The Awakened Mage (65 page)

“Jarralt.”
He felt his fingers clench to fists. “I want to kill that bastard, Matt, with my two bare hands. I want his bones for
toothpicks!.”

Matt’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “Stand in line.”

“How’d you escape him?”

“Pellen Orrick helped me.”

Orrick.
Another name with spikes in. ‘That bastard.”

“He knows now he was hoodwinked,” said Matt. “I owe him my life, Asher. Don’t judge him too harshly. He didn’t have all the facts.”

_Facts. _”So he’s on your side now?”

“Our side. Yes.”

He pulled a face. “Who says there’s an ‘our side,’ Matt? Who says I’m goin’ to join you? You savin’ my life don’t mean I aim to join you!”

Matt dragged a dirty hand across his unshaven face, wincing as calluses scraped burned and blistered skin. “Look, Asher, I wish there was time for you to think on this,” he said impatiently. “I wish there was time for a lot of things. But there isn’t. You can’t see it here, we’re too deep into the Black Woods, but you can see it from the road leading in and elsewhere in the kingdom.”

“See what?” he said roughly. “What are you on about now?”

Matt looked up, as though his gaze could pierce the forest’s ceiling. “The Wall,” he said. The faintest tremor was in his voice and his expression was bleak. “Asher, the Wall is falling. The Final Days are here. And without your help—without the Innocent Mage—not a man, woman or child in this kingdom stands a chance of surviving.”

Asher stared at him, dumbfounded. “What am I s’posed to say to that? What d’you want me to
say?
“[__] Gently distressed, Matt spread his hands wide. “Honestly? That you’ll do it.”

“Do
what?
”

“Accept your destiny. Fulfill Prophecy. Save us.”

“How? How am I s’posed to save you? Does your precious bloody prophecy tell me
how?
”

Now Matt looked uncomfortable. “No. Not in so many words.”

No, of course it bloody didn’t. That’d be too easy, wouldn’t it? “Then what does it say?” he asked, struggling with temper. Old Veira had tried to tell him last night but he’d refused to listen. Now, though, he thought he’d better. “Or is the bloody thing so vague you can’t even remember it?”

Matt let out a hard breath and his gaze lost focus. ” ‘In the Final Days shall come the Innocent Mage, born to save the world from blood and death. He shall enter the House of the Usurper. He shall learn then ways. He shall earn then love. He shall lay down his life. And Jervale’s Heir shall know him, and guide him, and enlighten him not.’”

” ‘Lay down his life’ ? You mean
die?”
He backed away, shaking his head. “Matt—”

“I know, I know, but think about it,” Matt said quickly. “In a way you’ve done that already.”

Sharp pain. A furious, bewildered resentment. “Wrong. Somebody else did that.” Not that he’d ever asked for it. Not that he ever would.

“But you were about to die,” Matt insisted. “It was intended. And you helped Gar, knowing it could mean your life. If you look at it that way, Prophecy holds.”

He turned away. “Prophecy’s a crock of shit, Matt. It can mean whatever you want!”

“Then forget Prophecy and trust in your senses!” Matt urged him. “Barl’s Wall is unraveling. I can feel it. You’d feel it too, if you’d let yourself. Don’t be afraid of what’s inside you, Asher. Embrace it. Extend your senses and feel the world around you. You’ll see I’m right. You’ll feel what I feel. Do it! Now, before it’s too late! Before we’re all beyond saving!”

In a different lifetime, he’d called this man “sir.” Spurred by Matt’s pleading he fell back on old habits. Did as he was told. Closed his eyes and opened his mind.

Darkness, seething. Malevolent power. Stuttering light. Thrashing feebly, Barl’s Wall dying … black rotting patches like mold, like slime, smeared across its shimmering surface…

Gasping, he wrenched himself free of the vision—the dreaming—whatever had snared him. That part of himself he’d never dreamed existed, and didn’t want to possess.

“You see?” said Matt. “Dathne was right. The Final Days are on us. And you’re the Innocent Mage.”

Dathne.
More anger, more pain. “That’s what she says,” he muttered. “Take my advice, Matt. Don’t go believin’ everythin’ you hear.”

Matt’s hard horseman’s hand closed about his arm and roughly pulled him around. “Dathne was born with a destiny too,” he said fiercely. “To carry Prophecy in her heart and mind. To deny all womanly desires, her dreams of hearth and home. To risk her life, every day, safeguarding Prophecy first and then you. And she did it willingly because she knew it was needful. Even though it hurt her. Even though she knew she was falling in love with you, and what would happen when she finally told you the truth.”

Asher broke Matt’s grip and retreated. He didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want Matt to stand there
defending
the bitch. She’d lied to him, made a fool of him, coaxed out his heart then cut it to ribbons.

“Something evil has entered the kingdom, Asher.” Matt’s voice was quiet now, ferocity subdued, or spent. “Something you were born to fight. That only you can fight-No, no, no, he didn’t want to
hear
this. Not from Matt. He’d heard enough of it last night from Veira and it was all a load of ole cobblers. “I’m a fisherman, Matt! I ain’t a warrior! This evil of yours, you want me to fight it with trout guts?”

“Of course not,” said Matt, impatient. “You’ll fight it with magic.”

“You
fight it with magic!” he retorted. “You and your damned Circle! You’re the ones been practisin’ for the last six hundred years. Me, I ain’t got the first idea what I’m doin’!”

“If we could we would, believe me,” said Matt. “But Olken magic isn’t strong enough, and none of us can wield Doranen magic. Without your help we’re doomed.”

“Why does it have to be
me?”
he shouted. “Why can’t you find someone else?”

“There
is
no one else! There’s only
you\
That’s why you’re the Innocent Mage!”

“Well, I don’t want to be the Innocent Mage! I never asked for it! I’ve a bloody good mind to just walk away right now! Walk away and never look back!”

Matt met his gaze unflinching. “Yes. You can walk away, Asher. I’m not strong enough to stop you. No one is. You can walk away and all of us can die. It’s not fair, it’s not just, but it is that simple. If you walk away, the rest of us will die.”

Badgered, cornered, backed against the wall of his inconvenient conscience, Asher stared at his blunt, square hands. Beneath the surface of his skin the power simmered. If he closed his eyes he could almost see it: a river of fire, flowing through his veins. Ever since his outburst last night his awareness of it refused to fade. He took a deep, resentful breath, and eased it out slowly. He could still feel the sticky touch of darkness, fouling his mind.

“It’s askin’ a lot, Malt,” he whispered. “One man against that kind of evil. One man all on his lonesome.”

“You’re not on your lonesome!” Matt said sharply. “You’ve got me. Dathne. Veira. The rest of the Circle.”

He snorted. “Thought you said Olken magic was nigh to useless?”

“I said it couldn’t defeat the evil we’re facing. But there’s still work for us to do. All of us have sworn to aid you, Asher. We’ll give our lives if that’s what’s needed.” Matt stepped close again, his face a riot of unhappy emotions. “I wish there was another way. I wish we could’ve told you sooner. I wish you hadn’t suffered what you’ve suffered. When this is over, if you want to punish us for lying, or deceiving, walk away then. Never speak to us again and we’ll understand. But I’m begging you, Asher: don’t walk away now. Not when we need you. Not when you’re all that stands between us and destruction.”

Silence, as though the Black Woods was holding its breath. Deeper in, a fox barked. Once. Twice. A predator, prowling. Searching for its next kill, and all the little rabbits unsuspecting…

Matt was right, the bastard. It weren’t fair and it weren’t just. But it was simple. Maybe he was this Innocent Mage, and maybe he wasn’t. That weren’t really the point. At the end of the day he was his da’s son, and Da had never once in his life turned away from someone in need. Wherever he was now—if he was anywhere—he’d expect his youngest to follow that example.

So he would. But that didn’t mean he had to like it, or play nice.

“Wait!” Matt called after him, as he stomped away in the direction of Veira’s cottage.

“Thought you said we were runnin’ out of time?” he snarled over his shoulder. “You want to get this done or don’t you? Make your mind up, Matt!”

“But there’s something I haven’t told you, Asher! Something you need to—”

“You told me enough! Now are you bloody comin’, ‘cause I ain’t got all day!”

After ten minutes tramping he reached Veira’s clover-patched yard. Scattering chickens he marched across it to the cottage, shoved open the back door and went inside. The kitchen was empty, but he could hear voices murmuring from along the narrow corridor. He followed the sound to its source: Veira’s tiny excuse for a sitting room. It was crowded with bodies. Veira. Dathne. Darran? And—

“Hello, Asher,” said Gar.

He felt smothered. Disjointed. The room was suddenly hazy with red. A voice—his voice—said thickly, “Get him out of here.”

Behind him Matt said, “No. Wait. You don’t understand—”

“Get him out or it’s over!”

As Veira, thunderous, opened her mouth to say something he didn’t care to hear and she might well regret Gar stood, dropped the leather-bound book he was holding onto the faded carpet and tugged at his travel-stained weskit. Then he glanced at all their horrified faces.

“I’d like a moment in private with Asher.”

“I got nowt to say to you.”

Gar held his hot gaze unflinching. “All right. Then I’ll talk and you can listen.”

“Hear him out,” Matt said, his voice low. “Please.”

The river of fire burned hotter still. It was almost sweating out of him. “Why should I?”

“Because we need him—and he saved my life.”

He wasn’t expecting that. Startled, he looked at Matt, who nodded. Something must have changed in his face then, because without a word Dathne and Veira and Darran got out of then chairs and headed for the sitting-room door. He stood aside to let them pass. Refused to meet

Dathne’s anxious eyes or give Darran the satisfaction of acknowledgement.

Matt nodded. “Thank you.”

Then he was gone too, the door was closing and it was just him and Gar. He felt sick, his vision still clouded with scarlet.

“You got two minutes,” he said. “Then I walk out of here and you don’t exist any more.”

Gar’s pale lips pressed tight, then he sighed. “You hate me. I understand that. But don’t let hatred blind you to the truth. Matt’s right. You need me, Asher. You won’t defeat Conroyd without my help.”

“Conroyd?”

“Well…” Gar bent to retrieve the dropped leather-bound book and frowned at its mottled cover. “The thing that used to be Conroyd.”

He didn’t want to ask … he didn’t want to ask … “What are you bloody on about?” he asked roughly. “What’s Jarralt got to do with this?”

Gar held up the book. “This is Barl’s diary. Durm found it but didn’t tell anyone. He used an incantation in it to breach the Wall. Morg was waiting on the other side. He—”

“Morg? The magician your ancestors ran away from six hundred years ago?” He laughed.. “You’re crazy.”

“I know it sounds fantastic,” said Gar. “Impossible. But it’s true. He came through the breach in the Wall Durm foolishly opened and masquerades now as Conroyd Jarralt, Lur’s king and WeatherWorker. I think he’s the evil your prophecy spoke of.”

“It ain’t
my
bloody prophecy!”

“Well, whoever it belongs to it’s about to be fulfilled.

The Wall is falling, Asher. Matt feels it, and I’ll bet you feel it too.”

The last thing he intended to discuss with Gar was feelings. “You’re mad. How can Morg be Conroyd Jarralt? Don’t you reckon someone would’ve
noticed?”

“He’s lived six hundred years, Asher! He’s skilled beyond imagining! And it is him. Conroyd’s no longer himself, I’ve seen… changes. And Durm tried to warn me before he died. I didn’t understand him then but I do now. I think Morg used him to begin with. I think he’s why my family died. How I got my magic, and why it failed. Morg is behind it all.”

Asher rubbed a hand across his tired face, his stinging eyes. “And you want me to confront him, eh? The most talented, vicious magician your people ever bred. One strong enough to survive for six centuries. Strong enough to bring down Barl’s Wall, all by himself. Me. An Olken fisherman who can make it rain, at a pinch, and then has to sit around snivelin’ for two hours after.” He turned for the door. “You’re out of your sinkin’ mind.”

“No! Wait! I haven’t finished!” said Gar, and leapt forward to clutch at his arm.

Without thought, without planning, he let the barely leashed power boil out of him. Let it rip Gar’s fingers from his sleeve and smash him across the room, knocking an armchair sideways and hurling him into the wall.

Coughing, choking and running with blood, Gar staggered to his feet. “Asher .. . please .. .”

“Don’t you touch me!” he ordered, shaking with rage. “Don’t
ever
touch me!”

The sitting-room door flew open and Veira tumbled in.

“What are you doing? What’s going on here?” she demanded.

“It’s nothing!” Gar answered, wheezing. “I’m all right. A misunderstanding. Please, Veira. Leave us to talk.”

“There’s nowt left to say, Gar. You’ve had your two minutes,” he spat. “And now you don’t exist.”

Veira stood in the doorway, blocking his exit. “What nonsense is this? Two minutes? Pah! You’ll stay here and listen for as long as need be! Until you’ve heard all Gar has to say!”

“I ain’t interested in what he’s got to say! Listenin’ to him landed me in this mess to start with!”

She slapped his face. “Prophecy landed you in this mess, child, six centuries before you were born! Were you listening last night or did I talk myself hoarse for nothing? Did my Rafel die for nothing? Prince Gar is a part of this business! He’s of the Usurper’s House! And you will hear him, do I make myself clear?”