The Mages of Bennamore

by Pauline M. Ross

  Arin and Drin could have gone back to their ship any time they wanted, but they stayed on, although they had a couple of men running back and forth with messages by way of the tunnels. I let them in and out each night through the bookseller’s shop, which had a poorly watched back door, easy to unlock. After a couple of days, Drin and Hestaria concocted a plot to go back to the tower on the promontory, to see if they could get more of the glass balls.

  “We could really use one on the ship,” Drin said by way of explanation. “It would be so much easier to talk that way, instead of all this running about.”

  I had nothing at all to occupy me, except listening for whatever sounds emanated from the glass ball. I had to carry it round with me constantly, and keep away from any other loud noises in case they could be heard. I was fairly sure that Dern would only be able to hear if I were touching the ball, but I couldn’t risk it. So I spent long hours in my room with a book, except for the hour of the planning meeting each morning.

  The midsummer heat had given way to cooler, showery days, a hint of autumn to come. Even so, this disconnected time of waiting felt like the buildup to a thunderstorm, the air heavy with threat, almost crackling with tension hours before the lightning spears from the sky. I wanted – needed – something to happen, to relieve the pressure. I found myself eating poorly, for once in my life, my stomach clutched by nausea much of the time, and I was bone tired despite my inactivity. Only when I held the glass ball did I feel well. Once Convocation started, at the next darkmoon, and the new sword ships began their manoeuvres, there would be plenty of action to keep us busy, but until then we must sit and endure as patiently as we could.

  “What will happen?” Losh asked fretfully. “Will they agree to it, do you suppose, the Holders? Will they just make the Dristomar Holder a king? Will it end peacefully? Or will it turn ugly?”

  Unanswerable questions, but Arin treated them seriously. “The Holders are fiercely independent, and traditionally they have fought against greater unity. Trading agreements, yes, but political affiliations are another matter. Shannamar and Dristomar would like closer ties, but the smaller Holdings are against it. However, last year, when your High Commander made his speech to Convocation – suddenly everyone spoke with one voice. We must have a treaty with Bennamore, they said. We must have a new Holder at Dristomar. Everyone was of the same mind. And there is still some of that unity in the air. So they might agree.”

  “And if they do not?”

  Arin’s mouth twisted. “Things could get – difficult. If the Convocation delegates decide to fight their way past the blockade, we could have a major sea battle on our hands. And if they discover that Dristomar has set the whole thing up to trap them into an agreement, we will have civil war.”

  “And if Bennamore joins in, we could destroy the Port Holdings altogether, between us,” I said.

  “We cannot fight Bennamore,” Arin said, alarmed. “We discovered that last year. Their army is vast and disciplined, while our Defenders are few and scattered about.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t decide to intervene, then.”

  Mal was a source of both strength and comfort during this interminable wait. He kept me company during the long hours exiled to my room, not saying much but calmly fletching arrows or sharpening his sword, all the never-ending chores of a guard. At table, he picked out the choicest portions to tempt my appetite, sometimes creeping out through the tunnels to buy fresh fish or fruit for me. Then at night he would wrap me in his arms and hold me until I fell asleep. Whenever Dern groped his kitchen girl, we would be inspired to follow his example, but otherwise Mal seemed content just to sleep alongside me.

  “Don’t you want a proper cuddle?” I’d asked him once or twice.

  “No, this is fine,” he answered each time. I wasn’t sure whether he really didn’t want sex, or whether he thought I didn’t, or whether there was something else going on. He wasn’t an articulate man, so perhaps he wouldn’t be able to explain it to me anyway. Perhaps he didn’t know himself.

  You would think, with so much time to spare, that we would be planning our response to Ish’s cunning scheme to get himself proclaimed king, but we weren’t. We discussed it, of course, because it was the one subject on everyone’s mind, but we couldn’t reach any agreement on how to deal with it. We couldn’t even decide if it really was such a bad thing to have the coastal ports united under a single leader.

  “It is bound to happen eventually,” Arin said with a shrug, as we sat at morning table one day. “We have been moving slowly along the path of greater unity for decades – generations.”

  “But to use deceit!” Losh said. “Flying the Bennamorian flag on ships blockading the harbour – that is not something the Drashon will take lightly.”

  “It’s not really a deceit, though, is it?” I said. “They are Bennamorian ships, your Drashon paid for them all, prow to stern, and they are merely being used to make a point: we can unite under our own ruler or we can have one imposed on us by Bennamore.”

  “Bennamore is not trying to impose anything on you,” Losh said in his mild way. “You can go on exactly as before, except for paying a tithe to Kingswell.”

  “But for how long?” I said impatiently. “Every Holding sets its own taxes, collects them in its own way, draws up its accounts in whatever manner it sees fit. How is Bennamore to be sure it is getting its appointed tithe? It will have to send tax collectors into every single port, understand every arcane law and treaty and historic agreement. Did you know, for instance, that Shannamar pays a proportion of its river tolls to Dellonar in exchange for special purchasing rates for certain metals? Or that Kymar has the right to import spices from Trellius by river without paying any tolls? There are thousands of such exceptions. How will you ever disentangle all this? Or will you simply trust us to be good little subjects? No, sooner or later, Bennamore will have to deal with a single administration, and it might as well be one of our choosing rather than yours.”

  Losh shook his head, but said nothing.

  “It is true,” Arin said. “Ish will do as well as any other. For now. The key is to settle on some sensible means of appointing the ruler, so we can be sure of having the best person and get rid of all these arcane inheritance laws. We made a start last year, allowing heirs who prove later to resume their previous rank. It was done for Ish, of course, but it applies to everyone. The next step is to get rid of the whole idea of proving. It is too – trying for words.”

  His eyes flicked towards me as he spoke, then quickly away. Neither of them had mentioned the disaster which had driven me from Shannamar, not directly – I supposed they could see that it still distressed me – although with oblique questions they’d established that I had never proved myself with a child. I’d never thought of trying it. If I could have got myself pregnant quickly enough, perhaps Convocation would have allowed me back as Designated Heir. That was what Ish had hoped, anyway, and my father had raised the idea with me. But I didn’t want a child or to be Heir; I wanted Ish, and only Ish. If I couldn’t have him, what did anything else matter?

  But abolish proving altogether? “That would be a bad idea,” I said. “Every Holding needs a strong family line to keep control. We should be cautious of making too many abrupt changes. Or giving any one Holder too much power.”

  “But think of it, Fen, you could be queen,” Drin said with a grin, and ducked as I lobbed bread at him. Not quickly enough. “Ow! That bread is hard as rock.”

  “The kitchen is running out of good quality flour,” I said. “They’re eking out the supplies by baking less often.”

  “They were not very well prepared, if they ran out after such a short time.”

  “We are feeding you two and all your Sea Defenders,” I retorted. “That’s a lot of extra bellies to fill, and they have big appetites after all that training they do.”

  “We will just have to get more food, then,” Drin said.

  I laughed at him. “It’s easy enough to
bring in small quantities, but I’d like to see you carry sacks of flour through the bookseller’s back door in the middle of the night. We’re trying not to attract any attention, remember? We don’t want them to suspect we can come and go as we please.”

  “What else are we short of?” Arin asked.

  “Meat, mostly. Cheese and butter, oils for cooking, fresh fruit and vegetables.”

  “I will see what I can arrange,” Arin said, with a glint in his eye.

  Two days later, a line of wagons rolled up at the rear gate and unloaded enough supplies to keep us well fed for moons. They were escorted by several squads of Sea Defenders, bristling with weaponry. It was enough to deter the Hold’s Defenders until the wagons were emptied.

  “Not much of a siege, this,” Mal said, watching the servants scurrying about to get everything out of the rain. “Not when we can get more food whenever we want.”

  “I don’t think they’re trying to starve us into submission,” I said, amused. “They just want us out of the way. Probably if we’d asked, we’d have been allowed to bring more food in.”

  “They won’t let the servants go to the markets. I suspect Kestimar wouldn’t mind at all if we went hungry. He’s not a nice man, that one, and his lover’s no better.”

  “His lover? Oh! You mean Very Honourable ab Dristomar?” I’d wondered about them – they were both from the plains, after all – but dismissed the idea. At least, until she’d seduced Mal. Clearly faithfulness wasn’t a priority with her.

  “The lovely Lady Tella, yes. The one who clouted you on the head.”

  “Lovers? What makes you think…?”

  “It’s the way they touch each other sometimes as they pass. Just a hand on the shoulder, or brushing against an arm, but that’s a very intimate way to behave in company. Especially when they’re not married. Not to each other, anyway.” Mal watched me intently. “Does it bother you?”

  “Because of Ish? No. It’s an annual marriage, there’s no commitment.”

  “I’m not talking about the legal situation, Fen. Whatever the law says, some men take it badly if their wife is screwing around like a street cat. It’s not just Kestimar, there was me and your brother too, and the Gods know how many others.”

  “Dern?” Then I remembered him emerging from her bedroom in the middle of the night, and the two quarrelling just like lovers. “Oh. Yes, I see.” A street cat, indeed. It was one thing for an annual husband or wife to wander a little, to try out other possibilities, that was to be expected, but to hop from one man to another like a demented sand fly, that would make the neglected spouse an object of ridicule. Poor Ish!

  He gave a little laugh. “What would he do, do you think, if he found out?”

  “Ish? I don’t know.” And that was the truth. I had no idea if he was the jealous type or not. He’d never shown signs of it with me, but then I’d given him no reason. I’d always adored him, and he knew it. I’d never looked at another man. Although, now that I thought about it, I remembered that he’d shown a flicker of annoyance when he’d first realised I was married. That was interesting.

  But a wife who slept with at least three other men – that was a whole other matter. I wasn’t sure that even Ish’s calm demeanour would accept that, if he cared anything for her at all. And that was really the heart of it. I’d never seen him display the slightest sign of affection for his wife. He treated her with the same polite but distant concern he showed everyone.

  With me it was otherwise. He took every opportunity to be with me, he still looked at me the same way, how could I misunderstand him? His wife had given him a child, and naturally he would be grateful for that, but he had no love for her. When his marriage contract next expired, then he would come to me. Surely he would? Then we would be together as we were destined to be.

  ~~~~~

  I woke one morning conscious of a change, something hovering on the edge of my awareness. At first I couldn’t work out what was different, but as soon as I reached for my glass ball, which I kept beside the bed now, I knew what it was: silence. Dern’s ball was quiet at last, with no snoring or humming or conversation audible. When I closed my eyes, I found I had a clear view of the empty planning room at the Hold. Dern had succeeded in his mission.

  The other difference was that there were two more glass balls in existence, somewhere near the tower on the promontory. So Drin and Hestaria, too, had succeeded in their mission to enter the tower.

  They returned late in the afternoon, filthy, exhausted but triumphant. Unable to find a way in from the outside of the tower, they had called in some of the ship builders to help them locate the furthest end of the tunnel and clear the rockfall blocking it, so that they could reach the base of the tower. Then they had experimented until Hestaria, armed with her vessel and a jade belt, had found a way to open one of the doors.

  “There was one doorway with faint hand prints on it,” she squealed. “I just put my hand on it and it opened.”

  “Ah, many different doors, each one opened by a different form of magic,” Temerren said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. All the mages took a professional interest in different forms of magic, but Temerren seemed to have a more scholarly bent. Until Gret had dragged him away from Bennamore, he had been some kind of academic.

  Neither Drin nor Hestaria had been drawn to walk through the area with the gently moving balls, as I had, so they had simply reached in and taken one each. Not surprisingly, they had the same capabilities as Hestaria’s original ball, in that they could be used as viewing and listening devices by my ball, but they couldn’t themselves connect to any other ball.

  “They will be useful, though,” Drin said. “We can take one to the ship, to communicate with you. All we have to do is shout, and you will hear us, Fen. And you can talk to us. Much quicker than sending runners with messages. And Hesta can keep hers here at the house.”

  Armed with the ball, Arin and Drin finally felt safe in returning to their ship, where they could monitor the preparations for Convocation.

  We had arranged to collect Dern from Ish’s tower at midnight, after he had successfully placed the ball. He hadn’t asked how we would know, but perhaps he just put it down to some unexplained mage power. Mal, Lenya and I would make the trip, with Kael to help guide us through the tunnels. We would not be entering the tower ourselves, and I would know if there were any guards around, so we needed no mail this time. Kael and I wore normal clothes, and the two guards had only their armoured leather gear and a couple of solid daggers, since they seemed incapable of leaving the house without some weaponry.

  Kael led us confidently through the labyrinthine tunnels, and although we could have found the way on our own, it was so much easier to trust to his stone-piercing sight. We reached the door outside the kitchen without incident.

  “Any swords?” Mal asked.

  I concentrated my mind. “No. The guards are all on the floor above, in the entrance hall. There’s nothing out of place in the kitchen, and someone with a necklace standing in the middle of the room.”

  “Necklace? Does he wear a necklace? I don’t remember it.”

  “He only had a nightgown on last time we saw him, and at the moon feast it would have been hidden by his shirt.”

  “Hmm. No other odd metals? Weapons?”

  “No. We told him not to bring any. Looks like he’s taken us at our word.”

  Even so, Mal, ever cautious, insisted we wait a while in case the necklace wearer was just a maid fetching a snack, or the guards turned up. But nothing moved beyond the door, as far as I could detect.

  Mal nodded at me, and I unlocked the door. Lenya pushed it open, and then stopped with a gasp.

  Over her shoulder I saw Dern standing, his back to us, and beyond him, looking directly at us, were Kestimar and Ish’s wife. For a moment, we were all frozen in place, too shocked to move. Then everything happened at once.

  Dern spun round, mouth open.

  “Back!” Mal yelled, drawing a dagger
and leaping past Lenya to grab Dern’s arm.

  Kestimar and the wife both raced to tackle Mal, who let go of Dern, and the three of them scuffled away from the door, banging up against a solid wood table, then back towards the door.

  Side-stepping the fracas, Dern raced for the tunnel opening and fled through it. Lenya half pushed him further up the tunnel out of the way, then turned back to help Mal, knocking Kestimar aside by kicking him forcibly in the balls. He went down groaning and clutching himself. Lucky for us he wasn’t wearing armoured gear.

  Mal and the wife were wrestling together – she had spirit, that one, I’ll give her that – half falling into the tunnel, the dagger glimmering between them.

  With a great roar, Kael shot flames down the tunnel and into the kitchen, which must surely have singed the wife’s hair. She squealed, and ducked back into the kitchen, hands covering her head. Lenya reached for the door handle and pulled it smartly to.

  “Lock!”

  I snapped it with an audible clunk. We were safe.

  For a moment we stood in the darkness, for the lamp must have got knocked over in the struggle, savouring our narrow escape, the only sound our heavy breathing and muffled shouting from beyond the door, the air thick with a scorched smell.

  As soon as Lenya made a glow ball, she gave a strangled squeak, pointing behind me.

  There on the ground Mal lay as if dead, dagger beside him, and a pool of blood silently spreading from his side.

  35: The Kitchen Door

  I dropped to my knees beside him, pushing the bloody dagger away. The wound to his side was bleeding freely, but there was also blood on his head and a long streak of it on the tunnel wall, where he’d fallen in the struggle, or perhaps avoiding Kael’s fireball. His eyelids fluttered, and he moaned slightly, then he lapsed back into silence.