The Fire Mages
Authors: Pauline M. Ross
THE FIRE MAGES
An epic fantasy
Part of the Brightmoon Annals
by Pauline M Ross
Published by Sutors Publishing
ISBN:
978-0-9928819-2-4 (paperback)
Copyright © 2015 Pauline M Ross
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction.
Cover design: Streetlight Graphics
Proofreading: Coinlea Services
Kyra has always been drawn to the magic of spellpages. She is determined to leave her small village far behind and become a scribe, wielding the power of magic through her pen. Halfway through her training, she has a mage as patron and her ambitions are within her grasp. But a simple favour for her sister goes disastrously awry, destroying Kyra's dreams in an instant.
Devastated, she accepts an offer from a stranger to help her find out what went wrong. The young man sees growing power within Kyra, potentially stronger than spellpages or any living mage. The answers to unlocking that power may lie within the glowing walls of the Imperial City, but its magic is strong and the unwary vanish without trace on its streets. Thirsty for knowledge and desperate to avoid another accident, she feels compelled to risk it.
While she focuses on controlling her abilities, a storm of greed and ambition boils up around her. Kyra is a pawn in the struggle for dominance between unscrupulous factions vying for rule of her country. Trusting the wrong side could get her killed—or worse, the potent magic she barely understands could be put to unthinkable evil
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Books in the Brightmoon Annals:
The Plains of Kallanash (published 2014)
The Fire Mages (published 2015)
The Mages of Bennamore (expected publication mid 2015)
The Mines of Asharim (expected publication late 2015)
For the latest news, go to
http://paulinemross.co.uk
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I was fourteen when the Kellon’s Steward first came for me.
Well, blow that. I had my life all planned out, and the Kellon had no part in it, I was sure of that. Still, the Steward was waiting for me, and the question had to be asked before it could be refused. Head high, I crossed the tiny hallway of the cottage, my boots clumping on the wooden floor, and strode into the parlour.
“Ah!” he said, smiling and looking me up and down before settling his gaze on my chest. “Yes, excellent! Do come in – er...?”
“Kyra,” Father said.
“Kyra, yes, yes. Do sit down. Need a little chat with you, my dear.”
They were sitting around the hearth, the fire not yet lit despite the chill that heralded autumn. Three pairs of eyes turned towards me: my father smiling, the Steward appraising, Mother trying not to notice the tear in my trousers. She had one foot awkwardly placed to hide the black-edged hole where a log had spat at the rug.
My parents sat on the battered settle to one side, Father round-faced and placid, Mother’s pinched features watching me dourly. The parlour was supposed to be our best room, kept for entertaining, but we never had the money to furnish it properly. We so seldom had visitors that it had become Mother’s sanctuary, the only valuable contents the books piled on every available surface.
The Steward perched on the best chair next to the hearth, Mother’s reading chair, the only good chair in the room. Even without the bulk of his cloak, he was a big man, the Steward, out of place in such a small room. Ours was one of the largest cottages in the village, but it must have seemed tiny to him, accustomed as he was to the spaciousness of the Kellon’s hall. Or perhaps this task made him uncomfortable. He was good at his job, people agreed, managing the Kellon’s business affairs, dealing with farmers and merchants and inn managers and the like. This sun’s work was a little different.
“The answer’s no,” I said. If I could get my answer out quickly, perhaps I could escape without an interminable discussion.
His eyebrows shot up. “You know what this is about then?”
“I can guess.” I looked him straight in the face, and after a few moments he dragged his eyes upwards to meet mine.
“Hmm.” A quick glance across to my parents, then back to me. “Won’t you sit down?”
He patted the chair next to him, but I chose one nearer the door, as if I could be away sooner that way.
“Kyla, I...”
“Kyra. My name’s Kyra.”
“Kyra... I’m not sure... You’re fourteen, is that right?” I nodded. “And you don’t have... a sweetheart?” A shake this time. “Well, then, good, good.” He shuffled uncomfortably, and his eyes slid to the door. My heart leapt. Perhaps he would go? Then he clearly made up his mind to plough onward. “Kyra, you’re a sensible girl, I’m sure. You understand that the Kellon is a very kind man. He wouldn’t hurt you...”
“Oh, it’s not that,” I said. “Everyone speaks well of him, the Kellon. He’s a good man, I know that. But I have plans for my life, and being a drusse isn’t part of it.”
“It’s not for long,” he said, mildly reproachful. “A ten-sun, no more than that. Not even half a moon. You can spare that, surely?”
“But if there’s a child, it would be a great deal more than a ten-sun.”
“True, but think what a service you would be doing. The entire realm would benefit from your generosity.”
That almost made me laugh! Our local Kellon had little influence on the rest of Bennamore.
Perhaps he realised he was overstating the case, for he changed direction. “You would be well looked after. The Kellon is always most generous, most generous indeed. You would want for nothing.”
Except my freedom. Except the chance to live my own life, to chase my own dreams.
“And think of your status!” he went on. “Even if there were no child, the increase is considerable. Well worth it to any woman, I should think. It would reflect well on your parents, your whole family.” He looked at my determined face and sighed, shifting in the chair so that it creaked alarmingly. “But you have set yourself against the idea, I can see.”
“If I could take the herbs against pregnancy...” I began.
“Ah, but no. It may be that you don’t fully appreciate the Kellon’s position. Your village is a long way from the town, practically on the border, you know, and buried out here in the forest, you likely don’t know much about the problems of nobility.”
Oh, yes, such terrible problems they have. How to spend the tax money they collect from hardworking folk. How to fill their idle hours. How to eat all the food we send them. I’d like to have their problems.
But I sat in silence and let him have his say; the restrictions of the Kellon’s marriage contract, his sick wife, the delicate only child of the marriage, the drusse-born second heir, the not very promising children by former drusse, the possibilities for a drusse who produced an heir with greater potential. He droned on, and I nodded politely, barely listening. I got the point, he needed heirs, but I didn’t want my life defined by my ability to breed children.
“So you can see what an opportunity this is, and you would suit him very well,” the Steward rushed on. “Admirably, in fact...” His eyes drifted down to my chest again, and then back upwards. “And he doesn’t mind red hair, you know. He likes his drusse a little different. I’m sure you would enjoy being a lady for a ten-sun. So I can’t see...”
“I have a plan,” I said loudly, looking him in the eye. “I intend to be a law scribe.”
He almost laughed, but a glance at the grave faces of my parents convinced him not to, and he coughed instead. “That will be expensive for your family,” he said solemnly. Meaning: how can a village rat like you possibly afford that?
“I’m saving up,” I said. “Mother pays me to help with her pupils in the teaching room, and soon I’ll be starting work at the inn, too. I can get enough to pay for the first two years, and then I’ll get a patron for the rest.”
He looked at me doubtfully. “Well. You have it all worked out, I see.” He hoisted himself to his feet, and we rose in unison. “Pity. But there’s no more to be said. Surprising, though,” he said, half to himself. “Don’t often get an outright refusal. But there will be plenty of others more willing.” Gallantly he added, “I wish you luck with your endeavours, my dear.”
“Master,” my mother said. Even though he turned towards her, he was still creeping towards the door. “Master, we have not yet had the opportunity to discuss this together.”
“I won’t change my mind,” I said calmly. I wasn’t angry with her, but the sooner this was over the better and she was delaying it unnecessarily.
“Perhaps not,” she said, “but you should consider it carefully, from all angles, before making a final decision.”
The Steward paused, hand on the doorknob. His eyes flicked, lizard-like, from mother to me and back again. “That is wise, perhaps. After all, you are...” Again the eyes dropped briefly, before returning to my face. “You would suit the Kellon perfectly. I have some other business here. If I stay another night at the inn, and return tomorrow morning, perhaps?”
Mother smiled and nodded her assent.
“Here,” he said, rummaging through the many pockets of his coat and pressing a crumpled paper into my hand. “These are the standard terms you’d be offered. You can read, I assume? Well, tomorrow then.”
Finally the Steward left. Mother followed him into the hall to show him out, voices murmuring.
“I’d have said your hair was strawberry blonde, myself, not red,” Father whispered, making me smile.
When Mother returned, she looked me up and down, her face expressionless. “I have the children to attend to. We will discuss this further this evening.” She swept out, and I followed her back to the teaching room.
~~~~~
It was not Mother’s way to sulk, so her manner was perfectly affable to me all afternoon, and through evening board. She sat at the middle of the table, supervising the distribution of the pie so that the servants got their fair share and the two boys took no more than they were due, gently reminding the servants of the proper time to bring the side dishes through from the kitchen, all the while holding a detailed conversation with Father across the table regarding his taxes.
Afterwards, she efficiently dispatched everyone to their evening chores and, with no more than a lift of one eyebrow to Father and myself, led us through to the parlour.
She settled herself in her chair. “Now, Kyra, let us talk sensibly. You are an adult now, there is no need to be coy. If the idea of sex bothers you...”
“It’s not that.”
“I know he’s not young, but he’s well enough for his age and...”
“It’s not that at all, Mother. I don’t want to risk having a child.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a woman having children,” she said sharply.
“No, of course not, I didn’t mean . . . In the future, maybe, but not yet. It would stop me going to the scribery. Did you read the terms? I’d be tied for years. It’s bad enough having to wait till I’m sixteen. Most scribes start training at thirteen, you know.”
She sighed, for we’d talked about this many times before. Her voice was pitying. “Child, you do realise it’s just a dream, don’t you? You’d have to save all that money, then pass an admission test. Even if you manage that, you’d struggle to meet the standard. A village teaching room can’t possibly prepare you for a scribery. You might manage one year and become a common scribe, and that would be useful to the village, but a law scribe? Five years? You’re aiming for the sun.”
I let her run on. I’d heard it all before.
She sniffed. “What sort of life is that for a village girl anyway, going off to Ardamurkan and mixing with the nobility and pretending to be so grand? That sort of ambition never ends well. The village is good enough for the rest of us. You’d be able to take over the teaching room after me, you know; a reasonable income for life and a useful service for the village. What more could you want? Being the Kellon’s drusse wouldn’t affect that at all. I don’t see why you have to be so inflexible.”
Poor Mother. She would never understand how constricting the village was to me, how much I longed to escape. It choked the life out of me. I didn’t want to warm the Kellon’s bed or provide him with a squalling brat who just might eventually be Kellon or Kellona after its father. Instead, I wanted to advise him on points of law, to prepare treaties and contracts, to scribe spellpages for him and call on the power of magic. I shivered with anticipation every time I thought of it. Maybe I’d never be a law scribe – I wasn’t stupid, I knew it was unlikely – but I desperately wanted to learn at least the basic spells. The very thought of it thrilled me, and there was no magic in the village.
“If pregnancy is the only issue...” Mother said, and paused. “The Kellon... it is very unlikely.... There are rumours....”
It was so unlike her to speak disjointedly that I was silent, waiting for her to compose herself. She fastidiously smoothed away an imaginary crease in her skirts, focused on her hands as if she didn’t want to look me in the eye. “There are rumours he can’t father a child.”
“But he already has several children!”
“Oh, the two eldest, the Kellonor and Bai-Kellonor... well, they must be his, of course. But the drusse children... there are three of those, and all from the same village, did you know that? And quite recent. But... I heard that they arranged to be pregnant before they became drusse.”
“What! You mean – they cheated?”
She clucked impatiently. “Is it cheating to give a great man exactly what he wants? And the women got what they wanted too – a secure home, a child...”
“And no man underfoot,” Father said, smiling.
I was too shocked to get the joke. “So the Kellon raises three children that aren’t his. Is that what he wants? And you surely aren’t suggesting I get pregnant by someone else?”
“No, of course not, Kyra. Really, you do take the wrong idea, sometimes. It means you don’t have to worry about becoming pregnant, that’s all. You could be his drusse, take the status marks and the money and the gowns, and still go off to the scribery at sixteen, if you insist on it. Don’t you see?”
Was it possible? The money would be useful, and the gowns – I never wore gowns if I could help it, but then I’d never had pretty ones. “Do you know this? Can you guarantee it?”
“Kyra, you’re not listening. I told you that I heard it said, that’s all. But three of them, all from the same village, and none elsewhere. It can’t be a coincidence, can it?”
“Almost anything can be a coincidence,” I said sharply, and saw Father’s eyes twinkling in appreciation. I’d learned my letters in Mother’s teaching room, but Father’s patient explanations had taught me about numbers and the possibilities of events. “But this is just gossip. I can hardly depend on it.”
Mother’s face settled into its usual dour expression mingled with disappointment. She was often disappointed in me.
~~~~~
The Steward came again the next morning, and asked if I’d reconsidered. In the politest way possible I told him no, as Mother struggled to hide her dissatisfaction.
“Ah, well, never mind,” the Steward said kindly. “Maybe next year, eh?”
Mother’s face lifted at once, and I almost groaned. A whole year of her not-quite-nagging was a dispiriting thought. She probably thought it would be a struggle to save up enough money, so I would have to give up my dream of becoming a scribe. Despite the temptation of silks and silver, though, I wouldn’t change my mind. I had convinced myself of a different destiny and was prepared to do whatever it took to follow it. I was fourteen, and I knew everything and nothing.
