The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One (26 page)

“The Doranen saved your lives!” spat Garrick. “You seem quite eager to forget
that
small fact.”

“Tell you what I be eager for,” said Asher, mildly enough. “I be eager for the lot of you to shut your bloody traps.”

Pellen covered his mouth so the others wouldn’t see his smile. They looked so
shocked
. Which was silly, really.
How
long had they known Asher?

Asher favoured them with his most jaundiced stare. “You be talkin’ claptrap, every one of you. Think I ain’t heard all this before? When the Wall came down, as we were pickin’ up the pieces after? Think you be the first folk to try rakin’ over what’s well dead and buried? Six bloody centuries this kingdom rubbed along just fine, pretty much. And now ten years after Morg you want to tear it to pieces?”

“Of course we don’t,” said Thady, glowering. “But—”

“But? But? Ain’t no
but,
” said Asher, glowering back at him. “Choice is simple, Thady. We get along or we don’t. We pull together or we bloody pull apart. Take your pick.”

As Thady subsided, silenced, Asher turned on Garrick. “As for you, Rodyn. Know who you sound like? Conroyd bloody Jarralt, that’s who.”

Pellen winced.
Low blow, Asher
. Further along the table, Sarnia Marnagh paled. Barlsman Jaffee kissed his holyring. And Garrick looked like he’d just swallowed a hedgehog, whole.

“You’ve no right to say such a thing to me,” he said, his voice tight with fury.

“Don’t be daft,” said Asher. “I got every bloody right. You want I should show you the scars Conroyd left me?”

Garrick’s fingers clenched bloodless. “That wasn’t Jarralt. That was Morg.”

“It were both of ’em,” said Asher. “I worked alongside Conroyd Jarralt for more than a year. I
knew
him. He despised us Olken and he enjoyed what Morg did to us. To me. They were cut from the same cloth, them two. Are you cut from it, Rodyn? Are you the kind of Doranen as thinks us Olken are nowt but cattle?”

“No, he’s not, Asher,” said Barlsman Jaffee, surprisingly firm. “He, Sarnia and I are all Barl’s children, as devoted to Lur as any Olken, I assure you, and wholeheartedly committed to the causes of unity and peace. Whatever you doubt, I urge you not to doubt
that
.”

“Them’s pretty words, Barlsman,” said Asher, his gaze not leaving Rodyn Garrick’s cold face. “But I reckon they’d be prettier if I’d heard ’em out of Lord Garrick.”

Pellen held his breath. Garrick was haughty, true, like most Doranen, but was he really another Jarralt?
I hadn’t thought so… but could be I’m wrong. Barl save us all. Fernel Pintte on our side, Rodyn Garrick on theirs. Are we doomed, then? Is peace beyond us?

Garrick cleared his throat. “I regret if I misspoke myself,” he said stiffly. “Barlsman Jaffee has the right of it. Of course I accept the Olken as equals in this land.”

“Good,” said Asher, his eyes so watchful. “Reckon I be mighty pleased to hear it.”

“But I want an admission from you, Asher,” Garrick added. “I want you to admit that an Olken is as capable of bias—of fault—as any one of
my
people. Can you deny that?”

“Deny it?” said Asher, eyebrows lifting. “When every day for a bloody year I had that sea-slug Willer Dryskle snappin’ at my heels? Course I don’t deny it, Rodyn. Ain’t neither of our folks hold all the cards when it comes to bein’ bloody stupid.”

“No,” said Garrick. “No, they do not.”

Asher nodded. “Then I’d say we be fine, Rodyn.” He looked at Thady and Eylin. “Don’t you reckon?”

Thady and Eylin nodded, murmuring assent. With that, the almost unbearable tension in the council chamber eased. Pellen looked down to hide his surprised relief, then reached for his quill and notepad.

“So,” he said, as brisk and as businesslike as he could contrive, “we’re agreed, are we, that the petition for the altering of judicial protocols shall be approved and returned at the next session of the General Council?”

They were agreed. And since the petition was the last item listed for discussion, they were also done. But just as he took a breath, ready to declare the meeting adjourned, Barlsman Jaffee raised a cautioning hand.

“Forgive me,” he said. “There is a matter I would like to mention. What it means, I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps you will call me alarmist, a foolish old man, but I feel it’s my duty to speak.”

“Then speak,” said Pellen, as his insides hollowed. “What’s concerning you, Barlsman?”

Jaffee steepled his knobby-jointed fingers before him, tapped his lips and half-closed his eyes. “As you know, my duties as City Barlsman do not end with conducting services in the Chapel. I am called upon to hear secrets and private misgivings, to ease the burdened among us and share with them Barl’s peace. During this past week I have heard whispers, my friends. Alarming whispers. Four different Olken have told me the same tale. Without betraying names, I would tell you what they said… for I confess, I’m at a loss.”

Pellen didn’t dare look at Asher. “Please, Barlsman. Continue.”

“All four told me they’ve been disturbed by vivid, frightening dreams,” said Jaffee. “And terrible feelings that something is wrong. In the earth.” He shrugged. “I know that sounds odd, but it’s how they put it.
Something wrong in the earth
. Of course, being Doranen, I could not share their concerns. I’ve prayed for enlightenment, but alas, enlightenment eludes me. They are my spiritual children, and look to me for guidance, and I have none. I don’t know what to say. Asher…”

Pellen dared look at him this time, along with everyone else. Asher’s face betrayed nothing. As he still stood by the window, his expression showed only courteous interest.

“Aye, Jaffee?”

“Do you know what they meant? Have you felt anything odd these last few days? Or you, Pellen? Thady? Eylin? Earth-singing is an Olken gift. Have
any
of you sensed this disturbance?”

Only his former life as a City guardsman let Pellen keep his own face strictly schooled. He felt sick. “I haven’t,” he said, profoundly relieved it was the truth. He looked at Thady and Eylin. “Have you?”

“Not me,” said Thady. “Haven’t heard word of it in the Pig, either. And I hear most things tending bar. See most things, too. More than I want to, generally speaking.”

“Nor me,” said Eylin. “Asher, you’re the most powerful Olken mage in Lur. What have you felt?”

“Nowt,” said Asher, without a pause.

“And I’ve heard not a whisper at Justice Hall,” said Lady Marnagh. “Asher, what of Dathne? She’d tell you, Asher, wouldn’t she, if she felt anything… odd?”

“Course she would, Sarnia. But she ain’t,” Asher said, smooth as custard. “So I can’t tell you what it means, Barlsman. Sorry.”

Frowning, Jaffee unsteepled his fingers and fiddled with his Barlsbraid. “No need to apologise. I suppose it’s possible these Olken simply… imagined things.”

“Or had one ale too many in someone else’s inn,” said Asher, raising an eyebrow at Thady. “Where the brew be inferior.”

“It is odd, though, isn’t it?” said Eylin. “Asher, are you quite sure you or Dathne haven’t—”

“I told you. I’m sure,” said Asher, scowling. “Reckon I’m like to keep news like that to m’self? Reckon I wouldn’t run here squawkin’ to you lot if I had an inklin’ there were somethin’ wrong with Lur?”

“No, no, of course you would,” Eylin said hastily.

Pellen swallowed a groan.
Asher, Asher… if they ever find out…
“I think the thing to do is wait and see,” he suggested. “More than likely it’s nothing. Some odd quirk of nature. Lur is as prosperous and fruitful as it’s ever been. There’s no hint of that changing. But naturally, should you hear any more about these feelings, Barlsman Jaffee—if any of us hears something—we should convene again at once. Agreed?”

His fellow Olken nodded. Then Rodyn Garrick tapped a thoughtful finger on the table. “And if it’s not nothing? What then?”

“Then obviously we address the problem, quickly and discreetly,” said Lady Marnagh. “This Mage Council is charged with maintaining the kingdom’s safety. I don’t think the matter should be discussed outside this chamber. Nor should any of us pursue independent enquiry, for fear of alarming people. Asher—”

“Sarnia?” said Asher, exquisitely polite.

“I don’t begin to understand your particular mage powers… but is it possible for you to—to seek out this—this
wrongness
of which Jaffee speaks?”

“I s’pose,” said Asher. “Ain’t done nowt like that afore, but I s’pose I can try if the Council reckons it be needful.”

So casual, he was. So
unconcerned
… at least on the surface. Pellen found himself marvelling.
But then, he always was a good liar.

“I think it’s an excellent suggestion,” said Jaffee, bestowing upon Lady Marnagh an approving smile. “For I have no doubt that if anyone can plumb the heart of this mystery, it’s our Innocent Mage.”

Pellen, still watching Asher, saw his jaw tighten.
Don’t bite Jaffee. Please don’t. One brawl is enough to be going on with.

“Like I said, I’ll try,” said Asher. “Only don’t get your hopes up. Sometimes things just happen and there ain’t never a reason why. Guess we just got to trust that things’ll work out, one way or another.”

“Indeed,” said Jaffee solemnly. “Faith is the wind that lifts our wings.”

Asher blinked. “Aye.”

“All right,” Pellen said, quickly. “If there are no other matters to be raised? Then we’re done.”

T
he council chamber emptied quickly after that, until only he and Asher were left. Getting up, Pellen pushed the door closed, then turned and considered his difficult friend.

“What?” said Asher, meeting his eloquent stare. “You think I were goin’ to
tell
’em? Ha! Sink
that
.”

Profoundly troubled, Pellen returned to his chair. “Asher—keeping your own counsel unprovoked is one thing,” he said, toying with his quill. “But they raised the issue of trouble stirring, and you looked them in their faces and
lied
. If they find out you lied do you honestly think they’ll forgive it? It’s ten years since you saved Lur, my friend. I suspect your currency as the Innocent Mage is not unlimited.”

Shoulder propped against the chamber wall, Asher grunted. “Don’t need it to be bloody unlimited, do I? It’s only got to last till Lur’s sailin’ sweet again.”

“And how long will that be? Do you know?”

Asher said nothing. Something dangerous seethed beneath his skin. Eyeing him askance, Pellen decided to ease the tension by changing the subject. At least for the moment. “Tell me,” he said, tossing the quill aside and sitting back. “Do you trust Rodyn Garrick’s easy capitulation over these Justice Hall changes?”

“Ha,” said Asher. “I don’t trust Rodyn Garrick. I’ll stick a harpoon through my right eye afore I’ll believe he reckons Olken and Doranen be equals.”

“Well, I’m not sure
I’d
go that far, but after the way he carried on about you censuring Ain Freidin—” He drummed his fingers on the table. “So what’s behind this uncharacteristic docility?”

“Indigestion?” Asher suggested, trying to smile. And there again, that dark, unwelcome hint of dire trouble. “He’s Rodyn bloody Garrick, Pellen. Who knows what he’s thinkin’? I don’t reckon to fret on it over-much. Not while we got him under our noses here in Council.”

“I suppose,” he agreed, reluctant. “He just makes me uneasy.”

Instead of answering, Asher folded his arms and stared at the floor. Pellen, considering him, felt all kinds of misgivings stirred by the disquiet in his friend’s face.

“What is it?” he asked. “You’ve been distracted—upset—since you walked in here. What’s happened?”

Asher sighed. “Reckon you really don’t want to know.”

“Actually, reckon I really do,” he retorted. “Sometimes I think you forget who I am, Asher, and who I’m answerable to.”

“I bloody don’t!” said Asher, stung.

“Really? Then prove it. Tell me what’s going on.”

For the first time that morning Asher sat in his customary council chair. Propped his elbows on the table and scrubbed his hands across his face. He looked exhausted. Almost… defeated.