The Prodigal Mage: Fisherman’s Children Book One by Karen Miller

rolling and uneven, the path’s gravel echoing his lack of two flesh-and-blood feet.
    Asher looked sideways. “Why not?”
    “Because more than likely they’ll be recognised. If you’re not wanting to make a fuss about this—”
    “What do you mean? I reckoned on shouting our troubles from the roof of Justice Hall.”
    “Very funny,” said Pellen. “But by all means, bite my nose off till there’s nothing left of it, my friend, if that’ll ease you.”
    The only thing that would ease him was finding this day were nowt but a dream. And since
that
weren’t likely…
    “You can’t go to them, either,” Pellen added. “It’s meant kindly enough, but even though you live your life circumspect nowadays, folks still take a keen interest in your doings.”
    And that were true, sink it. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “How do we meet with them, then?”
    “With a little sleight-of-hand I think we can bring these mages to Dorana without raising suspicions,” said Pellen, after a thoughtful pause. “And we can talk matters over at my home. That is, if you’re certain the risk is worth it. If you really believe…” He sighed. “I so want you to be wrong.”
    They were almost at the Tower. Its double doors stood wide open, glimfire washing over its wide steps and the courtyard’s raked blue and white gravel. Asher put his hand on Pellen’s arm and tugged him to a halt.
    “And you reckon I don’t?” he said, his voice lowered again. “You think I ain’t standin’ here, quakin’ in my boots?”
    Despite his worry, Pellen smiled. “You? Quaking? That’ll be the day.”
    Once Pellen had risked everything, his livelihood, his life, turned his back on his solemn captain’s oath and leapt blindly to his aid, all because Gar had asked it of him. Because he was a good man who couldn’t bear to think that his mistake had caused an innocent man to suffer. A friendship had grown out of that… as true, in its own way, as those friendships with Gar and Matt.
    Asher let his fingers tighten on Pellen’s arm. “This ain’t funny, Meister Mayor. It ain’t—” He let his hand fall and took a moment to breathe, just breathe. “If we celebrated too soon…”
    “You think we did?” said Pellen, his eyes hooded, his mouth tucked tight. “Do you think—is it possible—can it be Morg?”
    “No,” he said swiftly. “Me and Gar UnMade him. He’s dead. But that ain’t to say his mischief got UnMade the same way. Remember what Tollin found over the mountains? Blight and misery and nowt good anywhere. Killed him in the end, didn’t it? And them who came back with him. Took ’em slower than the others, aye, but it still took ’em. Reckon Morg left a legacy what’s poisoned near the whole world.”
    “And us along with it?” said Pellen, openly dismayed. “ Asher—” He cleared his throat. “Can you fix this? You—you know what I mean.”
    Aye. He did. Like Dathne, he’d told Pellen the truth about his Weather Magic. He could lie to the kingdom, but he couldn’t lie to them. Not after what they’d sacrificed for him. And any road, he’d needed them to keep an eye on him, in case something with the magic went wrong one day, what with him being Olken and never meant to wield it.
    “I don’t know, Pellen,” he said. “First I got to find out if I’m guessin’ right. And then, if I am…” He scowled. “Reckon I’ll cross that bridge when I reach it.”
    “
We’ll
cross that bridge,” Pellen retorted. “You’ll not tackle this alone, Asher. Not while I’m Mayor of Dorana and on both Councils, with an oathsworn duty to keep City and kingdom safe.”
    “Fine,” he agreed reluctantly. “But this ain’t for talkin’ on willy nilly, Pellen. You and me and Dath can know there’s trouble. No-one else.”
    “Asher, I can agree with not telling the General Council anything, at least not yet,” said Pellen, frowning. “But the Mage Council has a right to—”
    “No, it bloody