Bastion

by Mercedes Lackey

  At least Jakyr wasn’t scornful of his wish to see Amily soon. In fact, he seemed to be going out of his way to accommodate it. They barely stopped for food, pushing hard; although the weather threatened, nothing came of the threat, and nightfall found them forging along a river road, with the river at least a full story below them, at the bottom of a steep and stony bank. Mags was very grateful when Jakyr led the way off that road and onto a little trail; putting a foot wrong would have sent them tumbling down that nasty little cliff into water that could not be much warmer than ice.

  He was even more grateful to see the glow of light through the trees ahead of them almost immediately. By now he was chilled, and the prospect of a warm fire was almost as enticing as the prospect of seeing Amily again.

  When they trotted into a clearing, it looked as if their friends must have been there since early afternoon at the latest, and possibly for a couple of days. Things were very much in order.

  The caravan was pulled up beside what looked like a substantial little stone cottage; there were two horses in a lean-to stable that would easily accommodate four, Lanterns had been left alight outside the stable, and as they rode up to the cottage itself, the door opened.

  A female form was silhouetted against the light from the doorway. “We’ve been expecting you for the last two days,” said a strangely familiar voice. “Were you gorging yourself at inns at the Crown’s expense again?”

  Jakyr nearly tumbled from his saddle in surprise. “Lita?” he gasped.

  “It’s not the Crown Princess,” the (former?) Dean of Bardic Collegium said testily. “Get your friends bedded down and get in here. It’s bloody cold and I’m not holding the door open all night.”

  7

  The Waystation was warm and stoutly built; the stone walls were quite thick, and the windows had bullseye-glass in heavy frames, which didn’t seem to be leaking cold air at all. There was a fine fire going on the hearth, and there was space in front of it for two bedrolls. But the atmosphere within the four walls was decidedly frosty.

  Bear and Lena sat together, with Amily sitting apart. Mags’ happiness at seeing them again was tempered by discovering that Master Bard Lita was going to be the other mentor here. Every time he’d seen Lita and Jakyr together, sharp words had been exchanged. And yet, Lita had to have volunteered for this. Why?

  The other three looked a bit discomfited. Mags decided he wasn’t having any of it. However, he also wasn’t going to directly confront Master Bard Lita, who was probably still head of the Bardic Circle and was definitely still a Master Bard, even if she wasn’t Dean of Bardic Collegium anymore. “I’ll take care of the Companions if you cook, Herald Jakyr,” he said, and before Jakyr could reply, he looked over to Amily and asked, “Want to help?”

  “When have I ever turned down a chance to get my hands on Dallen?” she asked rhetorically, and got up from the box bed on which she had been sitting. There were two of those box beds, with bedrolls in each, and another pair laid out on the floor, so there was no telling what the sleeping arrangements were going to be. Mags decided he’d let Lita and Jakyr sort it out.

  Hopefully they would manage to do so without coming to blows.

  The first thing he did as soon as the door closed on the others was to take Amily into his arms and kiss her as thoroughly as ever he could manage. She wrapped her arms around him under his cloak and held him close, warming him with her body. It was bliss, right up until the wind whipped the cloak away from him and blasted them both with ice.

  She squeaked, and he swore, then they both laughed. “Let’s get this over with, so we can get back in the warm,” Mags said.

  :I second that. I want two blankets, thank you. And we both want a warm mash. Jermayan just told Jak as much.:

  The Companions had already moved into the shelter of the stable, which turned out to be built right at the chimney wall, so some warmth was radiating into the space from the heated stone. Mags got the packs off both Companions and deposited them just inside the door, while Amily took off their bitless bridles, hung both up, and uncinched the saddles. By that time, Mags had gone to the caravan and retrieved the bigger blankets and the rubbing cloths from the storage box on the side that had been helpfully labeled “blankets” in blue paint, and the two of them got the saddles off and into the racks, took off the smaller saddle blankets and draped them over the rails to dry, and rubbed both Companions down before blanketing them cozily. The two horses watched all of this with mild interest.

  These horses were not like the draft horses that Mags was used to seeing, whose shoulders were easily as tall as his head. These fellows were compact, giving an impression of enormous strength, and standing about fifteen hands tall—not small by any means, but not as tall as the great draft horses that pulled the working wagons up at the Palace. They didn’t have feathered feet, but they did have big blocky heads and heavy, almost furry, black and white coats. They were clearly all ready for winter. One of them finally bumped Mags’ shoulder with his nose and whuffled in his hair. He seemed gentle and intelligent. Well, intelligent for a horse.

  :They are intelligent for horses,: Dallen agreed. :They won’t give you any trouble. Rather like big dogs, really. Good-natured. I don’t know who chose them for you, but he or she did a good job.:

  They were tied up to the manger—being tied was necessary for horses, though the Companions could be left loose, of course. They’d already cleaned out their food to the last wisp of hay, though their water buckets were mostly full. And they looked longingly at the fresh hay and measure of grain that Mags was putting in the mangers for the Companions.

  :It’s cold, they could use the energy. It’ll be safe enough to give them another round of hay.:

  No reason not to trust Dallen’s judgment on this. Mags loaded up their mangers again, and the two horses gratefully buried their noses in it.

  “Dallen says Jak’s Companion asked for a warm mash,” he told Amily, as he grabbed a pitchfork to get rid of anything the horses had deposited. The Companions were fastidious about their lodgings and wouldn’t care to step in anything nasty any more than a human would. “Can you see if it’s done yet?”

  She ducked inside and came back out again with two wooden bowls of steaming bran mash. The Companions practically inhaled it, but they’d been putting on a lot of speed today, and they probably needed it. By the time Mags was done cleaning the stabling area, the bowls were licked clean and ready to store. Amily took them and stowed them in one of the outside boxes on the caravan.

  Finally they couldn’t put going back inside off any longer. They looked at each other, sighed a little, held hands and went inside.

  The atmosphere had at least warmed from “frosty” to “formal.” That might have had something to do with the fact that Jakyr was bent assiduously over a three-legged pot on the fire, and the lovely aroma told Mags that he was making that white bean dish again. It’s hard to be nasty to someone who is cooking you something that smells so good that you want to eat the steam coming off the pot.

  The little building was a bit crowded with six people in it, but it wasn’t bad. There was no furniture in here as such; just the two box beds built into the wall, some storage chests that could serve as seating, and storage cupboards. Someone had been doing a bit of arranging of the bedding while Mags and Amily had been outside. There were two sets of two bedrolls at the hearth now, one set on either side of where Jakyr was crouched, and Mags recognized his own bedroll as one of the two to Jakyr’s right.

  So . . . sleeping arrangements sorted. It looked as if Lita and Jak got the bedboxes—which was really only fair, since they were older and probably wouldn’t do as easily on the floor as the younger pairs—and the rest of them got the hearth. The beds weren’t really wide enough for two, anyway. They’d been filled with what looked like bracken, which would be a lot better than resting on hard planks.

  As for those on the floor—there in a pile, as far from the fire as possible, was more bracken. They’d
have to be very careful about banking the fire when they went to bed so that random embers didn’t jump out and set fire to their bedding, but the hearth had been built to accommodate that.

  There wouldn’t be any “canoodling” with Amily with everyone practically on top of everyone else, but that was all right. Well, it wasn’t all right but . . . it wasn’t horrible either.

  And Bear and Lena would be in the same situation, so no reason to feel envious.

  “Anything else we can do?” he asked, looking at Lita.

  “Bear and Lena offered to clean up, and after that I think bed for all of us,” Jakyr said, still assiduously tending his pot and not looking up from it. “It’s been a long day for everyone.”

  “Where are we heading tomorrow?” Mags asked.

  “It’s three days to our Circuit, four to The Bastion, and that’s at a wagon’s pace,” Jakyr replied confidently. “Now that we are officially on our way to our Circuit, we can go back to being ourselves. We can safely stop at inns if you want. I can put us at either inns or Waystations as you prefer.”

  Lita smirked. “You’re always the one that wants to stop at inns.”

  That sounds like a comment that has a long, running history behind it.

  Jakyr finally turned and looked her straight in the eyes. “Hot baths,” he said, succinctly.

  She flushed and looked away.

  “Right, then. Inns it is.” He turned back to his beans.

  • • •

  As Mags and Amily combined their sleeping rolls into one much more comfortable whole, Mags was extremely glad of his powerful Mindspeaking Gift. He hadn’t used it often with Amily, but as the two of them cuddled up together, he projected his words into her mind as gently as possible.

  Is this uncomfortable?

  He sensed her tensing, as she tried to form a reply as clearly as possible so he could read it without getting any “leakage” she didn’t want.

  No. Not used to it, though. It’s . . . odd-feeling.

  He was actually a little surprised at how clearly her words came through, however. Was it possible she had a latent Gift?

  If she did, it would probably only be a matter of time before it stopped being latent if they continued to “talk” like this. Gifts had a way of triggering in that way.

  Hope flared in him at the idea that such a thing might happen. He couldn’t imagine anything better, or more convenient, than being able to talk to Amily without anyone overhearing them.

  Carefully, they “spoke” together. Mostly he wanted her to be reassured, to know how happy he was that she was along on this trip, and that he considered her as brave, clever, and skilled as any of them. He didn’t think Lita was at all likely to have given her any indication to the contrary, or hinted that she was some kind of burden, but he wanted to be sure. The Dean—former Dean—wasn’t always diplomatic when she was under stress; and there was no doubt that traveling with Jakyr was putting her under stress.

  Finally even he was feeling the strain of Mindspeech with someone who wasn’t a Mindspeaker, so he switched to whispers. “When did Dean Lita turn up—and why?” he asked softly.

  “Just before we left—which obviously was after you left. I guess she didn’t want Jakyr to get wind of her plan to go along with us and get Father to veto it,” Amily breathed back. “It was supposed to be Bard Kendiss, not her, but she got herself substituted and swore the Wagonmaster to secrecy. She said she wanted Bard Purchel to get a trial period as Dean to see if he could handle it—he’s the one she’s been training as her successor—and it was going to be easier on him if he didn’t have her breathing down his neck all the time. She comes from a family of drovers, and really, it’s quite true that she was a much better choice to handle the horses than Bard Kendiss. Kendiss knows horses, how to handle them and care for them, and she has had experience driving as well as riding, but she’s never had the experience with wagons that Lita did.”

  “Right, I can see that,” Mags agreed. “But . . .”

  Amily sighed. And a moment later, Mags sensed her thinking hard and opened his mind to her.

  And she also said she was not going to sit back and allow Jakyr to ruin one of the most promising Trainees she’d ever had. And I have no idea what she thought Jakyr was going to do to Lena to ruin her. Neither does Lena, or Bear, but that was what she said.

  That took him entirely aback.

  Oh, was all he could manage.

  “Exactly,” she whispered.

  Well, this was promising to make the next year quite the challenge. Even without all the other complications.

  • • •

  Jakyr was first up in the morning, and making griddle cakes. It was the smell that woke Mags; he’d slept long and hard, as hard as a hibernating bear. Someone had providentially gotten butter to fry them in, and Jakyr had sliced apples into the batter as they fried. Mags was starving, and he thought he had never smelled anything so good. The cakes tasted as good as they smelled.

  Someone among the group had passed away the travel time by weaving hay into holders for food—not so much “plates” as grass napkins. That made cleaning up for Mags and Amily a lot easier; just toss the grass squares into the fire, and it was done. There was nothing to wash; since the cooking pots and pans and griddle for over the fire were all of well-seasoned cast iron, cleaning was a matter of wiping them down thoroughly with more hay, then stowing them.

  Lita went out first, to get the horses ready. By the time Mags and the rest came out with their bedrolls neatly bundled and the cooking gear and supplies to go back into the wagon, she had both horses harnessed. Amily and Lena scrambled up the steps into the wagon after stowing the pots in their outside box, and Bear handed everything up to them before following and pulling the steps up behind himself. It seemed they had gotten things down to a routine so far as Mags could see.

  While he and Jakyr tacked up the Companions, Lita moved the horses into position. By the time he had Dallen saddled and was ready to mount, she had finished the harnessing, working so smoothly and efficiently that it was obvious she had done this so many times it was as second-nature to her as tacking Dallen was to him. What surprised him was something he hadn’t noticed when he’d first seen the caravan. There was room for only one horse between the shafts; the other was harnessed alongside the first, on the right, outside the shafts. When the horses were buckled up, Lita got herself into place behind them and took up the reins. He watched in utter fascination as, with a series of remarkably economical maneuvers, she got the wagon completely turned around and pointed in the right direction.

  Never did the horses seem confused; never did they seem to put a foot wrong. It was almost like a dance, forward while turning, then back, then forward while turning, until the caravan was completely turned around, all in a space that wasn’t much bigger than two of the caravans put end to end. Mags was impressed.

  So was Jakyr. Mags could tell it from his face. He didn’t say anything, though, just gave a hand-gesture to Mags to follow, and skirted around the wagon and onto the path out as soon as Lita was ready.

  Mags had been a little afraid that the horses would just plod along, but their pace was a good, steady, brisk walk. They seemed to enjoy their work and weren’t straining at all. Lita didn’t use the little seat; she sat on the “floor” of the porch with her feet braced against a beam that separated the shafts, both hands full of reins, her Scarlet hooded coat wrapped and tied tightly around her, with the hood snugged down with a Scarlet wool scarf. It was clear that of all of them, she was probably the best prepared next to Jakyr for the trip. In her Scarlets, she was the brightest bit in the landscape; the color of her uniform and the few spots of blue on the Companions’ tack, and the faint pastels of the vines and flowers on the wagon were the only touches of color in all the gray and brown.

  :It isn’t as if she’s never done this before, you know,: Dallen chided him. :She’s more used to living on the road than you are. Before she was a teacher or the Dean, she w
as a Journeyman, and then a Master Bard, and Bards wander. And before that, she was a drover.:

  Jakyr forged on ahead, though he at least had the courtesy to stay within about five lengths of the caravan. Mags asked Dallen to drift back to Lita once they were properly on the road. Fortunately, that river below them was moving along placidly, or the noise of rushing water would have drowned out any attempt at conversation. Even the river was gray, moving along with scarcely a ripple on its surface. There wasn’t much sound other than the clop of the horses’ hooves, the faint chime of the Companions’ feet, and the sounds of the wagon. There was the steady creak of wood, the sound of the metal-rimmed wheels crackling through the layer of dead leaves on the road, and the steady breathing of the horses in time with their pace.

  It was peaceful. Just as peaceful as the slow, ambling pace he and Jakyr had taken on the first leg of their journey. If it hadn’t been so cold, it would have been perfect.

  I better get used to the cold again. There’ll be a lot more of it afore there’s less.

  “Dallen says you was a drover,” Mags said, as he caught Lita’s eye, and she nodded cordially enough to him. “What’s a drover?”

  “A drover is anyone who drives animals,” she said, “Now, that can just mean someone who herds them for long distances, when you take a herd of sheep or cattle or horses to market, for instance. That’s done afoot sometimes, sometimes ahorse. But in my case, it literally meant that I was a driver. My whole family worked as wagon, cart, and caravan drivers over great distances. We were the ones who got trading caravans where they were supposed to go. I used to live in a van like this one, only not nearly as new.” She chuckled. “Six of us, my pa, ma, and me and my three sibs. Two girls in the cupboard bed below, parents in the bed above, two boys in hammocks slung over the benches. I had reins in my hands at the age most farming younglings are toddling after their folks for their first planting.” She raised an eyebrow. “Probably the same age they put you down in that mine.”