The Mages of Bennamore

by Pauline M. Ross

  It was odd to emerge from the underground world to find it broad daylight outside. Had we been so long down there in the terrifying darkness?

  It was still early, an hour when only the youngest servants would normally be about, slipping silently into bedrooms or busy in the kitchens. Today the whole household waited for us, relieved to see everyone returned in one piece but shocked by the blood-soaked state of us.

  Hestaria screeched at the sight of Mal, still white as sea-foam and leaning heavily on Lenya.

  “Didn’t realise my dagger was quite so sharp,” he said to her with a half smile, but her eyes were huge.

  Losh insisted on examining him, but he quickly pronounced his wound healed. “Sleep, that is what you need now. And good food to restore the lost blood.”

  “Can’t your magic do that?” I asked.

  “To some extent, yes, but not entirely. Magic can heal an injury or reduce a fever or destroy a sickness that lurks within, but it cannot create new blood from nothing. All it can do is encourage the body to restore itself, through rest and nourishment. Take him away, Fen, feed him a meaty broth and make him go to bed.”

  “Bath first,” Mal said.

  “For both of us,” I said with feeling. It was getting to be a habit, this returning home abominably filthy. Dried blood, I discovered, is even worse than regular dust and dirt. It clung to my skin, cracked and itching, and my skirt was stiff as wood with it.

  The servants trooped up and down stairs with a vast array of ewers of hot water. Neither of us wanted to wait, so we sat, one at each end of the tub, our legs entangled, blissfully steeping in clouds of steam until the water had turned a disgusting brown colour and stone cold.

  There was a tray of food left for us, but we had no appetite for it. Instead, we went to bed and slept, wrapped up together like twins.

  ~~~~~

  We missed morning table, but one of the girls came to wake us in time to listen in to the planning room meeting at the Hold.

  There was little to listen to, but it was splendidly entertaining anyway. First, there was Dern’s realisation that we had been party to every private moment of his life. He said nothing, but the expression on his face was a picture. Then there was Kestimar, who arrived late to the meeting and shouted at everyone. He’d had a trying night, breaking down walls and doubtless searching for a way into the tunnels. He soon dismissed all but a couple of the younger advisers.

  He paced up and down while they tried to tell him about routine matters, but he wouldn’t listen. But then he stopped stomping about, and his voice lowered to a chilling hiss.

  “I’ll kill them!” he said. “I’ll kill the fucking lot of them,” and none of us could doubt who he meant. “And her. There’s no point being sentimental about it, they have to go, all of them.”

  Her? Me, perhaps? Not the wife, surely. Or Tarn?

  “Start with her. Send Lykon down to the Water Tower to get rid of her.”

  That must be Tarn. She was still alive, at least. For now.

  “Maybe later,” one of the others said, “but we have an incident in the harbour.”

  “Ah! A successful incident?”

  “No information on that, yet. There was a big celebration going on along the shore – bonfires and such like, quite a useful distraction. It seemed opportune—”

  “Yes, yes. The sooner the better. By the Nine, those two have been thorns in my flesh! I will not have them undermining my orders and taking food in to the wizards. Such impudence! Well, if this works, perhaps this night has not been entirely wasted. Come on, let’s—”

  They disappeared through the door. The meeting was over. I lifted my finger away from the ball on the table in front of me, and the view of the planning room in my head vanished.

  The others blinked at me. It was always disconcerting, to be immersed in some other place and then find yourself back in the Rillett House.

  “What does all that mean?” Losh said frowning. “What incident?”

  “Arin and Drin,” I said. “They’re going to try something in the harbour, against their ship, probably.”

  “Can you call them?” Mal said. “Shout at them through the ball? Warn them that something’s happening?”

  I tried it. I was getting adept now at switching from one ball to another, or perhaps my own ball was just becoming more attuned to my ways. I was aware of Drin’s ball, which was in his cabin on board the Shannamar flag ship. I touched my finger to my ball again, my mind jumping to the ship.

  And let go at once, with a squeak of shock, heart racing.

  The ball was certainly still on board the ship, and that was probably Drin’s cabin I could see. It was just that there shouldn’t be shirts and a pillow drifting past. Or seaweed. Or a small fish darting through the open door.

  The ship had sunk.

  A babble of noise, everyone talking at once.

  Fortunately for everyone’s peace of mind, we had barely got beyond our shock and outrage to considering what we could do, when the door opened and Drin strode in, grim-faced, dishevelled and still wet enough to drip puddles on the floor.

  “How many lost?” I blurted out, before the poor man even had a chance to open his mouth.

  “What? You have heard already? How?”

  I pointed to the ball, and his eyes lit with comprehension. “Ah. Five suspected lost. Twenty-three missing but we are fairly sure they will emerge when the brothels sweep under their tables.”

  “That is not so bad,” I said. “Arin?”

  “Escaped too. We had warning. We keep a proper watch, even in harbour in the middle of the night, so there was time for an alarm, time to get most of our people on deck, thank the Goddess. A dredging barge slammed us amidships and spiked us below water.”

  We told him what we had heard at the meeting, and his usually affable features settled into something harder, more determined.

  “This is not good, Fen. Why would they do such a thing? What have we ever done to them? This cannot be about a few sacks of flour, surely?”

  “Of course not!” I snapped. “They want to make sure you cannot leave.”

  “But we have to leave soon,” he said, puzzled. “We have to be gone before Convocation opens. There cannot be two flag ships from the same Holding.” Drin was good humoured enough, but he didn’t have his older brother’s sharp intelligence.

  “Precisely!” I said. “And what would happen if you leave?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Where would you go? Not back to Shannamar?”

  “No, no. We planned to anchor to leeward of one of the islands. We have no instructions to return to Shannamar.” Still he struggled to get the point.

  “Leeward of the islands, exactly. So you will be outside the harbour and close by when this supposed Bennamorian fleet blockades it.”

  “Ah.” Glimmerings of understanding. “Yes, I see. We could break the blockade.”

  “Or raise help from neighbouring Holdings, yes. Of course they want to keep you here.”

  “That’s a drastic way to do it, though,” Mal said. “Is that an act of war, sinking an ally’s boat like that?”

  “Ship!” Drin winced. “Not boat.”

  “Deliberate sinking in harbour is regarded as an unfriendly act, that’s all,” I said. “Dristomar will pay compensation for the lost sailors, the ship will be lifted and mended, everything will go on as before. Fire would be much more serious; burning a ship is a hostile act. Now—”

  “So would that be war?”

  “Unlikely. Just a lot more compensation – and replacing the ship. Look—”

  “But if they’d managed to drown Arin and Drin…?”

  I shook my head impatiently. “It makes no difference. Higher compensation, that’s all. Listen—”

  Losh tutted gently from his corner. “I will never understand this country. In Bennamore, killing a ruler’s heirs is a very serious matter, with the severest penalties.”

  “So it is here,” Drin said.
“But Arin and I are not heirs, even though our grandfather is Holder. Our mother signed away her inheritance rights when she married, so we have no special status. Now Dern there – he is still a Presumed Heir. Unless you proved yourself on your travels?”

  He gave a quick shake of his head, as if embarrassed. He’d tucked himself into the darkest corner of Losh’s study, as if he could make himself invisible, and had contributed nothing to the conversation all morning. I wondered what he was going to do at Convocation. As the oldest Heir in direct line, he had the right to attend, but I couldn’t see him willingly walking back into the Hold.

  “But if Fen—” began Losh.

  I stamped my foot. “Never mind about all that. Arin is taking care of the situation at the harbour, correct?” Drin nodded. “Then our priority is Tarn.”

  “Tarn?” Drin said. “Oh, the Moon Holder, right. The one being held prisoner.”

  “The one about to be killed unless we act quickly.”

  Finally, I got their attention.

  “The Water Tower,” Mal said, jumping to the important point straight away. “But where exactly is that?”

  “Maps!” Drin said, imperiously, with the authority of one who always has juniors ready to jump to his command.

  It was Kael who jumped in this case, fetching the collection of maps we'd used to explore the tunnels, and laying them out eagerly on Losh's desk.

  “Here,” he said, pointing. “The Water Tower. And here is the corridor Fen used to leave the Bell Tower, leading to the laundry. And over here…” stabbing a finger into the map, “is the drying yard, with a passage leading through here, with an entrance to the Water Tower.”

  He looked round at us excitedly, then, seeing our astonished faces, he turned anxiously to his father. I don't think I'd ever heard him say so much all at once, and his interest in maps was an unsuspected talent. He must have spent hours poring over them, interpreting all the odd squiggles and shapes. Or perhaps he liked to connect the map to the stone masses he was aware of above him when we'd explored the tunnels.

  “Thank you, Kael,” I said, since no one else seemed inclined to offer him any praise. “That is very helpful.” He beamed at me, nodding his head. “But do you know why it is called the Water Tower?”

  “Yes, yes! The water goes in here – see? – from this stream, and then they have a screw to raise it up to the tanks at the top, these circles, you see? And then all the waste pipes lead out through the cellar.”

  “Screw?” Drin said.

  “Never mind that!” Goddess, they were so easily distracted. “There must be an access point to the sewers in the cellar, no?”

  “Inspection hatch, yes, yes! Here, this symbol, see?”

  “Ah!” Mal got it at once. “Where Hestaria was. But that means we have to go through the dungeons again. Or find another tunnel that connects.”

  “No need. We go through the tunnels to the laundry, then up to the drying yard and into the Water Tower that way.”

  “But the access to that lower room was all bricked up... oh. But of course Kael can open the way.”

  “Actually, I can do that now, with the glass ball.”

  He frowned. “No, take Kael anyway. He'll get us through the tunnels quickly. Besides, the ball – you're still learning what it can do. It might behave unpredictably. Good battle strategy, always have a second option, so if you lose your sword you still have a knife, or an axe. Right, then it’s you, me, Lenya and Kael. Let's go.”

  Two voices in unison said, “I'm coming too!” Drin and Hestaria.

  I could see the logic of that – another swordsman, and a mage, that would be useful. Mal looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded. “Very well. But not you, Mal.”

  “What?”

  “You're not coming. You almost died down there, a few hours ago, remember? You are not charging off on another rescue mission.”

  “Fen—”

  “No.”

  I supposed he saw the determination on my face, because he stopped arguing the point, but his expression was a ludicrous mixture of incredulity and – was that fear? He turned to Drin. “You take good care of her, you hear?” I was sure I detected a wobble in his voice.

  Drin raised an eyebrow. “Fen? I think she can take care of herself.”

  “Of course I can. Mal, give Drin your clothes and sword.”

  “Erm...?”

  “He's wet, and we haven't any time to waste.”

  The two men exchanged glances, and with the barest of shrugs disappeared to another room to swap clothes.

  “Lenya, Kael, Hestaria – wait for us in the cellar.”

  The two women went. It was Kael who hung back, wringing his hands.

  “Kael—”

  “Not without him,” he blurted, pointing at Dern.

  The man was pale-skinned anyway, but he went as white as a Foam Sprite, shaking his head.

  “You must!” Kael said. “Please!”

  I hesitated. Dern could be useful with Kael, or he could be a hindrance.

  Losh coughed. “Fen, do you trust your brother? He worked against you for moons, and now he has changed sides. It is not for me to advise you, but...”

  It was a good point.

  Kael spun round to his father, his face flooded with anger. “You do not know him! How can you judge him when you have no idea what he has suffered? No one understands him, no one. Everyone uses him, and mistreats him, and he is a good person!”

  Dragon’s balls! When had those two got so close? They'd only known each other a matter of hours, but while Mal and I had slept away the rest of the night, they must have sat up together, talking.

  Dern swallowed hard, and looked helplessly at me. I shrugged. “You'd better come. You can stay in the tunnel with Kael, if you want.” Relief flooded his face. “Cellar.”

  They went. Mal and Drin returned, wearing each other's clothing. Drin was above average height, but Mal's gear still swam on him. As for Mal, squeezed into the uniform of a Sea Defender Commander, he looked rather splendid. I couldn't resist a smile and a wifely kiss on his bristly cheek.

  “You just need to work on the beard now, husband. But it suits you.”

  We met the others down in the cellar. Mal came to see us on our way, full of urgent, if unnecessary, advice which had Lenya rolling her eyes.

  I patted his arm, amused. “I think we know what to do, husband.”

  “Just – just be careful, all right?” And he enveloped me in a tight hug. My last view as we entered the tunnel was Mal's anxious face, arms held tight across his broad chest, his familiar shape masked by the strangeness of the uniform.

  37: The Water Tower

  All three access doors in the cellar had now been opened up to give us more options for coming and going while we were under house arrest. We used the original door, however, which took us by the most direct way. Kael led us with confidence through the maze of tunnels, Dern at his side. Once or twice, when Hestaria's glow ball lit them more than usual, I was sure they were holding hands.

  As we walked, I ran over in my mind the weapons we had: two swords, with Drin and Lenya; two jade belts, mine and Lenya’s; two mages, Hestaria and Kael; three connections, to stone, metal and minds; two glass balls, mine and Hestaria’s. That should be enough to deal with anything other than a small army or other mages. The greatest danger, probably, would be to refrain from using any of those powers unless necessary. We didn't want to leave the Hold a smoking ruin.

  At my waist, my glass ball sat in its soft bag, quiescent but alert, somehow. I don't even know how I knew that, but there was some connection between it and my mind that made me confident of it. It seemed to get stronger with every day. I was very clearly aware of all the other glass balls in the vicinity, and not just Hestaria’s ahead of me. I could see Ish’s ball clearly, and the one in the planning room. There was the one in the harbour, still underwater. Even as I walked through the tunnel, I was aware of all of this, and could switch my mind to one ball or anoth
er, without missing a step.

  When we reached the door outside the laundry, the air was humid and a few wisps of steam filtered under the door. We could hear female voices chattering.

  “Kael, Dern, you can wait here,” I said in a low voice. “If there’s trouble, just get out of here, all right?”

  “No,” Dern said. “You have to walk past all the laundry workers here and in the drying yard. It would only take one to raise the alarm. I can help with that.” And he tapped his head. In the gloom, his face was ghost-like and his fear palpable, but I couldn't deny he would be useful.

  “We can't leave Kael here alone.”

  “I will come too,” he said stoutly, clinging to Dern’s arm. “We stay together.”

  Dern smiled at him, and patted his hand. “Of course. I will look after him, Fen.”

  Lenya made some inarticulate sound, which might have been exasperation or might have been a laugh.

  I turned to the door. It was locked, with a very rusty mechanism. Beyond I could sense no weapons, just the usual metal objects found in every laundry of any size. “Right, everyone, very quiet. These are only laundry workers, so they won’t leap for weapons. I will go first, then Drin and Lenya. Our route is straight ahead, then about halfway down there is a stair on the right leading directly to the drying grounds.”

  “I should go first,” Hestaria hissed loudly, the nearest she could get to a whisper. “You need a mage at the front, just in case.”

  “No magic unless we absolutely have to, and you will do exactly as I say, Hestaria. Do you understand?”

  Her mouth flapped open once or twice, but she nodded. I saw Drin grinning at this exchange, but I frowned my disapproval and the smirk disappeared. I’d thought he might be the one to challenge my authority, but those years when he was nobody and I was the Designated Heir had instilled automatic deference into him.

  I forced the lock to move, and reluctantly it gave way. It really was rusted almost beyond usability. It was fortunate that I had my jade belt to give my connection extra power, because I'm not sure the lock would have yielded without it.

  The door wouldn’t open. Even with Drin and Lenya heaving against it, it wouldn’t shift. Warped by the endless steam in the air, I suppose. Stymied at the first hurdle.