However,this time when she acted he had no choice but to rise and stand near her. If he still allowed himself emotions, Alain would be very unhappy with this Mechanic. Even though he had been surprised that she had kept asking his opinion, he had already become used to it, making her sudden action doubly annoying. As worn out as he was, Alain had no idea what kind of spells he could manage right now, but he felt certain they would not be sufficient to deal with the number of riders he could see. If Mechanic Mari valued his opinion so much, why had she decided to enter into a fight to the death without at least saying something to him beforehand?
She was a Mechanic, so it been foolish of him to expect her to act wisely. But she had seemed to be wiser than to confront so large a threat with her one weapon.
The riders had come to a halt, faces turned toward Alain and the Mechanic. For a moment, the only sound came from the small movements of the horses shifting restlessly on the road. Alain noticed Mechanic Mari’s extended arm wavered noticeably, but her weapon stayed aimed toward the road.
One of the riders dismounted, using slow, cautious motions, and came toward them, his hands held out in the universal symbol of parley.
The rider stopped a few paces from them, staring at the Mechanic. “What do you wish with us, Lady Mechanic?” His robes were well suited to the waste, similar to those the bandits had worn, but this man was unarmed except for a knife at his belt. The man looked over at Alain and jerked in surprise. “And…a Mage?”
Alain took a careful step forward, determined not to reveal his own weakened state. “I am a Mage.”
The riders on the road began muttering among themselves, plainly startled to find such a pair confronting them. The Mechanic made a sweeping gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding her weapon. “I…we require transport to Ringhmon, or to a place where such transport can be found.”
The man before them raised one hand to stroke his beard. “Lady Mechanic, how came you to be here?”
“That is none of your business,” she responded.
The riders would not have heard the fear under her authoritative words, but Alain did. Mechanic Mari was creating an illusion of her own, acting like any other arrogant and high-handed Mechanic. Why had she adopted that illusion?
He understood almost as soon the question formed. Facing these numbers, isolated from the support of her Guild, she sought to dominate these riders to ensure her safety. Seen in that light, the tactic had merit.
But it would be to their own benefit if these riders were alerted to the danger from the bandits. Alain spoke up, keeping any feeling from his voice as he recited events which threatened to bring emotions back to life within him. “The caravan we were traveling in was attacked and destroyed at Throat Cut Pass .”
His emotionless tone of voice made the disaster sound no more consequential than a stop to repair a broken wheel, but the words were clear enough. More murmuring came from the riders, this time sounding alarmed. “Destroyed? Did the caravan have no guards, Sir Mage?” the man in front of them asked.
“It had a complement of guards,” Alain replied. “The bandits who attacked were numerous and had many powerful weapons. Only the Mechanic and I escaped.”
The man’s voice sounded troubled. “We are traders, heading to Ringhmon ourselves from the salt fields which lie near the mountains to the south. We want no part of bandits, yet we cannot afford to return home to avoid them.”
Alain deigned to gesture with one hand. “Give us the transport we require to Ringhmon, and the Mechanic and I will be with you to give you protection. She has her weapon, and I have my spells.” Taking a deliberate risk, he caused heat to form above his hand, the air glowing there in the dark, then cut the spell before the effort could stagger him.
“I mean no disrespect, but I am responsible for the safety of all who follow me, and you ask me to risk them on the word of a Mage?” the man asked, his voice doubtful but also tremulous at having to ask.
“You have the word of a Mechanic,” Mari snapped, her own voice still domineering. “Does that suit you, trader?”
Alain was surprised to see how good the Mechanic was at intimidating people when she tried, and wondered why she had never tried to do that with him. Perhaps she had thought it would not work on a Mage, or perhaps just not on him in particular. But then, he still knew very little about her, and her current behavior revealed that Mechanic Mari could present different fronts to the world. Had he seen the true version these last few days, or an image meant to mislead him? Now that they were once again among others, even though these others were just commons, Alain felt his training about Mechanics, their deceit and the danger they posed, coming once more to the forefront.
The trader bowed deeply toward them. “I am honored to accept the gracious offer of the Lady Mechanic and the Sir Mage. Please, Sir Mage and Lady Mechanic,” he quickly added, changing the precedence in which he mentioned them this time so that each had shared first billing, “be so kind as to allow me to give you transportation to either Ringhmon or such other place short of Ringhmon as you desire.” In the dark, his face couldn’t be seen, but his voice was humble enough.
“We—” Mechanic Mari bit off the words, then spoke again with more deliberation. “I accept your offer.”
“I will accompany you,” Alain said.
There it was. Had she realized it first, or had he? They were no longer “we.” Once again they were separate from each other.
Alain and Mechanic Mari followed the trader as he led them back to the road. Two of the riders dismounted, one giving his horse to Alain and the other to the Mechanic before walking back to hoist themselves onto spare horses without saddles. The Mechanic, her pack weighing her down, eyed the saddle grimly, then heaved herself up and managed to settle herself. Alain, impressed by her obstinate resolve, mounted his own steed. Her determination reflected that of the shadow he had accompanied to this point, so perhaps he had indeed seen her as she was during their time together. Mechanic Mari’s refusal to give in or admit to personal weakness had a Magelike quality to it that he could recognize and accept. Did Mechanics during their training endure the same sort of ordeals that Mages did?
Earlier in the night he could have asked her that, even though such curiosity would have been frowned upon by his elders. But not now. Alain did not think he would speak to any Mechanic ever again.
Even through his fatigue, he felt an odd sense of disappointment as that realization struck home.
The leader of the traders waited until sure they were settled, then urged the column back into motion. Alain’s mount did not need guidance, staying with the group as it plodded along under the night sky. He felt an overwhelming urge to sleep but fought it off, knowing he might fall out of the saddle since he was not accustomed to riding. Alain could see the Mechanic’s head drooping and then jerking up repeatedly as she fought the same battle.
He could endure, though. Alain did not feel pride in that. As with so much else, it simply was what it was, the product of the merciless training he had survived.
The road continued to arrow through the night, the desert beyond still and empty, but Alain could see in his mind’s eye a clear vision of the courtyard at the Mage Guild Hall where he had first been taken to be an acolyte. Children stood in ranks that first day, young Alain among them, shivering in the cold, eyes on the blank wall of one side of the court as the sun rose, peaked, then fell. One by one the children fell, too, dropping from exhaustion as Mages walked among them reciting wisdom. The pain is not real. The cold is not real. You feel nothing. There is nothing but you, and you must overcome and control the illusion which surrounds you.