RAYMOND E. FEIST
RAYMOND E.FEISTMagician
DedicationThis book is dedicated to thememory of my father,Felix E. Feist,In all ways, a magician
Table of ContentsTitle PageDedicationForeword to the RevisedEditionMapsBook 1: Pug and TomasChapter One: StormChapter Two: ApprenticeChapter Three: Keep
Chapter Four: AssaultChapter Five: ShipwreckChapter Six: ElfcounselChapter Seven:UnderstandingChapter Eight: JourneyChapter Nine: MacMordain CadalChapter Ten: RescueChapter Eleven: Sorcerer’sIsleChapter Twelve: CouncilsChapter Thirteen: Rillanon
Chapter Fourteen: InvasionChapter Fifteen: ConflictsChapter Sixteen: RaidChapter Seventeen: AttackChapter Eighteen: SiegeBook 2: Milamber and theValheruChapter Nineteen: SlaveChapter Twenty: EstateChapter Twenty-One:Changeling
Chapter Twenty-Two:TrainingChapter Twenty-Three:VoyageChapter Twenty-Four:KrondorChapter Twenty-Five:EscapeChapter Twenty-Six: GreatOneChapter Twenty-Seven:Fusion
Chapter Twenty-Eight:EmissaryChapter Twenty-Nine:DecisionChapter Thirty: UpheavalChapter Thirty-One:DeceptionsChapter Thirty-Two:BetrayalChapter Thirty-Three:LegacyChapter Thirty-Four:Renaissance
AcknowledgementsAcknowledgement to theRevised EditionAbout the AuthorBy the Same AuthorCopyrightAbout the Publisher
Foreword to theRevised EditionIt is with some hesitation anda great deal of trepidation thatan author approaches the taskof revising an earlier editionof fiction. This is especiallytrue if the book was his firsteffort, judged successful bymost standards, and
continuously in print for adecade.Magician was all this, andmore. In late 1977 I decidedto try my hand at writing,part-time, while I was anemployee of the University ofCalifornia, San Diego. It isnow some fifteen years later,and I have been a full-timewriter for the last fourteenyears, successful in this craftbeyond my wildest dreams.
Magician, the first novel inwhat became known as TheRiftwar Saga, was a book thatquickly took on a life of itsown. I hesitate to admit thispublicly, but the truth is thatpart of the success of thebook was my ignorance ofwhat makes a commerciallysuccessful novel. Mywillingness to plunge blindlyforward into a tale spanningtwo dissimilar worlds,
covering twelve years in thelives of several major anddozens of minor characters,breaking numerous rules ofplotting along the way,seemed to find kindred soulsamong readers the worldover. After a decade in print,my best judgment is that theappeal of the book is basedupon its being what wasknown once as a “rippingyarn.” I had little ambition
beyond spinning a good story,one that satisfied my sense ofwonder, adventure, andwhimsy. It turned out thatseveral million readers—many of whom readtranslations in languages Ican’t even begin tocomprehend—found it onethat satisfied their tastes forsuch a yarn as well.But insofar as it was a firsteffort, some pressures of the
marketplace did manifestthemselves during thecreation of the final book.Magician is by anyone’smeasure a large book. Whenthe penultimate manuscriptversion sat upon my editor’sdesk, I was informed thatsome fifty thousand wordswould have to be cut. And cutI did. Mostly line by line, buta few scenes were eithertruncated or excised.
While I could live out mylife with the originalmanuscript as publishedbeing the only edition everread, I have always felt thatsome of the material cutadded a certain resonance, acounterpoint if you will, tokey elements of the tale. Therelationships betweencharacters, the additionaldetails of an alien world, theminor moments of reflection
and mirth that act to balancethe more frenetic activity ofconflict and adventure, allthese things were “close butnot quite what I had in mind.”In any event, to celebratethe tenth anniversary of theoriginal publication ofMagician, I have beenpermitted to return to thiswork, to reconstruct andchange, to add and cut as Isee fit, to bring forth what is
known in publishing as the“Author’s Preferred Edition”of the work. So, with the oldadmonition, “If it ain’t broke,don’t fix it,” ringing in myears, I return to the first workI undertook, back when I hadno pretensions of craft, nostature as a bestselling author,and basically no idea of whatI was doing. My desire is torestore some of those excisedbits, some of the minor detail
that I felt added to the heft ofthe narrative, as well as theweight of the book. Othermaterial was more directlyrelated to the books thatfollow, setting some of thebackground for the mythicunderpinning of the Riftwar.The slightly lengthydiscussion of lore betweenTully and Kulgan in ChapterThree, as well as some of thethings revealed to Pug on the
Tower of Testing were clearlyin this area. My editor wasn’tsold on the idea of a sequel,then, so some of this was cut.Returning it may be selfindulgent, but as this wasmaterial I felt belonged in theoriginal book, it has beenrestored.To those readers who havealready discovered Magician,who wonder if it’s in theirinterests to purchase this
edition, I would like toreassure them that nothingprofound has been changed.No characters previouslydead are now alive, no battleslost are now won, and twoboys still find the samedestiny. I ask you to feel nocompulsion to read this newvolume, for your memory ofthe original work is as valid,perhaps more so, than mine.But if you wish to return to
the world of Pug and Tomas,to rediscover old friends andforgotten adventure, thenconsider this edition youropportunity to see a bit morethan the last time. And to thenew reader, welcome. I trustyou’ll find this work to yoursatisfaction.It is with profoundgratitude I wish to thank youall, new readers and oldacquaintances, for without
your support andencouragement, ten years of“ripping yarns’ could nothave been possible. If I havethe opportunity to provideyou with a small part of thepleasure I feel in being ableto share my fancifuladventures with you, we areequally rewarded, for by yourembracing my works youhave allowed me to fashionmore. Without you there
would have been noSilverthorn, A Darkness atSethanon, Faerie Tale, andno Empire Trilogy. Theletters get read, if notanswered—even if theysometimes take months toreach me—and the kindremarks, in passing at publicappearances, have enrichedme beyond measure. Butmost of all, you gave me thefreedom to practice a craft
that was begun to “see if Icould do it,” while working atthe Residence Halls of JohnMuir College at UCSD.So, thank you. I guess “Idid it.” And with this work, Ihope you’ll agree that thistime I did it a little moreelegantly, with a little morecolor, weight, and resonance.RAYMOND E. FEISTSan Diego, California
August 1991
BOOK 1Pug and TomasA boy’s will is thewind’s will,And the thoughts ofyouth are long, long
thoughts.—LONGFELLOW,My LostYouth
CHAPTERONE Storm
THE STORM HAD BROKEN.Pug danced along the edgeof the rocks, his feet findingscant purchase as he made hisway among the tide pools.His dark eyes darted about ashe peered into each poolunder the cliff face, seekingthe spiny creatures driveninto the shallows by therecently passed storm. Hisboyish muscles bunchedunder his light shirt as he
shifted the sack ofsandcrawlers, rockclaws, andcrabs plucked from this watergarden.The afternoon sun sentsparkles through the sea sprayswirling around him, as thewest wind blew his sunstreaked brown hair about.Pug set his sack down,checked to make sure it wassecurely tied, then squattedon a clear patch of sand. The
sack was not quite full, butPug relished the extra hour orso that he could relax. Megarthe cook wouldn’t troublehim about the time as long asthe sack was almost full.Resting with his back againsta large rock, Pug was soondozing in the sun’s warmth.A cool wet spray woke himhours later. He opened hiseyes with a start, knowing hehad stayed much too long.
Westward, over the sea, darkthunderheads were formingabove the black outline of theSix Sisters, the small islandson the horizon. The roiling,surging clouds, with raintrailing below like somesooty veil, heralded anotherof the sudden storms commonto this part of the coast inearly summer. To the south,the high bluffs of Sailor’sGrief reared up against the
sky, as waves crashed againstthe base of that rockypinnacle. Whitecaps started toform behind the breakers, asure sign the storm wouldquickly strike. Pug knew hewas in danger, for the stormsof summer could drownanyone on the beaches, or ifsevere enough, on the lowground beyond.He picked up his sack andstarted north, toward the
castle. As he moved amongthe pools, he felt the coolnessin the wind turn to a deeper,wetter cold. The day began tobe broken by a patchwork ofshadows as the first cloudspassed before the sun, brightcolors fading to shades ofgrey. Out to sea, lightningflashed against the blacknessof the clouds, and the distantboom of thunder rode overthe noise of the waves.
Pug picked up speed whenhe came to the first stretch ofopen beach. The storm wascoming in faster than hewould have thought possible,driving the rising tide beforeit. By the time he reached thesecond stretch of tide pools,there was barely ten feet ofdry sand between water’sedge and cliffs.Pug hurried as fast as wassafe across the rocks, twice
nearly catching his foot. Ashe reached the next expanseof sand, he mistimed his jumpfrom the last rock and landedpoorly. He fell to the sand,grasping his ankle. As ifwaiting for the mishap, thetide surged forward, coveringhim for a moment. Hereached out blindly and felthis sack carried away.Frantically grabbing at it, Puglunged forward, only to have
his ankle fail. He went under,gulping water. He raised hishead, sputtering andcoughing. He started to standwhen a second wave, higherthan the last, hit him in thechest, knocking himbackward. Pug had grown upplaying in the waves and wasan experienced swimmer, butthe pain of his ankle and thebattering of the waves werebringing him to the edge of
panic. He fought it off andcame up for air as the wavereceded. He half swam, halfscrambled toward the cliffface, knowing the waterwould be only inches deepthere.Pug reached the cliffs andleaned against them, keepingas much weight off theinjured ankle as possible. Heinched along the rock wall,while each wave brought the
water higher. When Pugfinally reached a place wherehe could make his wayupward, water was swirling athis waist. He had to use allhis strength to pull himself upto the path. He lay panting amoment, then started to crawlup the pathway, unwilling totrust his balky ankle on thisrocky footing.The first drops of rainbegan to fall as he scrambled
along, bruising knees andshins on the rocks, until hereached the grassy top of thebluffs. Pug fell forwardexhausted, panting from theexertion of the climb. Thescattered drops grew into alight but steady rain.When he had caught hisbreath, Pug sat up andexamined the swollen ankle.It was tender to the touch, buthe was reassured when he
could move it: it was notbroken. He would have tolimp the entire way back, butwith the threat of drowningon the beach behind him, hefelt relatively buoyant.Pug would be a drenched,chilled wretch when hereached the town. He wouldhave to find a lodging there,for the gates of the castlewould be closed for the night,and with his tender ankle he
would not attempt to climbthe wall behind the stables.Besides, should he wait andslip into the keep the nextday, only Megar would havewords for him, but if he wascaught coming over the wall,Swordmaster Fannon orHorsemaster Algon wouldsurely have a lot worse instore for him than words.While he rested, the raintook on an insistent quality
and the sky darkened as thelate-afternoon sun wascompletely engulfed in stormclouds. His momentary reliefwas replaced with anger athimself for losing the sack ofsandcrawlers. His displeasuredoubled when he consideredhis folly at falling asleep. Hadhe remained awake, he wouldhave made the return tripunhurriedly, would not havesprained his ankle, and would
have had time to explore thestreambed above the bluffsfor the smooth stones heprized so dearly for slinging.Now there would be nostones, and it would be atleast another week before hecould return. If Megar didn’tsend another boy instead,which was likely now that hewas returning empty-handed.Pug’s attention shifted tothe discomfort of sitting in
the rain, and he decided itwas time to move on. Hestood and tested his ankle. Itprotested such treatment, buthe could get along on it. Helimped over the grass towhere he had left hisbelongings and picked up hisrucksack, staff, and sling. Heswore an oath he had heardsoldiers at the keep use whenhe found the rucksack rippedapart and his bread and
cheese missing. Raccoons, orpossibly sand lizards, hethought. He tossed the nowuseless sack aside andwondered at his misfortune.Taking a deep breath, heleaned on his staff as hestarted across the low rollinghills that divided the bluffsfrom the road. Stands ofsmall trees were scatteredover the landscape, and Pugregretted there wasn’t more
substantial shelter nearby, forthere was none upon thebluffs. He would be no wetterfor trudging to town than forstaying under a tree.The wind picked up, andPug felt the first cold biteagainst his wet back. Heshivered and hurried his paceas well as he could. The smalltrees started to bend beforethe wind, and Pug felt as if agreat hand were pushing at
his back. Reaching the road,he turned north. He heard theeerie sound of the great forestoff to the east, the windwhistling through thebranches of the ancient oaks,adding to its alreadyforeboding aspect. The darkglades of the forest wereprobably no more perilousthan the King’s road, butremembered tales of outlawsand other, less human,
malefactors stirred the hairson the boy’s neck.Cutting across the King’sroad, Pug gained a littleshelter in the gully that ranalongside it. The windintensified and rain stung hiseyes, bringing tears to alreadywet cheeks. A gust caughthim, and he stumbled offbalance for a moment. Waterwas gathering in the roadsidegully, and he had to step
carefully to keep from losinghis footing in unexpectedlydeep puddles.For nearly an hour he madehis way through the evergrowing storm. The roadturned northwest, bringinghim almost full face into thehowling wind. Pug leanedinto the wind, his shirtwhipping out behind him. Heswallowed hard, to forcedown the choking panic
rising within him. He knewhe was in danger now, for thestorm was gaining in fury farbeyond normal for this timeof year. Great ragged bolts oflightning lit the darklandscape, briefly outliningthe trees and road in harsh,brilliant white and opaqueblack. The dazzlingafterimages, black and whitereversed, stayed with him fora moment each time,
confusing his senses.Enormous thunder pealssounding overhead felt likephysical blows. Now his fearof the storm outweighed hisfear of imagined brigands andgoblins. He decided to walkamong the trees near the road;the wind would be lessenedsomewhat by the boles of theoaks.As Pug closed upon theforest, a crashing sound
brought him to a halt. In thegloom of the storm he couldbarely make out the form of ablack forest boar as it burstout of the undergrowth. Thepig tumbled from the brush,lost its footing, thenscrambled to its feet a fewyards away. Pug could see itclearly as it stood thereregarding him, swinging itshead from side to side. Twolarge tusks seemed to glow in
the dim light as they drippedrainwater. Fear made its eyeswide, and it pawed at theground. The forest pigs werebad-tempered at best, butnormally avoided humans.This one was panic-strickenby the storm, and Pug knew ifit charged he could be badlygored, even killed.Standing stock-still, Pugmade ready to swing his staff,but hoped the pig would
return to the woods. Theboar’s head raised, testing theboy’s smell on the wind. Itspink eyes seemed to glow asit trembled with indecision. Asound made it turn toward thetrees for a moment, then itdropped its head and charged.Pug swung his staff,bringing it down in a glancingblow to the side of the pig’shead, turning it. The pig slidsideways in the muddy
footing, hitting Pug in thelegs. He went down as the pigslipped past. Lying on theground, Pug saw the boarskitter about as it turned tocharge again. Suddenly thepig was upon him, and Pughad no time to stand. Hethrust the staff before him ina vain attempt to turn theanimal again. The boardodged the staff and Pug triedto roll away, but a weight fell
across his body. Pug coveredhis face with his hands,keeping his arms close to hischest, expecting to be gored.After a moment he realizedthe pig was still. Uncoveringhis face, he discovered thepig lying across his lowerlegs, a black-feathered, clothyard arrow protruding fromits side. Pug looked towardthe forest. A man garbed inbrown leather was standing
near the edge of the trees,quickly wrapping a yeoman’slongbow with an oilclothcover. Once the valuableweapon was protected fromfurther abuse by the weather,the man crossed to stand overthe boy and beast.He was cloaked andhooded, his face hidden. Heknelt next to Pug and shoutedover the sound of the wind,“Are you ’right, boy?” as he
lifted the dead boar easilyfrom Pug’s legs. “Bonesbroken?”“I don’t think so,” Pugyelled back, taking account ofhimself. His right sidesmarted, and his legs feltequally bruised. With hisankle still tender, he wasfeeling ill-used today, butnothing seemed broken orpermanently damaged.
Large, meaty hands liftedhim to his feet. “Here,” theman commanded, handinghim his staff and the bow.Pug took them while thestranger quickly gutted theboar with a large hunter’sknife. He completed his workand turned to Pug. “Comewith me, boy. You had bestlodge with my master andme. It’s not far, but we’d besthurry. This storm’ll get worse
afore it’s over. Can youwalk?”Taking an unsteady step,Pug nodded. Without a wordthe man shouldered the pigand took his bow. “Come,” hesaid, as he turned toward theforest. He set off at a briskpace, which Pug had toscramble to match.The forest cut the fury ofthe storm so little thatconversation was impossible.
A lightning flash lit the scenefor a moment, and Pug caughta glimpse of the man’s face.Pug tried to remember if hehad seen the stranger before.He had the look common tothe hunters and foresters thatlived in the forest of Crydee:large-shouldered, tall, andsolidly built. He had dark hairand beard and the raw,weather-beaten appearance of
one who spends most of histime outdoors.For a few fancifulmoments the boy wondered ifhe might be some member ofan outlaw band, hiding in theheart of the forest. He gaveup the notion, for no outlawwould trouble himself with anobviously penniless keep boy.Remembering the man hadmentioned having a master,Pug suspected he was a
franklin, one who lived on theestate of a landholder. Hewould be in the holder’sservice, but not bound to himas a bondsman. The franklinswere freeborn, giving a shareof crop or herd in exchangefor the use of land. He mustbe freeborn. No bondsmanwould be allowed to carry alongbow, for they were muchtoo valuable—and dangerous.Still, Pug couldn’t remember
any landholdings in theforest. It was a mystery to theboy, but the toll of the day’sabuses was quickly drivingaway any curiosity.After what seemed to behours, the man walked into athicket of trees. Pug nearlylost him in the darkness, forthe sun had set some timebefore, taking with it whatfaint light the storm had
allowed. He followed the manmore from the sound of hisfootfalls and an awareness ofhis presence than from sight.Pug sensed he was on a paththrough the trees, for hisfootsteps met no resistingbrush or detritus. From wherethey had been momentsbefore, the path would bedifficult to find in thedaylight, impossible at night,unless it was already known.
Soon they entered a clearing,in the midst of which sat asmall stone cottag
Magician was all this, and more. In late 1977 I decided to try my hand at writing, part-time, while I was an employee of the University of California, San Diego. It is now some fifteen years later, and I have been a full-time writer for the last fourteen years, successful in this craft beyond my wildest dreams.
MAGICIAN 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
Assistant Technologist: laudia Ayala Dr. Richard Feist performed a total of 13 Retina Surgeries including Retinal Detachments and Diabetic Retinopathy. Dr Feist brought a vitrector as a donation to ENAO to improve the quality of training to the
Raymond Trails provided early access to the region Town founded by Jesse Knight in 1901, and named after his son Raymond Raymond’s geographical positioning between Magrath and Stirling Latter-day Saints moved to area for entrepreneurial opportunities and to aid in the construction of irrigation systems
of those races as they appear in the fantasy fiction of numerous other authors. The clearest example of this is Tolkien's rendering of the race of Elves, who are now depicted in dozens of fantasy narratives just as Tolkien imagined them - as tall, virtuous, beautiful, immortal and light-skinned. 4 The fantasy fiction of Raymond E. Feist
involve misstatements or omissions in Raymond James's disclosure and do not call into question the reliability of Raymond James's disclosure or its ability to produce reliable disclosure in the future. Rather, the misconduct described in the Order occurred at the subsidiary level, without the 3 17 C.F.R. § 200.30-l(a)(lO).
Raymond Carr Historia de España Escrita desde el rigor científi co, pero, al mismo tiempo, desde Raymond Carr la voluntad de ofrecer una visión lo más clara y sintética de cada período, Historia de España nos suministra las claves necesarias para entender nuestro presente desde una refl exión seria y profunda sobre el pasado.
and one expert witness in rebuttal. 2. Raymond James Financial Services, Inc. (Raymond James), presented eleven witnesses, including four experts. J. Stephen Putnam (Mr. Putnam) testified and presented one expert witness. The record contains approximately 510 exhibits. The final brief was submitted on April 28, 2005. ISSUES . 1.
Ann Sutherland Harris . H. Anne Weis . and . David Wilkins . 1 1.0 INTRODUCTION Caravaggio (Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio 1571 - 1610) has been praised and criticized for rejecting traditional painting methods in favor of a dramatic, stark realism that derived its subject matter from daily life. 1 1 Early biographers Giovanni Baglioni and Giovanni Pietro Bellori both write about the artist .
