The Mage-Fire War (Saga of Recluce)

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “And theirs?”

  “Over seventy dead. It could be more. It likely is.” Cheld paused. “Your initial charges … they destroyed any chance they had to get organized.” The undercaptain looked closely at Beltur, then said, “All you did … and there’s not a mark on you.”

  Beltur laughed sardonically. “I’ll have bruises in more than a few places. That’s because my shields distribute the force of attacks. Slowpoke and I couldn’t avoid a pikeman. My shields spread the force of the pike. Even so, I have some large bruises. Some of them will likely turn brilliant purple and yellow. Too many bruises can also kill.”

  Cheld frowned.

  “Today, we took out about a company and a half,” explained Beltur, taking off his visor cap and pointing to his forehead. “You’ve seen this. Before the battle against the Hydlenese battalion, my skin was like yours. Afterward, I was so badly bruised that all the blood turned my skin black.” That wasn’t precisely how it had happened, but it was close enough, and it was something Beltur hoped the undercaptain would understand. He readjusted the cap and looked to the west, where the glow of the now-set sun had vanished.

  “Your unseen shields … they’re like armor, but if you get hit time and time again…”

  “That’s right,” said Beltur. “I have to choose how much I can take. Otherwise…” He paused. “There were five mages who died in fighting the Gallosians when their shields took too much punishment.” He actually didn’t know the number, but just saying “mages” without a number didn’t have an impact. “We’d better move out as soon as we can.”

  “Yes, ser.” Cheld inclined his head, then called out, “Form up! On the double! We’re heading out.”

  Beltur took a deep breath. He could already feel the soreness in his chest and shoulders.

  In less than a quint, the company was off the hill and headed down the part of the narrow road east of the hill that led directly to the east-west road that would take Beltur and the others back into Haven.

  LVI

  Jessyla, Lhadoraak, Tulya, and even Taelya were waiting with Raelf at the East Inn in the last glow of twilight when Beltur and Cheld reined up outside the stable.

  “You didn’t lose many, I see,” said Raelf, looking at Cheld.

  “No, ser. Four dead, seven wounded. We also brought back supplies and nearly sixty mounts. They might be useful, and there was no point in leaving them.”

  “We should all meet inside.” Raelf sounded neither pleased nor displeased, but he turned and reentered the inn.

  Jessyla looked to Beltur. “Are you all right?”

  “Other than a few bruises, I think so.” Beltur tried not to wince as he dismounted.

  Jessyla stepped forward and touched his face, then raised her eyebrows. “A few bruises?”

  “Just a few.”

  “Beltur…”

  “I tried to avoid too much contact, but Slowpoke and I couldn’t move fast enough to stop a pike, except with my shields. That was the only time anything like that happened. I did my best to avoid doing things that would strain me or my shields or Slowpoke.”

  Jessyla sighed softly. “You’re being honest, but you need to look farther ahead.”

  Beltur had thought that himself, but he still didn’t know what a pike had been doing on the hilltop when there hadn’t been any other pikemen.

  With Jessyla’s help, Beltur did make sure Slowpoke had a place in the stable to himself, as well as water and feed, before they made their way toward the public room.

  “I’ll need to see the wounded,” she said. “The majer said that they’d be bringing them all here to the inn. I may leave the meeting if it lasts very long.”

  Beltur could understand that. “I could help.”

  “You’ve used too much order today already.”

  “I can use free order some, and sensing takes little effort.” Unless it was raining or snowing, but that wasn’t a problem at the moment.

  The two entered the public room just after Cheld.

  Raelf had made certain that there were beakers and pitchers of ale on the table, and Beltur filled his beaker as soon as he sat down at the big table, then took a long swallow. Cheld did the same.

  “If it’s agreeable to you, Captain Beltur,” said Raelf, “I’d like to make this as quick as possible. I’d thought Undercaptain Cheld would report first. Then we’ll hear anything you have to add after he finishes.”

  “That’s fine with me,” agreed Beltur.

  Cheld took another swallow of ale, then began. “Captain Beltur led the company from the inn south from the town square, then southwest over a narrow and winding lane. While we rode, he had each squad practice riding under a concealment…”

  Beltur listened carefully. He had to admit that the undercaptain’s description of the ride to the hill, as well as the approach to the Hydlenese position, was unbiased and accurate, but he did wonder how Cheld would describe the actual attack.

  “… The captain maneuvered us within forty yards of the southeast perimeter before the Hydlenese sentries started to shout about an attack. He dropped the concealment and led the initial charge, breaking through the few defenders immediately present and killing most of them. Then he smashed through the first organized squad that approached. Most of those troopers were killed or badly wounded. Then he continued to attack and take out scattered elements of the Hydlenese company while we subdued the others. We quickly counted the Hydlenese dead and came up with more than seventy. I would estimate that almost half were the result of the captain’s actions…” After that, Cheld described the gathering of mounts and supplies and the ride back to Haven.

  When Cheld finished, Raelf turned to Beltur. “Would you care to add anything, Captain?”

  “A few clarifications. First, the Weevett company had no experience in riding under the blackness of a concealment, except for short intervals on the ride to the attack. Despite that, Undercaptain Cheld and his squad leaders managed them so well that they did not give the enemy any indication that we were there, even when we reached a point within fifty yards of their perimeter. That speaks highly of their training. Second, the undercaptain credits me with too great an effectiveness in dealing with the Hydlenese after the initial charge and my attack on a small squad of organized enemy troopers. I helped where I could, but, frankly, I was trying to avoid too much hand-to-hand combat.”

  “Why was that, Captain?”

  “Right after the initial attack, a clearly experienced pikeman expertly almost spitted Slowpoke and me, and we took a heavy blow to my shields. I had no idea if there were others, but too many impacts like that would have left me unable to help the company, and would have limited my effectiveness for days.”

  Raelf frowned, then turned back to Cheld. “You didn’t mention pikemen.”

  “Apparently one squad of the Hydlenese was equipped with pikes, but the suddenness of our attack meant that they couldn’t form up as a unit. We found fourteen pikes, but decided they were too long and unwieldy to carry back with horses.”

  “You left them there?”

  “We started a fire and burned the ones we found. That may not have totally destroyed them, but it will have damaged them enough not to be usable. We also burned everything else that we could.”

  “Excellent.”

  Beltur thought so as well. He’d seen the fire and approved of it as a way to deny the Hydlenese anything that the Montgren troopers hadn’t been able to carry off, but hadn’t noticed the pikes.

  Raelf looked to Lhadoraak. “To your knowledge, could any other mage have done what Beltur did?”

  “I could likely manage to conceal a company, but I would be hard-pressed to do so under the conditions described by the undercaptain. I cannot kill in the way that Beltur does. I don’t know of anyone else who can. Jessyla can conceal small groups and kill individuals, but not great numbers.”

  Raelf nodded, seemingly more to himself than to anyone. Then he turned back to Beltur.

  “You r
ealize how the Duke’s commander will feel when he discovers that you—or we—massacred almost an entire company, don’t you?” The majer’s tone was almost genial.

  “They’ll be angry.”

  “They’ll be furious … and so will the Duke.”

  Beltur shrugged, trying not to wince as he did. “If we play the plaques by his rules, we’ll lose.”

  “We both know that,” replied Raelf, “but our winning in that fashion is going to kill quite a large number of Hydlenese officers and rankers who’d claim that all they did was follow orders.”

  “What’s the difference between their following orders and our following orders?” returned Beltur.

  “You don’t have to follow orders. I do, and so do the Duke’s officers.”

  “No, you don’t. All officers choose to follow orders. They do so because they believe in their ruler or they believe in what they do, sometimes both. Those of us who are councilors choose to do what we’re doing because following other rulers’ orders would have resulted in our death or eventual exile. The argument you’re advancing suggests that following orders is a justification, but self-preservation as individuals or as a smaller group is not.”

  Raelf smiled. “I happen to agree with your point. Most rulers and most officers in other lands will not. I just wanted to make that clear.” After the slightest pause, he said, “That’s all I needed from both of you this evening. I doubt that the Hydlenese will attack tomorrow, but if the scouts find out to the contrary, I’ll let you know. With what you’ve been through and accomplished today, I thought we might meet at eighth glass tomorrow morning, unless the Hydlenese appear to be massing for an attack.”

  Beltur didn’t think that likely, but then, if he were the Hydlenese commander, he might have considered that.

  “Also,” continued Raelf, “it will be a while before Healer Jessyla is finished here, since I already requested that she take a look at the wounded this evening.”

  Beltur was about to mention that he’d help as well—until Jessyla shot him a glance that kept him from opening his mouth.

  Then she said, “If you accompany me, all you can do is let me know if there’s deep chaos.”

  “I can do that … and help with splints.”

  “We’ll see what’s necessary.” She rose. “I’d like to see to them immediately.”

  Beltur rose with her, half wondering why she’d been so firm publicly, when he’d already agreed not to overstrain himself.

  Not until they were out of the room did she say, “I wanted to make certain that Raelf knew what that attack cost you.” Then she added, “It cost you more than you think.”

  As you’ll likely find out tomorrow morning when you wake up. It was also a reminder that he’d better avoid pike lines, no matter what.

  Jessyla had obviously been busy while Beltur had been gone, because the tack room that had confined Gustaan and the others “recruited” by the white mage had been turned into a surgery of sorts, with two pallet tables and some simple wall shelves that held what healing tools Jessyla had brought or found in Haven.

  “You did all this?” asked Beltur.

  “Julli, Jaegyr, and I all worked together.”

  “Jaegyr? I thought…”

  “He and Gorlaak and some of the majer’s men will be working on the pike frames tomorrow. Gorlaak said it would take the rest of the afternoon to get and load the timbers.”

  “Healer?”

  They both turned to see a squad leader standing there.

  “Are you ready to see the wounded?”

  “We’re ready,” said Jessyla.

  In moments, two troopers carried in another and set him on one of the pallet tables. Beltur could immediately sense the broken leg beneath the blood-soaked dressing that covered a long gash. Surprisingly, the end of the bone had not broken through the skin, but there was already a great deal of chaos in the wound.

  Beltur watched as Jessyla removed the deeper chaos and then used a small containment across the wound that was part cut and part bruised and compressed muscle so that she could remove the old dressing and clean the area around the wound without further damaging the leg.

  “You’re not going to take my leg, are you?” asked the trooper.

  “You should be able to keep it, but you’re going to have to be very careful. Either I or Beltur will have to see you briefly every day. Now, first we’ll finish dressing it before we put a splint on it. I can’t put a full splint on it. That’s why you’ll have to be careful…”

  Beltur mostly watched as Jessyla finished with the first trooper, although he did help with positioning the splint and remove a few bits of nasty wound chaos with free order.

  The second trooper had a long slash across the back of his left shoulder, to the bone in places, and Beltur couldn’t help but ask how it happened.

  “Was turned to deal with a pair of greenies, and another one threw an ax. Grimstad took care of him, and bound me up.”

  “Battle-axes? I didn’t see any of those.”

  The trooper frowned, then looked closer at Beltur. “Captain, ser…”

  “I’m also a healer, but not as good as she is. I’m just here in case there’s something that takes two. About the axes … do a lot of the Hydlenese use them?”

  “We saw three or four, ser. Couldn’t tell if they had a squad that all used them.”

  “Thank you. That’s good to know.”

  After the trooper with the shoulder wound left, Jessyla said, “He’s more fortunate. Unless they’re wounded in the neck or spine, the upper back wounds usually aren’t as dangerous, awful as they look. He will have quite a scar.”

  Although Cheld had said that there were only seven wounded, by the time Jessyla and Beltur left, she had actually dealt with ten, but with four the wounds were relatively minor, and, if needed, three of the four could likely fight. Still, that meant that the extremely “successful” attack had effectively reduced the fighting strength of the Weevett company by a tenth. And matters won’t be that favorable again, most likely.

  As the two rode through the darkness toward their home, Beltur considered the question that Raelf hadn’t asked, although his questions had certainly suggested it: Did the end justify the means? Self-preservation was a good reason for almost any means, but did trying to obtain control of one’s life justify any means?

  “You’re awfully quiet,” offered Jessyla. “Are you all right?”

  “Just thinking. So many people are going to die because a duke wants to take over another land and because we’re stubborn enough to want to stop him.”

  “Beltur, we didn’t start this. Besides, Montgren’s a much better land than Hydlen. At least from what everyone says. When people like Gustaan and Graalur aren’t happy with their own land … even Raelf left there, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Unless someone stops people like the Duke, it just gets worse.”

  “I still wonder. I stopped Cohndar and Waensyn, and it appears that Caradyn just took over where they left off.”

  “That’s because we couldn’t stay to stop him. Here we can.”

  But how many battles will we have to fight for how many years? Or is there another way …

  Beltur had the feeling that there was, but that it too would exact a high price.

  LVII

  When Beltur woke on fiveday morning, it was later than usual. That he could immediately tell because he was alone in the bed and because the light was too bright for it to be anything but full morning. He gingerly levered himself into a sitting position, then looked down at his chest and shoulders. The now-purpled bruises weren’t as large as he’d feared, but even the movement of sitting up had let him know that he was sore in a few other places as well.

  Jessyla immediately appeared in the bedroom doorway. “How do you feel this morning?”

  “I’m a bit sore.”

  “You’re in better shape than I thought. You had me worried last night.”

  “
Part of that might have been that concealing a whole company for almost a glass did take a little more effort than I’d anticipated. Have we heard anything from Raelf?”

  “He sent a messenger a glass ago. So far, the Hydlenese aren’t moving. They sent some scouts to look at the hill you attacked, but they didn’t stay. He doesn’t expect any more greencoats until this afternoon at the earliest. So you can get washed up, and I’ll get you something to eat.”

  After washing up, Beltur debated what to wear—the blues or his old blacks—and decided on the old blacks. If he had to do a patrol, or something, he could always change, but especially after the message from Raelf, he doubted that he would be riding out. At least, he hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.

  When he sat down at the kitchen table, on his platter were some cheesed eggs, mutton strips, and a fresh pearapple, with part of a loaf of bread on the side. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. The bread’s not bad. Tulya said that the starter yeast you worked out is the best so far.”

  Beltur smiled. “That’s a polite way of saying that it’s barely edible and that I need to come up with something better.”

  “I had some. The bread’s better than that.”

  After eating most of the eggs and mutton, Beltur took a bite of the bread, then said, “It’s better than edible, but it’s a long way from what Meldryn baked.”

  “It might take a while for you to get to that,” said Jessyla, “since we’re in the middle of a war.”

  Beltur frowned. “A war? Not just battles over Haven?”

  “After we—mostly you—destroyed that battalion, I think it became a war. Things were heading that way, but we hurried it up.”

  “Do you think we could have done it differently? Better?”

  “We could have done it differently. I don’t think, in the end, we could have avoided fighting Hydlen. Not when they sent a battalion.”

  As Beltur took the last bite to finish the pearapple, there was a knock at the door.

  “I’ll get it.” Jessyla rose and left the kitchen.