He recalled a lesson taught by an elder who rarely punished the acolytes, but rather enforced his will by the strength of his words. The elder had stood before them and spoken of a creature of legend, something whose hands held greater power than those of any Mage. In one hand was the power to create, and in the other the power to destroy. When he had finished, the elder held out both of his hands. “Choose one,” he had called to the acolytes.
“Which hand is which?” one of the wiser acolytes had asked.
“You will know that when you have chosen,” the elder replied.
None of them would choose, and the elder finally lowered his arms and nodded. “You see. We give you wisdom. We give the knowledge that has been gained by Mages and elders before you. If you stray from that knowledge, then in your ignorance of consequences you are standing before that creature. It will offer its hands, and you will have to choose one of them, not knowing whether your choice will destroy you. That is the price of walking an unknown path.”
He had never thought the creature would be in the form of Master Mechanic Mari. Everything he had learned told him that she was dangerous to him, that what she offered was surely the hand of destruction. But as Alain looked out the window, he realized something that had never occurred to him before. That elder had not told him and the other acolytes never to stray from the path they were taught, had not told them never face the choice in the hands of the creature. The elder had instead warned them to consider the consequences. Perhaps destruction. Perhaps something long sought.
Other elders had been much more direct in their warnings. “Male acolytes, beware of the females you will see outside of Guild Halls. They seek your undoing, to take your wisdom from you and lure you into becoming shadows just as they are.”
Mari is taking me from the path of wisdom. I see her and feel…happy. Admit it. I will connect to the false world and to the shadows again, and my spells will dwindle to nothing.
And yet…the thread is still there. I can sense where she is, ahead of me in the Mechanic locomotive. What is that thread? What does it represent?
Do I want a wisdom which would make me cut that thread?
I have not yet been weakened. I have withstood any loss of power. What if it becomes clear that my choice is my powers—my hard-won standing as a Mage—or Mari? Which would I choose then? How could I give up being a Mage?
How could I give up Mari?
As he thought that, Alain realized that his choice had already been made.
If the elders at the Mage Guild Hall in Dorcastle sensed his decision, then Mari would not have a chance to destroy him. His own elders would take care of that very quickly.
The morning was well advanced when the train rounded a bend in the coast and Dorcastle finally came into view. The city occupied the slopes of a river valley rising above the harbor, a valley which was the first real break in the cliffs blocking the southern coast of the Sea of Bakre after the salt marshes north of Ringhmon. Dorcastle rose up from the water in a series of defensive walls which looked impressive even from a distance.
Soon enough they were passing the outer defenses of the city, sentries standing on ballista towers gazing down at the Mechanic train. They arrived surprisingly quickly at the Mechanics’ station in Dorcastle, and the train groaned to a stop, this time with only a faint echo of the screaming of metal on metal.
None of the commons went in the direction of the locomotive, instead heading along a plainly marked route into the city. Alain stayed with them, walking steadily away from the Mechanic train. The thread stayed with him, offering an illicit sense of comfort as it pointed back toward the locomotive. The elders at Ringhmon had not sensed the thread, but that was no guarantee the elders here would not. If they did, he had a series of outwardly accurate but misleading answers for them. Not every lesson an acolyte learned was one intended by the elders.
As the crowd broke apart and dwindled, Alain found an isolated spot and pulled on his Mage robes, not trying to suppress the feeling of calm brought by the familiarity of the robes. It had been surprisingly hard to pretend to be a common. After so much training in hiding his feelings, the need to avoid showing that he was avoiding showing emotions had been amazingly tiring. He spotted another Mage, got directions to the Guild Hall and before the sun had sunk much past noon had reached the place that would hopefully prove a more welcoming sanctuary than the Mage Guild Hall in Ringhmon had been.
The acolyte at the entrance bowed Alain inside. “This one will perform any tasks needed by the Mage.”
Alain paused to look at the acolyte, memories of his own time as an acolyte filling him. How long did it take for them to make you forget what a friend was? Did you ever try to help another acolyte? Do you find comfort only in the wisdom of the Guild, because there is none in the presence of the shadows and illusion which surrounds you? These are not the questions your elders will ever pose, but now they cannot be banished from my mind.
By the time Alain had dumped his now-empty bag in one of the rooms set aside for Mages traveling through the city, he had already received a message to report to the elders of this Hall. Ushered into a small office, Alain could not help feeling relieved that this time he was not being subjected to an Inquiry right off.
The old Mage seated behind her desk waved Alain to a seat with unusual informality. “Greetings, Mage Alain.–Your age has been a source of astonishment to our acolytes. They have been forced to work harder to conceal their emotions.” She showed open amusement for a moment, a Mage’s smile which barely moved the mouth and then vanished, but still it startled Alain. “Mage Alain, have you heard of the troubles our Guild faces in this city?”
“I have heard of dragons,” Alain admitted.
“Yes! Dragons! Behaving as they should not. As they cannot. But if all the world is false, why should not our understanding of our spells prove false on occasion as well?” The old Mage sighed, once again showing emotion. “You will find few Mages here. Except for a few kept on hand in case they are needed to defend the Hall, the rest are scouring likely dragon lairs in the area. Do you know of the means by which Mages can search? Good, good. One so young, I can take nothing for granted. You understand. But so far, all our efforts have been in vain.” She sighed again. “It is frustrating.”
Alain tried not to stare at the old Mage. To speak of feelings like frustration? This elder’s failings must be tolerated because of her experience and past contributions to the Guild. “My understanding is that the search methods should easily find a spell creature as large as a dragon, let alone more than one.”
“Should, yes,” the elder agreed. “Yet we find nothing. No Mage sensed the creation of the dragons, even though such spells should have been apparent to our senses. There is something else at work. We have not discovered what it is, but suspicions are that Dark Mages have foolishly tampered with the wisdom that guides the nature of dragon spells.”
“I did not know that was possible,” Alain said.
“It is not possible. The illusion is perceived to be the same by all, and all must follow the same patterns in working their spells or the spells fail. A dragon can only be a dragon. I have reminded the other elders of this, but still they seek the kind of dragon that cannot be created by any spell. Little wonder they fail,” she grumbled. The old Mage stood and walked with difficulty to a shelf. “If you wish to study, Mage Alain, I have some texts.”