The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  A half glass passed, and all of First and Second Squad had come through the gap and formed up along the road, which was fringed by low scraggly bushes of a sort Beltur didn’t recognize. Another half glass passed before the last rider—the captain—led his mount out onto the road. The three undercaptains waited, all holding their mounts.

  “We’ll take a break here. Then we’ll ride to the river.” Laugreth blotted his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

  Beltur took one of the water bottles filled with ale, uncorked it, and took a long swallow, then another. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.

  Beside him stood Zandyr, who drank whatever was in his bottle, then said, “That skirmish with the Gallosians seemed easy. If they’re all like that—”

  “They won’t be,” interrupted Gaermyn. “They were well away from the fighting. They knew there were Spidlarian troopers on the hillside watching them, and they were watching the squad up there, figuring any change in their position would let them know if anyone was coming. Also, it was early. Most officers wouldn’t expect an attack on a road well away from the main lines at sixth glass in the morning. If that trailing ranker in Third Squad hadn’t blundered out of the concealment, we would have had them at even more of a disadvantage.” The older undercaptain glanced at Zandyr, but kept talking. “You can’t blame them entirely for not being ready. Their captain didn’t want them worn out and kept them in a loose formation. He must have figured they’d have time to mount. By tomorrow at the latest most of the Gallosians will know what we did. It won’t be that easy again.”

  “It might be once or twice more,” said Laugreth, “but we can’t count on it. They also didn’t have a mage there, and we couldn’t have done what we did if they had had one.” He looked to Beltur. “Isn’t that right?” His words were barely a question.

  “Yes, ser. We couldn’t have gotten nearly that close without being detected, and the Gallosians have quite a few mages.”

  “A word with you, Zandyr,” said Gaermyn quietly, handing the reins of his mount to a ranker and walking along the road away from First Squad.

  After Gaermyn had drawn Zandyr aside, Laugreth turned directly to Beltur. “For someone who doesn’t carry a weapon, you can be deadly.”

  Beltur hadn’t the faintest idea what the captain meant.

  “You and your gelding plowed aside three or four of the Gallosians, and I don’t think most of them will be fighting anytime soon.”

  “I was just trying to stay with you and First Squad, ser.”

  “Could you break through a shield wall that way?”

  “I might be able to, but I couldn’t make the shield much wider.” Beltur suspected he could, but he wouldn’t be able to hold a wider shield all that long, and he certainly didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a fight with no shields at all. He had no doubts that, without shields, he’d be dead very quickly.

  “So doing that would be a way to break through a line to get clear of a fight?”

  “That … or in a glancing attack like we just did.”

  Laugreth nodded. “Thank you.”

  The calculating look in the captain’s eyes made Beltur uneasy. He uncorked the water bottle and took another swallow before recorking it and checking over Slowpoke. It wouldn’t be that long before he had to mount up again.

  LXI

  While the old road toward the river was in surprisingly good condition, at least for travel by horse, there were enough small gullies, caused by years of rainfall, that it would have been impassable to a wagon. Even so, the road was better and faster than trying to cross hills and occasional thickets, despite the fact that it wound so much that Second Recon likely traveled almost ten kays to cover the five that a vulcrow would have flown to the collapsed mine entrance less than half a kay from the east bank of the River Gallos. To the north, in the direction of Elparta, the hills were even more rugged than Beltur recalled, although he’d only seen them once, and that was from a flatboat.

  After the mounts and rankers were settled in, the captain gathered the officers together in a flat area against the high redstone cliffs.

  Beltur glanced skyward, taking in the high clouds coming in from the northwest, wondering if they would just drift past or whether they foreshadowed rain. From what he had learned from Athaal, and what he could sense, the clouds didn’t seem to have much rain … and there wasn’t the split between order and chaos that he’d sensed in the thunderclouds in Analeria. But … farther away, the clouds looked darker and thicker. He quickly shifted his gaze as the captain cleared his throat.

  “We can’t do that much more today,” said Laugreth. “The mounts need rest and water. There’s some grass here. Not as much as I’d like, but it will do. I’ve sent scouts north along what looks to be a footpath. We can’t be much more than a kay from where the Gallosians built that ramp to carry mounts across the river.” He looked to Beltur.

  “We’re either farther than that, or they’ve moved north, ser. There are some armsmen and a few mounts at the edge of the river about a kay and a half north of us. That’s what I sense, anyway, but it might be because it’s been a long day.”

  “We’ll see what the scouts report, and our evolutions tomorrow will be based on where the Gallosians are. Since there’s no one near us, it’s clear that they don’t know where we are, and that will give us some leeway in what we can do…”

  From there, the captain turned his words to the more mundane details of watches and sentries.

  Once Laugreth and Gaermyn left to inspect the camp, Zandyr turned to Beltur.

  “What does the captain have against me?”

  Beltur wasn’t about to address that question, not directly. “What do you mean?”

  “Both the captain and Gaermyn have blamed me because that ranker rode out of the concealment before the attack on the Gallosians. I didn’t have anything to do with his stupidity.”

  “Who was the ranker?”

  “I don’t know his name. Waggel or something. He’s just a ranker.”

  Beltur barely managed to keep from wincing. “What did they say?”

  “That it was all my fault. They didn’t say it that way, of course. They politely suggested that I needed to give more attention to detail. As politely as their type can ever manage. It was all an excuse to suggest I wasn’t doing my job. They didn’t want me here. They don’t respect me. They don’t like traders. They don’t like anyone but armsmen.”

  “Your family’s business is trade. Their business is the use of arms. Different skills are required.”

  “They don’t say things like that to you.”

  “Not in public. I’ve never heard what they said to you. I don’t imagine you’ve heard what they’ve said to me.”

  Zandyr shook his head. “I’ll be glad when this war’s over. Then we’ll see.”

  “That might be a while.” Especially if the Gallosians take Elparta. Beltur could see the Gallosians withdrawing if they were defeated at Elparta, particularly with winter approaching, but that might only be for the winter. And if they took Elparta before then, it would certainly be a much longer fight, one way or the other.

  “It won’t be.” Zandyr shook his head. “You’ll see.” He turned and strode off in the direction of the river.

  Beltur stood there for several moments, not really seeing anything, until he realized a trooper had appeared—Squad Leader Vaertaag.

  “Ser?”

  “Yes, Vaertaag, is there something I can do?” Not that Beltur thought there was anything he could do, but he didn’t know what else to say.

  “Ser … it’s about your mount.”

  Beltur stiffened. “Is there anything wrong with him?”

  “Oh, no, ser. Nothing like that.” Vaertaag didn’t quite meet Beltur’s eyes. “How are you finding him?”

  “I had a little trouble the first few days, but we’re doing well now. The way he handled that sandy slope and all the rough terrain I couldn’t have asked for a better horse.”<
br />
  “We’re all glad to hear that, ser. I thought it was that way, but I did want to make sure.”

  “No. I’m very happy with him.”

  “Thank you, ser.” Vaertaag nodded.

  After the squad leader left, Beltur allowed himself a smile. He had a very good idea what that had been all about. He almost felt sorry for Zandyr. Almost.

  Almost two glasses later, after an evening meal of very hard biscuits and cheese, washed down with water, water in Beltur’s case that he had filled his empty bottle with and then treated with order and chaos, since he was trying to save the remaining ale, Laugreth gathered both officers and squad leaders.

  He looked at Beltur and began. “You were right, Undercaptain. The Gallosians have largely abandoned their initial bridgehead on this side of the river. It appears as though they have advanced closer to Elparta. There’s little more than a squad posted by that ramp they built earlier. The scouts could see tracks, and even a number of wagon ruts.” After a pause, he went on. “We’ve got quite a task ahead of us. There is a footpath along the river. It’s just wide enough for a single horse at a time. That won’t be a problem, since the Gallosians seem to have left, except for that single squad, and they aren’t even watching the path. First Squad will lead, with Undercaptain Beltur near the front, so that he can conceal us, if necessary, once we reach the landing area. We’ll secure that as quickly as possible and then move on.”

  The captain held up a hand, as if to forestall any comments or questions. “I’m concerned that the Gallosians appear to have moved so far in a single day, but it appears that they have been stopped well short of the city and the piers, because the scouts could see a line of fires, probably cookfires, somewhat more than a kay south of the piers. We should be able to move fairly quickly once we get to the rock ramp. We might even be able to take the river road part of the way. We need to do something that will give the Gallosians something to think about. That means a rear attack on the Gallosians, but what sort of attack will depend on how they’re drawn up.”

  Beltur could see Zandyr shifting his weight as if he wanted to question something, but didn’t want to upset the captain.

  Laugreth obviously saw the same thing, because he added after a moment of silence, “Some of you might question what a single company can do against thousands. We don’t have to win the battle or any battle by ourselves. Our task is to unbalance them so that will give our main force the opportunity to push the Gallosians back or inflict massive casualties on them. That’s all for now. Get as good a night’s sleep as you can. We’ll be moving out early.”

  Beltur stood there mulling over what the captain had said and thinking about what else he might be able to do to make the company more effective … and to keep casualties low, especially given that he was a mage still very inexperienced in combat. He didn’t even notice Zandyr approach until the other coughed.

  “Beltur?”

  “Oh … I didn’t see you. I was thinking.”

  “Do you think attacking the Gallosians from behind is really such a good idea?”

  “Do you have a better one?”

  “Why do we have to attack? What difference can one company make against a score or more? Except to get killed?”

  Zandyr’s questions didn’t exactly surprise Beltur, since he’d asked himself one similar, and he offered the only response he had found acceptable. “What if everyone in each company felt that way?”

  “But they’re all together. We’re out here by ourselves.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  Zandyr’s face twisted in disbelief. “You’re just like them. Except swords and arrows won’t kill you. What do you care for anyone else?”

  “Swords and arrows will kill me if I’m too exhausted to hold shields. Mages can certainly be killed. My uncle was a mage. He still died at the hands of the Gallosians. I almost did. Does it matter whether it’s arrows or swords or chaos-bolts that can kill you?”

  “You don’t understand. It’s different.” Zandyr glared at Beltur, then said again, “It’s different.” Then he turned and walked away.

  Is it different? Beltur couldn’t have voiced a reason why his situation was no different from Zandyr’s, but whether the trader’s son knew it or not, what force or weapon killed someone mattered little to them in the end. They were dead.

  And Beltur had to find some way so it didn’t turn out like that.

  LXII

  Fiveday morning came early. Even in the dim light before dawn, Beltur could tell that the clouds he’d seen the evening before had become thicker and darker and somewhat lower, but certainly not low enough for rain in the next few glasses. While the rankers were eating, the captain gathered the officers and squad leaders.

  “We need to do what we can with the fewest losses possible. Every man is valuable.” Laugreth paused. “Some of you might not know. Nueltyr died last night. He didn’t want anyone to know how badly he was hurt.” Laugreth paused. “We need to keep the casualties as low as possible to get through this. That’s why we need to surprise the Gallosian squad holding the boat ramp. We’ll have to get close without being seen. They’ll have a sentry near the end of the footpath. They did yesterday. Our scouts can take care of him. That leaves the problem of getting enough men through the low point between the hills where the footpath ends and onto flatter ground. There’s about fifty yards between the footpath and the ramp. The Gallosians are set up east of the ramp, by maybe sixty yards. Even with a sentry positioned near the footpath, someone will be watching.” The captain looked to Beltur.

  “I can do a concealment, but they’ll have to move out quietly and form up by touch.”

  Laugreth frowned. “A tight double file might do it. When we’re ready, you could drop the concealment, and the other squads could move after us quickly. If we’re discovered, drop the concealment and we’ll hold the ground around the end of the footpath until we outnumber them.”

  “You want me to lead the way straight north from the end of the path to just east of the ramp, and have them form on me?” Beltur didn’t worry about his doing the leading. That was much easier for him than following him would be for Laugreth and the rankers.

  “That should work. If we can even get out half a squad before they hear us, we should be all right, because we’ll be mounted, and they’re all foot.” With that, the captain nodded. “Get ready to form up.”

  A glass later, Beltur stood on the narrow footpath, one hand on Slowpoke’s reins, waiting for Laugreth, just in front of him, who had called a halt. From what Beltur could sense, the lead scouts were less than a hundred yards in front of the captain, perhaps fifty yards from the sentry that they stalked.

  Moments later, the captain appeared out of the predawn gloom. “How many men do they have?”

  “About a squad. Most are around the cookfire. The scouts are closing on the sentry.” Beltur could sense the two scouts nearing the sentry, an increase in order and chaos, and then what felt like a puff of black mist. He swallowed as he realized what that indicated. After a long moment, he said, “The sentry’s dead.”

  “You can tell that?”

  “I didn’t know I could. I’ve never been sensing someone when they died.” He realized that he hadn’t even sensed his uncle’s death because he’d been so preoccupied with escaping from Wyath and the Prefect, and a brief spasm of guilt gripped him. He shook his head. Not now … not now.

  “We need to get moving then.” Laugreth turned.

  Beltur tugged on Slowpoke’s reins and put one boot in front of the other, trying to be as quiet as possible as he trudged along the narrow sandy path in the gloom that should have lightened more than it had with the approach of dawn. Then it dawned on him. The clouds are heavy enough and low enough to block the early sunlight.

  A tenth of a glass later or so, Laugreth stopped and murmured back to Beltur, “The end of the footpath is right past that heap of rocks on the left. Just before you get there, the Gallosians could s
ee you.”

  “I’ll drop the concealment over the area from there to the stone ramp. Then Slowpoke and I will move past you. That way the men don’t have to worry about where they’re going until they’re on level ground.”

  “Good.” The captain continued on, leading his mount.

  Beltur kept his eyes on Laugreth, and as soon as the captain neared the rock pile, he put the concealment in place, then moved ahead, keeping an arm out. The moment his hand vanished, he murmured, “Captain?”

  “Go around on the left.”

  Beltur did, using his senses to guide Slowpoke past the captain and his horse, then moved as quietly as he could toward the stone ramp, trying to sense those behind him as well as the Gallosians around the cookfire. Laugreth followed. Beltur could barely hear a few words drifting his way, but he didn’t sense any sudden movements. When he neared the stone ramp and turned Slowpoke, he murmured, “In position at the ramp.”

  “Mount up quietly.”

  Beltur did so, waiting, hoping that the Gallosians didn’t hear the occasional click of a hoof on a stone, but no one seemed to notice … not until most of the first file was in position and two rankers had moved up behind Beltur and Laugreth.

  Then one of the Gallosians called out, “Where’s Landret?”

  “Landret!”

  “I hear riders!”

  “Drop the concealment,” ordered Laugreth.

  Beltur did so, glancing to his right as he did so, and seeing the first ten riders forming a line abreast.

  “First Squad! Blades ready! Forward!”

  Not having a blade, Beltur merely made certain his shield was solid and urged Slowpoke forward.

  The Gallosians around the cookfire scattered, running at full speed into the hills south of the fire. Not a one even tried to lift a blade.

  “Hold up!” shouted Laugreth.

  In less than half a glass, all of First Squad was off the footpath and in formation east of the slowly dying cookfire.

  Gaermyn rode up to Laugreth. “We got the uniform from the sentry and a couple of tunics from the Gallosians that ran. They left a few things.”