“I had the kitchen feed the men,” announced Karch. “They’re used to early meals, and that will give them time to be ready for whatever you have in mind.”
Beltur only had a general idea of what needed to be done, one he wasn’t about to elaborate on without talking more to Karch and the others, but what was foremost in his mind was what the very sharp and very experienced Captain Raelf had said—that the first priority had to be to restore order. He just wished he’d asked Raelf more about Hydlen, and especially about the Duke.
“That’s what we need to talk over,” replied Beltur, “after we eat.” He beckoned to the young man who had served them the night before.
“Yes, ser mage?”
“I never got your name or that of the innkeeper. Matters were a little confused last night.”
“Ah … yes, ser. I’m Claerk, and the innkeeper is Bythalt.”
“Thank you. I’m Beltur. The healer-mage is Jessyla, and we’re consorted. The other black mage is Lhadoraak, and his consort is Tulya. Captain Karch commands the Duchess’s company of troopers. Are you from Haven, Claerk?”
“Depends on what you mean, ser. Ma’s the cook, and I grew up here. I wasn’t born here.”
“You’re from Haven, at least compared to all of us. What’s for breakfast?”
“We saved mutton strips and eggs and cheese for you mages, and warm bread. Ma’s really good with a mutton and cheese scramble.”
Beltur looked around the table, then said, “We’ll try it. What is there to drink?”
“Ah … just the dark ale, ser.”
“We’ll have that, except water for the young woman.”
“The water … would you like it boiled?”
“No. Just bring a pitcher. We’ll take care of it. We’ll have to see about that and a few other things in the future.”
Karch tried not to frown.
“Adding a little chaos, and then a little order, will take care of most bad water,” said Beltur. “I learned that when I accompanied my uncle to deal with the Analerian raiders.”
In moments, Claerk returned with five beakers of ale and a pitcher and an empty tumbler.
“Taelya,” said Beltur, “concentrate on what I’m doing.”
“Yes, Uncle Beltur.”
Beltur let his senses range over the water, which did contain a certain chaos, then eased order to the pitcher, after which he unsheathed his cupridium belt knife and stirred the water. Then he added a touch of pure chaos and stirred it again. He looked to Taelya. “Do you think you could do that?”
“I’d need to practice.”
Beltur poured the clear water into the tumbler and eased it in front of her. “You’ll have more than a few chances. We’ll start at the next meal.”
“What did you do?” asked Karch.
“Added order to the water to destroy the chaos, then added a touch of chaos to get rid of the excess order.”
While Karch was thinking that over, Claerk returned with two baskets of bread. “It won’t be long for the scramble.”
The conglomeration of mutton, eggs, and cheese wasn’t outstanding, but it was hot and more edible than many meals Beltur had eaten, and he was definitely hungry. The dark ale wasn’t that bad, at least, not when drunk with the scramble and bread.
As Beltur finished his breakfast, Karch looked to him. “What do you need from us today?”
“My first thought was just to have them patrol the streets, but you know more about Haven than we do.”
“It wouldn’t hurt.”
“What else would you suggest? For today?”
“That depends on what you have in mind.”
Beltur couldn’t fault Karch’s caution. So he decided to change his approach. “How are city and town patrollers organized in Montgren?”
“However each town wants to organize them.” Karch offered a humorous smile. “Some towns have patrollers, and some do not.” After a pause, the captain added, “Most towns with a patrol have a captain appointed by the Council.”
“We’re going to need to set up some sort of town patrol,” said Beltur, “but one of us will have to act as captain for a while.” Possibly a long while.
Karch raised his eyebrows.
“Both Lhadoraak and I have some experience as patrol mages,” Beltur replied to the unspoken question. “The Council in Elparta required mages to serve periodically as patrol mages.”
Karch offered a wry smile. “Not that it’s my purview, but what else have you done that you haven’t mentioned?”
“Beltur’s also a healer, and he’s forged cupridium,” replied Jessyla.
“More that I was the striker and mage while Jorhan forged it,” corrected Beltur.
Karch frowned. “A black who is both a healer and an effective war mage … you killed two whites almost instantly … might I ask…?”
“It’s painful. Every death washes over me like a chill black mist.”
“The odds are that Beltur has healed scores and killed thousands,” said Lhadoraak quietly. “He’s led charges and broken enemy lines and forces. He’s almost died several times. I’d appreciate it if you’d not fence with us. We know what we don’t know. You likely do as well. Tell us what you think would work best. If you can’t tell us that, tell us what you know from experience will not work.”
Karch looked around the table. Then he shook his head ruefully. “I don’t think the Duchess has any idea what she’s unleashed. Or maybe she does, and she’s figured that it’s the only way to deal with Hydlen, Lydiar, and Certis.” He cleared his throat. “The bravos that moved in here before the mage just waited us out. Now that the white mages are gone, they’ll try and wait you out. If they can’t do that, then they’ll try to pick you off one at a time. If that doesn’t work or they think you’re too strong, then they’ll start picking off townspeople so that no one will listen to you or only do what they absolutely have to do.”
“So we need to be ready to pick them off while putting things back in order and letting the townspeople see that we’re here to stay,” replied Beltur.
“I can think of one way to start that off,” said Jessyla. “We could open a healing house. They haven’t had one in years.”
“They won’t likely come at first,” said Karch.
“Unless they’re desperate,” said Jessyla. “There will be a few of those.”
“There’s another possibility,” said Beltur. “We could just visit every dwelling in town. If anyone’s there, we introduce ourselves and get their names. Then we’ll have a record of who lives where, and they’ll know we’re serious. We’ll also know which houses are vacant, and we could hire some local workers to repair and rebuild some of them for us … and one for a Council building, unless there already is one. If there is, it likely needs repairs.”
“The first thing we likely should do,” suggested Lhadoraak dryly, “is arrange to pay both innkeepers. Coins are much better than promises in reminding people that you keep your word.”
Beltur couldn’t help but grin. “A good practical start. Then, perhaps pay someone to clean up the town square and repair the fountain there, if possible.” He turned to Karch. “What did you pay the innkeepers before?”
“Two coppers a man a day, and that was for the men sleeping in the stables.”
More than two golds a day. That was just another confirmation of why Korlyssa had scarcely hesitated to agree to Beltur’s terms. We definitely should have asked for more. “How many squads are billeted here?”
“Three.”
“And two at the Brass Bowl?”
Karch nodded.
“How much did the Duchess send you with for your billeting?”
Karch hesitated, then nodded. “Enough for two eightdays.”
“And a little more,” said Lhadoraak.
“Ten golds extra for the unexpected.” Karch paused, then asked, “Are all of you that good?”
“I’m not,” said Tulya, “but the four of them are. Even Taelya.”
“You don’t seem to need weapons,” said Karch mildly.
“But when we start a town patrol, we will, and finding or buying any here will be next to impossible.” Beltur didn’t mention the other reason, which was that the arms had value, a lesson he’d learned belatedly from his inability to profit from the arms captured from the Analerian raiders. “Now … we might as well talk to Bythalt.” Beltur smiled as he saw the innkeeper approaching.
“How was your fare, Mages, Captain?”
“Adequate,” replied Beltur.
Karch just nodded.
“Captain Karch will be paying you for billeting his men, and we will pay you for our lodging and food. Were you getting paid by the white mages?”
“Yes, ser mage. Not a lot. Two coppers a man, and that included food and rooms in the inn, not just the stable. We were losing coins that way, but”—Bythalt shrugged—“we couldn’t argue.”
“You weren’t losing that much,” declared Lhadoraak.
A despondent expression appeared on the innkeeper’s face. “No, ser, but we never made that much.”
“Putting Haven to rights,” continued Lhadoraak, “is going to cost us dearly. We don’t want you losing coins on lodging and feeding us, and you won’t. But we’re not here to allow you to recoup your losses from others. Is that clear?”
Some, but not all, of the despondency vanished from the innkeeper’s face.
“You just keep the inn going, Bythalt, and we’ll pay you,” added Beltur, “and in time you’ll likely do much better.”
“Ser?”
“With us here, you not only won’t lose coins on us, you also won’t lose them to others, like the bravos and the sleazy traders.”
“But there aren’t any patrollers.”
“There will be. For the moment, we’ll take care of that. Both Lhadoraak and I have served as patrollers before.”
“The traders and their bravos are tough. Maybe not on you…”
“Then we’ll have to make sure that they’re not tough on anyone in Haven,” said Beltur. “Do you know if any of the houses near the square have been abandoned?”
“Some of them,” replied the innkeeper cautiously.
“Do you know anyone who’s a decent carpenter or a decent mason?”
“Gorlaak’s good with wood, and so’s his boy … if they’re still around.”
“There will be a few extra coins if you can find them and some others.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Might take a few days.”
“That’s fine. It’ll take us a few days to decide where to start … beyond cleaning up the square and fixing the fountain. Now, we’ve been here one night, five of us for two meals. What’s the standard for the inn, including dinner and lodging tonight?”
“Three coppers for each room. Three coppers each meal, with one ale.”
“And a copper a day for each mount?”
“Ah … yes, ser.”
“That’s two silvers and seven coppers a day for the five of us.” Beltur counted out three silvers. “The extra coppers are an advance on tomorrow. Try to find an ale that’s not so bitter, if you can.”
“Might be able to do that for you six. Can’t for all the troopers.”
“Here’s a gold and two silvers for the troopers here,” added Karch. “For last night. I’ll pay every morning.”
“We’ll also need a few sheets of paper and two markers,” added Beltur. “For lists. Can you have those ready in a quint or so?”
The innkeeper nodded. “Thank you, Mages, Captain.” Bythalt definitely looked less morose as he inclined his head and turned toward the kitchen.
Lhadoraak said, “You didn’t ask him who you should see.”
“I thought about it, but I think Jessyla and I should start at one end of town and you three at the other end and introduce ourselves a house at a time.”
“What if no one answers the door?” asked Jessyla. “That’s more likely than not.”
“That’s why we should split up. A man and a woman … or a man and a woman and a child … that’s not the same as a squad of troopers.” Beltur turned to Karch. “How would you suggest your men patrol?”
“I’ve already dispatched two squads out to watch the roads, one to the east and one to the west. Another half squad should be enough to ride the streets.”
“You’ll let us know if your men see trouble coming?” Beltur’s words weren’t quite a question.
“I definitely will. I doubt it will be today. The sentries already saw a few men sneaking out of town, likely to report what happened.”
Beltur nodded. “Before we start informing people, we need to make a stop at the Brass Bowl.”
“I was there earlier. The innkeeper—his name is Phaelgren—he was a little concerned with what he heard you did.”
“You think he’s closer to the traders than Bythalt?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I still don’t understand some of this,” interjected Tulya. “What do the traders get out of running down the town?”
“They can stop here for less than anywhere else. The tariff inspectors from Certis, Lydiar, and Hydlen don’t dare come into the town without an armed force behind them, and none of those three rulers wants to lose troopers pacifying a town that the others don’t want them to have. That means the traders can do what they want, because no one can stand up to them, and they can take anything that people can’t hide or defend. You’ll see. There aren’t any young unattached women to speak of here. Not in town. There are likely some in the outlying steads. Most of the young men work in some way for the traders. Not many others have much in the way of coins. Most of the people are older … or a little strange. Sometimes both.”
Beltur hadn’t been expecting matters to be easy in Haven, but how were they supposed to rebuild a town that was short of able bodies? He didn’t voice the thought.
As the six left the public room, Jessyla asked, “Where are the wounded bravos? We ought to take a look at them.”
“In the stable tack room, under guard,” replied Karch.
The tack room was at the end of the stable closest to the inn proper, and two troopers in the faded blue of Montgren stood outside.
As Jessyla stepped into the tack room, the five wounded men in gray looked at her, several with appreciative expressions that suggested they stood a good chance of recovering. Those expressions faded as Beltur appeared behind her.
“Let’s take a look at that wound,” said Jessyla, moving to the slightly older man who’d taken the arrow to the shoulder that had required both Beltur and Jessyla to remove.
Beltur followed, letting his senses touch the wound.
Jessyla looked to him. “There’s still some chaos deep in there, just a tiny bit.”
“Don’t cut into me. You won’t save me anyway.”
Beltur smiled, easing a small bit of free order into the wound, and concentrating on making sure it touched both the tiny points of angry yellow-red wound chaos, both of which vanished. “That likely felt a little warm. I’ll probably have to do that for a few more days, a deep wound like that.”
“You sound like I’ll be around that long.”
“You will be, unless you do something stupid,” replied Jessyla, moving from the older man to the younger one beside him, a youth barely more than a boy, propped up against the wall, his thigh heavily bound, his face sweaty, but his body shivering.
Beltur could sense the angry mass of chaos and tried not to wince. “There must have been something…”
“He was already hurt there. A burn from the white bastard,” said the older man. “He was sitting behind the serving girl the white flamed.”
“I didn’t dare say anything,” murmured the young man.
“Your leg is going to get very warm,” declared Beltur, even as he doubted that he could remove all
of the chaos. The only hope was to remove enough that he and Jessyla could eliminate more over the days ahead than the double wound created.
Bit by bit, Beltur targeted the nastiest segments of chaos, then stepped back and looked to Jessyla. “You do one or two.”
“I’m not…”
“You are.”
After Jessyla had inserted order bits into two areas, she turned to the young man. “Your leg is going to feel hot. I’ll have them get you a small bucket or container of water and a cloth. Don’t get the wound wet, but you can use the cloth to cool off other parts of your leg.”
The other three were healing as expected, as least, as far as Beltur could tell.
When the two finished, Beltur looked around the tack room. “Once you’re more healed, you’ll have two choices. Work for us, and you’ll be paid, or leave Haven. You’ve got a few days to think about it.”
“What sort of work?” asked the older bravo.
“At first, whatever needs to be done. In time, we’ll need some town patrollers, but some of you may not be suited to talking first and acting second.”
“What do you know about it?”
“I was a mage patroller in Elparta before I was a war mage. So was Lhadoraak, the other black.”
The older man laughed, a soft bitter sound.
Beltur gave him an inquiring look.
“Elshon said this’d be like taking biscuits from a baby.”
“A year ago, he would have been right,” replied Beltur. “But times change. You all can think about it. I wouldn’t try to escape. First, you’d get hurt. Second, two of you will likely die if we don’t keep treating you.” Beltur didn’t mention that they might anyway. “And third, if you don’t want to stay once you’re healed, we will let you go.”
“Why?” asked the older man.
“We’ll need men who’d like to earn an honest living, and we believe in second chances.” He smiled. “And I know that Jessyla is an attractive woman. In addition to being a very good healer, she’s also a mage and my consort. Those are three reasons why it’s better to behave.”
“Biscuits from a baby…?” The older man shook his head.
The Mage-Fire War (Saga of Recluce) Page 5