The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Oh … like two lancers charging each other.”

  “Not quite, but it’s close enough. It’s not something that I’d want to do again.”

  “But the Gallosians have more white wizards. What else can you do?”

  “That’s a very good question. Right now, I don’t know.” Beltur just hoped he could find a better way to deal with another mage. “I’ll think about that tomorrow.” He yawned.

  “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

  You just realized that? Beltur nodded, then leaned down and slipped the mug, pitcher, and empty platter under the bed before easing himself flat on the narrow pallet, wincing at the aches in his legs and buttocks. You’re going to be very sore tomorrow.

  As he drifted toward sleep, he recalled the words of the captain, about mongrels being the smartest and most loyal of dogs … and useful. Like tools.

  LXIV

  When Beltur woke on sixday, he was indeed sore in more places than he could easily count. Zandyr was nowhere to be seen, and Beltur wondered if he’d even spent the night there.

  Beltur found it was an effort to wash up and shave, and every step seemed to remind him of another muscle he didn’t realize he had. He did feel somewhat better after cleaning up. He even wiped off his uniform with a damp rag. Unlike the captain’s uniform, his was only dusty, especially below the knees. He was faintly surprised that Second Recon hadn’t been awakened early and sent off somewhere, despite what the captain had said, but he made his way to the mess, trying his best to walk normally, despite his aches and bruises. As he entered the modest chamber that held little besides benches and tables, and the rough stoves at one end, he was surprised to see Athaal, sitting alone at one end of a crude plank table.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Beltur.

  Athaal looked up, clearly surprised. “What happened to you? You’re so order-depleted I didn’t even realize it was you. Go get something to eat, and some ale. Then we can talk.”

  “I’ll just be a moment,” Beltur managed, even as he wondered if he looked as bad as Athaal had suggested. He did get a full platter of something that resembled an egg and mutton hash, a small loaf of bread, and a mug of ale, all of which he carried back to where Athaal sat, finishing up his own breakfast. He sat down and took a swallow of the ale, then looked at the older mage.

  “You asked why I’m here. I’ve been reassigned to provide shields to Commander Vaernaak, as necessary. Since the Gallosians are so close, Marshal Helthaer has moved his command center inside the walls where he doesn’t need that kind of protection. Vaernaak is the field commander. Now … what happened to you?”

  “I’m with Second Recon—”

  “That’s the company that smashed through the Gallosians on the east flank. You had something to do with that. You had to have. I should have remembered you were with them. They had a mage out there.” Athaal frowned. “You didn’t use chaos, did you?” He shook his head and said, before Beltur could reply, “You couldn’t have. There’s no sign of it around you. What did you do?”

  “I used shields and had two rankers fire iron-shafted arrows at the mage, with just a touch of order on them.” Beltur shrugged. “I passed out and they carried me back here. Margrena did something, I think. Anyway, she told me if I used any more order in the next few days that someone would be burying me. Not quite like that, but she was very clear. Oh … and when the captain told Cohndar what I’d done, Cohndar didn’t believe it. He said that I must have used chaos.” Beltur took another swallow of ale.

  “You couldn’t muster that amount of chaos if your life, or even Jessyla’s, depended on it. He should have known that.”

  “I almost mustered too much order,” replied Beltur as wryly as he could, taking a bite of the barely warm egg hash.

  “I can tell that. But how did you destroy the mage?”

  “I thought I told you. I linked order to the iron shafts. It took a bunch of them, but the rankers kept firing—we got really close—and finally the ordered iron broke through his shields and there was a big flare. I only remember hanging on to Slowpoke for a few moments after that.”

  “Slowpoke?”

  “My horse. Well, the one I’ve been riding.”

  Athaal took a swallow from his own mug before replying. “You know there are very few mages that can add more order to iron. It’s already order-saturated.”

  “I didn’t know that. It didn’t seem that different from adding it to the bronze.”

  The bearded mage frowned, then smiled. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll make sure Cohndar knows.”

  It won’t make him any happier with me. “Thank you.”

  “You’re not going back into the fighting today?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. We’d have been awakened early, I think.”

  “You’re in no shape to do any magery.”

  “Margrena made that very clear.”

  “Beltur … listen to her, if you won’t listen to me.”

  “What am I supposed to do if the majer or the commander orders Second Recon out into the field? Sit there on Slowpoke and hold what shields I can? Hoping that the Gallosian mages don’t target me?”

  For a long moment, Athaal did not reply. Finally, he said, “That’s all any of us can do, when we can’t do any magery.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you, but I don’t have to like the situation.”

  “I understand.” Athaal smiled sadly. “I don’t think any of us do.”

  “How is Meldryn? Do you know?”

  “He was fine, the last time I saw him. Now that I’m looking after the commander, I haven’t been able to get away. Mel grumbled some about the wear on the ovens from all the bread the Council wants, but it keeps the silvers coming.”

  “You’ll probably see him before I do. Give him my best.”

  “I will.” Athaal set his mug on the table. “I need to go. The commander will be heading out on an inspection tour before long.”

  “You be careful.”

  “I’ll do my best. That’s all any of us can do.”

  After Athaal had left the mess, Beltur wondered if now was the only time the older mage had ever really been in a situation where events were largely beyond his control. You’ve been there, and every time you think you’re getting some control, something happens. But maybe that was just life.

  Beltur finished off the last of the hash, bread, and ale and headed back to where Second Recon would muster. Muster was quick and almost perfunctory, with the captain announcing that no evolutions were scheduled, but that the company was on standby, in the event that it was needed. After muster, the officers met around the small table in the captain’s makeshift study.

  Laugreth immediately said, “We’re still on standby. That means all of us are to remain here in case Recon Two is needed.” He paused and looked at Zandyr. “That includes all officers. I hope that we aren’t needed today, but those are the orders. The Gallosians don’t seem to be making a push. At least so far this morning. They appear to be regrouping and moving more men to the eastern side of the river.” He offered a wintry smile. “The majer told me they moved another two companies to the fork in the river road. Those were the two companies we encountered earlier. They’ve pulled back to reinforce the force we broke through. The majer doesn’t know if they’ve replaced the mage.”

  “Why is that, ser?” asked Zandyr, respectfully.

  “The majer didn’t say.” Laugreth looked to Beltur. “Do you have any idea?”

  “Mages look like anyone else from a distance. The Gallosians seem to be doing the same thing as we are with mages and putting them in uniform. White doesn’t look that different from light gray, anyway. That means that only a mage can tell if another mage is there … and only if the mage isn’t using special shields to hide himself.”

  “You knew where the Gallosian mage was.” Zandyr’s tone was not quite accusatory.

  “I don’t think he was the strongest of white mages. He a
lso might have been one who couldn’t do those kinds of shields. Every mage I’ve ever met has talents a little bit different from every other mage. Sometimes, a great deal different.”

  “That doesn’t seem very efficient.”

  “War and magery aren’t like trading,” said Gaermyn. “A barrel of flour or oats is a barrel of oats. Every armsman is a bit different from every other one. So is every captain and undercaptain. It makes sense that mages are as well.”

  Laugreth cleared his throat, then continued. “We should get a little respite unless the Gallosians mount an immediate attack. The past two days have put quite a load on both the men and the horses. I let the majer know that. I also told him we physically couldn’t do what we did yesterday for at least several days. He wasn’t happy, but he understands. I doubt the commander or the marshal would understand or care.”

  At those words, Gaermyn frowned.

  Beltur had the feeling that the weathered undercaptain agreed with the captain’s words, but didn’t think Laugreth should have uttered them before junior undercaptains. Or is he concerned for some other reason … because Zandyr might say something to his father? Or was his father even that close to the council and the marshal? There was so much Beltur didn’t know and hadn’t had time to learn.

  “Beltur,” continued the captain, “you said that you didn’t think the mage you and the rankers faced was as strong as others. Were you suggesting something?”

  “Yes, ser. I can’t do what we did against a stronger mage and a larger force. I didn’t have any shields at the end and could barely stay in the saddle. That white mage wasn’t one of the stronger ones, either. Not compared to some that the Prefect has.” He really didn’t know that, but he recalled his feelings of powerlessness during those terrible moments in the palace of the Prefect, and the aura of power around Wyath and the others. The mage he and the two rankers had killed hadn’t seemed to show that range of power.

  “He threw almost a score of firebolts.”

  Beltur didn’t recall nearly that many. “I’ve seen the most powerful mages once, and I barely escaped with my life. This one didn’t seem nearly that strong. If we go against another mage, one that’s stronger, we’re going to need to try something else.”

  “You’ve been right so far … and I wouldn’t want to destroy the company … or lose you. But I wonder if you’re not underestimating yourself.”

  “I couldn’t answer that, ser. I only know what happened out there yesterday and what I’ve faced before.”

  Laugreth smiled faintly. “That’s as fair an answer as I could expect. That’s all.” He stood.

  As Beltur stood and began to leave, he noticed that Gaermyn was also departing, when usually the older undercaptain remained, at least for a few moments.

  Zandyr eased past Beltur without speaking and hurried off. That bothered Beltur. Was Zandyr trying to get away before Gaermyn or the captain reprimanded him or thought of some duty for him?

  Beltur and Gaermyn walked in the general direction of the stables. Gaermyn spoke quietly. “I’m curious, Beltur. You don’t have to answer me, if you’d rather not, but can other mages do what you did yesterday?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that, ser. Part of that is because I’ve known so few mages well. I’d think so, but every mage is a bit different from every other mage. I know that my shields are stronger than some mages’, but I believe others’ are as strong. I put some order on the iron-shafted arrows, and I found out this morning from one of the mages I do know that not many black mages can do that, and no white mages would ever try it. It’s far too dangerous for them. Most mages can do concealments, the ones that shield the troopers from sight. I don’t know if my abilities there are greater or lesser than the stronger black mages. As for sensing things, I’d guess that I’m maybe a little more sensitive than most blacks, and almost all blacks are more sensitive than whites.”

  Gaermyn frowned. “Why is that?”

  “When you’re sensing, you’re really trying to pick up the patterns of both order and chaos. White mages have trouble sensing smaller bits of order, and those bits give you a better feel of what you can’t see, because under a concealment no one can see anything.”

  The older undercaptain nodded. “I’ll have to think about all that. I’d like you to as well. The Gallosians aren’t going to give us that much of a break. Once they get regrouped, they’ll push to get close enough to use siege engines and trebuchets.”

  “I can see that, ser.” Beltur hadn’t thought otherwise.

  Gaermyn nodded. “Until later.” Then he turned away.

  Beltur kept walking toward the stables. He wanted to see how Slowpoke was, and to make sure the gelding had been properly groomed, fed, and watered. Those were things he could do without worrying … too much.

  LXV

  By midmorning on sixday, Beltur had visited Slowpoke and spent some time currying him, talking as he did. He doubted the gelding understood a word, but it was clear he enjoyed the attention, and Beltur really didn’t have any other way to show his appreciation. When he finished, he persuaded one of the stableboys to give him more oats, which he fed to Slowpoke, who definitely liked them.

  Then Beltur walked from the stables back toward the mess, looking for a place to sit down, also hoping he could cadge some bread and ale. As he entered the mess, the only officers he saw were Zandyr and another undercaptain, standing beside one of the plank tables. Zandyr was gesturing in a most animated fashion as he talked. Beltur would have like to have raised a concealment and eased closer, but he recalled exactly what Margrena had said and decided he didn’t want to know that badly what Zandyr was so exercised about.

  Instead, he angled toward the cooking area, where he saw one of the rankers who appeared not to be actively engaged, and asked, “Might I get some bread and ale?”

  “Ser?”

  “Bread and ale?”

  “Oh, yes, ser. The bread might be a bit stale.”

  “That’s fine.”

  In moments, Beltur had a mug of ale and a largish loaf of bread, which he took to a table behind Zandyr, who was still talking and who had not even looked in Beltur’s direction. He listened, picking up fragments of what Zandyr and the other undercaptain said, as he sipped the ale and slowly chewed morsels of the bread.

  “… rankers … no respect … smirk when they think I’m not looking … stupid to think I can’t see…”

  “It could be they don’t care,” said the other undercaptain.

  “… they’re going to care. So will the captain … worse that he defers to … old undercaptain. He’s the captain…”

  “… think … he’s being kind to an old undercaptain … won’t ever be…”

  “… shouldn’t be … condescending … arrogant…”

  “… shouldn’t be saying … even here…”

  “… treat mage better … lowborn … mage or not … rides with one of them…”

  “… because he’s a mage … knows magery…”

  “… doesn’t matter … can’t treat … this way … insufferable…”

  “… is what it is, Zandyr … war won’t last forever … need to go now…”

  “… walk out with you…”

  Beltur didn’t know whether to smile ruefully or shake his head as Zandyr left with the other undercaptain, never having once looked around the mess, not in the time that Beltur had been there. But then, Beltur had been the only other officer there.

  He took his time finishing the bread and ale, then returned the mug and made his way back to his space, glad that Zandyr wasn’t there. He eased onto the pallet bed gingerly.

  Before long, his eyes closed.

  When Beltur woke again, it was close to midafternoon. As he slowly rose, he became very much aware—again—of how many places on his body were sore. Because your shield distributed all those blows and impacts across your frame?

  Once he was on his feet and had moved around a little, he decided he was feeling somewh
at better, provided he didn’t bump or touch his upper arms. Even so, the muscles in his thighs and buttocks continued to remind him that he’d done something to them. One encouraging sign was that he could sense order and chaos patterns, almost a kay to the south, but the patterns in the crowded areas to the north, behind the walls were still just a jumble.

  Before long he made his way to the captain’s study, not really expecting to find Laugreth there, and he didn’t. But Gaermyn was there, seated at the conference table and looking at maps.

  “How are you feeling, Beltur.”

  “Better, ser.”

  “You’re still pale.”

  Beltur just nodded. “Has anything happened with the Gallosians?”

  “Scouts from Third Recon reported that four more companies arrived from Gallos. Three foot and one mounted. They’re being ferried from the west side of the river to the east. They probably won’t attack today. Tomorrow … who knows? I’d doubt it, but they might position troopers for an attack the next day.”

  “You think they’d attack on eightday?”

  “They might well, if they thought they’d catch us off guard.” Gaermyn paused. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

  “Yes, ser.” Beltur understood that Gaermyn needed to get back to whatever he was working out with the maps. “I’m not going anywhere.” Not that he was allowed to or that he really had the strength.

  He walked slowly back to his bunking area and sat down on the bed. He thought about reading, but his head still throbbed intermittently, and he had nothing to read. So he settled back on the pallet bed and tried to think about what he could do differently, or better, the next time he and Recon Two encountered a white wizard.

  He didn’t get too far before he dozed off.

  How long he dozed he wasn’t certain but he woke when he heard faint steps, and he immediately sat up … and winced as he was reminded of all the aches and soreness. He immediately forgot those when he saw who stood there.