The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One (69 page)

Weary almost beyond bearing, they set about collecting fallen branches for a fire. Well. Two fires, ’cause Arlin found his own fuel quick-smart and settled himself on his groundsheet at the far end of the miserly cave, making it clear he had no interest in anyone’s company save his own.

Rafel exchanged a raised-eyebrow look with Tom, then pretended Arlin didn’t exist. The wood he and the councilors collected was wet, like Arlin’s, but that was easy fixed. Tom and the other two watched owl-eyed as he used Doranen magic to dry it enough for burning then ignited it with a single word of command.

And even though he’d helped them, stopped them catching an ague from the damp and cold, he could still feel his fellow-Olkens’ simmering suspicions. Their reluctance to accept his mysterious Doranen power.

Sink me, Da. Reckon I’m starting to understand what you were on about.

The thought startled him. He’d been so busy being angry with his father for denying him the truth of his magical potential, he’d never stopped to wonder if the reason behind it had been a good one. But seemingly it was. Dispirited, his skinned knuckles stinging, an ominous shiver starting up now that they’d stopped battering their way over rocks and fallen trees, he left Tom and his suspicious friends toasting themselves by their fire at the opposite end of the cave and gathered more dead wood so, like Arlin, he could sit on his own.

Settled on his groundsheet in the middle of the shallow cave, warming at last as shadows danced over its walls and beyond its wide mouth the rain drummed harder and the last light drained from the darkening sky, he chewed his way through a mean handful of hard-baked biscuit and jerky. It wasn’t enough to fill the hole in his belly but he didn’t dare eat more. They might be able to eke out their supplies by hunting birds or small mountain creatures, but they couldn’t rely on that hope. When the worst of his hunger pangs were placated, and his fellow Olken curled asleep by their fire, he tugged Tollin’s parchment from his pack and conjured a small, fitful ball of glimfire to read by.

“What’s that?” said Arlin.

It was tempting not to tell him.
Nosy bastard.
But since there wasn’t much point starting a brangle for no good reason… “Tollin’s expedition account.”

Arlin held out a hand. “Show me.”

“You want something to read, Arlin, maybe you should’ve brought a book.”

“You’re wasting your time with that,” said Arlin, his firelit eyes derisive. “Thanks to the Doranen who travelled with him, our path across the mountains is hexed plain to see.”

“Maybe,” he retorted. “Maybe not. There ain’t no way to be sure all the hexes have held. It’s been a while, Arlin.”

Arlin sneered. “You can’t tell that Sarle Baden’s enhanced them?”

“He’s enhanced the ones we’ve found,” he said, struggling with temper. “We ain’t found all of ’em yet. Any road, there’s more to getting safe across these mountains than where to put our feet, Arlin. There’s where to find fresh water once we reach the first big peak, and what bits and pieces up here we can safely eat, and—”

“I don’t need an Olken to tell me any of that,” said Arlin, still sneering. “I’ve a far more reliable source of information.”

“And what would that be, Lord Garrick?” asked Tom, not as asleep as he’d appeared. He sat up. “You know something we don’t? Something that should’ve been shared with the Council?”

“What I share and what I keep to myself is entirely my business,” said Arlin. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“It concerns me,” said Tom, his voice sharp with authority. Three years in Justice Hall were standing him in good stead. “It concerns all three of us, my lord.
We
are the Council on this expedition and you are answerable to us for everything you do.”

Clyne and Hambly were sitting up now too, frowning as hard as Tom. Arlin snorted. “I didn’t invite your company, Dimble. And I don’t feel inclined to suffer your impertinence.”

“Then you can suffer the end of your journey,” said Tom, so stern. “The Council won’t be flouted, Lord Garrick. Answer the question or at first light go home.”

Y
ou’d think to force me down the mountainside,
Councilor?
” Arlin laughed, the inconstant firelight warm on his still-damp hair. “You fool, it’s not in your power.”

Rafel rubbed a hand over his unshaven face, stubble rasping.
I’m too bloody tired for this.
“Maybe not, Arlin, but it’s in mine,” he said, letting his voice bite. “And I’m as keen to know what you’re on about as they are. Then again, I’d be happy as a pig in shit to keep going without you, too. So take your pick. Either way I win.”

Arlin sat a little straighter. “You dare threaten me?”

“Bollocks, Arlin,” he sighed. “Why d’you have to make everything a brangle? Just tell us what you’re talking on. I’m pretty sure your teeth won’t fall out.”

Unless I punch you, and right now that’s bloody tempting.

Flames crackled in the damp silence as Arlin chewed on his chances of defeating Asher’s son in a fight. He had to know he was in danger of losing. Badly.

“It’s nothing,” he said at last. “An old family tale. More like a legend, really. Hardly worth mentioning. Which is why I never mentioned it.”

Arlin’s eyes were wide, his gaze steady. Too steady. Rafel felt himself smile. He remembered looking like that when he fibbed to Darran. Or to Da. With so much magic to hide, he’d had to fast become a good fibber.

“Lord Garrick, I don’t believe you,” he said. And before Arlin could blink, or think of stopping him, he conjured the Doranen’s pack halfway across the cave, to his ready arms.
“I wouldn’t!”
he added, as Arlin started up, ugly with rage. “Or I’ll freeze you where you sit—and might well forget how to let you loose again.”

Tom Dimble made a sound of protest. “Really, Rafel, this isn’t—”

“Shut up, Tom. You want to know what he’s hiding, or don’t you?” Tom looked at Clyne and Hambly, who shrugged. “We want to know.”

Arlin’s face was drained chalky-white. “You dare touch my belongings? You dare use magic on me? I swear to you, Rafel, I
swear,
there will be—”

“What’s in here, Arlin?” he said, softly polite. Hefting the heavy pack. “What don’t you want me and Tom and these fine sirs to know of?”

Arlin said nothing, his breathing thick with fury.

He smiled. “Tell me, or I’ll tip the whole sinkin’ lot on the floor and paw through it till I get me an answer. You think I won’t? You bloody know I will.”

“Return my belongings,” said Arlin tightly, “and I’ll tell you. Touch one thing in that pack and I’ll burn it to cinders with a word.”

“And leave yourself with nowt?” He hooted. “Not even spare under-drawers? I don’t bloody think so.”

Arlin’s eyes narrowed. “To thwart you, Rafel? I’d do without a lot less.”

“Give it back to him, Rafel,” said Nib Hambly. “This is our first night and you’re at each other’s throats? Ain’t much hope of us lasting weeks at this rate, is there?
Give it back
.”

Instead of a conjurement, he used his muscles. Threw the pack at Arlin, and smiled again when it was fumbled.

“You councilors,” said Arlin, undoing the pack’s buckles. “I hold you witness to this
thuggery
. When we return to Dorana City—if you’re not dead from your own incompetence long before—you’ll side with me and watch as this
lout
is removed from Justice Hall in chains.”

Rafel rolled his eyes. “Is this where I’m meant to start shaking in my boots?”

“Be quiet, Rafel,” said Tom, his own temper fraying. “Don’t make things worse. Lord Garrick—”

Arlin finished rummaging in the pack and pulled out a slender, leather-bound book. “The husband of my late mother’s second cousin was a member of Tollin’s expedition. Vont Marbury. This is his account.”

Rafel stared. “You had family on that first expedition? I didn’t know that.” He looked at Tom. “Did you?”

“No,” said Tom stiffly, after a moment. The Council, caught napping. “It’s a tenuous connection. Not a matter of blood. We had no reason to even suspect.”

Seemed no-one did. He looked back at Arlin. At the diary. “Has Sarle Baden got a copy of that?”

The oddest glint in Arlin’s eyes. “No.”

“You
kept
it from him?”

“Yes.”

“But why would you—” And then he shook his head. “You really are a miserable
shit
. You were
punishing
him?”

Hosh Clyne broke from his whispering with Tom and Hambly. “Punishing? Rafel, what are you—”

“You wanted to go with him and Pintte, didn’t you?” he said to Arlin, flapping a hand at the gaping councilors. “You weren’t half-witted with grief, like Baden claimed. You wanted to go and he wouldn’t bloody have you.”

The slowly dying fire washed Arlin’s face with shadows. “He didn’t need Marbury’s account. He had Tollin’s.” A careless shrug. “Which I’ve read.”

“Then why niggle me on it?”

“To amuse myself.”

“Rafel, this is most disturbing,” said Hambly. “How do
you
come by a copy of Tollin’s account? It was to be kept privy, for the Council only. And it’s the Council that should—”

Rafel hunched a shoulder at him. With their whisperings and their suspicions he wasn’t of a mind to be scolded by the likes of Nib Hambly. “All right, Arlin.” He wriggled his fingers. “Let’s have a look at it.”

“No, let
us
have a look at it,” said Tom. “Rafel, you overstep yourself!”

He turned round. “
No,
Tom, I don’t think I do. Last time I looked,
I’m
the one who sailed Westwailing Harbour. Don’t seem to recall any of
you
three helping out.” He turned back. “
Arlin
. Give me the bloody diary, would you?”

With a contemptuous smile, Arlin floated Vont Marbury’s expedition diary across the cave, to his hand. Rafel plucked it from mid-air, opened it carefully, and started reading its scribbled pages. The writing was cramped and crabby, the ink faded with age and blotched with strange stains.

“I don’t see there’s any difference between their tales. His and Tollin’s,” he muttered eventually. “They both talk on taking care with the same stretches of the pass. Where to find water. Which lizards and birds’ eggs are safe to eat. They even describe the mountains the same way—two sets of teeth set close together. So I don’t—”

“What?” said Tom, breaking the taut silence. “Rafel, what have you—”

“Sink me,”
he breathed, and looked up at Arlin, whose tired, stubbled face was tight-drawn now… ’cause he knew, he bloody knew. This was what he’d not wanted to be found. “You didn’t think to
mention
this?”

“Mention what?” Tom demanded. “Rafel, what have you—”

“Pipe down, Tom,” he said, his skin crawling. “And I’ll read it to you.”

Tom’s expression was as tight as Arlin’s. Clyne and Hambly, seated on either side of him, glared. “I don’t care for your tone,” said Tom. “I’ll thank you to—”

“You want to hear this or not?” he snapped, still staring at Arlin.
You poxy, poxy, poxy little shit
. “ ’Cause if you do,
pipe down
.”

When Tom said nothing, he took silence as an invitation to continue. Cleared his throat and tipped Arlin’s family diary towards the sputtery glimlight.

“Over three weeks of travel into these desolate new lands, and we have encountered a dreadful, lingering evil. A terrible malevolence. The very air we breathe is poison. And Vesty—Vesty swears he hears a voice. In his dreams, he hears it.”

Nib Hambly was a brawny man, muscled from hard farming work, but he looked shaken. “Barl save us. What does that mean?”

“Vesty,” said Clyne. “That’s one of the Doranen who died on Tollin’s expedition, isn’t it?”

Rafel nodded. Anger was stirring, and with it his power. The glim-light he’d conjured flared and spat sparks. “According to Tollin, he swelled up and turned black and rotted to pieces before he stopped breathing.” The way Tollin himself had died, according to Mama. It was one of the gruesome expedition details that had so delighted him and Goose, as sprats.

Goose
.