The Mage-Fire War

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “Chestyn. Waerdyn said he was the better archer.”

  “You asked Waerdyn?”

  “Not in so many words. I just … guided what he said.”

  That was something Beltur likely needed to be better at or Jessyla wouldn’t have said it that way. He smiled wryly.

  Less than a quint later, he was riding west out of Haven, accompanied by Taasn, trying to listen carefully as the trooper continued his reply to Beltur’s question as to how Taasn had ended up as a Montgren trooper.

  “… something about hay and sheep … sneezing and coughing … my eyes were watering and burning by midday every day … my da said I’d grow out of it … I never did. One day I just walked away. I thought I could ride a little. I was tired of walking up and down over the same hills … I walked to the nearest trooper post … two towns over … The captain laughed. He said I was undersized, but he’d give me a try … worked hard … never wanted to go back to sheep … that was six years ago…”

  “Are you as good as Chestyn with the bow?”

  Taasn shook his head. “Not many are.” Then he grinned. “But he can’t match me with a blade … any blade. And he’s almost a head taller.” The trooper frowned. “How did you know he was good with a bow?”

  “I didn’t. My consort found out.” Beltur tried to sense if there were any riders on the road ahead, but he couldn’t discern any, at least not within more than two kays, possibly nearly three.

  “Never heard of a healer who was also a mage.”

  “Neither had I until I met her.”

  “Never heard of a mage who was also a healer.”

  “There are some, and there always have been.”

  “Begging your pardon, ser, but were any of them war mages … like you?”

  “I don’t know. I only heard of the mage-healers. There have been black mages who were true war mages, like Nylan and Saryn of the black blades.”

  “Saryn … like in Sarronnyn?”

  “She was the one who founded Sarronnyn. Any of the old lords of Lornth who opposed her ended up dead.”

  Taasn actually shuddered at Beltur’s words. “Don’t know as I’d ever want to meet a woman like that.”

  “There have been men like that.”

  “Wouldn’t want to meet them, either, but a woman…” The trooper shook his head.

  Beltur smiled faintly, then returned the wave of a woman standing on the porch of a cot on the south side of the street. He had no idea who she was, although he was sure he had met her when he was knocking on doors. Several hundred yards ahead were the repaired brick posts that marked the western edge of Haven. Another hundred yards beyond that, on the right side of the road, Beltur saw a large vulcrow, perched on a sagging fence post.

  As the two rode closer, the vulcrow spread its wide wings and took off, headed west-northwest. Beltur frowned. He’d only seen a handful of vulcrows in his entire life, and always in the hills or mountains. Yet the bird hadn’t looked ill or hurt.

  “Don’t like that,” murmured Taasn. “Usually means something large died somewhere near.”

  “You think the Hydlenese have already raided another stead?” Beltur didn’t like that possibility, but it could mean that they’d attacked an outlying stead beyond his ability to sense.

  “That or some herder’s lost an animal. They don’t scavenge cats or squirrels … nothing small.”

  Beltur was still thinking about the vulcrow a quint later when the two reached a side lane about a kay outside of Haven. He had the feeling that there were riders or troopers farther away, but whether the feeling was based on his senses or his fears that there might be, he couldn’t tell. Because of that feeling and because he also wanted to see if there were recent traces of riders on the Hydolar road or the road to Gallos, he kept riding past the west kaystone.

  Then, when they were about a kay from where the road to Weevett branched off, Beltur definitely sensed riders—except they were to the northwest and they weren’t heading toward Haven but almost due north from the road that eventually led to Gallos.

  Beltur turned to Taasn. “I’ve just sensed riders northwest of us. They’re riding north on a back lane or trail. More than a squad of them. Do you know if there’s a hamlet northwest of here? Or maybe a back road that circles to come into Haven from the north?”

  “No, ser. I’m from Grenylt.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “The northwest corner of Montgren. Lavah’s the nearest real town.”

  Beltur frowned. Someone had mentioned Lavah, but not where it was.

  “Lavah’s across the Rugged Hills in Sligo,” explained Taasn, clearly in response to Beltur’s puzzled expression. “Grenylt’s on the old trade road from Rytel to Lavah. Not many traders go that way anymore.”

  “There must be something north on that back lane,” said Beltur. “That many riders wouldn’t be there otherwise.” And that means some stead is going to get raided. He urged Slowpoke into a faster walk. “We need to get closer so that I can find out more before I send you back to Lhadoraak and Jessyla.”

  The Hydlenese troopers seemed to be proceeding slowly, so that, by the time Beltur and Taasn reached the side lane that the troopers had taken, as evidenced by the fresh hoofprints in the damp clay of the road, Beltur estimated that they were only a kay or so ahead. While he could sense them, the low rolling hills, the intermittent stands of trees on the hilltops, and the winding nature of the lane kept him from actually seeing the troopers.

  What was worse was that Beltur sensed a hamlet perhaps half a kay from the Hydlenese. “All right, Taasn. There’s a hamlet ahead. The chances are that the Hydlenese are going to raid there. You can’t do much to help me. So head back and tell Lhadoraak what’s happening and that I’ll be doing what I can. Also tell him that they might attack somewhere closer on the south side of Haven this afternoon and for him and Jessyla to be aware of that. It’s just a guess, but I suspect that they plan to set fires and scatter people, hoping we’ll come out here to see what happened, and then attack Haven.”

  And if they don’t, and this is just a raid, another mage can’t get here fast enough to make any difference.

  “You’re sure, ser?”

  “Very sure. It’s important that Lhadoraak and Jessyla know. I’ll be fine.” Whether I can do enough that the people in the hamlet will be the same is another question. “Now, go!”

  Once the trooper was headed back to Haven, Beltur returned his full concentration to the troopers ahead. Before long he was less than a thousand yards behind the two men acting as rear guards, and he had raised a concealment, because at times, when the road was straight, he could have been seen. It was clear that the troopers knew exactly where they were going, since there were no delays or hesitations at two of the places where another lane forked off. That meant that someone had scouted the area earlier.

  After another quint had passed and Beltur was within a few hundred yards, the narrow dirt road, flanked mostly by the rocky grasslands, scrub bushes, and occasional trees, straightened as it entered a broad and gentle vale. Given the fields to the north and an ordered grouping of trees that Beltur sensed and that had to be an orchard of some sort, there had to be a spring or a stream somewhere, although Beltur had not yet discerned any watercourse. He did make out what appeared to be five dwellings larger than mere cots, but smaller than most stead dwellings, and a number of low outbuildings, as well as several flocks of sheep on the hillsides east of the vale. As he rode, Beltur took several long swallows of the ale in one of his water bottles.

  The troopers abruptly came to a halt, but Beltur, still under a concealment, kept moving closer to the troopers, what appeared to be a full squad of twenty. Although someone, likely the squad leader, was giving orders, Beltur was too far back to hear what those orders might be. Several of the troopers near the front of the squad appeared to string bows. The others unsheathed blades.

  Then the troopers resumed their advance, walking their mounts toward the center of the
hamlet.

  Beltur could sense people in the hamlet running, presumably into cots or other places where they felt safe. Having no idea exactly how the troopers were going to proceed, Beltur moved up to within a few yards of the last troopers, who in turn had moved up so there was no longer a gap between them and the bulk of the squad.

  When the squad reached the center of the hamlet, an open space roughly in the middle of the dwellings, the troopers reined up. Then the squad leader called out, “The Duke of Hydlen has claimed these lands. If you don’t open your doors to his forces and pay tribute, we will break down those doors and take anything and anyone we desire.”

  Beltur did not sense any doors opening, and, still under a concealment, he eased Slowpoke off the road and forward along the left side of the riders, if several yards from the nearest.

  “I’m warning you!” bellowed the squad leader. “This is your last chance.”

  Beltur released the concealment as he neared the front rank of the squad and called out, “Aren’t you being a little hasty?”

  The squad leader turned toward Beltur, momentarily frowning, before replying, “Who are you to deny the Duke?”

  “I’m just a representative of the Duchess, and she won’t take kindly to anyone claiming lands in Montgren, especially a mere squad leader.”

  “You’re not wearing a Montgren uniform. How can you claim that?”

  “It’s actually a uniform of a Haven patroller, although I did dispatch a Montgren trooper back to Haven to send a report to the Duchess about your incursion.”

  “You’re no patroller. Strike him down!” The squad leader gestured to the front rank.

  Beltur just expanded his shields slightly and anchored them to the ground, waiting.

  The two leading troopers rode toward Beltur, flanking him on each side. Both riders and their mounts rebounded from the shields even before they could strike with their blades.

  Beltur held his ground, then fastened a containment around the squad leader’s neck, tightening and twisting it. The squad leader stiffened, grasping futilely at his neck. More troopers swarmed toward Beltur, pressing against the shields.

  Before that long, the squad leader slumped forward in his saddle, and a black mist followed.

  Another trooper called out, “He can’t get us all! Go for the cots! Take what you can! Keep moving!”

  The moment the troopers broke away from Beltur, he released the anchors from his shields, widened them and angled them like the prow of a boat, and then urged Slowpoke into a charge at the nearest group.

  The combination of the big gelding’s weight and power and the angled shields scattered the four horses through which Slowpoke burst, unhorsing at least one of the troopers. Beltur turned the gelding toward another group of troopers farther away and urged Slowpoke into a gallop across the flat ground in the middle of the hamlet. That charge scattered more troopers and unhorsed a pair.

  A trooper turned and slashed at Beltur, so hard that when his blade struck the shields, it flew from his hand, and he turned his mount away so quickly that he and another trooper collided. Beltur turned Slowpoke back across the level common toward another group of four troopers in front of a cot. Because they were so close to the dwelling, he angled Slowpoke to one side and extended his shields on that side. The impact unhorsed another rider and caused two others to slam into each other.

  Abruptly, the remaining troopers turned their mounts and fled.

  Beltur saw, to his dismay, that the most distant group had actually forced their way into a cot and had seized a woman and were riding off with her. Shaking his head, he reined up, since there was no way to catch them and he still needed to deal with the unhorsed troopers and their mounts.

  He glanced around, and seeing a trooper about to remount, rode toward him, throwing a containment around the man, freezing him in place, holding the reins to his mount. But while Beltur was doing that, another trooper reclaimed his mount and galloped off, far enough from Beltur that he couldn’t use a third containment, especially after what the effort of using his shields as a weapon had cost him.

  Beltur turned Slowpoke back toward the center of the hamlet, only to see that men and women had hurried from several of the cots, and with axes and clubs, immediately killed the other three fallen troopers—again, before Beltur could have done much, even if he’d been so minded, which he decided he wasn’t.

  He rode slowly toward the remaining trooper, caught in the containment, which had also protected the man from the growing crowd, clearly frustrated by their inability to attack him. Several of the locals pressed toward him, but then, rebuffed by Beltur’s shields, backed off and watched warily as Beltur reined up beside the captive trooper.

  The trooper’s eyes went from Beltur to the crowd and back again.

  “You’ll be far better off riding back to Haven with me, you know,” Beltur said conversationally.

  “He deserves to die!” shouted someone from the back of the crowd.

  A tall bearded man was running toward Beltur from the direction of the southernmost cot, the one from which the troopers had seized a young woman. The others in the crowd looked toward him as he stopped short of Beltur and Slowpoke.

  “Why didn’t you flame them with chaos before they took my daughter?” demanded the tall bearded man.

  “I can’t. I’m a black mage, not a white. I did all that I could. You might have seen—”

  “You’re a mage. You should have done more!” shouted the man.

  “I kept them from taking more and from killing any of you.”

  “You should have done more. A lot more. The bastards’ll be back again when you aren’t around.”

  Beltur knew that was certainly possible. “They’ll likely look for easier pickings. It’s more likely they’ll attack Haven than here.”

  “What the frig do we care about Haven?” called out another man. “It’s a worthless excuse for a town. The innkeepers’d rob us blind, and there’s not even a decent market square anymore.”

  “We’ve been working on that.”

  “… heard that before…”

  Beltur nodded. “I’m sure you have, but I did what I could here, and I need to get back there to deal with whatever else the Hydlenese may be doing.”

  “If you mages hadn’t come to Haven, the greencoats wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t have taken my daughter.”

  “They were already here when we arrived. We didn’t bring them,” replied Beltur evenly. “And if I hadn’t been here, you’d have lost a lot more.” He turned to the Hydlenese trooper. “I’m going to loosen the containment enough to let you mount. You try anything else, and I’ll yank you off your mount and leave you here. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ser.” The trooper swallowed.

  “You’re letting him go free? After what they did?”

  “He’s my prisoner,” replied Beltur, “and he’s coming back to Haven with me.” He loosened the containment and watched as the trooper mounted. “Now, you ride in front of me, back the way you came.”

  “Much good you are, Mage,” snapped one of the men.

  Beltur turned and looked at him. “Then perhaps I shouldn’t have come at all.”

  “Ser mage!” called out a woman. “Don’t listen to him! We’re thankful you did what you could.”

  Beltur inclined his head in her direction, wondering, as he often had in the last year, why so often women had more common sense than men. “Thank you.” Then he said to the prisoner, “Start riding.”

  Only after the two were well away from the hamlet and Beltur could sense that none of the troopers who had fled were nearby did Beltur ease Slowpoke alongside the trooper. “What’s your name?”

  “Graalur, ser.”

  “Why was your squad attacking the hamlet?”

  Graalur didn’t answer.

  “Someone had to have ordered the attack.” Beltur placed a small containment around the trooper’s neck. Not too tight, but enough to remind the man that it was
there.

  “That was Squad Leader Waaren. You killed him. Why? He was just following orders.”

  “Whose orders?”

  “They must have come from headquarters.”

  “Why did you start attacking steads and hamlets?”

  “The captain said we had to show that no one was in charge in Haven.”

  “So where is the captain? Why wasn’t he leading some of the attacks?”

  “He died. So did the undercaptain. We got a new undercaptain from the other company. He ordered the squad leaders to continue the attacks. They were afraid that they’d be executed if they didn’t. The Duke kills officers who don’t follow orders.”

  The other company? That confirmed that there were two, and that was anything but good.

  “Even stupid orders?”

  “Any orders, ser.”

  Beltur winced. That suggested that the only way to win against Hydolar was to kill a huge number of the Duke’s troopers. Unless … “What about the Duke’s family? Do they have to follow orders?”

  Again, Graalur was silent.

  This time, Beltur waited and kept riding. He took several swallows of ale, and waited some more.

  Finally, the trooper spoke. “He has three sons and some daughters. He used to have four sons. The second son was beheaded for not obeying the Duke. No one knows what he failed to do.”

  That told Beltur plenty. Whether or not that was strictly true didn’t matter, he realized. All that mattered was that troopers and their officers believed it was true. “Where did you grow up?”

  “In Telsen.”

  Beltur had never heard of the town. “Where is that?”

  “It’s south of Hydolar, an eightday ride, just east of the mountains.”

  “How did you end up being a trooper?”

  “What else could I do? My father was a tinsmith. I was the fifth son.”

  Beltur kept asking questions and listening to Graalur’s answers, even while he kept trying to sense the Hydlenese troopers. When they neared the road to Gallos, he could finally sense them, and from what he could tell, the squad had left the Gallos road and was continuing southwest along the Hydolar road, although Beltur suspected they’d eventually turn in the direction of the encampment he had scouted earlier. Given that, Beltur didn’t see much sense in following them, especially since he worried about what might be happening south of Haven.