The Mongrel Mage

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Were there many deaths in your company?”

  “Almost half the company is either dead or wounded.”

  “That many?” asked Athaal, clearly surprised. “I had no idea.”

  “How can you stand that many deaths?” asked Lhadoraak. “Or don’t you sense them?”

  “Sense them? Every death creates what feels like a cold black mist. That’s how I sense them, anyway.”

  “But you’ve been so much closer to them than I have,” said Lhadoraak.

  “I’ve had to ride at the front to shield others,” replied Beltur. “Trying to stay in position and hold shields against arrows, blades, and chaos-bolts kept me occupied.”

  Athaal laughed softly. “Beltur’s quite sensitive, Lhadoraak. He could likely be a healer. But he’s been forced to be more practical than we have. I suspect that surviving as an orphaned black, raised by a white uncle in Fenard, has had something to do with that.” The black-bearded mage gestured. “If I’m not mistaken, here comes our food.”

  Two rankers arrived with three platters, setting one down in front of each mage. Each platter contained what looked to be mutton slices covered with a cream sauce, accompanied by thoroughly fried lace potatoes, and a small loaf of bread.

  Beltur was glad that the cream sauce had been liberally applied to the mutton, especially given how crusty the lace potatoes looked.

  “It’s a good thing I like mutton,” said Lhadoraak wryly.

  “Does Taelya still like it?” asked Athaal.

  “She likes most foods that are warm. She’ll eat cold meats, but they’re not her favorites.” Lhadoraak smiled. “I told her that Uncle Athaal ate mutton cold, and she asked me how that could be when all the ovens were always hot.”

  “How old is she?” asked Beltur, knowing only the little Athaal had mentioned.

  “She’ll be seven in mid-winter. Tulya and I can’t believe it.”

  Beltur just nodded, since his mouth was full. He was hungrier than he’d realized, and while the lace potatoes were every bit as crusty as he’d suspected, with the cream sauce they were more than palatable.

  “This is definitely not up to Meldryn’s standards,” Lhadoraak said after a time, “but at least it’s hot.”

  For a time, none of the three spoke.

  Finally, Beltur said, “Has the majer or the commander said anything about what might happen tomorrow?”

  “The only time we ever hear anything is at the morning briefing,” replied Lhadoraak. “This morning, Majer Nakken said that he thought the Gallosians might attack tomorrow.”

  “What will you do if they do?”

  “Stay with the commander and shield him,” replied Athaal. “He likes to be close enough to see what’s happening.”

  “So far, the Gallosians haven’t gotten close enough that we were needed,” added Lhadoraak.

  “Let’s hope it stays that way,” replied Beltur.

  “You’ll excuse me if I leave,” said Lhadoraak apologetically as he stood up, “but I told Felsyn that I’d meet him at half before sixth glass.”

  “We won’t hold you,” replied Athaal. “How is he?”

  “He’s not happy. You know why.”

  “I understand Cohndar said his shields weren’t strong enough for him to support a fighting force. I don’t always agree with Cohndar, but I do in his case. There’s little point in losing all Felsyn knows for no gain.”

  “He doesn’t see it that way.”

  “Maybe you can convince him. I couldn’t.”

  “I haven’t been able to so far. I’ll see you both in the morning.” With a nod, Lhadoraak turned and walked out of the mess.

  “What do you think of him?” asked Athaal.

  “He seems cheerful and pleasant enough. I never asked you about how you helped his daughter. I wondered because … well…” Beltur didn’t quite know how to say what he meant tactfully.

  “Because I don’t sense order and chaos in small enough pieces for healing? I don’t. It actually took both me and Grenara.”

  “Jessyla told me she didn’t do healing anymore. Or not often.”

  “That’s because she doesn’t have enough order to do it all the time. What about Lhadoraak? What do you think?”

  “Like I said, he seems nice and good at heart. He’s not that strong a black. Not as strong as you are. You’d never said much about him. You mentioned once you needed to take a present to little Taelya, that you thought of her as the only niece you’d ever have…”

  “Or nephew,” replied Athaal. “Unless, of course, you consort a certain young healer…”

  Beltur found himself blushing. “I don’t know if…”

  “She’ll have you. So will Margrena. Especially now.”

  But what will Cohndar and Waensyn say or do about a mongrel mage consorting such a beautiful redhead? “There’s a small problem with that,” Beltur managed to say dryly. “I don’t seem to be the most fortunate in escaping the Prefect and his arms-mages. Until that’s resolved…”

  “The Gallosians didn’t bring as many whites as you suggested they might have.”

  “How many are there? Do you know?”

  Athaal shook his head. “Not for certain. Anywhere from six to eight. Less the one you managed to kill.”

  “It only took me, rankers with iron-shafted arrows, and an attack by an entire company, and I almost didn’t make it, according to Margrena.”

  “But you did. That’s what’s important.”

  “I still worry.”

  “If the commander’s men can bring enough iron to bear, even the strongest white mage can be brought down … or at least forced to withdraw.”

  “I’d settle for all of them withdrawing.” Beltur kept his voice light, even as he wondered, Would you … after all that’s happened? “But given the way Wyath treated Uncle Kaerylt, they won’t withdraw unless we or the weather force that.” He paused, then asked, “There aren’t any blacks that are weather mages, are there?”

  “There are legends … but I’ve never heard of one who could actually call storms. Years back, when I was a boy, supposedly Norodyn could sometimes call a lightning bolt from a thunderstorm.” Athaal shrugged. “Even that wouldn’t be much use. I don’t see the Gallosians starting a battle in a thunderstorm.” He drained the last of the ale from his mug. “We’d better go. You still could use some sleep … or at least some rest.”

  Beltur wasn’t about to dispute Athaal on that. So he rose from the table. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not too early.” Athaal stood as well.

  Beltur nodded, and the two walked from the mess.

  LXXIII

  A ranker—Beltur didn’t know who—awakened him in the gloom before dawn on threeday. “Majer Waeltur requests you report to the briefing room immediately.”

  Feeling a definite sense of foreboding, Beltur scrambled into his uniform and headed for the briefing room, where he tried to slip inside unnoticed by the officers standing around an oblong table on which a large map was laid out.

  The tall majer, presumably Waeltur, turned and immediately addressed Beltur. “Do you have a mount, Undercaptain?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Good. Have your horse saddled and wait for me with your mount outside the second door as soon as you can. This briefing won’t take long.”

  With that, the majer turned back to the captains around the table.

  Beltur immediately left, stopping by what passed for his quarters and grabbing his water bottles before heading to the mess, where he had them filled and took two loaves of bread. Not exactly the best breakfast. But the majer and events hadn’t left him much choice, and trying to do any sort of extended magery on an empty stomach was worse than foolish.

  He quickly saddled Slowpoke and then walked him outside and to the second door, where a ranker stood, holding another horse. “Is that for Majer Waeltur?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Good. Thank you.” Beltur took a dee
p breath, then took out one of the water bottles and took a long swallow, and ate a large chunk of bread, still warm. He had just taken a second swallow of ale and was about to take another when he saw Waeltur hurry out the door. He corked the water bottle and replaced it in the holder.

  “Mount up, Undercaptain.”

  Beltur did so and brought Slowpoke up alongside the majer as Waeltur urged his mount eastward along the front of the converted warehouse in the darkness. The stars offered some little light, but Beltur was relying far more on sensing than seeing.

  “I understand you mages can shield two or three men against almost anything or a larger group briefly.” The majer did not look at Beltur.

  “Yes, ser. If you’re thinking about chaos-bolts, shielding a larger group would have to be very brief, just long enough to divert it.”

  “The problem we have is that the white wizards keep us on the defensive. Our men can stay behind earthworks so that the whites can’t use their firebolts. Only when the Gallosians attack and engage can our men fight without having large numbers wiped out at once by the white chaos. That means that we can’t advance on them without taking heavy casualties. You and Captain Waensyn seem to be the only mages with shields strong enough to stand up to that chaos. Waensyn is assigned to support Majer Jenklaar.”

  “You’d like to see if we could attack one of the whites, ser?”

  “We won’t be able to stop them if we can’t remove at least a few of their mages. They’re moving most of their foot near the river to take advantage of the mudflats. They saw how effective the Second Reconnaissance Company was on the flats the day before yesterday. That was your company, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Could you lead a foot company the same way?”

  “Not on foot, ser. My mount provides much of the force behind moving the shields and shoving men aside.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. What about leading while mounted?”

  Beltur thought for a moment. “Wouldn’t I stand out and cause more chaos-bolts to be directed at us?” He paused. “I could do it on horseback, if I concealed just myself. That way the men would just look like another group of troopers. Now, they wouldn’t be able to see me, but they could hear me.”

  “Let me think about that, Undercaptain.”

  Less than a third of a glass later, Waeltur and Beltur reined up not all that far from where Second Recon had been posted two days earlier, except several hundred yards closer to Elparta, which suggested that the Gallosians were slowly but steadily advancing toward the city.

  As gray light seeped over the sky from the east, a dull light that suffused the heavy clouds that covered the sky, Beltur couldn’t help but wonder why the Gallosians were attacking if there was a chance of rain. Or do they believe that the rain will hamper us just as much as them … or since they have more armsmen, rain might even favor them?

  In that light, Beltur didn’t know what to think. He just remained in the saddle, holding the reins to the majer’s mount while Waeltur talked to several captains about the movement of various companies, based on what the scouts had reported about the Gallosian buildup.

  Then, some two hundred yards to the south, Beltur both saw and sensed movement, and gray-clad men began to move forward. Before all that long, the clash and interplay of battle, and the accompanying interactions of order and chaos, were increasingly marked by black death mists.

  Beside Beltur, the majer watched, occasionally receiving messages from either riders or rankers on foot, and less frequently dispatching orders or messages. The line of battle didn’t seem to move all that much for a time.

  Then Beltur noticed something. “Majer, the Gallosians are massing a larger force behind the river point.”

  “I can’t see anything there.”

  “I can sense that. It might be as many as three companies.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Half a glass later, a mass of Gallosian troopers swarmed over the rise on the point and began to push the entire right flank of Majer Waeltur’s companies back. While Beltur could sense a white wizard moving forward, amid a squad of riders, the white had not loosed any chaos-bolts.

  “They’re attacking now, ser, and they’ve got a white wizard behind them.”

  “I see that. Why don’t you do something about it?”

  “Is that an order, ser?” Beltur managed to keep his voice even.

  “Yes. Make yourself useful.”

  “Very well, ser. I’ll see what I can do about slowing that attack.” Beltur eased Slowpoke away from the majer, then raised a concealment, making certain that he also shielded himself fully so as not to reveal his presence to the white wizard, before riding to the riverbank and then guiding Slowpoke onto the mudflats.

  He kept moving, looking eastward while steadily moving south toward the advancing Gallosians until he found a squad of foot being gathered by an undercaptain, who said little, and then darted down the line to the east. Something about the situation bothered Beltur and he moved on until he found a squad leader crouched down behind a crude earthworks less than fifty yards from the oncoming Gallosians. Without dropping the concealment, he listened.

  “When those Gallie-bastards come over the top … don’t let them take another cubit … not even a digit. Otherwise they’ll be pushing us back into the water…”

  Beltur dropped the concealment.

  One of the rankers just pointed, and the squad leader turned. “Ah … ser … I didn’t see you.”

  “You weren’t supposed to. How close do the Gallosians have to be for you to engage with them quickly enough that the mage behind them can’t drop a chaos-bolt on you?”

  The squad leader frowned.

  “Just answer me.”

  “Five yards, maybe a little more.”

  Beltur nodded. “All right. I’m going to disappear. I’m still here. You can hear me.” With that he lifted a tight concealment, just around himself. “When the Gallosians are maybe ten yards away I’m going to attack them. The best I can do is knock them down and disrupt their advance. It’s up to you and your men to take care of them after that. If we can breach their attack line, I’ll become visible, and you’re to follow me. I’ll be able to offer some cover and to keep any firebolts off you. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Good. Now we wait.”

  Beltur reached down and patted Slowpoke on the shoulder. Then he took out a chunk of bread and ate it, and followed that with several long swallows of ale, even as he sensed the Gallosians nearing, cutting their way through the Spidarian troopers some fifteen yards in front of the squad he’d commandeered. The squad you think you’ve commandeered.

  “They’re about fifteen yards south of us,” he said to the squad leader.

  At that moment, a chaos-bolt arched from the white mage and splattered some forty yards to the southeast, spraying across a half score Spidlarian troopers who’d been charging toward Gallosians.

  At almost the same time, thunder rumbled out of the north. Since he was within a concealment, Beltur hadn’t seen the lightning flash, but he had the feeling that it had been well north of the fighting, at least a kay … and there was still no rain falling. He didn’t even smell rain, although he could sense, as he had before, order within the clouds overhead and behind him, being confined by clumps of chaos … or perhaps the order was confining the chaos. Either way, there was power there, but the power overhead was still diffuse. He needed far more chaos and far more violent flows or swirls of that chaos before there could be lightning … or before he could even help it along.

  Then the Gallosians burst through the remaining Spidlarian troopers and moved quickly forward. Most had blades and small circular shields, as well as helmets.

  “I’m moving! Stand ready to attack.” Beltur urged Slowpoke forward at what might have been a fast trot and aimed him at an angle to the oncoming Gallosians. Just before he reached the first attacker, he extended his shields. The first three Gallosians
went down without even knowing what had hit them. So did several more, before Beltur turned the gelding and angled back across the attackers. Before long all he could do was have Slowpoke move at a fast walk. Even so, the force of the unseen shields disrupted the attackers enough that the Spidlarian squad was able to cut through the attackers, following Beltur’s unseen lead.

  Then several adjacent squads joined the attack.

  Beltur sensed the chaos-bolt as soon as it left the white mage, and was ready with a containment that catapulted it back into the Gallosians in front of him, widening and deepening the gap in the Gallosian advance.

  A second chaos-bolt followed the first, and, again, Beltur flung it back into the Gallosians, wincing at the massive black mists that followed it, far, far more than the first had occasioned.

  He kept Slowpoke moving, not too fast, because he was working off senses, rather than sight, but still disrupting the Gallosians.

  Then Beltur heard more rumbling across the sky, much closer, and with enough power that he could feel pressure against his shields for a moment. His head ached suddenly, if slightly, and even more when he managed to catch and return the next chaos-bolt, one that was far weaker than the previous one.

  He wondered about that, but only for a moment, when he both heard and felt the rain. He dropped the concealment, to see that what had to be ice-cold sheets of water poured from the overhead clouds, clouds that were almost black, with the chaos within them as violent as he’d ever sensed. In an instant, he was soaked through by water like ice.

  Beltur searched for the white wizard, mostly with his senses, now limited to only a few hundred yards. Should you try it? He smiled grimly. The storm was close enough and low enough that Beltur could sense the cold but slender links of order confining the chaos, and see when they were pushed aside, and the raging chaos departed in a single flash.

  As the next flux of chaos built, Beltur began to ready a special containment, but not so much a containment as an order-bounded tube, similar to the order-bounding within the thunderstorm.

  Just as the storm’s order released that chaos, Beltur order-channeled it down that order-tube toward the white mage. Strong as that mage’s shields were, they were no match for the lightning.