The Mage-Fire War

by Modesitt. Jr. , L. E.

  “So do we,” said Tulya, “but I trust you will emphasize to her that we strongly suggest she not make the same mistake twice.”

  “With your permission, I will suggest that she support your establishment of your own company of armsmen here in Haven. You will have enough mounts and tack to support them, and you will likely have more than a few volunteers after what you accomplished this past eightday.”

  Tulya looked to Beltur, who nodded.

  “Thank you, Majer.” Tulya inclined her head.

  “You mentioned a few volunteers,” said Beltur. “That suggests prisoners.”

  “We have thirty-some who were unharmed. We’ve found over a hundred wounded Hydlenese. Some have already died. There may be others who fled and who will not wish to return to Hydlen.”

  “What about your wounded?” asked Beltur.

  “There are fifty or so.”

  “How many did you lose?”

  “A hundred and fifty-one dead out of the three Montgren companies. A hundred eighty-three dead from the three Lydian companies.”

  Beltur managed not to swallow. Usually, the wounded far outnumbered the dead. He also realized he’d heard nothing about Cheld, and he hadn’t seen the undercaptain. “Cheld?”

  “He led the initial charge once we reached the collapsing Lydian forces. He blunted their advance. He went too deeply into the Hydlenese forces.” After a pause, Raelf went on, “We don’t know exactly how many Hydlenese died, but we’ve found over a thousand bodies. We’re burying them. There’s not enough time or wood to burn them. That doesn’t count those who were turned to ash.”

  “I’d judge there were over four hundred turned to ash,” said Beltur. “About a hundred fled back toward Hydolar.”

  “If they have any sense, they’ll head elsewhere. The Duke doesn’t tolerate failure, even from rankers.”

  Belatedly, Beltur remembered that Raelf had started his career as an armsman in Hydlen. “So I’ve heard.”

  Raelf turned to Jessyla and said cautiously, “I see you’re wearing greens today.”

  “I can do a little healing today,” Jessyla offered. “Beltur can’t. If we’re careful, we can do a bit more tomorrow. I hope you have more dressings. The Hydlenese burned many of my supplies.”

  “Dressings we have, and some clear spirits, as well as some splints and some brinn. Some of those who could benefit are in the tack room,” said Raelf. “There are others in rooms in the inn.”

  “I’ll start in the tack room.”

  “Taelya and I will wait here,” said Tulya, gesturing to a small table set against the wall. “You shouldn’t be that long.”

  Even before Beltur followed Jessyla into the tack room, the feel of wound chaos was almost overpowering. Because you have only the slightest of shields?

  Once inside, Jessyla stopped by each man and sensed him briefly. Beltur did, too. Just from small signs he could tell that there was one trooper who would definitely not live, and that was a bearded Lydian veteran with wound chaos throughout his chest. Beltur suspected that he’d breathed hot chaos ash. Each breath was a shuddering effort. Even if Beltur and Jessyla had been at full strength, there would have been little they could have done.

  The injuries of the others were primarily deep slash wounds or broken bones, if not both, often with more chaos beneath the dressings than Beltur would have liked to see. Some of the wounds required more cleaning and better dressing, and all could have used some free order to reduce the chaos. Free order that you can’t provide because it would tariff your natural order to make even that effort.

  Neither spoke much as Beltur assisted Jessyla. But after almost a glass, he looked at Jessyla. “You can’t do any more.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m more than sure.”

  The two slipped away and walked back to the public room, empty except for Tulya and Taelya.

  By the time they had recovered the horses and returned to Tulya’s house, and Beltur had stabled and groomed the horses and then walked to join the others, it was close to midday.

  Jessyla, Tulya, and Taelya were sitting at the kitchen table when Beltur entered and joined them.

  “I’m glad you didn’t overdo it.” Tulya paused, then said, “Yet I also wish you could have done more. Those troopers didn’t deserve to be wounded or die because of the weakness of the Duchess or the greed of Duke Massyngal.” She turned to Jessyla. “You said it before, but I need to say it as well. What will keep him from doing it again once he builds up his forces?”

  “We will,” said Beltur quietly. “Before he gets that chance.”

  Jessyla nodded.

  Tulya offered a puzzled frown.

  “He has no armsmen to speak of left in this part of Hydlen,” explained Beltur. “We’re going to pay him a visit. Once we’re recovered, of course.” He knew that it was something he’d have to do, and not Jessyla, but he wasn’t about to mention that at the moment. Not until he had a chance to talk with her about what needed to be done.

  “Why?” asked Taelya. “He’s evil.”

  “To give his successor a message,” replied Beltur.

  Tulya nodded slowly. “That might work.”

  “If it appears that it doesn’t,” said Beltur, “then we’ll pay another visit. As many times as necessary until someone gets the message.”

  LXVII

  When Beltur and Jessyla left for the East Inn on fourday morning, her order/chaos levels were better … if still low … but, as she pointed out, “There’s lots of healing I can do without order, and I’m physically stronger today.”

  So was Beltur, but Jessyla had made it clear that his order/chaos levels were still likely lower than hers had been on threeday.

  After leaving Jessyla to her healing, Beltur rode Slowpoke over to the quarters building, noticing that Dussef was posted by the fountain and Therran near the chandlery, not all that far from the quarters building.

  Gustaan came out to meet Beltur almost as soon as he had dismounted.

  “I heard about Lhadoraak, ser. I can’t tell you…” The former squad leader shook his head.

  “We wouldn’t have prevailed without him.”

  “They said … you weren’t much better, ser.” Gustaan looked at Beltur. “Your hair … they say Councilor Jessyla turned silver, too.”

  “She did. I likely would have ended up like Lhadoraak, except she stopped me from doing more. She had to do the last magery in the west, and we also wouldn’t likely be here without her. How have you managed with the town patrol?”

  “We haven’t had any problems with the troopers. Not so far, anyway.”

  “A number of the Hydlenese scattered at the end, and Majer Raelf said he had some prisoners.”

  “He came to see me yesterday. He said he didn’t want to bother you. He wanted to know if we had anywhere that we could lock up prisoners. I told him we didn’t. We talked for a time. He wanted to know how I came to be here. I told him. Then he said that perhaps, if you approved, we might be able to use some of the prisoners in rebuilding some of the places that got burned down. I told him that was up to the Council. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “It is. We’re getting most of the captured Hydlenese mounts and pretty much all the tack and gear they left here. The majer suggested that perhaps we should use all that to create our own company.”

  “Might be a good idea, but it would take a lot of doing, ser.”

  “Think about it.”

  “Was that what you were talking about before, ser?”

  “No … that was something else. I might need some men who know their way around Hydlen and especially Hydolar.”

  Gustaan frowned.

  “If I do, when the time comes, you’ll be among the first to know. What about you and your men?”

  “I know some of Hydolar. Not that much except the Duke’s palace and the troopers’ post there. Turlow’d know more. He’s from Hydolar. Dussef’s from Sunta, and Therran comes from a little town near Telsen.
Never asked Graalur.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, and I’ll let you know once things settle.” And I get my strength back. “One way or another we’re going to need some more good men.”

  “I was thinking that. Maybe I could ask the majer if I could talk to some of those prisoners. Wouldn’t promise anything, though. Not until you tell me.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll mention it to the majer.”

  As Beltur rode across the square, his thoughts went to where might be the best location for a fort or post. Then he shook his head. He didn’t even know how they’d pay for running an entire company.

  Still … what about two squads?

  He was still smiling wryly when he dismounted outside the inn’s stables.

  “The healer’s in the back there with the other wounded, ser,” offered a trooper sitting on a bench, his right arm in a sling and splint that looked to be recently applied.

  “How’s the arm?”

  “I’ve still got it, and that’s better ’n a lot, ser.”

  “Carry on, trooper.”

  “Thank you, ser.”

  Beltur decided to see Raelf before looking for Jessyla and seeing how she was doing. He found the majer in the front room of the inn, talking to Bythalt. Since it sounded like the two were finishing, he just waited in the archway until Raelf turned.

  “You’re looking better this morning.”

  “I am feeling better,” Beltur admitted. “I was just talking to the town’s chief patroller. He said you mentioned something about prisoners … that we might be able to use some for rebuilding.”

  “I did.”

  “If it’s acceptable to you, I’d like to have him talk to some of them and see if they might work out.”

  “That’s fine with me. The fewer we have to deal with the better.” Raelf cleared his throat. “It looks like we’ve recovered all the mounts from Montgren and Lydiar that went riderless, and all the tack from our mounts that were killed. I would also request that you allow us to take twenty captured horses as pack animals. We’re leaving the remaining Hydlenese horses for you. There are close to a hundred. They should prove useful. So will the tack. And gear. We’re working on getting those Hydlenese uniforms, but finding enough that are usable…” Raelf paused, then went on. “From what they tell me about the greencoat uniforms, I’m just as glad I wasn’t there to see up close what you and Jessyla did to those poor bastards.”

  “We weren’t happy to do it, but unless we killed a lot of them the Duke would be back with more before long.”

  “He will be. Not this year, but next year or the year after. That’s what I’m reporting to Lord Korsaen and the Duchess.”

  “Why do you think that?” Beltur agreed with Raelf, but wanted to know the majer’s reasons.

  “Zekkarat’s company was the only Lydian company worth even a demon’s ashes. Sooner or later, Massyngal will find that out. He’ll want to take over Lydiar even more, and the only roads are through Haven. I’ve also heard that he doesn’t like anyone who denies him.”

  “I’ve heard both of those reasons. Are there any others?”

  “From what I’ve heard, Massyngal doesn’t need any others.” Raelf’s words were wry.

  “That’s why you think we should have our own troopers?”

  “You’d still need help from the Duchess and Duke Halacut against an army. Having your own troopers, especially with your talents as mages, would stop harassment. It might also give Duke Massyngal some pause for thought. Over time, that is.”

  “There’s the ‘small’ problem of having enough golds.”

  “The troopers handling the bodies decided that they’d keep the coins of their spoils, but forgo the jewelry and rings and turn them over to you mages.”

  Beltur smiled crookedly. “Was it hard to persuade them?”

  “Not really. I just pointed out that, without what you two did, and without what Lhadoraak did, most likely all of them would be dead. I also said doing that might keep them from being called back here any time soon. There’s already a partial chest of silver and gold jewelry. Most of it’s small, but silver and gold are still silver and gold.”

  It was more than clear to Beltur that Raelf never wanted another battle like the last one, and neither did Beltur. “Thank you.”

  “Montgren owes a great deal to you. Whether anyone else will say it I don’t know. But I know it, and I want you to understand that I do.”

  And he’s doing everything he can to show it. “We appreciate it.”

  “It’s to Montgren’s advantage.” Raelf grinned. “And Korlyssa might complain about what I’ve granted, but what’s done is done, and it’s a lot easier for you to keep what you rightly won, than to ask for it back from her.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You all paid for it. Dearly. None of us want to pay again.”

  “That’s true.” Beltur paused. “If there’s nothing else…”

  “Not at the moment. Go get some rest. You could use it.”

  From the front foyer, Beltur walked back to the stable and to the other room, whose previous use he could not discern, where wounded troopers were laid out on pallets barely above the rough plank floor.

  He’d hardly stepped inside the door when Jessyla motioned to him. He walked carefully along the narrow space between the first two rows of wounded until he stood beside Jessyla, who knelt beside an unconscious trooper.

  “If you’d see what you can sense?”

  Beltur nodded and let his senses range over the man. He didn’t sense more than minor wound chaos in the trooper’s body, likely from bruises or cuts, but in the area behind his right temple was a large dull red area, at the edge of which were scores of tiny reddish-orange chaos points.

  “He must have taken a blow to the head. I’d say it was with the flat of a sabre, because there’s bruising there, but no cut, and I don’t sense a break in the bones underneath.”

  “Could you do anything?”

  Beltur shook his head. “There are too many chaos points.”

  “He’s bleeding inside his skull, then.” Jessyla rose. “I thought so, but … I wondered if you…”

  “It’s not the same as the boy I healed.” Beltur looked down at the dying man, wishing he could do something.

  For the next glass, he followed Jessyla, occasionally supplying a tiny bit of free order where it just might make the difference … or provide a touch of comfort.

  Once they rode away from the inn, Jessyla said nothing until they rode past the Brass Bowl.

  “So many dead. So many wounded and maimed. For what?”

  “Do you think we were wrong to fight?” asked Beltur evenly.

  “No. It wouldn’t have made any difference. Hundreds or thousands of men would have died, just not here. Most likely in Lydiar, and the deaths among the people there would have been greater.” She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

  “Lhadoraak would still be alive,” Beltur said.

  “He would have lived longer,” replied Jessyla. “But what would have happened after Massyngal conquered Lydiar? A year later, we would have been surrounded on three sides by unfriendly rulers, and the Duchess wouldn’t have been able to stop an invasion of Montgren.”

  Beltur considered that, and the fact that, if Massyngal had taken Lydiar, their situation would have been far, far worse. “I still wonder if we could have done things differently.”

  “We could have. Tell me how all the rest of us would be better off, especially Taelya.”

  Especially thinking about Taelya, Beltur couldn’t. Why can’t you? Because she’s right? Or because you weren’t smart enough to see far enough ahead?

  He was still mulling over those thoughts when Jessyla said, “We’re having dinner at Tulya’s.”

  “Shouldn’t we have her at our house?”

  “Later. Right now, she needs something to do. We need to be warm and pleasant, but not falsely cheery.”

  “We could talk about Taelya an
d what she’s learned and what she needs to learn.”

  “Some, but not too much. She’s the reason why Lhadoraak did what he did, and she shouldn’t know that now. Not at her age.”

  Not the only reason. But there was little point in discussing that, either.

  LXVIII

  On fiveday morning, Beltur felt considerably better, and he could sense well over a kay, although his various bruises remained yellow and purple, if somewhat faded from the previous day. He had just finished cleaning the stable and dealing with the horses when a wagon, escorted by four troopers, rolled to a stop in front of the house. Curious to see what might be in the wagon, he walked over to the lead trooper.

  “Mage-Captain, ser … where do you want us to put all these Hydlenese blades, lances, and axes?”

  During the battle, Beltur hadn’t even noticed that some of the Hydlenese troopers besides those in the recon company had carried axes. “I’d better look at what you have first.”

  “They’re all wiped clean, ser.”

  “We appreciate that.” Beltur peered into the wagon bed.

  The troopers had separated the weapons by type. Directly behind the driver were straight-swords, mostly in scabbards. Farther back were sabres, which filled the middle of the wagon, almost overtopping the wagon sideboards. The score or so of battle-axes were against the tailboard, almost lost behind the hundreds of sabres. Lances? Then Beltur realized that they were on the far side of the wagon, set lengthwise and protruding over the tailboard.

  “This is just the first wagonload, ser,” added the trooper. “Might take two more, maybe three.”

  “Let’s start with the axes, then the straight-swords…”

  Two quints later all the swords, sabres, and axes were stacked, at least roughly, in Beltur and Jessyla’s cellar, where there wasn’t that much room left, not without filling the part that was the root cellar proper. The lances had gone on one side of the barn’s hayloft.

  Beltur was blotting his forehead from all the carrying in the summer heat and about to see Jessyla off on her way to the Brass Bowl and the wounded there … when the second wagon arrived.