“I still think we should reveal Nord,” Kestimar said. “That would get him into all their private meetings. It would be far safer.”
“No!” Nord shot out of his corner, practically bumping into Kestimar.
They were much of a height, but where Nord was thin and angular, Kestimar had the bulk of the trained swordsman, accentuated by his mail. He loomed over the older man, grinning insolently.
Nord reddened. “I have told you, I will not do that. It is not negotiable. Tella, make him understand. I only agreed to this on condition that I stay in the background. I shall never go back to being Dern.”
I squeaked with shock, loud enough that Mal stirred and shifted in bed.
“What was that?” Kestimar said sharply. “Did you hear something? From over there.”
“There’s nothing there but Ishmarsol’s collection of treasures,” Tella said scornfully. “Truly, you men are shameful specimens, twitching at every shadow.”
I dropped the glass ball into my lap, and pressed my hands over my mouth, as if to lock away any subsequent stray noises. My head fell blessedly silent, but a thousand thoughts pressed upon me.
Dern! My brother, lost for so long, here at Dristomar? Was it possible? And he was the one who had manipulated my mind so that I was consumed with desire. I couldn’t believe it.
By the time I had calmed down enough to pick up the ball again, the room at the Hold was silent and empty.
I couldn’t move, rigid with shock and dismay. I huddled on the window seat, knees pulled to my chest, head down, trying to make sense of it. They had some kind of scheme in mind, something involving a fleet, and Shannamar was important. Tarn and the mages were to be kept out of the way. Beyond that, none of it made sense.
In all the jumble of thoughts hopping around crazily in my head, one thought alone cheered me. Ish had never wanted me hurt. Although he was party to this plan, whatever it was, he intended no harm by it, he’d tried to ensure that no one was hurt. It was just some kind of political manoeuvring, no more than that. And the fleet? That must be the new sword ships, built for Bennamore.
After a while, noises from the yard filtered up to me through the open window. Marching feet in rhythm, with a single drum to mark the time, and no horses. Sea Defenders. Arin and Drin had sent a squad to protect us.
Reassured, I put the glass ball back in its resting place, and crept back into bed beside Mal’s log-like form. He had his back to me now, so I curled around him, one arm round his waist, and closed my eyes.
~~~~~
I woke to distant shouts, and the clash of steel.
Mal was up, banging around in his room. He emerged partly dressed, clutching various items of mail and his sword. It appeared he could wake up promptly when under attack.
“What’s going on?”
“Trouble,” he said curtly. “Stay indoors, whatever you do, and keep the mages out of it. Especially Kael. Knock him out if you have to, but don’t let him loose out there. There’ll be arrows flying.”
“What’s going on?”
“I think our friend Commander Kestimar has come for us, but he’ll find that six mage guards can put up a bit of a fight.”
“And the Sea Defenders.”
He was scrambling into his mail, but he paused, wobbling on one foot, staring at me. “What?”
“The Sea Defenders arrived a little while back.”
His face creased into a smile. “Did they indeed? Excellent. That will give Kestimar something to think about.”
He dashed out of the bedroom, still only half dressed, leaving me to rummage around for something to wear. The girl hadn’t been in yet, so nothing was laid out ready. I was still pinning my hair under my cap when the noise outside died away to nothing. I tidied away all our scattered clothes, and carefully hung the rose silk gown on its pegs.
I was at the door, hand on knob, when I remembered my glass ball. I didn’t like to be too far away from it, in case I heard the voices again. It was reassuringly warm in my hands, and I held it for a moment, eyes closed, savouring the feel of it. There was no crackle of magic about it, unlike the jade belt, and I couldn’t detect any glow of well-being. Nevertheless, there was power in it, I knew that, a rich, warm power that seemed entirely benevolent, although I couldn’t say why I felt that way.
With the glass ball in my hands, the other balls were vivid in my mind: Ish’s ball at the Hold, the room it surveyed empty just now; and Hestaria’s ball, very close, but dark, in a drawer somewhere, probably.
With the ball safely tucked into its velvet bag at my waist, I ventured downstairs.
The table room was empty, but there were sounds from Losh’s study. Apart from Losh, only Arin and Drin were there, wearing their battle uniforms. They both crossed the room to enfold me in strong, masculine hugs.
“Fen, this is dreadful. Thank the Goddess you sent for us. Are you all right?”
“Fine, completely fine. What is going on?”
“We brought two squads, as you requested. We got here a couple of hours ago, and secured the perimeter of the house. Now the Holder’s men are here.”
“They will not get in, though? I have no wish to return to the dungeons.”
“They are not here to take anyone away, Fen,” Losh said. “We are under house arrest.” He waved a paper at me.
“What? Whatever for?”
The arrest authority was succinct. We were accused of improper use of magic in an open space, causing injury and alarm, thus breaching the terms of the treaty with Bennamore.
“This is nonsense. There was nothing at all in the treaty relating to magic.”
“It hardly matters,” Arin said. “It is no more than an excuse. I do wonder, however, why they want to antagonise Bennamore by locking up its mages.”
“I might know something about that,” I said.
Drin pulled forward a chair for me. Haltingly, for it was hard to remember exactly what had been said, I told them about the glass ball, and how I’d been able to listen to the conversation in the tower room. Mal came in halfway through and then Lenya, and gradually the whole household drifted in, so I found myself telling the story in fragments, returning to the beginning more than once, then leaping forward, and sometimes adding details as I remembered them, or jumping back to an earlier event to explain things. It was a wonder it made any sense at all.
The mages were very excited when I told them that I could hear through the glass ball.
“So it is a scrying stone!” Hestaria cried, as though she’d predicted it all along, instead of insisting the smaller balls had no purpose. We discovered after some experimentation that, with the aid of my own ball, I could see and hear through hers, but not the other way round.
I confessed, too, that it seemed to increase my sensitivity to metals, especially with the addition of the jade belt.
“Fascinating!” Losh said. “But not unexpected. Scrying stones are amplification tools, so of course this one will increase the power and range of your… erm, magical ability. And since it is attuned specifically to you, Fen, you will no doubt be able to turn it to your wishes, when you have learned to control it.”
Turn it to my wishes. If only I could! But at the moment it seemed to be no more than a passive vessel for receiving images.
Arin was far more interested in what I’d overheard. “So let me see if I have this straight,” he said. “This Bennamore mage, he promised to make the Holder some sort of king over the whole coast, using his mage powers. But then he died, so the Holder tried to get Mage Hestaria to oblige, and also to get you involved, Fen, although we do not quite know what your role was to be – something to do with Shannamar. But that was unsuccessful, so now they want the mages and Fen and the Moon Holder out of the way altogether so they can do something – unspecified – unhindered. We just know it involves a fleet, which has sailed. And they have this man Nord, who has some power to manipulate minds.”
I nodded. “Yes, although the Holder is not really behind all
this, it is more his wife and Commander Kestimar. But – there is something else you should know. Nord – his real name is Dern.”
Everyone looked blank. I’d expected that from most of them, but Arin and Drin at least ought to recognise the name.
“Dern – surely you remember him? Dernordior.”
Their faces changed as realisation dawned. “Dern? Impossible,” Arin said. “Can it be? But how did he end up here, with these people?”
“He was in Bennamore for many years. The Holder met him there, so he told me.”
We had to explain Dern’s story to the Bennamorians.
“I think we could guess at the reason why your brother ran away from his home and family,” Losh said. “This power of his, to alter emotions, that would have been a testing ability for a young man. You said, I believe, that his tutor came from Bennamore, and would have told him about our magic, about scribes and spellpages and mages. That would have been an appealing prospect, perhaps.”
I wasn’t sure of that. The Port Holdings were used to people with connections, it was not uncommon, but in Bennamore a man could be executed for using magic in an unorthodox way.
“Well, this is very interesting,” said Arin eventually, “but in the meantime we need to find out exactly what is going on here, and where this fleet is going, and for what purpose.”
“Terrific idea,” Mal said. “And how do you propose to do that? You’re as trapped here as we are. No one goes in or out, those are the rules. And no messages, either.”
Arin grinned. “No one goes in or out by the gates. But this is one of the oldest houses in the Port – look how close it is to the Hold. So there will be an escape tunnel somewhere, and if we are very lucky it might even connect to the Hold’s own escape tunnels.”
“Why would that be lucky? I can’t think of a single good reason for any of us to want to go back there. In fact, I can think of numerous reasons not to, and every one of them armed with a sword.”
“Look at it this way, my friend. If we want to find out precisely what is being planned, who better to ask than the people doing the planning?”
Mal laughed. “Oh, so we walk in and say, ‘Excuse me, but do tell us what you’re up to, so we can put a stop to it.’ Is that it?”
“Something like that. I thought if we could get inside the Hold, we could grab one of them and have a little chat. After all, it is the very last place anyone would expect to find us, would you not agree?”
Mal smiled and shook his head. “It’s a brilliantly reckless plan and I love it. There’s just one problem. I’ve been all round the cellars here, and there are no escape routes, no secret passages, no tunnels.”
Arin looked so chagrined I almost laughed.
“Nothing at all? I would have sworn there would be something. These old houses date back to the days when it was an essential requirement. Well, that is disappointing.”
“You might not know quite what to look for,” I said.
A pained expression crossed Mal’s face. “Are you suggesting I can’t recognise a tunnel when I see it?”
“It might be disguised, like some of the Hold ones. But there is an easy way to find out.”
“Oh, so you can find secret tunnels when I can’t, is that it?”
“I can’t, no. But I know someone who can. Someone who would know straightaway what was solid rock or brick, and what was not.” I turned round. “Kael?”
He was standing in a corner, his face twisted with worry, hands tucked under his arms.
“Kael, have you been in the cellars here?”
A flick of the eyes to Losh, who nodded to him. Kael turned anxious eyes back to me, and gave a single firm nod.
“And were there any tunnels or passages behind the walls?”
Another nod. “Three. One to the west, one to the south, one to the north, all sealed up.”
“But the tunnels behind are still open?”
“Yes.” A sudden flicker of interest. “Are we going to open them up?”
“I believe we are, Kael. Or rather, you are.”
He beamed at me.
32: A Daring Plan
We took Kael down to the cellar, and he showed us the three spots with an opening behind. One was hidden behind a massive cabinet, and another had giant wine racks in front of it, but the western access was merely obscured by barrels, which the two kitchen boys shifted in no time.
Even then, it was hard to detect where the opening had been. All we could see, even with half a dozen lamps, was a smooth, unmarked section of wall.
“But it’s not a door,” Mal said, disappointed. “At least – I see no sign of it. Is there a lock, Fen? Hinges?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s all bricked up.”
“So we have to smash it down?”
“Oh, I think we can find an easier way. Kael? Would you be so good as to remove these bricks, if you please?”
With a little smile, he began to run his hands over the bricks in the doorway, eyes closed and murmuring softly under his breath, as though whispering to small children. They melted under his hands, pooling around his feet, and then neatly reshaped themselves into tidy piles, the mortar between them reformed into one solid cube. There was no dust, no mess, just an open archway, the bricks to one side of it.
Kael stepped back, glancing at his father for approval, then smiling with relief as Losh nodded an acknowledgement.
The tunnel beyond the arch was dank and foul-smelling. It led forwards for a handful of paces, then there was a junction branching north and south. There were no luminous signs to guide us, although we couldn’t have read them anyway.
“We will have to explore both,” Arin said with a sigh, his voice echoing. “Who has the maps? Let’s see if we can work out where these might go.”
“Not me, I fear,” Losh said. “I hate these enclosed spaces. I shall go and write my message to Bennamore, which I have not yet had time to do, in case we get an opportunity to send it. And this time, I have no choice but to ask them to send the army to help us.”
“You want us to go to war, Losh?” I said sadly.
“My dear Fen.” He patted my hand gently. “No one wants to go to war, but we were almost killed last night. That is not an acceptable way to treat guests. Enjoy exploring the tunnels.”
We spent the whole day down there, Arin, Drin, Mal, me and Kael, until I was utterly exhausted. We traipsed back and forth down this passage or that, pacing out distances, listening for the sound of running water to indicate sewers or underground rivers, marking the tunnels on the maps, every branch, every dead-end, every door we could find. We emerged only for meals, eaten in haste before diving below again.
Arin and Drin fretted constantly about what might be going on at the Hold, or out at sea with this fleet which had apparently sailed already, desperate to know what was happening. Mal was silent and grim-faced, remembering another set of endless tunnels, and watching me anxiously. I didn’t like it any more than he did, but I needed to be there to check for locks, and sometimes to unlock a door so we could look into the cellar beyond. We found a wine merchant, a goldsmith with many barred doors, a room full of glassware and paintings and exquisite rugs from the northern hills, a spice dealer and a book seller, but not the way into the Hold.
Kael was magnificent the whole day. He was in his element buried underground, the only one of us not dispirited by the darkness, the damp, the mass of solid stone pressing all round us. I think he could have found his way around without any light at all, and whenever we got confused about exactly where we were, he could always set us straight. “No, we’re on the other side of the wine merchant’s,” he’d say. “I recognise the vaulted ceiling and the alcoves beyond this wall. We have to go the other way.” He could see through the tunnel walls the same way I was aware of all the metal.
That evening I was almost too tired to eat, and went straight to bed, sleeping as if dead until the girl came in the next morning.
The second day was easier –
it’s surprising how much better the world looks after a decent night’s sleep – and in the morning we passed under the walls of the Hold. I knew it at once.
“Swords above us.”
“How many? How far above?” Mal said.
“Four almost directly above us, but several floors away, and pairs of them further along, but moving.”
Arin and Drin pored over the map. “We must be here, then, under this corner tower. The moving ones will be patrolling the walls, and the four will be in the guardroom. Or it could be this one, near the armoury.”
“No, there’s no armoury anywhere near.”
Even though we were beneath the Hold, it covered a large area and we had to find our way to the Holder’s family tower. That was the most likely place to find someone we could grab hold of and force to tell us what was going on – Ish or his wife, preferably. Or perhaps Nord, although that would be very risky because of his power. Not all of us had magic to protect us.
The one person we wanted to avoid was Commander Kestimar. Even though we had three fighting men in our party, and Mal wore his jade belt, we had no desire to resort to swords or magic. This was a simple operation, and we hoped to accomplish our objectives without spilling any blood, especially our own.
For the rest of that day we mapped the underworld of the Hold, with its maze of interlinked passageways and network of cellars on many levels. Sometimes we would pass through a locked door from one dusty corridor into another, seemingly identical one, only to find laundry workers pushing carts of linen along, or men rolling barrels, and we’d have to scramble out of sight. Some tunnels were more secret than others.
At one point we came to a place I recognised – the tunnel below the Bell Tower, where Tarn and I had escaped, pursued by some of Kestimar’s men. It had seemed no more than an amusing adventure at the time, but now I shivered, wondering what would have happened to us if we hadn’t managed to outrun them, if we’d not been able to lock the door behind us. Kestimar was a ruthless man.
“I wonder if Tarn is being held there now.” I felt a surge of hope. Perhaps rescuing her would be easier than we’d thought. “It’s more suitable for her rank than the dungeons.”
The Mages of Bennamore Page 34
