“Do you require anything, Sir Mage?” The question came in a voice that trembled. Alain had a special escort, a young man in new cavalry gear. There had been a time when Alain would not have cared about how the young soldier felt, about the dread Mages inspired in common folk. Alain would not even have deigned to take notice of him, the young soldier and every other person being mere shadows cast on the illusion which was the world.
But Mari would have noticed that young soldier, would have cared about him. She had even noticed and cared about the fate of a young Mage. “I don’t leave anyone behind.” A simple thing. And yet with it she had saved his life and then, unwittingly, began to undo much that long years of very harsh training as an acolyte of the Mage Guild had drilled into Alain.
I will be eighteen years old tomorrow. Master Mechanic Mari is eighteen as well. Will I see her again, as my vision on the wall of Dorcastle foretold? Is she safe, for I know she feared her Guild’s reaction if it learned we had come to know each other? And my own Guild had resolved to kill her if she were to be seen near me again. That is why I knew we had to separate, to ensure that Mari did not die because of me. But what if my own Guild learned of my vision, which foretold Mari would bring a new day to Dematr? If my elders learn of this, they will seek to have Mari killed no matter where she is, for they want change no more than do the leaders of the Mechanics Guild.
Alain became aware that the nervous young soldier was still awaiting his reply. “I require nothing,” Alain answered in the properly emotionless tones of a Mage.
Could even a common soldier sense feelings in him now? Alain had been increasingly certain that other Mages and Elders had noticed the changes in him. Some of them resented Alain for having been declared a Mage at such a young age, and watched for any sign of unfitness. Others had heard that Alain had, unimaginably, actually spoken to a Mechanic in the desert waste east of Ringhmon, and watched for signs of corruption in him. And surely the signs were there, in the feelings he could no longer suppress.
And now the memory of Mari and those feelings caused Alain to look over at the young soldier, to take notice of him. “What do I call you?”
“P’tel, Sir Mage,” the soldier said quickly, wide-eyed with nervousness at being addressed by a Mage. “P’tel of Alexdria.”
“You have ridden against the Empire before?” Alain asked.
The young Alexdrian hesitated. “N-no, Sir Mage.” Then Alain saw defiant pride rise in P’tel, something Alain understood all too well. “I am a soldier of Alexdria. I turned eighteen three weeks ago and was given my shield.”
“You are a soldier of Alexdria,” Alain repeated without feeling, knowing how it felt to be singled out for seeming to be too young. Then he put on his Mage aspect again, trying to ignore all of the commons around him as a Mage should, only vaguely aware of the passage of time.
“Sir Mage?” General Flyn, middle-aged, full-bearded and in command of the Alexdrian force, had brought his horse up to ride near Alain. Unlike the new armor which P’tel wore, Flyn’s cuirass and helm were worn and battered with age and use. “Is there a problem, Sir Mage?”
“Why would there be a problem?” Alain asked in his most emotionless voice.
“Your escort says that you spoke with him. If something is amiss, Sir Mage, I ask that you tell me so that I may deal with it. If you are…not satisfied with your escort, I will assign someone else.”
Alain rode silently for a moment, trying to decide how to reply. “I am satisfied,” he finally said.
General Flyn kept his own expression controlled, but the attempts by commons to hide emotions were child’s play for Mages to see through. He was worried by Alain. That had been obvious from their first meeting. “If—” Flyn began.
“General.” Alain’s voice held neither feeling nor force, but somehow that gave it the power to override other sounds. “Why could your city afford to hire only a single Mage for this expedition?”
Flyn shook his head, looking steadily at Alain. “I must tell you two things, Sir Mage. First, Alexdria is not my city. I am hired by those who seek a capable commander, and Alexdria is the latest such employer. Secondly, the city attempted to hire more than one Mage, but was told by your Guild that only you were available.”
He was not lying. Alain, like all Mages, could easily spot a lie in a common’s voice, eyes and expression.
But Mage elders could say anything and reveal nothing. Lies did not exist for those who did not believe in any truth.
“Sir Mage?”
Alain realized that he had been riding without speaking for a while, considering the implications of what he had just learned. The column of soldiers had reached a stout wooden bridge spanning a gash in the plains, Alain’s horse clattering over it now with a hollow sound of hooves on planks. The channel below the bridge was not a terribly deep gully, not much deeper than a lance-length, but the sides were steep. A fair-sized, shallow stream ran along the bottom of the gully, surrounded by thick brush growing amid the mud of the floodplain. Small as the gully was, crossing it without a bridge would be slow and tedious work.
On the other side of the bridge, the Empire truly began. Instead of wild fields used for grazing herds in the spring and summer, cultivated farmland now spread away on either side of the road.
Alain turned his eyes on the general. Unlike most commons, Flyn met that gaze without flinching. “You go to raid the Empire,” Alain said.
“Yes, Sir Mage.”
Should he say it? A Mage would not. “I know of one whose parents were killed by those who raided.”
Flyn stared at Alain, stunned to hear such a thing from a Mage.
“Do you go to kill those who cannot defend themselves?” Alain asked. His voice carried no feeling. A remarkable thing, given the pain tearing at him at the memory of his own mother and father, who had died while he was confined within a Mage Guild Hall as an acolyte. And now he was supposed to assist those who would do the same?
“No, Sir Mage,” Flyn said, his face darkening with emotion. “Ask any man or woman in this force. I have issued firm orders, the same I give every time. No one shall be harmed unless they attack us. We come to take property, Sir Mage, not to take life. Am I permitted to ask a question?”
His training told Alain to say no. But his elders had sent him out alone and denied that they had done so. “Ask.”
“Why does this matter to a Mage?”
“Nothing matters.” Leave it at that.
“If any soldier under my command commits an atrocity,” Flyn said, each word clearly spoken, “they will be left behind when we depart. They will be left behind hanging from their necks. I have told them so and they believe me, for my reputation tells them I mean it.”
Once again, the general did not lie. Alain felt a weight leaving him. “I will fulfill my contract.”
“Of course, Sir Mage.” Flyn eyed him, clearly wanting to ask more questions, but then caution born of experience with Mages won over, and the general remained silent.
The general rode off to check on other portions of his force as the column kept moving down the road. Alain watched as farmhouses appeared alongside the road, the Alexdrians sending out small groups of cavalry to seize horses. As the raiders rode away, they did not leave the silence of death in their wake. Instead, Alain could see and hear the farmers and their families lamenting their property losses. So far, at least, the general had spoken truly.
The afternoon wore on, the sun sinking toward the wall of mountains behind them. Alain had stood silently by while the general outlined his plan before the expedition began. A march through the night, a strike before dawn overwhelming surprised defenders, a quick looting of the large town, and then an equally quick withdrawal before any elements of the Imperial legion responsible for protecting this area could catch the invaders. Simple enough. If something went amiss, if some part of the Imperial legion was encountered despite all precautions, then Alain was to use his skills to discourage the Imperials.
Alain turned a Mage’s unfeeling gaze on Flyn. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Flyn confessed. “There’s no sign of trouble ahead, no sign that the Imperials know that we’re coming, but I feel uneasy. Do you have the Mage gift to see that which may be, Sir Mage?”
“I do.” Alain looked ahead and shook his head. “I see nothing.”
“Thank you, Sir Mage.”
“You are wel—” Alain bit off the response, the one which Mari had taught him, the one no Mage should know, let alone speak, but he didn’t succeed in stopping himself quickly enough.
Flyn had been in the act of riding off again, but now simply stared at Alain.
What is the matter with me? Alain wondered. It was not just memories of Mari. There was something else. His eyes came to rest on a weapon carried by one of the Alexdrian soldiers, and Alain suddenly knew the answer for his own disquiet. It was a weapon like a crossbow, but without any bow. A weapon Mari had called a rifle. One made by Mechanics.
He remembered dust and death and the sound of many rifles as the caravan he had been tasked to protect had been destroyed. That was it. Memory of fear and failure.
“General,” Alain said, “do the Imperials have many weapons such as that?”
Flyn’s eyes followed Alain’s gesture. “Mechanic weapons, Sir Mage?” The general’s voice was cautious again, worried. Every common knew how Mages felt about Mechanics and their works. “We have a few rifles. Three, to be exact. Like any military force that can afford them.”
“How many do the Imperials have?”
“A full legion will typically have five or ten at the most,” Flyn replied, not trying to hide his bafflement that a Mage was acknowledging the existence of Mechanic-made weaponry.
“Only ten?” Alain felt a sense of reassurance. “I have faced more than twenty.” Why had he told this older man that?
Flyn’s astonishment grew. “Twenty? And you survived? That is most remarkable, Sir Mage.”
Alain had expected the general to show some skepticism, some disbelief in what Alain had said. No Mage elder had ever accepted that Alain had faced such peril and survived it. But Alain felt a need to disabuse Flyn of any exaggerated expectations about him, he who had failed to save many others in the caravan. “Only myself and one other survived. All the others died.”
“Others.” Flyn let the word hang for a moment. “Your pardon, Sir Mage, but it is unusual for a Mage to speak of…others.”
“As it is unusual for a Mage to speak of Mechanic weapons?” Alain asked. He was being reckless. Amazingly reckless to confide in even so small a way with a common. But with Mari he had learned what companionship could be, and since parting from her had missed more and more the ability to speak of things large and small with another who might understand or simply listen. Something in this general, his steadiness and his openness, made Alain want to unburden himself a little. “I have seen what such weapons can do. I have seen what my own weapons can do.”
Flyn nodded, his eyes intent on Alain. “It is an ugly thing.”
“Does it hurt you to kill others, General?”
The question so startled Flyn that he stared wordlessly for a while before he could reply. Then Alain saw understanding dawn on the common’s face as he looked at Alain. “It is a hard thing, Sir Mage, for any man or woman with a conscience. I do what I must, and in the heat of battle the excitement fills me, but afterwards I feel the pain of it.” He paused. “The first time is the hardest. I’ve never forgotten the face of the first man I killed. I was…eighteen at the time.”
Alain nodded. “I was seventeen.”
“When you were facing more than twenty rifles? It is a hard thing, Sir Mage,” Flyn repeated. “A hard thing to remember, a hard thing to face afterwards, for anyone who thinks life has value.” Flyn rode a little closer to Alain, lowering his voice. “I have never met, nor heard of, a Mage who had such concerns. If I did, I would tell that Mage what I tell my young soldiers. They do not believe me, but perhaps a Mage would. I would say that what we do is an ugly business but a necessary one. We keep the Empire off balance, we keep the soldiers of the Free Cities experienced and sharp, and so perhaps we prevent worse things. Preventing something worse, defending something worth defending, helping those who need and deserve such assistance are the only justifications for what we do.”
Flyn jerked his head toward where the young soldier P’tel rode, far away enough that he could not hear their words. “I know that. He doesn’t. He still thinks of glory and excitement, proud of his shiny armor and his new lance and the shield his mother gave him before he rode off with us. The young ones look forward to battle and hope to encounter a legion so they can come home to celebrations, covered in what they see as glory. Not me. If we meet a legion, it means some soldiers like P’tel will die, never to come home to mothers and fathers who sent them off with pride and tears. My job is to get those soldiers home, and I hope you will do your utmost to assist me in that if necessary.”
“You do not wish to fight?” Alain asked.
“No, Sir Mage. My job is to get our mission accomplished while losing as few soldiers as possible. That’s why I do this. Because I’m pretty good at it, good enough that I can usually get the job done while losing as few of my own men and women as can be.”
“Two are more than one,” Alain said, remembering what he and Mari had been able to do together. “I will do all I can to assist you in your work.”
Flyn nodded, no longer distant, but almost reassuring in his attitude. “You’ll do fine. Twenty rifles! Where was that, if I may ask?”
“Far south of here. In the Waste east of Ringhmon.”
“Ringhmon!” Flyn spoke in a disgusted tone. “They wanted to hire me once, but I told their emissaries that from what I knew of Ringhmon no sum of money would be enough.” He paused. “Some interesting events occurred in Ringhmon not too long since. Do you know of them, Sir Mage?”
Alain felt that thing Mari called humor, though he did not let it show. “I was involved.”
“Were you, Sir Mage?” Flyn grinned. “Your Guild slapped Ringhmon with some sanctions, and that on top of—”
“Of?”
“Your pardon, Sir Mage. There were actions taken by others.”
Alain turned a direct look on the general again. “The Mechanics Guild?”
“Yes, if you wish to speak so directly of them. An interdict. Ringhmon can receive no services from that Guild and must pay a large fine when it can raise the money.”
So Mari’s Guild had finally done something. But Alain did not believe that the action was in revenge for what had been done to her by the leaders of Ringhmon. “And the Empire?”
Flyn’s eyes evaluated Alain shrewdly. “They’ve made noises about snapping up Ringhmon while it is in a weakened state, but rumor has it that your Guild, and another Guild, have told the emperor it will not be permitted.”
Alain gazed along the gently rolling fields at the horizon. “The Empire will never be allowed to take Ringhmon, or the Free Cities.”
“Not as long as the Great Guilds rule, no,” the general agreed.
“Nothing must change,” Alain said, his voice flat.
But he wondered if something in his voice or face had betrayed his feelings. Flyn gazed wordlessly back at him before finally nodding once.
Flyn returned to his duties elsewhere, and Alain rode onward with the column as night came on, thinking about the shadows among which he rode. The commons. Mari had said the common people—all those who were not Mages or Mechanics—were like Alain and Mari even though they lacked the skills of members of the Great Guilds. Alain did not want to kill any more commons, but when his Guild elders insisted that Alain take this contract, he could not refuse it. Not simply because no Mage would accept Alain’s reluctance to strike at shadows, which would be an unmistakable sign of just how far he had strayed from wisdom. But also because Alain had been asking for contract work as the weeks wore on, wishing to prove himself and knowing that the elders distrusted his skills and perhaps him.
In the darkness of full night, he imagined Mari riding beside him.
He had sought out some female Mages when he arrived in the region of the Free Cities, seeking distraction from thoughts of and feelings for Master Mechanic Mari. But the female Mages, with the expressionless faces and lifeless voices which were proper in Mages, had no interest in conversation. Nor could he feel any physical desire for them, not when Mari entered his thoughts the moment he touched any other woman.
Midnight passed, the soldiers marching steadily, any talk in the ranks silenced as the weary Alexdrians concentrated on walking or riding. Occasionally Alain would see pairs of cavalry riding past on scouting duty, or the figure of General Flyn accompanied by several other riders.
The quiet and the motion of his horse made Alain so drowsy that he dozed off in the saddle a few times, jerking himself awake when he started to slip. Then he came fully awake, staring at the vision of a burning tower that had appeared beside the road. Though the flames leapt high from the tower, they cast no light upon the road or the fields.
Then it was gone.
Alain twisted in his saddle, seeing his soldier escort P’tel drowsing in the saddle nearby. “Get the general here. Immediately.”
P’tel jerked with surprise and alarm at Alain’s order, then saluted and rode off as fast as he could spur his horse.
A very short time later, two horses came racing down the line of the column, P’tel pulling up well short of the Mage but General Flyn riding up right next to Alain. “Is something amiss, Sir Mage?”
“Is there a tower ahead?” Alain asked. “To the left. A few lances off the road. Square. Wooden. Perhaps the height of four men.”
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