Jack Campbell - The Hidden Masters of Marandur

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?”

“This Mage does.”

“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.”