The Mage-Fire War (Saga of Recluce)

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “That’s good to know,” said Jessyla.

  Graalur frowned. “How can that be good to know?”

  “Because it’s easier to fight an evil man than one who’s merely misguided,” replied Jessyla. “Beltur?”

  “There’s a tiny bit of wound chaos near the bone,” Beltur said. “It might go away by itself, but I’d feel better dealing with it now.”

  “Dealing with it?” Graalur seemed to draw into himself.

  “You’ll likely feel a point of heat,” replied Beltur. “It will fade over the next glass, possibly sooner.” With that, he eased several small bits of free order into the captive trooper’s upper arm, guiding them to the wound chaos, bright red, but not the nasty yellowish red. The red faded to gray. “There.”

  “My arm feels like it’s fevered. Nothing else, just my arm.”

  “You’re fortunate,” said Gustaan dryly.

  “Very fortunate,” added Ruell. “Don’t complain.”

  Graalur opened his mouth, then shut it without speaking.

  “Ruell, why don’t you show Graalur the quarters building?” Gustaan’s words weren’t really a question.

  Ruell looked to Beltur as if to get an agreement.

  Beltur nodded. He had the feeling Gustaan had something to say that he didn’t want Graalur to hear.

  “Yes, ser. We can do that.”

  “And Graalur … don’t even think about trying to escape,” added Gustaan. “If we don’t kill you first, the mages will. Besides, you have a better chance of staying alive here than you ever would if you returned to Hydlen.”

  Once the two left the healing house, Gustaan cleared his throat, then said, “Poor fellow, it’s clear he never had a decent squad leader or captain.”

  “Could you straighten him out?” asked Beltur.

  “If he’s willing to make an effort.”

  Beltur nodded, then asked, “How long were you a squad leader?”

  “Six years or so.”

  “Did you ever think about becoming an undercaptain?”

  “That doesn’t happen in Hydlen … unless you can pay for the commission. I couldn’t.” Gustaan shrugged. “Might have been for the best. Half the majers are idiots. Most of the rest are toadies.” He paused for a moment. “It’s said you were an undercaptain in Spidlar. What was that like?”

  Beltur smiled. “Are you asking if the officers there were that bad? Most weren’t. Some were very good. The captain of the recon company I was assigned to was very good. Most of the captains were good.”

  “And the majers?” pressed Gustaan.

  “I can’t say I really saw that many majers. The two I did observe were very competent.”

  “That, by itself, does much to explain why the Gallosian invasion failed.”

  Jessyla opened her mouth, then shut it as Beltur threw a sharp glance at her.

  “I also suspect,” added Gustaan, “that the Spidlarian mages were more effective than those of Gallos.”

  “Not so much more individually effective as used to better effect,” replied Beltur. If not always for the right reasons. But Gustaan didn’t have to know that.

  “That suggests better officers.”

  “You don’t seem to have a high opinion of Hydlenese officers,” observed Beltur. “When we talked a while ago, you mentioned that you had trouble with an undercaptain. It sounded like the merchants have quite a bit of influence with the Duke…”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve heard that the Duke doesn’t pay much attention to most of them. We were unfortunate to be saddled with the incompetent son of one of the few to whom he does listen, and the captain worried about his family.”

  Beltur offered a quizzical look.

  “The captain was too trusting … let Undercaptain Herraat know about his family and where they lived.”

  “Herraat threatened him?”

  “Not in so many words, but … it was clear enough.”

  “Do you know what happened to his family?”

  Gustaan shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the captain no longer has a family. He never said anything before we were … volunteered, but I saw he was worried.”

  “Is everyone in Hydlen that vindictive?” asked Jessyla.

  “Only those who have coins or power,” replied Gustaan. “Isn’t it that way everywhere? Or most places?”

  “I’ve seen those with coins who’ve been fair and generous,” said Beltur, “and some who’ve been vicious and petty. I don’t think power and wealth make people mean. I think power and wealth allow people to be what they are at heart.”

  “You see life as fairer than I do, Mage.”

  “I don’t see life as fair or unfair, Gustaan. Life just is. How it turns out is how people make it turn out. Some people have choices. Some don’t. How fair it turns out depends on how those with real choices make those choices.”

  “I agree there,” replied the former squad leader. “I just think there are more selfish folks than good ones.”

  “Maybe that depends on the ruler,” suggested Jessyla. “The Duchess of Montgren seems to be fair … and so do most of the people we’ve met in Montgren. You’ve said that the Duke of Hydlen is cruel, vicious, self-centered, and vindictive, and you also feel that more people in Hydlen are selfish.”

  “Is it the ruler … or the people, lady mage?” asked Gustaan.

  “With a vicious and self-centered ruler, how much choice do the people have?” countered Jessyla.

  Gustaan chuckled and looked at Beltur. “She thinks … and speaks her mind.”

  “If she didn’t and hadn’t, I’d likely be long dead,” replied Beltur.

  “No,” said Jessyla, with an amused smile, “you’re here not because I spoke, but because you listened. Too many men don’t listen, even to other men, and certainly not to women.”

  “If we all survive the summer,” said Gustaan, glancing toward the quarters building, “it will be interesting to see what Haven will be like. Likely be a better place to live than anywhere I’ve been.”

  Beltur understood what Gustaan wasn’t saying, that he wanted the Council to succeed, but wouldn’t say so outright. “If we do, it will be.”

  “I’d better catch up with Ruell.” Gustaan nodded. “Appreciated talking with you both.”

  He turned and left the healing house.

  Once the door closed behind Gustaan, Beltur looked to Jessyla.

  “He hopes we’ll prevail, but he’s doubtful.”

  “If I were him, I’d be doubtful, too.”

  “From what he just told us,” said Jessyla, “the officers in Hydlen don’t have much more choice than the troopers.”

  “They have some leeway. I heard one order his men to kill everyone at a neighboring stead just because people resisted having their lambs taken. That sort of killing wasn’t required by his superiors. That was his choice.”

  “Do you think he felt he had a choice?”

  “He should have thought he did.”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  Beltur sighed. “I know.”

  “What are you going to do if the Hydlenese ride in tomorrow and ask us to turn the town over to the Duke?”

  “We can’t do that.”

  “Even if scores of people here will die?”

  “You heard what Graalur said … and what Gustaan said. Do you want to live under that sort of ruler? Do we want to turn over the town and the people to that kind of ruler?”

  “Of course not. That’s not the question. The question is whether we’re willing to impose all the deaths that resisting those troopers will cause. It’s not as though we can actually ask the people.” Jessyla snorted. “If we did, they’d say something like, ‘Protect us, but keep each of us safe.’ And if we told them the truth, they’d say that maybe we’d just better leave.”

  Beltur nodded. “They probably would. Those who are left aren’t the fighting kind. They’ll try to survive quietly under the worst of rulers. They deserve better.” />
  “And we’re the ones to decide that?”

  “Who else? Besides, even if we rode away, there will likely still be a war. Even if the Duchess surrenders Haven, Hydlen will try to invade Lydiar and hundreds or thousands will die. If we stop Hydlen here, more people may die here, but that just might stop a much bigger war.”

  “Do we know that?”

  “It’s very likely.”

  “Is that enough?”

  “I think…” Beltur paused. “I think believing that will have to do.” He looked to her. “What do you think?”

  “I agree. And I don’t like it at all.”

  XXXVIII

  Beltur woke uneasy and early on oneday morning. The fact that it was the first day of summer did nothing to cheer him, either, as he wondered what tack the Hydlenese would take … and when. Except he had a feeling that something would happen before the day was out and that, whatever it was, he wouldn’t be pleased.

  As he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, he took a deep breath.

  “I know,” said Jessyla from behind him. “I feel the same way. Something will happen today.”

  “Do you have any feel for what it will be?”

  “They’ll propose something we can’t accept. That way, they’ll feel justified in attacking. Or they’ll be deceptive from the start.”

  Beltur nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  After washing up and dressing, the two ate barely warm porridge and bread, washed down with ale, then filled two water bottles apiece with ale and walked to the barn. Beltur didn’t sense any troopers near, but he had no doubt that would change before that long.

  By seventh glass, Waerdyn and Ruell were posted, with Waerdyn to the west and Ruell to the east, and by two quints past seven, Beltur could sense both a small number of troopers advancing eastward on the road from the defaced kaystone and Waerdyn riding quickly down the main road toward the square.

  “It looks like a small group of troopers riding toward us, and Waerdyn’s hurrying to warn us,” Beltur announced. “You tell Tulya and Taelya, and I’ll let Lhadoraak know and the work crew know, although he may already have sensed them.”

  In less than a fifth of a quint, everyone was back at the Council House, including the four from the work group and Graalur, but not the two Montgren troopers posted as sentries.

  Beltur summarized what he knew, adding, “There are only five troopers coming in at the moment, and it looks as though they’ll be making a demand of some sort. Waerdyn should be here in a moment. He might be able to tell us more.”

  When the lead scout arrived, he dismounted, hurriedly tied his mount beside Slowpoke, and rushed through the door held open by Beltur into the front room of the Council House.

  “There are five of them,” he announced. “Four troopers and an undercaptain. They’re riding under a parley ensign.”

  “It looks like they’ll demand something like our departure or our turning the town over to the Duke,” Beltur said. “Or something that amounts to the same thing.”

  “How do you think we should respond?” asked Tulya evenly.

  “It all depends on what they say and how they present it.”

  “You’re not going to give up the town, are you?” asked Gustaan.

  “No,” replied Beltur, “but we’ll be better off knowing what they’re proposing before we decide how to fight them.”

  Lhadoraak frowned, but said nothing.

  “Should we all be outside when they arrive?” asked Tulya.

  “No,” said Jessyla. “Only those of us with shields, just in case. That doesn’t include Taelya.”

  Lhadoraak looked at his consort and nodded firmly.

  “What do you want the rest of us to do?” asked Gustaan.

  “Nothing … right at the moment. If it looks like they’re going to attack the town, I’d like all of you to move to Lhadoraak’s dwelling. Jessyla will get the arms from our storeroom, and you can defend Tulya and Taelya. That house has stone walls, and I trust you made the shutters strong.” Beltur grinned.

  “We did,” affirmed Dussef. “The inside door bars are strong, too.”

  “Now … let’s just wait and see how the Duke’s men want to take Haven,” said Beltur. “The three of us should probably wait outside.”

  Less than half a quint later, five riders in green uniforms with yellow piping reined up short of the hitching rail outside the Council House, with the trooper carrying the parley ensign at one end and the undercaptain at the other.

  “Let them speak first,” murmured Beltur.

  The undercaptain edged his mount forward, his eyes moving from one mage to another. Finally, he said, “Who might you be?”

  “Besides being mages and healers,” replied Beltur, “we are also councilors of the town of Haven, chartered and appointed by Korlyssa, Duchess of Montgren. And who might you be?”

  “An undercaptain of the Duke of Hydlen. I’ve been charged with conveying a message.” The undercaptain lifted a sheet of paper and began to read. “‘The Duke of Hydlen understands that a council now claims to govern Haven’—”

  “The Duchess of Montgren appointed the Council,” interjected Beltur. “That is not a claim. Now … you were saying?”

  The undercaptain did not reply for a moment, glancing down at the sheet of paper again. Finally, he continued. “‘That council has proved to be inadequate in stopping the incursions of renegade Lydian troopers and has failed to appreciate the rights of the traders of Hydlen. Therefore, as a representative of the Duke, Majer Smalkyn suggests that this … so-called council meet with him to discuss the peaceful transfer of the nonfunctioning governing of Haven to the Duchy of Hydlen.’” The undercaptain cleared his throat.

  “Undercaptain…” Beltur managed a smile. “The Council does not have the power to surrender any lands now held by the Duchy of Montgren to another duchy, regardless of what the majer says or believes. Or what the Duke contends. That is a matter that lies between the Duke of Hydlen and the Duchess of Montgren, not between the Council of Haven and the majer.”

  The undercaptain shook his head, as if he could not believe what he had heard. “You refuse to meet with the majer?”

  “I didn’t say that,” replied Beltur. “I said that the Council has no authority to turn over lands of Montgren to Hydlen, regardless of what the majer thinks or proposes. I would be more than happy to accompany you to explain this to the majer.”

  “He said ‘the Council.’”

  “In this, I can speak for the Council.”

  “But…”

  “Undercaptain,” said Beltur gently, “you can have me accompany you, or you can go back and report that you could get no one to meet with the majer. That is your choice.”

  “I must insist,” declared the undercaptain.

  “If you take that position … how well do you think the five of you would fare against three mages? Is getting yourself killed so that the majer can start a war how you’d like to be remembered?” Beltur surveyed the troopers. “Or how the rest of you would like to die?”

  The undercaptain stiffened in the saddle.

  Beltur waited.

  “You other councilors,” the undercaptain finally said, “do you agree that he speaks for your council?”

  “We do,” said Lhadoraak and Jessyla, not quite simultaneously.

  “Then we can proceed,” declared the undercaptain.

  “In just a moment,” replied Beltur, motioning Jessyla and Lhadoraak closer to him, and then murmuring, “What I want you two to do is wait until we leave the square, then follow us, under a concealment, if necessary. Wait for me a few hundred yards west of the brick posts at the end of town. I suspect that the majer has something less than honorable in mind, but we’ll see. If they attack, don’t just defend yourselves. Kill the officers and squad leaders.” Ignoring how Lhadoraak stiffened, he stepped forward and untied Slowpoke.

  The ensign bearer looked to the big gelding, then to Beltur, and tried n
ot to frown.

  Beltur smiled and mounted, moving Slowpoke up beside the undercaptain as the officer turned his own mount. It didn’t escape Beltur’s attention that, for the first time in eightdays, there wasn’t a single person in sight anywhere in or around the square.

  “How long did it take you to get here from Hydolar?” asked Beltur conversationally, checking his shields.

  “That would be up to the majer to say.”

  “Whose idea was it to attack the steads wearing Lydian uniforms?”

  “That’s why we’re here, to keep the Lydians from taking over Haven.” The undercaptain’s voice was measured, as if he’d practiced the words.

  Beltur caught the touches of chaos underlying the words, but went on, “Funny thing about those so-called Lydians, they all wore new uniforms, and they carried Hydlenese sabres.”

  “What the Lydians wear and carry isn’t something with which we’re concerned.”

  “Of course not,” replied Beltur. “But it did seem strange. So what happens after I meet with the majer?”

  “You’ll be free to return.”

  That was the first fully false statement the undercaptain had made.

  Beltur glanced toward the Brass Bowl as they rode by. He couldn’t help but notice Phaelgren standing in the main entry, watching. “Are you attached to the battalion command or detached from a company for this mission?”

  “That’s not your business to know, Mage.”

  “You must be from a merchanting family. What … a third or fourth son?”

  The undercaptain did not reply, but Beltur sensed the chaos his question had apparently roiled.

  “Where are we meeting the majer?”

  “Outside of town. I’d appreciate it if you refrained from any more questions.”

  “Why? Because you don’t like to lie or be deceptive?”

  That question generated more chaotic consternation, and Beltur could see and sense the tightness in the officer, a man likely only a year or two older than Beltur himself, but the undercaptain said nothing.

  After they rode another hundred yards or so, Beltur spoke again. “Nothing that relies on lies and untruths generally ever turns out well. The question then is who survives and in what condition.”