The Mage-Fire War (Saga of Recluce)

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

Beltur looked to Therran. “What do you think?”

  “We lost half the men in the squad because of a stupid officer, but they sent us to Haven with a crazy mage. They’ll attack, just to prove they’re right.”

  Even before Beltur could look at Graalur, the former captive said, “They’ll try to kill everyone so that there’s no one left alive to tell what really happened.”

  “You’ll have to beat them thoroughly, sers,” said Gustaan. “Otherwise, they’ll send another army.”

  Beltur had the feeling that the Duke might anyway, even if he lost an entire army, although Beltur hadn’t the faintest idea how he, Lhadoraak, Jessyla, and perhaps a battalion of Montgren and Lydian troopers would be able to accomplish something like that. “We’ll do the best we can.”

  “Are your patrollers splitting the day?” Lhadoraak asked Gustaan.

  “Yes, ser. Therran and me’ll relieve Dussef and Turlow at noon.”

  “Good.”

  “We’ll let you know if we find out anything more,” added Beltur.

  “Thank you, sers.”

  Once he and Lhadoraak were outside again, Beltur turned to the older mage. “I’m going to talk to the spice merchant. After that, I think I’ll pay Phaelgren a visit. Maybe you could stop in and say a few words to Bythalt?”

  Lhadoraak’s smile was amused. “I can do that, especially if you’re going to take on Phaelgren. What do you think you’ll get from him?”

  “Nothing. I just want to remind him that I haven’t forgotten about him.”

  “Do you think he needs reminding?”

  “His kind always does.”

  Rather than ride Slowpoke the comparatively short distance to the spice wagon, Beltur just untied the gelding and led him. As he walked, he kept thinking, and finally dredged up the merchant’s name from somewhere in the recesses of his mind.

  The trader spoke first. “Greetings, Mage.”

  “The same to you, Trader Maunsel. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

  “I can’t say I expected to see you quite so soon again, either. You’re in mage blacks today.”

  Beltur gestured toward Dussef, the nearer of the patrollers. “I don’t have to be a patroller as well as a councilor. At least, not often.”

  Maunsel looked hard at Beltur. “That black band across your forehead…?”

  “It’s the result of the last battle with a Hydlenese battalion.”

  “Is it true that you mages killed almost an entire battalion?”

  “It cost us thirteen houses and those in them, and another score, from what we could tell.”

  “The Duke won’t take kindly to that, you know?”

  “He might not,” replied Beltur. “Is that part of the reason you’re here? Heading to Vergren or Lydiar?”

  “Some of my regular clients in Hydolar said that the Duke was upset over how you treated traders from Hydlen. Any truth to that?”

  “We turned away a trader who threatened an innkeeper and tried to burn down the inn. A Hydlenese captain insisted we allow him to cross Montgren on his own terms. We said he’d have to pay for what he did. The captain wasn’t happy. So they started attacking steads. We put a stop to the raids. Also to the captain and his squad leaders.” Beltur shrugged. “So the Duke sent a battalion demanding that we turn over Haven to Hydlen. We pointed out that a town council couldn’t do that. They tried to kill me and attacked the town. We did what was necessary.”

  Maunsel shook his head. “How do you think you can possibly win? How does the Duchess believe she can stop Duke Massyngal?”

  Since Beltur didn’t have an answer, at least, not a good one, he asked, “What did you hear about what the Duke might do?”

  “No specifics. Several said that they didn’t want to be anywhere around Haven this summer, not when the Duke was that angry.” Maunsel paused, then added, “That was before he found out about what happened to that battalion. I can’t imagine what he feels now.”

  “And that’s why you headed to where there’s going to be a battle, if not a war?”

  “The last place a merchant wants to be is in the middle of a war, especially one that involves angry rulers and mages. I told everyone I was headed to Certis … I don’t know as they believed me … but I wasn’t about to tell them where I was headed. They might have tried to seize everything and claimed I was trading with the Duke’s enemies. I had to take the north river road for more than a day, and then some miserable side roads to get on the old road to Haven.”

  “You’re headed to Lydiar, then?”

  “Where else? If it looks like Massyngal is going to conquer Lydiar, I’ll take a ship, either to Nordla or Austra. If Lydiar falls and Montgren’s under the Duke’s fat thumb, I’ll soon starve, anyway.” Maunsel offered a falsely cheerful smile. “But I can offer some good prices on rare spices, since I’ll be needing silvers more than spices.”

  “My consort will be here later. I’m sure she’ll be interested.” Beltur inclined his head. “Thank you for the information.”

  “I doubt it will help you much. I do wish you the best, though.”

  Beltur readjusted his visor cap, then eased Slowpoke away from the wagon and mounted, guiding the gelding toward the main street and then east to the Brass Bowl.

  After he dismounted outside the front entrance to the inn, he patted Slowpoke. “I really don’t want to do this, big fellow.” Then he tied the gelding to the hitching post, strengthening the reins with order, before turning and entering the building.

  He’d barely set one boot on the worn wooden flooring inside the door before a young man scurried away. Beltur kept walking toward the empty table desk on the far side of the empty foyer. He hadn’t quite reached it when the thin-faced Phaelgren stepped out of the narrow hallway presumably leading to the public room and other chambers.

  “What might you want, Mage?” The innkeeper’s hazel-yellow eyes did not quite meet Beltur’s.

  “I thought I’d stop and see how you were doing.”

  “We’re surviving, no thanks to you. Your stubbornness will turn Haven into a charred pile of rubble.”

  “You seem rather certain of that,” replied Beltur mildly.

  “Haven’t you made a good start? First, two houses burned, then a half score more. The next time, the Duke’s men will likely burn everything.”

  “Perhaps, except that there are more troopers coming, not only from Montgren, but also from Lydiar.”

  “So … in order for you to rule one small town, you’re going to plunge three lands into a bloody war? Congratulations, Mage.” Sardonic scorn dripped from Phaelgren’s every word.

  “That would have happened in any event,” returned Beltur evenly. “The odds just might be a bit better this way.”

  “I beg to differ, Mage. The Duke will bring not only troopers but mages. The carnage will be mighty, and you will change nothing.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because all you have done thus far is to get people killed and buildings burned. You will doubtless get even more people killed and more buildings burned. It will change nothing. Now … if you will excuse me…”

  “Of course.” Beltur inclined his head, then turned and left the inn.

  Once outside, he paused, realizing that Phaelgren had seemingly not even noticed the black band across Beltur’s forehead. Because he’s so into his own concerns, or because he already knew?

  Then again, Beltur had to admit that there was a certain truth to what the innkeeper had said, no matter how despicable Beltur thought Phaelgren happened to be.

  So what can you do to make sure all the killing does in fact change things?

  Beltur had to admit that he had no real idea. Only hope that you can come up with something.

  In the meantime, he needed to ride out west and see where they might be able to place forces in spots from where they could position archers to reduce the numbers of the attackers.

  XLVII

  Fourday dawned even warmer than
threeday. By seventh glass, Beltur had ridden past the Brass Bowl, with all of its windows unshuttered, which Beltur found most interesting, and possibly informative, although Phaelgren might be relying on the same sort of calculation as Beltur himself was, and had tied Slowpoke outside the stables at the East Inn.

  Aaskar appeared immediately. “Ser?”

  “I don’t have any tasks for you today. Is Bythalt in the inn or somewhere else?”

  The boy’s face fell. “He’s inside, ser.”

  Despite his being able to sense that the boy’s disappointment was largely feigned, Beltur still felt slightly guilty, but not guilty enough to part with any coins. “Thank you. I did say it would be a while, Aaskar.” He smiled sympathetically, then turned and entered the inn, making his way toward the small study off the entry foyer. As he passed the archway to the public room, he could see it was empty, except for Claerk and several servers who were cleaning the tables.

  Bythalt turned and stood when Beltur reached the study door. “Ser mage, what can I do for you?”

  “I just thought I should spend a few moments with you. You know what’s likely to happen, don’t you?”

  “The Duke of Hydlen will attack, and if you and the troopers from Montgren and those possibly from Lydiar do not defeat them, we will all likely perish.” Bythalt’s voice was even more gloomy than usual.

  “That’s a fair assessment.”

  “Why did you mages ever come here?”

  “Because we were offered a place to make better, and because the Duchess did not know that Duke Massyngal had decided to seize Haven and the lands around it.”

  “Did not know, or neglected to tell you?”

  “Did not know,” replied Beltur. “Any of us could have sensed if she had been lying.”

  “So … we are caught between the ignorance of a Duchess and the greed of a Duke, and all that can save us is if three mages and a little girl who is barely a mage can hold off and destroy a mighty army?”

  “Three mages and possibly a battalion of troopers.”

  “Do the troopers even matter?”

  “Very much so,” replied Beltur. “Rather than our having to fight hand-to-hand, we can help the troopers be much more effective. That was how the Spidlarians defeated a much larger army of the Prefect of Gallos.”

  “And you can do this?”

  Beltur laughed ironically. “That is our intent, but how battles come out depends on what happens in the field. No outcome is absolutely foreordained.” Although any sensible individual would wager on the Duke’s forces. “I notice that the spice merchant is no longer in Haven. Do you know when he left?”

  “Merchant Maunsel left just before dawn, barely early enough to see the road. He asked for and paid for an early breakfast, even before the troopers ate.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “He only said that all of us were fools to remain in Haven.”

  “Nothing more?” Beltur looked hard at the innkeeper.

  “He did say…”

  Beltur waited.

  “… that if by some improbable magery you mages did win it would change Candar beyond recognition. He thought it unlikely, but would not say it was impossible.”

  “That sounds rather excessive. We’re only looking for a place where we can’t be ordered around.”

  “Mage … if rulers cannot order four mages around, that will change everything. Even I, humble innkeeper that I am, can see that.”

  “I still suspect that he was excessive in his assessment of what we could do.”

  “I must hope that he was correct,” replied Bythalt sourly. “Being alive in a changed world is to be preferred over being dead in an unchanged world.”

  “I would agree with you,” said Beltur with a smile, “but there are those who would die rather than accept change.” And I very much suspect much of Hydlen feels that way … especially the Duke.

  “The more fools they.” Bythalt shook his head. “With life, there’s always hope. Might be faint, but it’s possible.” After a pause, he asked, “Anything else you need to know?”

  “How are the troopers treating your people?”

  “They’re behaving themselves.” Bythalt grinned, if momentarily. “Might be because Claerk told a few of them about what you did to that bravo who wanted to force himself on the girls. The undercaptain asked me if it was true. I told him it was. Also told him what happened to the other one who tried to force himself on Julli—except I didn’t use her name. He thanked me. Didn’t seem pleased, more like he’d have to deal with it.”

  “So long as he does.”

  “He will.” After another pause, the innkeeper added, “Things like that … maybe some changes in the world wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “We’ll have to see. Thank you.”

  Bythalt nodded brusquely, almost as if he’d regretted saying too much.

  “We’ll try to let you know what’s happening. I don’t expect anything for at least a few more days.”

  “That’s what the undercaptain said, too.”

  “Until later.”

  Bythalt nodded again, and Beltur eased out of the study, and headed back toward the stable and the post to which he’d tied Slowpoke.

  Two troopers stood by the pump outside the stable. Both avoided looking at Beltur as he untied the gelding and then mounted, but he could hear their murmurs.

  “… he’s the one…”

  “… one what?”

  “… killed four hundred greenies by himself … hand-to-hand … him and that horse…”

  “… think the horse is maged?”

  Beltur turned and smiled. “He’s not, but he’s very strong … and very determined.”

  Then he turned Slowpoke and rode out of the stable yard toward and then onto the main street, heading east. Even when he reached the eastern end of town, he couldn’t sense any riders except those who had to be sentries posted by Cheld. On the way back, he saw that Jaegyr looked to be close to finishing the stone foundation for his new workshop. There were piles of stone and bricks, most of which were likely scavenged, seeming ready to be used. If we can hold off …

  He shook his head. Holding off wouldn’t be sufficient. That would just lead to another battle. The problem was that he still didn’t have a good plan for dealing with what was certain to be an overwhelming number of greencoat troopers. Not to mention mages.

  With a wry smile, he kept riding west, although he doubted that he’d sense anything there, either. Not yet.

  He wanted to take a better and closer look at the low hills that bordered the road from Hydolar on the east, just a kay or so from where that road joined the east-west road from Haven that eventually led to Certis and then to Jellico. The farther from Haven that the Montgren forces could first engage the Duke’s forces, the better. Besides which, most of Haven was flat and afforded few heights from which to loose shafts downward and to force an attacker to come uphill.

  XLVIII

  Fiveday was hotter than fourday, and sixday still warmer, but Beltur spent most of both days scouting for possible points of ambush. Two offered particular possibilities, depending on how the Hydlenese decided to attack Haven. One was the back road some two kays south of Vortaan’s stead study, along the kay-long stretch between the rugged hills on the south side of the road and the forest with the thick undergrowth on the north side. The other was the long hilly ridge bordering the road from Hydolar that he’d earlier scouted.

  A lesser possibility was the half-forested hill to the northwest of the junction of the road from Weevett with the east-west road west of the defaced kaystone. There were other possibilities, but those seemed the best to Beltur.

  By noon on sevenday, he and Lhadoraak rode back toward the East Inn after doing more study of the terrain between the west end of Haven and the junction with the Weevett road.

  “Do you think you could conceal a full company on the east side of that hill by the Weevett road?” Beltur asked.

  “That shou
ldn’t be too hard.” Lhadoraak paused. “You’re trying to put me where I only have to conceal and protect, aren’t you?”

  “That’s what you do best, isn’t it?”

  “I’d say that wasn’t really an answer,” replied Lhadoraak wryly.

  “The answer is that if we each don’t do what we do best, we may not be able to defeat the Hydlenese.”

  “We may not even if we do.”

  “That’s true, but we have a better chance. Also, the fewer troopers we lose, the better our chances. That means the more you can protect…”

  “Beltur … I understand. I also understand that you understand what I can do and what I can’t. I appreciate that.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be condescending or anything like that.”

  “No. You were trying not to hurt my feelings. I just can’t … kill the way you can. I know it takes a toll on you, but you can do it. I can’t.”

  “I know,” replied Beltur, “but protecting troopers is also vital. I want you to understand that I know that.”

  Lhadoraak laughed warmly. “We’re clear on that. Now … what do you think that courier we saw heading into Haven is going to tell Cheld?”

  “Something that Cheld won’t tell us unless we ask. Which we will.”

  When Lhadoraak and Beltur reined up their mounts outside the stables of the East Inn, Beltur couldn’t really tell how much hotter the day was than sixday had been, only that it was. He also knew that for the past days he’d been sweating almost from sunrise to well past sunset, and that his ale consumption was more than it should have been.

  “Do you think Cheld will actually tell us?” asked Lhadoraak as the two entered the inn, only slightly cooler than the stable yard.

  “If we press. He won’t like it, though. Otherwise, he’ll tell us when he feels like it, and we should know as soon as he does. I don’t think the undercaptain really understands that the more we know, and the sooner we know it, the better his chances for surviving are.” Beltur’s smile was almost amused. “We need to make certain the good undercaptain understands that and a few other things.”

  “He won’t like that.”