roland’s next blow. Under Roland’s guard, Pug lunged, catching the other boy in the stomach with his shoulder, knocking him down again. Pug fell on top of him and struggled to pin the larger boy’s arms to his side. Roland struck out, catching Pug’s temple with an elbow, and the dazed magician’s apprentice fell away, momentarily confused.

      As he rose to his feet again, pain exploded in Pug’s face, and the world tilted once more. Disoriented, unable to defend himself, Pug felt Roland’s blows as distant events, somehow muted and not fully recognized by his reeling senses. A faint note of alarm sounded in part of Pug’s mind. Without warning, processes began to occur under the level of pain-dimmed consciousness. Basic, more animal instincts took hold, and in a disjointed, hardly understood awareness, a new force emerged. As in the encounter with the trolls, blinding letters of light and flame appeared in his mind’s eye, and he silently incanted.

      Pug’s being became primitive. In his remaining consciousness he was a primal creature fighting for survival with murderous intent. All he could envision was choking the very life from his adversary.

      Suddenly an alarm rang within Pug’s mind. A deep sense of wrongness, of evil, struck him. Months of training came to the fore, and it was as if he could hear Kulgan’s voice crying, ‘This is not how the power is to be used!’ Ripping aside the mental shroud that covered him, Pug opened his eyes.

      Through blurred vision and sparkling lights, Pug saw Roland kneeling a mere yard before him, eyes enlarged, vainly struggling with the invisible fingers around his neck. Pug felt no sense of contact with what he saw, and with returning clarity of mind knew at once what had occurred. Leaning forward, he seized Roland’s wrists. ‘Stop it, Roland! Stop it! It isn’t real. There are no hands but your own at your throat.’ Roland, blind with panic, seemed unable to hear Pug’s shouts. Mustering what remaining strength he possessed, Pug yanked Roland’s hands away, then struck him a stinging slap to the face. Roland’s eyes teared and suddenly he breathed in, a gasping, ragged sound.

      Still panting, Pug said, ‘It’s an illusion. You were choking yourself.’

      Roland gasped and pushed himself back from Pug, fear evident on his face. He struggled weakly to pull his sword. Pug leaned forward and firmly gripped Roland’s wrist. Barely able to speak, he shook his head and said, ‘There’s no reason.’

      Roland looked into Pug’s eyes, and the fear in his own began to subside. Something inside the older squire seemed to break, and there was only a fatigued, drained young man sitting on the ground. Breathing heavily, Roland sat back, tears forming in his eyes, and asked, ‘Why?’

      Pug’s own fatigue made him lean back, supporting himself on his hands. He studied the handsome young face before him, twisted by doubt. ‘Because you’re held under a spell more compelling than any I could fashion.’ He looked Roland in the eyes. ‘You truly love her, don’t you?’

      The last vestige of Roland’s anger slowly evaporated and his eyes showed some slight fear remaining, but also Pug saw deep pain and anguish as a tear fell to his cheek. His shoulders slumped and he nodded, his breath ragged as he tried to speak. For a moment he was on the verge of crying, but he fought off his pain and regained his poise. Taking a deep breath, Roland wiped away the tears and took another deep breath. He looked directly at Pug, then guardedly asked, ‘And you?’

      Pug sprawled on the ground, feeling some strength returning. ‘I . . . I’m not sure. She makes me doubt myself. I don’t know. Sometimes I think of no one else, and other times I wish I were as far from her as I could be.’

      Roland indicated understanding, the last residue of fear draining away. ‘Where she’s concerned, I don’t have a whit of wit.’

      Pug giggled. Roland looked at him, then also began to laugh. ‘I don’t know why,’ said Pug, ‘but for some reason, I find what you said terribly funny.’ Roland nodded and began to laugh too. Soon they were both sitting with tears running down their faces as the emotional vacuum left by the fleeing anger was replaced by giddiness.

      Roland recovered slightly, holding back the laughter, when Pug looked at him and said, ‘A whit of wit!’ which sent both of them off on another jag of laughter.

      ‘Well!’ a voice said sharply. They turned and found Carline, flanked by two ladies-in-waiting, surveying the scene before her. Instantly both boys became silent. Casting a disapproving look upon the pair as they sprawled upon the ground, she said, ‘Since you two seem so taken with each other, I’ll not intrude.’

      Pug and Roland exchanged looks and suddenly erupted into uproarious laughter. Roland fell over backward, while Pug sat, legs stretched before him, laughing into his cupped hands. Carline flushed angrily and her eyes widened. With cold fury in her voice she said ‘Excuse me!’ and turned, sweeping by her ladies. As she left, they could hear her loudly exclaim, ‘Boys!’

      Pug and Roland sat for a minute until the near-hysterical fit passed; then Roland rose and extended his hand to Pug. Pug took it and Roland helped him to his feet. ‘Sorry, Pug. I had no right to be angry with you.’ His voice softened. ‘I can’t sleep nights thinking of her. I wait for the few moments we’re together each day. But since you saved her, all I ever hear is your name.’ Touching his sore neck, Roland said, ‘I got so angry, I thought I’d kill you. Damn near got myself killed instead.’

      Pug looked at the corner where the Princess had disappeared, nodding agreement. ‘I’m sorry, too, Roland. I’m not very good at controlling magic yet, and when I lose my temper, it seems all sorts of terrible things can happen. Like with the trolls.’ Pug wanted Roland to understand he was still Pug, even though he was now a magician’s apprentice. ‘I would never do something like that on purpose – especially to a friend.’

      Roland studied Pug’s face a moment and grinned, half-wryly, half-apologetically. ‘I understand. I acted badly. You were right: she’s only setting us one against the other. I am the fool. It’s you she cares for.’

      Pug seemed to wilt. ‘Believe me, Roland, I’m not so sure I’m to be envied.’

      Roland’s grin widened. ‘She is a strong-willed girl, that’s clear.’ Caught halfway between an open display of self-pity and mock-bravado, Roland selected mock-bravado.

      Pug shook his head. ‘What’s to be done, Roland?’

      Roland СКАЧАТЬ