Jack Campbell - The Hidden Masters of Marandur

Alain took a deep breath, looking around and seeing the Alexdrians watching him, hope and fear mingled in their expressions. If Mari were here, I could do this. If I die here, I will not ever make it back to the walls of Dorcastle, and I will never see Mari again.

It happened, as it had before in Ringhmon and in Dorcastle. The thread he sensed connecting them had faded once more, but as Alain thought of Mari he was more aware of it. His feelings for Mari had shown him how to find a place inside where strength could be found even when all strength seemed to be gone. From somewhere, Alain felt that extra strength. Not much, but enough. He used it to draw on the power here, building the heat, making it larger than usual, less focused so it would set more of the bridge afire, feeling himself about to collapse again from the effort, then gazed at the center of the bridge and sent the fire there.

Fire bloomed as the entire central section of the bridge erupted into flame. Alain barely noticed as darkness filled his eyes and his body went limp, dropping to hit the ground hard for at least the third time this night. Though miraculously untouched by Imperial weapons or Mage-sent lightning, he had surely picked up more bruises than he had suffered since his early days as an acolyte.

But once again hands came to him, pulling him up and hoisting him into his saddle and steadied on either side. Alain wavered at the edge of consciousness as the fire roared ever stronger behind them and the faint sound of angry cries came from the Imperial forces. “It’ll take them a long time to get foot soldiers through that gully, and the cavalry will have to ride north a long ways before they can cross,” Flyn told Alain. “We can’t relax, but I believe we will make it, Sir Mage.”

Alain could not even nod in reply.

By the time the sun rose behind them to cover the peaks of the Northern Ramparts before them in a blaze of red-tinged glory, Alain had completely passed out, sagging in the saddle between his two escorts.

It was fully light when he blinked back into awareness. Most of the horses were being walked now, no longer capable of being ridden. A few in slightly better shape were carrying soldiers too badly wounded to walk themselves. All around, soldiers were tramping wearily onward, their eyes on the entrance to the pass into the Northern Ramparts, which lay not far ahead now.

General Flyn came walking back along the column, as apparently inexhaustible as ever. “We’ll leave all the horses at the entrance to the pass,” he called out to his soldiers. “None of them can make the climb after last night.”

One of Alain’s escorts looked stricken. “Will they be slain, sir?”

“Not by us,” Flyn growled. “Let the Imperials have them. I’ll not kill good beasts who’ve ridden their hearts out for us.”

Alain looked up the pass, remembering the trip down it. When had that been? It seemed months, yet it could only have been a day or two ago. The first stage of the pass was fairly steep, normally a tough but manageable climb. But the horses of the fleeing Alexdrians were too worn out to make that journey. They stood, legs splayed, their heaving sides coated with foam, wherever soldiers dropped their reins. Alain wondered how many of the horses would die anyway from the stress of the retreat.

A few of the wagons had made it out of the ambush. Now the wounded within them were being hoisted out and carried by their fellow soldiers as the wagons were overturned and left lying at the foot of the pass.

Flyn got his exhausted soldiers moving up the pass, cursing and cajoling while Alain sat and watched. Finally the general came to Alain and bowed. “Sir Mage, there are times to lead from the front and times to lead from the rear. This is a time for the latter. I need to keep my soldiers moving and I need to command any rear-guard required to hold off Imperial pursuers who get too close.” He gestured to the east, where rising dust warned of the legionaries who were still after the Alexdrians. “You have earned the right to a place of safety in the middle of the column,” Flyn continued, “but you have proven yourself a stout ally. Will you accompany me to help guard the rear of the column, Sir Mage?”

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.”