The Awakened Mage (41 page)

T have said so,” said Conroyd “Do you at last believe it?”

Yes. He believed it, and wondered, sickened, if his father had ever once suspected the truth of this man. The hatred and the violence that slept behind his eyes.

“And what of me?” he asked dully. “What happens to me once I’ve signed my name to your filthy lies? A convenient accident?”

Conroyd shrugged. “Not unless you lose your senses and try something … unwise. You’ll remain here in the Tower. In seclusion. Withdrawn from public life, your health sadly ruined by the loss of your family and your magic. By the betrayal of one you so stupidly trusted.”

“The people—”

“Won’t miss you for long. The Doranen barely noticed your existence before your mistaken elevation to king. And as for the Olken …” Another disdainful shrug. “They were never people in the first place.”

Gar pressed a fist against his heart. There was a pain in him so dreadful, so deep, he thought he should die of it. He wished he could. Kill Asher … or kill a kingdom full of his innocent brethren. Whatever he decided, he’d be stained with blood forever.

Oh, sweet Barl, forgive me .. .

“Bring me your proclamation then,” he said, and could hardly recognize his own voice. “I will sign it. And may Barl damn you, Conroyd, in this life and the next.”

After a sleepless night, Dathne rose with the sun, washed and dressed and ate a half-hearted breakfast, then drifted downstairs to the bookshop. Dusting shelves was a mindless antidote to worry, and anyway it needed to be done. Young Poppy, hired to run the place day to day, was perfect with customers but seemed allergic to cleaning.

There was something soothing about books. Even the newest Gertsik romance calmed her riotous nerves. Made her smile. Safe amongst her silent shelves, pretending it was still her old life that she lived, she dabbed and drifted and tried not to remember the touch of snowflakes on her skin.

But memory would not be denied.
Asher made it snow.

Her hands shook, and she dropped her dusting cloth. She’d never dreamed his power would come like this. Weather Magic was Doranen magic. She’d never known of an Olken who could wield it.

“Fool,” she berated herself savagely, retrieving the duster. “He’s the Innocent Mage and born of Prophecy. What did you think he was? Just another Olken? Oh, Asher,
Asher.
If only you’d
confided!
”

Failure burned her. She’d been so sure that if she seduced his body his mind would surely follow.

She wasn’t used to being wrong.

“I’m Jervale’s Heir,” she whispered to a shelf crammed full of histories. “I’m in the business of being
right!’

Clearly, the time had come to tell him. To spirit him somewhere to safety and show him to himself at last. Reveal to him his destiny and purpose. Veira would know best where he could be hidden, which meant she could no longer avoid talking to the old woman. And if that meant a scolding for her silence, so be it.

Decided at last, Dathne tossed aside the dusting cloth, turned for the door leading back to her apartment—and was startled by an urgent tapping on the bookshop window. It was young Finella, Mistress Tuttle’s apprentice, on her way to work at the bakery. The girl’s eyes were popping-wide in her pale face. She waved her hand, pointed round the corner, then disappeared from view.

Frowning, Dathne unlocked the shop’s back door and slipped into the tiny courtyard behind. “Yes, Finny?”

The girl was on the brink of tears. “Oh, Mistress Dathne, I saw you in there as I was passing and I thought perhaps I should tell you but now I don’t know, I don’t want to get in trouble, but you work with him, you’re friends with him, and you’ve always been so kind to me …”

Asher.
Resisting the urge to shake the wretched child, Dathne forced a smile. “It’s all right, Finny. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s amiss.”

“Oh, Mistress Dathne!” Finny whispered. “Meister Asher’s been arrested!”

“Arrested?” she said sharply. “Nonsense. Where did you hear such a poppycock tale?”

Finella shrank back. “From my brother Deek! He was street-cleaning in the alleyway opposite the guardhouse and he saw them bring Asher in. All tied up he was, with a cloth over his face and a noose round his neck! But the cloth slipped and Deek saw him. It was awful, he said! Captain Orrick was there, and Lord Jarralt too.”

Arrested^-and
in such a skulduggery fashion. She could hardly think straight for the frantic pounding of her heart. “And did they see Deek spying there?”

Finny colored, indignant. “He wasn’t spying, he was doin’ his job! But no, he says they never saw him ‘cause he made sure to stay quiet as a mouse. Deek says a smart man who comes across that kind of business is deaf and dumb and blind!”

“And yet he told you?”

“I’m always the first one up, on account of starting so early in the bakery,” said Finny, shrugging. “He said he had to tell someone, he was feeling all wobbly, and he knew I’d hold my tongue. And I will too! I’m only telling you ‘cause I know you’re Asher’s friend!”

Trembling, Dathne hugged her. “And I’m right grateful, Finny. Now off you go to Mistress Turtle’s before you get docked for lateness. And, Finny—not a word about this to
anyone.
Promise?”

Finny nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, I promise. Mistress Dathne, is Asher going to be all right?”

She forced a smile. “Of course he is. I’m sure it’s all a terrible mistake.”

Reassured, Finny hurried away. Breathless with fear, Dathne contacted Veira.

Arrested?
the old woman repeated. The link connecting them vibrated with her shock.
Do you know why?

“No,” said Dathne. “But, Veira… he has the Weather Magic. I fear he’s been discovered.”

Veira swore.

“I’m sorry!” Dathne wailed. ‘This is all my fault! I should’ve told him who he was weeks ago, I should’ve listened to Matt, I should
never
have—”

We can lay blame later. Pack all that might betray you, child, and leave the City at once.

“Leave?” she said. “Veira, no! I have to save Asher, I have to—”

You can’t, child. Not on your own. And the City won’t be safe for you now. Come to me and together we ‘11 find a way.

Smearing the tears on her cheeks with a shaking hand, Dathne nodded. “All right. Where are you?”

The knowledge sped from Veira’s mind to hers through the Circle Stone link. “The Black Woods? You’re not so far away then.”

Far enough. Don’t risk a horse, for fear of attention. Cloak yourself and slip out of the City sideways. Walk as fast as you can. The Black Woods Road is lightly traveled this time of year. If you do see someone, hide till they pass. I’ll meet you on the way.

She wasn’t alone… the relief was overwhelming. And then she sat up sharply, remembering. “Matt! Veira, I have to warn Matt.”

Leave Matthias to me. Think only of yourself, child. If you stay there much longer the next knock on your door could be a guardsman with inconvenient questions.

Numbly, she stared into the pulsing heart of the Circle Stone. “Asher will think I’ve abandoned him,” she whispered. “He’ll think I never meant a word I said.”

Maybe he will and maybe he won’t,
said Veira.
That’s not for you to say. Now hurry!

Fat with satisfaction, Morg scattered salt on the wet ink of the proclamations that Gar would shortly sign then sat back in his chair. Beyond the closed door of Jarralt’s private library he could hear voices as the lord’s household bustled.

At last his plans were fruiting. And with inconvenient Asher soon to be dead, the cripple off the throne, and himself as king and free to tamper as he willed, Barl’s cursed Wall would quickly be a memory.

Knowing how close he’d come to failure, fury stirred. First Durm’s injuries, then the unexpected interference of that Olken filth. A tremor of hatred, of livid frustration, shook his fine-knit limbs. He was so
sick
of this place. Sick of this exile behind Barl’s Wall. Of being cut off from his vast reservoir of power, trammeled and confined in these prisons of meat, vulnerable to mere
accident.
Forced to wait and plot and connive and scheme instead of reaching out his will and
taking
what he wanted the instant that he wanted it!

To be thwarted by an Olken? It was enough to make him vomit! He wanted to kill them all. Slaughter every last Olken and yes, the Doranen too. Rid this pretty kingdom of its cattle and renegades. Cleanse the land with blood and fire.

But no. As an infinite intellect trapped in finite flesh, he dared not risk it. Alarm and alert the kingdom’s magicians and united they might defeat him. Caution was the key. The moment Barl’s Wall was destroyed he could abandon this body and reunite with his larger, immortal self. But until then he had to be careful. Until then, Morg could still die.

A whisper from his deeply prisoned host.
Yes, yes, die!

He smiled. Fool Conroyd, who’d fancied himself a mage to be reckoned with. Who only now began to understand the meaning of ambition. Of mastery. Of power.

The parchments dry now he rolled them, secured them with a ribbon from the desk drawer and tucked them under his arm. Fat Willer was waiting patiently on a bench outside the library door.

“My lord!” he cried, lumbering to his feet. “What now?”

A useful little toad, this. Disappointed poisonous men were always useful. “Return to the Tower. Inform that black streak of misery Darran that I wish him to announce an emergency session of the General Council for two o’clock this afternoon.”

Willer bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Next Morg ordered Jarralt’s carriage and directed it to the City Chapel, where he found wittering Holze in the midst of leading a morning service.

“Conroyd!” the Barl-sodden cleric exclaimed once the caterwauling was over and the congregation had emptied from its seats. “You look quite perturbed! Is something the matter?”

Morg arranged Jarralt’s austerely beautiful face into lines of tragedy and woe. “Alas, dear Efrim, I’m afraid it is. Can we talk? Privately?”

“Of course! Come, we can speak in my office.”

Smiling quietly, Morg followed him out of the chapel.

As they passed yet another portrait of his dearly beloved dead whore, he blew her a kiss.

When Asher roused from his stupor he found himself still on the floor of his cell in the guardhouse, unbound, and Pellen Orrick sitting in a chair outside it reading reports. The pain Jarralt had inflicted was gone but the memory of it dried his mouth and threatened to start him shaking all over again.

Unsteadily, he sat up. Leaned against the nearest bars. “I want to see Gar,” he croaked. “I got a right.”

Orrick looked at him. Nobody would ever describe the captain as forthcoming, but they’d fallen into the habit of easy, joking conversation in the last long weeks. He’d been halfway to thinking the man might become a friend. Now, though, the warm flicker of appreciation in Orrick’s pale eyes was extinguished and his face was set like stone.

“Don’t speak to me of rights, Asher. Not after what you’ve done. And don’t go trying to change your tune now, either. You
confessed,
to Lord Jarralt and then to me! You’re condemned out of your own mouth!”

He’d confessed to Orrick? He didn’t remember that. Pain had stolen his last hour or so. “I only did what Gar asked me to do.”

Orrick grimaced. “So you say.”

“I’m a bar now, am I?”

“Asher, I’m afraid to think what you are,” said Orric and stood, turning away.

He wrapped his fingers round the cell bars and hauled himself to his feet. “Jarralt ain’t told you, has he?”

Reluctantly, Orrick turned back. ‘Told me what?” h asked at last, grudging.

“Gar’s lost his magic.”

Another silence, longer this time. Then Orrick shoo his head. “That’s impossible.”

“No. It’s true.”

“Then you stole it,” Orrick retorted, “though Barl alon knows how.”

“Stole
it? Do I look brainsick to you?”

“You look like a traitor.”

It was no good, he couldn’t stand up any longer. Stifling a groan, he slid back to the floor. “Well, I ain’t.”

“You broke Barl’s First Law!”

“And Jarralt broke the Second! He hurt me with magic, Pellen! Do you care about
that
law? Or doesn’t hurting me count?”

For the first time a shimmer of uncertainty crossed Orrick’s obdurate face. “I have no bias in the law, Asher,” he said stiffly. “I agree Lord Jarralt was … misguided. But he was also sore provoked!”

“And so was I bloody provoked!” he shouted. “D’you think I did this
willingly’?
Gar begged me, Orrick. You got any idea what that’s like, being begged by a king? He was desperate to keep Lur out of Jarralt’s hands and I was stupid enough to let him convince me.
Ask
him, Pellen. He’ll tell you I ain’t lyin’, I
swear.”

Orrick ran a hand over his face. Listening, but not convinced. “You didn’t steal His Majesty’s magic?”

“No.”

“Then where did it come from?” Orrick whispered. He looked torn between fear and fury. “Olken are taught from the cradle: we don’t have magic. So where did yours come from if not the king?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care! All I know is Gar swore to protect me if the truth came out. Well, Pellen, it’s out. And instead of actin’ like the City’s Captain and askin’ the king yourself whether or not I’m tellin’ the truth, you’re runnin’ about like Conroyd.Jarralt’s lapdog! Takin’ his word unchallenged—a man who tortures with magic. A man who’s coveted this kingdom’s crown for the best part of his life. Who’d do just about anythin’, I reckon, to snatch it off Gar’s head and put it on his own.”

Orrick glared, seething. “I am no man’s lapdog!”

Muscles screaming, Asher forced himself onto his knees. Hanging onto the bars, harshly breathing, he looked Pellen Orrick full in the face. “Prove it.”

Orrick stayed silent as a thousand thoughts rolled behind the glassy surface of his eyes. Slowly, the outright rejection in his face faded to wary suspicion. “Why should I? You’re the one in prison, not me.”