The Dragons of Dorcastle by Jack Campbell Page B

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