The Mages of Bennamore

by Pauline M. Ross

  I raised my hands, as if to push them all away. Then I turned and fled. I ran up the stairs to my room and slammed the door. It was dark and cold, for the fire hadn’t been lit, but I didn’t care. I huddled on the floor, my back to the wall, knees drawn up to my chin, as tears trickled slowly down my face. Bizarrely, the thought flew into my mind that I would soon be too fat to curl up like this.

  The baby – I hadn’t thought much about the baby at all, apart from annoyance at the inconvenience of the sickness and general unwellness, and relief when that wore off. Then I’d been worried about how Mal would take it. Now for the first time, I wondered what it would be like to have a child, a little person to teach, to raise, to love. Would it look like me, or Mal? More likely a mixture – his dark hair, and my skinny frame, perhaps. And his nose, if the Goddess had any mercy.

  But how could I take care of a child? I knew nothing about milk or nursemaids or whether it was safe to let it climb trees or play in the sea. What if a wave swept it away? What if it got sick? How would I know what was wrong?

  And where could I go with a child? I’d always assumed I would go back to Carrinshar, but that was my personal hiding place, not somewhere I’d want to raise a child. Besides, there was nothing for me there. Mistress Jast was gone, and Tylk – even Tylk, my faithful suitor, hadn’t written to me for moons.

  Yet I didn’t want to go back to Shannamar, either. I supposed my child should know its family, and now that I was proved and an heir again, the baby would be a Presumed Heir and entitled to be Holder in the future, perhaps. Could I deny him that? Or her. But Shannamar, even a Shannamar with my mother no longer in residence at the Hold – it would still be like reverting to my childhood.

  At the back of my mind, I knew why I rejected all these options out of hand. Some well-hidden part of me still hoped that Ish would be my future, that one day I would be rid of Mal, and Ish would be rid of his wife. Then I would walk into his arms and never leave them.

  No matter how much I reminded myself of all the dreadful things he’d allowed to happen, I still yearned for him. My life, baby or no baby, was empty without him. It was foolish and irrational of me, I knew that perfectly well, but love has no logic to it.

  I sat in the dark and cried.

  43: Sword Ships

  I don’t know how long I sat there, submerged in my misery. Mal found me eventually, scratching on the door like a servant, then diffidently peering into the room, even though it was as much his room as mine.

  “Fen, are you all right?

  “Yes.”

  “Is there anything I can get for you?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Do you want me to go away?”

  “No. Stay.” Anything was better than being alone. I needed someone to jolt me out of my self-pity and who better than Mal?

  He crept in, shutting the door with a soft click, and fiddled about lighting the fire and a couple of lamps. Then he came and slid down the wall to sit beside me, not touching me but close.

  Long silence. Then, “They meant well, you know.”

  That made me laugh, even though tears still slid down my face. “I suppose. But they should have asked me, at least.”

  “You’d have said no, though, wouldn’t you? You were the one who said it was a bad idea to force anyone into an instant decision. This way, you get time to think about it.”

  “I don’t need to think about it.”

  “Hmm. Maybe you should, though. It’s hard to think of anyone better suited. And Garann said that everyone wanted you – there were no dissenting voices.”

  “Not even Dellonar?”

  He chuckled. “It was unanimous. That means everyone, doesn’t it? They all thought you were the best person for the job.”

  I spluttered in exasperation. “They don’t even know me! I’ve never been to Convocation, and I’ve been living under a stone for twenty years. I doubt there’s more than a handful of them who could tell you what I look like.”

  “Well, Garann said they remember you well, from when the Convocation was held at Shannamar.”

  That was interesting. I’d never been part of Convocation itself, but when it was held at Shannamar I’d routinely gone into the noon table room to mingle with the delegates, as many of the family did. It was supposed to lighten the atmosphere, and prevent anyone from talking too much about the discussions. I’d always loved that aspect, though, so I’d regularly sidle up to an animated group, deep in some arcane debate about taxes or shipping regulations, and listen intently. If they asked, I’d give them my opinion, too. I’d been a strange child.

  We fell silent again, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the slap of rain against the window. I couldn’t hear voices from downstairs, so maybe our visitors had all left. Or possibly everyone was shut into the table room, enjoying a leisurely meal. I wasn’t tempted. I didn’t think I could face company and make myself comment politely on the tenderness of the fish and how dreadful the weather was. Maybe later I’d creep down to the kitchen and fetch myself a tray of something.

  I was content where I was, with Mal a silent but comfortable companion. He’d said not a word of reproach about my outburst earlier, but he was subdued, not at all like his usual irrepressible self. I’d treated him very badly.

  “Fen—” he began, but I didn’t want him to talk. I needed to make my confession before the moment slipped away.

  “Mal, I’m sorry!” I burst out. “I’m so sorry I lashed out at you earlier. That was really unforgivable of me.”

  “No, no! It was all my fault. I’m sorry I asked about – you know. I had no business… It was an insult, and I shouldn’t have… It was just that you’d said that people in annual marriages often look elsewhere, so I thought maybe… But I realise… I’m sorry, Fen, truly I am. I’m really pleased about the baby, and I’ll pray to both the Moon God and the Sun God that it looks like you and not me.”

  I laughed out loud at that. “I’ve been praying to the Goddess and Sprites that it won’t have my nose.”

  “Oh yes, sprites. I’ll add the forest sprites to the list. And I like your nose.”

  “You have forest sprites? Are they like sea sprites? Have you ever seen them – your forest sprites?”

  “No, but I know a few people who have.”

  I shook my head, laughing. “No, that won’t do. If you haven’t seen one yourself it doesn’t count.”

  “Ah, like your dragons, then.” The light was too poor to see his eyes, but his tone was teasing.

  It was true, I’d never seen a dragon but Ish had, many times. That prompted a thought. “Did you think the baby was Ish’s?”

  “Ha. It crossed my mind, yes. But of course he’s devoted to his wife, so—”

  An odd assertion. I knew Ish loved me, and not his wife. “What makes you say that?”

  He looked at me searchingly. “Because he once said he only married her because of the child, and that was a lie, I saw it. But you’ve talked to him more than I ever have. You must have a good idea of it.”

  I did, I had a very good idea of it, and surely Mal was wrong. I’d spent so much time with Ish, sometimes privately, and there was no doubt in my mind. He slept apart from his wife, after all, and he always chose me at moon feasts. He’d kissed me, and he’d sought me out at the library, hadn’t he? Well, of course he’d been trying to win me over to his cause, but his affection for me was genuine, I was certain.

  If I were being honest, I’d suppose that was my heart talking. The logical part of my mind was less convinced. He’d been distressed when I’d been imprisoned and injured, but he hadn’t been outraged, not as a lover should be. He hadn’t got rid of Kestimar, or controlled his wife. I wasn’t important enough to him to force him to act against them. And he’d never told me he loved me or promised me anything.

  Worse than that was that I could no longer respect him. His decisions, his leadership – or lack of it – his outright weakness in allowing himself to be drawn into these devious
and downright dishonest schemes – it was not worthy of a Holder, especially of one of the Greater Holdings, like Dristomar.

  I had a jade belt now, I could see if he lied to me. I could ask him outright and then – then I would know what sort of man he really was.

  We drifted into companionable silence again. I closed my eyes and looked through Ish’s glass ball, as I often did these days, hoping for a glimpse of him, but he was seldom there. The room was empty, the fire burning low. The planning room, too, was quiet, just a pair of servants wearily replenishing the paper and pens laid out for delegates. Arin’s ball was in a bag or drawer, but I could hear the rumble of many voices and the chink of knife on plate. And Hestaria’s ball – that was odd, it had moved and was now far to the south east. A long promontory? Or was she out at sea somewhere? Strange.

  ~~~~~

  It was two days before High Commander Hellamon was ready to proceed. He had an entire army camped just outside the town, and he had supply lines to secure and the local farmers to appease before he could do anything else. But he liked my plan very much. It gave him something positive to do that didn’t risk plunging us all into a disastrous war, and it allowed him to bring a modest cohort of soldiers into the town legally.

  So he wrote to Ish, requesting permission to inspect the Hold, as he was entitled to do under the terms of the treaty.

  And Ish agreed. That was lucky, because a refusal would have breached the treaty and brought the whole army down on his head. Instead, Hellamon led only five hundred soldiers along Dristomar’s main street, and into the square before the northern gates to the Hold. Five hundred was my suggestion: not enough to overwhelm the Defenders, who numbered well over a thousand, but more than enough to be a visible threat. Hellamon arrived early in the morning, well before the Convocation delegates were due.

  I met him in the square, as arranged. It was the High Commander’s suggestion that I should be there, to explain anything he didn’t understand, and act as an intermediary between himself and Ish.

  “That is your role now, I believe,” he said, looking at me slyly.

  “I may have been appointed Speaker, but I have not yet accepted,” I said tartly. Nevertheless, it was a good idea to have someone there who was neither Bennamore nor Dristomar. And if I should become Speaker, it would be good practice.

  Ish was awaiting us inside the gates, surrounded by Defenders. His face darkened as more and more soldiers poured into the square, and then registered utter astonishment for an instant as he saw me. However, he masked his displeasure quickly. He knew as well as I did what he had to do, so he ordered the gates thrown wide, and Hellamon and his miniature army marched in.

  I slipped into the courtyard behind them and stood to one side, well away from the neat lines of uniforms. It would never do to be seen as Bennamore’s puppet, even though this was entirely my plan.

  Ish was beside me in a moment. “What are you doing here, Fen? This is none of your concern.” His tone was level, almost jovial.

  “I am here at the High Commander’s request.”

  “You are the Speaker, I suppose.” There was just a hint of disdain in his tone.

  “I am only here as a favour, not in any official capacity, Honourable.”

  He looked sideways at me, but I couldn’t read his expression. Then he got distracted by the High Commander detailing his Captains to inspect the armoury, the barracks, the kitchens – “Are they going to count the cheeses?” Ish muttered, bewildered – and the treasury. The Coin Master, dangling a massive key from his belt, looked terrified, and I was instantly alert, wondering what might be hidden in the vaults. Or missing from them, perhaps.

  Ish was allowed to go off to prepare for Convocation – or sent off, to be honest, for he was reluctant to leave Hellamon’s men unsupervised. The High Commander and I went off with Ish’s High Steward to examine the records and accounts. The offices were high in the Great Tower with fine views in all directions. While Hellamon and a literate Commander pored over the shipping lists and tax receipts and account books, I amused myself by watching the activities in the various yards below, with Defenders scurrying out of one tower or another like ants in a disturbed nest, their dark blue uniforms mingling with the vivid gold of the Bennamorians. But there was no sign of the particular ant I was looking for, Commander Kestimar.

  It was the middle of the morning, and I was half asleep beside one of the many fireplaces, when an alarm sounded away in the distance. The harbour again. Our view was partially obscured by the large buildings closer to the harbour, but the High Steward pointed upwards.

  “There is an observation room on the roof.”

  We ran for the stairs, the High Steward, a man who clearly enjoyed his food in ample quantities, puffing behind us. Three floors up we came out onto the roof of the Great Tower, a vast open space surrounded by a parapet, the only building a small tower in the centre. It was guarded by four Defenders huddled in whispered agitation.

  “Sword ships approaching the harbour,” one of them said.

  They had a small seeing tube, and the High Commander peered through it, then handed it to me, shaking his head.

  “There are ships everywhere. I can make nothing of it.”

  I couldn’t make much of it myself. The line of Bennamorian ships was still strung across the harbour entrance, but the oars were out and they were frantically manoeuvring. Further out to sea, an entire fleet, it seemed to me – at least thirty sword ships, all under fast sail and heading directly for us. Within the harbour, Dristomar’s own sword ships, no more than a dozen, were getting under way. I couldn’t hear anything, of course, but I could imagine the shouted orders, the running feet, the boys scampering into the rigging, the oarsmen cursing as they tripped over each other, the rumble of the catapults being wheeled into position. And everywhere the barely contained panic.

  An attack from the other Holdings – it was unthinkable! But what else could it be? No sword ships were supposed to be at sea during Convocation. They should all be at their home ports, or else at one of the neutral island bases a long way from land, unless… oh.

  Unless there was an attack on a Holding by outside forces. Bennamorian forces, perhaps. Was this a relief mission, to break the blockade?

  I was aware of many swords approaching from below. There was a thunder of booted feet on the stairs, and then a mass of Defenders boiled onto the roof, with Ish in their midst.

  “Observation room,” he yelled, sweeping past us and into the small tower, while the Defenders peered over the parapet at the harbour and muttered darkly, pointing.

  We chased after Ish, racing up a tight circular stair to a small room at the top, windowed all round. Ish was bent over a massive seeing tube mounted on struts. We waited impatiently, the High Commander clicking his fingers and frowning. He was not used to anyone else taking precedence, but he must have realised that Ish would be better able to identify the approaching fleet.

  “Well!” Ish said, exhaling sharply. “We are not under attack after all, I believe. Fen?”

  Hellamon clicked his teeth in annoyance, but said nothing.

  I leaned over the eyepiece and the harbour sprang into sharp focus. Ish’s sword ships now under oar. The Bennamorian ships, still trying to get into defensible positions. And beyond that—

  “Shannamar!” I exclaimed. “The first three, no, four are Shannamar. Then Loosett Bay, Chormannace Point, Lunton, Penfold, Shillwood I think, Dellonar… Dellonar! And Granite Head. Well!”

  “You see?” Ish said. “Not an attack. I think – I actually think they have come to rescue us.” And he began to laugh, a harsh grunting sound not at all like him. He almost seemed on the verge of hysteria.

  And it was ridiculous, in a way. These ships, these supposed Bennamorian ships, were put there by Ish himself as a political ploy, to be quietly removed when they were no longer needed. Yet Shannamar and these other Holdings had sent a fleet to remove them by force. It was entirely unnecessary, and yet rather splendid.
I had no idea how it had happened.

  Oh, but I had, when I thought about it. Hestaria’s ball was now due south of us, quite close and getting closer. She was on one of those ships, with Drin. This was their secret mission, to raise a fleet and destroy the blockade.

  “Will someone please explain?” Hellamon said curtly.

  I gave him a brief summary while he looked through the eyepiece. By now, some of the delegates from Convocation had found their way to the observation room, and before long we were overrun. Hellamon and I went back down to the roof, where the view was more than adequate. As we watched, he asked sharply intelligent questions about weaponry and likely tactics.

  Ish found us there, his face ashen. “I would have dealt with it,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. “I was going to deal with it. In time.”

  “What will your own sword ships do?” I said.

  He looked at me as if I were insane, but the question had to be asked. They had sat in harbour for days, not responding to the blockade, and now when other Holdings arrive, they take action. Would they join in the attack on the blockade ships, or defend them?

  “They know their duty,” he said, but he looked sick. No doubt he had intended to drive the blockade ships away himself, at some point. He would have been a great hero then, saving Dristomar from threat, but he had waited too long. Instead Dristomar would just be another Holding joining the attack, following Shannamar’s lead.

  I pitied him, but he had brought it on himself. Now those ships would perhaps be destroyed, and Dristomar would have to bear the cost. He should have got rid of them earlier. Their value was only in the threat they represented, and they served no purpose lingering day after day, hindering the fishing fleets and merchant ships, costing people money and angering businesses. If the townsfolk found out he was responsible, they would lynch him, Holder or no. He was already unpopular.