The Ship Who Won (13 page)

near the river. Observed only by a few green-balls, he ate

some raw roots from the supply that he had concealed

there in straw two nightfalls before. All the harvests had

been good this year. No one had noticed how many basket

loads he had removed, or if they had, they didn't remember. Their forgetfulness was to his advantage.

His hunger now satisfied, Brannel made his way back to

the cavern, to listen to the remarkable happenings of the

day, the new mage, and how the mage had been struck

down. No one thought to ask what had happened to this

mage and Brannel did not enlighten them. They'd have

forgotten in the morning anyway. When nights darkness

fell, they all swarmed back into the warm cave. As they

found their night places, Alteis looked at his son, his face

screwed as he tried to remember something he had

intended to ask Brannel, but gave up the effort after a long

moment.

a CHAPTER FOUR

At a casual glance, the council room of the High Mage

of the South appeared to be occupied by only one man,

Nokias himself, in the thronelike hover-chair in the center,

picked out by the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. Plennafrey realized, as she directed her floating spy-eye to gaze

around the palatial chamber, that more presence and

power was represented there and then than almost anywhere else on Ozran. She was proud to be included in that

number allied to Nokias, proud but awed.

Closest to the rear of the hover-chair hung the simple

silver globes of his trusted chief servants, ready to serve the

High Mage, but also guarding him. They were die eyes in

the back of his head, not actual fleshly eyes as Plennafrey

had imagined when she was a child. Ranged in random

display about the great chamber were the more ornate

globe eyes of the mages and magesses. In the darkest corner hovered the sphere belonging to gloomy Howet.

Mage-height above all the others flew the spy-eye ofAse-dow, glaring scornfully down on everyone else. Iranikas

red ball drifted near the huge open window that looked

out upon the mountain range, seemingly inattentive to the

High Mages discourse. Immediately before Nokias at eye

level floated the gleaming metallic pink and gold eye of

Potria, an ambitious and dangerous enchantress. As if

sensing her regard, Potrias spy-eye turned toward hers,

and Plennafrey turned hers just in time to be gazing at

High Mage Noldas before the mystical aperture focused.

At home in her fortress sanctuary many klicks distant,

Plenna felt her cheeks redden. It would not do to attract

attention, nor would her inexperience excuse an open act

of discourtesy. That was how mages died. For security, she

tightened her fingers and thumb in the five depressions on

her belt buckle, her personal object of power, and began to

draw from it the weblike framework of a spell that would

both protect her and injure or kill anyone who tried to

cross its boundaries as well as generate an atmosphere of

self-deprecation and effacement. Her magical defenses

were as great as any mages: lack of experience was her

weakness. Plennafrey was the most junior of all the mages,

the sole survivor of her family. She had taken her fathers

place only two years ago. Thankfully, Potria appeared not

to have taken offense, and the pink-gold spy-eye spun in

air to stare at each of its fellows in turn. Plenna directed

her blue-green spy eye to efface itself so as not to arouse

further notice, and let the spell stand down, inactive but

ready.

"We should move now to take over Klemays stronghold," Potrias mental voice announced. Musical as a hom

call, it had a strong, deep flavor that rumbled with mystic

force. On the walls, the mystic art of the ancients quivered

slightly, setting the patterns in motion within their deeply

carved frames.

"Counsel first. Lady Potria," Nokias said, mildly. He was

a lean, ruddy-faced man, not so tall as Plennafreys late

father, but with larger hands and feet out of proportion to

his small stature. His light brown eyes, wide and innocent,

belied the quick mind behind them. He snapped his long

fingers and a servant bearing a tray appeared before him.

The fur-face knelt at Nokiass feet and filled the exquisite

goblet with sparkling green wine. The High Mage of the

South appeared to study the liquid, as if seeking advice

within its emerald lights. "My good brother to the east,

Femgal, also has a claim on Klemays estate. After all, it

was his argument with our late brother that led to his property becoming... available."

Silence fell in the room as the mages considered that

position.

"Klemays realm lies on the border between East and

South," said Asedows voice from the electric blue sphere.

"It belongs not to Femgal nor to us until one puts a claim

on it. Let us make sure the successful claim is ours!"

"Do you hope for such a swift promotion, taking right of

leadership like that?" Noldas asked mildly, setting down

the half-empty goblet and tapping die base with one great

hand. A mental murmur passed between some of the other

mages. Plenna knew, as all of them did, how ambitious

Asedow was. The man was not yet bold enough nor strong

enough to challenge Nokias for the seat of Mage of the

South. He had a tendency to charge into situations, not

watching his back as carefully as he might. Plennafrey had

overheard others saying that it probably wouldn't be long

before carrion birds were squabbling over Asedow's

property.

"Klemay carried a staff of power that drew most

strongly from the Core ofOzran," Asedow stated. "Long as

your forearm, with a knob on the end that looked like a

great red jewel. He could control the lightning with it. I

move to take possession of it."

"What you can take, you can keep," Nokias said. The

words were spoken quietly, yet they held as much threat as

a rumbling volcano. Even then, Asedow did not concede.

Unless he was baiting Noldas into a challenge, Plenna

thought, with a thrill of terror. Not now, when they were

facing a challenge from a rival faction! Cautiously, she

made her spy-eye dip toward the floor, where it would be

out of the way of flying strikes of power. She'd heard of

one mage crisped to ash and cinders by a blast sent

through his spy-eye.

Noldas was the only one who noticed her cautious

deployment and turned a kindly, amused glance in her

drones direction. She felt he could see her through its

contracting pupil as she really was: a lass of barely

twenty years, with a pixie s pointed chin and large, dark

eyes wide with alarm. Ashamed of showing weakness,

Plenna bravely levitated her eye to a level just slightly

below the level held by the others. Noldas began to

study a comer of the ceiling as if meditating on its relevance to the subject at hand.

'There is something stirring in the East," Iranika said in

her gravelly mental voice, rose-colored spy-eye bobbing

with her efforts to keep it steady. She was an elderly

magess who lived at the extreme end of the southern

mountain range. Plennafrey had never met her in person,

nor was she likely to. The old woman stayed discreetly in

her well-guarded fortress lest her aging reflexes fail to stop

an assassination attempt. 'Twice now I have felt unusual

emanations in the ley lines. I suspect connivance, perhaps

an upcoming effort by the eastern powers to take over

some southern territory"

"I, too, have my suspicions," Noldas said, nodding.

Iranika snorted. 'The Mage of the East wants his realm

to spread out like sunrise and cover the whole of Ozran.

Action is required lest he thinks you weak. Some of you fly

on magic-back at once to Klemays mountain. The power

must be seized now! Strange portents are abroad."

"'Some of you' fly to the mountain? You will not be of

our number, sister?" Howet rumbled from his comer.

"Nay. I have no need of additional power, as some feel

they do," Iranika said, an unsubtie thrust at Asedow, who

ignored it since she sided with him to attack. "I have

enough. But I don't want Klemays trove falling into the

hands of the East by default."

"One might say the same about yours," Potria said

offensively. "Why, I should claim yours now before your

chair falls vacant, lest someone move upon it from the

West."

"You are welcome to try, girl," Iranika said, turning her

eye fully upon Potria s.

"Shall I show you how I'll do it?" Potria asked, her voice

ringing in the huge chamber. The pink-gold sphere

loomed toward the red. Both levitated toward the ceiling

as they threw threats back and forth.

Plenna's eyes-eye view wobbled as she prepared for

what looked like another contretemps between the two

women. As Asedow yearned for the seat of Mage of the

South, Potria craved Iranika's hoard of magical devices.

Though Noldas was the senior mage in this quarter, Plennafrey had heard he held the seat only because Iranika

didn't want it. She wished she was as secure in her position

as the old woman. Plennafrey would have given a great

deal to know if old Iranika kept her place by right or by

bluff. If one was seen as weakening, one became an almost

certain victim of assassination, and one's items of power

would be gone even before the carrion birds arrived to circle around the corpse.

To achieve promotion in the hierarchy, a mage or

magess must challenge and win against senior enchanters.

Such battles were not always fatal, nor were they always

magical. Sometimes, such matters were accomplished by

suborning a mage's servants to steal artifacts that weakened

power to the point where the mage could be overcome by

devious means. Kills gave one more status. Plennafrey

knew that, but she was reluctant to take lives. Even

thoughts of theft and murder did not come easily to her,

though she was learning them as a plain matter of survival.

Another way to get promotion was to acquire magical

paraphernalia from a secret cache left by the Ancient Ones

or the Old Ones-such things were not unknown-or to

take them from a mage no longer using them. Plenna

wouldn't get much of Klemays hoard unless she was bold.

She was determined to claim something no matter what it

cost her.

The items of power that descended from the Ancient

Ones to the Old Ones and thence to the mages varied in

design, but all had the same property, the ability to draw

power from the Core of Ozran, the mystic source. There

seemed to be no particular pattern the Ancient Ones followed in creating objects that channeled power: amulets,

rings, wands, maces, staves, and objects of mysterious

shape that had to be mounted in belts or bracelets to be

carried. Plennafrey had even heard of a gauntlet the shape

of an animals head. Nokias bore upon his wrist the Great

Ring of Ozran and also possessed amulets of varying and

strange shapes. His followers had fewer, but all these artifacts had one feature in common: the five depressions into

which one fit ones fingertips when issuing the mental or

verbal Words of Command.

"Enough bickering," Nokias said wearily. "Are we

agreed then? To take what we can of Klemays power?

What we find shall be shared between us according to seniority." Nokias settled back, the look in his eyes indicating

he did not expect a challenge. "And strength."

"Agreed," the voice issued forth from Potrias spy-eye.

"Yes," boomed Howet.

"All right," Asedow agreed sourly.

"Yes." Plenna added her soft murmur, which was almost

unheard among the other equally low voices around the

great room.

Iranika alone remained silent, having had her say.

'Then the eyes have it," Nokias said, jovially, slapping

his huge hands together.

Plennafrey joined in the chorus of groans that echoed

through the chamber. That joke was old when the Ancient

Ones walked Ozran.

"How shall we do this thing. High Mage?" Potria asked.

"Open attack or stealth?"

"Stealth implies we have something to hide," Asedow

said at once. "Ancient treasures belong to anyone who can

claim and hold them. I say we go in force and challenge

Femgal openly."

"Ah!" Potria cried suddenly. "Femgal and the Easter-lings are on the move at this very moment! I sense a

disruption in the lines of power in the debated lands!

Unusual emanations of power."

"Femgal would not dare!" Asedow declared.

"Wait," Noldas said, his brows drawn over thoughtful

eyes. His gaze grew unfocused. "I sense what you do,

Potria. Dyrene"-he raised a hand to one of his minions

hovering just behind her masters chair. "You have a spy-eye in the vicinity. Investigate."

"I obey, High Mage," Dyrenes voice said. The young

woman was monitoring several eyes at once for Nokias, to

keep the High Mage from having to occupy his attention

with simple reconnaissance. "Hmm-hmmm! It is not