The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  The conversation dealt mainly with the trials and tribulations of maintaining a post so far from Fenard, and the difficulties of doing so when the locals remained largely separate and aloof. Beltur nodded and said little.

  When the three mages left the mess, Kaerylt marched them to his quarters, where he immediately turned to Beltur.

  “What did you find out that took you all day and then some, Beltur? Oh, and did you spend the entire silver?”

  “No, sir. There’s three coppers left. I walked every street in town, listened where I could, and did what you suggested at each public house. There are two—the Brown Pitcher and the Brass Bowl. The Pitcher is for younger men and troopers. The Bowl is for those with more coppers.”

  “That doesn’t tell me much,” said Kaerylt coolly.

  “All the women dress pretty much the same. Only their face, hands, and hair are showing. That’s even the women who serve at the two public houses—and those are the only places where there were any younger women in public. I overheard two women talking about waiting for water from a water carrier in order to be able to do laundry…”

  “What does—” Sydon broke off at Kaerylt’s sharp glance.

  “Go on,” encouraged the oldest mage, surprisingly to Beltur.

  “All of the women wear dirks. Even the oldest ones. And none of the men in the public houses even attempt to touch the women there. I’ve never seen that anywhere else…” Beltur went on to relate the rest of what he had observed and heard, then waited for Kaerylt’s reaction.

  “I have to admit that fits with what Elder Jhankyr told me,” replied Kaerylt in measured tones. “Women here seem to have … a certain position. That may be the problem the herders face.” He shook his head. “I cannot see how men in their right mind would allow it to become so, but we must deal with matters as they are and not as we would wish them.”

  Neither Sydon nor Kaerylt said anything.

  As the silence stretched out, Beltur finally asked, “What are we to do?”

  “What we must,” said Kaerylt. “Elder Jhankyr mentioned another place besides Kasiera, a place called Wulkyn. It’s the clan village of the herders—or raiders. They seem to be the same. It’s the only permanent village the herders have. We will need to go there. It is a day southwest of Kasiera. We’ll go to Kasiera first and see how best to approach the clan village.”

  If we can. Beltur wasn’t about to say that. “When will we leave?”

  “Tomorrow, of course. You two can go back to the room. I’ll need to talk to Undercaptain Pacek and Captain Lemaryt.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  Once Beltur and Sydon were back in their quarters, Beltur looked to Sydon. “What do you think?”

  “What else can we do? Besides, the raiders sound like they need a lesson of sorts.” Sydon snorted scornfully.

  “From just three mages and a half squad of troopers?”

  “There are ways … You’ll see.”

  Beltur didn’t feel like arguing, but he worried about just what they might see.

  VIII

  By just after dawn on twoday, after an uneasy sleep at what passed as a way station on oneday night, Beltur was again in the saddle, riding beside Sydon, while Kaerylt rode with Undercaptain Pacek. Beltur was just as glad Sydon wasn’t much for talking, because that allowed Beltur to try using tiny bits of order to confine chaos in various patterns, something he could do without Sydon noticing because Sydon used very little order, and at times, seemed almost unable to see or sense free order, unlike his uncle, who could use both, but who preferred dealing with chaos. Beltur had the feeling that he was getting better and quicker at creating order-based patterns to direct chaos, but he still remembered how that had not worked all that well during the attack by the raiders.

  Keeping his uncle’s admonitions in mind, at least in a way, Beltur kept working at using the least order possible to confine and direct the free chaos, occasionally glancing toward Sydon or Kaerylt, but neither seemed aware of what he was doing. After a time, he realized that one reason that Kaerylt wasn’t interested in Beltur was because his uncle was also doing exercises, although his involved a great deal more chaos.

  Why? He had no more than asked the question than he remembered how shaky his uncle had been after the raider attack. Even he needs to practice to keep up his skills. For some reason that offered a certain comfort.

  Perhaps a glass later, he paused from his efforts and looked around more intently, although there was still little to see except the endless tannish-brown grass. Less than a kay ahead, the road began a gentle slope toward the top of a grassy ridge. Looking beyond the ridge to the west, Beltur could see a mass of clouds, the bases of which were dark, and what looked to be rain falling in places beneath the clouds.

  “There’s rain ahead,” said Kaerylt to Pacek.

  “Most of the time,” replied the undercaptain, “thundershowers that far away are gone before they’re a problem. Besides, there’s nowhere to take cover.”

  Beltur didn’t even have to glance around to know that. Even the low ridge ahead only showed grass and a few patches of bushes, but he couldn’t help glancing past his uncle in the direction they rode, and he didn’t see any sign of the storm vanishing. In fact, the clouds seemed to be darkening as he watched—and moving toward them. The riders covered another half kay before the clouds blocked the sun and the light breeze turned into a stiffer wind bearing the smell of rain, followed by scattered droplets.

  Then, the clouds overhead darkened quickly, so that in moments it seemed more like twilight than midday when the rain began to pelt down with such intensity that Beltur could scarcely see beyond his uncle and the undercaptain, although they were only a few yards in front of him. He wondered how they could even see the road, but the undercaptain kept riding.

  Perhaps a hundred yards short of the top of the ridge, as the rain abruptly stopped, Pacek reined up. “Column! Halt!”

  Scarcely had the undercaptain issued the order when lightning flared along the top of the ridge, to the north, but close enough that Beltur could sense the cold but slender links of order and how they held far larger amounts of raging chaos—just before the thundering lash of sound washed over him.

  Another flare of lightning struck, farther to the south.

  Those patterns aren’t that different from what you’ve been doing …

  While he still held the memory and feel of the lightning, he tried to replicate it, gathering in what he could of the lingering free chaos dispersed by the lightning, then concentrating and aiming it to the north of the road and just ahead.

  A flare of light blinded him, and a crashing wall of sound hammered into him. For several moments, Beltur could hear and see nothing, and when his sight returned he was so light-headed that he was swaying in the saddle. That was too close, much closer than you intended. He forced himself to straighten up immediately because he didn’t want Sydon to notice his reaction.

  “Demons! That was close!” declared Sydon.

  “Too close,” Beltur agreed, his voice uneven. If he’d tried to put it any closer … He repressed a shudder. At the same time, he realized that Jessyla had been right—that he could control chaos through order, much more chaos than he’d ever managed before. But you’ll need much better control to try that against raiders.

  He also felt tired. Not as tired as he had after the skirmish with the raiders, but tired enough that he wasn’t about to try to work any ordered chaos patterns for a while.

  After waiting perhaps a fifth of a glass, Pacek called out, “Forward!”

  When they reached the top of the rise, Beltur half expected to see Kasiera in the distance. He didn’t. What he did see was more of the rolling grasslands, and a faint line of white in the distance.

  “You can just barely see the tops of the Westhorns from here,” announced Pacek.

  “Where is Kasiera?” asked Sydon.

  “Straight ahead. Some four glasses of riding.”

  The sky cleared,
and the sun beat down, and Beltur began to sweat, despite clothes that were still soaking, but the air was so hot and damp that the sweating didn’t cool him all that much … and his clothes didn’t seem any drier. He thought that such was to be expected in summer, then realized that it was already the second day of harvest, not that early harvest ever seemed much different from summer.

  By the time Kasiera finally came into view, some two glasses later, Beltur’s clothes were only damp. Kasiera was a much smaller version of Desanyt, a huddle of huts, houses, and cots along a stream far smaller than the Sanyt River, one so narrow that Beltur wondered if it didn’t dry up at times. There were far fewer trees and tilled plots along the stream.

  Kaerylt, who had been talking to Pacek, half turned in the saddle and addressed the two younger mages. “There is an inn, of sorts, but we’ll be sharing a chamber, since the Prefect was not overly generous with coins for expenses, and the men will be in tight quarters.”

  “If not in the stable,” added Pacek dryly. “That’s still better than the way station at Arrat.”

  The inn turned out to be a long one-story mud brick building located on the north side of the rain-dampened clay area that apparently passed for Kasiera’s main square, most likely its only square, thought Beltur, as he reined up outside the adjoining stable.

  Once more, Kaerylt tasked Beltur with stabling and grooming all three mounts, and Beltur had just finished dealing with his own mount, after grooming the other two, when Kaerylt returned to the stable. The white mage glanced around, then asked, his voice low, “What were you doing on the ride?”

  “Riding, and practicing my shields. You told me that they were weak and that the only way I’d strengthen them was to work on them. You said I couldn’t work on chaos-bolts while we were riding through dry grasslands.”

  “I’m glad you listen, at least occasionally.”

  “I do, ser. I really do.” Even if I’m not sure that what you suggest will work for me.

  “I think you doubt me at times,” said Kaerylt evenly.

  “The only thing I doubt, Uncle, is my ability to do things as well as you do.” At least in the way that you suggest.

  “Did you sense anyone besides our party during the time the lightning struck?”

  “No, ser. Why?”

  “That last lightning bolt had much more order in it. It wasn’t like the others.”

  “It wasn’t natural?”

  “It was … different, as if…” Kaerylt shook his head.

  “You think an ordermage created it?”

  “Probably not, but you can sense order from farther away than I can. That’s why I asked.”

  “I didn’t sense anyone else.” Beltur paused. “What would an ordermage be doing here?”

  “Sometimes, the druids leave the Great Forest, and some say that they favor the black bitches. That is one possibility for why more women might be leaving the herders.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  “Now you do. Let me know if you sense any strange or unnatural concentration of order.”

  “Yes, ser. I certainly will.”

  Beltur managed not to sigh in relief after Kaerylt turned away. How could he practice handling chaos with order if Kaerylt sensed the order any time he was near? Also, he couldn’t help but wonder why his uncle thought a concentration of order was unnatural, but a concentration of chaos wasn’t.

  He took a long slow breath, then closed the stall and headed across the damp ground toward the front of the main building, following his uncle.

  IX

  On threeday, Beltur woke in the grayness before sunrise, burdened by a sense of worry, and, not incidentally, by his uncle’s snoring. He immediately pulled on his clothes and slipped from the tiny room as quietly as he could, with little enough noise that his departure did not wake either Sydon or Kaerylt. Because he wasn’t certain what had caused his apprehension, he immediately raised a concealment once he was in the empty and narrow hallway.

  He first hurried to the stable, but there was no one there except a stableboy, and the mounts all appeared to be fine. After that, he returned to the inn proper and carefully made his way toward the public room and kitchen.

  While the public room was empty, the kitchen was not. Beltur could sense two servers and two men dealing with pots and grates over the white-hot chaos of the bed of coals in the large hearth. One server was laying out platters and mugs on a side table, while another was doing something around the wooden rack that held the barrels of ale. As in Desanyt and Arrat, the women all wore the same concealing garments, and long dirks, but the servers the night before had included younger women—younger meaning that one had actually been perhaps only ten years older than Beltur. After easing into the kitchen, already far hotter than he would have preferred, he positioned himself beside an open window, but close enough to hear what any of the four might say.

  “… finished with those platters, Larala?”

  “… be ready before anyone shows…”

  “What about the mages?”

  “What about ’em? They need to eat, like anyone else … won’t pay more or less. Less with the extras, I’d wager.”

  “You think the herders will be coming soon?” asked the server moving away from the ale barrels.

  “Could be. Cyntyl saw horsemen to the west yesterday…”

  “… be about that time of year…”

  “… won’t come if they know about the white mages…”

  “How will they know? Besides, they can’t wait forever for winter supplies.”

  “… don’t have as much this year. That’s the word…”

  “Always less in a dry year…”

  “Enough about weather,” growled the larger man at the hearth. “Parcyn and his boys walked in.”

  Larala hurried from the kitchen.

  The other server moved to the table with the platters, asking, “Egg toast again?”

  “Scrambles, no toast. Bread and pork strips. Porridge.”

  For the next third of a glass or so, the sparse talk was about food, the appetite of the elder Parcyn, and the increasing price of firewood. Because Beltur began to worry about what Kaerylt might say when he woke, he slowly moved out of the kitchen and through the public room, avoiding the three tables with patrons. Once he was alone in the long hall leading to the room, he dropped the concealment, continued walking, then slipped into the room.

  Sydon carefully ignored looking at Beltur.

  Kaerylt, who was sitting on the edge of the pallet bed pulling on his boots, just glared. “Where were you?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to wake you. I was a little worried. So I went out to see what was happening in the inn and in the stable. Under a concealment.”

  “And?”

  “The horses are fine. No one else has ridden in since we did. The servers and the cooks are worried that the herders won’t come to Kasiera because we’re here. They didn’t say why.”

  “Harvest-time trading, most likely,” snorted Kaerylt, as if what Beltur had reported was of little use. “It’s the only time they’re civil. Did you hear anything else?”

  “Nothing about us or women.”

  “At least, you’re trying to be helpful and not letting them know anything. We need to go eat before I find the town elder and see what he knows.” Kaerylt looked at Sydon. “Both of you, keep your ears open in the public room.” Kaerylt stood and then opened the door.

  “Yes, ser,” replied Beltur.

  “I will,” agreed Sydon, “but all they talk about is the grass, the weather, and crops.”

  Beltur nodded as he followed the other two toward the public room. That was certainly all he’d heard the night before.

  Kaerylt took a corner table and the stool in the back from where he could survey the entire chamber. Beltur’s best view was that of the entrance to the kitchen. He ordered the scrambles, whatever they were, along with a mug of ale. The scrambles turned out to be a mixture of muffin
scraps, eggs, and small slices of chewy pork covered with a tangy white sauce that made the whole mélange close to tasty. The grass ale was the same as the night before, drinkable, if warmer than Beltur would have liked.

  The public room was half full, and few of the other patrons were talking. Those that did kept their voices too low for Beltur to hear anything, except orders or requests to the servers.

  Just about the time that Beltur finished eating, Kaerylt cleared his throat, then said in a low voice, “Sydon, I want you to ride out along the stream and see what you can. Beltur, you’re to do what you did in Arrat and Desanyt, except you won’t need coins when you come back here to find out what the locals may be talking about.”

  After leaving the other two mages, Beltur made his way northward along the street that bordered the east side of the inn, deciding against using a concealment to begin with, since he wanted to actually see the dwellings, sheds, and huts, and since anyone behind a wall wasn’t about to see him anyway.

  He immediately saw two men coming toward him, one leading a donkey pulling an empty cart, and the other walking beside the cart, all headed toward the square. They wore long-sleeved shirts and trousers, both a faded tan color.

  “Good morning,” offered Beltur cheerfully.

  Both men nodded in return, but did not speak.

  A block farther on, he saw a gray-bearded man apparently repairing a shutter over a window that was definitely not glazed. The man took a quick glance in Beltur’s direction and then glanced away.

  A block farther north, Beltur saw a youth walking swiftly toward him in the direction of the square and the river. Despite the heat, the youth wore tan garments similar to those of the men. Beltur immediately moved so that he came face-to-face with the young man, barely more than a boy. “I’ve heard that the herders might be arriving sometime soon. Do you know anything about that?”

  “They always come in early harvest.” The youth did not quite meet Beltur’s eyes.

  “Do they stay in the town?”

  “No, ser mage.”

  “Do they ever … take consorts from Kasiera?”