Alain looked over at the common man, who was not supposed to matter at all, not even supposed to exist at all, feeling a warm glow inside from the respect this general obviously now felt for him. “Yes. I will accompany you.” He managed to get up on his own, suppressing any visible winces as some of his new bruises protested, then walked stiff-legged beside the general, hoping his muscles would loosen up as he traveled.
There was a sense of relief as the soldiers entered the pass, high walls of living rock rising around them as if the mountains themselves were prepared to defend the Alexdrians, but Alain knew the perception was false. If the Imperials had gotten past the ravine quickly enough to catch the escaping Alexdrians, the surviving soldiers would be in dire straits once again. As the retreat continued, climbing higher along the steep slope here, the Alexdrians could look back and see the Imperial forces still heading for the pass. The legionaries had been slowed, but not stopped, and that sight lent a little more strength to the weary limbs of the fugitives.
Flyn allowed the retreating soldiers to stop for brief rests occasionally, then bulled them into motion again. By noon the surface of the pass had leveled out considerably, still climbing but without the leg-burning slope of the earlier stretch. The Alexdrians had reached a point where the twists and turns of the pass no longer allowed them to see back into Imperial territory. Instead of reassurance, this created more fear, since they could no longer see how close their pursuers might be getting.
Alain had become numb by this time. The burning pain in his legs had filled him, then as if too great to endure had faded into a great dull ache. He put one foot before the next, grateful for the tough training of an acolyte. If ever there was a time when the ability to ignore physical stress was needed, it was now.
By mid-afternoon the fleeing force reached a place Alain recalled. Large rocks had long ago fallen from above, blocking one side of the pass but also providing good cover. General Flyn got as far as the rocks, then stopped walking, staring downward with a bleak expression. Alain stopped beside him to see four Alexdrian soldiers, three men and a woman, lying in the shelter of the rocks. The exhausted Mage barely managed to avoid showing a reaction as he saw the terrible wounds the four soldiers had suffered. “What is this?” Flyn asked in a quiet voice.
One of the Alexdrians, who still had two good arms even though his legs had been ruined, pointed at himself and his companions. His face was very pale and drawn, so that to Alain the dying soldier appeared to be half ghostly already. “We won’t live to see another dawn, General, sir,” the soldier rasped in a weak voice. “We know that.”
“I won’t leave wounded behind,” Flyn stated, his voice now rough.
“We’re not abandoned, begging your pardon, General,” the woman mumbled through a bandage covering most of her face. “We’re the rear guard. All volunteers.”
Flyn made as if to speak again.
“Please, sir,” the first soldier said, his voice faltering from weakness. “We’ll be dead by nightfall anyway. I can see my death waiting for me. Let us do something worthwhile with our last hours. We can hold up the Imperial pursuit for a little while. They won’t know how many of us there are, or how bad hurt.” Apparently having used all of his strength to make the speech, the soldier sagged back against the rock.
Flyn looked from soldier to soldier, then over at Alain. “There must be times, Sir Mage, when it is a great comfort not to be able to feel.”
Alain met the general’s gaze, then looked back at the four soldiers, feeling sorrow fill him. “I lost that comfort long before this day,” he whispered.
“Can you give them the means to stay with us, Sir Mage? The means to live through this day?”
“No.” His weariness and the stress of recent events caused Alain to say more, to say things no Mage should tell a common. “It is not a matter of strength or skill. No Mage could save these soldiers. I…wish I could.”
The general shook his head as if in denial, his face worn, then straightened to attention as he addressed the four badly wounded soldiers. “Very well. I can’t deny you a final wish, though my wish is that I could bring you with us.” He gestured to another soldier standing near. “You’ve got a Mechanic rifle. Bring it here.”
The man brought the thing over. It bore a resemblance to the Mechanic weapons that Alain had seen before, but beyond that he could not tell anything. It might have been identical to what Mari had called a “lever-action repeating rifle,” but to Alain it was just another incomprehensible Mechanic device.
“I only have two bullets left for it, General,” the soldier reported.
Flyn took the weapon, holding out a hand for the bullets, then handed the rifle and ammunition to the four soldiers behind the rocks. “This is all I can leave you. That and my prayers and my thanks for your sacrifice.”
The woman among the wounded started to protest. “It’s too much…the cost …keep the rifle.”
“No.” Flyn’s voice was unyielding. “You’ll take this. Fire a shot when you see them coming. Facing a Mechanic weapon will make them pause and fear a strong position. Fire the last shot when no hope remains. That way we’ll know you’ve met them and how long you held them.” He swallowed before speaking again, this time to one of the officers who had stayed by Flyn’s side through the retreat. “Akiko, make sure we have all four names for the wall of heroes. These names are not to be forgotten.” General Flyn saluted stiffly and walked away, not looking back.
Alain followed, though he occasionally glanced behind to see the four. To his surprise, they seemed relieved and fairly relaxed. Why? Where is the fear of death which commons feel? Perhaps it is because they have chosen their fate and know when their suffering will end. It is the best they can do for themselves now. Did seeing so many comrades die aid them in accepting their fate?
Accepting their fate. The phrase echoed in Alain’s mind as he thought about the ambush and the retreat. What was my fate meant to be? How many Mages did the Imperials have to silence the scouts, without the scouts being able to give warning? Six. One for each scout so that all died at once. And the lightning Mage, judging from the position from which he struck, was not one of them. So, seven. Against this the Alexdrians had only me. Against this, the Alexdrians were told only I was available.
And the lightning was aimed at me. Would the Mage have done that without orders from the elders?
Can it be that my Guild intended my death on that field? Have I revealed the changes inside me to such an extent that I was marked for death without even being warned of the need to regain wisdom as the Mage Guild sees it?
Unaware of Alain’s thoughts, Flyn marched along silently for a while, then gave Alain a searching look. “You said no Mage could help those soldiers?”
“No Mage spell can heal. No means has ever been found to do that.”
“But if Mages can alter a person in other ways—”
Alain’s look caused Flyn to stop in mid-sentence. “Have you ever seen such a thing, or have you but heard of it?”
Flyn stared back at Alain. “I’ve only heard of it.”
“If Mages had such a skill, do you not think you would have seen it with your own eyes?” Why was he telling the general that? The Guild elders would be outraged, accusing Alain of treason and folly for betraying the secret that no Mage could directly change another shadow. But bitterness filled Alain as he thought of the many deaths on the field of the ambush, as he considered the treachery which had nearly claimed him on that same field.
The general did not reply for a long moment. “That is surely something that your Guild does not wish known. It encourages commons to believe otherwise. Why are you telling me this, Sir Mage?”
“Because I wanted to help them and I could not.” Alain knew that stress and weariness was bringing emotion into his voice, regret and sorrow, but could not prevent that. “I want you to know that I would have saved them if I could.”
“Help? A Mage knows that word?”
“T
“Why should my opinion of you matter, Sir Mage?” The general’s voice was quiet, questioning, but also full of wonder.
“I do not know. I wish I could ask—” Alain pressed his lips together, trying to control his feelings and failing.
Flyn nodded, not pursuing that broken-off thought. “How old are you, Sir Mage?”
The question did not sting, not coming from this man. “Eighteen, in a few more days.”
“I had a son who would be about your age,” Flyn commented, his eyes distant. “He died of an illness many years ago. I never thought to say this to a Mage, but had he lived I wish he could have grown to be such as you. Do not blame yourself. If there is any fault here, it is mine. Ensuring we did not get surprised was my job.”
“There were many Mages against us,” Alain said. “I cannot be certain how many. Seven, I think.”
“Seven.” The general let the word hang for a moment. “We must have offended the Mage Guild mightily, or the Imperials must have spent more than I ever imagined they would to set us up for that ambush.” His eyes went to Alain.
Alain knew the question that Flyn wanted to ask. “I did not know. I was not told.” Alain prepared himself for the disbelief in Flyn’s eyes, because all commons knew that all Mages lied without the slightest remorse and that the word of a Mage meant nothing, but instead Flyn slowly nodded.
“I do not doubt you, Sir Mage. Not after the risks you ran for us. May I ask, Sir Mage, why you are so different from every other Mage I have encountered or heard of?”
The question should have been shocking coming from a common, but in a brief span of time Alain had shared and survived many things with this man. And Alain was tired, and still overwhelmed by all that happened in the last day. So he gave the simple truth. “I have a friend.”
“A friend?” Flyn paused, then smiled wearily. “That is a powerful thing, Sir Mage. A most unusual thing in a Mage, as well, though you know that better than I do. I hope you survive this day to see him once more.”
Alain could have left it at that, but something moved him to correct the general. “Her.”
“Her?” The general appeared very surprised again, but this time his smile was stronger. “That does explain much, Sir Mage. How does your Guild feel about that?”
“I believe I know, but I am not yet certain.” Through his weariness, Alain imagined that he could feel the thread to Mari again, the insubstantial tie which he had thought long ago broken by distance. He clung to the fantasy for a moment, then let it go, knowing that Mari must still be far, far distant from him, somewhere far to the south where Imperial legions and hostile Mages did not threaten her.
Not much longer after that the retreating Alexdrians came around a bend in the pass, gazing up along a lengthy stretch leading onward, widening a bit into what was almost a valley framed by tall, steep canyon walls. An Alexdrian officer came scrambling back to speak to the general in a voice breathless with fatigue. “Sir, we’ve spotted a rider coming toward us from the far side of the valley.”
Flyn raised his head and squinted as if trying to see from here across the distance to the other side of the valley. “Only one rider, Vasi? You’re certain it’s but one?”
“Yes, General, though the person is too far off to make out any details. We lost sight of the rider when he or she rode into a section of trail screened by rock falls, but whoever it is won’t meet up with us for a little while.”
“Maybe one of our own,” Flyn speculated. “Could it be another Mage?” he asked Alain.
Alain shook his head. “I do not sense another Mage near, though my tiredness makes it harder for me to do so. But Mages would not travel alone through land such as this.”
“Maybe it’s someone coming out from Alexdria to meet us. Doesn’t seem possible that they could be an enemy, not that far ahead of us. Was this rider hurrying?”
Vasi nodded. “As fast as seemed prudent to me across that terrain. Maybe a little faster.”
“Unlikely to be an enemy then. They could just wait for us instead of rushing to contact.” Flyn barked a harsh, bitter laugh. “Let’s hope it’s not a messenger telling us to beware of Imperial ambush. Well, we will meet up soon enough and find out. Even if the rider brings bad news, it’s not likely to be worse than what we’re carrying.”
The retreating column walked on through the mountain valley, the path wending between occasional piles of stones or large boulders which had fallen from the walls of the gorge. Trudging up the slope, they reached a point where the road crested before dipping down for a ways and then rising again. As they paused there, a single shot from a Mechanic rifle rang out from farther down in the pass. After a brief pause, a second shot sounded. Then silence.
Flyn stared back down the pass. “They were supposed to hold off the second shot until they were about to be overwhelmed. How could the Imperials have gotten to them so fast and then overwhelmed them so quickly? If they’re moving that fast they’ll be on us in no time at all.” He shook himself, then jumped into action. “All troops! Form a line here! Behind this crest, where we’ll be sheltered from the projectiles of crossbows and Mechanic weapons!” the general roared. “I don’t care if there’s a full legion coming up that pass, we’ve got the numbers and the guts to hold this line against them and pay them back for what they’ve done to our friends and comrades!”
The Alexdrian soldiers began scrambling into line below the crest. Their few remaining pennants seemed forlorn against the sky, but the Alexdrians faced the oncoming enemy with the determination of despair.
Flyn came up to the Mage again. “Sir Mage, where will you stand?”
Alain gazed around, then pointed to where the road rose again, a long bowshot behind the line being formed by the Alexdrians. “If I stand among your ranks behind that crest, I will not see the approaching enemy in time to prepare spells. If I stand there, I will be able to see the Imperials approaching and strike at them.”
The general shook his head. “They will also be able to shoot at you, Sir Mage, and with no direct sight of my own soldiers at that point you will be their target of choice.”
Alain nodded, feeling a fatalism born of his fatigue from the disastrous night and the long retreat through the pass. “Then that alone may aid your soldiers, even if my spells fail. I am far from being at my best strength. But I will do as much as I am able to manage.”
Flyn bared his teeth. “You are a man, Sir Mage. My soldiers will do all they can as well. Those troops won’t run again, Sir Mage. They’re good, and they’ve got something to prove.”
“Then we will win or die,” Alain said, feeling no bravado, but rather a tired sense that only those options remained. He turned and began walking to the high point. When he was far enough along that he could see over the heads of the Alexdrian line to the place where the pass took a sharp curve, Alain stopped, resting against a nearby rock. Black mist flickered across his vision as he stared down the pass, not the result of tiredness but of foresight trying again to warn of imminent danger. But this time the warning was only a vague one, providing no clear vision.
Alain felt a trembling in the rock beneath his feet, like that he would feel if a large wagon or a column of cavalry were passing close by. But what could have the weight to create such a sensation from such a distance? It was as if a huge creature were approaching…
An emptiness filled him as Alain realized what must be coming, and knew that it was something far deadlier than a mere legion of Imperial soldiers.
A roar echoed and reechoed from the cliffs around them. Alain, barely aware of the great void which had grown where his insides had been, stared down the canyon. He had heard the howl of an enraged dragon before. Eight Mages, then, at least. There is one more test that will tell me for certain why I was sent to face such odds unknowing, but I have little doubt now of what that test will reveal.
General Flyn had obviously heard the roar of a dragon before, too. He was barking commands, steadying his troops, as he gazed back at Alain with an expression which even at this distance was easy to guess. He knew only the Mage could possibly save him and his remaining soldiers. Alain, meeting that pleading gaze, felt his strength and the power around him, and knew that the odds of him succeeding were very small indeed.
Moments later the face of his death appeared at the head of the canyon. Not only a dragon, but a large one, as large as the biggest Alain had ever heard described, at least ten times the height of a tall man. The beast stood upright on two mighty hind legs, its two smaller forearms armed with wicked claws as large as scimitars. Behind it, the dragon’s massive tail helped balance the creature as it ran forward, covering ground rapidly. Its great armored head turned this way and that, the huge eyes seeking prey, as a few strides brought the monster to a point where it could look down upon the frail Alexdrian defensive line. Instead of attacking immediately, though, the dragon swept its head from side to side as if searching, ignoring the Alexdrians who were firing their crossbows at it, sparks winking impotently from the thick, armored scales of the dragon as the projectiles ricocheted off without doing any damage.
The dragon, not having found what it sought, raised its gaze to search the area behind the Alexdrian line, the dark, glittering eyes finally coming to rest on the figure of Alain in his Mage robes.
The creature roared again. Far too big to fly even if it had wings, it used its massive hind legs to propel it forward in a leap that took it over the Alexdrian defensive line, crossbow bolts bouncing off of the dragon’s scales as if they had been sticks thrown by children.
Still ignoring the Alexdrians, the dragon took another leap, landing with an earthshaking thump not far from Alain. Alain looked up at it, knowing what the dragon represented. It was told to seek me. My Guild wants me to die. There can be no doubt. But he stood his ground, knowing that trying to run would be futile, putting everything he had left into the most destructive fireball he could manage, the heat of the spell almost burning his palms as he added to it until it held all of his remaining strength. He aimed at where the weakest point in a dragon’s armor was supposed to be, under one of the forearms. In an instant of time his fireball went from between to his palms to there. The dragon howled with pain as the scales under the arm were scorched and darkened, and that arm flopped into uselessness. But the dragon did not appear otherwise affected, its remaining forearm flexing claws as long as Alain’s arm.
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