The Dragons of Dorcastle by Jack Campbell

Mage might do to them if eye contact was made. He might now be walking down a crowded street, but he was still alone.
    A few times Alain noticed girls on the street ahead being hastily shoved through doorways or otherwise removed from where he might see them. He knew the reason for that. The elders had advised him and the other acolytes to satisfy their physical needs on commons, who would not dare to resist. He had never done that and never would, because any thought of it brought to mind the mother he could no longer admit any feelings for.
    She would not have approved. Though he could remember little of her, that impression remained strong.
And I remain her son, though I can never admit that to any other Mage. I could not admit to the Mechanic my reason for not assaulting her. I cannot even admit it to myself
.
    Finally the blank, windowless face of the Mage Hall loomed before him. Only a doorway marred that façade, the one begrudging acknowledgement that a world did exist outside. The massive hall occupied the center of a large lot, wide expanses of gravel separating it from any other structure on all sides.
    Alain knew there would be no lock on the doorway, for who would dare to enter a Mage Hall except a Mage or someone needing their services? Inside, an acolyte sat in meditative stance but yanked herself awake at Alain’s arrival. “Sir Mage.” Her eyes went from his robes to his young face, and it was obvious her training at not showing emotions was being stressed.
    “I am Mage Alain of Ihris,” he said, sensing a dark burden inside now that he had to report his failure. “I have just arrived in Ringhmon. I must report to the elders on the outcome of my contract.”
    “Yes, Sir Mage.” She led the way deeper into the Hall, through dim passages whose coolness was a welcome relief after the bright, scorching heat of the lands around Ringhmon. Bowing him into a room almost bare of furnishings, as were most rooms in the Hall, she left to return to the entrance.
    Despite his well-buried worries about the way his report would be received, still Alain welcomed being safe inside the walls of Ringhmon after spending days on constant lookout for bandits. A middle-aged Mage assigned to receive new arrivals greeted Alain without any meaningless courtesy or trace of suppressed surprise at his youth, and then took down his report. Alain, reciting without outward feeling the destruction of the caravan he had been contracted to protect, found himself grateful that the other Mage did not display any emotion.
    But even the experienced Mage facing him had trouble keeping his expression controlled when Alain laid out his escape with the Mechanic and their journey together through the waste.
    By the time Alain’s report had been completed to the satisfaction of the record keeper, the sun was setting over Ringhmon. Alain picked out a small guest room to sleep in, cleaned up quickly in the cold water offered at the rudimentary bath facilities, then got some food. Unseasoned boiled meat. Plain boiled grain. Bread. A mash of fruits and vegetables using whatever was available. Watered wine. A meal designed to feed the body but not to distract the senses, just like every other meal in a Mage Guild Hall.
    No other Mages took notice of him, but that was to be expected. For any other Mage to greet him without purpose would have been a shocking act. Returning to his room after a silent meal, Alain found that acolytes had already cleaned his robes. Feeling physically drained and disturbed by the tugging of emotions once safely buried deep within him, Alain lay down to his first decent sleep in too many days.
    But though he closed his eyes, his mind stayed awake, perversely dredging up memories long suppressed. He would not think on the separation from his parents, but the first night at the Mage Guild Hall stood out clearly. So many things had changed after that. He had clung to the details until realizing how they were misleading him, but