Magician (Riftware Sage Book 1)

“Of course. And I’m a real princess too. Not the daughter of a duke, but the daughter of a prince. My father would have been King if he had wanted, but he didn’t want to. If he had, I would be Queen someday. But I won’t be. What do you do?”

 

 

The question, coming so suddenly without preamble, caught Pug off guard. The child’s prattling wasn’t very irksorne, and he wasn’t following closely, being more intent on the scene through the window.

 

He hesitated, then said, “I’m apprenticed to the Duke’s magician.”

 

The Princess’s eyes grew round, and she said, “A real magician?”

 

“Real enough.”

 

Her little face lit up with delight. “Can he turn people into toads? Mummy said magicians turn people into toads if they are bad.”

 

“I don’t know. I’ll ask him when I see him—if I see him again,” he added under his breath.

 

“Oh, would you? I would so very much like to know.” She seemed utterly fascinated by the prospect of finding out if the tale was true. “And could you please tell me where I might see Prince Arutha?”

 

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him myself in two days. What do you want to see him for?”

 

“Mummy says I may marry him someday. I want to see if he is a nice man.”

 

The prospect of this tiny child’s being married to the Duke’s younger son confounded Pug for a moment. It was not an uncommon practice for nobles to pledge their children in marriage years before their coming of age. In ten years she would be a woman, and the Prince would still be a young man, the Earl of some minor keep in the Kingdom. Still, Pug found the prospect fascinating.

 

“Do you think you would like living with an earl?” Pug asked, realizing at once it was a stupid question. The Princess confirmed the opinion with a glance that would have done Father Tully credit.

 

She said, “Silly! How could I possibly know that when I don’t even know who Mummy and Father will have me marry?”

 

The child jumped up. “Well, I must go back I’m not supposed to be here. If they find me out of my rooms, I’ll be punished. I hope you have a nice journey to Salador and Rillanon.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

With a sudden expression of worry, she said, “You won’t tell anyone that I was here, will you?”

 

Pug gave her a conspiratorial smile “No. Your secret’s safe.” With a look of relief, she smiled and peeked both ways down the hallway. As she started to leave, Pug said, “He’s a nice man.”

 

The Princess stopped. “Who?”

 

“The Prince He’s a nice man. Given to brooding and moods, but on the whole a nice person.”

 

The Princess frowned for a moment as she digested the information. Then, with a bright smile, she said, “That’s good. I’d not want to marry a man who’s not nice.” With a giggle she turned the corner and was gone.

 

Pug sat awhile longer, watching the snow fall, musing over the fact of children being concerned about matters of state, and over a child with big, serious green eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

That night the entire party was feted by the Prince. The whole population of nobles at court and most of the rich commoners of Krondor were attending the gala. Over four hundred people sat to dine, and Pug found himself at a table with strangers who, out of respect for the quality of his clothing and the simple fact of his being there in the first place, politely ignored him. The Duke and Prince Arutha were seated at the head table with Prince Erland and his wife, Princess Alicia, along with Duke Dulanic, Chancellor of the Principality and Knight-Marshal of Krondor. Owing to Erland’s ill health, the business of running Krondor’s military fell to Dulanic and the man he was deep in conversation with, Lord Barry, Erland’s Lord-Admiral of the Krondonan fleet. Other royal ministers were seated nearby, while the rest of the guests were at smaller tables. Pug was seated at the one farthest removed from the royal table.

 

Servants were bustling in and out of the hall, carrying large platters of food and decanters of wine. Jongleurs strolled the hall, singing the newest ballads and ditties. Jugglers and acrobats performed between the tables, mostly ignored by the dinner guests, but giving their best, for the Master of Ceremony would not call them back again should he judge their efforts lacking.