The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One (47 page)

Eyes wide, every councilor sat. Wary now, a smidgin afraid. Remembering—and not before bloody time—that he were the man who’d killed the sorcerer Morg.

“Fernel, Fernel,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t bloody learn, do you? First the Harbour, now this. Tollin proved there weren’t nowt for us beyond the mountains.”

“Tollin crossed the mountains
fourteen years
ago!” Pintte retorted, on his feet. “How arrogant you are, to stand on that table declaring there’s no point us seeing for ourselves what’s happened in the world in all that time. Or do you claim to know
without
seeing? Does this mean there’s something else you’re not telling us, Asher? Or are you simply making things up?”

As the Council chamber rustled with whispers, Asher climbed down off the Speaker’s table. Put himself at floor level, with Pintte, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“You sayin’ I be a liar, Meister Mayor?”

Pintte held his ground. “I’m saying you’re—what’s your quaint term for it? Oh yes.
Frighted
. And because you’re—
frighted
—you want everyone else to be frighted too.”

You poxy shit, I should’ve let you drown.
“So. I be a liar
and
a coward?”

Relishing an audience, Pintte smiled with mock-humility. “Asher, once you did Lur a great service. I don’t deny it. But that great service did not make you our
king
. You don’t lay down the law or issue decrees. You are one voice, no louder or more important than any other.” He indicated the gathered Council with a sweep of his arm. “And we, the chosen representatives of Lur’s people,
we
decide what will be done and what won’t.”

Asher considered him. “What? Like you decided how it’d be a clever idea to try breakin’ the magic in Dragonteeth Reef? That worked out dandy, didn’t it? So aye, by all means, let’s go rompin’ over the mountains, Fernel. I mean, what could go wrong, eh?”

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Fernel shouted above the renewed clamour. “Cling to the frail hope Barl will send us a miracle? If Barl cared for Lur we’d not be suffering now!”

“Frail hope?” said Jaffee, creaking to his feet. “I find that an unfortunate choice of words, Meister Mayor. Particularly since you are shouting at one of Barl’s miracles. You’ve accused Asher of arrogance. The same might be said of you in declaring she has abandoned us.”

Fernel’s chin came up sharply. “Barl was a Doranen. It was the Doranen who brought calamity here in the first place. Forgive me if I’m reluctant to trust Lur’s future to the hands of the sorceress who helped create this dilemma.”

The council chamber burst into another furious uproar. This time both Olken and Doranen berated Pintte. But not all of them, Asher noted. At least not all the Olken. A handful ranged themselves beside Dorana’s mayor, vigorously defending him against attack.

He slumped on the edge of the Speaker’s table, not at all inclined to put himself in the middle of
this
brangle. This were Jaffee’s business, him bein’ Lur’s senior Barlsman. But Jaffee didn’t seem inclined to fight.

I miss Holze. He were a doughty man. He stood up to Morg. But Jaffee ain’t got hisself much of a spine.

In the end it was Sarle Baden who called for order, and was listened to. As one of the mages who survived Westwailing, one of the most powerful Doranen mages left in Lur, he could clap his hands together and flare a bit of light round hisself and that gave folk pause long enough for him to get a word in edgewise.

“It’s no secret, Mayor Pintte, that you harbour resentment towards my people,” he said. “And that you wish for us to leave this kingdom and never return. Nor is it a secret that your sentiments are shared by many Olken.” His eyes narrowed as he smiled without warmth. “It’s time this Council knew that as many Doranen feel the same way.”

Stunned silence. Then Rufus cleared his throat, and leaned forward over the Speaker’s table. “You want to leave Lur?”

“You’re surprised, Speaker Shifrin?” said Baden, turning, his pale eyebrows lifted. “Have you—has any Olken—never once wondered if the Doranen are happy here?”

“Of course we’re happy,” Lady Marnagh said quickly, and looked around the chamber at the Olken seated nearest her. “Lur is our home. Lord Baden, please don’t presume to speak for—”

“Lur is our adopted home,” Baden interrupted smoothly. “Forced upon us centuries ago by dire circumstances. But times have changed, Sarnia. Morg is dead… and somewhere beyond Barl’s Mountains lies our
true
homeland. Lost Dorana. There are many of us who wish to return there and create for ourselves lives not circumscribed by outdated, unnecessary laws.”

Asher frowned. “Laws against muckin’ about with magic?”

“You’d have us abandon Barl’s wisdom?” said Jaffee. “Lord Baden, that would be—”

“A choice,” said Baden. “That I and many Doranen believe should be available to us. Hence our willingness to assist in breaking the reef.”

“But you failed,” said Jaffee. “You should take it as a sign.”

“And so we do,” Pintte declared. “A sign that it’s time for a second expedition to cross Barl’s Mountains. On this, at least, Lord Baden and I are in perfect accord.”

“Pintte—” Asher shook his head in tired disbelief. “Did that knock on your noggin doddle you altogether? How many times d’you need to hear it? There ain’t nowt for us over them bloody mountains.”

“I don’t believe that,” said Pintte, his jaw clenched tight. “If Tollin had pushed on, if he’d not cravenly turned back when—”

He slid off the Speaker’s table. “Cravenly? What’s that s’posed to mean? Are you sayin’ Tollin and his people were cowards ’cause they turned for home once folk started dyin’?”

Fernel Pintte’s face reddened. “If they hadn’t let their fears overcome them then—”

“Then what?” he demanded, furious. “Pintte, you be an ignorant fool. Only thing any of us’ll find over them mountains be a slow cruel death. And if you reckon I’m about to stand here with my thumb stuck up my arse while you chinwag frighted folk into throwin’ their lives away on
your
bloody say-so—after
Westwailing?
—then you ain’t been payin’ close enough attention to me.”

Not giving spluttering Pintte a chance to reply, he rounded on Sarle Baden.

“And
you!
You got a bloody nerve, Lord Baden. You know in your belly how bad Morg’s magic is. How long it survives. How it twists and kills. Your friend Lord Garrick just
died
goin’ up agin Morg’s magic. And you want to send folk out to where that mad bastard once
ruled?
What’s
wrong
with you? Eh? What are you
thinkin’?
”

Pale with fury, Sarle Baden pushed his way through his fellow councilors until he, too, stood before the Speaker’s table. “I am thinking that if Barl hadn’t rendered the Doranen impotent there would be a chance of us defeating Morg’s legacy,” he spat. “For you’re right about one thing, Asher—we have no hope of cleansing the world of his stain when the only magic we have is the watered-down trumpery left to us by Barl. But somewhere beyond the mountains, in Lost Dorana, lies our true magic. Our heritage. It is past time we reclaimed it. And because my friend Rodyn Garrick died for that dream, I am determined to finish what he began.”

“By going over them mountains?”

“Yes,”
said Baden. “Asher, there are Doranen who were prepared to brave the ocean beyond Dragonteeth Reef. Even though we have never been a seafaring race. Compared to those terrors, braving a mountain range is nothing. The Doranen did it once. We can do it again.”

“With Fernel Pintte, who’s been agitatin’ against you? Stirrin’ up bad feelings and creatin’ ill will?”

Baden spared Pintte a brief, sidelong look. “With
anyone
who’ll help us achieve our aims. Besides. What Pintte and Olken like him feel isn’t new, Asher. Your people have resented mine for six hundred years.” He smiled without warmth again. “As you well know. You may’ve been friends with King Gar, but otherwise… ?”

“Don’t you chuck me in the same basket as Fernel bloody Pintte,” he said, his voice low. “I might not have a lot of time for your folk, Baden, but that be a long stone’s throw from wantin’ to see you tossed out of Lur on your arses.”

Baden sighed. “This isn’t about us being tossed, Asher. It’s about us leaving of our own free will.”

“You see?” said Fernel Pintte, triumphant. “So Asher, will you attempt to force people to stay where they have no desire to be?”

Loathing Pintte, confronted by questions he’d never asked himself and didn’t want to answer now, in public, he looked at Jaffee.

“Barlsman? You got an opinion on this?”

“Not at present,” said Jaffee, sounding shaken. “I would pray on the matter before passing pronouncement.”

“We don’t require your prayers,” Baden said bluntly. “Nor do we seek the approval of a woman dead six centuries. The religion you serve holds no purpose for us, Jaffee. We look to Lost Dorana for answers now, not to a painting on your precious chapel wall.”

As the chamber echoed with alarm and consternation, Asher glared at Fernel Pintte.
Now look what you started, you meddlesome shit.
“What Lord Baden believes or don’t believe ain’t no business of this Council,” he said. “Reckon that be between him and Barlsman Jaffee and Barl. The only thing as matters to us right now is this fool idea of puttin’ together another expedition. So I reckon we ought to—”

“And what
I
reckon,” said Fernel Pintte, raising his voice, “is that you should tell us the truth, Asher. At last. Tell us how you’ve known for ten years that trouble was coming to our poor little kingdom. Tell us what your peculiar mage senses told you—that you refused to tell this Council.”

Asher felt his mouth suck dry.

You bastard, Pintte. You stupid, stupid bastard.

“Asher?” said Lady Marnagh, as the silence stretched to breaking point. “What is he talking about?”

Not a sound in the chamber. Hardly even a drawn breath as thirty shocked gazes skewered him. He could feel his heart pound to pulp against his ribs. With an effort he unclenched his fists. Steeled himself for a lie that had to be told.

“Asher,”
said Jaffee. “Is what he says true?”

“Aye, it’s true. Ten years ago I knew Lur might be in strife. I felt things. Wrong things, in the earth and the air. I—”

“But Asher,” said Jaffee, frowning. “In the Mage Council—when I raised the matter you said—”

It was hard, bloody hard, but he made himself meet the old cleric’s pained stare without flinching. “I know what I said, Barlsman. But—”

“So Rodyn was right,” said Sarle Baden. “He told me you’d lied. Did he perish because of that lie, Asher? Did he die in Westwailing because—”

“No!”
he shouted over the Council’s outcry. “I tried to save Garrick down in Westwailing. I tried to save all of you! I lied in the Mage Council ’cause I weren’t sure of what I felt and I didn’t want to start a panic for nowt! Turns out I were wrong, and I be sorry for that, but—”

“So you say now,” said Baden. “But with Rodyn dead—”

No, no. This were all going wrong. “I ain’t the only one knew somethin’ weren’t right, Baden! Fernel bloody Pintte knew. Why not say
he
wanted Rodyn Garrick drowned?”

“You’d smear me to save yourself?” Pintte demanded. “How typical. My friends—” He stared around the turmoiled chamber. “I had nothing to do with what happened in Westwailing. As you all know, I nearly died myself.”

Choked almost beyond breathing, Asher shook his head. “I swear on Barl’s bones, I tried to save everyone. I never let a soul perish, not
one
.”

“We know you did,” said Barlsman Jaffee, and looked darkly at Sarle Baden. “To suggest otherwise is wicked calumny. But this other business…” He sighed. “Meister Mayor—”

“Yes!” said Pintte, truculent. “I held my tongue ten years ago, it’s true—because
Asher
said speaking out would be dangerous. I held it because he’s the Innocent Mage, above reproach, and may Barl forgive me for that. Perhaps if I had trusted myself instead of Asher we’d have long since found what we need somewhere beyond the mountains. Then we wouldn’t have risked the dangers of Dragonteeth Reef, and young Arlin Garrick and all those other families would not be in deep mourning even as we meet here today.” He turned, his eyes burning with hatred and triumph. “Think of it, Asher. All those deaths avoided. Our people’s terror avoided. Perhaps even famine and widespread suffering avoided… if only I had not trusted you.”

He felt dizzy. Sick. “So everything gone wrong in the kingdom be
my
fault, Pintte? Is that it?”

“No, no, I hardly think so,” said Barlsman Jaffee, distressed, his wheezing louder. “Certainly there are some questions to be answered but—”

“Yes,” said Pintte, over-riding Jaffee. “Do you dispute me, Asher? Do you deny
anything
I’ve said?”

Asher stared round the council chamber. At the hostile faces and the doubts and the fears. Watched folk look down, look away, refuse to meet his eyes. So. He could argue Pintte’s accusations till he were breathless, but the damage was already done.

“No.”

“No,” said Pintte, almost crooning. “And tell us this, Asher, since for once you seem inclined towards honesty—can you save Lur this time? Are you still the Innocent Mage?”