The Dragons of Dorcastle
Page 8
Leave her. She is nothing. But as if it were acting on its own, Alain’s hand rose to grasp the horse’s bridle. Then his other hand reached up and stopped at shoulder height, open before the Mechanic.
Staring at him, she swung one leg over the saddle, gripped his offered hand and almost fell anyway as she dismounted.
The Mechanic managed to keep her feet, releasing his hand the instant she could stand without the support.
They looked at each other, Alain very aware of the commons about them. He suspected the Mechanic also felt that. After a long, silent moment, she nodded wordlessly to him, then turned away.
The traders were setting up small triangles of cloth to serve as individual sun screens through the day. As the sky brightened, Alain saw them herding the horses into one area and hobbling them, then herding together the mules from the back of the column, removing from each mule the pack frames carrying slabs of salt. Within a very short time camp had been made.
The lead trader came over to Alain and indicated one of the sun shields. “For you, Sir Mage.” He then offered Alain water, salt and bread. “It is all we have.”
“It is enough,” Alain answered, then watched as the trader went to the Mechanic and showed her to a sun shield on the other side of the camp. The trader had assumed they would not want to be anywhere near each other, and that was indeed how it should be.
How had she made him help her to dismount? Did Mechanics have other powers that did not involve their weapons?
The one great art that escaped Mages was the ability to do something directly to another person. Even though others were shadows, mere illusions, no Mage could change anything in someone else. Alain could heat the air about someone and burn them that way, but he could not heat that person’s body until it exploded. The elders had told him that this was because no Mage had yet achieved a perfect state of understanding that all else was false.
Could the Mechanics do such a thing? Had this Mechanic reached into him and changed him somehow? Surely he would have been warned if Mechanics could do that. Unless this one Mechanic was somehow special…
If she meant him ill, why had she saved his life? Even if Mechanic Mari had been a Mage, Alain was sure he would have been able to detect some measure of deceit in the times they had spoken. Instead, her feelings were always clear to read, even if sometimes impossible to understand. There had been no lies there. Was even she unaware of the powers she possessed to manipulate others?
Nothing could be certain except the need to avoid her from now on. Mechanic Mari…no, he must think of her as just the Mechanic from now on…and they must once again behave as strangers. He must refocus on his training and forget her strange influence.
But as the Mechanic lay down under her sun screen, separated slightly from those of the traders as well as that of the Mage, Alain’s gaze lingered on her for a moment. It was then that he saw something else, a strange image floating directly over the Mechanic so that she seemed a part of the vision. A second sun glowed in the sky there, storm clouds raging against it, seeking to block its rays. The storm surged against the second sun, trying to eclipse it with darkness, the roiling clouds taking the form of armies and mobs of unarmed people clashing, the dead falling in huge numbers. He felt a terrible sense of urgency, as if the vision were calling him to action, but as Alain gazed in disbelief the image faded, leaving only normal sky unmarked by visions and the Mechanic. But an echo of the urgent summons remained.
More foresight? Three times now I have experienced foresight, and each time differently. What does it mean? This time the Mechanic was clearly involved.
The second time, when I heard a warning of danger waiting for her in Ringhmon, she recognized the threat though she would not admit that to me.
At least the first time, my foresight warned of danger to me, not to her.
Except that we were together then. The warning might have been for either of us. But this…this spoke of some greater danger. Something far beyond either her or me.
Why? Who is this girl, this Mechanic? If she is a threat to my powers, then why does my foresight keep speaking for her? Why does it not warn me of her? She saved me, yes, but I am a Mage: her actions mean nothing, she is nothing, she is a shadow. What is this vision calling me to do? Once we reach Ringhmon I will surely never see the Mechanic again.
That thought brought a strange pang to Alain. He did not understand it. All he could do was fall back on his Mage training, to deny anything that might deceive him.
Foresight will lead me astray. This Mechanic will lead me astray. I must reject both.
But he could not shake thoughts of that awful storm from his mind, the sense that it loomed near and held great peril.
* * * *
Four days later the horses and mules of the salt traders finally trudged through the gates of Ringhmon. Alain watched listless crowds of people entering and leaving the city, their faces somehow as faded as the colors of their clothes. The only individuals who appeared fully alive were the gate guards, who stood watch in numbers large enough to protect the grandiose entry from the advance elements of an Imperial legion. Even more unusual, one of them openly displayed a Mechanic weapon, as if that extra intimidation were needed. Alain, who before the attack on the caravan probably would not have noticed the odd weapon, now gave it a side glance, unable to tell if it was the same as the bandit weapon the Mechanic had shown him.
He looked over, seeing the Mechanic dismounting clumsily. She looked his way, their eyes meeting for a moment. They hadn’t exchanged any words since joining the traders, which was how it should be between Mechanic and Mage, and had not even exchanged glances since that first morning. But now, despite his resolve to be quit of her, Alain nodded a wordless farewell, keeping his face blank of emotion as a Mage should, and she nodded back with a similar lack of expression. Then she was turning away and he did the same.
The Mage Guild Hall of Ringhmon lay a fair distance from the caravansary, but after days of riding and being given adequate food and water by the traders, Alain was grateful for the chance to stretch his legs. He walked steadily through Ringhmon, the commons shying away from him to leave a clear path. The commons feared Mages. None of them would knowingly block the progress of any Mage. They averted their faces as well, fearing what a Mage might do to them if eye contact was made. He might now be walking down a crowded street, but he was still alone.
A few times Alain noticed girls on the street ahead being hastily shoved through doorways or otherwise removed from where he might see them. He knew the reason for that. The elders had advised him and the other acolytes to satisfy their physical needs on commons, who would not dare to resist. He had never done that and never would, because any thought of it brought to mind the mother he could no longer admit any feelings for.
She would not have approved. Though he could remember little of her, that impression remained strong. And I remain her son, though I can never admit that to any other Mage. I could not admit to the Mechanic my reason for not assaulting her. I cannot even admit it to myself.
Finally the blank, windowless face of the Mage Hall loomed before him. Only a doorway marred that façade, the one begrudging acknowledgement that a world did exist outside. The massive hall occupied the center of a large lot, wide expanses of gravel separating it from any other structure on all sides.
Alain knew there would be no lock on the doorway, for who would dare to enter a Mage Hall except a Mage or someone needing their services? Inside, an acolyte sat in meditative stance but yanked herself awake at Alain’s arrival. “Sir Mage.” Her eyes went from his robes to his young face, and it was obvious her training at not showing emotions was being stressed.
“I am Mage Alain of Ihris,” he said, sensing a dark burden inside now that he had to report his failure. “I have just arrived in Ringhmon. I must report to the elders on the outcome of my contract.”
“Yes, Sir Mage.” She led the way deeper into the Hall, through dim passages whose coolness
Despite his well-buried worries about the way his report would be received, still Alain welcomed being safe inside the walls of Ringhmon after spending days on constant lookout for bandits. A middle-aged Mage assigned to receive new arrivals greeted Alain without any meaningless courtesy or trace of suppressed surprise at his youth, and then took down his report. Alain, reciting without outward feeling the destruction of the caravan he had been contracted to protect, found himself grateful that the other Mage did not display any emotion.
But even the experienced Mage facing him had trouble keeping his expression controlled when Alain laid out his escape with the Mechanic and their journey together through the waste.
By the time Alain’s report had been completed to the satisfaction of the record keeper, the sun was setting over Ringhmon. Alain picked out a small guest room to sleep in, cleaned up quickly in the cold water offered at the rudimentary bath facilities, then got some food. Unseasoned boiled meat. Plain boiled grain. Bread. A mash of fruits and vegetables using whatever was available. Watered wine. A meal designed to feed the body but not to distract the senses, just like every other meal in a Mage Guild Hall.
No other Mages took notice of him, but that was to be expected. For any other Mage to greet him without purpose would have been a shocking act. Returning to his room after a silent meal, Alain found that acolytes had already cleaned his robes. Feeling physically drained and disturbed by the tugging of emotions once safely buried deep within him, Alain lay down to his first decent sleep in too many days.
But though he closed his eyes, his mind stayed awake, perversely dredging up memories long suppressed. He would not think on the separation from his parents, but the first night at the Mage Guild Hall stood out clearly. So many things had changed after that. He had clung to the details until realizing how they were misleading him, but now they were with him again.
A room full of young children, many of them with eyes red from crying, their clothing replaced by the thin, unadorned robes of acolytes. The children, Alain among them, shivered in the cold room, not yet having learned to ignore physical discomfort. Each child sat or lay on a sleeping pallet which was little more than a threadbare blanket on the stone floor. Next to each pallet rested a loaf of stale bread and a cup of water.
A very pretty girl on the next pallet looked at Alain, trying to force a smile despite the tear-stains on her face. Her blond hair was tangled and uncombed. “At least we know they don’t want us to die,” she had said in a hoarse voice as she picked up her bread. She had brushed some strands of hair from her face, looking very weary. “Did you want to be a Mage?”
“No. Did you?”
“No. We don’t have any choice, though. I have an uncle who is already a Mage. If he could survive this, I can.”
“I’m not sure I will.” Even across the years, Alain could remember the despair which had filled him then.
The girl had forced another smile. “You’ll make it.”
“Thanks.” That was when he had last said that word. “You’ll make it, too.”
“I’m Asha.”
“I’m Alain.”
Two Mages had entered the room then, watching everyone, their presence making every child fall silent even before one of them spoke. “You are alone. Do not speak to shadows.”
The Mages had still been there, watching the shivering, silent acolytes, when Alain finally fell asleep that night.
He and Asha had spoken only a few times after that, growing distant first from fear of the Mage elders and later from knowledge that neither mattered, that nothing was real.
Now Alain kept his eyes closed, but he could still see the acolytes’ room, still recall something of what he had felt that night. The long suppressed memories were troubling him again.
This, too, must be the work of the Mechanic. What had she done to him?
* * * *
As their horses plodded into Ringhmon, Mari studied the Mechanic weapon openly carried by one of the guards they passed, seeing that it was another standard model repeating rifle. The arms workshops in Danalee had found more than one customer in the area of Ringhmon, it seemed. It was unusual for such a valuable weapon to be entrusted to gate guards, leaving Mari wondering who Ringhmon was trying to overawe. From the subdued behavior of the commons using the gate, she guessed they might be the targets of that threatening display.
Mari searched the crowd around the caravansary, hoping to find a representative of the Mechanics Guild Hall of Ringhmon awaiting her. She saw no one, though. She had not had any privacy once they got close to Ringhmon and so had not been able to call ahead using her far talker. Still, she was overdue. Why hadn’t the Guild Hall tried to call her? Why hadn’t they posted anyone here, even an apprentice, to watch incoming travelers and demand any news of the late caravan?
The group of traders clattered to a halt and Mari dismounted, wincing as her muscles protested. Her horse had been docile enough, but days of riding had left Mari wondering if her thighs would ever stop aching. Give me a seat in a locomotive any day.
She glanced across the caravansary and her eyes met those of the Mage. What was he thinking now? No telling. Not her problem, she told herself. But he had saved her life, and even helped her dismount the first morning as if he had known how important it was to her dignity not to fall, so Mari wished him well. She gave the Mage a brief nod, then turned away.
She took leave of the head of the traders, getting his name so that she could arrange payment for him, and received in return directions to the Mechanics Guild Hall. Hoisting her pack into a slightly more comfortable position, she started walking, her Mechanics jacket earning her easy progress through the streets. Citizens of Ringhmon stepped aside to give her room, eyeing Mari nervously and bowing as she passed, radiating resentment yet also acting more servile than commons usually did even in the Empire.
The buildings around her appeared grand enough, if you didn’t look too closely beyond the façades. Mari’s engineering specialty wasn’t architecture or construction, but she knew enough of both fields to judge the buildings around her. All of them boasted features intended to make them look grander, such as dozens of roof angles on a single structure, but the work was shoddy, with cracks and sagging easily visible. Mari wondered why the local Guild Hall hadn’t contracted the design and building of some truly impressive structures. That would have cost Ringhmon more money than these false fronts, though, and that might be all the answer she needed.
The crowds got thicker, so Mari set her jaw and plowed through them, the commons hastily clearing the way and keeping their grumbling just low enough that she couldn’t decipher it. She was used to that. Imperial citizens were particularly good at acting respectfully to the face of the Mechanics, who dictated even to the Emperor. But a quick enough turn would reveal the citizens at your back showing their true feelings.
Mari kept her face impassive so no trace of her own unhappiness could be seen. Mechanics were superior, they could fix and design and build things that the commons couldn’t. They used that power to dominate the commons everywhere. The commons helped, naturally. Whenever one group tried to rise up, another group could always be found willing to fight against them in exchange for some brief advantage. Hand out fifty rifles or so and enough ammunition, let the commons kill each other, and the Mechanics Guild remained in control. Since the Mechanics Guild liked that arrangement, it did everything it could to make sure nothing changed.
Century after century, the world kept unchanging.
If you were a Mechanic, if you were a cynic, if you liked that power, it was a great system.
Sweating in the heat, Mari paused at the top of a hill to catch her breath and gazed backwards to see the view. The afternoon was well along, the sun sinking toward a dust-hazed horizon that brought out a glory of red hues in the sky. Under that display, the “great” city of Ringhmon didn’t look quite as seedy. Far off, Mari could just make out the shape of a Mechanic locomotive belching smoke as it pulled into the city, coming from the west along the ancient rail line running to the Bakre Confederation. For a moment she wished she was on that locomotive, that she had never gone to the Guild academy but had just become a regular Mechanic on steam powered equipment. That she never noticed the looks on the faces of the commons when they didn’t think a Mechanic could see them. That she didn’t question the way things were and had always been.
That would have meant giving up, though, settling for less than her heart told her she should aim for.
Turning to continue on toward the Guild Hall, Mari froze in her tracks. A small group of riders wearing frighteningly familiar garments was riding up the street, their horses and clothes coated with dust. One of the riders carried a repeating rifle. Another was in the act of turning to look her way.
Chapter Six
Her heart pounding, Mari spun on one heel and dodged into the nearest shop. A few citizens of Ringhmon browsing among the racks of clothing pretended to be engrossed in their shopping as the owner came bustling up and bowed. “How may I help you, honored Lady Mechanic?”
Mari calmed herself before answering. “I just came in for a moment to get out of the sun.”
The owner backed away, head down to hide his expression. Mari turned and gazed out the small front window of the shop, searching for the bandits in the crowded street. Seeing nothing, she reached under her jacket toward her pistol, then cautiously edged to the door again.
The street held no sign of dusty riders now. Mari scowled around her while the passing commons tried to ignore a plainly unhappy Mechanic. Turning, Mari walked back into the shop. “Do you have a private room in the back?” she demanded as the owner hastened up again.
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