The Mage-Fire War (Saga of Recluce)

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “A very disordered one. Two in fact.” And one is surrounded by chaos. More chaos than Beltur had ever sensed in one mage, but that could mean a strong disciplined mage or one not so strong and undisciplined, most likely younger, since strong undisciplined whites tended to die young.

  “There are two white mages ahead?” asked Karch.

  “So far, that’s what we can sense.”

  “How far ahead?”

  “About a kay.”

  “That’s past the market square then,” said the captain.

  “The first inn. The Brass Bowl, that’s on this side of the square, isn’t it?”

  “If you can call it an inn. It’s two to three blocks this side of the square.”

  Closer to the square, there were more houses that were still occupied, but Beltur only saw a few people out, all of them older, and all of them working garden plots.

  “There’s hardly anyone living here,” murmured Jessyla.

  “It seems that way, but we need to find out more.”

  The Brass Bowl consisted of two connected yellow-brick buildings, one a square structure set on a corner with the public room clearly in front and the second a narrower structure extending rearward from the first, with two levels of rooms, and a stable at the far end. With smoke coming from the chimneys, the inn definitely looked as though it was actually catering to travelers and drinkers.

  “Do you want to stop here?” asked Karch.

  “I’d rather ride through the town, at least to the square, before we stop. Unless you think there’s a better approach.”

  “We’ll have to take over both inns for quarters,” Karch reminded Beltur.

  “Do you want to leave two squads and the supply wagons here, then?”

  “If you think there’s no danger of an attack.”

  “I don’t know about the mages. They’re still on the far side of the square. What if you just had the last two squads and the wagons pull up here and have them wait with Lhadoraak?”

  “I don’t have a problem with that.”

  “Then we should halt and make those arrangements before continuing.”

  Karch nodded.

  While the captain briefed the two squad leaders, Beltur rode back and reined up short of Lhadoraak.

  “What is it?” asked the older mage. “Is it about the mages ahead of us?”

  “I need you to stay here with the last two squads and supplies. Jessyla and I are going to take three squads to deal with the whites. After we see about that, then we’ll need to decide about what comes next.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want us with you?”

  “I worry about Taelya.” Beltur didn’t say what his worry was—that he didn’t want Taelya seeing a white who possibly might throw chaos bolts, not at her age.

  For a moment, Lhadoraak frowned, then abruptly nodded. “Thank you.”

  “We’ll have to see why whites are even here.” Whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good.

  “Better you than me. Besides, you’re the head councilor.”

  “For all that means,” said Beltur in words that were meant to be wry, but came out sardonic. He turned Slowpoke and urged him back toward the front of the company.

  Since Karch hadn’t returned, Beltur eased Slowpoke close to Jessyla. “I need to tell you something.”

  “That you’re totally shielded? I realized that when you went to talk to Lhadoraak. Why?”

  “That’s the point. There are two whites. I don’t think either can do that kind of shield. They will be able to sense you. They’ll also sense Lhadoraak, and he’s not that close. I want to see what they’ll do.”

  “You have something in mind, don’t you?”

  “Only if they don’t want to be cooperative. I’d be happy if they just want a place to live and would agree to help us put Haven back together. Five mages are stronger than three.”

  “If they agree.”

  “That’s what we’ll need to see.” Beltur sensed Karch returning and turned. “Are we ready to continue?”

  “We are.” Raising his voice, he called out, “Company! Forward!”

  A block later Beltur was studying the square as his force neared the western side, trying as he had since entering Haven to match what he saw with what was on the maps he’d studied. Since it was not yet midafternoon, the square should have held some vendors, selling something. The only person visible was a gray-haired man in faded brown clothes that looked closer to rags.

  Beltur turned to Karch. “Just have the company halt here. I want to ride up and talk to the beggar.”

  “What about the mages?”

  “They aren’t moving. They can’t sense me. If they’re able to sense anyone, it would be Jessyla and Lhadoraak.”

  Karch frowned, but ordered, “Company! Halt!”

  Beltur did not explain, but eased Slowpoke forward across the square in the midafternoon sun.

  The gray-haired man did not look up initially, then finally raised his head. He sat on the chipped stone wall around the fountain from which no water flowed. He watched as Beltur rode closer and reined up. Then, as the beggar’s eyes took in Beltur’s blacks, he stiffened, as if he wanted to run, then decided against it.

  “Where is everyone?” asked Beltur.

  “Not here, ser mage.”

  “Is there another market square? Another place for people to buy and sell?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Why isn’t anyone selling?”

  “It’s not safe. No patrollers anymore. Not since the bravos killed the councilor. Not since the white ones came.”

  “When did they come?”

  “Sometime after when the snow stopped falling. Not long ago. Maybe an eightday. Don’t remember. Might have been a threeday.”

  “How do you know they were white ones?”

  “They flame people.”

  Not exactly promising for cooperation. “Where would I find the white ones?”

  “At the East Inn.”

  “Not the Brass Bowl?”

  “That’s where the bravos and traders are. When they’re here. Most of them left a little while ago. The Duchess’s armsmen are coming, you know? The traders all leave when the armsmen come. They come back when they leave. Been that way a while.”

  “How long is a while?”

  “A while.” The gray-haired man looked down at the cracked and uneven bricks that had once been the smooth surface of the square. He did not look up again.

  Beltur turned Slowpoke and rode back to where Karch and the others waited.

  “Did you learn anything?” Karch’s tone was not quite dismissive.

  “Enough. The white mages came an eightday ago, or so. They took over the East Inn. They flame people who don’t obey them. The traders and bravos left when they learned we were coming, just as you thought.”

  “What do you plan now?”

  “To go to the East Inn. I think one squad will be enough.”

  Again, Karch frowned.

  “We need some armsmen behind us to prove that we represent the Duchess. It’s easier for me to protect one squad than three. Also, if we leave two squads in the square it says something.” Beltur hoped Karch didn’t ask what, because Beltur couldn’t have said. It just felt that way. He could sense that while the white mages had moved only slightly, to near the front of the building he thought was the East Inn, a number of others, likely armsmen of some sort, had assembled outside the building.

  “What if the mages get around you?”

  “So far, that’s never happened. If it does, I’ll know almost immediately, and I’ll deal with it. The sooner we move with one squad to the East Inn, the less likely we are to have even more trouble.”

  “Even more?”

  “Two white mages and a score of armsmen are trouble enough.” Beltur was guessing at the exact number, but it had to be in that range. “Half the men in First Squad are archers, are they not?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Have th
em ready their bows, and move them forward into a five-abreast formation.”

  “Might I ask why?”

  “So that they will be in position to take out the armsmen waiting at the East Inn. You’d prefer to do it with shafts than blades, I presume.”

  “You think it will be necessary?”

  “I hope not. I suspect it will be. There are two white mages there, not just one.” Beltur could sense Karch’s question and went on, “One white mage is an opportunist. Two and a squad of armsmen suggest organization and power.”

  Karch turned in the saddle. “First Squad! Archers forward. Five abreast. Ready bows!”

  In moments, the squad was re-formed.

  Once Beltur saw that, rather than say more, he urged Slowpoke forward, nodding to Jessyla.

  “On the mage!” ordered Karch.

  While the captain’s voice was firm, Beltur had a good idea that Karch was less than pleased. But then, Beltur was less than pleased at the conditions that had been allowed to develop in Haven.

  The East Inn was actually on the east side of the square, but its entry was on the main street that Beltur and his force had taken through the town. And, as Beltur had sensed, some fifteen armsmen, all wearing gray tunics, were waiting for them, formed up across the street, facing west as Beltur reined up some twenty yards away. Ten of them held bows at the ready. To one side, by the lane leading to the inn’s stable yard, stood the two white mages. Both mages wore gray, if a lighter shade than the gray of the armsmen. The blond, slightly taller and more powerful, mage, around whom chaos swirled, declared, “You are all trespassing.”

  “Who are you, to block the road to the Council of Haven?” asked Beltur, directing his words to the mages.

  “Haven no longer exists. Fairhold is this town’s name,” declared the white-blond mage. “We took it fairly, and we hold it.”

  “By what right?” asked Beltur, easing Slowpoke forward and to the side of the street closest to the inn, so that Karch’s archers would have a clear line of fire, if necessary.

  “The only right that matters. The ability to hold this town.”

  “Haven belongs to the Duchy of Montgren,” replied Beltur. “You have not been chosen to govern Haven by the duchy. You have not paid the tariffs that all towns in Montgren pay. You’re also defying the lawful authority of the duchy.”

  The white mage laughed. “You’re young. Too young to understand that authority is only conferred by force. Our force is superior to yours. Your choice is simple. Go away or perish.”

  “What if I offered you a position as councilor of Haven?” asked Beltur.

  Behind Beltur, Karch stiffened.

  “You have that authority?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I’d say that authority is worthless. Why should I share what I hold with a mere black stripling whose shade is barely enough to be termed black?”

  That alone told Beltur that the mage could only sense Jessyla.

  “You might consider survival as a good reason,” replied Beltur.

  The white laughed. “My men can take down all your armsmen before they could nock shafts.”

  “You seem rather certain of that,” replied Beltur, still easing Slowpoke forward.

  “Enough!” snapped the white. “You were warned.” A fireball arced directly at Beltur, and the white ordered, “Loose shafts!”

  Beltur extended shields, then captured the firebolt with a containment and hurled it straight back at the more powerful white. He also dropped his unnecessary order/chaos concealment.

  The shafts from the gray-clad armsmen dropped short of First Squad … and kept dropping.

  The returned chaos bolt splattered on the white’s shields and flared away, and two more firebolts flew toward Beltur and Jessyla.

  Beltur captured both and flung them back, focusing both on the lesser white. Then, before the stronger white could throw more chaos, he clamped a containment tight around the lesser white, reinforcing it with order.

  The containment flared almost as bright as the sun for an instant, as a white-tinged black mist momentarily bathed Beltur. Beltur released the containment, and ashes and dust sifted to the ground.

  The second white mage stood almost transfixed.

  “Surrender, now!” snapped Beltur.

  “Never! Keep loosing shafts!”

  More shafts dropped to the ground as they struck Beltur’s shields.

  Beltur slammed an order-filled containment around the second mage.

  There wasn’t even time for a scream before a brief flash of light was followed by another black mist of death, a mist that only Beltur and Jessyla could likely sense.

  The gray-clad armsmen kept loosing shafts.

  Beltur’s shields continued to block them.

  Karch eased forward and reined up beside Beltur. “When do you want us to loose shafts?”

  “Not until they stop shooting, or run out of shafts. The shield will block our shafts as well as theirs. If I drop the shield so your men can target them, some of their shafts will likely strike your men. I’d prefer that none of your men are injured.” Then Beltur called out, “Hold your shafts if you want to live.”

  “Frig you, mage!” shouted one of the gray-clad armsmen.

  Beltur sealed him in a containment. “Hold your shafts!”

  Several of the armsmen dropped their bows and pulled out blades.

  Beltur could see what was going to happen. “Tell your men to nock shafts. When I say ‘Now!’ have them loose shafts. One volley.”

  “Archers! Nock shafts!”

  “Now.” Beltur dropped the shield and the containment around the outspoken armsman.

  “Loose shafts!”

  As soon as the Montgren shafts flew past him, Beltur raised his shield again.

  Six gray-clad armsmen dropped, staggered, or slumped.

  “We’ll do that once more,” said Beltur.

  “Archers! Nock shafts!”

  “Now.”

  “Loose shafts!”

  Although Beltur had his shields back up, there was little need. The remaining armsmen broke and began to run.

  Beltur dropped his shields back around himself and Jessyla. “Pursue and take down any who resist. A captive or two would be useful.”

  “First Squad! Attack!”

  As the armsmen swept past them, Beltur counted the gray-clad bodies. There were nine fallen. He’d sensed several black mists, but he hadn’t kept track. Turning to Jessyla, he said, “Once they’ve dealt with the others,” one way or the other, “we’ll see if any survivors can be healed.”

  “They didn’t listen … even after all you did.” After a pause, she asked, “How did you know you’d prevail?”

  “The white was powerful, but undisciplined. All that chaos around him just combined with the order I put inside the containment. I thought it would. All I had to do was get close enough so that I didn’t have to strain. He couldn’t even tell that the blackness he felt was you and not me.” Beltur added sardonically, “Call it the advantage of good training.”

  After several moments, Jessyla said, “Beltur … two of them really need healing.”

  “Can you hold a shield while you check them?”

  “I can.”

  “Then go ahead.” Beltur glanced toward the gray-clad wounded. One of the men sat propped against the side of the building. Two lay flat, but seemed to be breathing. Another was clutching his shoulder, trying to stanch the blood seeping out around an arrow that still protruded.

  Beltur took the reins to Jessyla’s mount and led the mare to the hitching rail by the inn’s door. There he dismounted and tied both horses to the rail, then walked to the door of the inn, which he opened.

  A woman looked at him, taking in his mage’s blacks, as if ready to flee.

  “We need some clean cloths, and some spirits, for some of the wounded. Please bring them quickly.”

  The woman swallowed. “Yes, ser.”

  Beltur then walked back outside
to where the two mages had stood. All that remained were two heaps of dust and ashes, and half-concealed within were various metal objects—and a pile of golds and silvers. One of the metal objects was all too familiar—a cupridium dagger. Beltur picked up what was left—the blade and tang. It wasn’t one he and Jorhan had forged, and there was certainly no way to tell how old it might be. There was also a metal ring with two keys on it, which Beltur took. Then he scooped up the coins, nearly a score of golds, and seven or eight silvers, as well as a handful of coppers. All were still warm, almost hot. Every coin will help.

  After dumping the coins into his belt wallet quickly, Beltur rejoined Jessyla, who had moved to the man with the protruding arrow.

  The armsman looked toward Beltur in alarm.

  “He’s also a healer,” said Jessyla quietly before turning to Beltur. “I’ll need your knife. The arrowhead’s wedged under the bone.”

  “I can use a containment to keep you from cutting more than you need to.”

  “That would help.”

  Between the two of them, they had the arrow out in moments, and Beltur was adding order around the wound’s deepest point, while Jessyla was using some of the cloths that the woman from the inn had immediately brought.

  By the time Karch and his squad returned, a quint or so later, Jessyla and Beltur had removed arrows from five armsmen and dressed their wounds. The other fallen had died, except for one who had fled as soon as Karch’s men had begun to pursue the uninjured armsmen who had broken and fled.

  “What will you do with them?” asked the still-mounted Karch, motioning toward the wounded, either sitting or lying on the front porch of the inn.

  “Get them to recover and put them to work. There’s a lot that needs to be rebuilt.”

  “Do you think…” Karch laughed harshly. “That would have been a stupid question.”

  “I think we need to talk to the innkeeper now,” said Beltur. “I’d appreciate it if you’d accompany us. He should at least recognize the uniform. If you’d detail someone to inform Lhadoraak and the other squads what happened, and tell Lhadoraak, Tulya, and Taelya to join us here.”

  Karch nodded, then turned his mount and rode to the First Squad leader, returning shortly and dismounting.

  The three entered the inn, which, at first sight, looked far better kept than anything Beltur had seen so far in Haven. Beltur could sense some residual and additional free chaos, but no sign of either concentrated order or chaos.