The Mages of Bennamore

by Pauline M. Ross

  I looked across at him, with his shaggy hair and eternally bristly chin, and smiled.

  He caught my glance and smiled back at me. “What is it, my sweet?”

  “The ships are safely docked. Let’s go home to bed.”

  39: The Heir

  The following morning we were back in the crowds again for the first Convocation procession. At the third hour bell, all the delegates would disembark and walk in state from the harbour to the Hold. There would be two hours of talks in the planning room, then an array of food and drink to refresh themselves before the walk back to the harbour. Delegates always slept on their ships. Needless to say, the evenings were when the real negotiating was done.

  The first day of Convocation was always regarded as a holiday, and some people stayed up all night feasting and drinking after the fleet’s arrival, and then moved straight on to the procession before collapsing into their beds mid-morning. So half the crowds thronging the main street were drunk or, at best, hung over, and the atmosphere was fairly riotous. Fortunately the tradition was to line the processional route with the visitors’ Sea Defenders, resplendent in their dress uniforms, a show of strength which also served to deter the worst excesses of the crowd.

  Mal thought the house would be safe enough with just a few mage guards to protect it, for surely Kestimar had more important matters to deal with than a few stubborn mages. Even so, to stop him worrying, I left my glass ball positioned on the window seat with a fine view over the front gate and courtyard. If I closed my eyes, I could see through it, a facility it had taken me a long time to discover, since I rarely went anywhere without tucking it into its little bag. Even now, I felt rather bereft without it hanging at my waist, and the jade belt with its fizzing magic was no substitute for the subtle awareness of the ball.

  Lenya and Wornest came with us, as well as a great gaggle of the house servants, all in festival mood. Tarn wrapped herself in old clothes borrowed from the house controller and some concealing head scarves, for she didn’t want to be recognised. “Not about to miss the fun, dear,” she said with a grin, “but I hardly want to advertise my exile from the Hold.” The older mages and Corsell declined to venture out into the crowds, and Dern and Kael both shuddered at the prospect. Arin, out of uniform since he was off-duty, came too, but Drin and Hestaria had taken off on some mysterious and secret mission of their own.

  “When will they be back?” I asked Arin.

  “Oh, whenever the time is right,” he replied airily, but he was grinning, so I guessed it was nothing too dangerous or serious. Perhaps it was no more than a romantic tryst, for Hestaria seemed to have taken an interest in Drin, much to Mal’s relief.

  While we waited for the procession, performers entertained the crowds: jugglers, acrobats, puppeteers and musicians wandered up and down, usually with a child at their heels to scrabble for bits thrown to them. There were pie sellers and women with trays of fruit or sweetmeats or jugs of ale, as if the raucous populace needed any more to drink.

  At last we heard the drums in the distance, and saw the flags fluttering above the craning heads of the watchers, and the entertainers vanished as we waited for the serious business of the day. Even the drunks quietened down.

  As for me, I felt an unaccustomed fluttering in my stomach and a rush of energy. My heart thumped in anticipation. I’d heard so much of the procession, of the importance of making a good impression. “When your time comes, little bird,” my father had said, “walk tall, and remember you are Shannamar.” Well, I wasn’t Shannamar any more, but I felt all the honour of my ancestry. I desperately wanted Shannamar’s representatives to make a good impression. Whoever they were.

  I hadn’t much thought about who I would see walking past me, which members of my family would stride along the smooth cobbles towards the Hold, passing me by without a glance. When I was a child, my father himself had gone, with my oldest brother Ban, together with my father’s Chancellor as advisor. Three people, that was all that was allowed at Convocation, apart from a flag-bearer and a couple of guards on the procession. But when Ban died, my father stopped going himself, sending his youngest brother in his place.

  The drums drew nearer and louder, the sound blaring off the walls and deafening us. The first flag arrived – Dristomar’s, as host, but Ish wasn’t there. He would greet the arrivals in the square before the Hold gates. The crowds roared their approval.

  Then the familiar colours of Shannamar, and for some unaccountable reason my vision blurred momentarily. When it cleared—

  I squeaked with astonishment. Mal grabbed my arm, and shouted something. I shook my head at him; I could hear nothing over the rattling of the drums and the cacophony of voices. He grinned, and leaned over, shouting into my ear.

  “Twins!” He laughed, and pointed, first at me, then at the little group approaching.

  He was right. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing – well, not myself, but a younger, masculine version of me. The shape of the face, the lips, the hair, the nose – actually no, not the nose. He must have had that from his mother. But everything else, even to the lanky, angular frame. Maybe he even walked like me, I couldn’t tell.

  My younger brother. And behind him, another even younger version. My father had sent both his sons to Convocation.

  I turned and pushed through the crowd, tears spilling down my cheeks. Blindly I raced away, anywhere, I didn’t care. I had to get away.

  I found myself in a narrow alley, Mal right behind me, Arin’s concerned face beyond.

  “That’s a dead end, Fen,” Mal said. Ever practical.

  I stopped, arms folded over my stomach, sobbing noisily, taking great gulps of air. Mal held me tight, murmuring soothing noises, while Arin whispered, “What is the matter with her? Is she all right? What happened?” over and over.

  I extricated myself from Mal’s clutches, wiped my eyes and blew my nose sharply. “There! I’m fine.”

  “Whatever is the matter, Fen?” Arin began, but Mal waved him to silence.

  “She’ll tell us when she wishes to. If she wishes to.”

  Bless the man, it was so sweet when he got all protective of me. But I was done with secrets.

  “It was just seeing them – both of them. It was a shock.”

  “You did not know?” Arin said. “You had no idea they would be here?”

  “Oh – none, but… that is not the problem. My father never allowed me to go to Convocation, never, even when I was the Designated Heir – the only direct heir. Not even when I was adult. Yet now he sends not one but both his sons, and the elder only – what, fourteen?”

  “Fifteen, just. And the younger boy is barely eleven. It is not incorrect, Fen, just not perhaps terribly wise. It has caused some concern.”

  “I know it is not incorrect, for so I argued with my father, every single year. Yet he always refused me. I was too young, too inexperienced, too open and honest for Convocation. When I was older and had learned greater subtlety. Maybe next year. It was always that – maybe next year.” I exhaled sharply. “Goddess and Sprites, he never trusted me, did he?”

  ~~~~~

  Losh and Temerren were tremendously excited about Convocation, for we had our little secret: the glass ball Dern had cleverly hidden amongst the branching arms of a complex sculpture in the planning room would allow us to see and hear everything that took place. I had no qualms about breaching the closed doors of the meetings, for what took place was always widely discussed afterwards. There was nothing private about them. The restrictions on numbers were more to do with the practicalities of hosting more than a hundred Holders.

  We gathered in Losh’s study, as always, the glass ball on a small round table, surrounded by a tight circle of chairs. We could only fit six of us around the ball and still touch it comfortably, and I had to be one of them. Mal, Losh, Corsell, Tarn and Dern made up the rest to start with. Temerren, quivering with excitement, and Kael more subdued, sat nearby, waiting their turn.

  “Is any
thing happening?” Temerren hissed. “What can you see?”

  “Nothing yet,” Losh whispered back. “They are all just entering the room.”

  “There will be nothing interesting today anyway,” I murmured. “No discussion, they just introduce themselves.”

  “Oh. They will not mention Bennamore?”

  “No. And tomorrow is about herring stocks and whales caught. The third day – that’s when they will get down to business.”

  The delegates began to take their places, and we fell silent, in case our whispers could be heard. I saw Ish sitting in the centre of the widest part of the table, with an elderly uncle as heir and—

  I hissed with annoyance. Behind him, in the advisor’s chair, sat Commander Kestimar. An advisor! Far from punishing the man for his attempts to murder us, Ish rewarded him with the highest role possible in Dristomar. And he was a foreigner, too, which was certainly not good policy, nor likely to be popular in the town. I remembered the puppet show I’d seen some time ago, which even then was disquietingly antagonistic towards foreigners, Bennamorians and plains dwellers alike.

  Beside me, Tarn muttered under her breath, “That detestable man!” I had to agree with her.

  The planning room fell silent, and Ish rose to his feet to greet the delegates with a few gracious words, and to introduce himself and his companions. Mal grunted as Kestimar’s name was mentioned, and even Losh said, “Oh!” in surprise.

  Then my brother, as the next most important Holding, rose to his feet. I couldn’t help smiling as he spoke, his voice clear and strong, with no stumbling or hesitation. His words were well chosen, too, and he had an air of sincerity that was very pleasing. Yes, he would make a fine Holder when his time came.

  As one after another rose and spoke the formalities, we all lost interest and let go of the ball so that we could talk. Having experimented with Hestaria’s ball, we knew we couldn’t be heard in the planning room unless I touched the ball.

  There was outrage at Kestimar’s appearance, but I let them rant, saying nothing. What was the point? Ish knew what Kestimar had done, he knew how we felt about it and he must know how badly all of this would go down in Bennamore. Yet he had gone ahead anyway.

  Dern’s head drooped, hands to his temples. “Please, please… Less anger, or I shall have to leave. My head… it hurts.”

  The mages were instantly solicitous, and while they calmed themselves and discussed Kestimar more quietly, I was drawn back to the ball. I heard voices again, or some kind of noise, anyway. I didn’t touch the ball, closing my eyes and letting my mind wander through my own ball to the others. The planning room was still orderly – they were reaching the mid-ranking Holdings like Kymar and Lindoshar – but there was someone crying in Ish’s family tower.

  A quick jump and – ah! The daughter, her face red and crumpled, streaked with tears, her pale hair, so like Ish’s, all atangle. A maid or nurse had her on her knee, rocking and hushing her. To one side, Ish’s wife paced back and forth.

  “By the Nine, child, make less noise! Kista, take her away, I can’t bear such a fuss over nothing. Get her into some decent clothes. She needs to look presentable for all these old men.”

  Kista nodded and carried the child away, apparently unsurprised by the outburst.

  Another voice, a man. I couldn’t see him, but he had the same plains accent as her. “Perhaps it’s better to leave her out of things, Tella. I’ve heard it’s not usual to parade a child around at these affairs.”

  “Pfft. These people are so stuffy. We do what we want. And Ish will be king before long, so what does it matter?”

  “Yes, but—”

  A boy came in, with the blond hair of the coast, carrying an armful of wood for the fire, and set to sweeping the grate. Immediately the wife and her companion switched to some other language, presumably whatever barbaric tongue they spoke on the plains. I watched for a while longer, but even after the boy crept out again, they kept to their own language, and I lost interest.

  ~~~~~

  Outside in the hall, some sort of commotion was going on. I slipped out of the study, to see the front door opened wide. On the doorstep, hand still on the bell pull, was my brother. Both my brothers, in fact. And behind them, the Chancellor, a large, mousy-haired man not much older than me. Beyond, in the courtyard, were their two guards and flag bearer. They had come straight from the procession to see me.

  His face lit up. “Fen! Goddess, but it is good to see you at last. I am Zand and this…” pulling his brother forward, “…is Zenish. You know Chancellor Garann, I am sure.”

  “Of course, although I knew your father better, Chancellor. He is retired now?”

  “He retired seven years ago, Honourable, and died last year.”

  “I am sorry for that. He was a good man, and a worthy Chancellor. But you should know that I have the rank of Mistress now.”

  His eyes twinkled. “I am aware of your official status, but Holder Shannamar insists we continue to use the previous protocol.”

  My eyes widened. The house controller bustled up behind me in some agitation, and ushered us all into the table room. I looked around for Mal. I’d thought he was right behind me, but he seemed to have vanished, and everyone else had disappeared for the afternoon rest.

  “Will you see if you can find my husband?” I murmured to the house controller, as she supervised an army of servants rushing in with jugs of wine and plates of edibles.

  “I hardly think we need any food,” Garann said, eyeing the array. “Holder Dristomar’s table was very generous.”

  “Always room for a little more,” Zand said with a grin. He sat, pulling a bowl of sugared nuts towards him.

  Standing, and in his elegant Convocation clothes, he had a certain presence. Perhaps it was just the self-confident charm of the well-loved child, accentuated by his height and the beginnings of maturity about the chest, but I could look him in the eye and respect him as an equal. But sitting, he became just a boy with a zest for life. And hungry.

  Both the boys settled to nibbling at this and that. Garann, with a sigh, took a glass of wine, and spread his ample frame over a sofa near the window, watching over the two heirs paternally. I wondered how arduous it might be to keep his charges under control if they were inclined to be spirited or wilful. But Zand, at least, seemed like a nice, level-headed young man, and Zenish was quiet enough, although every time I caught his eye he grinned mischievously at me.

  “So,” Zand mumbled, his mouth still full. He swallowed and began again. “So, sister, will you come back home with us? Father would love to see you.”

  “And I him, but I cannot.” With a smile, I added, “Brother.” I explained, as I had to Arin and Drin, my commitments to the mages and to Mal, which prevented me from moving about as I pleased. “Besides, there is no place for me there. My home, so far as I have one at all, is in Carrinshar.”

  His face fell, and at that moment he looked very young. He turned quickly to glance at Garann, his self-confidence knocked askew for the moment. And I noticed something else now that I was observing him closely – a shadow around him, some kind of aura. He had a connection.

  Garann stood up and brought his wine over to the table. “Will you not sit, Honourable?”

  “That is not my title.” He made no response, holding a chair for me and waiting. I sat and Garann took the seat opposite.

  “Your father has never given up hope that you would be found, Mistress. After you left, he ordered that everyone must continue to speak of you as Honourable Fendristia, and that you were still the Designated Heir.”

  “What! Surely not?”

  “He believed – or said, at any rate – that there was a possibility that you might have been pregnant, and until it was known for certain that you had not proved, nothing would change.”

  “But that is ridiculous,” I cried. “He knew I was not pregnant, for I told him so. He could not possibly have believed it. Oh, but – I suppose it prevented the other heirs figh
ting for position.”

  “Exactly,” Garann said, eyes twinkling. “You were always sharp, Hon – Mistress. But then this new law came into effect last year, that an heir who failed to prove initially but proved later would be restored immediately to his or her former station – that had the Holder very excited, as you might imagine. After twenty years, he thought, there was a good chance you had proved. Except that you had vanished without trace. A party was sent out to look for you in every Holding on the coast, and they would have got to Carrinshar in time, but – here you are.”

  “Well, I am sorry to dash my father’s hopes, but I have never given birth.”

  “But you are married now,” Zand blurted out.

  “For convenience. So that the mages might have the armed guards they are accustomed to.”

  “Well, it is no matter,” Garann said equably, to my relief. I hated all this talk of proving and babies. I was less inclined to weeping about it than before. It was no longer my great secret and that took some of the pain away. Still, I was uncomfortable discussing my fertility so openly.

  But then the tidal wave. “We have another plan to restore you to your original status. No one likes this idea of heirs losing all rank one year and being reinstituted a few years later. It is unsettling for Holders and heirs alike. So we intend to propose to do away with the failure to prove penalties altogether. I am certain we can come to an arrangement with Dristomar – we support his proposals and he supports ours. That way the Holder gets to lead the Port Holdings, and we get you back.”

  “But such a change would only apply to future cases. You cannot go back twenty years. The tide has gone out on that particular case.”

  “There was much sympathy for your situation at the time, Mistress,” Garann said. “And yours is not the only unfortunate case. There are many who would support us.”

  Zand leaned forward eagerly. “I am certain Convocation will agree, in this one instance. I will argue the case, and I can be very persuasive, you know.”