Asher hadn’t thought to find himself back in the royal crypt so soon. After leaving Darran to sleep here, he’d thought he were done with the place. It prodded him in old, half-healed wounds he needed to leave alone. Not just for his sake, but for everyone else’s too. It was those closest to him, the ones he loved best, Dathne and the sprats and Pellen, who suffered when a black mood came on him like a southeast winter sea storm.
“But since when did my druthers get noticed, eh?” he asked Gar’s still, stone face. “Never, I reckon. So nowt much has changed.”
Glimfire, flickering, seemed to reveal Gar’s lips quirking in a wry, reproving smile.
Asher, Asher. Petulance doesn’t become you.
Startled, he looked around. Thought for a moment he’d see Gar standing behind him, warm, living flesh instead of cold white marble. But no. He was alone.
“Petulant?” he said, and snorted. “I ain’t petulant. I’m fratched. And I reckon I’ve a right, Gar. This were s’posed to be over. You and me, I thought we ended it.”
No reply. He didn’t expect one. Gar was dead, and the dead did not speak.
For a long time he stood there, brooding. Dathne had offered to come with him so he didn’t have to face without her what was hidden in Gar’s coffin. But he’d said no, because he had no idea how long he’d be here. And her coming with him would’ve meant leaving Rafe and Deenie in the Tower with only Cluny to call on if Rafe woke from a bad dream, tormented by the uneasy earth. Remembering his son’s tale of the river-pond, Rafe’s wide eyes and pinched face, he felt his belly gripe tight.
I got to stop this. I got to. It be hurting my boy.
Reluctant, resentful, he used a Doranen spell of compulsion to ease aside the coffin lid, with its effigy, just far enough for him to fit his hand and arm within. He held his breath as the lid shifted, fearful of being assaulted by something foul, the heartbreaking stench of decay and corruption… but instead he caught the faint, sweet scent of flowers. Pamarandums, best favoured by Nix in the rooms of the dead. Holze and Pother Nix between ’em had done right by Gar. He was whole. He was clean. Time had left him alone.
Closing his eyes, feeling his heart’s dull thud within his broad rib-cage, he eased his hand into Gar’s burdened coffin.
Mayhap hidin’ that bloody diary in here weren’t such a crackin’ good idea after all.
When his fingers brushed against Gar’s linen wrappings—against Gar—he felt his belly heave in revolted protest. Had to press his fisted left hand hard to his lips, his teeth, to keep the surging bile at bay. Where was the sinkin’ bloody thing? It had to still be here. No-one knew what he’d done. It couldn’t not be here.
On a sharply indrawn breath, almost a sob, the sweet pamarandum scent turning sour in his throat, he scrabbled blindly for the diary, skinning his knuckles on the coffin’s smooth side and floor as he poked and prodded and slid his fingers into places he couldn’t bear to think on closely.
Come on—stop hiding—come on—
He nearly shouted when at last he touched the diary’s ancient leather cover, smooth and cool after ten years in the dark. Snatching it hard, he pulled, desperate to be done with this. Grunted in pain as he banged and bruised his hand on the coffin lid dragging Barl’s secrets into the light.
Sweating, breathing harshly, he stared at the small, unremarkable book that in Durm’s arrogant hands had seen a prophecy fulfilled and a kingdom brought perilous close to destruction. Seen lives ruined. Villages smashed to bits and pieces. Seen the helpless innocent made widows, widowers and orphans, and bodies piled high in the streets like corded firewood.
So much death. So much ruin. All ’cause one man couldn’t leave well enough alone.
But it were done, and couldn’t be undone, and Barl knew Durm had paid a terrible price for his pride.
Easing himself backwards until his shoulder blades and spine touched Fane’s cool, quiet tomb, he beckoned a hovering ball of glimfire closer and started leafing through Barl’s diary. Not to read the actual entries, because to his Olken eye they were nowt more than chicken scratchins in the dirt. But Gar’s scribbled translations were still stuck between its pages, so he read those. Well, some of them. He didn’t need to read the translated warspells. Didn’t even want to look at them. Instead, for the first time, he read the other bits and scraps, memory stirred by Gar’s neatly fluent penwork.
Remembrances of the Doranen’s battle to cross over the mountains… the lands they travelled through, the peoples they encountered. Grief at the loss of friends, of children… relief at finding such a pliable people, the Olken… the fateful bargain they’d struck. The words of Making and UnMaking—sink me, I bloody remember that—and the spell that had let Durm see through the Wall, that brought Morg into the kingdom, sealing their fates…
Page after page, and no mention of the Weather map or how the Weather Magic worked its will. Eyes hot and gritty, feeling as though sand were trapped under their lids, Asher read and read… starting to feel desperate as the scraps of Gar’s scribbling mounted up, with no answers. There hadn’t been time to translate every last page of the diary, true, but surely, surely, if he’d been able to translate the history, which didn’t matter a bloody damn, then Gar would’ve bothered to translate the important bits, the magic. It weren’t like he didn’t know the magic mattered most.
Except it looked ezackly like that, ’cause eventually he got to the last hastily scrawled page and he’d not found a single useful word.
Disbelieving, despairing, he let the diary drop into his lap. Stared at the stone effigy he’d created with such care. “Gar, Gar, you fool. You bloody barnacle. Why didn’t you realise I’d need that magic one day!”
Gar, being dead, or canny, had nowt to say for himself.
Muscles cold and stiff, his joints seized up, Asher levered himself to his feet, groaning, letting the diary tumble to the crypt floor, and stamped about relieving his temper with unbridled bad language.
When he was calm enough to think clearly he dropped onto the edge of Darran’s coffin, taking mild pleasure in knowing it’d make the ole trout curse and cuff.
“All right, then,” he said, glaring at Gar’s silent effigy. “You weren’t the only bloody scholar in Lur, were you? There’s other Doranen studied the kind of claptrap you liked. Old books and poems and the way you folk used to talk. Barlsman Jaffee, he’s nigh on cross-eyed from readin’. I could show him the diary, couldn’t I? I could trust him with it, don’t you reckon? He’s a bloody Barlsman. All that piety. If I swore him to secrecy he’d have to keep his word, eh? Wouldn’t he?”
He wanted to think so. But then, Durm had been Borne’s Master Magician, hadn’t he? The most powerful, most important mage after the king. Nobody knew better than Durm the dangerous muck in Barl’s diary. And what did he do with it? He let Morg in through the back door.
So no. He didn’t dare even trust Barlsman Jaffee. Which meant he’d have to try and sort the problem on his own. Bloody wonderful. As if he had the first idea what to do… He scowled at Gar’s serene stone face.
Don’t know where you are, or if you can hear me, but just in case? A bit of help about now wouldn’t go astray.
Silence. Shadows. The dull beating of his heart.
“Right,” he said. “So that’s that. Lucky me, eh?” He shook his head. “All I ever bloody wanted was a fishin’ boat of my own…”
He returned the diary to its hiding place. Magicked the coffin lid back where it belonged. Took a moment to honour Borne and Dana and pull faces at Fane. Tweaked Darran’s stone nose, just ’cause he could. Then, with a final frown at Gar, he doused all but one ball of glimfire and left the royal crypt without it bobbing overhead.
The earlier high cloud cover had cleared, leaving a night full of stars and a fat moon. They’d not had rain in nearly three weeks. He stared at the humped darkness of the mountains. Even after all this time he sometimes found himself surprised that the golden wash of Barl’s Wall was absent. If he closed his eyes he could see it, that curtain of magic cutting Lur off from the rest of the world.
If someone had asked him, scant weeks ago, whether he was sorry it was destroyed he’d have said Are you bloody daft? Of course not. Without thinking twice. Because until a few weeks ago he’d believed life was good, and they were safe, and the future smelled sweet. But that were a few weeks ago. Now the land was losing its balance… men like Fernel Pintte were stirrin’ trouble round the edges… and the safety of a kingdom sat fair and square on his shoulders. Again.
And if bein’ fratched on that means I be bloody petulant, then fine. I can live with bein’ petulant, Gar. But I ain’t sure I can live with not bein’ able to fix what’s gone wrong with Lur.
And on that bleak thought, he doused the glimfire and headed back to the Tower.
Dathne woke to the cold kiss of snow on her face.
“Asher,” she whispered, rolling towards him. “Asher, wake up.”
He didn’t stir. The moonlight shafting through the partly curtained window glittered silver on the flakes of ice falling gently from the grey cloud he’d created, dreaming, beneath their bedchamber’s frescoed ceiling.
“Asher,” she said again, as the delicate snowflakes danced and drifted and tangled, melting in her hair. “Asher.”
The first time this happened, in her bedroom above the bookshop, it had changed her life in a heartbeat. Since then the power in his blood had stirred to life many times in his sleep. In dreams he had no defences against it… and Weather Magic was the most powerful of all. Waking he could deny it, and did, no matter how hard that was.
But it would not—could not—be denied forever.
She rested her hand on his tense shoulder. “Asher. It’s snowing. You need to wake up.”
He flinched at her touch, his head restless on the pillow. Glinting beneath his tight-closed eyelids, a hint of fresh blood. She had to be careful. She couldn’t wrench him awake. Once, she’d done that, and had hurt him so badly he’d stayed painwracked and bedridden for two long, dreadful days.
“Asher… can you hear me?” she whispered, and stroked her fingertips down his cheek. “Come back now. Come back to me. Let it go. Come back.”
Her voice always roused him. He always came back, hearing it. At least he always had before. But he wasn’t hearing her this time. Even as she watched, she saw his moonlit face twist. Heard his breathing harshen, and deepen, and saw his fingers clutch at their blankets.
“Asher,” she said, concern sliding towards fright. “Please, my love. Please. Wake up.”
A gust of cold air swirled round the chamber. The falling snow swirled with it, stinging as it struck her face and lashed her eyes.
And then she nearly screamed, because around their comfortable bed the air was starting to shiver. Something dark and terrible was sliding over her skin. She’d felt this before… she’d seen it… ten years ago…
“Asher!” she cried, and thumped him with both fists, desperate. “Asher, you’re calling warbeasts! Asher, wake up!”
Cruelly wrenched from magic, Asher came clawing awake. No mere hint now, the blood dripped freely from both eyes and his nose, too, splattering the white sheets and fouling his face.
“What? What?” he said, flailing. “I can’t see! What’s amiss?”
As the air curdled around them, thick with snow and fire, crowded with monstrous shapes taking slow, writhing form, she clapped sharply, twice, and brought thought to life. Flooded their chamber with glimfire, then seized his face between her hands.
“Look, Asher! Look!” she said, and forced his gaze where she needed it. “Stop this. You’re awake now. Stop dreaming.”
On a choked cry of pain he jerked free of her tight grasp and sat up. Stared in horror at the warbeasts he’d unwittingly summoned.
“Luk rana! Rana!” he commanded hoarsely, waving one arm. “Rana!”
The warbeasts vanished, taking the wild snow with them.
Groaning, he fell back to the pillows. Pressed both hands flat to his bloodied face, shaking, each shuddering breath hurting him like knives.
Just as shaken, Dathne slumped beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other pressed to her heart. Pound any harder and it would pound right through her thin chest.
“You all right, Dath?” said Asher, muffled, still hiding behind his hands. “Those things didn’t hurt you?”
“No,” she whispered, and was shamed to hear weeping in the word. “Asher… what happened? You’ve never done that before.”
“That bloody diary,” he said, and let his hands slide. Beneath the smeared blood his face was chalk-white. “Reading it stirred me up good and proper, I reckon.”
Threading her fingers through his sweaty, disordered hair she bent down and kissed him. Tasted iron and salt, his blood on her tongue. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He shook his head, squinting in the bright glimlight. Seeing that, she dimmed it. Ashamed of herself because less light brought relief. Meant his pain and fright were shadowed. Hidden. She couldn’t bear to see him hurting and scared. She’d been so fierce and strong, once… but love had made her soft. Sometimes she thought the old Dathne, who’d had the visions, who’d planned to poison Timon Spake, who’d sacrificed everything and everyone in the service of prophecy… sometimes she thought that Dathne was a dream.
“Course it be my fault,” Asher said, always so unforgiving. “I called the bloody things, didn’t I?” Then he grunted, a small sharp sound of pain. “Feels like my head’s goin’ to blow right apart.”
“Oh, Asher…” She kissed him again. “I’m sorry. I tried to wake you gently but—”
“You did right. What were needful.” He looked at her, and broke her heart. “Always feared I might do that some day. Call them warbeasts out of the past. They’re in me, Dath. They’re in me and I can’t rip ’em out. What if I call ’em again? What if I can’t stop ’em next time?”
“Don’t,” she said, and pressed her fingers to his blood-smeared lips. “You’re tormenting yourself for nowt. You’re strong enough to keep the magic under control. You are. This was one time. One time. There won’t be another.”
Groaning, he sat up. Wrapped his arms tight around her and buried his face against her neck. Tremors ran through him, born not just of pain, but fear as well. She held him with all the strength in her body, poured all her love into him.
“It’s all right… it’s all right…” she murmured. “Asher, it’s all right.”
The chamber door flew open, and Rafe barrelled in. “You gotta come!” he panted. “Quick! Deenie’s having a conniption!”
“Really,” said Lady Marnagh, frowning at her neatly interlaced fingers, “I don’t have any objection to the proposal, in principle. In principle it seems sensible, and practical, and would certainly ease the workload on the Justice Hall staff. And it does seem to be in keeping with the other changes we’ve made these past years.” She turned a little in her chair. “Do you see any spiritual obstacles to the General Council’s suggestion, Barlsman Jaffee?”
Pellen, comfortably sprawled in his own council chair, kept part of his attention on the elderly Barlsman, who never answered a question quickly when slowly was a choice, and kept the rest of it on Asher. Instead of taking his own place at the table he was slouched at a window, brooding into the palace gardens beyond. Had hardly spoken a word through this entire Mage Council meeting, even when their talk had turned to the Bibford fleet’sover-fishing of the waters between Lur’s west coast and Dragonteeth Reef.
Something was wrong. Something new? From the look an Asher’s face, he thought so. Just what they needed… another crisis to be dealt with.
Jaffee’s wheezing, worse now than it had been a few months ago, sounded loud in the hushed meeting chamber. The Barlsman fingered his long, thin braid of devotion, the gold holyring on his thumb catching fire in the sunlight. Thady and Eylin, seated side by side at the wide Council table, exchanged resigned looks and dropped their chins to their chests. Two years each they’d been Olken representatives on the Mage Council. They knew there was no point trying to hurry Jaffee along.
Rodyn Garrick drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Of middle height for a Doranen, and less lightly fleshed than most, his pale blue eyes rarely showed warmth. Not a City-born Doranen, he’d been elected to the Council from his country estate near Fiddler’s Green, where his family grew grapes for icewine.
“This is a temporal matter,” he said, in his typically clipped way, clearly tired of waiting for Jaffee. “The guidelines laid down six centuries ago clearly mandate that any dispute between a Doranen and an Olken must be satisfied in Justice Hall. I see no reason to alter the arrangement.”
“Can’t say I be surprised to hear that, Rodyn,” said Asher, not turning from the window. “But think on this, why don’t you? For six hundred years, justice for Olken folk fratchin’ with the Doranen has been decided in a place the Doranen built. Crammed floor to ceilin’ with statues and paintins and whatnot of Barl. Now, there’s folk as think it be past time we let go of habits as seem to favour the Doranen over the Olken—and I reckon they might be right.”
“Given that you ruled in favor of that Olken farmer and against Ain Freidin,” said Garrick, “I find that comment laughable.”
Pellen swallowed a groan. Not again. “Rodyn, please. Ain Freidin was in the wrong and she admitted as much. Let’s not sidetrack ourselves into pointless dispute. If we could perhaps—”
“I’m sorry, but I must protest too,” said Lady Marnagh. “As Justice Hall’s administrator I am responsible for its conduct of business. To suggest there has been any unfair dealing is to question my integrity.”
Asher flicked her a glance over his shoulder. “I ain’t sayin’ that, Sarnia.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m sayin’ a lot of things were a bloody sight easier when we had a royal family. Borne, or Gar, they made their rulin’ in Justice Hall and nobody said boo about it ’ cause—well—we was all used to ’em layin’ down the law. Life ain’t so tidy now. That’s what I’m sayin’.”
“It will only get untidy if we allow it to get untidy,” said Garrick. “My objection stands. I see no good reason for any change.”
Turning away from the window, Asher fixed the Doranen lord with an incredulous stare. “Rodyn, be you blind? There’s been nowt but change since the Wall came down. And like it or not, change ain’t done with us yet. Not by a long shot.”
Garrick’s thin lips pinched. “What are you suggesting? That we discard every last tradition? Abandon centuries of established legal precedent and turn Lur into a judicial free-for-all?”
“Course not,” Asher snapped. “But we got to face facts, Rodyn. Your good ole days be dead and gone. We got these days to think on now. And I reckon if one of yours and one of mine get ’emselves in a brangle, whether magic be involved or not, there ain’t no harm in ’em tryin’ to sort it out first and foremost on their own doorsteps, like good neighbours. If they can’t I’ll sort the problem for ’em in Justice Hall, same as always. But we ought to give ’em first crack, I reckon.”
Before Garrick could voice an opinion, Jaffee stirred and cleared his throat. “Yes, that seems fair,” he pronounced, his voice weak and wavering. “Blessed Barl never desired to ride roughshod over the Olken people.”
Pellen looked at Thady and Eylin. “Your thoughts?”
They exchanged glances, then Eylin shrugged. “I suppose it depends on what you mean, Asher, by sorting it out on their own doorsteps. How certain are we that the Doranen will accept any ruling from an Olken district court?”
“A ruling agin them, you mean,” said Thady dryly. “Can’t see them complaining about a judgement in their favour.”
“And you think that’s likely, do you?” Garrick retorted. “An Olken court ruling for a Doranen against one of its own?”
Dismayed, Pellen slapped his hand flat to the table. “For shame! In this chamber we are sworn to uphold justice for everyone.”
“True, Pellen, that’s our aim,” said Eylin. “And in this chamber we might, for the most part, be able to forget which of us has dark hair and which of us is blond. But beyond these palace walls, well… it isn’t always so cut-and-dried.”
“She’s right,” Thady added. “I know a mort of folk who believe us Olken won’t never stand toe-to-toe with the Doranen until the Doranen yield a time or two.”
Folk like Fernel Pintte. Churned with disquiet, Pellen stared at the table. What has been festering in our towns and villages, that I’ve not seen? That neither of Lur’s Councils have seen? Just how many Fernel Pinttes are out there? He tried to catch Asher’s eye, but Asher had turned back to the window. It was clear, at least to him, that the Innocent Mage did not want to be here.
Rodyn Garrick was staring at Thady as though the City’s most prosperous innkeeper, and one of its best mages, had grown another head. “Are you serious?” he said at last. “How have the Doranen not yielded to you, man? Barl save us, we’ve given back land, we’ve changed certain laws, we let you do magic, we—”
“Let us?” echoed Eylin. “You let us? When the magic was always ours? When without Olken earth-singing Barl never would’ve been able to—”
“Now, now,” said Jaffee, raising both hands. “I see little advantage in raking over the past. Can we not simply agree that—”
“Yes, Barlsman Jaffee, we certainly can agree,” said Eylin. A farmer from the Hawshore district, used to wrangling bulls, she had no fear of Barlsmen or any other lofty Doranen. “We can agree that while it’s doubtless difficult for your people to see yourselves knocked off your lofty perches, you’d best accept it. As we accepted losing our sovereignty when first you came upon us.”
“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.”