The Mages of Bennamore

by Pauline M. Ross

  “Well, that was interesting and no mistake,” Mal said. “The same disaster strikes both of you, but you ran off by yourself to earn an honest living while he took his father’s money and played the libertine over half the continent.”

  “It’s not unusual to wish to see something of the world, and naturally he wanted to prove himself by fathering a child.”

  “Don’t defend him!” He slammed his wineglass down on a nearby cabinet. “This is a man who abandoned you as soon as things went wrong.”

  “It wasn’t quite like that…”

  “I may not know all your coastal ways, but I know how a man should treat his wife. And even now—” He stopped, his mouth twisting.

  “Even now?”

  His voice softened to sympathy. “I think you should be aware that he’s lying to you.”

  “Don’t be stupid. He wouldn’t… Why in the Goddess’s name would he lie to me?”

  “I’ve no idea, but he lied to your face just now.”

  “Oh, and you’re so clever that you know that, I suppose?”

  “I do know it,” he snapped. “He told you he didn’t love his wife, that he only brought her here because of the child. That was a lie, so be very careful around him, won’t you? I don’t want you being hurt by him all over again.”

  He made me so angry I couldn’t breathe. As if it was anything at all to do with him!

  I hurled my wineglass at his arrogant head and stormed out.

  10: Moon Feast

  Impossible as it seemed, Mal was more irritating than ever after that. For a while he’d treated me with a little more respect, but now he was right back to his old flirtatious ways. Every time he leered at me, or called me his dear one or his sweet wife or some other nonsense, I could feel anger coiling in my belly, ready to strike out. I could barely sit down at table with him, and the rest of the time I avoided him assiduously.

  At least he distracted me from brooding about Ish.

  I wasn’t at all sure what I felt about Ish. On the outside I boiled with anger at him. We’d started as equals, but now I was nothing and he was the Holder. How by all the Demons of the Deep had he managed that? It wasn’t right, yet there he was, as if our little disaster had never happened. If I’d been bitter before, now my bitterness curdled to something stronger, to outright hatred. I’d never been vengeful before, but Goddess, how I wanted to hurt him.

  And yet, curled deep inside me was something else, the sleeping dragon of my passion for him, and it terrified me. All it needed was a touch or a smile or the softness of his voice to waken it and bring it roaring to the surface to consume me with fire.

  It was just as well he was married now, just as well I was married, just as well we had no reason to meet. For twenty years I had hidden myself away, pushed my desire for him into the darkest, most secret corners of my heart. For twenty years I’d been safe. I couldn’t surrender now.

  Fortunately, I had plenty to keep me busy. The previous mages had established quite a thriving business, and we were inundated with clients almost immediately. Sensibly, a room of the house had been set aside for the purpose, so most days there was no need for us to trail through the streets.

  Each morning the mages received a succession of Dristomar’s wealthiest residents, bringing ailments to be cured or requesting spells for good weather or successful voyages or luck with a venture. The spells were bizarre. Sometimes Losh simply chanted the words, but often the spell would be written out on oddly coloured paper and then burned in a special crucible. The paper flared up with a very intense flame, so that the watching clients would gasp and clutch their throats in alarm. Then Losh would smile and bow and usher them through the door, and they seemed quite satisfied by his little performance.

  The healings were more interesting. Losh would touch the affected part, and do his chanting, and often the client would report feeling a warmth under his hands. The work of some powder or lotion, I suppose. Sometimes they claimed to be cured, and even to my suspicious mind these cases were quite convincing. I saw fevers abate, the pains of old age vanish and one old lady claimed to be able to see clearly for the first time in years. It is astonishing the power of the human mind to believe anything, if told it with enough conviction.

  But I never saw anything that was beyond all doubt the work of magic.

  Kael did very little on these occasions. Sometimes Losh let him lay hands on the client, and Kael would stand there transfixed, eyes wide with terror. “Can you feel it?” Losh would say, and Kael always nodded, then scuttled away to a corner. But he was never allowed to do any chanting, nor did he produce any flames from his fingers. I still wasn’t sure how he did that.

  His skill, such as it was, lay in writing the spellpages. Sometimes the two of them would pore over one of their many spell books, choosing just the right one for the occasion, and discussing special variations. It sounded quite impressive. Then Kael would sit, pick up the pen, and write swiftly on the page, his pen-strokes precise and confident.

  In the afternoons the mages slept for an hour or two, and then practised in Kael’s vast apartment. I have no idea what they did in there, although the house controller reported hearing loud bangs or sizzling noises on occasion, sometimes followed by shrieks. Then it would go quiet. She made sure to keep the servants in the basement while these sessions were going on.

  I’d promised Master Tylk that I would write to him, and not long after we arrived, I’d sent him a short note with a bald recitation of the journey and the facilities of the house. I said very little of Dristomar, but then I didn’t think he was interested in the width of the streets or the wealth of its population. I had a vast number of pages in response – I can’t imagine how much it had cost him – but he told me all the gossip of Carrinshar, bless him, so that I was almost as well informed as if I still lived there. It reminded me that, however awkward my life had suddenly become, I still had a home at Carrinshar. I just had to get through my year as Mal’s wife and I could escape to dreary anonymity once more.

  The daily routine was dull, but it soothed my spirits, and I could almost forget that Ish lived practically within earshot. But then the invitation arrived while we were at noon table. The house controller brought in the message tube with great excitement.

  Losh unrolled the paper. “The moon feast? What is that, Fen? Some pagan ritual?”

  It was quite endearing the way they persisted in seeing us as primitives, still stuck in the unenlightened dark ages.

  “A celebration of brightmoon, that’s all,” I said, smiling sweetly. “No sacrificial goats or virgins. The ordinary townspeople might hold one or two a year, but the Holder traditionally holds one every brightmoon. It’s an honour to be invited. You’ll need a krishea each.”

  “Ah, I remember, you explained that,” Losh beamed. “A bag with – oh, let me see, a knife thing—”

  “A kooria, yes.”

  “And a silver coin to thank the cook, and – oh, something else.”

  “A little bag of dried petals to scent the room. Brysheria. Lovely old words. The house controller will make sure you have everything. The food is usually wonderful, so you’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.”

  “And you, Fen,” Losh said, patting my hand in his avuncular way so that I dropped the bread I was holding. “You’re invited too.”

  My stomach tied itself in knots. I snatched the letter from him to see for myself. It wasn’t unexpected, I suppose, for Ish had said we might meet again, but I’d hoped I would be safe from something as formal as this, something that would bring back so many memories.

  I read and reread the words, but it took me several attempts before I could see past my own name. “Oh! This is inner. Well, that is an honour indeed.”

  “Inner? What does that mean?”

  “We are to be part of the inner table – with the family and senior advisors. You are being treated as diplomats, then.”

  “Oh, but surely the honour is for you, Fen. As… erm, a former acquaintance.”r />
  I had to smile at the delicate groping for a word to describe a disgraced ex-wife. “No, it’s your name at the top, Losh. The honour is for you.”

  “Fen…” He stopped, looking at me sympathetically. I hated that, the pity. But then he went on more briskly, “This must be awkward for you. Do you want to go back to Carrinshar?”

  I shook my head. That wouldn’t work. “I’ve been invited by the Holder himself, and it would be impossibly rude to refuse – a great breach of protocol, for anything less than mortal illness.”

  “That could be arranged…” And he waggled his fingers suggestively.

  I couldn’t help laughing at the idea that he could make me ill whenever he liked. And yet he brimmed with confidence in his own abilities, with no hint of self-doubt. Almost he made me wonder if this magic of his could really work. Almost. But there was no point putting it to the test this time.

  “Thank you for the thought, but if I’m ill for this occasion, there will only be another. Brightmoon comes round all too predictably, I’m afraid. No, I shall have to go, there’s no avoiding it.”

  Yet my palms were damp with sweat at the thought of meeting Ish again, and so publicly.

  Alongside me, Mal coughed. “And what about me? Am I invited?” His tone was plaintive.

  “No, just the three of us, Mal,” Losh said, but I interrupted.

  “Of course Mal can go. He’s my husband.”

  “His name isn’t mentioned.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Annual husbands and wives come and go so fast no one can keep up with them, but they have the same status as bonded spouses. We just have to put Mal’s name in the acceptance, that’s all.”

  But I wondered why he wasn’t included, when Ish knew perfectly well I was married. A secretary had drawn up the invitation, I supposed.

  Mal patted my shoulder, and beamed at me. “Of course! I can’t have my dear wife going off to entertainments without me, can I? So what will you wear, my sweet? A gown? And your lovely hair loose about your shoulders, I hope.”

  I sighed, depressed at the thought. I liked my unobtrusive skirts and waistcoats. “A gown, yes, and hair dressed and curled.”

  “Excellent! But we must buy you an outfit for the occasion.”

  “I have a gown that will do.”

  “No, no. It must be something new, to show off my wife to advantage. I’ll find a tailor who has some decent silks…”

  “Mal, nothing too outrageous, by the Goddess! I’m only a recorder, remember.”

  He laughed, and swept my hand into his great paw, planting a wet kiss on it. “You can choose the style, my love. You’ll look magnificent, whatever you wear.”

  I rolled my eyes at him.

  ~~~~~

  Mal took the project of the new gown very seriously. He enticed the house controller into his schemes, wheedling from her the names of the best tailors, the most suitable styles and the proper amount of jewelry permitted. Then he dragged me off to choose fabrics, and be poked and prodded and measured in every conceivable direction.

  Unlike Carrinshar, all the best shops were gathered around the main square with its wonderful whale fountains. The chosen tailor was far beyond my price range, as the highly polished mahogany door and thick rugs proclaimed. Minions raced around producing bolts of material which I dismissed almost as quickly as they appeared. Eventually, we reduced the array to two, a blue-green heavy silk and a fine wool in a wine colour.

  Mal preferred the green. “But it matches your eyes, my sweet,” he said plaintively, and all the shop girls sighed at such a romantic sentiment.

  “No,” I said firmly. Ish had liked that colour and I’d lived in it when I was married to him, but I would never wear it again. “It’s too pale for my rank. The darker colour is more appropriate.”

  Fortunately, the shop owner agreed.

  From there, we moved across the square to buy silk flowers for my hair, next door for slippers and hose, and back across the square, reluctantly on my part, to an exclusive jeweller, where I sipped wine and nibbled sweetmeats while Mal selected a delicate but very expensive necklace. I didn’t like receiving gifts from him, in case he interpreted that as an obligation on my part. I assuaged my conscience with the knowledge that the money came from the mages, through Kael’s ability with gemstones.

  When we were done, Mal rounded the morning off perfectly by taking me to a very good platter house nearby where I stuffed myself to bursting point. At such times, I could almost grow to like the man.

  We could have walked to the Hold for the feast, but it was more proper to use the carriage. All the servants lined up to watch us leave. The mages and Mal were got up in their Bennamore formal attire, all velvet and lace with frills and ruffles everywhere, although fortunately no robes. I felt quite plain by comparison, although the tailor had added a couple of flounces around the neck of the gown – the latest fashion in honour of Bennamore, apparently.

  There was no escaping the dressed hair, though. I wore it Shannamar style, one of the least complicated to manage, simply gathered in a knot on top of my head, to fall from there halfway down my back. Circlets of flowers ringed the knot and a few curls were left loose around my face. The house controller and a couple of kitchen maids had helped me arrange it. The watching servants all exclaimed in surprise. I supposed they’d never guessed quite how much hair was stuffed under my usual cap.

  Mal’s face was a picture, eyes wide and his tongue practically hanging out. He said nothing, however, politely offering his arm to help me into the carriage. For an instant I was tempted to ignore him, but then I remembered that he had bought almost everything I wore. I owed him some courtesy at least. So I smiled and rested my hand on his arm as I got in.

  As we rolled smoothly through the paved streets, Mal leaned towards me and whispered, “If you get a chance, ask your Holder friend about Hestaria.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why would he know anything about it?”

  “He was one of the last people to see her, but we haven’t been able to talk to him or his advisors. Too busy and important to discuss a vanished mage with mere guards. So maybe you could mention it? See what he says.”

  “But she left the Hold, didn’t she? She went to the Hold, had a meeting, left again and then vanished?”

  “So the visitors’ book shows. Her name is marked with a time and a guard’s mark, both going in and coming out. But no one remembers her leaving. I’d just like to know if she said anything at the meeting that might help us.”

  We wheeled in through the western gate this time, and circled the yard, lamps piercing the dusk gloom. A troop of liveried servants rushed forward to assist us out of the carriage and escort us up stairs and along endless galleries. The Bennamorians wore shoes that clacked on the marble floors, but my slippers and the soft swaying of my gown made no sound, my passing the merest waft of perfume on the air.

  We were shown into the inner receiving room, the same round chamber where we’d met Ish just a few quarter moons ago.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. My mouth was dry, my palms were damp and my heart thudded uncomfortably loudly. At least I was prepared this time. I knew Ish would be there, would smile at me, would perhaps kiss me. If I were lucky, it would be a few moments’ polite conversation and nothing more. If I were unlucky, he would choose me as his partner for the evening. But we were in company, there was no danger of intimacy. I wasn’t afraid I might panic again.

  Besides, for this evening I was no longer Mistress Recorder Fen of Carrinshar. As soon as I stepped down from the carriage, that discreet little mouse vanished into the night. The gown swirling round my feet, the hair flowing down my back, the jewels at my throat turned me once again into Fendristia of Shannamar. From the time my brother died and I became heir at the age of eleven, I’d been trained for such occasions as this. I could talk to foreign princes about treaties, or to merchants about the price of grain. I understood the troubles of ship owners and the legal language of law
-makers. I could interpret the subtle words of political innuendo, and spot the signs of secret alliances or liaisons. I felt very comfortable, almost excited, at the prospect of an evening in such company.

  So I was the first one into the room, the mages and Mal trailing in my wake. I saw Ish instantly, wearing an exquisite velvet coat in his favoured blue. His face lit up when he noticed me, and he came straight over, clasping both my hands in his. I made the restrained bow appropriate to him on a social occasion. He laughed at my formality, and kissed me on both cheeks.

  “I am so glad you came,” he said. As if I could have refused. “Come and meet my wife.”

  She was quite a surprise, the wife, very beautiful in an exotic way. Her hair was loose, falling in lustrous waves to her waist, with just a few flowers round the crown, and darker than Mal’s, almost black. Instead of a gown, she wore a long silk tunic with voluminous trousers underneath. At her throat was a single large stone, an opal that shimmered and changed colour under the lamps.

  After a few polite words, she moved away to greet the mages, and Ish introduced me to some of the other guests. The mages, Mal and I were the only outsiders, a testament to the importance of the mages to Dristomar. Or perhaps it was a diplomatic nod to Bennamore, our new masters. All the other inner guests were kin or advisors or senior Hold retainers. I didn’t know any of them. The women were over decorated, their hair elaborately dressed, their gowns fussily trimmed. The men were more elegant, although with too much dangling lace and some with the painted faces of dilettantes. I didn’t take in any of their names. I was too distracted by the warmth of Ish’s hand in the small of my back as he guided me round the room.

  Only one made any impression on me, a plain-faced man in his fifties, I guessed, although with such nondescript features it was hard to tell. He was more plainly dressed than the others, and was long-haired and beardless, like the Bennamorians, although too fair to be a northerner. Ish didn’t introduce him, and he stood alone at the side of the room, but he stared at me constantly.