The Dragons of Dorcastle Read online

  The Dragons of Dorcastle

  Copyright © 2015 by John G. Hemry

  All rights reserved.

  Published as an ebook in 2015 by Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

  Cover art by Dominick Saponaro.

  ISBN 978-1-625671-19-6

  ALSO BY JACK CAMPBELL

  THE PILLARS OF REALITY

  The Dragons of Dorcastle*

  The Hidden Masters of Marandur

  Books 3-6 forthcoming

  THE LOST FLEET

  Dauntless

  Fearless

  Courageous

  Valiant

  Relentless

  Victorious

  THE LOST FLEET: BEYOND THE FRONTIER

  Dreadnaught

  Invincible

  Guardian

  Steadfast

  Leviathan (forthcoming May 2015!)

  THE LOST STARS

  Tarnished Knight

  Perilous Shield

  Imperfect Sword

  PAUL SINCLAIR/JAG IN SPACE

  written as John G. Hemry

  A Just Determination

  Burden of Proof

  Rule of Evidence

  Against All Enemies

  ETHAN STARK

  written as John G. Hemry

  Stark’s War

  Stark’s Command

  Stark’s Crusade

  SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

  Ad Astra*

  Borrowed Time*

  Swords and Saddles*

  STANDALONE NOVELS

  The Last Full Measure

  * available as a Jabberwocky ebook

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Also by Jack Campbell

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter One

  The heat, the dust, the mountains rising ahead were all false, as much illusion as the mirages wavering with the fake promise of water.

  Mage Alain of Ihris focused inward, denying the dry, hot wind which had just flicked a cloud of fine sand off the crest of a dune and dusted it over the caravan. Denying the grit which settled in his eyes. None of it was real.

  Mounted caravan guards rode alongside the open carriage in which Alain sat, their horses plodding with the same weary gait as the oxen pulling the long line of wagons. Those guards were here for the same reason he was, to protect the caravan from the bandits of the Desert Waste, but that in no way made them equals.

  He was a Mage. At seventeen years old he was the youngest Mage in the history of the Mage Guild, but to the common people in the caravan and among the guards, Alain’s age did not matter.

  They did not matter, either, Alain reminded himself. Those other people, like the desert about him, like the carriage in which he rode, were all illusions, mere shadows created by his own mind. Only he was real. Ten years of harsh schooling in the Mage Guild had taught him that he was always alone, no matter how many shadows his mind imagined seeing.

  Alone.

  A memory intruded despite his best efforts: a vision of two graves near Ihris, where the remains of a man and a woman lay buried side by side. His parents had never been real and had never mattered, the Mage Guild had taught. It didn’t matter that his parents had died at the hands of raiders off the Bright Sea after Alain had been taken from them and isolated within a Mage Guild Hall. It didn’t matter that he had not learned of their deaths until a few months ago, when he attained Mage status and could finally leave that Guild Hall.

  It did not matter, Alain told himself, trying to deaden all feeling as he had been taught.

  But the stab of pain the memory brought served as a reminder of what Alain had successfully hidden from his teachers in the Mage Guild. Despite his best efforts to deny all feeling, to see others only as shadows with no value, deep inside emotions still tore at him. All of the Mage Guild’s teachings, all of the elders’ ruthless discipline, had not caused his mother’s last words to fade in Alain’s memory as the Mages took him away. Do not forget us.

  At least there were no other Mages here to detect Alain’s failure, to constantly watch him for signs of weakness.

  There should have been, though.

  This was his first assignment since earning his status as a Mage. He did not know why he had been sent to protect the caravan alone. Normally, two Mages would have been assigned, as some insurance against failure. And even though the Mage Guild saw everything as illusion, the elders had always shown a fondness for gold, real or not. The protection of two Mages cost the common folk twice what one Mage would.

  Alain peered ahead, where the track the caravan had been following for days wound up out of the wastelands and curved toward a pass surrounded by rugged hills. Despite his denial of the dust and the glare, a moment of weakness caused him to wish that he had a pair of the odd headgear some of the caravan guards wore, a sort of bandana with two pieces of dark glass set in it that protected the eyes. But those “goggles” were made by Mechanics, and the Mechanics who claimed the ability to change the world illusion in their own ways were frauds. His elders had never wavered in that. Common folk might be fooled into using and paying for the strange gadgets of the Mechanics, but no Mage would be taken in by their hoaxes. The goggles could not actually work, and as a Mage Alain could not touch them.

  Perhaps the pass would finally bring them out of the blazing desert, or at least provide momentary shade as they passed between the higher ground on either side. Between the glare of the sun hammering down from above and the reflected heat from the ground below, Alain felt like a loaf of bread being baked in an oven. It might be just an illusion, but it was a very warm illusion. Regardless, he had to take no apparent notice of the heat. He had to maintain at all times the stoic indifference of a Mage to physical hardships, no matter what those hardships were.

  That pass, though. He should not remain indifferent to that. A narrow way between looming walls of rock. If bandits did lurk here, they would surely choose such a place for an ambush.

  Alain denied the unease that thought brought to life. He denied any hint of nervousness that he might soon face his first deadly test outside a Mage Guild Hall.

  The commander of the guard rode not far from Alain’s carriage. Alain raised one hand slightly, turning his head just enough to look at the commander.

  Common folk avoided looking directly at Mages, but they knew to respond when a Mage beckoned. Tugging at the reins, the commander brought his horse over to trudge next to Alain’s carriage. The commander pulled down the scarf protecting his nose and mouth, then slid up the goggles covering his eyes so that his face was visible. Only then did he bow as deeply as permitted by his position in the saddle. “Yes, Sir Mage.”

  Alain watched him, knowing that his own expression revealed no feeling at all. Merciless training had taught that skill to the young acolytes of the Mage Guild. But with the ability to hide all feeling came a corresponding proficiency at spotting emotion in others, even when they tried their best to hide it. On those few occasions when he had spoken with the commander before this, the man had revealed beneath an impassive face and respectful tone of voice the usual fear of Mages. Now within the commander’s eyes and voice lurked a greater worry.

  After most of a childhood spent obeying Mage Guild elders in all things, it felt odd to be addressed with so much
respect and fear by a man of the commander’s age. It would have felt awkward, that is, if that were not one more feeling to be denied.

  Gesturing ahead, Alain spoke in a voice with no feeling in it. “We approach a pass.”

  “Yes, Sir Mage.” His voice hoarse, the commander used the back of his hand to wipe his dust coated lips, then raised a leather water flask and drank to clear his throat. “We are entering difficult territory.”

  “More difficult than this waste we have spent so long crossing?”

  The commander hesitated, anxiety flaring in his eyes as he tried to guess what Alain had meant by that comment. “Yes, Sir Mage. The pass threatens worse than heat, thirst, and dust.” He pointed up the road, to where the hills loomed over either side of the pass. “Bandits rarely operate far into the waste, and once beyond those hills there may be patrols out of Ringhmon to help keep the peace. But if we are to be attacked, if there are any brigands out and about, that pass is where they’ll make their try at us. It is called Throat Cut Pass for good reason.”

  He hesitated again, not quite looking at Alain. “Sir Mage, do you know of any…?”

  “No.” Alain let the flat word stand alone. Some Mages did have occasional flashes of foresight warning of what was to come, but never reliably, and he had never felt that gift himself. The elders said that stress or danger could bring foresight to life in a Mage, but Alain would not explain any of that to a common. “Why does Ringhmon not garrison the pass?”

  The commander licked his lips nervously before replying. “A garrison here is too much trouble and expense as far as Ringhmon is concerned, Sir Mage. Keeping a strong garrison supplied out here wouldn’t be cheap, and a small garrison would too likely end up victims to the bandits.” He pointed ahead again. “See that column of stone, Sir Mage? Ringhmon claims its borders out to here, but that’s nonsense. They’re not half so big as they like to pretend.”

  “Ringhmon is over proud.” Alain made it a statement, not a question.

  “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.

  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.