The Awakened Mage (55 page)

“His lackey, you mean,” scoffed Darran. “His scuttling errand boy. What’s this message then? Give it me and I’ll take it to His Highness.”

Willer went to push past him. “I’ll tender it myself. Stand aside, old crow. Don’t interfere with the king’s own business unless you fancy sharing cold straw with Asher.”

Blocking him, Darran leaned his face close. “His

Highness is sleeping and I’ll not see him woken. Not by the likes of you. And as for threats, Willer? I make you no threats. Only this promise. Harass my prince unduly— cause him a heartbeat’s more pain—and you’ll never know another day’s peace. I will destroy you and no one shall touch me for doing it.”

Whatever Willer saw in his face then, it must have been convincing. The little worm turned sickly pale and stepped back a pace. “Very well. Take him the message yourself, it’s of no account to me. His Majesty commands Prince Gar’s attendance at the execution of the traitor Asher. A carriage will be sent here half an hour before midnight tonight. The prince is advised to be ready and waiting.”

“I shall so inform His Highness,” Darran said. “Now get out.”

For a long time after Willer’s huffy departure he stood in the foyer, feeling ill. Feeling old, and helpless. Then, because delay was fruitless, he climbed the staircase to Gar’s apartments and prayed he would not weep.

“What is it?” said Gar, not looking up from Barl’s diary. He was covered in ink: his fingers, his face. Long blue streaks in his hair. He’d wiped his hands on his lovely rose silk weskit, ruining it forever. The desktop was scattered with scribblings, the floor littered with discarded notes. He looked stretched thin as a wire.

Standing in the library doorway, afraid to step in closer, Darran cleared his throat. “A message, sir. From His Majesty.”

Gar kept on writing, one inky finger tracing a tine in the diary, his brow deep-furrowed with strain. “I’m busy.’ Tell me later.”

“I think, sir,” he said carefully, “I should tell you now.”

“Then tell me and go away!” Gar shouted. “Can’t you see what I’m doing?”

Darran told him. Quickly, to get it over with, then watched, unwilling but unable not to, as the meaning and the meanness of Jarralt’s command sunk into Gar’s understanding. The prince’s fingers trembled and dropped the pen.

“So,” he murmured, unseeing. “It’s not enough that I condemn him. I must also watch him die. Oh, Conroyd, Conroyd … is
this
how much you hated us?”

Darran withdrew and closed the door before it was impossible to pretend he hadn’t seen Gar’s grief.

By early afternoon Bessie’s unflagging walk-jog-walk had carried them without incident to the turn-off onto the main City road. Now there was traffic. Carriages and dogcarts and saddle horses, all bearing Olken, all flowing in a steady stream towards Dorana.

Still driving, his back aching now, Matt stared at them, stabbed through with a furious dismay. “What’s the matter with them?” he muttered to Veira. “Don’t they know it’s bloodshed and murder they’re going to see?”

“Judicious murder,” said Veira. “There’s a difference.”

“What difference?” he retorted. “The blood spilled’s not as red?”

She shook her head. “It’s not red at all, Meister Maklin. It’s black. Black as the heart of the bad man who’s dying.”

“You don’t believe that!”

“Of course not. But they do.” She patted his knee “They have to. If they let themselves think for one moment this might not be just… well. Folks like to put an untroubled head on their pillow at night, don’t they? Am it’s harder still for us Olken. If we don’t condemn a dabbling in magic, it’s the same as shouting we’d like to try it ourselves.”

It made him so angry he could easily have shouted himself. Behind them, in the back of the cart, Rafel snored softly, curled up beneath a canvas coverall. It was no use; he had to ask.

“When the time comes, Veira, how will you do it?”

“Kindly,” she said, after a moment. “There’s herbs in the brew I concocted as will ease him gently on his way. When all’s said and done, Matthias, it’s not so different from a dog or a cat that’s aged past saving.”

Except that it was, and she knew it, and so did he. Nor was it the answer he’d looked for… but it wasn’t in him to press her further. This time he patted her knee, then took her hand in his to hold, and squeeze. She didn’t pull away.

He guided Bessie onto City Road and let silence fall again for three more miles. Then, still holding her hand, he said, “It could be me, Veira, but I think Dath’s not looking like herself.”

She grunted without comment and started poking in the basket for a cake crumb she’d missed the last six times she’d looked.

“She had more color to her, the last time I saw her,” he added. “Of course it might just be the worry …”

“Might be,” agreed Veira. “There’s a lot to be worried about, I know that much.”

“And she wasn’t eating.”

“Worry can do that to an appetite, I’m told.” Wretched old woman. She wasn’t going to say. If he wanted to have his suspicions about Dathne’s condition confirmed he’d have to ask the question outright, and even then he thought she’d probably feign sudden deafness. He chose another topic instead, one equally as vexing. “If we manage this, Veira, if your mad plan works and we get Asher out of Dorana with his head still attached and ours, too, for that matter…”

She gave him a hard look. “He’ll be grateful.”

“For how long? Will he still be grateful when he finds out the truth and how it’s been kept from him all this time? When he learns how I’ve lied, and Dathne’s lied, all to make some Prophecy he’s never heard of come true?”

“He’s the Innocent Mage,” said Veira, quietly fierce. “He’s got Prophecy in his blood and bones whether he knows it or not. He’ll do what he’s born for, never you fear.”

She was the Circle Guardian, wise in things he’d never even thought of, but still he was driven to disagree. “We’ve all been so set on what we want. How he fits into
our
plans. But, Veira, what about his plans, and what he wants? Magic’s meant nothing but hardship and heartbreak for Asher. Look what it’s doing to him now! I don’t know if there’s enough gratitude in all the kingdom, let alone one man’s heart, to dull the pain of these past days. Or douse his anger when he finds out how he’s been duped… and who’s done the duping.”

He was making her angry. Her lips tightened and her fingers fisted in her lap. “He loves her, Matthias.”

“And she loves him, I know,” he sighed. “But she lied before she loved liirn, while she loved him, after she loved him. Is it ‘cause you’re both women that you can’t see the blow you’ll deal his pride?”

She fixed her gaze to the carriage up ahead. “Pride’s of no consequence where Prophecy’s concerned.”

He shut his mouth. Could be she was right and he was wrong. Could be Asher would take it all in his stride, forgive the lies, the manipulation, the nudgings here and there to put him where he was wanted and when. Could be he’d embrace Prophecy and all its mysterious workings as willingly as he’d embraced Dathne when he thought she was only a woman who once worked in a bookshop.

If he did, well and good. And if he didn’t… what could they do about it anyway? They hved their lives at the mercy of Prophecy and Prophecy, as always, would do as it willed.

“We’ll not discuss it any more,” said Veira. “What’s done is done and there’s no turning back. Why don’t you climb in with young Rafel and get a little shut-eye? You need to be rested for what lies ahead.”

“What about you? You need rest too, and—”

The smallest flash of teeth, as she smiled. “And I’m old? True enough, Meister Maklin. But I’m old like Bessie’s harness leather is old. Tough, well looked after and hard to break. Rest. I’ll wake you when we’re closer to the City and it’s time to play our trick.”

She’d have her way, he could see that, so he clambered over the driver’s seat and into the cart’s cramped belly, trying not to tread on snoring Rafel. How the man could sleep, knowing what lay ahead for him, was a mystery.

Even though she was right, and he was very tired, Matt doubted he would sleep … but a moment after he’d closed his eyes to think on Veira’s words the old woman was shaking his shoulder and urging in his ear, “Meister Maklin! Meister Maklin, come along now! Dorana’s in sight. Wake up, it’s time to fix your face.”

She was in the back of the wagon with him. Opening his eyes he sat up and saw the sun had set and the night was flickered with torches. Four burned brightly at each corner of their wagon. Rafel, taking his turn with the reins, had guided them to the side of the road; traffic had dwindled to a trickle and they were, for the moment, alone. Lit up with glimfire the City walls gleamed in the distance, no more than half an hour away. He hadn’t thought to sleep so long.

“Lie on your back and keep your head down,” Veira told him softly. “And no matter what happens, don’t cry out. This shouldn’t be downright painful but you might well feel a tingle or two.”

“Why?” he whispered, lowering himself to the wagon floor. “What are you planning? What’s this trick you’ve come up with?”

“To be truthful, dear, I’m not quite sure. Something to take the edge off your fine good looks, I’m hoping.” She settled on her haunches beside him. “Now close your eyes and let down your defenses. I need you quite open for this.”

Nervous, but trusting her, he settled into himself, loosening the fetters he kept round his mind, sinking into the fabric of the world around him… and nearly choked on a scream of pain and surprise. It was like breathing in fire, or poison, or something of both.

“What is it? What’s happened?” demanded Rafel, peering over his shoulder.

“Matthias? Matthias!”

Veira’s voice was an anchor, a saving grace. He clutched at her, desperate for the touch of wholesome flesh beneath his fingers. His mind felt fouled, smeared, contaminated with evil. Gasping, he fought the urge to empty his belly all over her. “It’s back! Veira, can’t you sense it? Dark—sticky—
wicked!
Worse than ever I felt it before. Stronger—almost
alive.”
He pressed his fists against his mouth, to hold the horror inside. Struggled to regain his balance, his serenity, when the thing he could feel pulsing at the heart of the kingdom’s magic wanted nothing more than chaos and destruction.

Veira’s hands were cradling his head against her belly, she was holding him, rocking him. “All right, all right, just you breathe easy, child. Make sure you’re all closed up again. Maybe it’s alive and maybe it isn’t, but we don’t want to go flapping our hands in front of its face if it is, now, do we?”

Heartbeat by heartbeat the awful feeling passed and he was able to sit up. “That was horrible.”

“It looked it,” said Rafel, shaken. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I will be.” He stared at Veira. “I think it’s what Prophecy warned of. The thing we must fight in the Final Days.”

She pulled a face. “I don’t doubt that at all.”

“I don’t think we can fight it, Veira,” he whispered, starting to shiver. “Not that. It’s too big. Too black, and hungry. If this is what Dathne’s been dreaming …” A wave of revulsion engulfed him. “I don’t know how she can hve with it. I don’t know how she’s not
mad)”

“She’s Jervale’s Heir,” said Veira. “It’s what she was born for. And saving Asher’s what
we
were born for so we’d best be on about it. Lie down again, Matthias, and this time don’t open your mind. I’m going to try my trick another way.”

Reluctantly he did as she bade. Eyes closed, he felt her fingers spread across his face. Beneath their touch his skin grew warm. Hot. Burning. It twitched and crawled and seemed to seethe. He could hear her whimpering. Whimpered a little himself.

“There,” she said at last, sounding exhausted, and pulled her hands away. “I call it blurring. Rafel, what do you think?”

“Jervale save us,” Rafel said, hushed and fearful. “How did you
do
that? That’s not his face!”

“Which would be the idea,” said Veira, acerbic. “Matthias—can you hear me?”

He grunted. “Yes, and see you too. Your nose is bleeding. What have you done to my face?”

“Nothing much,” she said, fishing in her pocket for her kerchief. “Rearranged the furniture a bit. Made sure no one in that City will look at you twice.”

“How? I could feel you channeling energy, shaping me, but…”

Veira dabbed the kerchief at her lip and frowned at the bloodstains smeared on the cotton. ‘To be truthful I’m not quite sure how it’s managed. The idea came in a dream. I practiced on my own face a time or several. Gave myself

i a nasty fright, looking in the mirror. It’s not the way our magic’s normally used and I wouldn’t recommend it as a parlor game. But it’ll do the trick tonight and that’s all I care about. Rafel? Get this cart back on the road, young

j man. We’ve work to be getting on with.”

As Rafel obeyed her, Matt sat up and explored his face with his fingertips. It was definitely… different. Pockmarked. Fatter. His lips felt rubbery and his nose was an awkward shape.

He sighed. “You couldn’t have made me handsome?”

Veira just laughed and patted his knee.

The rest of the journey Was completed in silence. They reached the City’s outer stone wall. Passed beneath the shadow of its gates. Trundling by Pellen Orrick’s guards unrecognized, unchallenged, Matt felt his crushing sense of dread ease so he could breathe again.

“We’ve a horse stall saved for us in a private yard down the back of the Livestock Quarter,” said Veira. “Matt, you’d best drive us from here. You know where you’re going.”

So he took the reins from Rafel and guided Bessie and the cart through the crowded glimlit streets to the livestock district, past smelly pens of goats and sheep and yards crammed full of cattle and horses, where Veira directed him to an empty double stable decorated with a flapping green ribbon. Stiff and hungry, they shunted the cart into hiding, unharnessed the pony and saw her safely settled with hay and water.

“Now,” said Veira, hefting her bag on her shoulder, “I’m for a chamber pot, ‘cause my bladder’s a-bursting and I’ll bet yours are too. Then we’d best find our places in the Square and settle ourselves for a long and fractious wait.”