Jack Campbell - The Hidden Masters of Marandur

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.