The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  As always, he carried personal shields on the walk back to the house, and he found himself looking at the people he passed. Nothing seemed any different from any other afternoon, and the idea that a Gallosian army was approaching Elparta seemed almost unreal.

  Beltur heard Athaal’s and Meldryn’s voices as soon as he stepped inside the front door.

  “… could ruin us … set us back…”

  “… Council doesn’t care…”

  “… been through this already…”

  Given the intensity of the conversion, Beltur didn’t want to seem to be sneaking up on the couple, and he called out loudly, “I’m back from Patrol duty!” Then he walked back toward the kitchen to find Meldryn and Athaal seated at the table.

  “How was your day?” asked Athaal immediately.

  “I wouldn’t say it was the best. Beginning on oneday, I’ve been relieved from City Patrol and transferred to the Third Infantry Battalion. According to Patrol Mage Osarus, both he and the captain protested and were overruled.”

  “They don’t want to make any exceptions,” said Meldryn. “They think every mage will come up with a reason not to serve with the armed forces.”

  “I have to report to the Council building early on oneday morning.”

  “Almost all mages are being required to do that,” said Athaal.

  “Including you?”

  “Including me,” replied Athaal.

  “I did bring up one difficulty with my serving. If I spend all my time with the infantry, I can’t help Jorhan make the cupridium blades the Council also wants. I told Raymandyl that. He said he’d pass it on.”

  “That might work,” offered Athaal.

  “It’s a question of what the Council wants,” said Beltur. “Me in the infantry or cupridium blades for the Council.”

  “They’ll find a way to get both,” replied Meldryn, “or something similar.”

  “I didn’t think it was fair for Jorhan to be a shieldman because I couldn’t help him with the forging.”

  “They threatened that?” asked Athaal.

  “He told me that on oneday. That’s when we started on the first of the straight-swords.” Beltur paused. “You said that the Council doesn’t want any mages to escape serving?”

  “In some way or another,” replied Meldryn. “I’ve been requested to supply bread—for which we’ll be paid just about what it will cost to bake it.”

  “That means Mel will have to work even longer days to pay for anything else.”

  “I did get paid today.” Beltur took two silvers from his wallet and put them on the table. “I know it’s not a lot…”

  Both the other two smiled.

  “The thought and concern is worth as much as the coin,” said Meldryn.

  “You’ve been good to me when others haven’t.” At that, he thought of Cohndar and Waensyn. “Did you ever talk to Cohndar?”

  Meldryn shook his head. “He’s been avoiding me, and so has Waensyn. Neither has talked to Felsyn lately, either.”

  “Cohndar met with Councilor Rendaal yesterday, according to Veroyt,” said Athaal. “I’d meant to tell you.”

  “Because Jhaldrak wasn’t happy with Cohndar?” asked Meldryn.

  “Veroyt thinks so, but he doesn’t know.”

  “That’s not good. Rendaal is very, very traditional,” said Meldryn.

  “I don’t know that there’s anything we can do. Not right now.”

  “No, there isn’t. Except be very careful.”

  Beltur had the feeling that they were all going to have to be careful.

  XLVII

  As soon as Beltur reached Jorhan’s smithy on fourday, he related what had happened, from his own orders to report for assignment to an infantry battalion to his efforts to point out the effect that would have on the Council’s need for cupridium swords. He also mentioned that Athaal and Meldryn had been assigned to various duties.

  “Hope you’ll give us better luck with the Council than I’ve ever had,” replied the smith sourly.

  “So do I, but all I could do was to point out the situation.”

  “Doesn’t seem like the Council knows what it’s doing.” Jorhan punctuated his words with a snort.

  “Councilor Jhaldrak has to know that it takes both of us to forge cupridium.”

  “Could be that he didn’t bother to tell anyone that when the Council ordered all the mages to do whatever they’re supposed to do. Really bright folks forget that not everyone knows what they know. Some councilors might act the same way.”

  And mages like Cohndar just might forget to remind them. “We’ll just have to see. They haven’t asked for more blades, have they?”

  “Of course. They want five sabres, too.”

  “Well … we’ve got three days,” said Beltur. “I can work longer if that will help. At least, we should be able to finish the last straight-sword and those sabres this eightday. By then, maybe someone will decide whether they really want cupridium blades.”

  “They’ll want them. They just don’t want to pay what they’re worth. Ten blades? That won’t outfit a squad. Some trader on the Council likely wants them, hoping to sell them at a profit once the fighting’s over.”

  “Or they’ll give them to a relative who is fighting, thinking it might help them?”

  “And probably make them pay for the blade in the process,” replied Jorhan. “I’ve never seen a trader who wasn’t figuring a way to make more coins out of everything … and anything.”

  But don’t we all? Even as he thought that, Beltur realized that wasn’t quite what the smith meant. “You mean making coins at someone else’s expense, rather than by honest pay for honest work or goods?”

  “That’s exactly what I meant.” Jorhan shook his head. “Jawing about traders won’t get those blades forged.”

  Beltur immediately stripped off his tunic and then headed toward the forge, wondering just what honest pay might be. If two silvers a day was a fair and honest wage for his helping Jorhan to make cupridium—and Beltur thought it was … except that was fair when Jorhan could sell a blade at five golds. He smiled wryly. A silver a day was far better than the alternatives, and those silvers weren’t going to be coming in for much longer.

  By the end of fourday, they had cast another straight-sword and a sabre, plus a small platter, and Beltur didn’t leave the smithy until almost half past fourth glass.

  Fiveday was better, because the sabres were smaller, and they managed to cast three sabres, and on sixday, they managed two more sabres and a pair of candlesticks.

  “That’s an extra sabre, just in case,” Jorhan said as Beltur donned his tunic. “Here’s your three silvers.”

  “Thank you.” Beltur paused as he put the coins in his wallet with the others there because he needed to pay the seamstress. “Once this … is over … do you want … I’m not pushing…”

  “Of course I do! Together we’ve just started.” Jorhan paused. “That’s if … well, if things go right for the two of us.”

  “You don’t think they’ll really make you a shieldman, do you?”

  “It might have been a threat. Then, again, it might not. Sometimes, the Council’s not too smart, but it’s not a good idea to say so real loud.”

  Beltur could definitely see that, one reason why he’d mentioned the problem with forging cupridium blades to Raymandyl rather than to even Veroyt. But the Prefect and Arms-Mage Wyath didn’t want to hear anything they didn’t agree with, either. Is the Council any different? “Maybe it’s that way with anyone who rules a land?”

  “That might be. I’ve heard that the Viscount doesn’t listen too well, either. A frigging shame. What’s the point of having people who can give you advice if you don’t listen? Except people with golds and power always think they know better, except that there are times they don’t. You’re a mage. I don’t tell you how to put order and chaos in the melt. You can figure that better than me.”

  “And I don’t tell you how to make molds a
nd forge.”

  “That’s right. Times are that two heads can be better than one. The thing is, you’ve got to know when those times are…” Abruptly, Jorhan broke off his words and laughed. “I could talk on and on. It won’t change things. I’ve got things to finish, and I’m sure you do as well.”

  “Until … well … whenever we can manage,” Beltur finally said. “I’ve really liked working with you. I hope it won’t be too long before we can get back together.”

  “That makes two of us, Mage. That it does.”

  Beltur was feeling gloomy as he walked down the lane to the road. It all seemed so stupid. Making Jorhan a shieldman wasn’t going to change anything in the fighting. And the few armsmen that Beltur could shield, out of the hundreds and thousands who might be fighting, wouldn’t likely change much, either. More and better blades just might.

  He shook his head and kept walking.

  After walking less than a hundred yards, he decided he’d definitely better work on trying to improve his shields and containments. The stronger his shields, the better his chances.

  For all his resolve, he didn’t have much success in trying to hold five separate shields at once. Although he could create the fifth one, he could only hold it for a moment or two, and he was feeling exhausted and had begun to sweat again by the time he neared the southeast gate. The cooler wind out of the northwest helped cool him a little once he stopped practicing and for the last hundred yards before the gate.

  Once inside Elparta proper, he headed north on the wall road until he reached Tailors Way, where he turned west and proceeded to Celinya’s doorway. He knocked and waited for the peephole to open.

  “Celinya, it’s Beltur. Are the trousers and tunic ready?”

  Only the slightest click of the latch preceded the open door. Celinya stood largely behind the door and closed and latched it quickly after Beltur entered. He noticed for the first time the heavy iron of the latch and latch plate.

  “Your trousers and tunic are on the rack, if you would care to look at them.”

  “Thank you.” Beltur moved to the rack. For several long moments, he just looked at the black tunic hanging on the rack. He’d never seen a tunic that fine. At least, it didn’t seem that way to him.

  “You should see how it fits.”

  Beltur slipped off his old tunic, conscious of just how worn it was in comparison to the deep black tunic before him, and laid it on the empty worktable. The new tunic fit perfectly, and he could sense its order and harmony as he moved and walked around in it. He took it off, almost regretfully, and replaced it on the rack.

  “You should also try on the trousers. I will leave.”

  “Shouldn’t I pay you first, if…”

  A smile crossed Celinya’s face, if briefly. “I do not have to ask that of you. Try them on.”

  When she opened the door, Beltur caught sight of a foyer with a staircase leading upstairs. He could also sense someone else in the room beyond, possibly a child.

  Beltur stripped off his trousers, also worn, and tried on the new pair, which matched exactly the tunic, a harmony that was lacking in his present attire, whose fabric and colors only generally resembled each other.

  After he had taken off the new trousers and re-dressed himself, he knocked gently on the rear door, then stepped back and waited for the seamstress to return.

  “I owe you four silvers and six. Is that right?”

  Celinya nodded.

  “These are very good,” Beltur said, handing her five silvers. “I would give you more, but I’m not that well off.”

  “You are a black mage and a good man. Thank you.” Celinya paused. “In time, you will come back?”

  “I will. I certainly will.” He watched as she carefully folded the tunic and trousers and then wrapped them in another scrap-cloth bag that she handed to him.

  After he left the seamstress and walked down Tailors Lane toward Bakers Lane, he still couldn’t believe just how good the tailoring and cloth were on his new garments. But then, for eight silvers they should be. Still, he was pleased, very pleased. He also knew he’d look much better the next time he called on Jessyla.

  While he pondered the problem of forging cupridium blades, and why the Council seemed so adamant that he shouldn’t be allowed to help Jorhan, there was still a certain spring in his step when he entered the house.

  “You look happy,” observed Athaal from where he stood in the parlor as Beltur walked toward the staircase.

  Beltur stopped, surprised to see Athaal in the parlor. “I just got a new tunic and trousers from Celinya.”

  “You got a tunic, too?”

  “You said I needed a better one the other day.”

  “You must have gone to see Celinya right after that.” Athaal smiled.

  “Haven’t I tried to take your advice?” replied Beltur. Even if I anticipated it?

  “He just wishes a few others would,” said Meldryn from behind Beltur.

  “Who? The Council?”

  “Among others,” replied Athaal. “Veroyt listens, but Jhaldrak and the other councilors don’t always listen to him.”

  “About what?” asked Beltur.

  “How to use black mages more effectively against the Gallosians. Spreading us out among the various companies isn’t going to be very effective, not when most mages can only shield a few people.” Athaal shook his head.

  “I was thinking about that on the way back from Jorhan’s,” Beltur admitted. “That forging blades might be a better use of my talents than shielding a handful of armsmen.”

  “If you can think of that, and I can…” Athaal shook his head.

  “They have an exaggerated sense of our abilities,” said Meldryn. “They believe that all the words of the ancient legends are true, and that we can move mountains and topple cities the way the legendary Nylan did.”

  “You don’t think he did all that?” asked Beltur.

  “He doubtless did some of it. But probably there was just a great earthquake, and he took credit for it. Or perhaps he didn’t, and the scriveners who wrote the accounts gave him credit.” Meldryn shrugged. “Then, possibly, he might have been that powerful. That doesn’t mean that the rest of us are. I’ve never run across a mage that could do a fraction of what’s attributed to Nylan—or even Saryn of the black blades.”

  “Could it be because they came from the Rational Stars?” asked Beltur.

  “That might be, but we certainly don’t, and the Council should recognize that, if anyone should. They aren’t faulted for not having huge fireships that dominate the oceans, but we’re expected to work miracles when they can’t.”

  “Miracles or not,” said Athaal with a smile, “Beltur’s probably getting hungry. I know I am, and it’s getting late.”

  “I’m sorry,” replied Beltur. “I worked a little later so that we could finish casting the last blade of the second batch the Council wanted, and then I had to stop by Celinya’s to pick up my tunic and trousers.”

  “You’ll wear them the next time you visit Margrena and Jessyla?” Athaal grinned. “You’re sure?”

  Beltur flushed.

  Both the others laughed.

  “Let Beltur put away his new clothes, and then we’ll eat,” declared Meldryn.

  XLVIII

  Beltur was at City Patrol headquarters at the usual time on sevenday. He’d been careful to leave the house on time, because being late on his last day wouldn’t have left the right impression, and Beltur had the feeling he’d need all the goodwill possible in the eightdays to come, especially given the animosity that Waensyn and Cohndar seemed to bear toward him.

  Laevoyt was just signing the duty book when Beltur entered the building and hurried to the desk to sign in after his partner.

  When the two started walking down Patrol Street, Laevoyt turned his head toward Beltur and asked, “You still headed off to be an arms-mage on oneday?”

  “So far as I know. Almost all the mages in Elparta are supposed to report to t
he Council building then. Except Patrol Mage Osarus, I think.”

  “That’d be right. The Council must be summoning armsmen from everywhere. A battalion of armsmen from Kleth marched in last night. I saw them on my way off duty.”

  “I didn’t see any on the way here.”

  Laevoyt shook his head. “You won’t. Not during the day. I’m just glad I don’t work the evening duty, especially along the riverfront. The taverns and public rooms there will be crowded.” The patroller glanced skyward. “It’s hazy. We might see some rain later.”

  “Should I raise a concealment before we get near the square?”

  “There’s no point on sevenday. Everyone knows there’s a mage on duty on sevenday. Leastwise, any of the longtime cutpurses and light-fingers. The amateurs won’t notice one way or another, and the most successful light-fingers are the ones we likely won’t notice. Neither will their victims until much, much later.”

  Beltur smiled at Laevoyt’s cheerful cynicism.

  The two parted at the corner, with Beltur continuing along the edge of the square on Patrol Street and Laevoyt turning south on West Street. Beltur kept walking, not raising a concealment, but listening as carefully as he could.

  “… just saw the mage…”

  “… be the last time you see him for a while … be here anyway…”

  Beltur concentrated on sensing chaos flickers, but there weren’t many, not that he expected anything different early in the day. Partway down East Street, he raised a concealment and then turned in to the square, moving carefully along the line of tables and stalls that held all manner of baskets—grass baskets, reed baskets, wicker baskets, small baskets, and baskets large enough to hold a small woman standing. He didn’t expect thieves there, but the space between the lines of vendors was less crowed, and he could move more easily into the center of the square.

  After a time, he dropped the concealment and walked through other lines of vendors, especially near the silks and jewelry, but neither saw nor sensed anything. He did see a shimmersilk scarf of green and blue that would have looked striking on Jessyla, not that he could have afforded it, not after paying for his tunic and trousers … and the silvers he’d given Athaal and Meldryn.