The Prodigal Mage Part 40

It was no use. Talking to this blind fool was a waste of time Lur didnt have. No, Arlin, he said tiredly. I dont.

Why are you out here, Rafel? said Arlin, and kicked his brown horse closer. His eyes squinted against the relentless, drizzling rain. Do you honestly expect me to buy thisthis tarradiddle about you being able to feel the earth?

Firedragon laid his ears flat back at Arlins stallion, ready to snap or strike. Scowling, Rafel jobbed the horses mouth in warning, not willing to back off. Arlin would see it as a victory, of sorts.

You calling me a liar? he said. Just cause you Doranen are deaf, dumb and blind to the earth, I must be too? I thought that kind of arrogance died with Conroyd Jarralt.

You prate to me of arrogance? Arlin snapped. You? Son of the most arrogant man this kingdom ever birthed?

Arrogant or not he saved your b.l.o.o.d.y life. So you might want to swallow that nasty tongue of yours, Lord Garrick.

Arlins teeth bared. What Ill swallow is your admission before the Council that you and your meddling father are responsible for all our current woes. You are unnatural. Both of you. It is unnatural that an Olken can wield Doranen magics. Not to mention insulting that youd dare refer to yourselves as mages. The Doranen are mages. You Olken are Ill tell you what we are, Arlin, he said, as Firedragon began to dance on the spot. Were the folk as were rightfully born to this land. The folk as paid the price for Doranen arrogance. Six hundred b.l.o.o.d.y years kept down by you and yours. And if that aint enough, were the folk as saved you from Morg. Thats who we are, my lord.

Arlin looked skyward again, the rain falling steadily onto his face. Morg was twenty years ago, Rafel. Hes dead and gone. The buried past. What can you do to save us now, you and your precious Olken magic? Can you restore the weather to its former perfection? Can you undo the damage your father wrought, interfering with Barls brilliant workings? Can you make this cursed rain stop?

He forced himself to breathe slowly, feeling the stirrings of an unwise rage. Youre full of s.h.i.t, Arlin. You always were, from our first day in school. Spew it somewhere else, why dont you? Ive got a job to do, as a.s.signed by the Council.

Easing his hold on the reins, he nudged Firedragon a step sideways so he could get past b.l.o.o.d.y Arlin and make tracks for Rumfylde. But Arlin put his hand out, catching Firedragons bridle. The horse stopped, grunting a protest.

Lur is on the brink of chaos, Rafel, said Arlin, his voice soft with menace. You know it. I know it. And we know you cant save it. You must stand before the Council and admit that. You must Forget what I must, he said, as Firedragon jerked and tussled to get free. You take your b.l.o.o.d.y hand off my horses bridle or so help me Youll what? Arlin sneered. What will you do, Rafel?

Rafel smiled. b.o.l.l.o.c.ks to being careful. Arlin was asking for it. This.

With a snap of his fingers he severed the girth on Arlins saddle, and in the next breath cracked three stones lying in the gra.s.s by the side of the road. The shards slapped Arlins horse on its fat dappled rump. Squealing, the beast bucked and bolted and Arlin, still in his saddle, tumbled to the ground.

You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Arlin shouted, sprawling, his fine clothes splotched and splattered with mud. That was a.s.sault. a.s.sault with magic. Ill see you thrown in the Guardhouse, Rafel. Ill see you destroyed in Justice Hall. Ill have you charged with attempted murder and the murder of my father!

Laughing, Rafel rode past him. You can try, Arlin, he said, over his shoulder. But Im Ashers son, remember? And youre the son of the man who wrecked the reef in Westwailing. So maybe you might want to think on that a bit.

Ignoring Arlins furious shouting he dug his heels into Firedragons flanks, and they galloped towards Rumfylde leaving the Doranen lordling to catch an ague, or walk home on blisters, or both.

He didnt care.

For three long, wet days he wandered through the Home Districts. Lur was weeping. Suffering. Bleeding from the deep wounds the Weather Magic, in its death throes, had gouged in the earth. He felt its pain in the waterlogged orchards, with their ripely rotting fruit, in the beehives, grimly droning, in the fields of drenched sheep and milch cows, and in the tilled soil screaming on the edge of hearing.

At first he thought he might go mad from it. The onslaught was brutal. Inescapable. Was this how Deenie felt? Haunted? Battered? No hope of respite, not a single moments peace?

Poor little mouse. I never realised.

But gradually his senses numbedand he welcomed their deadening. It meant that finally he could s.n.a.t.c.h a little sleep. Everywhere he travelled he kept himself to himself. Kept his hat pulled low and didnt give his real name. Everywhere he travelled he eavesdropped, shameless. In alehouses and markets and the inns where he stayed, he minded his own business and listened to the locals gossip. Not every Olken he encountered had magic, and of those who did, not many were powerful. He didnt stumble across one man, woman or child who felt the earths tumult as keenly as he did but many were feeling it. Felt ill, and afraid.

On the fourth day he visited Riddleton, a village on the furthest edge of the Home Districts, sat at the feet of the Saffron Hills. The land thereabouts was prime grazing country, where some of the best cattle in Lur were raised. Riddleton was a sleepy place, tucked far from the City, mostly overlooked cept twice a year when the big Livestock Markets were held. Out here, with the Saffron Hills rising, a gentle echo of Barls savagely splendid mountains, with more open countryside than the rest of the Home Districts hemmed-in fields and cl.u.s.tered cottages, Lurs torment shouted loudest of all.

Weary after so much time in the saddle, worn down by the ceaseless rain, sometimes drizzling, sometimes heavy, he ambled with Firedragon along the hedge-rowed lanes leading to the village. The constant sc.r.a.ping of earth-distress against his nerves set his teeth on edge, muttered pain behind his tired eyes. Firedragon, sensing his disquiet, broke into a shuffling jog-trot, wet tail swishing, slapping his flanks. Every bone aching, he eased the horse back to a walk. In the fields on either side of them rust-red, black spotted Saffron cattle grazed the wet gra.s.s. If they could feel the earths misery they gave no sign of it. He envied them their dumb beast ignorance.

Once in Riddleton village, he took a room at the Speckled Rooster. Saw bedraggled Firedragon settled in a warm, dry stable with a hot mash, then took himself off to tramp the dripping streets and boggy laneways. To bully his beaten senses into reading the sorry earth one more time.

This would be his last night away from home. Hed learned what hed needed to learn, what the Council had sent him to learn. But he knew, his heart sinking, theyd not want to hear what he had to say Barl save us. Mama was right. This cant be fixed. The damage is gone too deep.

The thought bludgeoned him to a halt. He had to fall against a handy tree-trunk and wait for the shivering to pa.s.s. Lur was dying. He couldnt see for unshed tears.

What do I do, Da? How do I tell Mama and Deenie?

Da. The shard of talking stone sat in his pocket, but it hadnt stirred once. He chose to believe that meant his father hadnt stopped breathing. Surely Mama would call for him if Da slipped away. She was fratched, she thought him reckless, but shed not punish him like that. And any road if Da had died, he surely wouldve felt it.

He pushed off the tree-trunk and kept on walking, barely taking in the patchwork of market gardens on either side of him, carrots and corn and beans and peas. Bedraggled and wilted, but grimly holding on. Sobbing through his blood, Lurs curdling pain. Such a good thing Deenie was safe at home in Dorana, deadened with Kerrils elixirs. If Da was right, and magic was a curse, then his poor mousy sister was its worst victim.

Wandering aimless through the village, ignoring the glances from folk as were curious about strangers, he felt his thoughts slide from Deenie to Goose like rocks down a riverbank.

I never asked Deenie if she was sweet on him. Never told her what he told me. Doesnt matter. They can work it out themselves when he gets back. Cause hes b.l.o.o.d.y coming back. I dont care the Councils not heard from Pintte or Baden. That could be any reason. And anyway, Ive been on the road for days. By the time I get home, theyll have heard something. Therell be word from the expedition by the time I ride through the gates.

There had to be. Cause if there wasnt And suddenly he was too tired to keep on walking. Too tired, too disheartened, too sick of what he felt. So he headed back to the inn. He wanted to sleep. To forget. To dream that Lur was thriving, just for a little while. For one last night. Cause in the morning hed have to ride back to Dorana and tell the Council there was no hope.

Sink me b.l.o.o.d.y sideways, Da. How did we come to this?

He took to his bed soon after supper, but didnt stay asleep for long. Wrenched from uneasy slumber into storm-wracked wakefulness, he blinked muzzily at his chamber ceiling as lightning cracked like whip-shot and thunder rumbled and rolled. The Speckled Rooster shuddered under the onslaught, window-panes rattling. Through the closed door he heard a young child scream.

Meister Tamly, the innkeeper greeted him. A wild night.

Gamble, he said, scrambled into his damp clothes and tumbled downstairs to the shabby, glimlit parlour. You all right?

Gamble shrugged. He was a slight man, with grey streaks at his temples and a fondness for loudly spotted weskits. Im not dead yet.

Rafel stared through the parlours bobble-paned windows at the pounding rain, at the blizzard of stripped foliage, at the torrents of water gushing through the laneway outside, all the storms destruction lit in silvery fits and bursts.

Barl preserve us, said Gamble, bowing his head.

You can feel it, cant you? he said, his stomach churning, his hands clenched to fists in his pockets, where n.o.body could see them. In his bones, a painful drumming. The last tatters of power tearing loose in the earth.

Sure I dont know what you mean, sir, said Gamble, carefully toneless. Sir, might be youll feel happier in your chamber with the curtains drawn, like the other guests.

Gamble He sighed. When I told you I was Ned Tamly, a farm manager looking to buy a new bull? I lied. Im Rafel of Dorana. Ashers son.

Ashers son? Gambles eyes in the fitful glimlight were wide and full of wonder. The great man himself?

Hed long ago lost count of how many times hed seen that look on an Olkens face. Once it had thrilled him. Later, grown older, hed felt it shrink him. But nownowThats right. Hes my da.

Well, sir, said Gamble. Its an honour. Then the pleasure in him dimmed. Words reached us Ashers ailing and is like to die. Is that true?

No, it b.l.o.o.d.y well aint. Its true hes not himself just this ticktock, but h.e.l.l be on his feet directly. Gamble, I The Speckled Rooster trembled as thunder boomed low over their heads. Strike after strike of lightning turned night into day. Somewhere upstairs, the same child screamed again. Gamble sucked in a quick breath, then risked himself close-pressed to the nearest window, trying to make out what was left of his storm-wracked world. The tiffa trees in the front garden were bent double and a bed of cheerful pansies lay pulped flat. Gamble moaned, a thin sound of distress, and turned as though the sight were too painful to bear.

Gamble, said Rafel, seeing him properly, at last. Feeling him. Seems to me youre an Olken with a rare touch of magic.

Gamble flicked him a wary glance. And if I am? I dont use magic to run the Rooster. Im not a Doranen, needing magic to blow my nose.

That made him smile a little, even as another crash of thunder rattled his teeth. Got no great opinion of the Doranen, have you?

Hardly lay eyes on one, save maybe twice or thrice a year, the inn-keeper replied. They buy their Saffron cattle in Dorana. No need to muddy their fine shoes in Riddleton.

Believe me, you dont miss much, he said dryly. We Olken poddle along pretty well without them, all in all. Gamble He waited for the echoes of fresh thunder to die. I need to knowwhat is it you feel?

Gambles face was troubled as he stared out at the storm. Mortal afraid, Meister Rafel. Mortal afraid.

The parlour lit up stark blueish-white as more lightning cracked through the storm-ridden village. Hard on its heels a dreadful growl of thunder. Somewhere close by, a dog howled in terror. The child wailed. Doors slammed.

Last storm I saw this bad was when the Wall came down, Gamble added. He turned his head. Despite his fear, his eyes were calm. Almost resigned. Theres no Wall to come down now, young sir. So what are we looking at? As Ashers son, do you know?

What hed learned was for the Council first. Besides, he didnt want to make this mans night any worse. Not for certain, Gamble. Wish I did.

A muscle leapt along the innkeepers tight jaw. As though he heard the liebut chose not to challenge it. And are you afraid?

There seemed little point in lying about that. Aye, sir. Im frighted s.h.i.tless.

Oh, said Gamble, and looked sorry hed asked. What about the Doranen? Do they know what this means? Can their magic fix things?

Remembering Rodyn Garrick and the rest of them down in West-wailing, how helpless theyd been in the face of the reefhow Arlins father diedRafel shrugged. I doubt it.

Gambles face crumpled, just for a moment. Not even Barlsman Jaffee can help us?

Another shrug. Hes praying in his chapel. I suppose thats help of a sort. So far its not made any difference but.i.t might do. I dont know.

And your father? said Gamble. Can he get better in time to save us?

More lightning and thunder. Once the rolling booms fell silent, Rafel looked at the innkeeper. Only a fool abandons hope. This aint the greatest danger Lurs faced. That was Morg, and hes long dead. Lurs our home, Gamble. Whatever ructions weve got on our hands this time, Im going to fight for itand so will my da.

Fight with what? Gamble whispered. Sickles and spades? Theres Doranen magic at the heart of this trouble, Meister Rafel. How do us Olken fight that? Its not our way.

The truth of Gambles words struck him hard, like hammer to anvil. Olken earth magic didnt start this. Couldnt finish it. Only Doranen magic could undo the damage here. Except there wasnt one spell Durm had left behind him that might help them now. If there was, Da would have used it already. And since he hadnt Jervale have mercy. Dont say Rodyn Garrick was right. Dont say our only hope can be found in Lost Dorana.

Cause that meant Fernel Pinttes expedition was the kingdoms last chance. It meant Lurs fate was resting in Sarle Badens hands. But would Baden and his mage cronies even care? He didnt think so. They had no love for Lur or the Olken. They cared only for the Doranen. And GooseGoose could never stand up to them and demand that they help Lur. Neither could Pintte, though the fool fancied himself some kind of authority. Theyd get ridden over roughshod. Shoved aside. Ignored.

Thats even if theyre still alive.

Bitterness galled him. Self-contempt. Despair. As he stood beside the Roosters innkeeper and watched the storm rage, unabating, he lashed himself just as hard.

I never shouldve let Da talk me out of going with them. I let him treat me like a sprat and now it looks like Lurs going to pay the price.

He left Riddleton at daybreak. The storm had blown itself out just before the sunrise, leaving behind it wreckage and ruin. Downed trees. Smashed cow byres. Scattered straw thatching and roof tiles shattered in the streets. Sorry he couldnt stay and help the stunned folk of Riddleton put their battered village to rights, desperate to get home, he kicked Firedragon into a canter and let the horse leap the felled tree-trunks and piles of gutter-trapped debris.

Dead cattle littered the fields, the poor beasts struck by lightning. Dismayed farmers wandered among them, counting their dreadful losses, their faces pale and drawn in the glowering light. The sky was still clotted with rain-filled clouds, gauzy tendrils drifting low enough to trail through the treetops. The air was so damp Rafel thought he could wring it like a wet cloth.

Hardening his heart to the suffering because he couldnt help them, he urged Firedragon into a gallop.

Hours later, with the stallion near to dropping beneath him, feeling like he could drop from the saddle himself, he pa.s.sed through the Citys open gates. Home. Hed go home to the Tower first and then Rafel! said the City guard on duty. Biddle. They played knuckle-bones together at the Bear. Can you hold? Ive orders to send for Captain Mason on your return.

Mason? Why? Seized with sudden fear he nodded. Nudged Fire-dragon out of the way and sat waiting, silent, unseeing, as Biddle sent a runner to the Guardhouse. Mason arrived a short time later, on foot and running and hardly out of breath. A fit man, and a good one.

What is it? Rafel demanded. Captain, is it No, no, Mason said hastily, standing close by Firedragons steaming shoulder. Your fathers not dead, Rafel. Its the Councilit wants you urgently. Theres word of a sort from Pinttes expedition.

Rafel felt his heart leap. Theyre alive?

Yes, said Mason, sorrowful. But the words not good. Youd best prepare yourself.

Goose. Whats happened?

Mason frowned. By rights the Council should Leaning down, he took hold of the captains wiry shoulder. Please, Mason. Goose Martins my best friend. If hesif hes hurt We dont know anyones hurt, said Mason with rough sympathy. But theres trouble. Barlsman Jaffee says theres been some kind of attack.

An attack? Rafel stared at him, letting go. Whos attacked them? Twenty years the Walls been gone, we aint heard a peep from anyone. So who I dont know, Mason said grimly. I dont want to think about it. Weve enough trouble of our own right here. The notion theres someone skulking over the mountains, intent on doing us a mischief He stepped back. Ive sent word to the Council youre home. Theyll be gathering. You should go.

Rafel straightened. Yes. Thank you, Captain.

Rafel No, sir, he said, not needing the question asked aloud. The news aint good out there, either.

And he rode away, leaving Mason speechless and troubled behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

A scant hour later, slouched beside one of the Council chamber windows, a dull pain throbbing behind his eyes, Rafel found himself sorry he never found the warspells that Da used to defeat Morgs demons. He could surely use them to bring these fools to their senses.

Whose bright notion was it, asking Arlin to come? Bet theyre b.l.o.o.d.y sorry now.

Lord Garrick was haranguing the Council, Doranen the target of his ire as much as any Olken. The offended councilors brangled over the top of him, hands waving, spittle flying. After learning the truth of the Home Districts, and the message theyd received from the expedition, the chamber stank with fear and n.o.body was attempting to impose order on the meeting. Not Shifrin, not Mayor Stott, not even Wheezing Barlsman Jaffee. And this time Pellen was nowhere to be seen.

rank cowardice! Arlin was shouting, one fist pounding on the council gallerys wooden railing. We cannot sit on our a.r.s.es and do nothing! Sarle Badens only hope lies with us sending help! We cant abandon him.

Typical b.l.o.o.d.y Arlin. Not a word to say about Lurs strife. All he cared for was saving Doranen livesand the sound of his own voice.

Herrick Grey, Meister of the Tanners Guild, lumbered out of his chair. Convenient how you forget Doranas mayor is endangered with Sarle Baden, Lord Garrick, along with five other good Olken. Your fathers son, you are. Hed be proud to see it.

Arlins face darkened dangerously. Do not presume to speak to me of my father. Not in this place, where his murderer is made welcome.

Now Jaffee roused. Da always said the man was a doddery ole dimster, not a patch on fiery Barlsman Holze, but it seemed the kingdoms dire predicament had finally spurred the man to decisive action.

Better now than never, I spose. I just hope it aint too little, too b.l.o.o.d.y late.

Lord Garrick, please, said Jaffee, angrily pained. You cannot continue to make such accusations against Rafel without you And if you do not send help to Sarle Baden, said Arlin, trampling Jaffee without hesitation or shame, that will be murder too. Richly clothed, extravagantly jewelled, doing his best to intimidate with wealth, he glared at his unruly audience. And this Council has winked at murder long enough.

Elderly Jaffee creaked to his feet, his eyes pouched and bloodshot. Hed grown gaunt these past weeks, prayer and worry stripping him to the bone.

My friends, he said, arms raised, shuffling around to look his outraged and protesting fellow-councilors in the eye. The kingdom looks to us for leadership. We cannot permit our fears to overtake us, or let ourselves be distracted by a sons natural grief.

As the clamour slowly died down, Rafel tipped his aching head against the window-frame. Grief was one thing. Grief he could understand. But Arlin wasnt grieving. Or not only grieving. Arlin was set to choke himself on hate and the desire for revenge.