The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “What about Suthya?” asked Gaermyn.

  “That might be another reason why the Council’s reluctant to send all its forces to Elparta. Suthya hasn’t forgotten their losses in their ill-considered attempt to take Diev.” Laugreth straightened slightly. “Our scouts report that another thousand Gallosian troopers have arrived at their staging base, but there isn’t any sign of the flatboats with siege engines yet. Everything we’ve seen so far suggests that they’ll build up their force on the west side of the river, then bring down boats and use them to ferry men and horses across to the east shore.”

  “Ser?” ventured Beltur. “Undercaptain Gaermyn pointed out how treacherous the east shore is near the border. Can they cross safely farther south, or will they have to come north and cross the border before crossing the river?”

  “At the end of the Border Gorge, the banks are solid on both sides. That area is narrow. The old east road doesn’t go anywhere near the gorge. That’s why I think it’s likely that they’ll split their forces, with some coming down each side of the river and some using flatboats to travel past the border. We’ll have to see.” Laugreth paused, then said, “That’s all I have. Do you have any more questions? No? Then I’ll see you all later.” He stood, gesturing for Gaermyn to stay.

  Once Zandyr and Beltur were outside and well away from the study, Zandyr turned to Beltur. “You’re from Gallos? What do you think?”

  “I was never an armsman. All I know is that the Prefect likes to get his way, and he doesn’t seem to care who might suffer.”

  “Why don’t you wear a uniform besides the cap?”

  “Because it won’t be ready until this afternoon. I didn’t even know I was going to be a mage undercaptain until oneday.”

  “Do you know any of the patrol mages?” asked Zandyr.

  “There’s only one Patrol Mage, and that’s Osarus,” replied Beltur.

  “No … I mean the ones who work with city patrollers.”

  “All mages are required to do some service with the City Patrol, or something similar, for a season every three years. Why?”

  “Every mage?”

  “That’s what the Council clerk told me.”

  “It has to be a mage who’s been doing that recently.”

  Beltur was afraid of what might be coming next. “What has to be?”

  “The mage who detained my cousin in the market.”

  “Why would he do that?” Beltur was very glad Zandyr wasn’t a mage. “And who is your cousin?”

  “He treated her like a common thief. Her name is Rhyana. She’s the daughter of Trader Eskeld.”

  “I don’t know anything about him.” Beltur managed a rueful smile. “But then, I don’t know much about any of the traders. I take it your father is a trader?”

  “He is. Alizant of the House of Alizant.”

  Rather repetitive. “What does he trade?”

  “He doesn’t trade. Those who work for him trade.”

  “What I meant was for what trading goods is the House of Alizant known? Because I’m new to Elparta, I don’t know the various traders and what their houses are usually known for.”

  “House Alizant is especially known for spices that are rare and difficult to find. Also people come to us for ancient works of art or sculpture. A cupridium bust of one of the emperors of Cyador could bring five thousand golds.”

  “That much? Because it’s cupridium?”

  “No.” Zandyr shook his head. “Because the devastation of Cyador was so great that almost nothing of worth survived. Not where anyone could find it, anyway. The Accursed Forest covers most of what was Cyador now, and the druids don’t let anyone take anything out. A terrible waste, if you ask me. What are they going to do with old art? Decorate their trees?”

  Beltur decided not to comment on that. “What spices are the most valuable?”

  “Saffron, of course. Grains of paradise, Atlan lemon berries, and Meroweyan pepperpods.”

  “Lemon berries?”

  “It’s a little berry that tastes like lemon, but it’s not bitter or acid. They’re very hard to find. Only the nomads in eastern Hamor know where to find them, and they kill outsiders.”

  “That might make anything rare.”

  Zandyr shrugged. “If people will pay for it, our traders can find it.”

  “How did you end up as an undercaptain?”

  “I’m a third son. Father decided I needed some experience as an officer, and he purchased my commission. I was already trained in riding and arms.” Zandyr paused. “You don’t carry a sabre.”

  “Black mages don’t. Blades don’t usually go with magery.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re an officer.”

  “A mage-officer. That’s different.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Beltur raised a concealment, and then stepped back several paces to the side … as quietly as he could.

  “Where…”

  “Here,” replied Beltur, dropping the concealment.

  “How did you do that?”

  “Magery.”

  “Could you teach me that? I’ll pay you.”

  “I can’t. I mean I would if I could, but you have to have the talent.”

  “How do you know I don’t?” Zandyr’s voice was almost sulking.

  “Some people attract order. Some attract chaos. Some can attract both. It swirls around them. It doesn’t swirl around you.”

  “That doesn’t sound fair.”

  Beltur repressed a sigh. What could he say? After a moment, he finally went on. “Different people have different talents. I wouldn’t make a good trader. Someone who’s small and thin probably wouldn’t make a good blacksmith. Someone afraid of heights won’t make a good sailor. You’ve got the blond hair that the women like. I don’t. It’s like that.”

  “Not all women,” replied Zandyr, “but I see what you mean.” He paused. “Excuse me. I’m supposed to meet my brother at the third pier at fourth glass.”

  “Is he an officer, too?”

  “No. He’s leaving to serve as supercargo on one of Father’s ships.” Zandyr nodded, then turned and hurried off.

  Beltur stood there, for several long moments, wondering what exactly to think about the other undercaptain. Neither order nor chaos lingered around Zandyr, and while he seemed more than a bit spoiled by his family’s wealth, he didn’t seem mean or malicious.

  Immediately after fourth glass, Beltur left Second Recon and hurried to Androsyt’s to pick up his uniform tunic. He had to wait almost two fifths of a glass because of the older blacks who had arrived before him. And then he was surprised to discover that the tunic came with matching dark blue trousers. He tried them on, and they both fit, almost, but not quite as well as the tunic and trousers from Celinya. Even so, he had an actual uniform.

  He dressed again in his everyday garb and carried the tunic and trousers back to the house, where he found Athaal and Meldryn in the kitchen, seemingly cleaning up.

  “Laranya couldn’t come. Her son was ill again,” explained Athaal as he put away a platter.

  “I see you got your uniform,” said Meldryn.

  “I didn’t realize it came with trousers.”

  “Uniform means everything matches,” replied Meldryn.

  “Did you get yours?” Beltur asked Athaal.

  “Mine was ready earlier. I wore it today. I don’t have to be up quite as early as you. At least for now.”

  “Are you doing what you thought you would be?” asked Beltur.

  “Not yet. I’m mostly answering questions from the commanders who report to Marshal Helthaer about what white and black mages can do and what they can’t. I also have to point out that what each mage can do is different, sometimes just a little, sometimes a lot. That doesn’t make them happy. To them an archer is an archer and a lancer a lancer. How did your day go?”

  Beltur shrugged. “I did some maneuvers with a squad, and the
n we rode up to the border on the east side of the river. We studied the terrain there. I got a series of lectures on what officers did on the way out and back, and then the captain had a brief meeting with the undercaptains and told us that the Gallosians had moved another thousand men into the base on the other side of the border.”

  “So far,” said Athaal.

  “We can talk about this at dinner,” said Meldryn. “It will be much more pleasant with food and ale.”

  Beltur could agree with that, and he hurried upstairs to set down his uniform and wash up.

  LIII

  Fourday through sixday, Beltur worked from seventh glass until fifth glass at the smithy with Jorhan. During that time, they cast seventeen more blades, all either straight-swords or sabres, and good workman-like weapons, but without any ornamentation. Jorhan did almost no work beyond the casting, since that was something he could do later without Beltur.

  As Beltur pulled on his old and worn tunic and readied himself for the walk back to the city, Jorhan handed him a cloth bag.

  “Here’s your pay—for now. I owe you more, and I’ll pay you when I get paid by the Council.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know if I’ll be back on oneday. The Gallosians are moving more troops into their post just across the border.” That was something he’d learned from Athaal the evening before.

  “I won’t count on it, but you’ll be welcome if you can come. I’ve got almost an eightday of finish work on what we cast.”

  “That was the idea, wasn’t it?” replied Beltur with a smile. Left unsaid, he knew, was that such finish work would likely keep Jorhan from being called up as a shieldman, although he felt that had been more threat than a real possibility.

  “I’m too old to be a shieldman. I’d ask too many questions. Just take care of yourself. You’re the only mage in Candar able to forge cupridium.”

  Just the only one with the ability who actually tried, most likely. “I’ll do my best.”

  Once he was well away from the smithy, Beltur did look in the bag … and found six silvers. He just looked. Even after having paid Athaal and Meldryn the day before, he still had slightly more than two golds in silvers. In some ways, it made absolutely no sense. Starting as a near-copperless mage who had fled for his life, within a season, he’d earned more on his own than he ever had. But that’s all because of Athaal … and Meldryn.

  Just because he’d learned how to help forge cupridium, he’d been able to earn more than Athaal did an eightday, and Athaal had worked much longer and harder than Beltur. Somehow … it just didn’t seem right. He shook his head. “Right” wasn’t the correct word or feeling. It just felt somehow unbalanced.

  He eased the silvers into his wallet, checked his shields, and continued walking, still trying to work out a way to hold five shields for longer than a few moments.

  As he neared the southeast gate, he saw that the masons had completed the stonework reinforcing the gate, which included an iron portcullis behind the iron-sheathed timbered gates. To Beltur, that didn’t make much sense. That gate couldn’t be hit by a trebuchet fired from the south, and for the Gallosians to get into a position to directly bombard the gate, they would have to have overrun the piers and occupied the lands to the east of the city as well. That would expose a greater part of their flank to an attack. So why would they do that when it would be easier and cost fewer lives to remain back somewhat to the south and batter the walls until they gave in?

  Or is this another thing you don’t understand?

  Beltur was still pondering that when he passed through the gate and turned north on the unnamed wall street. He really didn’t want to go anywhere near the market, which had been thronged with people the past few days, even after fourth glass, when usually that late there were fewer sellers and far fewer buyers. Because they think the city will be besieged and food will be hard to come by?

  He was still thinking about that and wondering what it was that he didn’t know when he entered the house and walked directly back to the kitchen, because he’d heard Meldryn and Athaal talking.

  “We wondered how late you’d be,” said Athaal.

  “I told you I’d likely be late. We tried to cast as many blades as possible. I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to help Jorhan again.”

  “Have you heard anything new?” asked Meldryn.

  “No, but the market squares have been so crowded, even late in the day. I’ve been wondering if people know something we don’t.”

  “That’s always possible,” observed Athaal.

  “I’d wager many are buying dried fruits, beans, goods that will last,” suggested Meldryn. “Flour, rice if they can get it.”

  “Are people that worried?” asked Beltur. “The Gallosians are across the border, but they’re not that close yet.”

  “We Elpartans are a cautious people,” said Meldryn. “It’s what comes of living in a place where food is much harder to come by in winter. Also, by the time it’s obvious, there may not be that much left to buy.”

  “Maybe I should have bought some things,” said Beltur. “Except I don’t know what you have and don’t, and what you need.”

  “Dried fruit is always good,” said Athaal with a grin. “Especially apricots and cherries.”

  “Good and expensive,” retorted Meldryn with a snort.

  “Good is always expensive.”

  “Not when Meldryn bakes it,” suggested Beltur.

  “That’s because we don’t pay him,” said Athaal.

  “When do you start baking bread for the Council?” asked Beltur.

  “I already have. They’re supposed to deliver another barrel of flour tomorrow.”

  “Already?” Athaal frowned.

  “A barrel only makes around three hundred loaves, and that’s about what I can do in a usual day, if I work it right.”

  “And you don’t bake much else,” said Athaal.

  Three hundred loaves a day sounded like a lot, but when Beltur considered that Second Recon had more than a hundred rankers, squad leaders, and officers, at a loaf a day for each man, Meldryn would only be baking enough for three companies. Even at half a loaf …

  “How many companies have come from elsewhere to support Elparta?” Beltur asked Athaal.

  “I know of ten so far. We’ve raised twelve. So twenty-two in all.”

  And the Prefect has more than twice that number?

  That shone a whole new light on the crowds in the market square.

  LIV

  Sevenday was yet another very early morning for Beltur, but he managed to get up, into full uniform, and out of the house in time to reach the huge warehouse east of the second pier that now housed something like eight companies, although Beltur had the impression that there was only one other mounted company, and it wasn’t a reconnaissance unit, but mounted heavy infantry. He was even early enough that the rankers hadn’t yet begun to form up for the morning muster.

  At that moment, Zandyr appeared. “Good morning, Beltur.”

  “Good morning, Zandyr.”

  “You look like a real officer now.”

  “I’m the same as I was on threeday.” Except we forged seventeen more blades.

  “The captain said you were helping to forge cupridium blades. I can’t believe it. An officer actually forging blades. That’s more like a ranker’s job.”

  “I was carrying out the orders of the Council. I don’t actually forge the blades. Jorhan’s the smith, and he does that. I’m the one who puts the order-trapped chaos into the molten bronze.”

  “Oh … that’s different.”

  Beltur concealed a grin, adding, “That’s in addition to working the bellows and doing other chores.”

  After the briefest hesitation, the younger undercaptain said, “Everyone talks about cupridium as if it’s special.”

  Beltur refrained from frowning. If Zandyr came from a trading house that dealt in valuable old goods, how could he not know something about cupridium? Especially after talking abo
ut the value of a cupridium statue from Cyador? “It is. It’s harder and tougher than anything except black iron, and it doesn’t corrode or rust. They say it lasts forever. Like black iron, it takes a mage and a smith working together to make it. Not many mages are good at it. I understand that very little has been forged anywhere in Candar since the fall of Cyador.”

  “But blades…?”

  “Someone told me that a Cyadoran blade might fetch ten golds.”

  Zandyr’s eyes widened for a moment. “Why did the Cyadorans forge such blades? Just because they fetched such a price?”

  “I don’t think so. I think it’s because a white mage or wizard can’t touch an iron blade, not without burning his hands, maybe even killing himself, but they can use a cupridium blade because the order-chaos within the metal is balanced, and it’s not in an iron blade. The ancient histories said that some of the great emperors were also great warriors as well as Magi’i—that’s the old word for men who can handle chaos and order.”

  “What’s it really like? Cupridium, I mean?”

  “It’s metal. It’s more silvery than bronze, more golden than iron.”

  “Do you have a cupridium sabre, then?”

  Beltur was glad the other had asked about a sabre and not just a blade. “No. I wouldn’t know what to do with a sabre.”

  “I forgot about that.”

  Forgot about it … or couldn’t believe it? Beltur knew he’d mentioned that he didn’t have or use a sabre.

  At that point Gaermyn walked toward the two. “Time to form up.”

  Beltur and Zandyr followed him out to the muster, which took little more than a tenth of a glass.

  After dismissing the company to duties, Captain Laugreth walked over to the three undercaptains. “Beltur, you’ll accompany me with First Squad on a reconnaissance south along the east shore of the river. Zandyr, you’ll be working with Gaermyn and Third and Fourth Squads.”