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Authors: Raymond E. Feist
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location to location, as well as being reminiscent of rift magic, but how it all came together, that was lost on Magnus. Martuch had indicated that in one way it was an easy transition to make, but had been vague on details.
As much as Magnus knew he must trust this Dasati renegade, deep within he harbored doubts. While they seemed to be serving roughly similar causes, they were not entirely after the same goals, and Magnus had no doubt that Martuch would put serving his own people’s needs ahead of the lives of the four humans from Midkemia.
Now the other reason for Magnus’s discomfort entered the tiny garden. It was, if he was to believe what his father had told him, his grandfather, the legendary Macros the Black. But the man who stood before him was not human, but Dasati. Yet theman had memories that could have only belonged to Macros, spoke flawless King’s Tongue, Tsurani, and Keshian, as well as any number of other languages from Midkemia and Kelewan, and in so many things demonstrated that he had the mind of a human from his home world. Yet the entire question of Macros’s presence on this world, in this form, raised questions that went far beyond troubling. Secretly, Magnus was frightened.
Macros had been absent most of the time since Pug and the other arrived, and Pug and he had had only minutes at a time to speak. The tall Dasati nodded a greeting and came over to stand before Pug and Magnus. “May I sit?” he asked.
Magnus nodded, moving over on the stone bench to make room for the Dasati magician.
“Even after weeks, my mind is reeling,” said Pug. “I realize you have…changed, yet I can see…you are still you.” He studied the features of the Dasati sitting next to him. “I’ve been, by any reasonable measure, patient, I think you’ll agree.” He glanced at his two companions. “We understand from what we’ve pieced together that you are the leader of a group constantly in peril, and that you have many responsibilities. But you are here, now, so as we have this time, why don’t you tell us the complete story?”
Nakor rose from his bench and walked over to sit down before Pug. “As much as I enjoy a good story, it would be useful if we heard only the truth this time, Macros.”
Macros smiled. “Perhaps my most grievous sin was lying. At that time…” He looked away as if into a painful memory. He took a breath. “It was so many years ago, my friends. I was an arrogant man who refused to trust others enough to tell them the simple—or in some cases not-so-simple—truth and let them choose whether or not to do the right thing.
“I manipulated people with lies, so that I could ensure…” He shook his head. “Another sin was vanity, I’ll confess. I was so certain back when…when I was young, when I was human.” He waved his hand in a general circle. “This experience has been humbling, Pug.” He looked at Magnus. “I’ve a grown grandson and I have missed every day of his life.”
“You have two,” said Magnus. “I have a younger brother.”
“Caleb,” said Macros to Magnus. “I know.”
Pug was still grappling with the fact of his alien existence, forcing his mind to accept what he could see with his own eyes. Once past that amazement, he was still left with another issue: that the man before him was Macros the Black, his wife’s father.
As he had just openly admitted, he was a man who had used people as one might use tools, and shamelessly lied to gain advantage. He had put people in harm’s way without their consent, and had made choices for others that had resulted in pain, suffering, and death. As a result, trusting him was a difficult task. Then again, Pug had watched Macros die defending others against Maarg, the Demon King. It had been the highest act of sacrifice and almost certainly had saved Midkemia from horrors for which the Serpentwar would have been but a mild prelude. Maarg would have almost certainly destroyed the entire world given enough
As much as Magnus knew he must trust this Dasati renegade, deep within he harbored doubts. While they seemed to be serving roughly similar causes, they were not entirely after the same goals, and Magnus had no doubt that Martuch would put serving his own people’s needs ahead of the lives of the four humans from Midkemia.
Now the other reason for Magnus’s discomfort entered the tiny garden. It was, if he was to believe what his father had told him, his grandfather, the legendary Macros the Black. But the man who stood before him was not human, but Dasati. Yet theman had memories that could have only belonged to Macros, spoke flawless King’s Tongue, Tsurani, and Keshian, as well as any number of other languages from Midkemia and Kelewan, and in so many things demonstrated that he had the mind of a human from his home world. Yet the entire question of Macros’s presence on this world, in this form, raised questions that went far beyond troubling. Secretly, Magnus was frightened.
Macros had been absent most of the time since Pug and the other arrived, and Pug and he had had only minutes at a time to speak. The tall Dasati nodded a greeting and came over to stand before Pug and Magnus. “May I sit?” he asked.
Magnus nodded, moving over on the stone bench to make room for the Dasati magician.
“Even after weeks, my mind is reeling,” said Pug. “I realize you have…changed, yet I can see…you are still you.” He studied the features of the Dasati sitting next to him. “I’ve been, by any reasonable measure, patient, I think you’ll agree.” He glanced at his two companions. “We understand from what we’ve pieced together that you are the leader of a group constantly in peril, and that you have many responsibilities. But you are here, now, so as we have this time, why don’t you tell us the complete story?”
Nakor rose from his bench and walked over to sit down before Pug. “As much as I enjoy a good story, it would be useful if we heard only the truth this time, Macros.”
Macros smiled. “Perhaps my most grievous sin was lying. At that time…” He looked away as if into a painful memory. He took a breath. “It was so many years ago, my friends. I was an arrogant man who refused to trust others enough to tell them the simple—or in some cases not-so-simple—truth and let them choose whether or not to do the right thing.
“I manipulated people with lies, so that I could ensure…” He shook his head. “Another sin was vanity, I’ll confess. I was so certain back when…when I was young, when I was human.” He waved his hand in a general circle. “This experience has been humbling, Pug.” He looked at Magnus. “I’ve a grown grandson and I have missed every day of his life.”
“You have two,” said Magnus. “I have a younger brother.”
“Caleb,” said Macros to Magnus. “I know.”
Pug was still grappling with the fact of his alien existence, forcing his mind to accept what he could see with his own eyes. Once past that amazement, he was still left with another issue: that the man before him was Macros the Black, his wife’s father.
As he had just openly admitted, he was a man who had used people as one might use tools, and shamelessly lied to gain advantage. He had put people in harm’s way without their consent, and had made choices for others that had resulted in pain, suffering, and death. As a result, trusting him was a difficult task. Then again, Pug had watched Macros die defending others against Maarg, the Demon King. It had been the highest act of sacrifice and almost certainly had saved Midkemia from horrors for which the Serpentwar would have been but a mild prelude. Maarg would have almost certainly destroyed the entire world given enough
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