Jack Campbell - The Hidden Masters of Marandur

Alain became aware that the nervous young soldier was still awaiting his reply. “I require nothing,” Alain answered in the properly emotionless tones of a Mage.

Could even a common soldier sense feelings in him now? Alain had been increasingly certain that other Mages and Elders had noticed the changes in him. Some of them resented Alain for having been declared a Mage at such a young age, and watched for any sign of unfitness. Others had heard that Alain had, unimaginably, actually spoken to a Mechanic in the desert waste east of Ringhmon, and watched for signs of corruption in him. And surely the signs were there, in the feelings he could no longer suppress.

And now the memory of Mari and those feelings caused Alain to look over at the young soldier, to take notice of him. “What do I call you?”

“P’tel, Sir Mage,” the soldier said quickly, wide-eyed with nervousness at being addressed by a Mage. “P’tel of Alexdria.”

“You have ridden against the Empire before?” Alain asked.

The young Alexdrian hesitated. “N-no, Sir Mage.” Then Alain saw defiant pride rise in P’tel, something Alain understood all too well. “I am a soldier of Alexdria. I turned eighteen three weeks ago and was given my shield.”

“You are a soldier of Alexdria,” Alain repeated without feeling, knowing how it felt to be singled out for seeming to be too young. Then he put on his Mage aspect again, trying to ignore all of the commons around him as a Mage should, only vaguely aware of the passage of time.

“Sir Mage?” General Flyn, middle-aged, full-bearded and in command of the Alexdrian force, had brought his horse up to ride near Alain. Unlike the new armor which P’tel wore, Flyn’s cuirass and helm were worn and battered with age and use. “Is there a problem, Sir Mage?”

“Why would there be a problem?” Alain asked in his most emotionless voice.

“Your escort says that you spoke with him. If something is amiss, Sir Mage, I ask that you tell me so that I may deal with it. If you are…not satisfied with your escort, I will assign someone else.”

Alain rode silently for a moment, trying to decide how to reply. “I am satisfied,” he finally said.

General Flyn kept his own expression controlled, but the attempts by commons to hide emotions were child’s play for Mages to see through. He was worried by Alain. That had been obvious from their first meeting. “If—” Flyn began.

“General.” Alain’s voice held neither feeling nor force, but somehow that gave it the power to override other sounds. “Why could your city afford to hire only a single Mage for this expedition?”

Flyn shook his head, looking steadily at Alain. “I must tell you two things, Sir Mage. First, Alexdria is not my city. I am hired by those who seek a capable commander, and Alexdria is the latest such employer. Secondly, the city attempted to hire more than one Mage, but was told by your Guild that only you were available.”

He was not lying. Alain, like all Mages, could easily spot a lie in a common’s voice, eyes and expression.

But Mage elders could say anything and reveal nothing. Lies did not exist for those who did not believe in any truth.

“Sir Mage?”

Alain realized that he had been riding without speaking for a while, considering the implications of what he had just learned. The column of soldiers had reached a stout wooden bridge spanning a gash in the plains, Alain’s horse clattering over it now with a hollow sound of hooves on planks. The channel below the bridge was not a terribly deep gully, not much deeper than a lance-length, but the sides were steep. A fair-sized, shallow stream ran along the bottom of the gully, surrounded by thick brush growing amid the mud of the floodplain. Small as the gully was, crossing it without a bridge would be slow and tedious work.

On the other side of the bridge, the Empire truly began. Instead of wild fields used for grazing herds in the spring and summer, cultivated farmland now spread away on either side of the road.

Alain turned his eyes on the general. Unlike most commons, Flyn met that gaze without flinching. “You go to raid the Empire,” Alain said.

“Yes, Sir Mage.”

Should he say it? A Mage would not. “I know of one whose parents were killed by those who raided.”

Flyn stared at Alain, stunned to hear such a thing from a Mage.

“Do you go to kill those who cannot defend themselves?” Alain asked. His voice carried no feeling. A remarkable thing, given the pain tearing at him at the memory of his own mother and father, who had died while he was confined within a Mage Guild Hall as an acolyte. And now he was supposed to assist those who would do the same?

“No, Sir Mage,” Flyn said, his face darkening with emotion. “Ask any man or woman in this force. I have issued firm orders, the same I give every time. No one shall be harmed unless they attack us. We come to take property, Sir Mage, not to take life. Am I permitted to ask a question?”

His training told Alain to say no. But his elders had sent him out alone and denied that they had done so. “Ask.”

“Why does this matter to a Mage?”

“Nothing matters.” Leave it at that.

“If any soldier under my command commits an atrocity,” Flyn said, each word clearly spoken, “they will be left behind when we depart. They will be left behind hanging from their necks. I have told them so and they believe me, for my reputation tells them I mean it.”

Once again, the general did not lie. Alain felt a weight leaving him. “I will fulfill my contract.”

“Of course, Sir Mage.” Flyn eyed him, clearly wanting to ask more questions, but then caution born of experience with Mages won over, and the general remained silent.

The general rode off to check on other portions of his force as the column kept moving down the road. Alain watched as farmhouses appeared alongside the road, the Alexdrians sending out small groups of cavalry to seize horses. As the raiders rode away, they did not leave the silence of death in their wake. Instead, Alain could see and hear the farmers and their families lamenting their property losses. So far, at least, the general had spoken truly.

The afternoon wore on, the sun sinking toward the wall of mountains behind them. Alain had stood silently by while the general outlined his plan before the expedition began. A march through the night, a strike before dawn overwhelming surprised defenders, a quick looting of the large town, and then an equally quick withdrawal before any elements of the Imperial legion responsible for protecting this area could catch the invaders. Simple enough. If something went amiss, if some part of the Imperial legion was encountered despite all precautions, then Alain was to use his skills to discourage the Imperials.

General Flyn returned as the sun finally began to set behind them, casting their shadows far ahead. “Is all well, Sir Mage?”

Alain turned a Mage’s unfeeling gaze on Flyn. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t rightly know,” Flyn confessed. “There’s no sign of trouble ahead, no sign that the Imperials know that we’re coming, but I feel uneasy. Do you have the Mage gift to see that which may be, Sir Mage?”

“I do.” Alain looked ahead and shook his head. “I see nothing.”

“Thank you, Sir Mage.”

“You are wel—” Alain bit off the response, the one which Mari had taught him, the one no Mage should know, let alone speak, but he didn’t succeed in stopping himself quickly enough.

Flyn had been in the act of riding off again, but now simply stared at Alain.

What is the matter with me? Alain wondered. It was not just memories of Mari. There was something else. His eyes came to rest on a weapon carried by one of the Alexdrian soldiers, and Alain suddenly knew the answer for his own disquiet. It was a weapon like a crossbow, but without any bow. A weapon Mari had called a rifle. One made by Mechanics.