The Prodigal Mage Part 46

Slowly, so slowly, the roaring in his mind faded. His burning blood cooled, and with it the urge to slaughter. He breathed out, hard, so dizzy he nearly staggered.

As the official Council presence on this expedition, said Tom Dimble, I tell you, Lord Garrick, that we are heartily displeased. He looked at his companions, and they all clambered to standing. The Council shouldve been told of Marburys account before it allowed Mayor Pintte and Lord Baden to lead their expedition. Before we were sent in their footsteps. You might well have put us all in grave danger!

Recovered most of his arrogance, Arlin shook his head. And you wonder why I never mentioned this. You Olken you start at your own shadows and somehow youve managed to turn the Councils Doranen as cowardly as yourselves. If Id shown you Marburys diary you and those other timid fools might not have allowed Might not? said Hosh Clyne, his voice uneven with temper. Would not. Permission for this expedition would not have been granted had we known Arlin smiled, so unpleasant. But it was. And were here. And Well not be here beyond tonight, said Tom flatly. This expedition is over. Mysterious, malevolent voices in the dark lands beyond these mountains? Its too dangerous to continue. Not until this matter has been discussed by all the Council and prayed on by Barlsman Jaffee and Prayed on? said Arlin, incredulous. Discussed in Council? Theres no time for that. We must The decisions made, Lord Garrick, said Nib Hambly. No point you arguing. Youre not the authority here. Come first light well Keep on going, said Rafel, stirring. I cant b.l.o.o.d.y believe it. Im agreeing with Arlin. Again. Much more of this and hed drop dead with a brainstorm. Hes right, Meister Hambly. Lurs running out of time. And Goose and the others, theyre running out of time too, even faster. Dangerous or not, weve got to keep going.

All three councilors were staring at him, dismayed. Youd side with the Doranen? said Clyne. But Rafelyou loathe him.

He shrugged. No. Loathe is much too mild a word. But it happens I agree with him on this. I can loathe him and agree with him, Clyne. It aint that hard, specially with so much at stake.

Rafel Save your breath, Tom, he said, suddenly so b.l.o.o.d.y tired. If you want to turn tail, you go right ahead. I wont stop you. Truth be told, Ill probly cheer. But I aint turning back and neither is Arlin. Any of one of you try to stop us and Another shrug. Well. Aint no point in you trying to stop us, is there? We all know you might as well try spitting against the wind.

The looks on their faces answered him.

Good, he said, nodding. Now Im a mite wearyand we need to be on our way again come dawn. Reckon Ill get some sleep. With a snap of his fingers he extinguished his glimlight, plunging their meagre cave into flame-flickered darkness.

As Tom and the others huddled close, muttering, he dropped to his groundsheet. Felt the abandoned diary under his a.r.s.e, tugged it free, then held it out to Arlin. Here.

Arlin was staring at him, half-lit by the dying fire. You think this makes a difference? You think because you strut and puff your bravado like a c.o.c.k on a dung heap Ill forget Westwailing?

He grinned, not kindly. Lightly sleeping in his blood, all that power. I dont want you to forget Westwailing, Arlin. I want you to remember it. Every b.l.o.o.d.y time youre tempted to do me a mischief, I want you to remember it. Now take this sinkin diary before I use it as b.l.o.o.d.y kindling.

Tight-lipped, Arlin took the leather-bound book. Shoved it safely back in his pack, then hesitated. Looked up. What happened to Vesty and the others. The way they died. Youre not concerned?

Afraid, you mean, he said, curling up beside his fire. Ive known since I were a sprat how Morgs magic killed them.

Arlin finished shoving the diary away and dropped cross-legged to his canvas groundsheet. That doesnt answer my question.

No? he said, yawning. There you go. Fancy that.

Tom and his Council friends were still huddled. Then their whispering stopped, and in the faint firelight their mingled shadows separated.

Well continue, Tom said coldly. But Speaker Shifrin will hear of this, and the rest of the Council. You can both expect to be severely censured on our return.

Arlin didnt bother to reply. Rafel just sighed. Grunted. Let them make of that what they would. Tom and his namby-pamby friends chose to decide hed accepted their authority, and all three settled themselves down to sleep. Beyond the cave, the rain continued.

And that was the first night.

A sodden dawn woke them, and the journey continued.

The long, wearisome days pa.s.sed slowly. By their third sunset the constant rain had dribbled and died, along with any pretending that they were five men with something in common. Tom and his fellow-councilors even stopped their private whispering, all complaints exhausted. Strength was needed just to keep going. The Doranen hexes on the rocks and trees made sure they never once took a wrong step, and thanks to Tollin and Vont Marbury they knew where to find the natural springs bubbling through cracks and crevices in the mountains. Knew that the bright green lizards with the blue eyes were safe to eat, provided the sac of poison was cut from each scaly armpit and that the stub-tailed brown lizards with the orange tongues were instant death. Knew that the dull blue berries on the scraggly vines wrapped around the mountains stunted saplings tasted bitter, but would help them stay awake and the pale, foamy-headed fungus that fed on rotted logs would make a man vomit till he turned his insides out.

As they fought their way over the unforgiving mountains, hating them too much to care for their wild beauty, they stumbled across signs that Fernel Pintte and his group had journeyed ahead of them. Boot prints dried around this water spring, and that one. Recently broken branches. Charred embers where a campfire had burned. Roasted animal bones picked to ivory by small, busy ants. The going continued cruel. Phena hadnt lied: Barls Mountains were merciless.

Lying each night on hard rock, or gathered leaf-litter, staring at the tree-latticed sky or hiding from rain and mist beneath his broad-brimmed leather hat, Rafel thought about Barl and the terrified mages shed brought with her from the Lost Dorana he and Arlin were so desperate to find. Thought of the children. Children. It was a b.l.o.o.d.y wonder all the sprats didnt perish. And babes-in-arms. Thered been babes-in-arms too, according to Doranen history and stories.

Hundreds of Doranen, starving and terrified, running for their lives from Morg. Hard to imagine. Though they brought such trouble with them, hard not to feel sad.

How can I blame them? Youd be crazy not to run.

With the unknown lands beyond the mountains crawled closer with every sunrise, the pain writhing in his blood and bones darkened. Grew more intense. As though now he didnt only feel the echoes of bitter magic in the mountains but also in what lay beyond them. The ruined lands Tollin and Vont Marbury had run from. That Da had said would never change. But still, still, he clung to hope.

Da could be wrong. Hes got to be wrong. Or weve come a sinkin long way for nowt.

And that was all hed let himself think of his father. If he let himself think any deeper hed stir his fears to waking. Start to wonder if Even his bodys constant thrumming of pain was more bearable than that.

Conversation continued scarce. What did any of them have to say to one another? The councilors were friends, true, but exhaustion had silenced them. Of the three men only Hambly, the farmer, was used to such relentless physical toil. Tom and Clyne, City folk both, suffered for their comfortable lives. He wanted to feel sorry for them, but it was hard.

I b.l.o.o.d.y told you not to come.

As for Arlin, he was showing the strain of their travelling, too. Like all of them he was sc.r.a.ped and cut and bruised from clambering over boulders, over fallen trees, into gullies and out again. No Doranen magic to ease his wayit was too dangerous. Could start a rockslide, or worse. Even he could see that. Did he still mourn his father? Watching him sideways from time to time, Rafel found it hard to tell. The way Rodyn had snapped and snarled, the way Arlin never stood up to him had there been love there? Was there true grief? How could any son love a father who treated him so cold?

But that kind of thinking sailed him too close to dangerous waters. Better to dwell on less difficult distractions, like his never-ending pain.

Once he spoke to Arlin on something personal. Something not to do with trapping lizards or finding water or making sure a guiding hex wasnt corrupted. On the nineteenth night of their brutal journey, wrenched and skinned and too tired for sleep, he sat propped against the scorched trunk of a lightning-struck tree and struggled to breathe through the seething agitation in his blood. His small fire, carefully walled with loose rocks, threw a little heat and light. Better than nothing, but not enough to chase the deep-seated chill from his bones. He was used to it now. Had glumly accepted hed likely never be properly warm again.

Beneath him, around him, the poisoned earth whispered. Here in the wilderness, just like in Lurs Home Districts, there was nothing stood between him and what he felt.

A good job Deenie aint here. Shed be curled up screaming right about now.

Spikily aware of nearby Arlins brooding gaze on him, he opened his gritty eyes. You dont feel a sinkin thing, do you?

Stubbled with beard, his blond hair dirty, matted with sweat, Arlin looked as battered and exhausted as he felt. Unhealthily thin, the flesh fallen away in his face, cause the jerky and nuts and hard-tack biscuits, the lizards and berries and occasional birds eggs, they kept starvation at bay, and no more.

Id b.l.o.o.d.y kill for a ginger cake.

What? What are you talking about? said Arlin, croaky with weariness. Snappish that hed been caught staring.

Rafel let his head b.u.mp against the rough dead bark behind him. No. You feel nowt. Reckon this is the first and last time I ever felt jealous of a b.l.o.o.d.y Doranen.

Arlin snorted. That youll admit to.

Sitting well apart, like they always did, Tom and his friends fed twigs to their own campfire. Pretending they were the three of them alone. Just as thin, just as filthy and stubbled. Regretting their predicament, now it was days too late to change their minds.

You still insist that as an Olken, youre special? said Arlin, prodding. Even parched and croaking, he managed to sneer. That your mage senses are superior to mine?

Not superior, he said wearily. Different.

And what is it you claim to feel that I dont?

He shouldve kept his mouth shut. Nowt, he muttered, letting his eyes drift closed. Leave me to snore, Arlin. Sunrise comes b.l.o.o.d.y early this high up.

Rafel Startled, he opened his eyes again because Arlin had thrown a stone at him, hard. Dont b.l.o.o.d.y do that!

Then answer me! snapped Arlin. What do you feel?

Beneath the arrogant belligerencewas that a whisper of fear? He thought it was. He thought maybe Arlin was frighted. So maybe Im wrong. Maybe, at long last, Arlin is feeling something. Could be the darkness had finally touched him. He rolled his head, just a little, and met Arlins resentful stare.

I feel the mountains, Lord Garrick. The young nights silence deepened, as though every unseen bird and tiny animal was holding its breath. Listening. Theyre alive with the memory of what happened here. They suffer. They hold grudges. They remember the Wall, and what brought it down. They remember Morg and all his wickedness, six hundred years of hurling dark magics into their stones and buried bones. The mountains are weeping. Thats what I feel.

For a long time Arlin said nothing. Then he laughed, scornful. Fanciful nonsense. Youre lightheaded, Rafel. Raving. Westwailing addled you. Ive never heard such tripe.

No. Hes right, said Tom, stirring beside his fire. I can feel it too. Not as deeplyhes Ashers son, after allbut I feel it.

So do I, Nib Hambly whispered. My dreams my dreams theyve been cruel and cold these last few nights.

Surprised, unsettled, Rafel squinted at them. What about you, Meister Clyne? It was too dark to see the barbers downturned face, but he could hear the mans unsteady breathing. What do you feel?

I dont know, said Clyne. But my dreams have grown fearsome. And my spirits are low.

Of course theyre low, said Arlin, scathing. Look around us, you fool. Look where we are. You cant give his claims credence. You may be Olken, Clyne, but youre surely not so stupid.

Rafel scowled. Shut up, Arlin. You aint b.l.o.o.d.y helping. Tom? How long have you been feeling like this?

For certain? Tom exchanged a cautious glance with his companions. A few days. Before that? He shrugged. Theres much of what were doing would give any man bad dreams.

Arlin shoved a broken branch onto his dwindling campfire. Kicked the flames higher with a snap of his fingers. This is nonsense. The four of you frighten each other like little boys.

Do we? Rafel pulled a knee to his chest and wrapped his arms around it. Rested his chin, the dull throb behind his eyes threatening to sharpen. But youre feeling bad too, Arlin. Youve got to be. A mage like you? You might not feel the earth, like we can, but dont tell me you cant at least feel Morgs presence here.

With four pairs of Olken eyes on him, Arlin busied himself thumping his pack into a lumpy pillow. What I feel is my business.

And what I feel is your business?

You started this, Rafel, Arlin retorted. Not me.

I asked one b.l.o.o.d.y question! Youre the one couldnt leave it alone. Frustrated, he snapped his other knee close. Was glad of the tree-trunk behind him, a bolster. Youre the one sitting there calling me a Im the one whod like to get some rest, said Arlin. And instead Im being kept awake by Olken bedtime daffydowns. He settled onto his groundsheet, curled tight to hold in any meagre warmth. Morg is dead. His magics dead. There are no voices. Go to sleep.

Bemused, Rafel shook his head. Just when I think he cant get any more arrogant. Then he rolled his eyes at Tom and the others. You heard Lord Garrick, sprats. Beddy-bye time.

Muttering, the councilors bedded down. He bedded down too, but sleep came slow and fitful. No voices, true. Just the earths keening cry, moaning through the empty places inside him.

The next day they continued, and did not speak of darkness and bad dreams again. But Rafel kept an eye on Tom and the others, every instinct telling him to beware. But beware of what? Maybe Arlins right. Maybe its cause Im worn down. Worn out. And he was. No point denying it.

Except Arlins fear remained, too. Ruthlessly buried. Not spoken of. But there.

Another three days of punishing travel, another three nights of restless, painful sleep. Hour by hour he felt more and more beaten, more and more bruised. The air thickened around him, so that walking in sunlight was like swimming in the dark. His blood felt like mola.s.ses, his heart struggled to pump. He wanted to pull Arlin aside, to whisper, Cant you feel it?

But letting Arlin see weakness would be a sinkin mistake. Arlin wasnt Goose, a shoulder to lean on. Arlin would smell uncertainty and move in for the kill.

Tom and the others were feeling it, he could see that. He could see the pain in them, slowing them down. Tom he did take aside. Tried to make him see sense. I know its risky, but you should turn back. Its only going to get worse.

We cant, said Tom, his voice thinner than it had been, his eyes sunken and bloodshot. We have a sworn duty. Well see this through.

He sighed. Youre a fool, Tom. Its not worth your life.

You think its worth yours, said Tom, shrugging. And youre not the only Olken willing to fight for Lur.

Hosh and Nib might see it different, he said. They might think They agree with me, said Tom. Give over, Rafel. Save your strength for climbing the next bit of cliff.

What could he do? No law said they had to listen. Fine, he said curtly. But dont blame me when youre broken, and cant be fixed.

The twenty-fifth day since their leaving of Gribley dawned cool and cloudy. According to Tollins expedition account, they were nearly four days slower in their crossing. But even so, they should be quit of Barls Mountains before sunset.

Worn to a thin edge, as he chewed a leathery mouthful of jerky he found himself comforted and frighted by the notion. He was more than ready for this part of the journey to be over. But come so close to Morgs abandoned domain, his heart thudded hard against his ribs. He felt bad enough now. How much worse would he feel walking through the lands Morg used to rule?

Dont think on that. Youll feel what you feel, and whatever you feel, youll bear it. You aint got a choice. Goose is relying on you.

Close by, Arlin was choking down cold, charred lizard meat. He felt the Doranen look at him, as though hed spoken his fears aloud. Met the poxy s.h.i.ts stare unblinking, daring him to speak.

Arlin looked away.

Breakfast finished, they shrugged into their much lighter packs, morosely silent, and trudged on. Soon enough the path tumbled downwards, steep and treacherous, shrouded so thickly with foliage they couldnt tell how close to the ground they were, or what waited for them beyond the mountains blotting blanket of trees. One mis-step, one stumble, and thered be broken legsor necks. Sweating and swearing, clutching at low-hung branches and saplings, unbalanced by packs and swords and stout walking sticks, they struggled to stay on their feet as they wended their way down the lower slopes of the mountain. There was no birdsong. No lizard skitterings. No sense of any life. This close to Morgs old kingdom, everything felt dead.

And then a burst of daylight, blinding, as at last they emerged from the forested gloom.

Barls mercy, said Tom Dimble, panting, his face contorted. Running sweat. Weve done it. Weve escaped Lur.

They had. Before them, a new stretch of mountain, this time split in half by a wide gap. Clinging to the edge of the weathered left-hand peak, a man-made stone staircase, narrow and crumbling. Years and years old. Treacherous: one careless step and a man would plummet to his death. And through that wide gap, bathed in cloud-filtered sunlight, glimpses of a land they had never seen before.

Tom, Clyne and Hambly were clasping hands, patting shoulders. Wearily celebrating despite their undisguised discomfort. Even now they remained their own privy expedition. Arlin, stood apart and disdainful, picked at the worn st.i.tching on a finger of his leather gloves. Seemingly unmoved by what theyd achieved.

Rafel smeared his forearm across his filthy, sweaty bearded face.

Sink me, Da. We crossed the mountains.

So what next?

Though he was exhausted, and the stench of Morgs magic rose unleashed within him, burning his blood and scalding his bones so he could easily weep from the torment, he broke into an unsteady run. He heard Arlin curse and follow, battered boots loud on the uneven rocky steps, desperately trying to overtake him. Of course. Further behind Arlin came Tom, Clyne and Hambly, gasping and wheezing. He heard his own harsh, laboured breathing as he staggered up the staircase on lead-heavy legs. Nearly. Nearly. He was nearly at the top. One more step. Another one. Just one more. He thought he could feel Arlins ragged breath hot on his neck.

There.

Hand flung against the bare rock wall beside him, perilously close to tumbling, he took a deep breath. Took another. Another. Tried to subdue the sick churning in his guts. But before he could blink away the sweat and properly see the new land spread before him, he heard an agonised, choking moan.

Turning, staring past clumsy, crowding Arlin, he saw Tom Dimbles legs buckle and drop him sprawling on his back. His staff hit the stone steps and rolled away. Further down the staircase Hosh Clyne and Nib Hambly were struggling too, fallen against each other, barely staying on their feet.

Toms eyes were anguished in his sickly grey face, blood seeping like tears. His chest heaved for air, every muscle twisted with pain. Rafel Tossing aside his own staff he shoved by Arlin, ignoring the Doranens furious protest, and plunged back down the staircase.

TomTomwhat is it? he said, dropping to the ground beside him. Can you talk?

Eyes rolling, nostrils bubbling a b.l.o.o.d.y froth, Tom shuddered. You dontfeel it? he gasped. Darkness darkness A dreadful moan. Hosh Nib Rafel glanced up. Saw Toms fellow-councilors, sprawled now like he was, writhing in pain.

What is this? Arlin demanded, keeping well back. An Olken affliction?

No, he said tautly, holding tight to Toms hand. Looked behind him at Rodyns unlovable son. Its this place. Its Morg. Cant you tell? Youre ice-white, Arlin. Dont deny you can feel it.

Arlins eyes narrowed. I may feel it but Im not dying. Why arent you?

Still holding on to Tom, he shuffled round awkwardly, the stone steps bruising his knees. Dont sound so sinkin disappointed. Im sickened. Its justIm stronger than them. And theyre not b.l.o.o.d.y dying! Not if I can help it. Tom He bent low. Im sorry. I shouldve kept on at you until you turned back.