The Mages of Bennamore

by Pauline M. Ross

  I poked Mal. “Hey! Wake up! Something’s happening.”

  He muttered something unintelligible and rolled over, snoring softly.

  I slipped out of bed, threw on a robe and crossed to the window, opening the latch cautiously to keep the rain out. Then I heard the alarm. And a second starting up. The harbour! It could only be the blockade beginning.

  I closed my eyes and quickly scanned all the glass balls. Nothing happening at the Hold, neither the planning room nor Ish’s family room. Hestaria’s was some distance east, but quiet. Drin’s ball, which had been retrieved from the sunken ship and now rested with Arin in his lodging room, was in a drawer or bag, but it was near enough to the harbour that I could hear the alarm bells clearly through it.

  “Mal! Wake up! The ships are here.”

  “Grunrgh. Time is’t?”

  Good question. It was still dark, but I could hear noises in the kitchen. “Early, but not the middle of the night. Come on, wake up. The blockade is starting. Can you hear the alarm?”

  “Urgh. Gods, Fen. Still dark.”

  But then the shouts of the guards brought him to full alertness. We dressed quickly, as more and more alarms joined in.

  “How d’you know it’s the ships?”

  “All the alarm bells are near the harbour.”

  “Maybe they just copy the first one.”

  “No, they have to see the threat before they can sound the alarm. This is really happening.”

  He grunted. Downstairs the guards had fallen silent, but half the household had gathered in the entrance hall, servants too, half of them still attired for bed, all turning expectantly to me.

  “There is nothing we can do,” I shrugged. “It is dark out there, and raining, and all we can do is go down to the harbour like everyone else and get thoroughly wet and cold and miserable. Arin is nearby, he will take his ball somewhere where we can see, as we arranged. Mistress Controller, something to eat and drink in the table room, if you please, while we wait for events to unfold.”

  Events unfolded slowly. The sky lightened to a murky grey, hazed by steady rain. Arin settled himself at an upper window somewhere along the harbour’s edge with the ball positioned so we could see, and kept up a stream of helpful comments about what was happening. Which was not much. The ships, flying the flags of Bennamore, and crewed by sailors in unfamiliar uniforms, stretched in a line across the harbour entrance. When a few early fishing trawlers made to pass through, they were turned back by volleys of arrows. We could see activity along the Convocation pontoons, but no flag ships tried to break the blockade.

  “What weapons do they have, these sword ships?” Mal asked.

  “Catapults, mainly. Arrows, crossbows, swords if it comes to boarding. Fire is the worst, but I don’t expect them to use that.”

  “They’re too big for these little flag ships to take on, I suppose?”

  “Oh yes. Flag ships are only designed to carry a modest number of Sea Defenders, and very little weaponry. And they’re too fragile to fight. In a battle, the flag ship would give the orders but keep a safe distance from the action. A single lucky shot from a catapult would sink it. If all those hundred or so flag ships attacked at once, they could probably break through but only at great cost. We need sword ships, and at Convocation they all get sent away. Just in case anyone has any clever ideas. So the timing is perfect.”

  “We could use magic, couldn’t we?”

  I couldn’t think of a way. There was little metal on a ship – even the nails were wooden – and I wasn’t sure what could be done without sinking the ship altogether, with great loss of life. Fire was too dangerous so close to the town, and sleep spells too risky if a sailor was in the rigging or near the rail. After all, these were not really enemies, the ships were just another strategy, like those we used playing Kingdoms.

  By mid-morning, the harbour perimeter was packed with Defenders, watching and waiting, but the supposed Bennamorians showed no signs of coming ashore. So the Convocation procession took place as usual, and the meeting that morning was a great deal more lively than in previous days. There was anger and dismay and, yes, fear, too.

  But there was Ish, calm, composed and eloquent, soothing fears and taking the leadership role. It was all going off according to his plan. And I still wasn’t sure if I wanted him to succeed or not.

  And then, far away to the north of town, another bell began to ring.

  Another invasion threat, and this one was no cunning illusion of Ish’s. This was the real thing.

  The Bennamorian army had arrived.

  41: The Boundary Stone

  Sweet Goddess. Now we were in trouble.

  Kael whimpered and this time I felt like whimpering myself.

  “Oh no,” Losh said, his face white as sea foam. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.” Corsell patted him on the shoulder, and Losh rested his hand on Corsell’s, eyes closed.

  “Wonderful,” Mal said. “Hostile ships to the south and an army to the north. The only question now is: shall we run to the east or the west?”

  “Mal!” Losh said reproachfully, but I smiled at him. I loved his humour at dark moments.

  Lenya straightened her back. “I always wanted to see what war is like. Just once.” But her face was grim.

  “Maybe it will not come to that,” I said.

  Losh raised his eyes to me. “Ah! You have a plan, Fen.”

  I found the house controller, mustering all the servants in the yard. Her eyes were huge with alarm, but she stood quietly before me, only her restlessly moving hands betraying her agitation.

  “Mistress Controller, do you know where this new alarm might be, that we can hear?”

  “Not precisely, but there are few in the northern part of town. Mostly they are along the coast.”

  That made sense, for historically that was the most likely source for trouble.

  “There are two or three just inside the boundary stone,” one of the stable workers said.

  “You know the area well?”

  A nod. “My family has a pig farm near there.”

  “From the boundary stone, how far can you see down the road?”

  She thought hard about that. “Not as far as the first inn.”

  “Which is how far – a day’s ride?”

  “No, less. Half a day’s ride, or a day’s walk.”

  “Mal, if this is the Bennamorian army, will they be mounted?”

  “Only the Commanders and Captains.”

  “Good. Then we have time. How quickly can you get me to the boundary stone?”

  “A horse – that’s the quickest. My horse can carry us both.”

  “Good. You, me and Lenya. Wornest, maybe. No one else.” Wornest shot into the stables to give the instructions.

  “Fen—” Losh said tentatively. “You cannot stop an entire army.”

  “Not stop, no. Delay, perhaps.”

  “Do you not think – if it is Bennamore – that one of us should be there?”

  “No, absolutely not. Your Drashon is responding to your report of Kestimar’s attack on us at the Hold, and subsequent house arrest, is he not?” He nodded. He’d found a private messenger to avoid the Holder intercepting his messages. “Then if he sees you fit and well, we force him into an instant decision – continue or abandon his mission. History suggests that few leaders ever change their minds instantly, and I do not want him to continue. So, the aim is to delay him, and give him time to assess the situation properly.”

  “Very well. Do what you can.”

  ~~~~~

  We jogged over the cobbles in the most uncomfortable manner. There’d been no time for me to change into more suitable clothes, so I sat sideways on the back of Mal’s huge horse, wrapped in one of Lenya’s old cloaks, my arms stretched as far round Mal’s waist as I could reach. I clung to him in a ferment of terror, perched at an appalling height and tossed around like a sack of apples. Lenya rode in front, and Wornest behind us.

  It was fortunate that the stree
ts were half empty. Shops and businesses and craft workrooms stood all but abandoned as the bravest townsfolk flocked to the harbour, and the less brave shuttered themselves indoors. Here and there anxious knots of people huddled on street corners, heads together, looking up fearfully as we passed by.

  As we rode north, the prosperous stone buildings gave way to smaller, brick-built affairs and then low wooden cabins, separated by small fields and ponds, or thickets of scrubby woodland where pigs roamed. To our left, the river squeezed over rapids and through rocky canyons, the roar audible even over the clatter of our horses’ hooves. The rain had all but stopped, but it was still a dank, miserable day, chill with the promise of winter.

  Splashing through puddles and crossing small streams overflowing the road, we bounced onwards. The alarm was louder now, two bells sounding, but out of step, as if trying to thwart each other’s rhythm.

  “There it is!” Mal yelled over his shoulder, but I couldn’t peer round his bulky form without risking toppling off the horse altogether.

  A few moments more and we slowed and stopped. Lenya hopped off her horse – how agile she was! – and helped me dismount. By which I mean that she caught me as I fell, preventing me from tipping face first into the mud.

  “Thank the Goddess!” I muttered.

  She grinned at me. “Didn’t you enjoy your ride, then?”

  “If the Goddess had meant us to ride beasts, she would never have given us nice, safe ships to travel by.” I brushed myself down as Lenya snorted.

  Mal slid smoothly to the ground beside me, pointing. “There. The boundary stone.”

  There was no wall to mark the perimeter of the town, just a massive, irregularly-shaped stone, lurching to one side as if tacking against a stiff easterly. Beyond it, the wooden cabins and small plots gave way to larger farms with rough stone cottages, chimneys smoking, and fields of sheep or grain stubble. The dark ribbon of the road unrolled steadily to the north. To Bennamore, eventually. And a little distance along it, the amorphous flowing shape of men marching, their flags flickers of colour against the gloomy sky, armour and spears sparkling where the light caught drops of moisture.

  “Is it Bennamore?” I asked.

  “Yes,” they said in unison. Mal added punctiliously, “The flags are Bennamore, anyway.”

  “Who leads them?”

  “Probably the new High Commander.”

  “What do you know of him?”

  Mal chewed his lip. “Very little. Young, inexperienced. The old hands were all executed.” He saw my raised eyebrows. “Long story. Well trained, though. They all are, the Commanders. He’s probably a noble.”

  It wasn’t promising. A battle-hardened veteran would be more pragmatic, someone I could deal with, but a new man would be more difficult, wanting to make his mark.

  I took a deep breath. “Well. Let’s give this a try. No swords unless they draw first.”

  We walked forward until we stood a hundred paces or so beyond the boundary stone, then stood waiting. Mal and Lenya stood beside me, one to each shoulder. Somewhere behind us, Wornest held the horses. And in front, the steady tramp of feet, growing louder, as the army of Bennamore marched inexorably towards Dristomar.

  Probably I looked quite composed as I waited. I held my hands clasped in front of me, which at least hid the way they shook. My heart raced and I felt sick. I hoped I wouldn’t disgrace myself. Inwardly I was screaming at myself to turn and run, not to stand here like an idiot in front of men unused to opposition. What if they didn’t stop at all? I’d look pretty foolish if they simply rode me down, the foot soldiers trampling me into the mud.

  And who was I anyway to stand up to the Bennamorians? Maybe Losh had the right of it. How could I stop an army? But I had to try. If they passed the boundary stone… it was unthinkable. In two hundred years there had never been a war along the coast. Skirmishes, yes, a great many. Disagreements that were settled by sword or fire, or occasionally by poison. But always common sense had prevailed in the end, and grudges were set aside in the interests of amity. The Port Holdings were like a giant family, squabbling fiercely amongst themselves, but always ending their quarrels amicably. Even last year, the threat of war had retreated almost as quickly as the tide.

  Now I could see the leading horsemen, three abreast, the central rider with a plumed helmet, a flagman to his left and another man to his right. Or woman, I suppose. Did Bennamorians allow women to fight, as we did? I had no idea.

  They drew nearer, plodding steadily onwards, closer and closer, until I could see the plumes of hot breath from the horses’ nostrils and the riders’ grim faces.

  They were not going to stop… A moment of panic. I reached out in my mind to my ball – “Protect me!” I didn’t know what it could do, but I was sure it could do something to help. But nothing changed. Maybe I needed to be more specific. I flailed around wildly for something to suggest to it.

  The horses came nearer and nearer… the plumed rider’s face creased in annoyance.

  I would not back down. I was Shannamar, I was my father’s daughter, I could do this. Lifting my chin, I stiffened my back.

  The leader raised his arm. The rider to his right barked an order, which echoed back down the lines and the whole long column ground to a halt, the horses tossing their heads.

  The plumed rider said something, and his aide dismounted. Someone appeared out of the column to hold the horse, as he walked towards me. He cast confused glances at Mal and Lenya, but his focus was on me.

  “Stand aside, madam. We are on the Drashon’s business and you are delaying us!” His tone was peremptory, arm pointing to the side of the road. Not likely, that was a ditch, and probably filled with icy water just now.

  I bowed politely. “The Blessings of the Goddess to you, Commander. Please ask the High Commander if he would be so good as to step down for a moment. I should like to talk to him.”

  His eyes looked me up and down. I knew what he was seeing, a middle aged woman, not particularly well dressed, wet and bedraggled. I hoped, however, that he was hearing something different, the tone of authority that I’d learned at my father’s feet when I could barely string two words together.

  “And you are?”

  “I am Honourable Fendristia of Shannamar, the Designated Heir of Holder Shannamar, entitled to speak in Convocation for Shannamar and elsewhere for all in its orbit, and, by the grace of the Goddess and the Treaty of Limitations of the year two hundred and six after investment, authorised representative of Convocation.”

  It sounded quite impressive to my ears, but then I wasn’t Bennamorian. I supposed none of it meant much to him.

  The aide grunted, and returned to the plumed rider, who bent down to him. They conducted a brief whispered conversation, with much shaking of heads on both sides. Hmm. Not promising.

  The aide returned, his face set. “Move aside at once! By order of the Most Powerful, the Drashon of Bennamore, you are required to obey.”

  “I do not see the Most Powerful here,” I said, with what I hoped was a sweet smile.

  He growled, a low rumble in his throat like a large dog. “I shall make you obey!” He took two quick steps towards me, but before he touched me there was a sudden flare of light and he fell back with a curse. At least, I assume it was a curse. The words he used were not in my vocabulary.

  Behind me, I heard Mal’s exclamation of surprise. I was quite startled myself, in fact. I supposed that was the ball protecting me. Was there no end to its useful tricks? But it was disconcerting not knowing what it might do. I had trouble catching my breath.

  “A few moments of the High Commander’s time, that is all I ask.” I hoped my voice was not too shaky.

  He glared at me. Without a word he turned and stomped back to the horses. Another long conversation, the voices louder this time. I wondered how much of my title and claim to authority had got through, and how badly mangled.

  The plumed rider dismounted, and another minion leapt forward to mind the horse.
The High Commander strode towards me, his aide scuttling behind. They stopped a circumspect distance away, not wanting to risk the curse-generating experience, whatever it was. Nevertheless, they were near enough that I could see their faces were darkened with anger. Up close, the High Commander was younger than I’d guessed, perhaps no more than thirty. Difficult. He’d be ambitious, and eager to get on and do whatever he’d been sent to do. If only I knew what that was, it would be easier to turn him aside from it.

  But I had one advantage. I was much the same height as him and I could look him straight in the eye. There’s nothing worse for maintaining a negotiating advantage than getting a crick in your neck.

  He glowered at me. “Well?”

  “The Blessings of the Goddess to you, High Commander. I am Honourable Fendristia of—”

  “Yes, yes, yes. What do you want?”

  “I have come to warn you.”

  Their startled expressions were comical. The High Commander gave a bark of laughter. “Warn me of what, precisely? What should I fear?”

  “The large stone ahead of you is the boundary stone of the Independent Port Holding of Dristomar. If you pass beyond it in armed might, you breach the Treaty of Settlement between the Glorious Sun-Blessed Realm of Bennamore and the United Independent Port Holdings of the year two hundred and fourteen after investment. At that point, we will be at war.”

  A pause. “I have my orders, madam. Honourable Fen… Fendista.” But the first tiny doubt had begun to creep in.

  “You are the High Commander. You carry the full authority of the Most Powerful to act in the field, do you not?”

  “I most certainly do. But I cannot refuse to carry out my clear orders, which are to enter this town in order to secure the safety of Bennamorian natives whose lives are threatened.” He glanced at Mal and Lenya, clearly wondering why two Bennamorian mage guards flanked me, then turned back to me. “And you cannot stop me.”