The Mage-Fire War

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  Dussef just nodded.

  “I can’t go anywhere yet,” said Therran.

  “Not me,” said Ermylt. “The sooner I can leave this stinking town, the better. Five coppers, you said.”

  Beltur dug five coppers out of his wallet and handed them to the surly armsman. “That means you have a glass to leave Haven. You harm anyone here or remain longer, and your life is forfeit.”

  “Five stinking coppers.” Ermylt shook his head. “You won’t see me hanging around here any longer than I need to. Can I go?”

  “In a moment,” replied Beltur. “The other four of you … this will remain your bunk room, but there won’t be any guards. You can have today to look around Haven, if you want. We’ll go over what needs to be done first thing tomorrow. If you harm anyone, your life could be forfeit.”

  “You’re awful touchy, Mage,” said Ermylt.

  “We’re here to protect the people of Haven.” Beltur nodded to Jessyla, who stepped out of the tack room. Beltur followed.

  When they were outside, Beltur said quietly to her, “I’m getting Slowpoke. I’ll follow Ermylt until I’m sure he’s left Haven. You keep an eye on the other four.”

  “They’ll likely just walk around, but I’ll keep close.”

  Beltur hurried to the stable, where he unstalled Slowpoke and led him out into the stable yard. While he could sense Ermylt, the armsman was already almost to the main street and walking eastward. Although that made sense, since Ermylt shouldn’t have wanted to go back to Hydlen, the purposefulness of the armsman’s steps bothered Beltur.

  After quickly mounting, Beltur turned Slowpoke toward the main street, then wrapped a concealment around the two of them, urging the big gelding into a fast walk. Even so, by the time Beltur and Slowpoke reached the street, Ermylt was a good fifty yards farther east, walking down the south side of the street, but he was easy to follow, since no one else was around east of the inn at the moment.

  Over the next half kay, Beltur edged Slowpoke closer to the armsman, but then Ermylt angled across the street to the north side. Beltur couldn’t help but notice that Jaegyr and Julli’s small stone house was only a hundred yards or so ahead, and he eased Slowpoke to the north side as well and urged the gelding into a faster walk, trying to close the gap between him and the armsman, but not wanting to make any sound that might alert Ermylt.

  After a quick glance over his shoulder, Ermylt turned from the street and sauntered toward the front garden where Julli was working with her plants, what kind Beltur couldn’t tell from sensing, since he was reluctant to remove the concealment quite yet, although he was now only about twenty yards behind the armsman.

  Julli straightened up, holding in her right hand a small garden spade.

  “Hello, there, pretty woman by the tree,” called Ermylt cheerfully. “Are you lonely like me?”

  “I’m hardly lonely,” replied Julli, stepping carefully out of the garden, but still holding the short spade. “I’m also not interested. You’d be better off with your smile and rhyming words at the inn.”

  “But you’re here and not at the inn,” said Ermylt. “That’s such a shame.” He continued to walk toward Julli.

  “I told you the last time I wasn’t interested.”

  “But I am.”

  Julli shifted her grip on the shovel. Beltur continued to shorten the distance between him and Ermylt.

  Julli didn’t move as the armsman stopped less than a yard from her. “You’d better be on your way. My consort wouldn’t appreciate your being here, and neither would the councilors.”

  “But they’re not here. It’s just the two of us, and there’s no point in your making such a fuss.” With that, Ermylt lunged toward her.

  Julli brought the butt end of the shovel up into Ermylt’s gut, just as the armsman partly turned, lessening the impact of the shovel and ripping it out of Julli’s hands.

  Beltur dropped the concealment.

  While the armsman staggered for a moment, he regained his balance, and, from somewhere, produced a dagger. “You’re going to do what I want.”

  At that moment, Beltur placed a containment around the bravo and rode forward until he was only a few yards away. He looked down at the immobile armsman. “I told you that your life would be forfeit if you didn’t leave Haven or if you harmed anyone.”

  “I didn’t harm her. She hit me first,” snapped Ermylt. “She and I were just going to have a little fun.”

  “With a knife?” Beltur’s sarcasm was raw. “Tell me … tell me honestly that you weren’t going to take her whether she wanted it or not.”

  “I was just looking for some fun.”

  Beltur almost sighed. “Let’s try this one more time. Your life depends on your answer.”

  “I wasn’t going to hurt her.”

  “That wasn’t the question.”

  “You won’t do anything, not if I don’t lie. I’m not saying anything more.” Ermylt offered an expression that was half triumphant smile, half smirk.

  “That’s an answer,” said Beltur tiredly, as he snapped the containment tight around Ermylt’s neck, feeling in moments the black mist of death. He released the containment and let the bravo’s body drop to the ground. The knife fell separately.

  Julli’s eyes widened.

  Beltur slowly dismounted and picked up the dagger, wondering just where Ermylt had gotten it and how he’d managed to keep it hidden. “I’m sorry he bothered you. He’d promised to leave Haven and not to harm anyone.”

  “You obviously didn’t trust him. Why did you let him go at all?” Julli’s voice was more curious than angry, although Beltur could sense some anger. She leaned forward and recovered the short gardening shovel, then straightened, her eyes on Beltur.

  “As a councilor, I can’t act against people for what I feel about them or what I think they might do. I can act against them for what they do, especially if they’re trying to harm people. I warned him that failing to leave Haven or harming anyone would make his life forfeit. You heard what he said.”

  “He’d been threatened before and found those threats empty.”

  “I didn’t threaten him,” Beltur said quietly. “I told him what he could do and what he could not and what would happen to him if he harmed anyone.”

  “Would you have done anything if he’d walked out of Haven?”

  “Not a thing … unless he later returned and did harm.” Beltur bent and lifted the heavy form and eased it over the saddle. “I need to take his body back to his former comrades so that they can see what happened.”

  He took Slowpoke’s reins and began the walk back to the inn. How many men end up dying because they’ve gotten away with things for so long that they never believe that they’ll ever pay for their acts? The second thought that crossed his mind was darker. How many do terrible things for which they never pay?

  He kept walking. Before long, he could see the East Inn clearly, and he glanced toward the square beyond, still empty, wondering if he’d judged the other four former bravos correctly. Their reaction to Ermylt’s death might just tell him something.

  He’d barely tied Slowpoke up outside the inn’s stable when Gustaan appeared.

  The older bravo’s eyes narrowed.

  Beltur handed him the dagger. “He walked to the house of a woman he’d seen before. He tried to force her. I stopped him. Then he lied to me. But then he was lying all along.”

  “You knew that, and you let him go?”

  “He hadn’t hurt anyone since we’ve been here. I told you all not to harm anyone. He not only tried to take a woman against her will—”

  “How did you know that, ser?”

  “I followed him under a concealment, like this.” Beltur drew a concealment around himself, immediately sensing the other’s involuntary steps away. After a moment, he removed the concealment and went on. “She was gardening. She told him she wasn’t interested.” From there Beltur explained what had happened.

  Gustaan shook his head. “He n
ever did listen. I told him that blacks didn’t lie, and they meant what they said. He told me that they were people like anyone else.”

  “We are. That’s why it’s important that we keep our word,” replied Beltur. “I’d appreciate it if you and the others would take care of the body. You can keep the dagger, and split his five coppers.”

  Gustaan looked levelly at Beltur. “I’ll tell the others what happened, and we’ll take care of the body.”

  “Thank you.” Beltur paused, then added, “I wish it hadn’t happened this way, but one of the reasons we’re here is to protect the people of Haven.” Beltur turned and lifted Ermylt’s body off Slowpoke and laid it on the stone walk.

  “Ser … you healed him and set him free. And you warned him what he couldn’t do. He was ungrateful … and stupid. I knew he wasn’t grateful. I didn’t know he was that stupid. We’ll take care of it.”

  “I appreciate it.” Beltur nodded, then untied Slowpoke and mounted.

  XIV

  For the remainder of threeday morning, Beltur spent time with Jessyla setting up one of the small rooms at the front of the healing house as a study that also would hold supplies with a small table desk and chair that Torkell had located somewhere and an old open-faced cabinet with shelves that could be separated into cubes or rectangles for different supplies, not that Jessyla had been able to find many so far besides clean cloths—clean rags, actually—and a few lengths of canvas, and burnet and brinn from Julli, as well as several small bottles for spirits and salves yet to be formulated.

  Then he returned to the houses and did what he could to help Lhadoraak. Still, by the end of the day, all the ruined interior and the damaged sections of the roof had been removed from the second house, and all the usable roof tiles saved and stored. Gorlaak promised to bring the beams and timbers on fourday to begin rebuilding the roof.

  Beltur also arranged with Bythalt for the four remaining workers to continue to be fed the same fare as the troopers and to sleep in the tack room. He wasn’t about to pay for actual rooms, not with all the expenses he saw ahead.

  After grooming the two mounts that he—or the Council, properly—had acquired from the deceased mages, he finally joined the others, and Karch, in the public room for dinner.

  Jessyla let him take a long swallow of the lighter ale—he couldn’t call it pale—before she spoke seriously. “A woman brought her son in today.”

  “Broken bones?”

  “Forearm. He fell out of a tree. There weren’t any other bruises. There was some chaos. I thought I got it all, but I told her to come back on fiveday, or tomorrow if there was enough swelling to make it painful.”

  “How did you splint it?” It would have had to have been splinted since they had no plaster for a cast.

  “Therran carved some of those pieces of wood for me, and we bound it with canvas strips.”

  “I’m glad he was of some help.”

  “How are you coming with the houses?” asked Karch, from where he sat between Beltur and Lhadoraak.

  “Gorlaak says he’ll have the roof back together by sevenday,” replied Lhadoraak. “The tiles will take longer. He’ll have to find more or have Faastah fire new ones.”

  “Given some of the abandoned houses, finding tiles might be easier,” suggested the captain.

  “Have any of the men working with you said anything about Ermylt?” asked Tulya.

  “Dussef muttered something about the coppers he left were about the only good thing about him,” replied Lhadoraak. “He was talking to Gustaan. Other than that…” He shook his head. “There still aren’t too many people on the streets.”

  “There are a few coming to the fountain in the square,” said Jessyla. “They look toward the healing house, but only the one woman has come in.”

  “It’s a small town,” Karch pointed out. “Not that many people need healers.”

  “Especially when the traders aren’t around,” added Beltur sardonically.

  When Claerk brought the dinner platters, Beltur looked at the fare dubiously. So did Taelya.

  “It’s a red deer burhka over ale-boiled quilla. It tastes better than it looks.”

  “It couldn’t taste any worse,” murmured Karch.

  Beltur cut a small slice of the meat and ate it. For a moment, the gravied reddish-brown sauce tasted mildly piquant. Then his mouth exploded with spiced fire, and he grabbed for a chunk of bread.

  Karch, on the other hand, ate a larger mouthful and said, “It’s not bad. A little hotter than I’d prefer, but not bad.”

  Not bad? Beltur wouldn’t have described the burhka quite that way, but more like liquid flame that seared away any possible taste. As for the quilla, while it usually had a bitter taste, he didn’t taste it at all, the bitterness either leached out by the ale or burned out by the peppers. He tried a second mouthful, quickly followed by a bite of bread. Perhaps because he’d lost most sense of taste, the burhka was palatable.

  “Good, isn’t it?” said Claerk.

  “It’s definitely better than it looks,” Beltur replied.

  Apparently satisfied, Claerk headed back to the kitchen.

  “Your eyes are watering,” said Jessyla, clearly amused.

  “So are yours.” Beltur looked to Taelya, who was eating in a fashion similar to Beltur, except she was taking a mouthful of bread first, followed by a little burhka, and then more bread.

  “Are you still planning for us to leave on eightday morning?” asked Karch.

  “We are. What do you think about it?”

  Karch smiled wryly. “Whenever we leave will be too soon. It always is. But if we stay, you’ll either have to pay the innkeepers or leave them with a very bad taste in their mouth.”

  Beltur nodded. “We’ve thought much the same. The extra three days will allow us to get more done without worrying about the traders or even armsmen from Hydlen. Beyond that, I don’t see that much point in your staying too much longer. We’re going to have to get along without your troopers sooner or later, and keeping you here will get expensive for us.” What he wasn’t saying was that, at twenty golds an eightday, the extra security that he and the others would have to pay for would eat through the golds the Duchess had provided all too quickly.

  “How are the remaining armsmen doing? If you can call them that.”

  “So far, so good,” replied Lhadoraak. “It’s too early to tell, but it’s been helpful to have them doing holding and carrying. Turlow’s been able to help Faastah some. The other two working on the houses don’t have much in the way of building skills, but their muscles really have helped with the roof work.”

  “What about the younger one?”

  “He seems helpful,” said Jessyla. “He’s a bit doubtful.”

  “They all are,” said Lhadoraak.

  Beltur nodded. Until the traders returned, he and the others wouldn’t know how the four would really turn out once they had a few more coppers and even more freedom. And that means watching them closely.

  But, as Relyn wrote, you couldn’t build anything without people, and Haven definitely needed more people.

  XV

  Fourday dawned warm and damp, but the light drizzle that was falling when Beltur woke ended before everyone finished breakfast and well before the time when he and Taelya walked the long blocks to the houses to begin glazing the first kitchen cistern. Beltur also carried three water bottles, two filled with ale, and one with water, as well as a loaf of bread. He had the feeling that he and Taelya would need them before they were done.

  Faastah arrived while Beltur was still studying the circular brick cistern. The cistern itself stood on a solid timber base that rose a yard and a half from the wide planks of the kitchen floor. A four-step built-in ladder on one side allowed access to the top of the cistern. From what Beltur could sense, the structure was sound. He turned to Faastah.

  “It’s a handsome cistern, if I do say so myself,” said the mason as he handed the bucket of glaze to Beltur. “It might not ne
ed glazing.”

  “It might not,” agreed Beltur, “but a smooth inside surface will make cleaning it much easier.”

  Faastah nodded. “Make it last longer, too, I’d think.”

  If we can make the glaze even and bind it to the masonry. Beltur didn’t voice those thoughts as he helped Taelya into the cistern. The top of her head was just below the rim for the cover. Then he handed her the smaller container and the brush.

  “Put it on thinly,” he said. “Start at the bottom of the sides.”

  “What about the bottom?”

  “We’ll have to do that last. If we do that first, you’ll smudge it, and it won’t glaze evenly.”

  By early midmorning the entire inside of the kitchen cistern in the first house was thin-coated with glaze, although Beltur had been required to tie the brush to a branch, pour the glaze onto the bottom of the cistern, and use the extended brush to finish applying the glaze. Still, a slightly thicker glaze on the bottom was probably better.

  After taking a break, when Beltur had some of the ale and Taelya some water and bread, they returned to the cistern.

  “Now comes the hard part,” he said to Taelya.

  She nodded solemnly.

  Faastah offered a surprised look to Lhadoraak.

  “Applying chaos and containing it with order takes physical strength,” explained the older mage.

  Beltur had Taelya stand on top of sections of plank stacked on the top step, while he stood on the slight edge of the platform across from her. Then he said, “Put a spot of chaos in the middle of the bottom. We’ll work out from there.”

  Taelya concentrated.

  Beltur immediately followed by surrounding the chaos with order, adding the order net, and compressing the order against the glaze until he could sense the heat and feel the change in the glaze. Then he added tiny order ties to the edges of the small segment of glaze as the finish vitrified under the heat of Taelya’s chaos and the pressure of Beltur’s order.

  “Do it again, right next to the last one,” Beltur said, using his shields to help Taelya guide her chaos into place.