The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “That would be putting it too kindly.”

  “Do you know anything useful about any of the Gallosian mages?”

  “No, ser. I had almost nothing to do with any of those remaining, except one, and I don’t know if he’s alive.”

  “We could hope. What’s the worst they could do?”

  “Most of the white mages can throw chaos-fire.”

  “Can you stop it?”

  “It depends on how many are throwing it. I can likely hold my own against most of them for quite some time—one on one. The more there are, the less time I’ll be able to hold them off.”

  “We’re a recon company. You likely won’t run into many at a time.” Laugreth gestured to the two officers who stood waiting some five yards away. “The dark-haired older one is Undercaptain Gaermyn. He’s my second. Zandyr is the light-haired one.”

  “Captain,” offered Gaermyn, inclining his head as Laugreth and Beltur halted.

  Zandyr merely nodded without speaking.

  “Gaermyn, Zandyr, this is Beltur. He’s our mage undercaptain. He’ll only be here twice an eightday until the Gallosians arrive. That’s because he’ll be working on weapons when he’s not here.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you both,” Beltur said, studying the two. Gaermyn was much older, likely a good ten years older than the captain. Although clean-shaven, he had a weathered look, and his hair was shot with silver. Zandyr seemed even younger than Beltur. His smooth face was slightly rounded, and both his dark blue uniform tunic and trousers appeared to be of fine wool and well-tailored to his slender figure. Under his golden-blond hair and eyebrows, his blue eyes appeared guileless.

  “Gaermyn,” said Laugreth, “if you’d keep those carpenters in line while I brief the undercaptains. Also, send back a squad leader who can fill in the undercaptains on Second Recon. One who’s less needed at the moment.”

  “Yes, ser.” With quick nod, the older undercaptain strode away back toward the eastern half of the space.

  Laugreth walked over to the north wall of the warehouse. Beltur and Zandyr followed.

  “At this point, I don’t know what your duties will be.” The captain looked at Zandyr. “I understand you know the roads and the terrain south of here across the border in Gallos?”

  “I know the road. There’s only one main road, and but a handful of side byways. I’ve traveled it a score of times. I’m not as familiar with the ground more than a kay from the road.”

  “You haven’t traveled that far off the main road, then?”

  After a slight hesitation, Zandyr replied, “No, I haven’t.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. I need to go over one or two things first. Why do you two think that the Gallosians are attacking right at the end of harvest and beginning of fall? Especially when we usually have heavy rains in the fall and early snows well before winter?” Laugreth looked from Beltur to Zandyr.

  “The crops are mostly in,” ventured Zandyr, “and the Prefect can call up levies without hurting the harvest and without losing tariffs? Trade falls off by mid-harvest, and he won’t lose any tariffs, but closing the river to trade will cost Elparta and all of Spidlar more than it does Gallos.”

  “That’s likely, but what happens when the river freezes over? That could happen by late fall, and they won’t be able to get supplies then.”

  “Not if they already hold Elparta, ser,” suggested Beltur.

  “How do you think they’ll manage that, Undercaptain Beltur?”

  “I don’t know, ser. I’d guess that they’re relying on their white mages to keep our forces from attacking their siege engines. If they breach the walls, then there won’t be much to hold back the chaos-bolts of the mages.”

  “I thought you black mages could do that.”

  “We can protect small groups and areas. I don’t think there are enough of us to protect an entire city if the walls are breached in a number of places.”

  “That means that we can’t let them get that far,” Laugreth turned his eyes on Zandyr, “don’t you think, Undercaptain?”

  “It would seem that way.”

  “What does that mean for Second Recon?”

  “We’re going to have to stop them.”

  “Your thoughts, Undercaptain Beltur?”

  “I know nothing of military tactics, ser, but doesn’t it mean that Second Recon will need to find out where the Gallosians appear to be heading before they actually get there, because once they get there and set up fortifications they can use chaos against any attacks?”

  “That’s correct. That’s also why we’ll need you sooner than the Council anticipates. Not this eightday, in all likelihood, but after that … we’ll have to see.” Laugreth looked past the two undercaptains toward a ranker who approached. “That’s enough from me for right now. Squad Leader Lhestyn will fill you in on the company, its structure and capabilities, and arrange for suitable mounts for each of you, as well as introduce you to all the squad leaders so that they all know who you are. Zandyr, you’ll start riding recon patrols on threeday. That’s to allow the horses some rest. Beltur, you and Gaermyn and I will need to go over how to mesh tactics and patrols with your capabilities. That will also be on threeday. Lhestyn will take care of you for the rest of the day. Listen carefully to what he has to say.” Laugreth turned to the older squad leader. “You know what to do.”

  “Thank you, ser,” said Beltur politely.

  Zandyr barely nodded.

  “You’re welcome, Undercaptains.”

  “Yes, ser. If you’d accompany me, Undercaptains…” The squad leader’s voice was level, neither arrogant nor condescending.

  Beltur understood what Laugreth hadn’t said—that there was a great deal that neither Beltur nor Zandyr knew, and that much of it was what every ranker in the company already understood. He had the feeling, from the momentary look of surprise on the face of the trader’s son, that was something that Zandyr still hadn’t realized.

  Beltur kept his smile to himself.

  LI

  Twoday morning Jorhan was waiting when Beltur walked into the smithy.

  “Councilor’s clerk said you’d be here today. I wasn’t sure I believed him.” Jorhan looked inquiringly at Beltur.

  “Threeday and sevenday I have to be with Second Recon Company, until the Gallosians show up in force. Otherwise, I’m supposed to help you.” Beltur pulled off his old tunic and hung it on the peg. “What are we working on today?”

  “More blades. The Council wants as many as we can do for as long as we can.”

  “If they want that many, then they’d better pay you, or you won’t be able to buy the copper and tin we need.”

  “They had ten stones’ worth of copper here yesterday and two stones’ worth of tin.” Jorhan offered a twisted smile. “Seems like blades are in short supply. Any kind of sword blade. They want more of the straight-swords first. I spent most of yesterday on the molds.”

  “You did more than I did. I just did what they told me and found out that no one seems to know when the Gallosians will arrive. It could be in a few days, or in a few eightdays.”

  “Let’s hope it’s longer.”

  Nodding, Beltur moved toward the bellows, even as he wondered how the Council could have even considered not having Jorhan make blades if they were so short of weapons. But there was also the nagging question of just what difference another ten or twenty or even thirty swords might make … even cupridium blades.

  “The first mold is just about hot enough,” said Jorhan. “Bit of a gamble, but I figured someone’d let me know if you weren’t coming.”

  Beltur’s first thought was that he wasn’t certain he’d trust the Council that much, but then he considered that they’d brought all the copper and tin … and traders wouldn’t want to waste the metal, especially after Jorhan had showed Veroyt the unworkable cupridium from the first attempts.

  The first casting went well, and Beltur felt that he was getting more precise with each blade … a
nd that it took less effort. Or maybe you’re getting to be a stronger mage.

  While Jorhan was checking the heat on the second mold, Beltur asked, “What will you do if the Gallosians cross the border and surround the city?”

  “That’s two ‘ifs.’ I don’t see the Council letting them get that close.” Jorhan paused. “If it happens that way, though … I guess I’d skedaddle off to Axalt and visit my sister. No way I’d stay here if the Prefect’s men were roaming here, trying to live off the land.”

  “Your sister lives in Axalt?” Beltur knew that, but since he’d heard that from Athaal and not from the smith, he thought it better to ask, especially since Jorhan had mentioned it. That way, he might learn more.

  “A merchant from Axalt took a fancy to her, and she liked him. Doesn’t happen often, and back then I couldn’t support her and Menara. Every now and again, he stops by and brings a letter and some wine and ale. They’ve got three children, two boys and a girl. I visited them once, but it’s a long trip. Not so long as the one you made, that’s for sure, but too long for me to do often. Just wanted to make sure she was happy.”

  “I take it that she is.”

  “Couldn’t be happier. One of the boys’ll get my lands and the smithy, but I’m in no hurry to give them up. Might even let him know where the coal is. With a powerful merchant family from Axalt behind him, the traders here won’t be able to steal it from him.”

  “Coal? The coal you burn in the forge?”

  Jorhan nodded. “There’s a family story about it. My grandfather’s great-grandfather was a herder, but they had lands. Parts of those lands were in Gallos back then. Now, they’re in Spidlar. His father died in a battle to take Axalt, but one day a mercenary captain showed up and paid to stay at their house. The Prefect had a price on his head, and the assassins followed him. The young fellow—he was barely more than a boy—somehow helped the captain, and they killed all the assassins. The captain found the coal digging graves for the assassins and told the boy to keep it secret. Then the fellow left in the middle of the night and took all the arms and mounts belonging to the men who’d tried to kill him, but left six golds. Those golds let the family buy more sheep, and then in time, my great-grandsire became a smith using the coal.” Jorhan laughed. “That’s the story, anyway.”

  “Who was the man?”

  “He never knew. Just called him the stranger.”

  “Do you think it’s all true?”

  “The coal’s there. My grandfather said that his father had planted all the trees so that it’d be harder to find the coal for anyone who didn’t know.” Jorhan stretched. “We need to get the melt ready.”

  Beltur walked back to the bellows, thinking. A stranger had asked for help, and then ended up helping Jorhan’s ancestor. Beltur himself had asked Margrena and Athaal for help, and he’d been a stranger to them. But what could he do beyond what he’d already done? You’ll figure out something … somehow.

  He put his hands on the bellows and began to pump.

  By the end of the day, Beltur’s hands and arms were sore from all the work with the bellows, and he’d drunk more ale than usual, because he’d worked harder, and almost until fifth glass. Jorhan was in a good mood, most likely because they managed more castings and, just as likely, because it appeared that he wouldn’t be called up as a shieldman.

  When Beltur reached the southeast city gates, he saw that masons had been working there to reinforce the stonework around the gates. There were also four troopers there as guards, rather than the usual two. One looked hard at Beltur, but a second one said something, and they both nodded as Beltur passed.

  What Beltur did notice as he walked north along Bakers Lane was that there were almost no armsmen anywhere. Because they’ve been moved out … or ordered to stay out of sight?

  Beltur entered the house with some trepidation, even though Athaal had told him that the Council didn’t need him for several days, possibly longer, and had said, once again, that Meldryn’s greatest use was to bake large quantities of bread. When Beltur heard the voices from the kitchen, he took a deep breath and made his way there.

  “How many blades did you forge today?” asked Athaal cheerfully.

  “We cast five. Jorhan will be working late on working those and probably most of tomorrow as well, since I have to be with Second Recon tomorrow. We’ll cast more on fourday—if the Gallosians haven’t showed up by then.”

  “They won’t,” offered Meldryn. “Not that soon.”

  “I don’t know,” said Beltur. “With what you’ve told me about the late fall weather here, I don’t see how they can afford to waste time.”

  “Maybe they think that it won’t take that long,” suggested Athaal.

  “Everything takes longer than you think,” replied Meldryn, “except disaster and failure.”

  “You’re such an optimist, Mel,” said Athaal sardonically.

  “Realist. Moving five thousand men more than two hundred kays doesn’t happen quickly.”

  “We don’t know when they started, and there are already two thousand some ten kays south of us.”

  “So why doesn’t the marshal attack them before more arrive?” asked Meldryn dryly.

  “You tell me, O realistic one,” asked Athaal, his tone light.

  “Because that would make Spidlar the evil aggressor, and then both Certis and Gallos could join in the reprisal and plundering of Spidlar.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” said Beltur quietly. “The Prefect has already declared that he’s going to force Spidlar to accept his terms.”

  Meldryn shook his head. “It makes great sense, in a convoluted way. The Prefect knows that many people, including the rulers of Suthya, Sarronnyn, Certis, and Montgren, possibly even Lydiar, will regard him as the aggressor if he attacks first. What if all this talk is merely to get Spidlar to attack first? Then the Prefect can declare to all of Candar that he was just trying to get better trade terms, and he had fortified his border with Spidlar because he was worried about those greedy traders of the north who might attack him because they wanted to keep unfair tariffs on his poor traders and merchants. And if we attack first, even knowing that he would attack anyway, that’s exactly the way the world would see it, and everyone would unite against us because they could be sure of being on the winning side and profiting from it. That would also assure that all of them would pay lower tariffs and that the Prefect wouldn’t lose as many men or mages.”

  Beltur’s immediate thought was to declare that what Meldryn had said was absurd, but his second thought was that the older mage was absolutely right … and that depressed him. “So we have to wait for their attack?”

  “Do you think the Council has a choice?” replied Meldryn.

  “Not when you put it that way.”

  “Why don’t you get washed up?” suggested Athaal. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Oh … I should.” As he headed upstairs, Beltur was still mulling over how the political implications had changed a simple tactical suggestion for an easier fight into something much larger and more complex, in a way he would not have even thought about before Meldryn’s explanation.

  LII

  Beltur had to force himself to get up earlier than usual on threeday because Second Recon mustered at sixth glass, a full glass earlier than he’d been used to starting work either at the smithy or as a City Patrol mage. When he left the house, he realized that the air was cooler than it had been on previous mornings. Was autumn in Elparta that much cooler than in Fenard? One way or another, he’d find out.

  Somehow, he managed to show up at the warehouse before sixth glass, where he was immediately met by Undercaptain Gaermyn.

  “When do you get your uniform, Beltur?”

  “This afternoon, any time after fourth glass, ser.”

  Gaermyn paused. “You haven’t served as an armsman, have you?”

  “No, ser. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem to understand military structure and discipline
, unlike … some.”

  Beltur got both messages. “My uncle and father were very formal, and believed in respecting those of higher position and ability.” Mostly, anyway.

  “This is for you.” The weathered-looking undercaptain handed Beltur a visored cap seemingly identical to the one he wore.

  Immediately, Beltur could see that the bronze insignia above the shiny leather visor was a miniature version of the plaque that had been over the Council conference room where Veroyt had addressed the mages. That—and its use as a visor emblem—strongly suggested it might even be the seal of Spidlar, but Beltur wasn’t about to ask. “Thank you, ser.”

  “Wear it at all times when you’re on duty and, after you get your uniform, when you’re in full uniform.”

  Beltur put on the visor cap.

  “Now, we’ll be mustering the company shortly. The five squads will each line up outside here, with their squad leader in front. All officers will be forward of first squad—that’s the squad on the right—and at a right angle so we can see the captain and the squads. You’ll see. Just stay with me.”

  Beltur did just that, following Gaermyn out of the warehouse, and noticing as he did that all the temporary stalls seemed to be in place.

  “We’ve got a durable gelding for you, Beltur. He’s solid and doesn’t spook easily. Since you’ll be doing magery at times, the captain wanted to make sure you had a horse that wasn’t high-strung.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I suspect all of us will benefit from that,” replied Gaermyn dryly. “This morning you and I are going to take a ride with first squad. That way you’ll get to see what a recon squad does, and you can show the squad what you can do. Then we’ll see how we can put the two together.”

  Zandyr was waiting outside the warehouse and walked on the other side of the senior undercaptain as the three strode toward the east end of the area where the squads had formed up.

  “One of you on each side of me,” said Gaermyn as he came to a halt.

  “I thought we formed up by seniority,” said Zandyr.