The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One (62 page)

Arlin’s rage was getting the better of him, and fast.

“Lord Garrick!” Jaffee said, with surprising command. “Control yourself. Magic is
forbidden
in the Council chamber, on pain of dire retribution. Not only is this place warded, so you would be severely harmed, the penalties imposed would see you ruined to begging. Is that how
you
would honour your father?”

For a moment Rafel thought Arlin was mad enough to ignore Jaffee, ignore common sense, and invite his own destruction. He held his breath.

Go on, then. Do it. Destroy yourself, Arlin. I don’t bloody care. I’m sick to death of seeing you everywhere I turn. I’m sick to death of you trying to destroy me.

Arlin breathed hard, like he was running a race. Fingers fisting and unfisting, jaw clenched hard enough to break most of his teeth, he glared around the chamber—and the councilors glared back. The City guards by the closed double doors took half a step forward, ceremonial pike-staffs at the ready. Jaffee shook his head, and they reluctantly stepped back.

“Lord Garrick,” said the Barlsman, sounding tired to dropping. “Is it not tragic enough that beyond these four walls our beloved kingdom is tearing itself apart? Must we in here tear ourselves apart
with
it? How can we hold on to any hope if we do?”

“Hope?”
said Arlin. The faintest hint of gold shimmered around him, power on the breathless point of explosion. “Did you not hear your precious Rafel? Did you not pay attention to your Innocent Mage’s son?
There is no hope
. Not in this weeping land. Lur’s only chance of survival lies in the finding of Lost Dorana and its wealth of ancient magic. Help
must
be sent to Sarle Baden, so his quest does not fail.
I
must be sent to him. I should have gone in the first place. If I had—”

“You could have made a difference?” said Jaffee. “Could have saved the expedition from whatever mischance has befallen it? Lord Garrick—
Arlin
—” The Barlsman shook his head. “Such youthful bravado does not—”

“Bravado?” Arlin sneered. “Trust me, Jaffee. Not a man or woman in this chamber knows who I truly am—or what I can do.” His gaze flickered sideways. “Asher’s son is not the only powerful mage in Lur. And if this Council lacks the courage or the will to send me where I am sorely needed, then I shall leave it to perish in a windstorm and go alone, without its blessing.”

Stabbed with pain, Rafel shook his head.
Sink me bloody sideways. This has to be a dream
. Whether or not Rodyn Garrick’s son was what he claimed, one thing couldn’t be argued. “Arlin’s right,” he said loudly. “There ain’t no answer here for what ails us.”

“Rafel?” said Barlsman Jaffee, disbelieving. “You
agree
with him?”

He’d rather dance naked through the streets than say it again. “The only hope we ever had was the Weather Magic. And Da—” He caught his breath.
Careful now, careful. What they don’t know can’t hurt him or me
. He could feel Arlin’s knifepoint gaze, pricking him. “Like he told you before. It’s gone, and it ain’t coming back.”

And that was the unvarnished truth, at least.

“Councilors, you promised you’d believe me when I told you what I felt.
That’s
what I felt. If there is magic to save us, we ain’t going to find it in Lur. If it’s anywhere it’s out there somewhere, across Barl’s Mountains.”

Silenced, Jaffee exchanged a look with Speaker Shifrin and Mayor Stott, then sank back into his chair and lowered his head to his hands—either in prayer or defeat. The rest of the Council buzzed like a tipped-over beehive.

Glancing sideways, Rafel saw Arlin still staring. His impulse to obliterate with magic mastered, now he was thrown a little, suspecting he was being mocked.

Don’t worry, Arlin. The only fool in here is me, for putting my hand up to get tangled with you. ’Cause if you are going over the mountains, I know one thing for certain sure. You ain’t going alone.

For while Lur might need him—Goose needed him more. And he wasn’t about to abandon his best friend twice.

Oh, Mama. Mama, you’re going to skin me.

“Councilors, we need another expedition,” he said, raising his voice above their consternation. “We need to go after Lord Baden and the others. And if we can’t find them—or if—if—” He paused, willing his hammering heart to ease. “Ain’t no getting around it. Lur needs that lost magic. One way or another, we’ve got to find it and bring it back before the kingdom’s done tearing itself apart. Me and Arlin can—”

“What?”
said Arlin, with a startled laugh. “No. If it’s Lost Doranen magic that’s required then this is Doranen business and none of yours. As a Doranen I tell you plainly, Rafel: you’re not welcome in our lands.”

“Never mind him, never
mind!
” Rafel shouted at the Olken councilors, bellowing their offense. “Shut your bloody traps, the lot of you!”

As they fell raggedly silent he turned back to Rodyn Garrick’s ignorant, hate-blinded son.

“Arlin, don’t be pig ignorant. There ain’t no way you can tell which bits of that ancient Doranen magic are needed to heal the damage done to Lur. But I can.”

Arlin’s lip curled. “So
you
say.”

“That’s right.
’
Cause you ain’t the one as can hear the earth screaming. You ain’t the one with Lur’s pain bubbling in your blood. And you ain’t—”

“What I
ain’t,
” said Arlin, pale with rage, “is going anywhere with
you
. If you think I’ll trust my life to my father’s murderer then
you’re
the fool, Rafel.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Then you can stay behind and I’ll take another Doranen with me.” He looked at the Doranen mages clumped on their side of the council chamber. “So? Who’s game, eh? You’re sick and tired of the Olken hero, Asher? Then find a hero of your own and let him do what my da did. Risk everything for Lur.”

This time the Doranen councilors’ silence was uneasy. Every gaze avoided his. And not one of them—not
one
—offered to chance him or herself. Offered any kind of help at all. Fear had them by the throats and they weren’t about to fight it. He tried to understand, to forgive… and couldn’t. He felt his own power stir, his own shimmer of rage.

“You bloody Doranen, you make me
sick!
I can’t
abide
Arlin Garrick, poxy, arrogant shit that he is. But he’s still worth more than any five of you fancy mages tied together. And you Olken, who ought to be climbing all over each other to save Lur? You make me sick too. Why ain’t you speaking up with me? It’s our home and you won’t
fight
for it?”

And now the silence was full of shame, and anger, and sullen resentment. Face suffused dark red, Shifrin shoved out his chair. “Have a care, Rafel,” he growled. “Any respect you’re shown in this Council chamber comes to you by way of your father. And it has a limit.”

“Like your courage?” he retorted. “Forget about finding Lost Dorana, if it frights you too much. What about Goose and the rest? What about Fernel Pintte? You don’t reckon we ought to help
them?
”

Shifrin banged his fist on the Speaker’s table. “We don’t even know if they’re still
alive!
”

“And you don’t bloody know they ain’t!”

Breathing harshly, Shifrin shoved the blue shard of circle stone towards him. “Then why don’t you find out, Rafel? Try reaching Pintte yourself, if you’re so sure we’re cowards, and useless.”

It was a challenge he couldn’t ignore. Not only
’
cause Arlin Gar-rick was stood there, smirking, but
’
cause if he didn’t then he’d lose any shred of authority he had. Lose with it any hope of getting over the mountains and finding Goose. So he stepped up to Shifrin’s table and laid both hands on the blue crystal.

Intense cold. Searing heat. His heart raced, pumping his magic-scalded blood faster and faster. And then a wave of overwhelming dread. Terror that tried to drop him dead where he stood. Pintte’s fragmented message, booming through his skull.
Danger. Help us. Not alone
. But when he tried to find Dorana’s mayor, the fool who’d sunk so many in Westwailing, he found nothing. Felt nothing. Heard nothing but the lingering echoes of horror trapped in blue crystal. He snatched his hands from the circle stone, trying not to retch.

“You see?” said Shifrin. “There’s nothing there. No-one to reach. They’re gone, Rafel. Most likely dead. And you want us to throw more lives after them? Barl forgive us, your father was right. It was folly to send those men over the mountains. This Council won’t approve a third expedition. Especially not when you’re talking of finding Lost Dorana. Are you mad? That fabled land fell to magewar centuries ago.”

“You don’t know that for certain sure, Shifrin,” he retorted. “You’re only guessing,
’
cause you don’t want to take the risk.”

Shifrin pounded the Speaker’s table again. “I don’t want to see good men die for no reason, Olken
or
Doranen.
Any
death would be a waste.”

“Speaker Shifrin is right,” Barlsman Jaffee added. “It would be nothing short of wickedness to send anyone in Sarle Baden and Fernel Pintte’s misguided footsteps. I know your friend went with them, Rafel. You have my condolences for his loss. But—”

“You ain’t asking me, Barlsman. I’m bloody offering.”

“And your offer is declined,” Shifrin snapped. “Yours and Lord Gar-rick’s. Rafel, how can you even think of abandoning Lur now? We’ve got storms raging unchecked across the kingdom and the dregs of magic in the earth creating havoc. You’re
needed
here. With your father helpless in his bed, and Barl alone knowing if he’ll ever leave it, you’re the only Olken we have gifted with the Doranen touch. You might be Lur’s only hope of surviving.”

He nearly said,
No, I ain’t. You got Deenie at a pinch
. But he swallowed the words just in time. Letting that slip would nigh on ruin Deenie’s life. Mama would never forgive him.

“I
told
you, Shifrin, I can’t help Lur. I can’t stop the storms. I can’t heal the earth. And this time things won’t right themselves. So we have to try something else, something desperate, or I promise you, I
swear
it,
Lur won’t survive
.”

Frighted murmuring from the Council. Sickened looks exchanged between Shifrin and Jaffee. Lur’s powerful men, with no more power now than spratlings.

“Whatever happens, if I die doing this, ain’t no blame will fall on you,” he added. “I’ll sign a paper before I go, saying how it was my idea and you tried to stop me and I wouldn’t listen. I’ll happily do that. And I won’t say anyone’s got to come with me. I’ll go alone. Might be better that road. But—”

Arlin snatched him by the sleeve and pulled him around. “You think
you
can decide who will or won’t do this?
I am not bound by your petty pronouncements
. I am a Doranen mage, and I will claim my heritage and birthright without seeking
your
permission. Without
you
. I will—”

“Be bound by the decision of this General Council!” shouted Speaker Shifrin, slamming his gavel so hard it nearly broke. “As will you, Rafel. We will now deliberate on these weighty matters. You will be informed of our decision in due course. Until then you’re dismissed. Quit this chamber at once. And do
not
talk of this meeting to
anyone
.”

For a moment, just a moment, Rafel thought about arguing. Da always said the Council could talk itself to a standstill and never once find common ground to stand on. And Lur’s time—Goose’s time—was fast running out.

“Rafel,” said Barlsman Jaffee gently. “Go to your father. He needs you, my boy… and so does your mother.”

And that was playing gutter dirty—but it was also true. He turned on his heel and walked out, not looking at fuming Arlin Garrick as he passed him. The guards opened the double doors as he approached. He thanked them with a curt nod and a strained half-smile, and made his way to the antechamber beyond.

“Rafel! Stop!
Don’t you walk away from me!
”

And that was Arlin, of course, who lacked the sense of a drunken flea. Chasing after him like he had the right to bark orders. Halfway down the corridor leading to the outside world, and sorely needed fresh air, he spun about.

“Leave me be, Arlin. I ain’t of a mind to chat just now.”

Arlin waved an impatient hand. “I want—”

“
I don’t care what you want
. So unless you’re looking to get dumped on your arse a second time,
leave me be
.”

Arlin’s slender fingers clenched, as though they ached to strike or strangle. Raw power crackled the air around him. “Lost Dorana is none of your business. I’ll not permit you to—”

Rafel brought up his fist. Ignited the cauldron of magic inside him and let glimfire burst from his blood. Flickering flames danced over his white knuckles.

“Arlin, you get older but no bloody wiser. D’you
remember
Westwailing?”

Arlin smiled, fierce and feral. Blew on his glimlit hand—and blew it out. “You don’t frighten me, Rafel. You never have. You never will. And you will
never
cross those mountains.”

He’d die before he’d show Arlin he felt even the smallest bit impressed. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugged. “Aye, well. We’ll see about that, won’t we?”