The Mage-Fire War

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “It wasn’t a homily, Undercaptain. It was a warning.”

  “You seem to forget who has the army.”

  “I know full well who has the army.”

  Again, the undercaptain refrained from replying, and Beltur decided not to press conversation. He knew he was riding into a trap, and he had to trust that he could create enough consternation to escape … after he did what was necessary.

  As they neared the west end of Haven, Beltur could sense the troopers little more than a kay ahead, a far greater number than he’d sensed or seen in one place since the invasion of Spidlar. He judged that there was a full battalion of mounted infantry ahead, one company on each side of the road, and three in the middle, each company formed up four horses abreast. The companies in the middle would likely advance more quickly and then peel off to one side or the other to accomplish whatever destruction and devastation the majer had already ordered.

  The lead Hydlen company formed a semicircle on the road. In the middle waited the majer, mounted, flanked by two mounted troopers holding shields and sabres. Beltur immediately noted that the troopers in the middle of the road, but not on the sides, carried riding bows, strung, but over their shoulders. Their quivers were full of shafts.

  As much for Lhadoraak’s sake as anything, Beltur decided to go through with what had to be a charade, even though he knew he could do more damage, at least initially, if he attacked first. But that would give them a way to rationalize what they intend to do anyway. Besides, going through with the charade might get him closer, and that might be for the best.

  Even before the undercaptain slowed and gestured for Beltur to approach the waiting officer, Beltur was studying the formation he neared.

  “Are you really Majer Smalkyn?” he asked, reining up well short of the man in the majer’s uniform.

  “Of course. Who else would I be?”

  Beltur immediately detected the lie. He couldn’t say he was surprised, after what he’d already done.

  “And who are you?” the Hydlenese continued. “I requested the entire Council of Haven.”

  Beltur smiled politely, looking with eyes and senses to those men mounted closest to the archers, figuring that the real majer wanted to be close, but not where any stray arrows might fly.

  “As I told the undercaptain … the Council has no authority to surrender or to convey any lands in Montgren to anyone. He didn’t seem able to comprehend that. So I volunteered to come and explain it myself.” Even as he talked Beltur kept searching, finally deciding on a wiry and slightly older man—as evidenced by a lower order/chaos level and a certain feel. He just hoped he was correct, but in what was going to be a bloody mess, there would be mistakes. You just hope you aren’t the one making too many of them.

  “You and this Council will leave Haven, or you will die in Haven.”

  Beltur shrugged, positioning the two containments. “Whether we leave or not, the lands still belong to the Duchess. You are invading lands that do not belong to you.”

  The man Beltur thought was the real majer made a small gesture, and the false majer flattened himself in the saddle, while the archers nocked and fired shafts.

  Beltur felt the impact on his shields like a blow, but he not only threw a concealment around himself, he twisted the two containments viciously, while turning Slowpoke to the right side of the formation, having already determined that there was more open land beyond the road there than on the left side. In instants, the blows on his shields ceased, just before the big gelding pushed those shields between two troopers, knocking one mount aside and unhorsing the other trooper.

  “Overcaptain…!” yelled someone, suggesting that Beltur had found the actual majer.

  That would only buy a little time, while the battalion re-formed itself and began the actual attack. While that was happening, Beltur guided Slowpoke along the side of the road, then returned to the road once he was well clear of the troopers. He retained the concealment until he neared the brick posts and could sense Lhadoraak and Jessyla and their mounts.

  Jessyla urged her horse toward, him, reining up, followed by Lhadoraak. “What happened?”

  “They demanded we abandon Haven, then decided to try to assassinate me when I told them that regardless of what we did, we couldn’t turn over Montgren lands to Hydlen. They had a half score archers ready to fire at the majer’s command. They did. He’s dead. They were calling for the overcaptain to take charge. They’ve got a full battalion coming.”

  “And we’re supposed to stop them?” asked Lhadoraak.

  “It’s not a massed battle,” said Beltur. “They’ll have to attack house by house. We can take out the squad leaders of each squad.”

  “You can,” said Lhadoraak. “All I can do is knock troopers off their horses without them seeing me.”

  “Then you do that … and do it around our houses. Jessyla and I will do what we can in that area, but farther away.”

  “You’re sure?” asked the older mage.

  “We’re sure,” declared Jessyla. “Go!”

  Once Lhadoraak rode off, she looked to Beltur. “Where do we start?”

  “Right past the brick posts. I think they’ll come charging down the main road. At least, I hope they do. If they do, I’m going to put a low containment across the road, anchored to the rock below, just long enough to bring down the lead horses and riders. Then I’ll use neck containments on whoever seems to be in charge and as many as we can take out. We just keep withdrawing and taking out whoever we can. I’ll stay on the south side, you on the north. There’s more space on the north. If you get tired, draw back, have a swallow of ale, and take a moment. This is going to take all day. If we lose touch with each other, you join Lhadoraak.”

  “A battalion is five hundred troopers, Beltur, isn’t it?”

  “There aren’t quite that many anymore. Say four hundred eighty after their losses.”

  “Quibbler.”

  “That’s why it will take all day.” Beltur laughed harshly.

  “You mean it, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Order and chaos help us…” Jessyla shook her head, then guided her mount to the north side of the main street, seemingly disappearing as she concealed herself.

  Beltur didn’t move Slowpoke that far off the road and, concealing himself, waited for the onslaught. As he’d predicted, the lead company moved quickly toward Haven, but the flanking companies had dropped back, apparently realizing that there was not enough space and too much overgrown vegetation beside the road. Beltur thought that was to his advantage, but that remained to be seen. The horses neared, not at a gallop or a canter, but something almost like a fast trot. He’d hoped for a faster pace, but the horses were still fairly close together, with the following companies bunched closer than Beltur would have put them.

  Just before the first rank passed the brick posts, Beltur set the low containment and anchored it. All five horses went down, and Beltur felt as though he’d been pummeled all over. He immediately released the containment and studied the following ranks as best he could with his senses, finally finding a trooper, possibly an undercaptain or a squad leader, yelling something that could not be made out over the screams of injured horses and the shouts and curses of troopers. With savage quickness, Beltur used a neck containment to kill the man who was likely a squad leader, then another, and another. Beltur didn’t even wince at the black mists of death. A man—clearly an officer—rode along the shoulder of the road toward the pile of mounts and men.

  Beltur took him out as well.

  In a fraction of a quint more than fifteen men were dead from Beltur’s containments. He had a vague sense of other death mists as well.

  “Circle round the area! There’s a mage here!”

  Amid the chaotic pileup and milling mounts, Beltur couldn’t tell who issued the order, only that other squads or companies were threading their way away from the congested mess. He turned Slowpoke east, randomly taking out any trooper who
seemed on the verge of taking control of the scattered forces.

  Ahead, in the open space where a lane and a side street intersected, an officer was trying to re-form a company. Beltur used a small containment to break his neck … and that of the squad leader who then tried to take control. Three houses farther on, troopers had dismounted and smashed into a house, setting it afire. Beltur forced himself to ignore the flames, and the screams. He killed two more troopers and moved on.

  Still under a concealment, but feeling light-headed, he eased Slowpoke next to a shed, pulled out a water bottle, and took several very long swallows. He’d barely corked it and replaced it when a Hydlenese trooper rammed into his shield.

  “He’s here—”

  Beltur cut off the shout and the trooper’s life.

  He could sense that at least one company was moving close to Lhadoraak’s and his dwelling, and he threaded Slowpoke through the back of two houses to a dwelling some three west of Lhadoraak’s. From what he could sense, Lhadoraak was north of his own house trying to block troopers riding south from the main street.

  Beltur turned his attention to the dwelling in front of him, where two troopers were using a length of log in trying to batter through the door. Beltur killed both, and the squad leader supervising them. The remaining squad members turned farther south. Beltur followed them, then killed the first trooper who tried to batter into the next house, followed by the squad leader, and another trooper. The squad lost interest in that house.

  The remainder of the squad moved to another house.

  Beltur picked off three more troopers, and the Hydlenese moved on.

  Beltur reined up. His head was slowly spinning, or felt as though it was, and he could barely stay in the saddle.

  After drinking more ale, he felt the dizziness abate, but only slightly. You’re going to have to rest for a bit. He forced himself to wait, reduced his shields to the minimum, and when no one else seemed to be around, dropped the concealment.

  After a time, he eased Slowpoke toward where Lhadoraak and now Jessyla were fending off a handful of troopers less than a block from their houses. He drank a bit more ale while he rode.

  As he guided Slowpoke around the corner, he saw yet another squad of troopers riding toward the houses west of where Jessyla and Lhadoraak were using their shields to push away another set of troopers. Both of them had dropped concealments, and Beltur realized that he should have done the same earlier. Then he sensed another death mist from the troopers facing Jessyla, but that didn’t seem to stop the Hydlenese, almost as if they recognized that she couldn’t kill that many of them—or that they were so enraged that they didn’t care.

  Half of the second squad of troopers moved into a wedge formation, apparently preparing to charge Lhadoraak and Jessyla from the rear. The other ten troopers rode toward the nearest dwelling—less than half a block from Beltur’s house.

  Beltur didn’t bother with a concealment. He just urged Slowpoke into a full gallop and extended his shields, but the extension began only at Slowpoke’s shoulder height. What Beltur hoped for was merely to sweep the troopers off their mounts, so that he and his shields didn’t take quite a beating.

  He and Slowpoke burst through the center of the five-man front, and most of the troopers in both ranks were yanked from their mounts, the impact being strong enough that Slowpoke was barely moving when Beltur reined him up.

  One trooper at the end of the five abreast in the second rank stayed mounted … but blood gushed from his shoulder—and his arm was missing. Then he slumped in the saddle. How…?

  Beltur swallowed. The edge of the shield must have cut like a sword or knife.

  The survivors of Beltur’s impromptu attack fled—those who could—as did the five troopers who had been trying to beat their way past Lhadoraak and Jessyla’s shields.

  Beltur once more turned the big gelding and let him walk slowly toward the other two mages.

  “Now what?” asked Lhadoraak, looking toward the retreating troopers.

  “What did you do to that one trooper?” asked Jessyla, gesturing to the one-armed form sprawled on the trampled clay of the street.

  “I think I just discovered a nastier way to use shields.”

  “Does it take less effort?” asked Jessyla. “I got too tired to hold shields and use containments very often. If I only had to hold shields…”

  Trying not to breathe hard, Beltur explained. As he finished, he saw the horrified expression on Lhadoraak’s face and added, “It’s not that much different from a sabre or a lance.”

  “The way you can use it…” Lhadoraak shook his head.

  Beltur wasn’t about to dispute the older mage. “We need to rest, get something to eat … and then I’m going to see if I can find any more officers.”

  “What about the townspeople?”

  “Right now, the best thing we can do is get rid of as many Hydlenese as possible.”

  “You’re sounding like them,” said Lhadoraak.

  “Forbearance doesn’t win battles … or wars,” said Beltur tiredly. “Destroying the enemy does. Besides, they’re the ones who started it.”

  “You’re white,” declared Jessyla.

  “So are you.”

  “You need to eat and rest. Until you do that, you can’t do any more.”

  “More people will die…”

  “Your dying won’t help them … or us.”

  “She’s right,” added Lhadoraak.

  Beltur couldn’t argue with that.

  “This way…” Jessyla gestured.

  Beltur didn’t look back at the bodies as the three of them rode to Lhadoraak and Tulya’s house. Immediately Gustaan and Waerdyn hurried outside.

  “Are you all right?” demanded Gustaan.

  “Nothing that something to eat, drink, and a little rest won’t fix,” replied Beltur. Mostly, anyway.

  “Where did the Hydlenese go?” asked Waerdyn.

  “Nowhere far. They’re attacking and plundering the eastern half of Haven.” Beltur realized he was hoarse, but he had no idea why. He hadn’t been shouting or yelling. He didn’t think so, anyway, but the morning was turning into a blur … except that when he glanced in the direction of the white sun blazing through the clear green-blue sky, he realized it was slightly past midday.

  “We’ll take care of the horses while you eat and rest,” said Gustaan.

  “And gather up weapons and spoils,” added Waerdyn, “while none of the green-asses are nearby.”

  Gustaan frowned at that.

  “The way they’re acting,” said Waerdyn, “they’re green-asses. Trying to kill everyone they can because the town doesn’t want them.” He shook his head.

  “That’s the Duke, not the men.”

  “That’s why I tried to take out the officers,” Beltur said as he dismounted. He knew he was in worse shape than he thought when his boots hit the ground, because his legs were shaky, and he was again light-headed. He walked into the house, slowly and carefully … and said nothing until Gustaan eased him into a chair at the warped kitchen table. “At some point … ought to have Jaegyr make us both good tables.”

  “That will have to wait,” said Tulya, setting a bowl of burhka in front of him, accompanied by a half loaf of warm bread.

  “You … didn’t have to do this,” Beltur half protested. “You really didn’t.”

  “I had to do something, or I’d have worried myself to death. Anyway, I knew you three would need something hot and solid sooner or later.”

  Beltur took a mouthful of burhka, then another, before realizing that Jessyla and Lhadoraak were at the table with him … and that neither had spoken. All three were just eating, not talking.

  He kept eating and suddenly the bowl was empty. He wasn’t hungry any longer, and the light-headedness had left him. He also hadn’t even been aware of whether the burhka had been too spicy-hot. He was about to take another swallow of ale when he realized his beaker was empty. For a moment, he just looked at it.
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br />   Tulya immediately said, “Taelya … would you refill Uncle Beltur’s beaker? Not quite to the top, please.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  When Taelya handed the beaker back to Beltur, he said, “Thank you. I needed that.”

  “Your order and chaos were swirling, Uncle Beltur. They’re better now.”

  “I hope so.”

  Beltur forced himself to drink the second beaker of ale slowly, knowing he needed some time, even as he also knew that houses were burning and people dying … or at best, losing everything. Finally, he set down the empty beaker and stood. “It’s time to go and do what else we can to run them off.”

  “I’m coming with you,” declared Jessyla. “I can protect myself, and someone needs to make sure you don’t do too much.”

  Beltur almost asked “too much what,” but was afraid she just might tell him what he already feared. Yet what else can you do? What else will work?

  Jessyla looked to Lhadoraak. “You need to stay close to here, just in case some of the Hydlenese circle back.”

  “I should go, too.”

  Beltur caught the expression of alarm on Tulya’s face and immediately said, “That won’t work. We’ll be too far east to get back here in time if they turn and attack here.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely!” declared Beltur, realizing that Jessyla was saying the same word nearly simultaneously.

  “You’re outvoted, dear,” said Tulya quietly. “After what those uniformed brigands tried to do to the other houses down the way, it’s better you stay.”

  “I hope this doesn’t take long,” declared Beltur, knowing as he spoke how unlikely that hope was. He headed for the front door.

  As he stepped outside into the summer sunlight weakened by haze and acrid smoke, Gustaan edged closer, holding Slowpoke’s reins. He tendered them to Beltur, saying quietly, “Ser, do what you can, but make sure you come back. You’re the only one … Just be careful. We refilled your water bottles with ale.”

  “Thank you.” Since Beltur really didn’t know what else he could say, he just nodded and took the gelding’s reins. He frowned at the fact that he hadn’t even noticed that Gustaan had refilled the bottles. Next, for a brief moment, he looked closely at Slowpoke, with both eyes and senses. The gelding seemed to be in better shape than Beltur felt. He patted Slowpoke’s neck and said, “We’ve got a lot to do yet, big fellow.” Then he mounted.