The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Beltur noticed that his uncle had obtained a wooden staff from somewhere and carried it in the saddle’s lance holder. So far as Beltur knew, only black mages carried a staff, and he wondered why his uncle had come up with one, especially since a regular wood staff could be quickly destroyed by a chaos flame or bolt. Even so, he wasn’t about to ask.

  No one said much until they had ridden far enough that Arrat had vanished in the grass behind them. Then Kaerylt asked, “Is it always like that when you stop at Arrat?”

  “Always. Sometimes the servers are even older. The only men we see are at the gates. The food is spicy, but good and filling.” Pacek shrugged. “It’s a far more pleasant place to sleep than at the way stations.”

  “Do the grassland raiders ever come this far north?”

  “A few people in the towns talk about raiders. In my time, I’ve never seen any.”

  “Have any troopers had to deal with them?”

  “The unlucky bastards who have to patrol the Phroan River road north of Ruzor. The raiders there are always looking for traders to rob.” Pacek laughed harshly. “The pickings here are meager. Not many traders. Fewer travelers.”

  “And they’d likely lose more than they get in attacking a place like Arrat.” Kaerylt nodded. “What about a town like Desanyt?”

  “Doesn’t make a lot of sense to attack there. You can see for yourself.”

  Beltur could tell by the way his uncle stiffened before he nodded that he wasn’t satisfied with the undercaptain’s answer.

  After that, the older white mage turned to Beltur. “You need some practice with shields.”

  “I thought you were worried about my problems with chaos-bolts.”

  “I am, but practicing with chaos-bolts in the middle of an ocean of dry grass isn’t the best idea. Your shields also need work.” Kaerylt eased the staff from its holder. “Sydon … drop back and give us some room.”

  “My pleasure, ser.”

  Beltur didn’t care for Sydon’s sardonic grin, but said nothing.

  “Block the staff with your shields,” Kaerylt said. “Don’t burn it or turn it to ashes, just block it.”

  “Burning it is easier,” said Sydon as he slowed his mount for a moment to let Kaerylt and Beltur move ahead of him.

  “That’s not the point,” snapped Kaerylt. “It’s to strengthen his shields. You can’t locate and burn arrows or a lot of spears thrown at once. And trying to burn chaos-bolts is worse than useless.”

  From Sydon’s concealed smirk, Beltur could tell that Sydon was baiting his uncle, playing on Kaerylt’s short temper.

  “Lift your shields,” ordered Kaerylt.

  Beltur did so, creating a shifting interplay of chaos, just trying to keep it strong and contained.

  Kaerylt swung with moderate force, and the staff bounced off the barrier, but he immediately struck with greater force, enough that Beltur had to reinforce the place where he had struck—which was exactly where his uncle hit the third time, before striking at the side.

  The blows then came fast and furious.

  After half a glass, by which time Beltur was exhausted and sweat-drenched, Kaerylt replaced the staff in the holder. “That’s better, but you shouldn’t use so much effort. You’ll not only exhaust yourself, but you’ll waste too much chaos.”

  “Yes, ser.” That’s easy enough for you to say. Beltur blotted his forehead and then his cheeks, and wiped the sweat off the back of his neck.

  When he had cooled off some, not that he was about to cool that much at any time during the day in late summer, Beltur couldn’t help but think about his uncle’s comment about wasting too much chaos … and what Jessyla had said about powerful white mages using order to control chaos. Does it matter how I do it, so long as I control it? Besides, if Jessyla happened to be right, and while she might have been honestly mistaken, she hadn’t been lying, and it could be a better way for him. But he’d have to be careful in practicing when his uncle wasn’t around.

  He took a long swallow from his water bottle, then corked it. After several moments, he looked sideways, toward Kaerylt, who had eased his mount closer to Sydon and was talking to the other mage in a low voice.

  Beltur gathered the smallest bit of free chaos, trying to use order to create a lattice into which he could ease another bit of chaos. While the process was tedious, and took concentration, it didn’t seem to take much physical effort. After a time, he glanced at Kaerylt, who had stopped talking to Sydon and was looking ahead, but both seemed unaware of what Beltur was doing.

  Beltur worried that he had no way of knowing how strong such a shield might be … and he certainly wasn’t about to ask his uncle, since what he was doing was totally contrary to everything Kaerylt had taught him.

  Still …

  Next, he tried to shift the pattern into interlocking diamonds. It seemed that might be stronger, but again, he had no way of knowing. He stopped when he began to feel light-headed. Using order might be easier—perhaps—but it still took effort.

  He eased out a scrap of flatbread he’d saved from breakfast and slowly chewed and swallowed it. That seemed to push away the light-headedness.

  By midafternoon, the flat grassy plains immediately south of Arrat had gradually given way to rolling hills, also largely covered with grass, with scattered bushes in the lower reaches between the rises. Every once in a great while there was a scattered and seemingly scrawny tree. Beltur wondered how that occurred, but supposed some bird had dropped a seed at just the right time. He’d thought about asking, but saw a frown and the concentration on his uncle’s face, as if he were deeply involved.

  Trying to chaos-sense something ahead? With that thought, Beltur opened himself to trying just to feel any changes in the patterns of order and chaos that lay ahead. After several moments, he realized that there was indeed something—or many somethings—just over the rise in the road ahead, little more than a kay ahead. He was about to say something when his uncle spoke sharply.

  “Undercaptain, there are riders on the far side of the rise ahead. They’re headed this way.”

  “Can you tell how many there are?”

  “Around a score. It’s hard to tell.”

  “Can you tell if they’re troopers?”

  “They’re too far away for that.”

  “There shouldn’t be any on this road right now, but you never know. More likely raiders.” Pacek glanced around. “There’s no high ground and nowhere to hide. The grass isn’t high enough…”

  Two riders appeared on the road at the top of the rise, then two more, and then others, all riding raggedly two abreast.

  “I count twenty-two … so far,” declared Pacek.

  Beltur watched, but it was hard to tell because of the dust raised by the first riders. After a few moments, when the dust began to settle, it was clear that no more riders followed the first ones, at least not immediately.

  “They’re raiders, all right. They’ve got bows out.”

  “Do they always attack?” asked Kaerylt.

  “Not always. Mostly, though.” Pacek’s voice was resigned. “They’ll try to get us with their bows. They don’t like to close because we’re better with blades.”

  “If you look ready to fight, and we don’t make any hostile moves until they do, and then they get hit with a few chaos-bolts, would they decide to leave us alone?”

  “They might, especially if you can stop their shafts.” replied the undercaptain. “I don’t see any other choice.”

  “We’ll see what we can do.”

  “We’ll keep moving,” said Pacek. “That’ll make it harder for them to hit us.”

  “Beltur,” snapped Kaerylt, “ride up beside the undercaptain. If my shields fail, do your best to shield the two of you.” He turned in the saddle. “Troopers, close up on me, as near as you can.”

  “Do what the mage says!” ordered Pacek.

  The Gallosian troopers and the mages kept moving at a moderate walk, and the raiders continued to dra
w nearer, not galloping but riding at a faster walk. By the time that the raiders were less than half a kay away, Beltur could see that each carried a bow, with some sort of blade in a waist scabbard. All wore leathers of some sort, although the color ranged from faded tan to deep brown.

  Just as Pacek had predicted, the raiders began loosing shafts when they were about a hundred yards away.

  Kaerylt threw up a shield some fifteen yards in front of Beltur and Pacek. Beltur could sense that it wasn’t that strong, but just strong enough that the first volley of arrows lost speed and dropped harmlessly to the ground well in front of Beltur. So did the second. By then, the raiders were little more than fifty or sixty yards away, and Beltur could feel the chaos-flows as Kaerylt strengthened his shield somewhat.

  The third volley of arrows also dropped out of the sky short.

  “Sydon!” ordered Kaerylt. “As soon as they get within fifty yards, start picking them off with chaos-bolts.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  At that moment, the raiders loosed another volley of arrows, then stowed their bows, and urged their mounts into a full gallop. Immediately, Kaerylt contracted his shields to just around himself.

  Even as he prepared to lift a shield, wanting to hold off until the last moment, Beltur had a sinking feeling that his uncle and Sydon weren’t going to have enough time to target all of the raiders. Can you narrow a chaos-bolt to a point with order?

  The lead raider was closer to forty yards from Beltur when a chaos-bolt from Sydon struck him full in the chest, turning him into a half-charred figure. Two more chaos-bolts from Kaerylt blasted riders, and another from Sydon took down a fourth.

  Beltur saw a bearded raider in darker leathers heading for him and Pacek. He immediately tried to focus a chaos-bolt with order … but the thin line of chaos merely struck the raider’s curved blade. While the raider dropped that blade, a second was in his hand immediately, and Beltur threw up his shield. The impact of the raider against the shield nearly ripped Beltur out of the saddle, and he had to release the shield in order to stay mounted, but the shield had worked well enough to bring the raider’s horse to its knees and stun the rider, so that Pacek only needed a single slash to finish the bearded raider.

  Beltur somehow managed another regular chaos-bolt to another raider, and then a weaker one to the face of a second, enough to blind the man, and leave him easy pickings for Pacek.

  Then … there were no more raiders.

  Beltur glanced backward to see the raiding band re-forming on the road behind them. None of the raiders appeared to be considering making a second attack, but they also weren’t moving; they were waiting, as if to see what the Gallosians did. He also could see more than a handful of fallen raiders, and three riderless horses.

  Pacek looked to Kaerylt.

  Kaerylt shook his head.

  “Keep moving!” ordered Pacek. “No spoils today.”

  Beltur looked back and to the side at his uncle, who looked pale, almost unsteady, in the saddle. “Are you all right?”

  “I will be in a bit.” Kaerylt’s hands seemed to shake as he fumbled the cork out of his water bottle and took a swallow, then murmured a few words.

  Beltur thought he muttered something about getting soft. He quickly looked away and turned to the undercaptain. “How much longer before we reach Desanyt?”

  “We’ll be able to see it in the distance from the top of the next rise, the one after this one. Most likely another three glasses.”

  “Thank you, Undercaptain.” Beltur slowed his mount and then eased in beside his uncle. He kept glancing back over his shoulder, but before that long, there was no dust or other sign of the raiders, just as if the grass had swallowed them all up. Finally, he felt comfortable without turning to look behind the trailing troopers. Behind him, he could hear a few of the words exchanged by the troopers.

  “Nice to have mages…”

  “… still wonder where they’re headed … can’t take Arrat with a score of raiders…”

  “… lot less’n that now…”

  “… maybe one of the towns east of the big wash … been years since they were raided…”

  Before long the troopers lapsed into silence, and none of the three mages spoke for close to half a glass.

  Finally, Kaerylt, who finally didn’t appear nearly so pale, turned to Beltur. “You threw a few chaos-bolts, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “What in the black demons were you doing with that first one?”

  “I know I’m not strong the way you and Sydon are. I was just trying to keep it narrow. I thought that way, I could do more. I got it too narrow, and it hit the raider’s sword.”

  “It curved toward the iron. Iron can attract chaos if it’s not strong enough,” explained Kaerylt. “It was a good effort though, and it helped.”

  Beltur ignored the condescending tone. “Thank you. I did my best. You and Sydon must have killed half of them.”

  “Just eight, but with the one you killed, and the two you weakened enough for Undercaptain Pacek to take out, that was enough to make the raiders decide not to attack a second time.”

  Left unsaid, Beltur knew, was the fact that none of the three mages could have done nearly as much if there had been a second attack. Beltur couldn’t have done much of anything, he knew.

  Not quite a glass later, as they came to the top of the second rise, Pacek gestured southward and announced, “You can just see Desanyt from here. Between those two hills. The trees—they sort of make a line—are all on the edge of the stream. They call it a river, but a horse could piss across it.”

  To Beltur, the town looked more like a wide brown smudge between the grayish-green hills. There was also a thin line of green connecting the trees, most likely fields irrigated by the river. There were no tall structures, nor even any walls around Desanyt, and just three woodlots in places along the river, two north of the town and another to the south.

  Almost two more glasses passed. During that time, the road made a gradual long curve until it headed almost due east, and the sun that hung just above the hills to the west stretched out their shadows across the road’s dusty clay when the group rode past the first huts on the outskirts of the town.

  Beltur turned to Kaerylt. “Ser … they don’t have any fortifications … nothing…”

  “That’s not quite true,” replied Pacek. “You’ll see the army post before long. There’s a company here all the time. But that’s not the only reason. There are over a thousand locals here. Twice that in the winter. That’s a lot more people than in any nomad group or raiding party. They don’t take kindly to being raided. They won’t trade with any group that raids them, and the next time any show up, they’ll kill all they can.”

  “Raiding’s not worth the trouble,” said Kaerylt.

  “But … if the people here are the ones who complained…”

  “I told you.” The older white mage sighed. “These people didn’t complain. If the grasslands nomads lose their women, they raid other groups or the smaller hamlet and villages. That upsets trade and travel. The only way a larger town loses women is if some of the women here prefer the herding life … or to go to Westwind. Sometimes, it happens.”

  Beltur nodded, although he wasn’t sure what Kaerylt said was the entire story … or that it made sense.

  “When we reach the river,” added Pacek, “we take the road south to the post.”

  The scattered huts set near the road with sheds beside them and plots behind them soon gave way to small cots, set with only a few yards between them. All appeared to be built of mud brick, with mud smoothed over that as a finish, and a wash, usually white and faded, over that. The roofs were some sort of thin thatching. The windows were narrow and shuttered. Beltur saw no sign of any glazing. The men and women working the plots scarcely turned their heads as the fourteen riders passed.

  Before long, the road just ended at the river road, and Pacek turned his mount south on the river road, point
ing. “That’s the mighty Sanyt River.”

  The river was wider than Beltur had expected, its greenish waters stretching five or six yards from bank to bank, and each bank was a solid earthen berm. There were cots on the west side of the road, but nothing but packed earth on the short stretch between the road and the berm, which rose little more than a yard above the level of the road. The east side of the river seemed filled with tilled plots, but Beltur couldn’t determine what grew there. Ahead, he could see an open space on the west side of the river road, where there were no buildings.

  “That’s the market square. It’s busier in the morning.”

  Coming north on the river road was a single cart, pulled by a single scrawny horse led by a one-armed man, who immediately moved off the road to let the riders pass. A basket crate in the cart contained chickens, at least one of which was squawking loudly.

  The square was anything but prepossessing, just an open space surrounded by low buildings. There were no statues, no fountain, and almost no one there except two handcarts being readied to depart, one by a bent and graying woman, and the other by a slightly younger man. The man’s handcart held a few melons, likely what had not been sold.

  That portion of Desanyt south of the square was similar to the part Beltur had already ridden past. The Gallosian post was on the south side of Desanyt, set on a low rise overlooking the Sanyt River, with almost a quarter kay separating it from the dwellings to the north, dwellings Beltur belatedly realized were somewhat more capacious and better appointed than those in the center of the town. While the river road was packed clay with a trace of sand and gravel, there was a brick-paved lane from the river road to the post. The post’s four brick walls stood roughly five yards high and formed a square. The only gate was in the middle of the east wall. Two guards watched from sentry boxes on top of the wall on each side of the open gate.

  One of them called out, “Troopers coming in!”

  Pacek led the way through the gate and then to the stables, where he reined up and turned to Kaerylt. “I’ll need to report to the captain about the raiders.”

  “I’m also supposed to report to him,” said Kaerylt dryly. “And deliver a dispatch from the Prefect.”