The Innocent Mage (56 page)

It came as a shock to realise that he was panting. That there was sweat on his brow and his borrowed hands were trembling. He took a deep breath, then spat it out.

‘Your precious Wall is offensive to me.’ He closed in on the cripple to rest Durm’s reluctant fingers upon his waiting shoulders. ‘The time has come for it to fall.’

Leaning close, he pressed spittle-flecked lips to the cripple’s smooth forehead. Breathed words into the lax body beneath his hands. He felt the muscles leap. Felt the sizzle and swish of the magic as it breached the body’s shield, the skin, and raced through blood and sinew.

Brighter than any glimfire ever conjured; colder than any winter ever called: the imprint of Durm’s lips burned blue above the bridge of the prince’s nose. Burned … burned … and faded.

Morg turned away. Began sorting through the books piled on the chamber’s old desk. A moment later, the cripple stirred.

‘I’m sorry, did you say something, Durm? I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.’

‘It was nothing, Your Highness,’ said Morg, and gently smiled. ‘Nothing at all.’

When Asher finally drifted to the surface of his dream-soaked sleep it was to see Dathne sitting in the chair beside his bed. She looked almost serene. Her hair was briskly restrained in a plait, laying bare the pure, sharp lines of her face. She was knitting. Something pink and fluffy, which was so unlike her he thought for a moment he must still be lost in fancies.

He felt his heart crack open and all his throttled feelings for her come pouring out.

Glancing up, she saw his open eyes. ‘Well, well, well,’ she said, tart as fresh lemon. ‘If it’s not Prince Lazybones himself.’ Without waiting for an answer she put down her knitting and picked up a little silver bell from his bedside table. Then she went to his bedchamber door, opened it anc tinkled the bell into the corridor.

A maid appeared. Cluny. ‘Yes’m?’ she asked.

‘Go and tell whoever needs to know it that Asher is awake.’

Cluny squealed. ‘Oh, yes.’

Dathne closed the chamber door on the sound of Cluny’s feet pounding down the spiral staircase and tinkled her way back to the chair by his bed. Replaced the bell on his bedside table but didn’t pick up her knitting. Instead she sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap and frowned at him.

‘We parted badly, Asher, you and I,’ she said in that brusque, forthright way he’d come to treasure. ‘As much my fault as yours. You took me by surprise. More than a year we’ve known each other, and you never once said anything about… feelings.’

He found his voice: it felt tentative. ‘You expecting an apology?’

‘No. We all have our secrets. But here’s the thing.’ Still frowning, she smoothed her blue wool skirt over her knees. ‘I don’t love you, Asher. I don’t love anyone. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.’

He laughed, though he was anything but amused. How many different pains were there in this world? And was he going to have to feel all of them? ‘Don’t it?’

‘Not to me. Of course I can’t speak for you, but I’d like to think you felt the same. We’ve been good friends till now, haven’t we? I see no reason to lose that.’ She hesitated then, and for once looked uncertain. ‘I don’t want to lose that.’

His breathing hitched, air catching in his chest. He wanted to reach his hand to her. Touch her. Friendship wasn’t nearly enough, but if it was all she had to give him .. .and mayhap in time he could convince her otherwise. Teach her to trust his heart… and her own. ‘My da died.’

Her frown softened. ‘And you’re shunned. Forbidden

: coast and all eight fishing communities. I know. I’m sorry.’

He didn’t know what to say to that. Was afraid if he d to speak, tears would drown the words. ‘How long since I got back?’ he asked when enough time had passed.

This is the seventh morning since you fell ill.’ She skimmed his skin with her cool hand and nodded, satisfied. ‘Doyou still hurt?’

For a moment he was confused. Why would he hurt? Ihen he remembered. His beaten back. His punished body after all that desperate riding. Great waves of furious heat and freezing cold, sweeping him from head to toe as fever claimed him. Closing his eyes he searched himself, and discovered nothing but a lingering lethargy. ‘No.’ She nodded, smiling. ‘Good.’

He looked at her again. Devoured her face with his eyes. She flushed, a small tide of colour washing over her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. He lifted an eyebrow. ‘So. Have I missed anythin’ exciting?’

She told him. Details of the damaged City. All the repairs, and the official Day of Thanksgiving: wasn’t he sorry he’d slept through that? No, not really. The books discovered in the deserted Old Palace. His Highness was like a pig in mud. ‘Aye, I’ll bet,’ said Asher, rolling his eyes.

‘And Westwailing?’ he asked when she was finished. ‘Is everything all right there now?’

‘It is according to Darran,’ she said. ‘He and Wilier got back safely the day before yesterday. The rest of the expedition is following on.’

Asher scowled. Bloody Wilier. Now if he’d gone arse over earholes into the harbour …

She smiled. ‘And your things, and all your money, which the king sent down to the coast for you — they’re safely back.’ He could only shake his head. ‘How do you know so much?’

‘I make it my business.’

‘So what caused the storm in the first place?’

Dathne shrugged. ‘In a nutshell, the king’s illness. He was lost in fever. Worried about the prince. The Weather Magics followed the path of his thoughts. And because he was delirious and couldn’t control his own power or the way it manifested, we got a storm. It’s tragic, but it’s nobody’s fault.’ She pulled a face. ‘The king has been distraught. The minute he was allowed out of bed he went to the City Barlschapel and spent the night on his knees, praying for those who died, and after that he joined in the repairs. I hear Pother Nix was furious, and the queen, but His Majesty refused to yield.’

Asher shifted on his pillows. ‘He’s a grand man, is Borne. We’re lucky he didn’t die.’

‘You’ll get no argument from me,’ Dathne agreed. Then she grinned. ‘There’s something else as well. Although probably I shouldn’t tell you. Probably the prince will want to tell you himself when he gets here.’

There were suspicious glints of mischief in her eyes. He mistrusted Dathne’s mischief, heartily. ‘You tell me now.’

‘No, no,’ she said, laughing. ‘He’ll be cross as two sticks if I spoil the surprise.’

‘Dathne —’ he started, but broke off because the chamber door flew open and Gar strode into the room. Dathne slid off her chair and curtseyed.

‘Barl save me from all that goes bump in the night!’ the prince exclaimed, stopping at the foot of the bed. ‘It’s about damned time you woke up!’

For a moment Asher couldn’t speak. Hollow-cheeked and feverish, Gar looked like a man driven to his limit. His crumpled silk shirt was splotched with ink stains and his fine wool breeches had a tear across one knee. ‘Barl save you, all right! You look bloody dreadful, Gar. What’ve you been doing?’

‘Fretting for you,’ said Gar, and laughed. There was a shrill edge to the sound and his eyes were wild. ‘No. Sorry, I’ve been working my fingers to the bone fulfilling your duties as well as mine and I have to say I’m well sick of it. Mien are you getting up?’

Asher worked his way upright and rested his shoulderblades against the bedhead. ‘Dathne said you found some mouldy ole books? Bet you’ve had your nose stuck in ‘tm day and night without resting and that’s what’s got you lookin’ like death on a toasting fork.’

Another grating laugh. ‘All right, all right. I confess,’ Gar said. ‘I have been burning a smidgin of midnight oil translating some mouldy ole books, as you so disrespectfully call them.’ He turned to Dathne and pretended displeasure. ‘Stealing my thunder, are you, Dathne? I hope you didn’t tell him about that other matter!’ Dathne curtseyed again. ‘No, Your Highness.’ ‘I should think not!’ Gar rubbed his hands together as though he were trying to start a fire. ‘When was the last time you slept?’ asked Asher. ‘Who needs sleep?’ said Gar, derisive. ‘Besides, you’ve ken snoring enough for the both of us. Now let’s stop bleating about me, shall we? Asher, I have a surprise for you. You’ll never guess what it is.’ Asher pulled a face. ‘Don’t think I want to.’ ‘All right then, I’ll tell you. There’s to be a parade in your honour.’

He stared at Dathne, horrified. She shrugged. He stared at Gar again, still horrified. The silly prat was grinning like a loon. ‘A what}’

‘If you don’t stop scowling like that your face is going to shatter,’ said Gar. ‘And anyway, nothing you can say will make a difference. Their Majesties insist upon a parade so a parade there will be. Darran’s been sweating blood over the final details ever since his return. We’ve just been waiting for you to wake up. It’ll start here at the Tower and go all the way through the City, along every main thoroughfare. What do you think about that, eh?’

‘I think you be clean out of your pretty yellow head!’ said Asher, choking. ‘A parade} I don’t want a bloody parade!’

‘Well, want it or not, you’re getting one,’ Gar replied. ‘So I suggest you start practising your smiling and waving.’

Asher slid back down the bed and pulled the blankets over his face. Pulled them away again and said, despairingly, ‘But why?’

Some of the frenetic animation died out of Gar’s expression. ‘Why do you think? Because you saved my life, you fool.’

With the dregs of his dwindling strength Asher tugged a pillow from behind his head. ‘Well, if I’d known it’d mean a bloody parade I’d have damned well let you drown!’ And he threw the pillow as hard as he could at Gar’s fatuously smiling face.

Shortly afterwards Pother Nix interrupted the ensuing lively discussion by arriving with his basket of pills and potions and demanding privacy for himself and his patient.

‘Waving and smiling, Asher, remember?’ said Gar, retreating. ‘Both must be perfect. Darran insists upon it.’

Asher glowered. ‘Ha.’

‘Come and see me later, if you’re able. I’ll be working in the library.’

lHa.’

‘I’m glad you’re mended,’ said Dathne as she stowed her knitting in her string bag. ‘I’ll look for you in the Goose at week’s end, same as usual, shall I?’

‘Maybe,’ said Asher.

She smiled, hefting the straps of the bag onto her bony shoulder. ‘Definitely. Unless I see you in the parade first, of course.’

And then she was gone, laughing, and it was just him and the damn bone-botherer. Nix pronounced him sound in wind and limb, which he knew already, then made him drink another damn potion that put him right back to sleep.

hen he woke again it was late afternoon and he was jilone. For some small time he lay there unmoving. ing. About Da. Jed. His brothers. His life. About |ltdsions, and choices, and who controlled who. About how that was all going to change. Zeth and the rest were due a few unpleasant surprises. And with that settled he realised he was suddenly sick of lows and blankets. Cautiously, expecting his legs to fold |lie a newborn foal’s at any moment, he clambered out of :d. His legs held. Amazing. Somebody had left a bowl of :sh fruit on the table. He ate a couple of teshoes and an apple as he wandered around his apartment, just to see if 1 his legs would still take him from here to there and back ;ain without collapsing. They did. He felt fine. Whatever I Nix had put in that potion, it had worked a treat. His head I was clear, his body free of pain, and he was ready to brave I the world beyond his bedchamber. So he found some fresh I clothes, pulled them on and left his rooms.

The first person he saw when he reached the Tower lobby was Darran. Looking like a stork on its way to a I funeral, same as usual, all black plumage and long spindly He halted abruptly as Asher stepped off the last | staircase tread.

‘Asher.’ He moved closer, knobbly fingers clasped in front of him. ‘You have Pother Nix’s leave to be out and about, do you?’

Asher rolled his eyes. ‘Aye, I be feelin’ ever so much better, Darran. Thanks for askin’. I be touched. Honest.’ He headed for the doors. ‘Asher, wait!’

Sighing, Asher waited. ‘What?’

Darran darted a quick, hunted look about the empty lobby and came closer still. The ole fool’s wrinkly throat was working like he’d swallowed an orange whole and couldn’t get it down. ‘I want a word with you.’ ‘ ‘About?’

‘You saved His Highness’s life.’

Asher raised his hands palm out. ‘Darran, if this is about that stupid parade, you’re wastin’ your breath. I were asleep when Gar and his folks dreamed up that little bit of madness so you can’t blame me.’

Darran’s pinched face was stiff with dislike, and something else. Something Asher couldn’t place. ‘Asher, be quiet. I am perfectly aware that the parade in your honour was requested by Their Majesties. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Then what?’ said Asher impatiently. ‘I’m tryin’ to get out for a breath of fresh air, Darran, in case you haven’t noticed. Feels like I ain’t seen nowt but the inside of my own eyelids for six months, not six days.’

Darran’s thin cheeks stained red. ‘You really are the most impossible man it has ever been my misfortune to know,’ he snapped. ‘I merely wanted to say that in saving Prince Gar’s life at the risk of your own you demonstrated a courage and sense of honour I heretofore did not suspect you possessed.’

Asher thought about that for a moment. ‘Am I still dreamin’ or was that a compliment?’

Darran nodded. ‘Apparently. Though I’m beginning to wonder why.’

‘That makes two of us,’ said Asher, grinning. ‘Ain’t no need for compliments, Darran. I didn’t save him for you.’

Darran’s clasped hands clenched bloodless. ‘Nevertheless. You saved him.’

With a small shock Asher realised then that this wasn’t Darran somehow doing him a backhanded bad turn. The ole fool meant every word he was saying. And that was the thing in Darran’s expression he’d not been able to place: the bitter taste of swallowed pride. Bastard. He sighed. ‘I had to.’

Darran considered him in silence for a long time. ‘I see,’ he said at last. ‘Very well, then.’ He turned away. Paused.

and turned back. ‘You realise, of course, this in no way implies that I suddenly approve of you, or have changed my opinion that at heart you remain a lawless ruffianly reprobate.’