Free The Awakened Mage by Karen Miller

happen again, I swear,”
    He nodded, and kept on walking.
     
     
    Pellen Orrick was waiting halfway down the Tower’s front steps. Immaculate and self-contained as ever, the Guard captain looked at him closely and said, “Are you all right?”
    “Aye,” said Asher, meeting his sharp gaze full-square. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
    “No reason,” said Orrick after a brief hesitation. “Beyond the obvious, that is.” Beneath the spit and polish he looked weary. Sick at heart. “We got the family up safe and sound, just after dawn. Barlsman Holze took them to the palace directly. The infirmary.”
    With an effort, Asher blotted out memory. _Red blood and white bone and black flies, crawling. _”No sign of Matcher, I s’pose?”
    “I’m sorry.
    He’d known before asking. Had to ask anyway. “So, what now?”
    Orrick shrugged. “Now we wait for the results of the physical examination. Holze, my men and I combed the accident site before retrieving the bodies, looking for any sign of tampering. Anything that could suggest that someone somehow sent the carriage over the Eyrie on purpose, with or without magic. We found nothing.”
    “That’s good. Ain’t it?”
    Another shrug. “That depends. People like explanations for things, Asher. That’s their nature.”
    “I s’pose. Nix is lookin’ at the bodies now, you say?”
    “Nix and Holze.”
    “And they really can tell if there’s been magic used?”
    “Holze says so,” said Orrick. He was silent a moment, inspecting the nearby treetops. Looking for crimes? Probably. The law was Pellen Orrick’s bread and butter and blankets. “He kept vigil all night. He’s a good man. A holy man. If we can’t trust his findings, and Nix’s, we’re all in trouble.”
    “D’you reckon they will find anythin’?”
    “No,” said Orrick, grimacing. “Borne was a great king. Revered by everyone. The queen was loved. Princess Fane respected, and accepted by all as the WeatherWorker in Waiting. There’s not a soul in Lur who’d want them dead.”
    Asher looked at him sidelong. “Gar might.”
    “What?”
    “Don’t tell me you ain’t considered the idea, Captain. Gar’s got his magic now. Might be he decided he’d make a better WeatherWorker than his sister and didn’t want all the folderol and kerfuffle of a schism over the matter.”
    Pellen Orrick fell back a pace and stared at him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and horror. “Asher, are you serious? Do you truly want me to consider His Highness responsible for this tragedy? Is it what
you
believe? Don’t forget, it’s only by Barl’s grace that he and the Master Magician survived!”
    “Could be it was planned that way.”
    Orrick seized his arm. “Asher, I charge you straight: if you have any proof or knowledge that this was no accident, you cannot stay silent.
Was
it deliberate murder? Tell me!”
    Pulling free, he said, “I ain’t got the first idea, Captain.
    I don’t reckon so. But even if it was, there’s no way Gar were involved.”
    “Not
involved?” Orrick glared. “Then why in Barl’s blessed name would you—”
    “Because I can think of at least one man who’ll say it’s possible!” he said. “Maybe even likely. Can’t you?”
    Some of the angry color faded from Orrick’s face. His eyes narrowed and he folded his arms across his chest. “Lord Jarralt.”
    “Exactly. And you need to be ready for him, Captain. He’ll stir up trouble if he can. Claim the kingdom needs a seasoned magician as WeatherWorker. And without Durm to stand behind Gar as the heir, things could get real nasty real fast.”
    “What do you mean, without Durm? I’d not heard the Master Magician was dead.”
    “He ain’t. Not yet, any road. But between you and me and the anchor, it ain’t lookin’ good. And Durm dead’d suit Conroyd bloody Jarralt right down to the ground. So I’m just sayin’, Captain. Keep your eye on him. Don’t let him bully you into makin’ a findin’ that suits