The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “There never were that many blacks in Fenard, and some of those weren’t real blacks … but more like mongrels.”

  “I believe you’ve mentioned that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “It is indeed,” added Cohndar. “That’s why I recommended that a particular mongrel be assigned to a reconnaissance company. They’re mongrel companies, anyway. He’s been able to work with a smith to forge cupridium. That takes a certain untutored strength with metals and shields.”

  “Definitely untutored in other areas as well,” said Waensyn with a snort. “Look at which blacks here have supported him.”

  “He may be untutored in those areas,” replied one of the unknown mages, “but we need all the strength and shields possible against the whites.”

  “He’s strong in some areas,” said Cohndar, “but without understanding in many. He almost died from order depletion the other day. He wasn’t even up against one of the stronger whites. That weakling Athaal told me so.”

  “That may be,” conceded the unknown with the deeper voice, “but he did defeat that mage, and that’s one less to worry about.”

  “Perhaps we should make sure that he has a chance to prove himself against stronger mages,” suggested Waensyn. “If he’s successful, that will prove his worth.”

  “You don’t like him very much, do you?”

  “He’s a pleasant enough fellow. I don’t like what he stands for. His uncle was a white, and he handles order effectively, but he’s not even an honest gray.”

  “So you want to be sure he’s in the middle of every battle?”

  “Why not? If he takes out some of the whites, we’re that much better. If he survives, he’ll have earned the right to be called a black and stay in Elparta,” replied Waensyn.

  “Even as what you call a mongrel?” asked the deeper-voiced unknown.

  No one spoke for a moment.

  “What if that doesn’t work?” asked the lighter-voiced unknown. “If the reconnaissance company takes more casualties, then the commander won’t use them except as a last resort…”

  “I can take care of that,” replied Cohndar.

  “What about Athaal? He’s protective of the mongrel.”

  “Leave Athaal alone. Jhaldrak’s people like him, and he’ll never be a problem. Not with his … partner. Besides, we all like good pies and the like.”

  Beltur winced at the round of laughter and decided to ease back from the group before he was discovered or gave himself away. And he just might if he didn’t move, after the contempt he’d heard from several of the mages about Athaal and Meldryn.

  He didn’t breathe easily until he was in the corridor outside the mess and alone enough that he released the concealment. Still … he’d proved that he could conceal himself from other mages, even when he was fairly close.

  He’d also confirmed just how much of an enemy Waensyn was, and how contemptuous he was of Athaal and Meldryn. Paradoxically, he felt the same way about Waensyn as apparently those at the table felt about him—that every black mage possible was needed to repulse the Gallosians.

  As he walked away from the mess, he couldn’t help but shake his head. Will they ever think of you except as a mongrel?

  LXIX

  On oneday, Beltur woke early, half anticipating he would be awakened because the Gallosians had mounted a massive attack. That never happened, and he lay in the darkness thinking. While he’d been dismayed by the conversation between Cohndar and Waensyn and the other two blacks that he’d never met, the depth of Waensyn’s dislike and Cohndar’s support of Waensyn hadn’t exactly been a surprise. In some ways, what Zandyr had said bothered him more. Almost a glass passed before he rose and made his way to the mess, carrying his water bottles. Without quite knowing why, he ate quickly and then carried the water bottles filled with ale and a loaf of bread to the stable, where he made ready his gear before returning to muster.

  The Second Recon muster was brief, but, before dismissing the company, the captain announced, “We’ll be riding out shortly. All squads form up immediately east of the barracks. Officers to me.”

  Once all three undercaptains faced Laugreth, he announced, “The Gallosians are loading foot onto flatboats, and they’re concentrating forces as if they intend to attack along the east side of the river. Some of you may have noticed that we’ve had very little rain in the last two eightdays, and the water levels of the river have dropped.”

  Beltur could see the puzzled expression on Zandyr’s face.

  So could Laugreth, because he looked at the junior undercaptain and said, not quite condescendingly, “The water’s been low enough long enough that the mud has dried. That means they can advance along the river in greater force than before or if they tried the river road or through the hills.” His eyes moved back to Beltur. “We’ll be supporting the foot being sent south to block any advance along the east bank. Form up as usual. That’s all.”

  As Beltur hurried toward the stables, he silently congratulated himself on already having taken care of the water bottles and managing to snare a small loaf of bread. He saddled Slowpoke quickly, led the gelding out of the stables, mounted and rode to where the company was forming up. Thinking about all that Zandyr had said the night before, he eased toward Third Squad, halting where it was unlikely anyone would ride into him and Slowpoke, but close enough to watch the squad and listen.

  Several rankers glanced back toward the barracks building, although Squad Leader Meoryt did not, instead surveying each of the few remaining rankers as they rode up and joined up.

  When Zandyr appeared outside the stable end of the barracks and mounted, several rankers stiffened.

  “… comes the fancy undercaptain,” murmured someone.

  “Quiet in the ranks,” said Meoryt firmly. “None of that.”

  There were more mutters, but Beltur could not hear them, and he eased Slowpoke forward and toward First Squad, where he reined up beside Vaertaag. “Have you heard anything more about what’s happening, Squad Leader?”

  “No, ser. Some think the graycoats will make a big push. That has to happen sooner or later.”

  “They’re massing as if they’ll put most of their forces on the east bank of the river. That’s what the captain said.”

  “Makes sense. What about us, ser?”

  “We’ll likely be sent to reinforce some foot company.” Beltur didn’t want to make that as an absolute statement, just in case the orders had changed.

  “Could be worse.” Vaertaag’s tone of voice suggested the opposite.

  Beltur nodded, his thoughts going to the last fight and the problems he’d had with the white mage. If the Gallosians had enough whites to put one out on the flank, they were certain to have one or more supporting the main attack. What if your rankers can’t get or use a bow because we’re in some sort of melee? After a moment more of thought, in which he recalled the order-based catapult he’d used in Analeria, he turned to the squad leader. “Vaertaag … it might be very helpful if I had two of those iron-shafted arrows.”

  “Would you need a bow, ser?”

  “No … just the arrows. I have a way to deliver them.” At least at short range.

  “Very good, ser.”

  Seemingly, within moments, Vaertaag handed two of the arrows to Beltur, who fitted them into one of the water bottle holders, where he could reach them quickly. He’d just finished that when the captain reined up beside the squad leader.

  “Getting last-moment orders from the majer.” Laugreth turned to Vaertaag. “We’ll ride past the end of the first pier and then move onto the dried mudflats once we’re past the pier channel. Eleventh Foot should be a good kay upstream, if not a bit farther. They’re supposed to be digging in about a hundred yards behind the armsmen holding the line. We’re to take a position where we can attack on either the rougher ground east of the riverbank or along the mudflats.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Company! Forward!” ordered the captain.


  Beltur urged Slowpoke up beside the captain. “I didn’t want to ask in the open, but is Eleventh Foot digging in because of the firebolts of the white mages?”

  “I wasn’t told,” replied Laugreth. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because chaos-bolts can’t burn through earth or rock.” For a moment, Beltur wondered why the captain hadn’t recalled that, but then remembered that none of the Spidlarians had fought against forces with chaos-mages before. Still … if someone had known enough to order the foot behind earthworks, why hadn’t they told Laugreth that? All of that—and the fact that the Gallosians had mages—reminded him, again, to raise a shield blocking any detection of order and chaos.

  “That makes sense for the Eleventh. Any position that would allow us to survey both the mudflats and the ground immediately east of the riverbank would put us in an exposed position … unless…” Laugreth looked to Beltur.

  “I can sense large movements of armsmen.”

  “Then we’ll see what position is the most favorable when we get nearer. Can you tell if the Gallosians are attacking?”

  Beltur concentrated. “Not yet. They must have close to ten companies within five hundred yards of the river. And there are more behind them.”

  “How far?”

  “A hundred yards.”

  “That’s so they can take advantage of any weakness.”

  The sun was rising above the rocky outcrops several hundred yards to the east of the river by the time Beltur saw a line of troopers ahead.

  “There’s Eleventh Foot,” declared Laugreth. “There are three other companies farther east.”

  Beltur surveyed the terrain. The troopers were setting up behind a low embankment running across the middle of what was a point, more like a protrusion of higher ground, that extended perhaps twenty yards into the river and was possibly fifty yards wide, not counting almost ten yards of dried mud at the edge of the water, more in some places, less in others.

  “There’s enough space to the left, just north of that line of bushes.” Beltur pointed. “That’s about the only place that’s not totally exposed. East of there, the ground is flat, rocky, and uneven. It’s only about two hundred and fifty yards from the end of the bushes to the base of those rocky bluffs.”

  “Is there any way to get up on top of that bluff?”

  “Not from anywhere near here, especially not on horseback, from what I can sense.” While a white wizard might be able to fling chaos-bolts from the top of the outcropped bluffs, some ten yards higher than the ground immediately beneath, Beltur doubted that the Gallosians would risk having a mage climb up there with no way to withdraw—or advance—quickly.

  “Company! On me!” ordered Laugreth.

  In short order, Second Recon was positioned behind the highest part of the embankment, largely out of sight from the south.

  “Have the Gallosians started to advance?” asked the captain once he was satisfied with the way the company was drawn up.

  “Not yet.”

  Over the next half glass or so, Laugreth asked the same question, and Beltur’s reply was the same. In between replies, he took several swallows of ale from his first water bottle.

  Then, Beltur sensed both chaos and movement, and a single black mist point, farther back in the Spidlarian force, but to the east, almost in the middle of the uneven ground between the riverbank and the bluffs. Where the death occurred suggested the victim had been hit by an arrow. “They’ve started the attack. It feels like they loosed a raft of shafts, and then charged.”

  “Where are their white wizards?”

  “I can sense two—one on each side of the advance, more toward the rear. So far they’re not doing anything.” To Beltur, that made sense. If the Gallosian foot could advance without tiring the whites, then they could be saved for when the advance ran into trouble.

  Laugreth turned to Vaertaag. “Pass the word. The Gallosians have started their attack.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  For the next half glass or so, the line of battle didn’t seem to change, but the number of deaths continued to rise; then slowly Beltur began to definitely sense the chaos of fighting build as the defending Spidlarians were being forced back, although he couldn’t see over the low rise behind the top of which the Eleventh Foot waited. He also had lost track of the number of points of black death mists that flared and faded along the uneven line of battle.

  He turned to Laugreth. “The Gallosians are pushing back the middle of the front line. They’re losing more men than we are—I think—but they keep coming.”

  “When you have superior numbers, you can do that.”

  Then Beltur sensed something else. “Ser! They’re bringing horse along the mudflats.”

  “How far away are they?”

  “No more than two hundred yards. They’re almost upon the first line of foot next to the river.”

  “First Squad, Second Squad, at the ready! Undercaptain Gaermyn to the fore!”

  Just two squads? Beltur wasn’t about to voice the question, instead saying, “The Gallosians are breaking through the middle of the first foot line.”

  “If we don’t stop the mounted attack, the Eleventh won’t be able to hold the flank that long, either.” Laugreth raised his arm, then lowered it, and urged his mount forward, heading west toward the dried mudflats and the river. Once the two squads reached the flats, he looked to the south.

  Even from the saddle, Beltur could barely see over the somewhat higher ground in the middle of the section of ground extending eastward into the water, ground on which foot troopers crouched behind low piles of rock, sand, and earth. He could make out riders still a hundred yards away.

  Beltur wondered if the captain would ask for a concealment, which Beltur didn’t think wise, given the irregularity of the mudflats and the nearness of the river, but Laugreth had obviously thought the same, because he didn’t even ask.

  “Four front!” ordered Laugreth, staying on the mudflats. “Forward!”

  Beltur could see what he thought the captain had in mind—to position the two squads on the south side of the point, with enough space so that they could charge the oncoming Gallosians with what would almost be a flank attack.

  Just past the tip of the point, Laugreth called a halt, most likely because the Gallosian riders were still almost a hundred yards away and because attacking them earlier would minimize the effect of the charge because the two forces would meet head-to-head, rather than having the Second Recon squads charging into both the front and side of the Gallosian force.

  As he waited for the Gallosians to draw closer, Beltur quickly tried to sense what was happening in the middle of the attack, farther to the southeast. He winced, because, while the number of deaths, mostly Gallosian from what he could tell, seemed to be increasing, the Gallosians were moving inexorably forward.

  Time passed so slowly that it felt as though a glass had passed before Laugreth raised his arm, then dropped it. “Charge!”

  Beltur couldn’t help but notice that the captain lagged just slightly, letting Vaertaag and Beltur take the lead. Until he noticed that, Beltur had felt almost selfish in limiting his shields to himself and Slowpoke, but his last battle had made his own limitations all too clear, even if most of Second Recon had no idea of his weaknesses.

  As Slowpoke neared the gray-clad riders, Beltur realized that they all carried small shields as well as blades and wore iron helmets. Heavy mounted! He just held tight with his knees and let Slowpoke plow through the column and partway up the actual bank of the river before turning the gelding and charging back, if at an angle toward the Gallosian lines so that he wouldn’t strike any of the Second Recon rankers.

  At least one Gallosian slashed at Beltur with enough force that Beltur could feel it on his shields, if momentarily, but the shields, propelled by Slowpoke, hit the Gallosian with enough force that the man was unhorsed and flung sideways into the river. Slowpoke went into the water almost knee-deep, and for a moment Beltur was afrai
d the gelding would stumble and go down in the water. Instead, it felt as if Slowpoke almost shrugged his massive shoulders and turned, charging out of the water and knocking two other Gallosians out of the way.

  Not knowing what else to do, Beltur guided the gelding along the shore edge of the mudflats to where the south side of the point began and turned him, looking to see where he might help. All he could make out was a tangle of blue and gray uniforms, but most of those remaining mounted were blue, to Beltur’s surprise. Then the remaining Gallosians broke off the engagement and withdrew.

  “Back to the point! On me!” ordered Laugreth.

  Beltur immediately urged Slowpoke toward the captain, as he glanced back toward where the fighting had been, he saw at least four figures in blue sprawled on the mudflats, two lying partway into the river. There were far more bodies in gray.

  Once the two squads were re-formed on the point, again in the same formation from which they had attacked, with the two officers mounted side by side, Laugreth asked, “What’s happening with the Gallosian attack?”

  “I think Eleventh Foot moved up and reinforced the front line. Almost no one’s dying, and I don’t sense any movement. But the entire Gallosian force is another hundred yards north. There’s no one withdrawing, and there are more troopers moving north behind them.”

  “Then they’re regrouping for another attack. Their mounted likely won’t do that again,” said Laugreth. “Not that way. Now that they know you’re here…”

  “They may not know that,” said Beltur. “I’m order/chaos shielded.”

  “They won’t?”

  Beltur shook his head.

  “I did notice your shields weren’t as broad.”

  “I’m trying to use as little order as possible. I don’t want to collapse in the middle of a fight again. Order/chaos shielding doesn’t take as much effort, and it should make it hard for any of their mages to sense me. They could still see what I’m doing, but they’re not close enough for that yet.” Beltur eased his first water bottle out and finished the last of the ale in it.