“That is very true, Sir Mage,” the commander stated bluntly, though he seemed surprised that a Mage was showing interest. “I’ve had to sit and listen while they claim that only the might of Ringhmon has served to check the southern advance of the Empire.”
Alain kept his face and voice expressionless, hiding the inner flash of amusement that he felt. “It is the great desert waste that has stopped the armies of the Empire.”
“That is so, Sir Mage.” The commander gestured behind them. “You saw the wreckage we passed on the road days ago. That’s all that’s left of more than one Imperial expedition. Heat and thirst and the dust storms are what has stymied the Empire’s march south. That and the will of the Great Guilds.” The commander’s eyes flared with open fear. “I mean your Guild, of course, Sir Mage. The only truly great Guild.”
Alain did not acknowledge the man’s words or his apology. He had heard references to the “Great Guilds” since leaving Ihris, and had come to realize that the commons were referring to the Mage Guild and the Mechanics Guild. Odd that the commons should believe that the Mechanics had real power, but then the Mechanics, like the Mages, had Guild Halls in every city. Alain's elders had told him that like the Mages, the Mechanics hired their work out to those with the money to pay for it. While at this moment Alain was contracted to this merchant caravan treading a narrow line of neutrality between the Empire and Ringhmon, his next contract might be with the forces of the Empire, and the one after that to the enemies of the Empire. His only loyalty was to the Guild, and all that mattered to the Mage Guild was a client's ability to pay, as long as none of the clients dared to raise a hand against the Guild or failed to heed the wishes of the Guild in any matter. Anyone who tried to attack Mages, whether the minor towns of the Syndari Islands far to the west, the loose-knit cities of the Bakre Confederation in the lands beyond Ringhmon, the forest-bounded cities of the Western Alliance to the northwest, the Free Cities that held the great mountains far to the north, or the old cities of the mighty Empire that ruled the east, would find the Guild's services denied to them, and many Mages offered in the service of their enemies. Mighty the Empire might be among the commons, but even the Emperor had no choice but to do as the Mage Guild demanded.
Only the Mechanics defied the Mages, and they were beneath notice. Or so Alain had been told. The Mechanics believed that they also ruled this world. The idea would have been amusing if Mages ever allowed themselves amusement.
“What numbers and sort of bandits might we encounter?” Alain heard the continued lack of any emotion in his voice with satisfaction. This might be the first time that he had actually faced danger of this kind, but no common would be able to tell that.
The commander lost his fear in the need to offer a careful and correct response. He rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, gazing into the distance. “Not too many nor too well armed, I’d think. Any group of more than a dozen has all it can do just to survive out here. Nor is this area rich with pickings. Caravans such as ours are too infrequent. It’s doubtful that bandits out here can manage any rif— any weapons beyond sword and crossbow.”
Alain bent another impassive look on the commander, who seemed to be sweating more now after almost saying the name of the weapons the Mechanics claimed were so superior. “I can deal with any weapons.”
The commander gulped, plainly trying to find diplomatic words. “Yes, Sir Mage, of course. We have no doubt of that. I will go prepare my guards now, Sir Mage, if you no longer require my presence.”
“Go,” Alain said, his own gaze back on the road ahead of them.
“By your leave, Sir Mage.” Bowing again, a wash of relief visible on his face, the commander urged his horse to a quicker pace, anxious to put distance between himself and Alain. “Bows!” the commander called in a powerful voice that echoed across the empty land. “At ready!”
The chain-mailed guards loosened the straps holding their crossbows to their saddles, pulling back the cords to ready them and setting bolts into place. When that was done, and the crossbows resting across the front of their saddles, the guards also loosened their sabers in their scabbards.
Alain settled back, gazing ahead and feeling the power around him. A Mage never knew until he reached it how much power an area might hold, but Alain had been told to expect that all portions of the wastelands would hold little power to draw on. He wondered if bandits knew this, and if it played in their decisions to favor ambushes in this place. Commons weren’t supposed to know such things, but Alain had been informed that Dark Mages would sell almost any knowledge for a price.
The sluggish pace of the oxen slowed even more as the wagons of the caravan reached the slope and began toiling up the rise. Alain glanced around, trying to appear uninterested even though there was a strange kind of excitement in waiting for a possible battle, a thrill he could not completely suppress at the idea of finally using his talents in a life and death struggle. There was some fear there, too, though he couldn’t tell whether it was fear of failing this test or fear of being harmed. Alain could see no signs of threat ahead, but he noticed all of the caravan guards were scanning the rocks as they held crossbows ready to fire.
Alain kept looking up at the rocks, but as the time went slowly by and the caravan crawled up the road toward the pass he found the glare of the sun bouncing off the bare stone was causing his eyes to water. He looked down, blinking several times to rest his eyes, then started to look up again.
Light flashed off something high up on the wall of the pass. Armor or a weapon, warned Alain’s lessons in the military ways of the commons, but before he could react in any way the earth beneath the front wagons of the caravan erupted in a colossal bloom of dirt and rocks. Alain gaped at the sight, Mage composure seriously rattled, as rocks rained down from the sky and the thunderous sound of the explosion echoed through the pass. He had barely time to realize that the leading parts of the caravan had simply vanished in the explosion, along with the portion of the guard force around them, when the walls of the pass began to ring with repeated crashing sounds, far less massive than the first blast but still loud enough that it was as if a thunderstorm had come to rest around the caravan. Alain blinked again, staring at bright, sudden flashes of light winking into existence among the rocks.
The driver of Alain’s carriage had been staring open mouthed at the crater where the lead wagons of the caravan had once been as he fought to control the panicked oxen pulling it. Now the driver jerked backward as if he had been hit with a crossbow bolt, then flopped forward. All around, Alain could hear people shouting and screaming over the strange thunder, and see dust or splinters spurting up where some sort of projectiles were hitting. Oxen bellowed with terror and pain, dropping to the dust to lie limp in their harness. The guard commander was roaring out orders, his goggled face impossible to read but his voice frantic. Sudden gouts of dust erupted from his clothes, and he fell to lie motionless while his horse stampeded away.
Alain pulled his eyes away from the blood spreading out from the center of his driver’s body. He had to do something. A growing surge of anger and fear channeled into his spell, drawing from and building on the weak reserves of power around him. He held up his right hand, feeling the warmth gathering above it as he willed the existence of heat. The heat I feel is an illusion. I can make that illusion stronger. I can make the heat here, above my hand, so hot that it will melt rock. It is only a temporary change to the world illusion, but that is all I need.
The heat in the air above his palm bloomed into visible brightness, then Alain swung his palm to point it toward a cluster of those winking lights and willed the heat to be there.