The Fire Mages (6 page)

I was terrified it was my fault. When the news first reached me, in the form of a servant rushing into the spellarium wide-eyed, I could barely breathe. I could hear my heart pounding, and I’m sure I went chalk-white, the blood draining from my face.

Yet it was impossible, surely, that my practice spellpage could have had any impact. People could, and did, write out spells in a variety of ways and then burn them, a wish to the Moon Gods to intercede. Sometimes, purely by chance, the desired event would come to pass and it would seem to the superstitious as if the spell writing was effective. Yet it was impossible, I knew that.

As the spellarium swirled around me with excited babble, I willed myself to breathe calmly and tried to appear unconcerned.

The town closed down for the three suns of ceremonial. Shops were shuttered, workshops were silent, board houses drew blinds over their windows, and the taverns shut their doors. Even the inns, allowed by law to stay open to cater for travellers, were subdued, serving plain fare behind closed doors.

On the third sun, the main street was lined four or five deep the full length from the hall to the main gates, and beyond to the funeral pyre. Crowds had begun to gather the evening before to get the best spots to view the procession. I arrived at the last moment and could see little over the heads of those in front of me, but then I came only to pay my respects to the noble family, not for the spectacle.

The guards came first, followed by drummers leading the bier, all on foot. Then the mourners in status order – the Drashon’s representatives first on fine white stallions, then the local Durshalona, a stout lady on a stouter horse. Following them, the Kellon rode a black steed draped with the Lady Cerandina’s colours. Behind him a closed litter carried the daughter and heir, the Lady Bellastria, a pale face visible through glass windows, glimpsed only for an instant between the heads in front of me.

Then, on a fine brown horse, the boy with dark hair, his head down, solemn-faced.

My thoughts whirled. Then I realised... Axandrei. Drei. The Bai-Kellonor, the second heir who would likely be supplanted if the Kellon married again. How stupid of me not to work that out.

As I watched him pass, glad that I was well-hidden, his head lifted like a wolf scenting a deer. To my astonishment, he turned and looked directly at me, finding me unerringly even in such a vast crowd. I turned away, more annoyed than anything else. How did he do that? I had no idea, but I wished he wouldn’t. Faces looked curiously at me, and I swung around, knocking into elbows and shoulders as I pushed my way out of the crowd and ducked down a narrow alley leading away from the procession.

~~~~~

The town was subdued after the burning. There was no official period of mourning, as there would have been for the Drashon, but the whole moon of family mourning was observed. Although businesses reopened, there were no public celebrations or festivals, and markets were restricted to perishable items only.

But as soon as the moon was over, the suppressed fever of speculation broke out like a forest fire, leaping from inn to taproom to street to board house: the Kellon was negotiating to wed a lady from a port holding; he had gone to Kingswell to find a bride; no, he had a lover of long-standing there, and planned to bring her back with him; he had killed himself with grief, this last rumour so strong that the poor man was forced to appear on his balcony to reassure the concerned townsfolk; he was married again; he had sworn never to marry again, but he had sent for his drusse.

The last rumour I could verify for myself, for I had a message from Deyria the sun she arrived. The following sun, I found myself sharing a noon board with her and the Kellon. I tried all the food – I’d never seen so much for just three people – but only sipped the wine I was offered. A couple of experiments at the inn had gone so badly awry that I’d learned caution.

I hadn’t seen my sister since the previous summer and I barely recognised her. Gone was the scatterbrained, easy-going girl with the torn skirts and windswept hair. In her place I found a lady, gowned and coiffed and bejewelled, very much at ease in this world of nobles and servants and silver spoons for her food. When the Kellon selected the choicest parts of each dish and set them on her plate, or poured wine and pressed the glass goblet into her hand with a lingering look, she smiled and blushed and gazed demurely down at her lap. When the servants moved around with platters and bowls and jugs, she knew when to help herself and when to allow them to serve her. When I dropped a piece of fruit and reached down for it, she leaned across and gently placed her hand on mine, as a servant rushed forward to retrieve it. And all the while, she kept up a patter of conversation. She reminded me of Mother, although much better dressed.

It was the first time I’d seen the Kellon up close, and I was impressed. His belly told of a man no longer quite as fit as he had been, and his hair was more grey than not, but he kept himself well for his age. He had a relaxed way about him, not at all haughty. He was interested in my work at the scribery, amused that I had turned down the opportunity to be his drusse, and pleased that I would be so close to Deyria now.

“So you are in the mirror room?” he said. “I do not remember you from there, but then I seldom go myself.”

“I saw you there once, briefly,” I said.

“Ria has told me a great deal about you.” Ria! That was a new one. “About your ambition to be a law scribe. How you saved up your coins to pay for it. You would have made a useful sum as my drusse, you know.”

“I know it. But I might have ended up with a child as well.”

“Ah. Yes.” He was silent for a while as the servants gathered up plates and jugs, left bowls of nuts and dried fruit and fresh wine on the table, and then withdrew. “I –
we
– should like to talk to you about that.”

I raised my eyebrows, not sure where that line of thought was leading.

“You are probably aware,” he began, “that the Kellonor – my daughter – has many fine qualities, but her ability to be Kellona has been questioned. Not by me, you understand, but by some of my kin and subordinates, who feel that her...” He paused, seeking the right words. “...her physical limitations would constrain her to an undesirable extent. The Bai-Kellonor is not right either. By their judgment, you understand. He is a fine young man, but – different. And a Kellon or Kellona rules only by the acquiescence of the nobles.

“So... I need to reassure them by producing another possible heir. Well, I have three candidates lined up, there is no shortage, but whichever I choose I would have to marry the mother and – well, none of them appeal much. Not now that I have met Ria.” He smiled so warmly at her that she blushed again. When did she become so modest?

“I would like to marry Ria,” he said, looking me in the eye, “and she would like to marry me.” He took her hand, raising a deeper blush. “But we need a child, and she tells me that—” He sighed. “Forgive me, Kyra, but I must have an answer to this. An
honest
answer. Last summer you scribed a false spellpage for Ria to prevent pregnancy. Is there any chance it may have adversely affected her?”

Well. At least it was all in the open now. “Deyria must have told you how it happened.”

“Of course, but I need to hear it from you.”

“It was not a true spellpage, Lord. The paper, the ink, the pen were mundane – not magically enhanced. I wrote out the words of the spell, but there is no power in the words alone.”

“Indeed so, although many believe such superstitions. So your actions could not have caused any damage?”

“None at all.”

“Yes. That is as we thought. Ria has admitted it was a foolish idea...” He smiled indulgently at her. “No harm done, eh? We have not been able to spend as much time together as we would have liked, these last few months, and now that she is here and with me all the time, I daresay things will happen very quickly.”

I smiled and nodded, but I wasn’t so sure. The three proofs of his virility were dubious, and what would become of Deyria if she failed to provide the hoped-for child?

~~~~~

I was approaching the end of my second year at the scribery, and the limit of the training my meagre finances allowed. By the summer, I would be a transaction scribe, and although that would be a profitable enough career, it wasn’t enough for me. I was determined to complete the full five years and become a law scribe, but to go any further, I needed a patron.

Of my original cohort, only fifteen remained, and ten of those were content to leave or were rich enough to pay their own way into the third year. Each successive year cost substantially more than the year before, so only the wealthiest could afford the full fees. However, the scribery allowed each Master to choose a promising pupil for further training without payment. Only two had a vacancy, but I was confident that my talents would be acceptable.

On the sun of choosing, the two Masters with vacancies came to our study room. The five of us needing a patron were brought to the front of the room. Mani’s family were to pay for his third year, but Hestanora was one of the five. She eyed me rather smugly, and I wondered why she was so confident when she was far less accomplished than I was.

“Well now, Scribes,” one of the Masters said, “here’s your chance to impress us. Tell us everything about yourselves that you think would make you an attractive pupil to one of us.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that I would have to make a speech. What, after all, was there to say that they could not read from the records of the past two years? We knew both of them well, so what was the purpose of it?

The first boy to speak described himself in such glowing terms that I would have been impressed myself if I hadn’t known him. And he offered personal services to whichever Master chose him – cleaning, doing laundry, cooking, whatever was needed. The second boy offered in addition to pay one fifth of any earnings for life to the Master who became his patron. For life! It was ludicrous, but I saw one of the Masters nodding to that. Hestanora began a long recital of her noble family – all the Kellons and Durshalons she was distantly related to. She even claimed to be some kind of cousin to the Drashon.

My heart raced. How could I hope to compete with this? I had no noble lineage. I didn’t like the idea of giving away a sizable part of my income for ever. But it dawned on me that these Masters were not, after all, taking on poor pupils out of mere kindness. When Hestanora began to simper and blush and mention the very personal services she could provide in gratitude to her Master, I began to see what this was about. Why had I never realised this before? At the more advanced levels, tuition was much more personal, and the Master spent a great deal of time and effort with each trainee. Obviously they expected some recompense for that, and if it was not paid in money, then it had to be some other form. My dreams were vanishing before my eyes. Panic crept up on me and I shook with fear.

I had barely begun scrabbling in my mind for something I could offer when the door flew open, crashing against the wall, and a man strode in, his long coat flapping around his ankles. Not just a man, I realised. He was a mage, although the tattoo on his forehead was not one I recognised. I rarely had contact with any of the mages, and I had never seen this one before. He was skinny, with stringy blond hair falling to his shoulders, and he marched in as if he was lord of all the moons. In a way he was, for the mages were the nobility of the scribery.

He grinned at the five of us standing in line, uttering such a loud “Ha!” that Hestanora jumped. The two Masters exchanged glances.

“Cal, I thought you had already made your arrangements?” one of them said, in tones of resignation. They were irritated, but he outranked them, so they couldn’t complain.

The mage glared at them. “Didn’t work out. So what do we have here?”

He paced up and down, examining each of us and responding in ways that were bizarre and frankly a little frightening. He leered at one boy so closely that their noses almost touched, cackled with laughter at another, stared at my breasts and pulled Hestanora’s hair. To one boy he said, “Too ugly. Go away.” To another, he simply shook his head and waved him away. They both scuttled off to join the rest of the cohort at the back of the room. That left the boy who would pay a fifth of his earnings, Hestanora and me.

“Names,” he said with an airy wave of one arm.

“Teshion abre Lestor endor Ardamurkan.”

“Hestanora abra Teynia fen Gurshmonta.”

“Kyra abra Dayna endor Durmaston.”

“Well, well, well. A town boy, the daughter of a fancy family and a village rat. An interesting mixture. So, each of you, give me one reason why I should take you on.”

One reason. It didn’t seem like much to ask, but what could I offer that would entice a mage? My mind was blank. I could see my future slipping away from me.

The mage strode up and down the room, swishing past the three of us, back and forth, back and forth, like a crazed fly.

The boy began his speech again, and it was word for word the same. Well-rehearsed. Clever of him, for he seemed very composed under pressure, unlike me. But he had barely got beyond his test results when the mage flapped a hand at him.

“Enough! That’s more than one reason. I don’t want a pupil who can’t even count to one. Begone. Next.” He glared at Hestanora.