“Doesn’t that involve chaos?”
“Some,” admitted Beltur, “but what makes it work is that the chaos has to be locked in order. In a way, it’s no different than with people. We’re a mixture of order and chaos, but in healthy people, the chaos is contained by the order.”
“People … yes.” Jessyla frowned momentarily. “I never thought of cupridium as ordered.”
“You couldn’t use it if it weren’t,” Beltur pointed out.
“Everything in life is a matter of balance,” added Meldryn. “That’s what makes a lemon tart good, the balance between sweet, tart, and the fullness of the pastry.”
After a time, of eating, talking, and listening, Beltur looked down at his totally empty platter, which held not the slightest remnant of the small berry tart that had followed the meat pie. He almost didn’t recall eating.
“You’d better leave now,” suggested Meldryn, turning to Jessyla. “Beltur will walk you home.”
“And put a shield around Jessyla,” added Athaal. “Just to be on the safe side.”
“I wouldn’t want…” she began.
“Beltur’s good with shields. He can handle two of them all day,” said Athaal. “You’d better be going or Margrena will worry.” He looked at Beltur.
Beltur nodded and rose from the table. He understood very well what Athaal was suggesting. So did Jessyla, he suspected, because she stood immediately.
She inclined her head to the seated couple. “Thank you both so much. I’ve had a lovely time.”
“You’re more than welcome,” replied Meldryn. “I hope we see both you and your mother often.”
“I’ll tell her that.”
Beltur understood that message as well.
When the two of them were outside in the early twilight, Beltur immediately raised separate shields for each of them.
“They’re nice,” Jessyla said.
“They are. They certainly helped me. Otherwise, I’d practically be begging.”
“I don’t think you’d make a very good beggar.”
“That’s why I said practically, and why I’m grateful to Athaal and Meldryn … and your mother for persuading Athaal to help me. Did you have anything to do with that?”
Jessyla was silent.
Beltur kept walking, looking forward and then back at her.
Then, out of a side lane dashed two ragged figures, both of whom lunged at Jessyla—and both rebounded from the shield around her. One went to his knees and just looked.
The other staggered away, yelling, “Get away! He’s a mage!” Then he darted into the side lane, his sound of his footsteps becoming ever fainter.
Jessyla stopped, startled.
Before she could say anything, the second man scrambled to his feet and sprinted for the side lane. Finally, she looked at Beltur. “You do have strong shields. I didn’t even remember that you put them around me.”
“I take Athaal and Meldryn’s advice seriously. We should probably hurry. How far is Crafters Way from here?”
“Another ten blocks, I think.”
They resumed walking.
After another period of silence, Beltur said gently, “You never answered my question.”
“I hoped you’d forget.”
“I haven’t forgotten much of what you’ve said.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
Beltur kept walking, and she kept pace with him.
Finally, she said, “I told Mother that I didn’t see how you could possibly be a danger to anyone except yourself. You just proved that I was wrong.”
“At that time,” he admitted, “you were right.”
“You’re trying to placate me. I don’t like be placated. Mother does that.”
“I am not,” replied Beltur firmly. “Because of what you and your mother did, Athaal guided me here. He taught me exercises the whole way to Elparta. I’m a much, much better mage than I was when you said that.”
“You really mean that, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you.” I couldn’t.
“I don’t think you would. Unlike some people.” Her voice turned sardonic with the last words.
After another awkward silence, Beltur said, “I have the feeling that your mother might not want us to become too friendly.”
“She likes you, and she respects you…”
“But…?”
“You might be right. She said that you really haven’t decided what you want to be.”
“And we shouldn’t be too friendly because I’m still trying to work that out?”
“You’re forging cupridium…”
“I’m helping Jorhan to cast it. He forges it after that.”
“You’re the one who makes it possible. There aren’t many mages who can. I know enough to understand that.”
“Different mages can do different things.”
“You’re different, Beltur. That’s one of the things I like about you. Mother and most black mages don’t like different. Meldryn and Athaal are … different, too. That’s why they’re willing to help you.”
“I’m not different in that way.” Beltur looked directly at her. Even in the dim light, he could half see, half sense that he was blushing again.
“I’m very well aware of that.” Her voice lowered. “And glad.” Then she looked forward along Bakers Lane.
“Are you and your mother doing much healing?”
“Enough. Most of it doesn’t pay, but we do get a small stipend from the Council for each day we spend healing those who come to the Council Healing House. It’s good experience. It helps healers like us, and it helps the poor. Aunt did that for years. She only can do it occasionally now.”
Before all that long, Jesslya was rapping on the door of a narrow two-story dwelling squeezed between two other similar dwellings, one with a narrow window similar to that of the seamstress Beltur had visited.
The door opened almost immediately, and Margrena stood there. “I thought Athaal would escort you home.”
“He said I’d be safer with Beltur. He has stronger shields.”
Margrena’s stern expression softened into one of mild concern. “You didn’t have … any trouble?”
“Athaal and Meldryn fixed a wonderful dinner, and then Beltur brought me home.”
The older healer eased to the side, suggesting by her posture that Jessyla needed to come inside. Jessyla did not move.
“Would you like to come in, Beltur?” asked Margrena.
“I’d like that very much, but I think I’ll have to pass. Athaal and Meldryn might worry, and I do have patrol duty early tomorrow.”
“You’re part of the City Patrol?” Margrena’s eyebrows rose.
“You didn’t say anything about that,” added Jessyla.
“I’m not a full part … exactly. Every black mage has to spend ten eightdays every three years working with the City Patrol two days out of every eight. They pay me for it. My job is to patrol the main market square with a patroller.”
“Have you caught anyone?” asked Jessyla.
“Some thieves,” Beltur admitted, “and a cutpurse.”
“You seem to be fitting in here.”
“Only because of Athaal and Meldryn.” After the slightest hesitation, Beltur added. “I do have to go, but, as Jessyla can tell you, Meldryn hopes that both of you will visit.”
“Thank you,” said Jessyla, slipping toward her mother.
He barely managed to release the shield around her before it knocked Margrena sideways.
She turned and smiled.
“I’d like to thank you as well,” said Margrena. “Good night.”
Beltur nodded and then stepped back, turning as the door closed to begin the walk back, one that would feel far longer than the walk out had been.
XL
Twoday passed uneventfully, except for the misty drizzle that Beltur had to walk through on his way to the smithy that morning, a drizzle that vanished with a cooler afternoon breeze, a welcome wind whe
n it came through the open door of the smithy where he and Jorhan worked on the cupridium blades. Threeday dawned slightly warmer, the variation in temperature showing that harvest was drawing to an end, and that there would be more cooler days and fewer hot ones in the eightdays to come.
He and Jorhan had just cast another sabre when there was a rapping on the doorframe of the smithy. Beltur turned to see two unfamiliar men, and behind them a figure in black—whom he recognized after several moments as Cohndar.
“Smith Jorhan?” asked the first man, brown-haired and younger than the other two.
“That would be me.” The smith stepped forward. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Veroyt, chief assistant to Councilor Jhaldrak here.” He nodded toward the older man who wore a dark blue jacket and trousers. “We’ve come to talk to you about some blades you have been forging.”
As Veroyt spoke, Beltur noticed another man wearing gray-blue leathers who had entered the smithy behind Cohndar. The last man looked distinctly uneasy.
“What about them?” asked Jorhan genially, setting aside the hammer he held and moving toward Veroyt and Jhaldrak.
“There have been complaints.”
“What sort of complaints?” Jorhan’s voice turned from genial to polite.
“That you might be representing bronze as cupridium … that that there might be some … untoward use of chaos in forging that bronze.”
Jorhan squared his shoulders and faced Veroyt and Jhaldrak. “I don’t tell those who buy my metalwork falsehoods. Also, cupridium is a form of bronze. It is harder and more long-lasting than other bronzes.”
Beltur eased forward and asked politely, “Is there a law forbidding the forging of cupridium?”
“No. Not at all,” replied Jhaldrak “There is a … concern.” He glanced toward Cohndar. “Since the time of the fall of Cyador.”
“It is frowned upon,” said Cohndar.
Beltur tried to look confused, not completely a difficult task, since he was more than a little puzzled, not so much by the appearance of the men, particularly since they were accompanied by Cohndar, but by the concerns voiced. “I don’t think I understand. As surely you must know, honored Mage Cohndar, any forge uses fire, and the hotter the fire the more chaos. Any form of working metal involves chaos.”
Cohndar frowned. “It is not the same.”
“Free chaos is the same whether it is used in metal or for other purposes,” Beltur pointed out. “Also, the amount of chaos used in making cupridium is very small, and for it to be effective, as you must know, it has to be locked in place by order.”
Veroyt managed to conceal a smile.
Jhaldrak looked to Cohndar. “Is that true?”
“Ah … if the forging is done properly.”
“And if the forging is done properly, then the result is cupridium bronze, is it not?” asked Beltur.
“If it is done properly.” Cohndar’s admission was grudging.
“Then perhaps we should consult with the master armorer,” said Veroyt, gesturing toward the dark-haired man in the gray-blue leathers. “Have you had any experience with cupridium blades?”
“As much as anyone, ser. That’s to say, not a great deal. Cupridium blades are rare. The armory is fortunate to have two of them. They’re kept under lock. That’s because they’re good blades. They’re also valuable.”
“Can you tell whether a blade is cupridium and not just bronze?” asked Veroyt.
“I can give you my opinion. I can compare whatever the smith has forged to what I know of the cupridium blades in the armory.”
“Then please do so,” said Jhaldrak, his voice verging on impatience.
“Just a moment,” said Jorhan. “I’ll get you the one of the finished blades. They’re locked away.” He moved past the armorer and Cohndar and out the smithy door toward the house.
“Locked away?” asked Jhaldrak.
“Ser … a plain cupridium blade can’t be had for less than three golds, usually five or more,” said the armorer.
Jhaldrak looked to Veroyt. “What about tariffs on such blades?”
“There’s no tariff on a single blade owned for personal use. For weapons transported into Spidlar, the tariff is a copper on a silver of value. The tariffs for blades going into Certis or Gallos are higher, three coppers on two silvers. Axalt doesn’t tariff blades sold in Axalt, but it does tariff those going through Axalt to other lands.”
“Thank you for the most concise explanation,” said Jhaldrak dryly.
Veroyt merely inclined his head.
There were only a few more long moments of silence before Jorhan returned with a shimmering sabre. “Here’s the blade we’ve just finished. I don’t have a scabbard for it yet. You can see that it’s a touch more silver than regular bronze, and it’s lighter than a bronze sabre of the same length because the cupridium is stronger and the blade can be a shade thinner. It’s close to the weight and heft of black iron, and it’s stronger than a regular steel blade.” Jorhan extended it.
The armorer took it and began to examine it. “Excellent workmanship. Double-edged for the first third…”
Beltur just watched as the armorer handled the sabre, not really able to tell whether the man was pleased with the blade or not, although he certainly didn’t seem displeased.
Finally, the armorer handed the blade back to Jorhan, who, in turn, offered it to Veroyt. After several moments, Veroyt handed it to Cohndar.
The black mage frowned and seemed to be concentrating.
“You can sense, I’m sure,” said Beltur evenly, “that what chaos there is within the metal is locked in order.”
“Is it?” asked Veroyt, looking at Cohndar.
“It is,” the black mage finally replied, as if the admission had been dragged from him.
After another moment of silence, the master armorer addressed the councilor. “The test would be in putting it against an iron blade, but there’s no point in that. It’s as close to the same as the first two blades Jorhan brought me to test…”
For an instant, Cohndar’s mouth opened. The black mage shut it immediately.
“I see…” Jhaldrak said, looking to Cohndar.
“You didn’t say anything about that,” declared Cohndar sharply, glaring at the armorer.
“You didn’t ask, ser. No one even told me where we were going. Just that the councilor needed my opinion on what someone claimed was a cupridium sword.”
“Is it cupridium?”
The armorer shrugged. “Like I told Jorhan. All three are as much cupridium as the ones I have. I can’t compare them to anything else. One of the ones he gave me will nick a steel blade without showing a mark on the cupridium. I don’t know anything else that will.”
Jhaldrak looked to Veroyt. “I think that decides the matter.” He turned to Jorhan. “Thank you, Smith. I wish you well. And you, too, Mage.”
Jhaldrak led the way from the smithy, followed by Veroyt, and then by Cohndar, who did not meet Beltur’s eyes as he passed.
The armorer lagged behind, then said quietly, “I enjoyed coming up here, Jorhan, Mage … Good to see that someone has figured out how to continue making cupridium blades. Be a shame to see that lost.”
“We’ll do our best to see that it’s not,” replied the smith.
“Good.”
Jorhan and Beltur watched from the door of the smithy as the councilor, his assistant, and Cohndar entered the waiting coach. The armorer climbed up beside the driver.
Once the coach was headed back toward Elparta, Jorhan said, “Gairlynt’s a good man. When things have quieted down, we’ll gift him with a fine belt dagger from cupridium. We’ll make it in the next few days. But I’ll have to wait to give it to him.” The smith paused. “You know that mage, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t say I know him. I met him once.”
“He’s got something in for you, I’d say.”
“He’s friendly with someone who’s got it in for me. I don’t know wh
y. I hadn’t thought he’d be like that.”
“He’s the kind who wants things to go his way. It’s worse that he’s a mage. I’d watch out for him.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to.”
Jorhan shook his head. “I expected someone would show up sooner or later asking about whether it was real cupridium. That was why I had Gairlynt look at that pair of blades early on. I didn’t expect the councilor. I thought maybe his assistant.”
Waensyn’s doing? Except all Beltur had said was that he’d been working with a smith, not even who the smith was. That meant Waensyn and Cohndar were definitely looking into what he was doing. Why? Because his uncle had been a white? Or because they thought he really was a white trying to pass as a black, despite the fact that he was so much better with order than he’d ever been with chaos, and that he had only traces of chaos about him? Or for some other reason that he didn’t even know?
“We need to get back to work. No sense in worrying about something we can’t do much about. Not right now, anyway.”
The rest of the day was largely uneventful—except for the one mold that split for no reason that either Beltur or Jorhan could ascertain. Jorhan thought it was likely that it had been heated for too long during the time that the councilor and his entourage had been at the smithy.
Beltur was almost feeling cheerful by the time he left the smithy with two more silvers in his wallet. He was feeling slightly better than that when he managed to hold four shields all at once for an actual fraction of a glass—perhaps a twentieth part. He’d only managed to hold that many shields for a few moments until then.
Both Meldryn and Athaal were in the kitchen when Beltur arrived.
“You had quite a morning, I understand.” Athaal smiled, almost mischievously.
“How did you know? I didn’t expect a Spidlarian councilor, his assistant, Cohndar, and a master armorer to show up at the smithy.”
“Veroyt’s a friend. He stopped by for a bit just a while ago.”
“Jorhan expected it,” said Meldryn.
The Mongrel Mage Page 38
