The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “So did I.”

  Jessyla dropped her eyes for just a moment, then looked directly at Beltur.

  He could feel the intense directness. He wasn’t quite certain what to say before she spoke again.

  “You have a new tunic and trousers. You look good in them.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Mother would be impressed. Auntie wouldn’t. She doesn’t think much of men. She doesn’t think much of most people, in fact.”

  Beltur decided not to comment on that. Instead, he offered something he’d thought more than once. “You’re more than just a healer.”

  “But I’m less than a mage, and there aren’t any women who are mages anyway.” A slightly disconsolate tone permeated her words.

  “Saryn and Ayrlyn were mages, if not more. So was Ryba.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “You’re every bit as black as Athaal or Waensyn.’

  “Please don’t compare me to that little, little man. I know you were trying to be helpful, but…”

  “Meldryn, Athaal, and Waensyn are the only … well, that’s not true. I’ve met Osarus—he’s the Patrol Mage—and Cohndar, but Meldryn and Athaal are the only ones I’ve spent any real time with.”

  “You really don’t like being untruthful, even unintentionally.”

  “No. Sometimes, I just don’t say things, though.”

  Jessyla laughed, softly and somehow warmly. “That answer says it all.”

  Beltur smiled wryly. “I suppose it does.”

  “I’ve met more blacks than that, and you’re not like any of them.”

  “That could be because I’m not really a black. That’s what Cohndar thinks. He compared me to a mongrel dog.”

  “To your face?”

  “No. To the councilor’s assistant, Veroyt. Veroyt told Athaal, and Athaal would have known if Veroyt lied.”

  Jessyla only frowned for a moment. “In a way, that’s a sort of compliment.”

  “Being a mongrel is a compliment?”

  “Well … it means you’re not a guard dog, not a lapdog, and not a herding dog that does someone else’s bidding.”

  “All that says what I’m not. Just what am I, then?”

  “Isn’t that what you have to discover?”

  “The same goes for you, I think,” Beltur pointed out. “How exactly do we do that?”

  “Aren’t you already doing that? You’re the first one to forge cupridium in hundreds of years.”

  “It takes both Jorhan and me, and I don’t know that there aren’t mages and smiths doing that somewhere else in the world.”

  “All right,” said Jessyla, with a hint of exasperation in her voice, “you’re the only ones that have done it in Candar in hundreds of years. That’s still something.” She paused, then again looked directly at him. “Isn’t it?”

  “It is.”

  “But it’s not enough. Is that what you’re not saying?”

  “Is being just a healer enough for you?”

  “You know it’s not.”

  Beltur shook his head. “We both want to do more, and neither one of us knows how. You at least know what you want. I just know that life has to be more than forging cupridium and earning coins.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with having coins.”

  Beltur immediately wished he hadn’t mentioned coins, especially after having seen Grenara’s house and how little the three had … and how fortunate he’d been to end up living with Meldryn and Athaal. “No, there isn’t. I understand how important coins are, especially when you don’t have them. But I’ve also seen how those with the coins manipulate people. Uncle ended up walking into a trap because he needed to get paid. Athaal works long glasses doing all sorts of almost menial magery because he and Meldryn need the coins.”

  “Athaal said you’d started paying them for staying here.”

  “Almost as soon as I could. How could I not?”

  “You couldn’t. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

  And there are a lot of things I like about you. Beltur felt uneasy about saying that, but only replied, “Thank you. You’re being kind.”

  “I’m seldom kind. Mother’s always chiding me for being too direct.”

  “I like your directness.”

  “For now,” she said softly. “It wears on most people.”

  “Then we’ll have to see, won’t we?” After a moment, Beltur said, reluctantly, “We’d better think about walking you back to your aunt’s house.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “No. That’s the last thing I’d want. But it’s getting late, and you hurried off, and your mother will be worrying, and the … next to last thing I’d want is for her to be upset and angry with me.”

  “I’m glad you said ‘next to last.’”

  So was Beltur. He’d had to catch himself on that wording. “We can walk slowly. That way we can honestly say that we didn’t stay long once you got here.”

  Jessyla smiled. “You can be deceptive. You just do it honestly. I’ll have to watch for that.”

  “You’re learning what few secrets I have.” Beltur managed a hangdog expression.

  “You don’t do that well.”

  “Probably not. But we should go.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You don’t sound happy about that.”

  “Would you be? Auntie’s always saying to be thankful for what we have, and that it could be so much worse. I know that. We barely escaped from what was worse. But what’s wrong with wanting a little more? Or not having to worry about coins and food?”

  Beltur nodded. He wasn’t about to point out that he’d said almost the same thing earlier when he’d mentioned wanting to do more than forge and earn a few silvers.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” Beltur didn’t understand why she was apologizing.

  “You said something like that before, and I was short with you.”

  “You were right to be short with me,” he admitted. “You and your mother have been through some hard times.”

  “We’ve been through hard times? You’ve lost both parents and your uncle, and the Prefect and his mages tried to kill you, and you had to flee for your life—and then that insufferable little man had the nerve to attack you. Beltur, don’t be too generous with me.”

  “But I’ve been fortunate in other ways. The people I lost all cared for me. Even Uncle Kaerylt cared in his own way. Athaal and Meldryn have been generous, and I’ve been able to make coins fairly soon after coming to a strange city.”

  “You make it sound easy. I doubt it was.” She stood. “You are right. Mother will worry.”

  Beltur rose quickly, half wishing he hadn’t insisted that he escort her back to Grenara’s quite so soon. “She has every right to worry, especially with all the armsmen coming into the city.”

  “You’re half right. If it were late in the evening, I’d worry, too. In the afternoon…?” Jessyla moved toward the door.

  “The odds are less, but still…” Beltur eased past her into the foyer, then stopped. “Wait just a moment. There’s one thing.” He hurried to the kitchen, where he found the bread. Three loaves were wrapped together, and he smiled as he gathered them up and headed back to Jessyla.

  She frowned as she saw the loaves.

  “Meldryn told me to bring these if I saw you. They’re a day old, but he said to bring them to you.”

  “If you weren’t telling the truth…”

  “Knowing you, if I couldn’t tell the truth, I wouldn’t have said anything.” He couldn’t help grinning as he opened the door.

  In the time since Jessyla had arrived, the thin overcast had thickened, and Beltur could see heavier and darker clouds to the east, coming from the Easthorns. The light breeze he had felt earlier had strengthened and cooled, enough to make the walk back to Grenara’s comfortable, he thought.

  “We might see rain tonight,” offered Jessyla.

&nbs
p; “Later, I hope.” Beltur closed the door, quietly but firmly. As he made certain he had shields in place around both of them, he swallowed, realizing what he’d never mentioned. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What might that be?”

  “Since the last time I saw you, the Council has decided I’m not going to be a patrol mage any longer, and I can’t forge any more cupridium, at least for now. I’ve been ordered to report for duty with an infantry battalion tomorrow.”

  “And you didn’t tell me until now?”

  “I was going to earlier, but your aunt’s reaction upset me, and then I was so glad to see you. I’m sorry. It’s just…”

  “What was it you were saying about being fortunate?” Her words were dryly humorous.

  “Well … you’re here. That’s fortunate. I think so, anyway.”

  “Why is the Council doing that? I’d think you’d be more useful helping the smith.”

  “We’d started to forge blades for the Council, but then I got those orders. The Council even overruled the Patrol Mage.”

  “Those idiots! How is the smith supposed to make cupridium blades without you?”

  “I told the clerk at the Council building that, but I haven’t heard anything, and I still have to report to the Council building tomorrow.”

  “They’re all idiots. The Prefect is a bloodthirsty idiot, and the traders are greedy idiots who only know how to count coins.”

  Beltur didn’t disagree with her feelings. He might not have said so quite so bluntly. “That was another reason … I mean, I wanted to see you, especially, because I wasn’t sure when I might have the chance again.”

  “Beltur … did you try to wait for us?”

  “I waited over a glass, on the corner where I could watch the door. Your aunt shut the door in my face.”

  “Good.”

  Good? “I don’t know how good that was.”

  “I meant that you waited. That was good. I’m sorry. We probably didn’t miss you by all that much.”

  Beltur figured that he could have waited almost another glass and still missed Jessyla’s return, but he wasn’t about to say that, not after forgetting to tell her about his orders earlier. “Without knowing how long you’d been gone or where … or when you’d be back…”

  “I understand. You’re quietly persistent, and sensible. I’m not always that sensible when I get upset.”

  “I’m not sure it’s always sensible to be sensible.”

  Jessyla frowned. “Not sensible to be sensible?”

  “Then sometimes people don’t know that you’re really upset or that there’s a problem.”

  “I’m going to have to remember that.”

  Before all that long, the two were approaching Grenara’s house.

  Jessyla took a quick deep breath, without looking at Beltur, and rapped on the door.

  In moments, the door was open, and Margrena stood there, looking at Jessyla. “You weren’t gone too long.” Her voice was level as she stepped back as if to allow them to enter.

  Beltur didn’t hear or sense anger.

  Jessyla didn’t move. “Beltur thought you’d worry.”

  Margrena looked at Beltur. “You’re either thoughtful or calculating.”

  “Both, I’m afraid,” he replied immediately. “I’d like to keep seeing Jessyla, and that would be difficult if you thought me untrustworthy.”

  The older healer’s eyes went to her daughter and then back to Beltur. A trace of a smile crossed her lips as she studied Beltur. “Would you come in for a moment?”

  “I would, if I wouldn’t be imposing.”

  Jessyla glanced past her mother.

  “Your aunt went to visit her friend Almaya, dear.”

  “How convenient,” murmured Jessyla.

  “Rather necessary. I told her that either Athaal or Beltur would likely escort you home. She decided that she’d have a long visit.”

  “Meldryn sent these,” said Beltur, handing the bread to Margrena.

  “Don’t bring gifts too often, Beltur,” replied Margrena as she took the loaves. “We might come to expect them. Please do come in.”

  Beltur gestured for Jessyla to go first.

  “Have either of you eaten?”

  “No, Mother. We only talked a few moments at Athaal’s before Beltur suggested we ought to return.”

  “Then you should have something,” said Margrena as she closed the door and latched it. “Just sit down here in the parlor. I’ll join you in a bit.” She paused and looked at Beltur again. “Those are new, aren’t they, Beltur? Your tunic and trousers?”

  “They are. I picked them up from the seamstress yesterday.”

  Margrena looked to her daughter.

  Jessyla looked back at her mother. “I did notice them.” Then she turned to Beltur. “I’m sorry. I was so upset that I didn’t say more. You also look very mage-like in them.”

  “I’d hoped so.” He smiled, waiting for her to sit down, watching as she took the backed bench farthest from the archway into the kitchen. In turn, he took the other bench and sat directly across from her. When she didn’t say anything, he went on. “Working in the smithy was hard on the few garments I had. I had to get some shirts earlier, and I thought it would be good to have a really good tunic and a good pair of trousers.”

  “We could at least bring our clothes.”

  “You had to leave many things?”

  “Some. We didn’t own the house.” She hesitated, then asked, “Did your uncle own his?”

  Beltur nodded. “And all the books in the library.”

  “You lost much more.”

  “I’m alive and healthy.” And enjoying being with you.

  From the archway, moving into the parlor with two mugs in her hands, Margrena announced, “Here’s some cider. I’ll be right back with some bread and cheese, and some melon slices.”

  Beltur took the mug and set it on the side table, not wanting to drink, thirsty as he was, until both the healers could.

  In moments, Margrena was back with two platters and another mug. She handed one platter to Beltur and then set the other on the bench beside Jessyla, seating herself with the platter between her and her daughter. “It’s not a great deal.”

  “It looks very good, and I thank you.” Beltur lifted his mug and took a swallow after Margrena had sipped her cider.

  “The Council is making Beltur go protect an infantry battalion,” Jessyla declared. “He was helping forge cupridium swords, but instead they’re sending him off.”

  “I don’t know that they’re sending me anywhere,” Beltur said, after taking another swallow of the cider, “but they don’t seem all that interested in having me make any more of the cupridium blades that they demanded an eightday ago.”

  “That does sound odd,” agreed Margrena. “Has anyone said why?”

  “Not so far. I hope I’ll find out when I go to the Council building tomorrow. Did you see all the troopers near the riverfront?”

  “We stayed away from there.” Margrena paused, then said, “Thank you—and Meldryn—for the bread.”

  “He hoped you could use it.”

  “I’m certain we can.” There was another pause. “If you’d humor me, Beltur. I feel I know everything about you that’s happened in the last season, and almost nothing of your life before that.”

  “It wasn’t a very exciting life. My father was a scrivener. I don’t really know much about my mother. I do remember her singing to me. Her voice was beautiful. At least, I thought it was. She died when I was six. My father was kindly, well, most of the time. He didn’t hold with rudeness or insolence. I got a few switchings for that…” Beltur went on about how his father had been the one to teach him his letters and gotten him to read a wide range of books … and about living with his uncle. Any time he stopped, either Margrena or Jessyla prompted him with another question. Before he knew it, he could see that it was getting late.

  “Oh … I’ve talked far too long, and I really
should be going.”

  “You didn’t talk too long at all,” said Margrena. “We’re the ones who insisted on asking all the questions. You were very patient. I am surprised that your uncle didn’t see that you were really a black.”

  “Uncle was good at heart, but he did tend to see things as he wanted to. I think he had trouble seeing just how evil some of the whites had become because he didn’t want to. Also … he was very much against the women of Westwind, and I never knew why. He wouldn’t talk about it, and when he didn’t want to talk about something, it wasn’t talked about.”

  “That’s awful,” declared Jessyla.

  “Not always,” replied Margrena. “There are times when no amount of words will change anything and can only make matters worse. Wisdom is knowing when to talk and when not to.” She looked hard at her daughter. “As I believe I’ve mentioned a few times.”

  “Yes, you have,” replied Jessyla sweetly.

  Too sweetly, Beltur thought.

  “Jessyla…”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “I really should be leaving. I didn’t tell Athaal and Meldryn where I was going.”

  “I’m certain they know,” replied Margrena, “but you’re likely to have a very busy day tomorrow.”

  Beltur stood and inclined his head to Jessyla. “I can’t tell you how much … that you came to Athaal’s.”

  She immediately stood.

  So did Margrena, who picked up the empty platters and moved toward the kitchen. “Bring in the mugs, would you, Jessyla, once you’ve seen Beltur off.”

  “I will, Mother.” She walked beside Beltur to the door, but did not open it.

  Beltur was very aware of just how close she stood to him. “Thank you … for the afternoon.” He took her left hand with his right … and found she’d taken his left with her right.

  “Thank you … for being you.”

  Beltur just stood there, looking into her eyes and holding her hands, aware that she was holding as tightly as he was.

  Finally, she said, “I suppose you’d better go.”

  “I know.”

  “Be very careful.”

  “You, too.”

  Slowly, Jessyla eased her hands from him and opened the door.

  Beltur stepped back. “Do take care.”