The fireball didn’t really fly to its target, though that was what common people always thought they had seen. He had the illusion of heat here, and he could put that illusion somewhere else. In an instant, it went from being near Alain’s hand to being at the place he had aimed it. The superheated ball of air appeared at its target and rocks flew in all directions while a different kind of thunder filled the pass.
The attack on the caravan paused for only a moment, as if shocked, then resumed with even more fury than before. Alain, seeing no signs of attack from the place where his first fireball had landed, gathered another ball of heat to him. A moment later, a second big explosion marked the destruction of another nest of bandits.
Wood splintered around Alain. It took him a moment to realize that the bandits must now be trying to kill him. A moment’s fear was submerged by his training as he jumped down from the wagon and willed another spell into being, making light bend and curve around him. He looked down, seeing himself waver and then vanish from sight.
That done, Alain paused to seek more targets. Another guard screamed and dropped nearby, causing Alain’s concentration to falter. He stared at the dead guard, then all around. He could no longer see any caravan guards still fighting, just bodies lying in the dust. A couple of wagons lay on their sides, overturned when their teams panicked. One of the drivers was still fleeing on foot, but jerked and fell as Alain watched.
Am I the last? Dust flew in spurts all around him, telling Alain that the attackers were hurling their projectiles at where they thought he was. His stomach tight with fear, Alain focused on his spells again with a great effort. If I am to survive this, if I am to save anyone left alive in this caravan, I have to keep fighting.
Calling up power, Alain created fireball after fireball, placing them on the heights above the caravan. A series of explosions shattered ancient stone to cascade onto the attackers. His barrage finally caused the onslaught to falter. Clouds of dust rolled down,covering the area of the caravan and blocking Alain’s view of the devastation around him as well as the walls of the pass where the bandits were positioned.
Alain stopped, his breathing heavy and sweat covering his body. He looked down to see his hand trembling with exhaustion, and realized that he had so depleted his strength that the protection spell had failed. A foolish error worthy of an acolyte. Until he rested a little he would not be able to defend either himself or the caravan. Even then, almost no power remained here to draw on. Under his robes he carried one of the long knives Mages bore, but that would be of little use against whatever weapons these bandits were wielding.
Not that defending the caravan seemed to matter any longer. The attack continued from the front and sides, the bandits hurling death blindly into the haze of dust. More and more crossbow bolts thudded home into the dirt or the sides of wagons, as if the ambushers were running low on the deadlier, unseen projectiles. But Alain could hear no movement nearby, or sounds of any guard returning the fire.
Alain staggered back, spent from his spell work but trying to reach the wagons in the rear. Perhaps some guards still survived there. His own flurry of attacks might keep the bandits from advancing for at least a few moments longer, giving time to muster some other defense.
He stumbled through the slowly falling clouds of dust past several more wagons, all abandoned or with their former occupants dead. Tired and scared, Alain could hear his Guild elders lecturing him that a Mage must not show weakness, must not show human frailty. Alain repeated the lessons to himself, trying to block out the thunder of the bandits’ weapons, taking long, calming breaths while he attempted to deny any feelings of fear.
But along with the fear he could not totally eliminate, one thought kept intruding. What other weapons were the bandits using? The thunderous weapons which had wiped out the guards were not crossbows. They were far deadlier.
He reached one of the last wagons, a large one with barred windows whose door had been kept locked since the caravan had left on its journey. Alain had not mingled with the other members of the caravan, of course, since all were commons, but he had overheard some speculation about the occupant of this wagon possibly being a spoiled Imperial lady who had remained unseen throughout the journey. If so, and if the lady still survived, he might still be able to do something for someone.
Alain came around the side and saw that the wagon door sagged open. How could the bandits have reached it before he did? Forgetting caution and weariness for a moment, the Mage rushed forward to look inside the wagon.
A figure rose up before him, holding something in one hand that glinted dully in the dust filtered sunlight. Alain checked his own lifted hand and the two stared at each other for a long moment. A Mechanic?
There could be no doubt. Even in the scorching heat of the waste the woman wore the dark jacket which marked the members of the Mechanics Guild as surely as Alain’s robes marked his own. Unlike the garments of the Mage Guild, though, which bore symbols and ornaments to mark their ranks and special skills in a form only other Mages could read, the jackets of the Mechanics were aggressively plain, just leather stained dark. Those unadorned jackets sent a message to everyone that Mechanics thought themselves so important that they did not need to impress with their clothing or show any visible sign of rank. Her trousers were also plain, though made of tough and high quality material, and her boots dark leather like her jacket.
It took Alain a moment to overcome his shock, then look past the raven black hair cut short so it fell just to her shoulders and the frightened, angry expression, to see that the Mechanic was about his own age.. Her youth startled him, but then it surely would not take the Mechanics that long to teach even elaborate tricks to their members.
“What are you doing here, Mage?” the Mechanic demanded, pointing the object in her hand at his face. That thing she carried had no blade, nor any visible bolt like a crossbow, instead looking like an oddly shaped piece of metal with a hole in the end facing Alain. But the way the Mechanic held it made clear it was a weapon of some kind. “I’ve seen you occasionally during the journey, so I know you’re not among the attackers. Otherwise you’d already be dead!”
He could hear the fear in her voice, barely concealed beneath the bravado of her words.
“I am charged with protecting this caravan!” Alain yelled back over the crash of the bandit weapons.
“They depended on a Mage for protection?” she shouted. “What was the caravan master thinking? Who’s attacking us?”
Under normal conditions Alain would have turned his back on her, adopting a Mage’s lack of interest in anyone and anything in this world. Under normal conditions he would not speak with a Mechanic at all. But he was badly enough rattled that Alain answered instead. “Bandits, the guard commander said. He said there would be only a few, and poorly armed.”
“Bandits!” The Mechanic shook her head, eyes wild. “Impossible. There are dozens of rifles firing on us. No bandit gang could afford those.”
“Rifles?” Mechanic weapons?
“Yes.” The Mechanic held up the thing in her hand. “Like this pistol, but bigger and longer ranged. Where are the caravan guards?”
“Either dead or fled. I believe most have died. I found no one alive until you.” He had spent years being told of the evil nature of Mechanics, and wondered for just a moment if Mechanics were behind this attack. But the fear in the eyes of this female was real.
Alain realized suddenly that the thunder of the Mechanic weapons had fallen off a great deal and the thump of crossbow bolts had also subsided. He stared toward the front of the caravan. “The bandits must be advancing.”