The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Most likely the elder. This won’t take long.” Kaerylt didn’t rein up until he was within a few yards of the single rider, who waited in the middle of the dirt road.

  “Why didn’t you leave us alone?” demanded the gray-haired and green-eyed man in a voice tightly controlled, but still bearing ill-concealed anger.

  “We did. You offered nothing in the way of information, and we offered nothing in the way of protection,” replied Kaerylt.

  “They fired the grasslands to threaten the harvest. Then they attacked.” The elder’s voice was bitter. “We lost men, and we lost daughters. This was your doing, ser mage, and may you reap the rewards you deserve for this evil.”

  “We have done nothing but ride and inspect the grasslands. We’ve been attacked by the raiders, as you have. In no case did we begin hostilities.”

  “It was still your doing. By your very presence you have led them to attack us. We had reached a hard-earned agreement with them.”

  “Your agreement meant that you supplied the raiders with enough food and other goods to enable them to raid other towns farther inside Gallos. You let others pay the cost for your agreement.”

  “What choice did we have? Your prefect never protected us.”

  “You’ve failed to pay tariffs for years. Why should he risk troopers for you?”

  “He offers nothing but words.”

  Kaerylt shrugged. “You had a choice. You made it, and you paid for it.”

  “You will pay as well. You are not welcome in Kasiera. Ever.”

  “We will be welcome when we choose. We choose not to be welcome today.” Kaerylt’s words were not cold, merely dismissive. “Now … I suggest you let us pass.”

  The gray-haired man turned his swaybacked mount and rode into the slightly lower grass, then watched as the Gallosians rode past and toward the narrow bridge.

  Beltur did not speak again until they were a good kay northeast of Kasiera. “How did you know all that?”

  “From what you reported, from what I saw, and from what the elder said the one time that I met him. It couldn’t have been any other way.”

  Beltur had his doubts, and his expression must have revealed them.

  “You saw Kasiera, and you saw almost a hundred well-armed raiders in one place or another. They are but a fraction of those on the grasslands. Kasiera did not choose to defend itself the way those in Arrat did. How else could they have avoided raids?”

  How else indeed?

  “Where are we headed now?”

  “Back to visit some of the towns east of the great wash to see how much they have suffered from the raids. I’ll need to report that to the Prefect when we return.”

  Beltur nodded. That, at least, made sense.

  XII

  Midday on threeday found the fourteen Gallosians on the road from Arrat to Paalsyra, the nearest hamlet south and east of Arrat and east of the great dry wash, a town Pacek described as smaller but slightly more welcoming than Kasiera, perhaps because it had a larger inn and a better public room. The road was still packed clay and dirt, but wider than the one from Desanyt to Kasiera, and clearly more traveled, although they encountered only a few wagons and a single Gallosian dispatch rider after leaving Arrat.

  Beltur, quietly elated by the success of his new shields, kept working on their structure as he rode, trying to hold larger and stronger shields longer. He would have preferred to work more on developing better ways of using chaos as a weapon, given that his single use of an ordered chaos-bolt, while effective, had resulted in a definite backlash. That was something he hadn’t anticipated, but, for obvious reasons, also something he couldn’t discuss with Kaerylt.

  His uncle was clearly lost in his own thoughts, or practicing some strange manipulation of chaos, apparently as an exercise, for much of the time.

  Sydon didn’t speak all that much, but again, while Beltur was resting from working on shields, he offered what he thought was a pleasant question. “Didn’t you think the ale in Desanyt and Kasiera was a bit different?”

  “Different? How about terrible? They must have fermented moldy grain, or worse. They couldn’t have made it less drinkable.”

  “Wildgrass seeds, one of the servers told me.’

  “Ugh … that’s disgusting. Grass ale? I hope what they serve in Paalsyra is better.”

  “We’ll have to see.” Beltur decided not to tell Sydon that wheat and barley were also grasses. He had the feeling that Sydon apparently wasn’t thinking all that much, but then, maybe he was doing the older mage a disservice, although with all the years he’d spent in his uncle’s household, he had his doubts. Except you keep a lot to yourself. Who wouldn’t with Uncle’s sharp words?

  Beltur was jolted out of his musing by Pacek’s words.

  “Ser! There are riders below that rise to the southeast. They look like raiders.”

  Beltur immediately looked to where Pacek pointed, trying to sense as well as see the raiders … and succeeding, with a clear feel for at least a score of riders—only a little more than a kay away. He should have sensed them earlier, he realized, but that was because he’d been thinking about other things, as had his uncle, apparently.

  The raiders were still riding toward the Gallosians, obviously doubting that fourteen riders would prove a problem.

  “Ser?” Pacek asked.

  “We’ll let them get a little closer,” said Kaerylt. “They need to understand that the Prefect has long arms and a longer memory.” He turned in the saddle. “Sydon, when I give the word, I’ll take out one of the lead riders. Then you take the next. We’ll alternate until they break off the attack. If they don’t, once they start to loose arrows, Beltur can shield us all—he’s proved he can do that—while we take down the rest.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Beltur could see that not all the raiders were moving toward the Gallosians. Several of the horses being held back bore two riders, and one rider in each case was a woman dressed in cloth garments, rather than the leathers of the raiders. He called out to Kaerylt, “Those who are riding double—”

  “They’ve likely captives, but they’re staying back. So we don’t have to worry about that. Just concentrate on holding your shield.”

  That really wasn’t an answer, but Beltur understood that the immediate problem was dealing with the oncoming attack.

  “Rein up,” said Kaerylt. “We’ll let them come to us. That way, it will be clear that they’re attacking.”

  Beltur reined up and watched as the raiders continued to approach, carrying bows and moving at a fast trot, just as the other raiders had.

  This time, when the raiders raised their bows and let fly the first volley of arrows, Beltur raised his shield, recalling just how soon those shafts arrived. At the same time, Kaerylt let fly with a chaos-bolt that took down one of the lead riders. Sydon followed with a second, and Kaerylt incinerated a third rider before the first arrows clattered off Beltur’s order-linked shields.

  Sydon’s second chaos-bolt dropped another rider, and when Kaerylt struck a fifth, all the raiders turned and raced away from the Gallosians. Several more arrows rebounded from Beltur’s shield, which he continued holding until he was certain that all the raiders were well away.

  “They got that message quick,” declared Pacek.

  “… be a lot easier … had mages all the time,” came a low-voiced comment from somewhere behind Beltur and Sydon.

  “Be glad you got ’em now…”

  That brought a quick and wry smile from Beltur before he thought about the riders who had not been part of the attack and asked, “What about their captives?”

  “There are still close to a score of raiders left, if not more,” replied Kaerylt, “and they know the land. We don’t, and trying to track them down wouldn’t be the best idea…”

  “No, ser,” it wouldn’t,” interjected Pacek quickly. “They set traps and ambushes in the high grass.”

  Traps might be a problem, reflected Beltur, but since he a
nd Kaerylt could sense where raiders were hiding …

  “That’s good to know,” Kaerylt said quickly. “It seems it would be best if we just proceeded to Paalsyra.”

  “I’d suggest it, ser,” replied Pacek.

  Outnumbered and in no real position to object, Beltur closed his mouth.

  “Beltur … see if you can sense any concentrated chaos that may have caught fire.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Ser mage, since the raiders are all out of sight, I’d like to have the men search the dead.”

  “If they can make it quick. The raiders could return, and we can’t protect the troopers if they’re scattered.”

  “Yes, ser. We understand.”

  After carefully sensing the surrounding grasslands, Beltur could only find two places where the free chaos of the firebolts remained, and it didn’t take him that long, or that much effort to quell the small patches with order-lattices, something he wouldn’t have considered eightdays before. After that, he watched as the troopers quickly looted the bodies of the dead raiders, then returned to the road and reported to Pacek, who collected all the coins and valuables, while the men strapped blades behind their saddles. Beltur wouldn’t have been surprised if a few small items, such as rings, never made it into the spoils pouch.

  When all the troopers were back in formation, Pacek rode to Kaerylt. “I’ll provide your shares once we’re in Paalsyra, ser. We likely won’t be able to sell the blades anywhere but in either Fenard or Kyphrien, but you’ll get your shares. You mages more than earned them.”

  Beltur had no doubts that Kaerylt would be paid. What Beltur’s and Sydon’s shares would be was another question. Then again, any share of the loot would be welcome, and it was far more likely that Pacek could obtain a decent price for the blades than could any of the mages.

  Kaerylt nodded. “While the shares will be welcome, you and your men have also earned them. I do hope we don’t have to earn any more, not because the shares wouldn’t be appreciated, but because that would indicate far more unrest in the grasslands than the Prefect would prefer, and he might even think that we created that unrest to personally profit.”

  “Yes, ser.” Pacek nodded.

  “Carry on, Undercaptain.”

  Sydon and Beltur again fell in on their mounts behind Pacek and Kaerylt.

  Beltur realized that he’d never really considered battles or skirmishes as a way to better oneself. “How much do you think a trooper’s share is worth?” he asked Sydon quietly.

  “There’s likely not more than a few silvers’ worth of coppers so far. The blades are another matter. A good blade costs as much as a gold. Even a poor but serviceable one will run three or four silvers.”

  “But used blades…”

  “I’m talking used blades, Beltur. A blade forged custom will cost three times that.”

  “Oh…” Beltur swallowed. “I knew they were costly.”

  “And then some,” replied Sydon.

  “Thank you.” Beltur had seen the looted blades fastened behind saddles, possibly as many as thirty after the two attacks where the troopers had gathered spoils, not surprisingly, given that the raiders each seemed to carry two. Thirty blades at an average of even seven silvers … that was twenty-one golds. Beltur was lucky to see a silver now and again. It brought a whole new meaning to the words “spoils of war.” It also suggested why the raiders were so willing to attack armed men.

  Almost another glass passed before Beltur realized that he was a little tired, but not nearly so worn out as he had been after using order and chaos at the beginning of the journey. His uncle was certainly doing better, but then, Kaerylt had been practicing almost as much as Beltur, which was likely the reason he hadn’t noticed how Beltur was using order. Then again, Kaerylt had always been interested in results … so long as Beltur didn’t overtly flout his orders.

  Another two glasses passed with no sign of other travelers, or of more raiders. Shortly after that, when the Gallosians crossed another of the gentle rises that also seemed unending, Beltur saw a considerable change in the terrain ahead. Instead of apparently endless grasslands, there were only patches of grass, and far more of what looked to be forests, if set on lower ground, and squares of fields with varying crops. There were, Beltur noted, no dwellings near those fields, although he could see a village perhaps five kays to the southeast. He could also see lines of smoke rising into the sky and a haze blanketing the village.

  “That’s Paalsyra,” announced Pacek. “Looks like that’s where those raiders were before they ran into us.”

  The haze turned out to be smoke that became ever more acrid as Beltur and the others neared Paalsyra. While smoke continued to rise from a number of burned houses, he did not see any actual flames as they rode past the small cots beyond the edge of the hamlet proper, three of which were little more than heaps of charred wood.

  When they reached the main square and reined up in front of the inn, two solidly built men stepped forward.

  “You arrived too late, great undercaptain,” declared the taller of the two men, addressing Pacek and then gesturing to his right in the general direction of the smoldering ruins of what had been a small dwelling.

  Beltur could tell that the speaker would like to have said more, likely along the lines of the Prefect’s troopers should have arrived far earlier, when they could have been of some assistance.

  Pacek gestured to Kaerylt. “He’ll explain.”

  “We arrived when we did because we had to deal with a raider attack in Kasiera,” replied Kaerylt evenly. “We’ve been riding for four days. We encountered your raiders earlier today. We killed a good half score, but most were too far away for us to get to them before they were where we could not reach them.”

  Beltur managed not to react to his uncle’s overstatement and kept his eyes on the two men.

  “A few raiders. What will that do? They breed like coneys.”

  “We killed far more than a few outside of Kasiera. We also learned the reason why towns away from the grasslands have been raided more often.” Kaerylt paused, enough that both men leaned forward slightly, waiting. “Kasiera made an agreement with the raiders to trade with them, more favorably I would judge, in return for the raiders not attacking them.”

  “Sounds about right for them.” The calmly bitter words came from the slightly shorter and grayer man. “What did you do about that?”

  “Left the town to the mercy of the raiders,” replied Kaerylt. “They’ve never paid tariffs to the Prefect.”

  “Then what were you doing there?”

  “Tracking the raiders who were shadowing us and who tried an earlier ambush,” continued Kaerylt.

  “What good did that do? Didn’t help us much, and we pay tariffs.”

  “The raiders are much more likely to return to raiding places like Kasiera,” Kaerylt pointed out, “especially since they know we’re here.”

  “Just fourteen of you?” asked the taller and younger man.

  “Eskar … three of them … they’re mages … the white tunics…”

  The younger man swallowed. “I’m not seeing so well as I should. The fire and smoke…”

  “We’ve been dealing with fires all day,” added the older man. “It’s hard on the eyes.”

  Although Beltur could see the redness of Eskar’s face, and the smudges of charcoal and soot, he wondered if the smoke had really been that bad. Or was the man just so upset for some other reason that he hadn’t even noticed the mages when he’d addressed Pacek?

  “We regret that we could not arrive sooner, or that we are not more numerous, but the Prefect sent us as a first step to determine what might be done to deal with the problems caused by the raiders and how best to stop their acts … and the loss of your women to both the raiders and the dark ones of Westwind.”

  “One’s as bad as the other,” replied the older man, adding quickly, “Right now the raiders are worse.”

  “Always be worse,” countered Eskar.


  “Is the inn open?” asked Kaerylt.

  “I imagine so,” said the older man, “but you’d have to ask Jarath. He’s the owner.”

  From that point on, matters settled into the routine that wasn’t entirely to Beltur’s liking, with him handling the three mounts while his uncle dealt with the innkeeper and Sydon carried gear and did whatever else Kaerylt asked of him. All told, almost two glasses passed before the three entered the public room, which held only a handful of patrons, and took a corner table.

  The first things Beltur noticed after sitting down were that the very first serving girl he saw was younger than any he’d seen since leaving Fenard, possibly even his own age, that she was blond and moderately attractive, that her blouse had a modest scoop neck and three-quarter-length sleeves, and that she was not wearing a dirk.

  “Much better scenery here,” observed Sydon, following Beltur’s glance.

  Beltur couldn’t help but notice that the server’s eyes lingered on Sydon, not that such surprised him, not with Sydon’s height, jet-black hair, solid features, and blue eyes so intense that every woman or girl seemed to fixate on them, at least until they got to know Sydon better.

  “Just leave the scenery alone,” said Kaerylt.

  Within moments, the blond server was beside their table. “What might you mages like?”

  “Dark ale,” offered Kaerylt. “What’s the fare?”

  “We have seasoned mutton stew or a beef pie.”

  “Seasoned meaning lots of chilies?” asked Sydon with a winning smile.

  “Yes, ser.” The server’s smile was definitely warm.

  “The beef pie with the dark ale,” said Kaerylt.

  “The same,” added Sydon.

  “I’ll try amber ale, if you have it, with the stew.” Beltur couldn’t honestly have said what prompted him to try the stew, except that he didn’t want to be seen as merely going along.

  “Thank you. That will be nine coppers.”

  As she walked toward the kitchen, Beltur glanced at the other server, who had just appeared, perhaps ten years older than the first, but attired in a similar fashion, and also not wearing a dirk. He also noticed an older graying woman sitting at a table with two older men, the first time he’d seen a woman patron in a public room since leaving Fenard. “No dirks,” he offered in a low voice.