As soon as Beltur turned toward the other mage, a chaos-bolt flared toward him. So surprised was Beltur that he barely was able to deflect it into a scattered group of Gallosians.
By the time the next chaos-bolt flew toward him, Beltur was ready and flung it back at the other mage. Then several iron quarrels flew toward the mage, each one impacting his shields, with the resulting fiery explosions ripping through the nearby Gallosian armsmen, who abruptly broke away from the mage. Beltur didn’t want to use the last iron arrow, although he couldn’t have said why, and he urged Slowpoke forward toward the other mage. The mage wheeled his mount and spurred it into a headlong gallop to the south, despite the uneven nature of the ground.
Beltur immediately decided against chasing two white mages single-handedly and turned Slowpoke back toward where the center of the command group had been, then reined up as he realized that there was little he could do as the Eighteenth and Fifteenth Foot were essentially slaughtering the Gallosian troopers who had not been able to withdraw.
“Undercaptain!” shouted someone. “Beltur!”
Beltur had to look around for a moment before he could make out Toeraan in front of some fifteen, possibly twenty naval marines. He urged Slowpoke toward the group, then reined up short of the captain.
“What’s happening with the commander’s forces?” demanded Toeraan. “There’s not much we can add here. The Gallosian commander fled. Or maybe he was killed and his second fled. It doesn’t matter.”
Beltur’s head throbbed slightly as he concentrated. “The Gallosians, I think, are surrounded, but there aren’t that many troopers left between them and the pier channel.”
“I was afraid of that. Let’s see what we can do.” Toeraan signaled and the marines turned their mounts, leaving the Spidlarian foot to finish off the Gallosian reserves, while heading back north toward where the fighting still continued, a melée that was killing a number of troopers every moment, or so it seemed to Beltur from the black death mists that seemed to blanket the air near the pier channel.
Even from almost four hundred yards away, Beltur could see a firebolt arching northward, indicating to Beltur that one of the white mages was still was trying to attack the Spidlarian commander. After a moment, another chaos-bolt flew southeast, as if the other mage was trying to flame his way out of the troopers who surrounded him.
How long has that been going on? How long can Athaal and Lhadoraak hold out? Beltur urged Slowpoke into a faster walk. He didn’t dare move any faster, not with all the bodies and discarded weapons lying everywhere. At the same time, he had to wonder where Waensyn was, and what he was doing, since, if he happened to be protecting Majer Jenklaar, he couldn’t be that far from either of the remaining white mages.
“I’m going to need help if we have to deal with those white mages,” Beltur told Toeraan.
“What do you need?”
“Do you have any crossbows and quarrels left?”
Toeraan glanced back, seeming to count. “Six with crossbows. I don’t know how many quarrels.”
“Once we find the first mage, I’ll need them to aim quarrels at him. Each one that hits his shields will weaken him. That will keep him from doing more damage until I can get close enough.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ve got one ordered iron arrow left. If I can deliver it with enough force…”
“Was that what you did to the one back there?”
“Yes.”
“I thought black mages couldn’t attack. Only defend.”
“I’ve been called a black mongrel,” Beltur replied sardonically, belatedly remembering to take out his water bottle. He didn’t realize that his hands were shaking until he dropped the cork, and nearly the bottle. He took several swallows. After a few moments, he thought his hands were a bit steadier, and he pulled the cork from the empty first bottle and used it on the half-empty third bottle.
As Beltur and the marines neared the rear of Majer Jenklaar’s force, Beltur finally located the nearer white mage, who was less than fifty yards ahead, and using his shields, his mount, and small chaos-bolts to burn his way and that of half a score of mounted Gallosians through the Spidlarian foot. “There he is! The one in gray on the chestnut. The air around him sparkles!” Beltur supposed that was the free chaos and minute embers left from the firebolts. “Don’t fire at him yet. We have to get closer.”
The Spidlarian foot quickly moved out of the way of the oncoming naval marines, but that might not be for the best, Beltur realized, because if he and the marines couldn’t stop the mage, that opening would allow the white a greater chance of escape.
And you don’t want that to happen. Every one that escapes might be back next year … and seeking revenge.
When the white mage noticed the riders heading toward him, he flung a firebolt directly at Beltur, not necessarily because he thought Beltur was a mage, but because Beltur had taken the lead in an effort to stop the mages and to keep the Gallosians from overrunning the command group—and Athaal and Lhadoraak.
Beltur contained the firebolt and flung it back against the white’s shields, where the chaos splattered and then consumed the nearest pair of Gallosians. That scarcely deterred the white wizard, who flared a narrower bolt, again directly at Beltur. Once more Beltur returned the chaos-bolt, but this time, the white did something and the chaos flared harmlessly into the air.
This one’s more powerful and skilled. Beltur grabbed the iron arrow, but decided he needed to be closer. “Have them start firing at him,” he told Toeraan.
“Target the mage on the chestnut! Now!” ordered the marine captain.
The first iron bolt slammed into the mage’s shields, and fire spurted from them.
Both Spidlarians and the remaining mounted Gallosians edged away from the mage as the same thing happened with the second quarrel. And the third and fourth.
Beltur was less than twenty yards away, and he could see that, while those spurts of fire were smaller, they weren’t that much smaller. He kept Slowpoke moving, close enough that he could see the mage’s face, but he didn’t recognize the man.
At that moment, the mage launched what looked like a massive dart of chaos full-force at Beltur.
Beltur could only deflect it into the ground between them, and steam rose in a misty curtain that obscured Beltur’s view of the other mage. Even so, he decided he was close enough. He shrouded the iron arrow with order and order-catapulted it at the other mage.
The other’s shield flared a golden red, then vanished, but the mage remained untouched.
Beltur urged Slowpoke forward. The white turned his mount to avoid the oncoming gelding. Beltur extended his shields to touch the white.
There was a brief scream and a flare of yellowish red … and the mage vanished, leaving the chestnut largely untouched except for a blackened saddle.
Beltur’s shields had held, but his head was aching as he looked back to the west, where he saw yet another chaos-bolt flaring into the ground in front of the command group, turning one shieldman into a momentarily flaring and then charcoaled figure.
Then another wave of chaos seared away more Spidlarian troopers, leaving only a handful of defenders between the white and his escorts and Lhadoraak and Athaal, both mounted and flanking Commander Vaernaak.
Beltur cast his senses around. Where the frig is Waensyn? He could only sense that the other black mage was to the south, and even farther from the command group than Beltur himself was.
Even from more than fifty yards away, Beltur could sense that Lhadoraak’s shields were failing. So could the white mage, because he pressed his mount toward Lhadoraak, a line of chaos in front of him like a lance.
Beltur strained, throwing a containment across fifty yards, capturing and holding that chaos, but unable to do more, trying to hold on as light flashes flickered across his vision, trying to block any chaos from striking Athaal, Lhadoraak, or the commander.
Then, as the white mage continued forward, Athaal
drove his mount forward, putting himself and his shields between the oncoming mage and Lhadoraak and Vaernaak. Athaal’s shields struck those of the chaos-mage, and a sheet of fire flared up—but away from Lhadoraak.
Beltur struggled to keep an order wall on the north side of the containment that held the captured containment, holding it as chaos washed over the mage … and then back over Athaal …
No! Not Athaal …
Blackness rose up and smashed Beltur down.
LXXVI
Chaos washed over Beltur like a river of fire, and just as the pain was so great he would have screamed, had he been able, cold order quenched the heat. But the chill of order soon seeped into his bones, and he would have shivered uncontrollably, had he been able, before the heat of chaos thawed him out, and then the river of fire began to scorch him once more …
“Beltur…”
He thought he recognized the voice … but he couldn’t say just whose voice it might be.
“You need to open your eyes,” the voice insisted.
He did, slowly, except pain lanced through them, and he closed them quickly.
A cool hand touched his forehead, and his forehead and eyes tingled. “Try opening them again.”
Beltur tried once more, gingerly. There were still needles of light pricking at his eyes, but they were bearable. Sitting on a stool beside his bed was Margrena.
“No, I’m not Jessyla. I couldn’t let her do your healing.”
Couldn’t … For a moment, Beltur just didn’t understand.
“You both might have died…”
“Both?”
“That’s a danger when two people are as close as you two are.”
“Close?” When we haven’t even kissed?
“Closeness isn’t just what your bodies do, Beltur.”
Beltur didn’t want to think about that. “What day is it? What happened?”
“It’s eightday. You don’t know what happened? You were there at the end, Lhadoraak said.”
“I know I took out two white mages, but then Commander Vaernaak and Athaal and Lhadoraak were in trouble, and it took forever to get there, and by then…” Beltur winced as he recalled the ball of order and chaos flame that had consumed Athaal and the last white mage … all because Athaal likely hadn’t wanted the young girl he regarded as his niece to be fatherless. “I couldn’t get close enough to do enough, and Athaal put himself in front of Lhadoraak, and then there were order and chaos explosions everywhere. I don’t remember anything after that.”
“I’ll tell you what I know in a moment.” She helped Beltur into a sitting position, half propped against the wall, and handed him a mug. “It’s ale. Drink it.”
He took several small sips, then a swallow.
“Most mages don’t survive two rounds of order depletion. It might help if you didn’t make it a practice. For Jessyla’s sake, if not for yours.”
“Athaal did so much for me … I couldn’t not try.” He found himself half laughing, half crying. “Is that what mongrels do … try to give everything to protect those who take them in?”
“That’s why Jessyla loves you. That’s why Athaal did what he did, for you, for Lhadoraak, for me, for Jessyla. No matter what Cohndar and Waensyn think, some of us are mongrels at heart. Athaal understood that. You don’t think he and Meldryn aren’t mongrels as well?”
After several moments, Beltur stopped shuddering. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Drink some more ale. You don’t want Jessyla to see you like this.”
Beltur took another swallow of ale.
Margrena didn’t say anything.
Neither did Beltur, but he worried about Jessyla. Had she been so order-depleted that they both could have died? Slowly, he drank more ale.
“You only look half-dead now,” said Margrena dryly, rising from the stool. “A few others want to see you. I’ll be back later. And don’t even think about magery.”
Beltur had several more small swallows of ale before another figure stepped into the gloom of the quarters, one he hadn’t expected—Laugreth. “Captain…”
“At ease,” replied Laugreth dryly. “I’ve seen you look worse. I’ve also seen you look a lot better. I thought I’d stop by. Toeraan and the naval marines—what’s left of them—are already on their way down the river to Spidlaria.”
“Down the river?”
“With the Gallosians beaten and skulking back to Fenard, the traders wanted their cargoes protected again. At times, you have to wonder.” An ironic smile crossed Laugreth’s lips, then vanished. “Toeraan told me that you’re most of the reason why we won … if you can call a battle with over two thousand casualties a victory. That’s ours. We didn’t count theirs.”
“They’re gone?”
“They’re gone. They even left their siege engines behind. Good thing they never got close enough to the walls to use them. Even with all those white wizards. They had eight of them. The way we figured it out, you got rid of four of them. Another got hit by lightning.”
“Three … Athaal took out the last one.” Beltur wasn’t about to claim the mage struck down by the lightning bolt.
“The other black, the one who died defending the commander?”
“That was Athaal.”
“You did something to help him, Toeraan said.”
“I tried. I couldn’t do enough. I wasn’t close enough. I just couldn’t get there in time.”
Laugreth straightened. “I always thought you’d make a good officer. I was right. I might see you around. I might not … but if you ever want to be an undercaptain again, let me know.” He nodded, respectfully, then turned.
Beltur just remained propped up on the bed. After all the deaths he’d sensed, remaining an undercaptain was about the last thought on his mind. But the fact that Laugreth had come to see him confirmed Beltur’s feelings about the captain.
Before that long, but after Beltur had finished the last of the ale in the mug, a fine-featured, blond, and very tired-looking black mage appeared.
“Margrena told me you finally roused. We were all worried about you. It just … wouldn’t have been right.”
“It wasn’t right about Athaal.” Beltur tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Neither of you should have been there. That wasn’t something he’d ever say, but it was still true.
“No … it wasn’t. War isn’t fair.”
Life sometimes isn’t fair. But Beltur just nodded.
“I owe my life to you and Athaal.”
“To Athaal. He’s the one who put himself and his shields between you and that white.”
Lhadoraak shook his head. “It took both of you. I could sense the shield you cast that held back all that chaos. Athaal couldn’t have done that. I couldn’t, either. My shields were almost gone after all the chaos-bolts the whites threw at the commander. They just kept coming … and coming.”
“I think that last mage was the strongest.” Beltur wasn’t certain of that, only that the last white had been very strong. But it’s best that he was the strongest. For more than a few reasons, even if Beltur was in no shape to explain why.
“You’re tired. You need to rest.”
“So do you. And take care of Taelya.” Athaal would have wanted that.
Lhadoraak swallowed, then shook his head. “I’ll … I’ll see you later.” He hurried off, as if he didn’t want Beltur to see how he felt.
Just when Beltur was thinking of lying back and dozing off, if he could, another man in blue appeared, in the blue of the Council. It took Beltur a moment to recognize Veroyt.
“I’m here on behalf of Councilor Jhaldrak and the entire Council. The Council wanted you to know how much they appreciated all you and the other black mages did for Spidlar in defeating the Gallosians.”
“Especially Athaal,” Beltur added.
Veroyt nodded. “Lhadoraak said you tried to save him.”
“I couldn’t get there soon enough.” Beltur paused.
“Does Meldryn know?”
“I told him myself. It was quite a blow. They were together more than twenty years.” After a pause, Veroyt added, “He asked how you were. I told him what happened, and that you’d been injured, but were expected to recover.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Veroyt shifted his weight from one boot to the other. “If there’s anything else I can do?”
“Right now, I can’t think of anything. I know where to find you.” Beltur managed a smile he didn’t feel. “Thank you for coming.”
“I was glad to do it.” Veroyt paused. “Now that the fighting’s over, what are you going to do?”
“Go back to smithing cupridium. What else?” What else is there for a mongrel mage?
“That must be interesting.”
Beltur nodded. “It’s good work.” What else can you say?
“Until later.”
Beltur wondered how many others Veroyt had to visit. He didn’t envy the councilor’s assistant.
Did he really want to go back to forging cupridium? He was still musing over that when he heard footsteps and vaguely sensed someone coming.
“I said I’d be back. I brought someone.”
Beltur looked up as Margrena stepped into the makeshift quarters, but his eyes instantly shifted to the red-haired healer with blood on her sleeves, dark circles under her eyes, and a smile meant for him.
In a way, we’re both mongrels.
And that was the way it should be … for once.
TOR BOOKS BY L. E. MODESITT, JR.
THE SAGA OF RECLUCE
The Magic of Recluce
The Towers of the Sunset
The Magic Engineer
The Order War
The Death of Chaos
Fall of Angels
The Mongrel Mage Page 69