The Mage-Fire War

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “Do you really think the Viscount would let the Duke of Hydlen take Lydiar?”

  “Not if he could help it, but the Prefect of Gallos is massing an army in Passera, it’s said.”

  Frig! Beltur just nodded. “That’s very interesting. And why might you be telling me?”

  Worrfan laughed. “I’m selfish. Lydiar and Montgren don’t bother me. They let me travel where I want so long as I hold to the laws. Hydlen’s getting dangerous, and I told you about Certis. I can’t make a living just in Montgren. You mages just might be the only thing that gives the Duke of Hydlen pause.”

  “Three mages against an entire land?”

  The tinker shrugged again. “I can hope. In the old times, two mages brought down Cyador … or so it’s said. Lydiar doesn’t have many more armsmen than Montgren, and they’re not very good, except to back up the tariff inspectors at the port.” He looked past Beltur toward a woman who approached with a basket. “Are those the shears and knives you said needed sharpening?”

  The young woman, scarcely more than a girl, Beltur thought, only nodded, starting to circle around Beltur.

  Beltur smiled at her. “We’re here to protect you, not scare you.” Then he looked to Worrfan. “Thank you. We’ll talk more later … if you decide to stay.”

  “I’ll be here for at least a few more days.”

  Easing away from the tinker and his customer, Beltur thought over what Worrfan had said, and the fact that there hadn’t been the slightest hint of chaos or deception. Trying not to shake his head, he walked over to the produce cart. “Good afternoon, Ennalee.”

  “Good afternoon, Mage. Your consort was already here.”

  “I’m not surprised. Have you heard anything I should know?”

  “Not anything of interest to a mage or the new council. Heersyn’s old mare had a late foal, but the mare and filly are doing well.”

  “You see any travelers?”

  “We live south of town, out the old south road that peters out at the base of the hills. We’re not that far out, maybe two kays, but the road goes on for another two kays. There aren’t any other steads out there now, except for Samwyth, and no one travels there.”

  “I imagine you get around.”

  “Some, but I haven’t seen any travelers lately except Worrfan. I heard that no-good Duurben was in town. Also heard he didn’t stay long and left just before you stopped the fire at Bythalt’s place. I imagine he had a reason for leaving in the middle of the night.”

  “So do I,” returned Beltur good-naturedly. “If he returns, his reception might be a bit different.”

  “You like to give people a chance to be better, don’t you?”

  “More that I warn them, and give them the chance to behave and stay within the law.”

  “Some folks ignore warnings.”

  “Some do. The problem is that most people listen to warnings. And how does a patroller or a councilor justify hurting or killing someone because of what others have said?”

  “You’re a black. What if you know that what others tell you is true?”

  Because Beltur had thought about that—more than once—he had an answer. “I can tell when people tell me what they believe to be true. That does not mean that it is true, only that they firmly believe it is true. With most people, what they believe they saw is what happened. But it is not always. And sometimes, what they saw is not the whole story. It’s another thing when someone is caught in the act … or after it.”

  “That makes it hard on the ones they hurt.”

  “It does. That’s always been a problem. But it’s worse when a ruler or a mage decides to act on just feelings. I’ve seen that. It’s much worse.”

  Ennalee shivered slightly. “When you talk like that, you look fifteen years older, and I’m not sure I’d want to see what you’ve seen.”

  Beltur’s smile was coldly sardonic. “I didn’t want to see much of what I saw.”

  “So you will be mage, councilor, patroller, and justicer?”

  “I’ll be the first three for a time, until we can find and train patrollers. The councilor who is not a mage is the justicer.”

  Ennalee frowned. “Why her?”

  “Because she is the one who has studied the laws of Montgren. And she’s older.”

  Surprisingly, at least to Beltur, Ennalee nodded. Then she said, “It might be better if we had a regular market day when you or the other mage could be nearby.”

  “What day would you suggest?”

  “Threeday … and sevenday afternoon.”

  “We could try that.”

  “Starting this threeday?”

  Beltur nodded.

  “Then we’ll be here, and I’ll see if I can persuade a few others.”

  “That would be helpful. Now … if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Go. I’ve taken enough of your time.”

  Beltur turned and walked toward the older man.

  “So you’re a councilor, a mage, and a patroller, all in one.” The older man’s voice was raspy, but Beltur didn’t sense anger or chaos. “Do you intend to tariff us to death?”

  “No. There will be tariffs. They’ll be based on the methods used in other towns in Montgren, due at the end of autumn. If you live in town, you’ll get a notice.”

  “Tariffs shouldn’t be much. New council or not, you haven’t done much for the town.”

  “Not yet. Except for removing white wizards and bravos and fixing the fountain, that is. I’m Beltur, by the way.”

  “I’ve heard. Samwyth. I’d ask if you need potatoes, but Ennalee told me that the young healer who bought some was your consort.”

  “She is. She’s also a very good healer.”

  “We could use one, now and again. You need more potatoes or onions, our place is the closest one to Vortaan and Ennalee.”

  “Thank you.”

  Samwyth nodded, a gesture that signified that he was done.

  Beltur turned and walked back to the Council House. Once there, he untied Slowpoke and walked him to the watering trough fed by the fountain, where he let him drink some, before he mounted and headed west on the main street.

  On the way through town, he saw more people out and about, although he didn’t recognize any of them. He did notice that none of them turned away and that, after a quick glance in his direction, those who did look continued whatever they were doing. At least, that’s an improvement.

  As he rode past the brick posts marking the west end of Haven, he saw that someone had repaired both posts. Faastah?

  He looked back, but there was no one nearby. He also sensed no one near the road for the next two kays. With all his patrolling, he had discovered that he was able to sense even farther than he had when he’d been an arms-mage. He rode almost two kays before sensing a pair of riders on a slope to the south of the road, just at the edge of his ability to discern them. He raised a concealment and kept riding.

  Even when he approached the defaced kaystone, the two riders had not moved. After riding another two hundred yards, Beltur came to an abandoned or neglected lane angling south-southwest from the main road. He turned Slowpoke onto it and continued, narrowing the distance between him and the two mounted men.

  Before long the lane began to slope upward, and Beltur could sense that he was coming to a point where even the scattered trees were thinning, giving way to a rugged pasture. He eased Slowpoke close to one of the trees and dropped the concealment. Both riders wore the bright green uniforms of Hydlen. Neither seemed to have seen him, possibly because they appeared to be looking in the direction of the junction with the road heading north to Weevett.

  Why there? Because they’re worried about Montgren troopers?

  Beltur watched the two for a short time, then raised the concealment, turned Slowpoke, and headed back toward Haven. After returning to the square, he let Slowpoke drink some water while he finished his water bottle, wishing he’d made provisions for a keg of decent ale at the house.

  Then
he mounted and rode east.

  Julli waved from her garden as he rode past, but he didn’t see Yamella as he passed her son’s house, wondering if she’d ever accept that Zankar was dead.

  Even before he was much more than half a kay from the edge of Haven, Beltur could sense a wagon and riders nearing. He eased Slowpoke under the shade of what he thought was a linden and waited, out of the bright white light of afternoon.

  Two riders preceded the wagon, one of whom was a guard armed with a pair of sabres. The other was an older man in brown trousers and tunic. The wagon body was high-walled and brass-bound with a solid roof. A guard sat on the bench seat beside the teamster, one hand on the long spear whose base was set in a brass holder. Suspended from a bracket over his right shoulder was a small crossbow.

  Beltur eased Slowpoke out onto the road, reined up, and again waited.

  When the riders were a good twenty yards from Beltur, the merchant or trader in brown gestured, and the wagon slowed to a halt. The two riders continued until they were several yards from Beltur, then reined up.

  “Welcome to Haven,” offered Beltur.

  “Is that a welcome or the beginning of an attempt to insist on some form of extortion?” asked the man in brown.

  “It’s just a welcome,” replied Beltur. “I was patrolling and thought it might be alarming if I just turned and rode back into town.”

  “Haven’s never had patrols before.”

  “Not in recent years,” agreed Beltur.

  “What’s that uniform?”

  “This is my patrol uniform.” Beltur smiled wryly. “It was the uniform that the other black and I wore when we were Spidlarian arms-mages.”

  The trader looked to the guard, who nodded, then said, “We heard that a white mage was bringing the town under control.”

  “He wanted to set up his own land. The Duchess, obviously, wasn’t about to agree to that. That’s why we’re here.” Beltur’s words weren’t strictly accurate, but they were certainly true to the situation, and he didn’t feel like giving yet another long explanation.

  “You’re planning on staying?”

  “We wouldn’t have rebuilt houses for our families if we thought otherwise.”

  “Is the East Inn still there?”

  “It was a quint ago.” Beltur smiled.

  “Would you mind riding into town with us, ser?” asked the guard.

  “I’d be happy to. My name is Beltur.”

  “Maunsel,” offered the trader.

  “Raastyl,” added the guard. “Your mount’s a warhorse, isn’t he?”

  “He is. He was mine, and I managed to buy him after my service.”

  “I didn’t know blacks rode into battle.”

  “Most don’t. We didn’t have much choice.” Beltur eased Slowpoke into a walk, turning him back west.

  Once they were all headed toward town, Beltur was the first to speak. “Might I ask where you’re headed after Haven? And what you trade.”

  “We trade largely in spices. They’re moderately valuable, and they’re not heavy, and everyone needs them. As for our destination, we could only be going to Hydolar,” replied Maunsel. “It’s far faster to take the north road through Weevett to reach anywhere in Certis. The old road could also take us to Gallos, but I’m not interested in paying the Prefect’s tariffs.” Before Beltur could ask another question, the trader went on. “The last time we were here, the square was empty. Is it used now?”

  “We got the fountain working, and there are a few who sell there now. Market days are threeday and sevenday afternoon.”

  “Only wait one day…” mused the trader.

  Beltur said little more on the rest of the ride to the side yard of the East Inn. There he reined up and turned to Maunsel. “I need to continue my rounds. Both the Council House and the healing house are on the square.” Beltur smiled, then turned Slowpoke toward the square. He could sense their eyes on his back for several moments, but he didn’t turn in the saddle.

  XXIV

  Oneday evening, both families ate crowded around the table in Lhadoraak and Tulya’s “new” house, since Jessyla and Tulya had agreed that, for the immediate future, dinner would be the main meal and that they would alternate fixing it. Dinner was a mutton stew that contained, Beltur thought, an excessive amount of carrots and turnips. Because there hadn’t been time to bake, Beltur had fixed skillet bread that hadn’t quite gotten done in the middle in places, but was still a welcome change from the fare at the East Inn. He would have liked to try to have captured a local yeast, but that would have to wait. Perhaps for quite some time.

  Tulya smiled broadly. “I can’t believe we actually own this.”

  “You’ve more than paid for it,” replied Jessyla.

  “I’ve never had a house with water in the kitchen.”

  “Except for the cottage in Axalt, neither have I,” replied Jessyla. “And I don’t want to do without it again.”

  Beltur kept his smile to himself, glad that he’d come up with the way to do it. “It wouldn’t have been possible without Taelya.”

  Taelya smiled. “It took both of us, Uncle Beltur.”

  “It did indeed.” Beltur took another bite of the skillet bread, then a drink of water. He definitely needed to find a way to get a keg of ale. “We need to talk over a few things.” He looked to Lhadoraak. “How are the repairs on the quarters building coming?”

  “We have the building stripped down to what’s solid. Gorlaak will be bringing in more timbers and planks tomorrow. I’ll need silvers to pay him … and to pay the men.”

  “Does our treasury owe you anything besides the silver and three coppers for today?”

  Lhadoraak shook his head.

  “I’ll have silvers and coppers for you in the morning for yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Are there any other problems with the building?”

  “We’ll likely find out that in the next day or so.”

  Beltur turned to Tulya. “I’ve kept track of what we’re spending, but we really need a ledger of some sort because, sooner or later, I will lose track.”

  “I can find or make something.”

  “Thank you.” Then Beltur looked at Jessyla. “Did anyone come to the healing house today?”

  “A woman with child. She’s worried because she had some pains. There’s no chaos there, but…”

  “But?” asked Tulya.

  “She can start into having a child before it’s ready without any signs of chaos. In those cases, the chaos comes with the birth.” Jessyla paused, then turned to Beltur. “It might be that the chaos is so tiny that I can’t sense it.”

  “That didn’t happen when I was in the healing house in Axalt, but you’ve much more experience than I do.” After a moment, he added, “You have a feeling there might be something you can’t sense.”

  Jessyla nodded.

  “Try and find me if she comes back.”

  “I can do that.”

  “There are a few other things,” Beltur continued. “I met a trader and accompanied him and his wagon to the East Inn. He’s named Maunsel, and he seems as honest as most traders.”

  “What does he trade?” asked Tulya before Beltur could finish what he wanted to say.

  “Spices, he said. He has two armed guards and a solid wagon.”

  “We could use spices, quite a few,” Tulya pointed out.

  “He’s headed to Hydolar. He said that no trader in his right mind would go to Gallos. But he said he might stay a day for market day.”

  “Market day?” questioned Lhadoraak.

  “That was another thing that came up. I went around and talked to people in the square today. Ennalee wants threeday and sevenday afternoon to be market days at the square. I think, at least in the beginning, one of us should be patrolling there.”

  “Do you really think it would encourage more people to come?” asked Tulya.

  “I think people will feel safer if we patrol,” replied Beltur. “We can’t do it all day every day, but
one and a half days for now … it’s worth a try. I’ll do most of it, but, Lhadoraak, you’ll have to be there when I ride patrols.”

  “The quarters are close enough that Gustaan can come and get me if they need me for a decision or a problem.”

  “How is he doing?”

  “He’s in control in a quiet way, but Dussef and Turlow are better with the wood.”

  “There’s also something else,” offered Beltur. “Have any of you talked to Worrfan?”

  For a moment, no one said anything. Then Tulya spoke up. “Is that the tinker with the cart?”

  “That’s Worrfan. Did you talk to him?”

  “No, not really,” replied Tulya. “I said good morning to him. He seemed pleasant enough. Why do you ask?”

  “He suggested that the Hydlenese troopers might be watching Haven and waiting until war breaks out between Gallos and Certis so that they can take over Haven and use the east road as a corridor to invade Lydiar. However he found out, he seems certain that war, or some sort of open fighting between the Prefect and the Viscount, is going to happen. Karch felt the same way.”

  “What if the white mage was part of that plan?” asked Jessyla. “He had some fresh-minted golds from Hydlen.”

  “You think that the mage was supposed to unsettle things so that the Duke of Hydlen could move troops in on the grounds that no one else was truly governing Haven?”

  “He could claim that his traders were being hurt,” said Lhadoraak. “The Duchess might not want to risk an all-out war.”

  “Maybe the Duchess has been worried about that all along,” countered Jessyla. “Maybe that’s one of the reasons we’re here.”

  Beltur had a very sinking feeling that Jessyla’s surmise was most likely accurate. He shook his head and looked at Lhadoraak and then Tulya. “I think Jessyla’s right … and, if she is, I’m very sorry to have gotten you two into this.”

  “Well,” said Lhadoraak dryly, “we’re here, and no one else wants us. So we’ll have to figure out a way to hold on to Haven.”

  “Just how?” asked Tulya sardonically.

  “I don’t know,” replied Lhadoraak, with a grin that seemed slightly forced, “but Beltur’s much better at that sort of thing than I am. I’m sure he’ll think of something.”