The Mages of Bennamore

by Pauline M. Ross

  His aura flared for a moment, then faded again to something barely noticeable. His words struck me forcibly: he could be very persuasive, and that was true enough. He had squeezed permission from my father to attend Convocation, where I had always been denied. And now he was confident of his power to convince Convocation. Did he have the same connection as Dern, then? The ability to influence the Holders into agreement would give him astonishing control over the whole coast, if it could be channelled positively and not corrupted, as Dern had been.

  Something else niggled at me. “Why me? What could possibly be gained by recovering my former rank?” And how was that a fair exchange for letting Ish take control of the whole coast?

  “So you can marry Holder Dristomar, of course!” Zand’s eyes sparkled. “Then when he is king, you will be queen and he will do as you say. Is that not a good idea? Are you not pleased?”

  Dragon’s teeth. I’d supposed that these attempts to drag me back to Shannamar were based on family affection, no more than that, but it seemed that Ish’s letter informing them that I was alive and well had sparked a frenzy of ambitious plotting. It was the old scheme to unite Shannamar and Dristomar, and create an orbit so large and powerful that Dellonar would be forever shut out. Only a few moons ago I would have been thrilled at the idea.

  But now… my heart sank at the prospect. It was not so much marrying Ish that dismayed me, for my heart still jumped at the thought of that. Nor was it the thought of being queen, whatever that might mean. I’d trained for something of the sort, after all.

  No, it was the idea of Ish as king that made me quake with fear. This was a man who allowed his wife and her tame guard to lead him on strings, who hadn’t the guts to stand up to either of them. Could he run the whole of the coast with the proper integrity and impartiality? Or would it, in fact, be Kestimar giving the orders?

  I shook from head to toe, but I knew what I had to do. No matter how great a betrayal it was, I could not be silent, and let this barbarian loose on the whole coast.

  “No,” I said, my voice a croak. “Holder Dristomar cannot be king. He is unfit to rule.”

  40: The Ships of Bennamore

  I told them everything, right from the beginning, when Dern manipulated my mind – although I glossed over the effects of that. I told them about Hestaria, and how Ish’s wife had knocked me out and I woke in the dungeons, about our escape from there and the tower filled with magical glass balls. I told them how Kestimar had attacked us and only magic helped us avoid being slaughtered, and our house arrest, the proposed blockade of the harbour, getting Dern out of the Hold, the sinking of Arin’s ship and finally, how we had rescued Tarn.

  It was a long story, and they listened avidly, the two boys wide-eyed, gasping at the dramatic parts, groaning when things looked bad and beaming at the narrow escapes. Garann was silent, frowning and shaking his head over Kestimar’s worst excesses, but otherwise impassive. I tried not to embellish the details, but even baldly told, it was a shocking tale.

  I was dead inside, curled up in a little ball as if I could close my mind to the dreadfulness of what I was saying. Reciting it all like that, even condensed and reduced to bare facts, it brought home to me as nothing else what Ish had done to me. Or rather, what he had allowed his wife and her guard to do to me, with very little protest and no intervention. And this was Ish, the man I’d loved since the first moment I’d met him, the man who loved me, I was sure of it. Yet despite that, he’d done nothing at all to protect me or keep me safe. More than once I’d almost died, and the man responsible was not punished in the slightest, was rewarded for his wickedness.

  Halfway through my tale, Mal came in with Dern, and Kael trailing behind them. The introductions caused a little burst of excitement amongst the Shannamarians. Mal they passed over with little interest – he was an annual husband, after all, taken up out of kindness and sure to be gone soon, and besides, he was only a guard, and a Bennamorian at that. But the two heirs greeted Dern with the same enthusiasm they’d shown me. More, perhaps, because to boys, an older brother is of greater interest than a sister. Garann was cooler, having now heard something of Dern’s activities at the Hold.

  I watched Zand and Dern carefully, to see if there was any deeper layer of meaning to their smiles and friendly greetings. Did they have the same connection, and if so, could they recognise it in each other? It was intriguing, but I could detect no sign of it. Nor were they alike in looks. Dern was of average height, his hair the colour of mud, his skin sallow, his demeanour subdued. He looked tired and old, even though he was not yet fifty. Zand’s glowing youthfulness and energy could not be more different.

  The house controller came in to replenish the food bowls and wine jugs – it was astonishing how depleted they were, and it was none of my doing – and then Garann took the opportunity to ask me to continue my tale. They listened in silence until I had finished.

  I thought I’d kept my abilities out of things, but it was Zenish who bounced in his seat at the end and said, “You can do magic, Fen! That is so amazing. Do some now – please?”

  “Magic is not a game, Zenish.” Dragon’s breath, I was getting as crabby about this as the mages.

  But Mal leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “Would you like to see some magic, my friend?”

  Zenish nodded, his eyes shining. Mal raised one hand and casually shot a great spout of flame over the boys’ heads that smoked and crackled the full length of the table. The boys squealed in delight, Garann leapt to his feet, hand reaching for the hilt of a sword that wasn’t there, and Kael burst into peals of laughter. Dern raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking, but said nothing.

  “Thank you, husband, but such party tricks are better performed outside. Less risk of singeing the furnishings. Or the hair on our visitors’ heads.”

  Zenish checked his hair cautiously, then giggled. He really was too young for Convocation.

  Mal laughed, reaching across to ruffle the boy’s hair and Zenish looked up at him with a wide smile and a giggle. For a fleeting moment, I saw Mal as a different man altogether, as a father sharing playful moments with his children, raising them in careless affection. He had a natural affinity with them, his own light-heartedness reaching out to them. In some ways, he was still a child himself, with his constant flirting, fluttering around women like a great dark-haired butterfly, never able to settle. Yet he was a good man who deserved to find the one woman who could make him content, and with all my heart I wished that for him.

  It was Garann who broke the jokey mood by glaring at Dern. “What precisely were you about, Honourable, working with Holder Dristomar against the interests of Shannamar, and to the detriment of your own sister? And who are you working for now?”

  The room fell silent. They were good questions. We had all been tiptoeing around Dern ever since he arrived at the house, hoping he was loyal, not asking how he came to be so deep in Ish’s plans. But the issue of his allegiance had to be addressed, and now was as good a time as any. I rather wished Arin was there, for he had an interest too. However, he was involved with his ship, which had been raised from the harbour floor and was now being towed for repair.

  Dern lifted his chin and looked Garann in the eye. “I do not work for anyone. Ish and Tella are my friends. Or were my friends, I suppose. I fell in with them when I lived in Bennamore. We had much in common, all being from the coast, so we became friendly. I told them nothing of myself, not the true story, anyway. I said I came from Dellonar, that I was a wealthy merchant’s son who had run away from home – that part was truth, at least. When they were summoned back here, they asked me to come with them, as an advisor.”

  It sounded so innocuous, put like that – just a group of friends, all exiles from their home country. Not sinister at all. But Garann wasn’t fooled any more than I was.

  “Advisor? A manipulator of minds, you mean.”

  Dern cast me a quick glance. “You told them?”

  “Of course. They are Shannamar
, I keep no secrets from them.”

  He grunted, looking down at his feet. He was still loitering near the door, as if looking for a quick escape. Even Kael, who really had no business being there at all, had found himself a seat, although in an unobtrusive corner.

  Dern nodded, as if making a decision, and moved to the table, pulling out a chair to sit opposite Garann. He folded his arms and leaned on them, shoulders hunched, which in the dark clothes he habitually wore, made him look like a spider curled up.

  “It is true, yes. I have – an aptitude in that way. I am aware of emotions in others and I can alter them somewhat. It is useful in negotiations sometimes. There is no harm in it, I only ever used it to reduce conflict, to speed the discussions along. I cannot change minds or force anyone to do things against their will. I was happy to do it, if it helped my friends.”

  Friends. That word again.

  “But everything changed last year. The Bennamorian came here and… his power was astonishing. He could affect minds, and make everyone bend to his will. He decided that Ish would be his figurehead here, so he made him Holder – it was easy for him. He decided he wanted Ish as king, so he sowed the seeds of the idea and he promised he would do it this year, if Ish did everything he wanted – building the ships, so that he would have power on the sea. Then we heard that he had died – murdered, somehow, although it is hard to understand how it could be done.”

  He paused, frowning, then abruptly poured wine and took a long gulp. We’d all been listening intently, but I noticed now that some of the rest of the household had drifted into the room. Losh and Corsell were there, and the Bennamorian lawyer. I wondered if we should send them away, but then this was not strictly family business. Dern might be my brother, but he had been acting against the interests of the mages, too, until recently. They were entitled to hear his explanation.

  Dern set his wine down, and looked around at us defiantly. “We thought it best to continue with the plan.”

  “Best for whom?” Garann growled.

  “Best for Bennamore, our new masters,” Dern spat back. “And therefore best for the Port Holdings, too, by avoiding further conflict. When the mages arrived, we assumed they were sent to help us. It was puzzling to us that they were not amenable to working together. So we persevered. But then everything seemed to go wrong, and gradually I realised that what we were doing was not in anyone’s interests except for Ish and Tella.”

  “And Commander Kestimar,” I said.

  He shrugged. “I suppose so, although I think that was an accidental effect. He was never intended to be so powerful. To be advisor at Convocation! That should not have happened. That was supposed to be me. Or Fen, if she could be brought in. Kestimar has not the knowledge for that position, and besides…” He chewed his lip, thinking. “No, you should know the truth of it. Kestimar does what she tells him. Tella. He is under her spell, as Ish is. As I was, for a while. But no longer. I will not be party to their schemes.”

  “Does she have power?” Garann asked.

  Dern gave a bark of laughter. “She is a mesmerising woman, that is her power.”

  “Nothing beyond that?”

  “I do not think so, no.” But his forehead creased in thought.

  That was a question I could answer. “She has no special power, beyond the obvious one, that she makes fools of men.” Mal shuffled beside me, and I remembered belatedly that he was amongst the fools.

  “You know that?” Zand put in, suddenly interested.

  “I do. I can see it. I know that you have a connection, for one thing. Your powers of persuasion?”

  He grinned at me. “Clever of you! Yes, unlike my brother there…” A nod to Dern. “I can convince people of almost anything. It is very useful. I made Father let me come here, and Zenish too, and I have plenty of ideas to put to Convocation.” Another grin.

  At least his confidence had an explanation. He had always been able to get his own way. What must that do to a boy? Already growing up in luxury, the very much wanted son who resolved the heir problem, and he was such an attractive boy, too. How he must have been indulged. And how dangerous, with no one able to rein him in and keep him on the narrow path of principle.

  He must have seen my sudden distaste in my face, or perhaps he could feel it through his connection, for he became thoughtful, gazing at me intently. And then – something in my head, a slight warmth, followed by a flare of magic from my jade belt. The cheeky little sprite had tried to influence me!

  For an instant I was scandalised, but then I saw the humour in it, and laughed out loud. “Oh, that will not work with me, brother.”

  He was shocked, his mouth hanging open. I couldn’t let him get away with that unpunished, so I summoned the power of the ball and asked it to put him to sleep. His eyes closed and he just dropped, barely missing hitting his head on the table. A lucky escape. I could have healed him, of course, but it would have been awkward.

  The room erupted into a riot of shouting and shrieks of alarm, Zenish’s frantic wails rising above everything else.

  “What did you do!” Garann yelled at me, grabbing my wrist. Again he reached for his missing sword, then his hand strayed to the ceremonial dagger at his waist. Jewelled it might be, but the blade would be sharp enough, I knew that.

  “Nothing bad,” I said calmly. “But he must learn not to use his powers on a whim.”

  Losh was bending over Zand, feeling his head. “He is quite well.” His calm voice soothed the agitation around him, although they were still noisy. “Only asleep, nothing worse. Fen would never harm him, you know,” he added reproachfully to Garann.

  “Can you wake him?” I asked.

  “That is not within my power, but I suspect it is within yours.”

  Oh. He was probably right. “If everyone will stop squawking,” I said loudly, “I will attempt to rouse him.”

  They all settled down. The room was surprisingly crowded now, as the household emerged from their various afternoon resting spots. Again I asked the ball to help, and after an anxious few moments, Zand began to stir.

  I was a little nervous about it, to tell the truth. I’d made him look foolish and helpless, and that is not something boys of that age respond well to. I had no wish to make an enemy of my own brother on the first day I met him.

  To my relief, he smiled and seemed quite relaxed about it, although he gave me a quizzical look. Wondering just what I was capable of, I expect. Well, let him wonder. It was good for him to learn that he was not quite as all-powerful as he’d thought. I hoped he’d respect me more now.

  “This has been most illuminating,” Garann said. “I believe you are right, Mistress, Holder Dristomar is not fit to be a king, or whatever Convocation settles on. But still, the principle of a single ruler is sound. If not him, then who?”

  “Fen, of course,” Zand said, grinning again, any disgruntlement forgotten.

  “Nonsense!” I said, as sternly as I could. I didn’t want to encourage that idea! “It is not so much a question of who should rule, as what powers would be needed. I do not myself see the necessity for a single ruler with authority over all the Port Holdings. We are all accustomed to a degree of independence and autonomy, and it makes no sense to hurl that away in a fit of panic because of Bennamore. Surely all that is needed is someone who can speak for the Holders in dealings with Bennamore. Taxes, the deployment of mages, these sword ships they have paid for… someone who is an intermediary in negotiations.”

  Garann’s eyes glittered with interest.

  ~~~~~

  On the third day of Convocation, the delegates agreed to consider Ish’s proposal for a single ruler for the coast, although given the muttering amongst the delegates, it was not a popular idea. It was given an early date for discussion, to leave time later for the selection of such a ruler if the proposal was adopted. Zand’s proposal to amend the laws on proving was also accepted, but delayed until the second quarter moon.

  Each morning, we gathered in Losh’s st
udy to listen to the frankly rather dull discussions, which soon settled into the three component orbits: Shannamar, Dristomar and Dellonar, with Dellonar ritually opposed to everything proposed by either of the other two. I had never realised before just how different Dellonar was, but then its foundation was mining and fabrication rather than fishing, so perhaps it was inevitable.

  In the afternoons, Zand and Zenish bounced in and chattered, ate and joked the hours away until they were forced back to the ship for the carefully arranged casual meetings along the delegates’ pontoons, where the real business of Convocation went on. We whiled away the time talking about Convocation, of course, but there were also fascinating snippets of life back at Shannamar in the boys’ prattling, tiny glimpses like peeking through a keyhole. Much had changed, it seemed, since my mother had left the Hold, for it sounded like paradise to me, the children growing up bathed in affection and surrounded by happiness.

  Sometimes I brought out the Kingdoms board, and found to my pleasure that I hadn’t entirely lost my skill. Garann declined to participate, so Mal and I played Zand and Zenish, although without much success. Zand was a solid, if unspectacular, player, much like me, but Zenish was astonishingly fast, making dazzling plays almost without thinking about them. I don’t know how he managed it. But Mal – poor Mal hadn’t the slightest idea about strategy or alliances or sacrificing a few minor pieces to gain position, so we lost every game. It was odd to play the game, based as it was on long defunct countries, knowing that Ish might have his own kingdom soon.

  ~~~~~

  It was a brief moment of family harmony before the inevitable trouble struck, like a final burst of summer before the onset of autumn. On the fourth day of Convocation, the ships of Bennamore sailed round the headland and blockaded the harbour entrance.

  We were fast asleep in bed when the alarm sounded, a single distant tolling barely audible. It was the shouting in the yard below my window that woke me, as the night guards sounded their own, less formal, alarm. I lay for a few moments, listening to the voices calling, then booted feet crunching on the gravel, wondering what was going on.