The Mage-Fire War

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “Isn’t it one on our part to try this?”

  “Is it that much greater than what we did to leave Spidlar? Both of our interests lie in our success.”

  “I like it that you didn’t say ‘if we’re successful.’”

  So did Beltur. He just hoped he wasn’t being unduly optimistic. But then, both Korsaen and the gambler had reminded him that everything in life was a gamble.

  And what’s worth gambling for more than the chance to direct our own lives from here on out?

  III

  Despite the early departure from Vergren, the white sun was low in the west when Karch pointed to the stone marker that listed Weevett as five kays ahead.

  “We made good time, Mage.”

  “Good weather helps.” Beltur wasn’t about to mention that he didn’t much care for the warm damp air with which much of Montgren seemed to be blessed.

  “The post where we’ll be staying is on the west edge of the town.”

  “Closer to the border with Certis,” replied Beltur. “How many companies are posted there?”

  “Just one. Quarters are tight when two companies are there.”

  “Have you had trouble with the Certans recently?”

  “No. Their border guards are well-disciplined. They stay on their land, and we stay on ours.”

  “What about Hydlen?” asked Jessyla.

  “I suspect that’s why the Duchess wants you to put Haven right again. I don’t see the Certans as a problem. The Gallosians, maybe, because they might support the Hydlenese.”

  While the size of the meadows and tilled fields around the cots flanking the road lessened somewhat as the group neared Weevett, all the cots were neat and well-tended, as were the flocks of sheep. The cottages at the edge of the town were of dusty yellow brick, and the roofs were of wooden shingles. The square in the center of the town still had vendors there, with others packing their carts, a good sign of a prosperous place given that few crops could possibly have been harvested besides early berries, and, of course, dairy products.

  As they rode west from the square, the paved avenue soon gave way to a graveled but smooth road. Ahead, Beltur caught sight of yellow brick walls, set back no more than fifteen yards from the road, walls barely three yards high and not all that prepossessing. Nor were the iron-bound gates more than a few digits thick. The inner courtyard was brick-paved and spacious enough to contain a large quarters building, an equally large stable, and several other buildings.

  Close to a glass later, after dealing with the horses, the mule, and other matters, Beltur and Jessyla stood in the small room for visiting officers, a space barely four yards by three with a narrow table with one pitcher and washbasin, wall pegs for clothes, and two narrow bunk beds. All the wood was the dark gold of aged oak.

  Beltur looked at the two beds and shook his head.

  “Four days in a lord’s mansion, and you’re already spoiled,” offered Jessyla with a smile.

  “I could hope, especially with what’s waiting for us in Haven.”

  “Right now, I’m hoping for a decent hot meal.”

  After washing up, the two left the room and made their way toward the officers’ mess. They’d only taken a few steps when Lhadoraak, Tulya, and Taelya joined them. When they reached the officers’ mess, little more than a single table in a small room off the troopers’ mess, Karch was already there, standing by the table and talking to another officer, also a captain from his collar insignia, but one who was balding and whose remaining hair was a pale gray, yet he was clearly younger than Karch. A much younger undercaptain stood a few paces back. All three officers looked up as the five approached.

  “Ah … mages,” said Karch. “This is Captain Raelf … and Undercaptain Cheld.”

  Raelf sat at one end of the table, with Beltur and Jessyla each sitting on a side next to him. Cheld was seated between Jessyla and Taelya, while Karch was at the other end of the table flanked by Lhadoraak and Tulya.

  Once everyone was seated, two rankers immediately appeared with large bowls, baskets of bread, and pitchers. The bowls contained burhka and overfried sliced potatoes. The only beverage in the pitchers, Beltur soon discovered, was an amber lager, almost as bitter as the brews Beltur’s uncle had preferred.

  Beltur’s first mouthful of the burhka told him that it was as highly spiced as any burhka he’d ever had, and the potatoes that followed were about as greasy as any he’d ever tasted. At least it’s all warm and cooked.

  After several moments, Raelf said pleasantly, “I understand you’re the new councilors for Haven. I can’t say that I envy you.”

  “Have you seen the town recently?” asked Jessyla.

  “Two eightdays ago, I accompanied a squad there. There was almost no one there when we rode in, although it was obvious that there had been many people at what pass for inns there. They departed just before we arrived.” Raelf shook his head. “It’s been like that for over a year. Last summer, a squad stayed for an eightday. No travelers or traders appeared. I’m sure there were people there within glasses of the time the squad left.”

  “Has anyone considered posting a unit there permanently?” asked Beltur.

  Raelf smiled gently. “I recommended that over a year ago. I’ve worried about Haven for some time.”

  “What was the reaction?” asked Jessyla.

  “I was asked to send a proposal to the Duchess, detailing how many men it would require and what the costs would be for a permanent post there. I did. I was commended for my efforts and told the matter was under consideration.”

  “Can you tell us what the costs would be?”

  “I reported it would take a minimum of two squads plus an undercaptain and a senior squad leader. Considering all the reasonable costs—I calculated that it would cost a minimum of ten golds an eightday, possibly even fifteen in the fall and winter. But then, costs tend to be more than you think.”

  Beltur almost choked on the bitter lager. Between five hundred and seven hundred golds a year! “I don’t quite understand one thing,” he said, knowing as he spoke that there was far more than one thing he didn’t understand. “The Duchess doesn’t tariff goods that come and go from Montgren. So why are there smugglers?”

  “The Viscount does. So does the Duke of Lydiar. The Duke of Hydlen tariffs outlanders but not his own people. The smugglers, especially the Gallosians, use the old road because it’s easier to avoid the Certan and Hydlenese tariff inspectors. They’re all rather tough, and they want things their way.”

  “What would happen if we merely insisted that they behave?”

  “They’d try to kill you or run you out.” Raelf smiled wryly. “If … if you beat them and outlasted them, before too long, things would go back the way they were years ago. They’d put up with being orderly because they’d still make silvers, but they haven’t had to for years.”

  “What’s the worst thing we could do?” asked Beltur.

  “Do nothing, but try to collect past-due tariffs,” replied Raelf.

  “If you had been sent with a company, what would you have done first?” asked Jessyla.

  “Restore order. For small offenses, give the offender a warning. For the second offense, give them the maximum punishment under the duchy’s laws. Don’t try to do everything at once. Make the inns safe for everyone, first. Then do what you can. Those are my thoughts.” Raelf grinned. “I’m just glad it’s you and not me.” The grin faded.

  Beltur took another small swallow of the bitter lager.

  Raelf cleared his throat and addressed Lhadoraak. “I understand that two of you were pressed into service as arms-mages against the Gallosians. He mentioned something I found interesting—you said that iron arrows could weaken white mages. What about strong white mages?”

  Lhadoraak looked down the table. “Beltur had more experience with that.”

  Beltur set down his beaker. “Iron holds order naturally. That makes iron arrows dangerous to chaos mages. They can block the arrows, but each one th
at they block weakens them. I added a little order to some of the arrows. In one instance, there were enough arrows aimed at a mage that they killed him, and he exploded when the ordered iron pierced his shield. It can be hard on the archers shooting at a mage, though, unless they’re shielded by a black.”

  “Still … that bears some thought,” mused Raelf.

  “Why do you say that?” asked Tulya.

  “Montgren has few mages of any sort, and both Certis and Hydlen are known to have white mages that can accompany their troopers. Anything that could limit or weaken them might be useful.”

  Hydlen has whites that accompany their troopers? Beltur didn’t recall that coming up before. He took another swallow of the ale. It was still bitter.

  IV

  Beltur and Jessyla rode at the head of the column, flanking Captain Karch, as they made their way out of Weevett at sixth glass on fourday morning. As before, Lhadoraak, Tulya, and Taelya rode with the rear guard, the mule with their own goods and provisions, and the two supply wagons.

  Karch had been politely insistent after dinner the evening before, saying, “Ser, it would be best if we leave Weevett early so that we can arrive in Haven before midafternoon.”

  Beltur half smiled as he remembered the captain’s less direct way of stating that it would be foolish to arrive late in the afternoon.

  Once they were well clear of Weevett, heading south-southeast, Beltur said, “There don’t seem to be many travelers.”

  “Just folks going to or from Hydolar. Almost no one goes to Haven anymore.” The captain shrugged. “Anyone coming from Lydiar to Montgren or Jellico will take the shorter road that cuts off the Lydiar road east of Haven.”

  “Captain Raelf seems to have thought a great deal about Haven.”

  “He’s thought a great deal about many things. He may be leaving Weevett before long. The word is that he’ll be promoted to majer and become second to Commander Pastyn.”

  “Is he from somewhere in Montgren?”

  “No, he’s from Renklaar. He started there, and became a senior squad leader in the forces of the Duke of Hydlen, then went to Lydiar, where he was an undercaptain for five or six years. Then he came to Montgren.”

  Beltur shook his head. He should have remembered that Korsaen had said something like that, but it did explain why such an apparently capable officer was only a captain. “Did Lord Korsaen have anything to do with that?”

  “I couldn’t say, ser. I do know that Lord Korsaen respects ability, no matter where it comes from. All that Raelf has said was that the only ability rewarded in Hydlen was blind obedience, and the ability most rewarded in Lydiar was blind loyalty, and that was one reason why he came to Montgren. One of the unspoken rules is that we never ask where someone came from, only where they last served and in what capacity.”

  “Very practical,” said Jessyla.

  “The other rule is that we never share what another officer says about his past, except to the commander or Lord Korsaen. In your capacity, you and the others are considered officers.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The Duchess would have it no other way.” Karch smiled pleasantly.

  “I take it that there are few if any brigands plaguing the roads here.”

  “There have been no reports of anything—except on the road from Haven to southern Certis and Gallos. Such reports are suspect, since they serve the interests of the Prefect or the Duke of Hydlen.”

  “Are town councils responsible for dealing with brigands near the town?”

  “Only within the town proper.” Karch paused, then added, “Or relatively nearby.”

  While Beltur doubted that any brigands were anywhere close, or that they’d stay around with a hundred mounted armsmen riding down the road, he still kept his senses out, as much to stay in practice knowing who and what was nearby—because he’d certainly need to know that for a long time to come. Most likely for the rest of your life, one way or another.

  Slightly past midday, Karch cleared his throat. “According to the map and what I recall, Haven’s less than ten kays away. We should be reaching a crossroads of sorts before long.”

  “A crossroads of sorts?”

  “The road we’re on joins the old road between Lydiar and Gallos that traders used to take to Jellico. West of that junction there’s a newer road that forks off toward Hydolar. The border with Hydlen’s only about five kays southwest of the crossroads … or what passes for one.”

  “I thought it was shorter to go through Weevett to Jellico.”

  “It is, now, ser. But before the grandsire of the Duchess built the road from Weevett through the hills and the shorter cutoff that goes from the Lydiar road to Weevett, the only way was through Haven. The shortest way from Hydolar to Lydiar is still through Haven.”

  “So the traders who’ve taken over Haven are likely from Hydolar?”

  “Or they’re smugglers who use the old roads to avoid the Viscount’s and Duke’s tariff inspectors.” Before that long, Karch said, “You can see the old road just ahead.”

  “I do.” Beltur could not only see the road about a kay ahead, but also sense a man on a slope above the junction, most likely in a tree, with a mount below, not that he could see either.

  He had only ridden a few yards farther when he sensed that the man had mounted his horse. “Someone posted a watcher above the junction. He’s riding toward Haven.”

  Karch snorted. “All the renegades will be gone by the time we reach the town. Majer Staarkyn said that would likely happen.”

  Beltur nodded. That was certainly what the Duchess had expected as well. “Is he the one that Captain Raelf might replace?”

  “He is. He’s the oldest majer ever in Montgren, and he asked to take a stipend beginning on the first day of summer.”

  Those words raised questions about the number of older officers, but questions that Beltur saw no point in voicing. He was more concerned with the fast-moving rider, but could only keep track of him for a time, because he was riding faster than Beltur and the others.

  Just as Karch had said, the road from Weevett effectively ended—or made a sharp left turn to the east. The old road continued westward, but Beltur couldn’t sense where the road to Hydolar branched off, and that meant it was more than two kays to the west. Farther to the southwest was a much taller hill, but the ground directly to the south had a definite slope to it, and the road heading toward Haven looked to have a gradual rise.

  There were more than a few tracks on the road toward Haven, and not just those of the rider who had recently fled. The area around the junction seemed almost unsettled, with two ramshackle cots a half kay apart and some twenty yards back from the road. Trees, most of them less than fifteen years old, grew haphazardly on the slope to the northwest of the junction, as well as on the ground south of the road.

  Beltur didn’t see any sign of sheep, and realized that he hadn’t for almost ten kays, definitely a departure from the usual in Montgren.

  Roughly two kays later, Karch gestured to a stone marker ahead. “That’s the kaystone for Haven.” Then he leaned forward. “Someone’s chiseled off the name.”

  Beltur looked more closely. There was a lighter-colored oblong where the name presumably had been, followed by a worn five and a “K.” He looked to Karch. “I’ve never seen anyone do that before. Have you?”

  The captain shook his head. “The stone where the name was looks newer, as if the old stone had been chiseled away. But I don’t see any chisel marks. Whoever did it knows his craft. The name was here the last time that Raelf’s men patrolled. He would have reported it otherwise.”

  That meant less than two eightdays ago. Beltur frowned. First, the rider galloping away toward Haven, and then the kaystone. “But why would they erase just the name?”

  “It might be someone’s idea of a prank, a way of saying that Haven no longer exists, but I don’t see most pranksters wanting to put in that much work.”

  “What about Hydlenese troopers
?”

  “That doesn’t make sense to me,” replied the captain.

  More than a few things weren’t making sense to Beltur. He was just afraid that they’d make sense in a way he wouldn’t like when he finally did figure them out.

  Beltur kept riding and trying to sense what he couldn’t see. What he did see was anything but encouraging. While many of the cots and cottages they passed were inhabited, and had likely once looked well-kept, even their yellow-gray brick walls now looked dingy. Most of the shutters were fastened tight, fitting for winter, but hardly the best practice in midspring—unless they were closed for protection against raiders or brigands, rather than the weather.

  What he sensed was, for the most part, even less than he saw. Before long, they reached the edge of what once had been the town proper, marked by two brick posts, one on each side of the road. The square stone crown on the top of the right-hand post was only half there; the post on the left side had no top at all. Immediately beyond the right post was a house with an outbuilding reached by a narrow drive. The outbuilding looked like it had once been a smithy, but the door was boarded shut, as was the door of the house.

  At that moment, Beltur sensed something near the middle of town, something unfamiliar … yet very familiar. How could you not notice that? Then he stiffened and immediately pulled full order and chaos shields around himself, so that the other mage couldn’t sense him. He thought it likely that the other mage wouldn’t notice, if he’d noticed anything. Also, before long, the other mage or mages would still sense Jessyla and Lhadoraak, if they hadn’t already, and they shouldn’t notice that Beltur couldn’t be sensed. You hope.

  Beltur turned in the saddle and said to Jessyla, “What do you sense ahead?”

  She concentrated and then frowned. “I don’t … oh … is that a white mage?”

  “A very disordered one. Two in fact.” And one is surrounded by chaos. More chaos than Beltur had ever sensed in one mage, but that could mean a strong disciplined mage or one not so strong and undisciplined, most likely younger, since strong undisciplined whites tended to die young.