The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  As he walked back along Crafters Way toward Bakers Lane, he thought over what Jessyla had said, especially that she’d felt the blackness on the other side of the front door and that she’d sensed that he’d not told the whole truth about what he earned. Isn’t that more than what most healers can sense? But she’d told him earlier that she couldn’t do what black mages could, and one thing that was certain about her was that she didn’t lie. But what exactly does that mean?

  XLV

  When Beltur arrived at the smithy on oneday morning, Jorhan wasn’t in the smithy itself, although coal had been added to the forge fire, and two new molds were laid out on one of the work benches. The heavy crucible stood beside the forge with chunks of copper in it, more melt material than Jorhan usually used, except for the straight-sword.

  Beltur took off his tunic, hung it up, and waited.

  Jorhan looked anything but happy when he appeared, perhaps a tenth of a glass later.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Beltur.

  “We’ve got a bit of a problem. It’s the Council.”

  “Are they telling you we can’t forge cupridium?”

  Jorhan shook his head. “They’re telling me that I owe service.”

  “They told me I owed them time on the City Patrol. Does everyone owe some sort of service?”

  “Every man does. Some women, like healers, do also.”

  “So you have to do something that will take you away from forging? Will you be able to forge at all?”

  “It’s not that. They’ve made me an offer we can’t refuse,” replied the smith almost disconsolately. “We need to forge five cupridium straight-swords. Before we can do anything else. If I don’t, then I’ll have to serve as a shieldman.”

  “They expect you to do that for nothing?”

  “Might as well be. They’ll give me the cost of the metal and three silvers for each blade. I can’t do it without you.”

  Beltur didn’t want to volunteer to do it for nothing. He waited.

  So did Jorhan.

  “What about just a silver a day, and nothing extra when we’re doing the swords?” Beltur finally asked.

  “You’d do that?” The relief on the smith’s face was palpable.

  “You’ve made it possible for me to make a living. I can’t do it for nothing, but that seems fair to me. There is one thing, though.”

  Worry replaced the relieved expression.

  “The City Patrol has changed my duty days to threeday and sevenday for the next two eightdays.”

  “Oh … thought they’d called you up, too.”

  “They’ve told Athaal he’ll have to do something. No one’s said anything to me. Why would they, when I’m already doing service with the City Patrol?”

  “The Council can do almost anything it wants, it seems to me,” replied Jorhan. “They say they always act within the law, but they’re the ones who are making the law, and they’ve been known to change the laws whenever it suits them.”

  “Why would they want five cupridium straight-swords? Especially when they were so concerned about us forging them just days ago?”

  “I asked. The Councilor’s assistant said that was a Council matter. The Council doesn’t have to explain, either.” Jorhan snorted. “We might as well get started. I already made the molds.”

  “I saw them on the bench. I wondered.” Beltur moved toward the forge fire.

  “I’ll need to get the molds heated, first, but if you’d work the bellows…”

  Beltur nodded.

  By the end of oneday, they had cast two of the straight-swords and a pair of delicate candlesticks.

  When Beltur returned to the house, he didn’t mention the problems with Jorhan and the Council because, somehow, he had the feeling that mentioning them would seem like he was complaining about only making a silver a day, and he feared that he’d come off as ungrateful and greedy, if not spoiled.

  He was at the smithy early on twoday.

  In the end, twoday ended up much the same as oneday, in that they only cast two more of the straight-swords and a small ornate platter.

  At just before fourth glass, Jorhan turned to Beltur. “Thank you. I wanted to get those cast. It’ll take me all of threeday, and maybe a lot longer to do the finish work on the blades. If you’d wait a moment, I need to get your silver.” Jorhan immediately turned and left the smithy.

  As he retrieved his worn dark gray tunic, Beltur wondered about that, since the smith usually hadn’t needed to leave to get him his pay.

  A silver a day is still good. In fact, Beltur suspected it was often more than what Athaal made, at least on some days.

  Jorhan returned quickly. “Here’s your silver for the day.”

  Beltur took it and slipped it into his wallet, then inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  The smith cleared his throat, and for a moment didn’t look at Beltur, before he faced the young mage and said, “You might be wondering what happened to all the silvers I made on those other blades, seeing as they went for golds, and I gave you just a silver a day and two for each blade.” Jorhan looked down. “Truth is … things hadn’t been going all that well, and I owed almost ten golds to traders for copper and tin. With what we’d made on the blades and candelabra, I’d just paid them all off and bought more copper and tin when I got the Council summons.” Jorhan offered an embarrassed smile. “I was hoping I could offer you a bit more once I’d cleared the debts…”

  Beltur could sense the honesty behind the smith’s words.

  “I don’t have much in the way of spare silvers because I won’t get paid by the Council until after they get the blades. Oh, I have enough to pay you a silver a day, but not much extra. So…” Jorhan extended something to Beltur.

  For a moment Beltur didn’t recognize the small cupridium dagger, one of the first daggers that they had worked on, because it was in a tooled leather sheath. “Oh … you didn’t have to.”

  “Aye, but I did, and more, but there’s a regular bronze plaque in the grip, with your name. That’s so as no one can claim it’s anything but yours. Take a look.”

  Beltur eased the silver-gold blade out of the sheath, admiring the finish. Then he looked at the crosshatched bone grip and the inset bronze plate with the name BELTUR. “Thank you!” He meant it. He’d never owned anything as valuable as the dagger, let alone been given something with his own name forged in metal on it.

  “I should be the one thanking you, seeing as you got me out of debt.”

  “And you kept me from going deeper into everyone’s debt,” returned Beltur.

  “You’ll be here on fourday, then?” asked Jorhan, as if he felt uncomfortable.

  “I will.”

  “We might be able to cast that last straight-sword. I hope that the Council doesn’t want more anytime soon.”

  So did Beltur, especially since he’d never dreamed of making a silver a day, and now, just as he was, and sometimes more … But you can’t tell how long you will … especially with the Prefect’s army marching toward Elparta. “Do you think that they will?”

  “With the Council, they won’t hesitate to demand anything if they think it’s necessary. Especially if Elparta’s threatened by the Prefect.” Jorhan shook his head. “Don’t know why rulers just don’t tend to their own lands.” He paused. “I’m just a smith, but I don’t go around telling other smiths what to do or trying to take over their smithies.” He offered a smile that seemed forced. “You need to go, Beltur. I could talk about this all night.”

  “It doesn’t seem right, though.”

  “We can agree on that. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

  Beltur nodded, while he unfastened his belt and slipped the knife and scabbard in place, then tightened his belt and straightened. “Thank you so much for the knife. I’ve never had something like that. Ever.”

  “You deserve it. Without you, there wouldn’t be any of them.” Jorhan smiled happily.

  The smith’s expression made Beltur f
eel better as he walked down the lane.

  As he walked westward toward the city, his fingers occasionally brushing the crosshatched bone grip of the knife, as if to assure himself that it was actually his, he was still wondering about why it was that, just as he was feeling he might be able to support himself, an attack by the very prefect who had driven him out of Gallos might snatch away his newfound self-sufficiency—or semi-self-sufficiency. On the one hand, he knew that the Prefect likely had long since forgotten about a former white and what might have happened to him, and even if he hadn’t, he certainly wasn’t starting a possible war just to make Beltur’s life harder. At the same time, it was hard not to feel that it wasn’t exactly fair. And yet, after seeing Grenara’s small house, and recalling the appreciation and gratitude shown by the three healers for Meldryn’s modest gifts, Beltur almost felt guilty for having asked for a silver a day.

  He took a deep breath as he saw the city walls and the gate … and kept walking.

  XLVI

  Beltur thought he managed to keep his worries to himself, again, both on twoday night and at breakfast on threeday, at least enough so that neither Athaal nor Meldryn noticed or questioned him before he left to spend threeday on patrol with Laevoyt.

  As usual, Beltur signed in at the duty desk, but the duty patroller, another man he’d not seen before, cleared his throat as Beltur laid down the pen. “Mage … the Patrol Mage needs a word with you before you start your patrol.”

  “Thank you.” Now what? Was some trader complaining? Or had he done something else wrong and not even known it? He was still fretting when he stepped into the small study.

  Osarus gestured to the chair without speaking.

  Beltur sat and waited.

  “So far, you’ve done a good job as a patrol mage, Beltur,” began Osarus. “The City Patrol certainly couldn’t ask for anything more. The Council, however, can.”

  “The Council?” Beltur didn’t even pretend to understand.

  “It’s something the captain opposed,” Osarus went on, as if he had something to say that he didn’t wish to, “but he and I were overruled.” The older mage lifted an envelope from the desk and handed it to Beltur. “You’re being assigned to a military unit in preparation for the defense of Elparta. I’ve been told that you’re to report on oneday.”

  Beltur took the envelope numbly, not certain what to think.

  “Go ahead. You can open it. I’ll answer any questions I can.”

  Beltur eased open the envelope and extracted the single sheet of paper. He read it slowly and carefully.

  Beltur, Black Mage, attached to City Patrol

  Residing at Crossed Lane and Bakers Lane

  Pursuant to the needs of the Council of Spidlar, you are hereby temporarily assigned, in lieu of duty in service to the City Patrol, to the Third Infantry Battalion, commanded by Majer Waeltur. You are to report to the Council Building on oneday morning, the tenth and last oneday of Harvest, on or before seventh glass, for briefing and instructions on your duties.

  This duty will require all your time until further notice. It is suggested that you make the necessary arrangements to facilitate this commitment.

  For the Council,

  Jhaldrak, Councilor from Elparta

  Beltur read the short missive again. The words “require all your time” struck him with almost the force of a blow. First, there had been the Council requirement imposed on Jorhan … and then the one hitting him—except they both hit him. He shook his head. No … the two separate requirements had a double impact—and the impact would be even harder on Jorhan.

  “It’s not something that the City Patrol needs, or wants. We’ve suggested you’d benefit the city more here, but the Council doesn’t see it that way.”

  If the City Patrol can’t change this … He wanted to shake his head. He didn’t. He finally managed to ask, “Do you know what I’m supposed to do for this infantry battalion?”

  “That’s up to the commanding officer, but usually it’s providing shields, or some other form of magery consistent with your abilities.”

  “The only really strong skill I have is with shields and containments.”

  Osarus nodded. “Make sure the commander knows that.” He stood. “I’d much rather have had you stay here.”

  “Thank you.” Beltur inclined his head and left the study, still clutching the envelope and the orders.

  Once he reached the duty area, he read the sheet again. He was still looking at it when Laevoyt appeared.

  “You’re looking worried. Are you all right?” asked the patroller.

  “The Council is transferring me to an infantry battalion, beginning on oneday.”

  “Why in the name of the Rational Stars would they do that? Black mages can’t throw chaos-bolts and rip things apart. You’re doing much more for Elparta as a patrol mage.”

  “That’s what Osarus said. He said the Council overruled both him and the Patrol captain.” Beltur carefully replaced the letter in the envelope and slipped it inside his tunic.

  “That’s not good,” said Laevoyt. “It sounds like they’re really worried about the Gallosians.” He turned. “We’d best be on our way.”

  Once they were out on Patrol Street, Beltur asked, “Should I try the concealment from here?”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  Beltur raised the concealment, still thinking about all that had happened in the last eightday or so, from having the Council—and Cohndar—claim that he and Jorhan were falsely claiming to be forging cupridium to Jorhan’s being tasked to produce swords for a price barely above his costs, and now his being removed from both being a patrol mage and helping Jorhan.

  Could Raymandyl help? He’d just have to see. Beltur had planned to go to the Council building anyway that afternoon to collect his pay. If Raymandyl couldn’t do anything, at least with the letter, Beltur could talk about the matter with Athaal and Meldryn, since now Jorhan would be the one to suffer the most if Beltur wasn’t there to help him.

  He pushed all of those thoughts away. In the meantime, he needed to concentrate on the task at hand and seeing if he could sense any more light-fingers or cutpurses, or even any smash-and-grab types.

  By ninth glass, while he’d sensed some chaos flickers, they were intermittent and far and few between. There weren’t any more by the first glass of the afternoon, and by fourth glass, when Beltur dropped the concealment as he neared the corner to meet with the patroller, he still had not found any trace of theft. At that moment, he sensed a bit of chaotic thought that quickly vanished and caught a few murmured words from somewhere behind him.

  “… see? Told you the mage was around…”

  “… thought most of ’em were with the armsmen…”

  “… not this one…”

  Beltur smiled wryly as he walked toward Jorhan. He couldn’t do anything about thoughts.

  When the two were back at headquarters, Beltur signed the duty book quickly and hurried out because he definitely wanted to get paid, especially since his immediate future earnings looked to be considerably less than he’d hoped. He didn’t run, but he definitely walked very fast on his way to the Council building. Just outside the north door, he took a deep breath, composed himself, and then entered. No one was there except Raymandyl.

  “You’re here a day sooner and almost half a glass earlier,” said the clerk as Beltur hurried toward the table desk.

  “That’s because my duty day was switched to threeday.” Beltur extracted the three tokens and handed them over. “There are these. A scurf and two light-fingers. A very well-dressed scurf.”

  Raymandyl took the tokens. “Those are the worst kind, I hear.” He set the two ledgers on the desk, easing one forward for Beltur to sign. “That’s two silvers for your pay and six for the tokens. You’re doing well.”

  “That’s about to come to an end.” Beltur paused, then gathered himself together. “You recall that I’ve been working for Jorhan. Well, one of the projects we managed was
to forge cupridium. We forged several blades. Then the Council gave Jorhan a choice. He could be a shieldman or forge cupridium blades for the Council. The problem is that, if I have to go off and protect an infantry battalion…”

  “Jorhan can’t forge those blades?”

  “That’s right. Osarus, the Patrol Mage, told me that he and the Patrol captain asked that I not be transferred, but they were overruled.”

  “Hmmmm…”

  “I don’t think it’s fair to Jorhan. That might sound selfish on my part, because I’d rather forge than fight, but I do know he can’t forge those blades the Council wants if I’m not there.”

  “I’m just a clerk, Beltur.”

  Beltur smiled humorously. “I doubt you’re just a clerk. You might know who should know that sending me off will stop the supply of cupridium blades. If that’s what the Council wants, I’m not one to stand in their way, but I worry that someone doesn’t know it takes both a smith and a mage to forge cupridium. You might know who to tell. I just thought I’d ask.”

  “I’ll pass that along. That’s all I can do, Beltur.”

  “I don’t expect you to do anything that would cause problems, but the Council wants the cupridium swords, and they can’t get them if I’m spending all my time with the Third Infantry Battalion.”

  “That’s where you’re being assigned?” Raymandyl raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s what the missive or dispatch I got says.”

  The clerk shook his head. “That doesn’t seem to make much sense. I can let someone know, but until you hear differently—and officially—follow the orders you’ve received.”

  “I wouldn’t think of anything else.”

  “Good.”

  Beltur inclined his head. “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

  “Give my best to Athaal and Meldryn.”

  “I certainly will.” Beltur turned, hoping he’d done the right thing, but also feeling that he couldn’t always rely on Athaal and Meldryn, who might well be having problems of their own if the Council was ordering all mages into some form of service to the Council.