Free The Dragons of Dorcastle by Jack Campbell Page B

believe in that. Mages believe in—”
    “Nothing. I know. Thanks anyway.” After resting some more, Mari stood carefully. “All right. I can move.”
    “We have three bottles of water left.”
    Mari felt fear as a far-off thing now, dulled by pain and tiredness and a thirst that the bottle she had drunk had done too little to satisfy. “How long can we make it last?”
    “I think we should each drink another bottle tonight, then split the remaining one tomorrow.”
    At least Mage Alain had stopped asking why she wanted his opinion. “And if we don’t reach a well or some help by tomorrow night?”
    The Mage stared stoically at the ground. “I do not think we have any choice but to risk it.”
    Mari rubbed her eyes, wishing they didn’t feel so dry and gritty. “I never expected to agree with a Mage on anything, but it’s been happening a lot lately. Let’s do what you suggested.” She struggled to her feet, then barely managed to get her pack up and onto her back, the Mage watching impassively until she was done.
    They started walking, saying nothing more. Mari wondered if their mutual silence was just to conserve energy or if the half-companionship of their ordeal was finally coming to its inevitable end. Mages and Mechanics didn’t mix any more than oil and water did. Everybody said that. And yet she knew so little about Mages. Where did they come from? “Mage Alain.”
    “Yes, Master Mechanic Mari.”
    “Were you always a Mage?”
    His reply took a moment. “I served as an acolyte before becoming a Mage.”
    “What I mean is, were you born in a Mage Guild Hall? Were your parents Mages?”
    “No.”
    The single word came out like a slamming door, carrying more emotional force than anything Mari had heard from the Mage before this. “Sorry.” He obviously didn’t want to talk about his parents, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about hers. But something else had been bothering her. “You know what people say about Mages, right? That Mages will do or say anything they want and not care who they hurt?”
    His reply was as impassive as ever. “There is no truth, there are no others to hurt, and pain itself is an illusion.”
    “And you really do believe that?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then why didn’t you walk off while I was asleep, taking all the water? Why didn’t you attack me while I was asleep?”
    The Mage took a long time to reply. “I do not know.”
    “I assume both of those options occurred to you,” Mari pressed.
    In the darkness, she could barely make out the glance he gave her. “I know I could have tried taking the water. I did not consider it a choice I would make. As for the other…” His voice trailed off, then the Mage simply said one word more. “No.”
    “Well, thank you.” That seemed an odd thing to say to someone who had just denied having any thought of physical assault on her, but no other words occurred to Mari. “Were you taught not to do things like that?”
    “I was taught that such actions would have been acceptable.”
    Mari stared at the desert passing beneath her feet. “To be perfectly honest, Sir Mage, so was I. If I came back to my Guild and reported that I had shot a Mage and taken his water so I could survive in the waste, no one would criticize me at all.”
    “My Guild would do the same if I reported having killed you,” Alain replied. After another moment, he spoke slowly. “I was taught that others do not matter and do not exist, but no elder ever told me that Mechanics were taught the same.”
    “In some ways.” It hurt to admit that, but Mari felt she owed it to the Mage to be honest with him. “Other Mechanics count, but common folk and Mages don’t matter. Even though Mechanics think those people are real like us, we’re not supposed to care about their feelings or anything else. They’re just here to do whatever we tell them to do.”
    “But you do not follow your Guild’s teachings? And your Guild accepts this?”
    Mari snorted