Part 16 (1/2)

Asher hadnt thought to find himself back in the royal crypt so soon. After leaving Darran to sleep here, hed 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 elses 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 Gars still, stone face. Never, I reckon. So nowt much has changed.

Glimfire, flickering, seemed to reveal Gars lips quirking in a wry, reproving smile.

Asher, Asher. Petulance doesnt become you.

Startled, he looked around. Thought for a moment hed see Gar standing behind him, warm, living flesh instead of cold white marble. But no. He was alone.

Petulant? he said, and snorted. I aint petulant. Im fratched. And I reckon Ive a right, Gar. This were sposed to be over. You and me, I thought we ended it.

No reply. He didnt 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 didnt have to face without her what was hidden in Gars coffin. But hed said no, because he had no idea how long hed be here. And her coming with him wouldve 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 sons tale of the river-pond, Rafes 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 s.h.i.+fted, fearful of being a.s.saulted 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 hearts dull thud within his broad rib-cage, he eased his hand into Gars burdened coffin.

Mayhap hidin that b.l.o.o.d.y diary in here werent such a crackin good idea after all.

When his fingers brushed against Gars linen wrappingsagainst Garhe 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 b.l.o.o.d.y thing? It had to still be here. No-one knew what hed done. It couldnt 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 coffins smooth side and floor as he poked and prodded and slid his fingers into places he couldnt bear to think on closely.

Come onstop hidingcome on He nearly shouted when at last he touched the diarys ancient leather cover, smooth and cool after ten years in the dark. s.n.a.t.c.hing 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 Barls secrets into the light.

Sweating, breathing harshly, he stared at the small, unremarkable book that in Durms 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 couldnt leave well enough alone.

But it were done, and couldnt be undone, and Barl knew Durm had paid a terrible price for his pride.

Easing himself backwards until his shoulder blades and spine touched Fanes cool, quiet tomb, he beckoned a hovering ball of glimfire closer and started leafing through Barls diary. Not to read the actual entries, because to his Olken eye they were nowt more than chicken scratchins in the dirt. But Gars scribbled translations were still stuck between its pages, so he read those. Well, some of them. He didnt need to read the translated warspells. Didnt even want to look at them. Instead, for the first time, he read the other bits and sc.r.a.ps, memory stirred by Gars neatly fluent penwork.

Remembrances of the Doranens 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 theyd struck. The words of Making and UnMakingsink me, I b.l.o.o.d.y remember thatand 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 sc.r.a.ps of Gars scribbling mounted up, with no answers. There hadnt been time to translate every last page of the diary, true, but surely, surely, if hed been able to translate the history, which didnt matter a b.l.o.o.d.y d.a.m.n, then Gar wouldve bothered to translate the important bits, the magic. It werent like he didnt know the magic mattered most.

Except it looked ezackly like that, cause eventually he got to the last hastily scrawled page and hed not found a single useful word.

Disbelieving, despairing, he let the diary drop into his lap. Stared at the stone effigy hed created with such care. Gar, Gar, you fool. You b.l.o.o.d.y barnacle. Why didnt you realise Id 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 Darrans coffin, taking mild pleasure in knowing itd make the ole trout curse and cuff.

All right, then, he said, glaring at Gars silent effigy. You werent the only b.l.o.o.d.y scholar in Lur, were you? Theres other Doranen studied the kind of claptrap you liked. Old books and poems and the way you folk used to talk. Barlsman Jaffee, hes nigh on cross-eyed from readin. I could show him the diary, couldnt I? I could trust him with it, dont you reckon? Hes a b.l.o.o.d.y Barlsman. All that piety. If I swore him to secrecy hed have to keep his word, eh? Wouldnt he?

He wanted to think so. But then, Durm had been Bornes Master Magician, hadnt he? The most powerful, most important mage after the king. n.o.body knew better than Durm the dangerous muck in Barls diary. And what did he do with it? He let Morg in through the back door.

So no. He didnt dare even trust Barlsman Jaffee. Which meant hed have to try and sort the problem on his own. b.l.o.o.d.y wonderful. As if he had the first idea what to do He scowled at Gars serene stone face.

Dont know where you are, or if you can hear me, but just in case? A bit of help about now wouldnt go astray.

Silence. Shadows. The dull beating of his heart.

Right, he said. So thats that. Lucky me, eh? He shook his head. All I ever b.l.o.o.d.y wanted was a fis.h.i.+n 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 Darrans 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. Theyd 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 Barls 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 hed have said Are you b.l.o.o.d.y daft? Of course not. Without thinking twice. Because until a few weeks ago hed 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 b.l.o.o.d.y petulant, then fine. I can live with bein petulant, Gar. But I aint sure I can live with not bein able to fix whats 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 didnt stir. The moonlight shafting through the partly curtained window glittered silver on the flakes of ice falling gently from the grey cloud hed created, dreaming, beneath their bedchambers 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 notcould notbe denied forever.

She rested her hand on his tense shoulder. Asher. Its 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 couldnt wrench him awake. Once, shed done that, and had hurt him so badly hed 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 wasnt 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 s.h.i.+ver. Something dark and terrible was sliding over her skin. Shed felt this before shed seen it ten years ago Asher! she cried, and thumped him with both fists, desperate. Asher, youre 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 cant see! Whats amiss?