Redoubt

by Mercedes Lackey

  He felt the wagon move as first one, then the other man left the driving box.

  But his hopes were dashed when he saw their shadows cast on the canvas by the sun coming around to the rear.

  The canvas at the rear was untied, and the first assassin stood at the back, beckoning to him. In one hand was a small crossbow.

  “Come out, and take care of your needs,” the man said brusquely. “Then we will eat and drink.”

  With clanking and clattering, he clambered awkwardly out of the back of the wagon and followed the man’s directions. It appeared that they were on a steep mountain path just wide enough for the wagon. There was a much wider spot here, and they’d pulled the wagon off to the side into it. The horses looked exhausted, as well they might, since they had been traveling all night. The second man was unharnessing them, so it appeared they were going to be here for a little while, anyway.

  Taking care of his business over the edge of the cliff wasn’t the easiest thing under the watchful eye and crossbow of his captor . . .

  It appeared that the wide spot in the road wasn’t the only reason for making a pause here. When he came around between the wagon and the cliff face, he discovered the second man filling up a pan from a threadlike spring, and at the first man’s nod, he made use of the trickle of water himself, cleaning hands first, and then face and neck, then getting a drink. The water was icy cold and made his teeth chatter, but it felt better to be a little cleaner.

  The second man had already started a fire and was making . . .

  Mags saw with a sinking feeling, that he was making some sort of herbal concoction.

  “Sit,” the first man ordered.

  Obediently, he sat down next to the fire.

  “It is time for you to learn who you truly are,” the first man said solemnly, taking him entirely by surprise, because this was certainly not what he had expected the man to say. “You were born in the North, but your blood is of the South. Your home, your people, are in a land the Northerners do not even have on their maps.” The man peered at him intently. “You know this to be true. You have felt it. You have felt your blood calling to you from your homeland!”

  Mags stared at him, unable to think of anything coherent to say.

  “Look at me!” the man continued, and gestured at his partner. “Look at Levor! Then look in the mirror! Our eyes are your eyes! Our hair is your hair! The very shape of nose, chin, brow—yours!”

  Mags had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping.

  “This is why we took you from those pallid Northerners,” the man continued, as Levor nodded solemnly. “The Shadao has been searching for you—or for your parents—since before you were born. Never would we have thought they would have traveled so far, but when our people came here, following the old trail through the signs and shadows, and the sun-dogs offered us a contract, it was thought, why not? So we sent the disposable, the expendable, for gold is gold, and it is difficult and costly to search so far from home. And lo! The expendable died, but in the dying, they found you!”

  The man paused, evidently expecting some sort of response out of Mags.

  “Uh . . . the ambassadors?” he hazarded.

  The man laughed. “Not those fools! They could not even see what was beneath their very noses! No, it was the hunter-killer that came with them. He saw you, and though he was half mad, he knew you for what you were!”

  The memory hit him like a club.

  Mags motioned to the others to put their heads together with him. Carefully, Mags thought his directions into the heads of the Guardsmen as hard as he could, staring into their eyes. All four of them nodded slowly. The redhead pointed at Mags, and mouthed the word “bait.” Relieved, Mags nodded.

  :Tell them the weapons might be poisoned,: Dallen said.

  Gulping, Mags did so. The big man looked angry, the redhead narrowed his eyes, the third shrugged, and the fourth smiled grimly.

  Mags looked at the fourth curiously. The man stared back at him, hard. Slowly, Mags sensed a thin mental voice. It won’t be the first time we’ve handled cowards of that sort, boy. You just see to it that you don’t get scratched.

  Mags nodded.

  :All right. We are getting something in place. Stand up carefully and wait for my signal.:

  They got to their feet, one at a time, so slowly and carefully that even their clothing didn’t whisper. And they waited in the semidarkness, Mags feeling ready to scream with the tension, as a tuneless humming threaded its way toward them from the back of the room.

  Finally—

  :Now. But don’t charge him. Walk out until he can just see five of you, but not who you are. And let him hear your footsteps.:

  Mags relayed that. And at his signal, they moved forward, soft footfalls muffled by the shelves and boxes all around them. They rounded the last shelf to find the strange man on his feet, waiting for them, a knife balanced on the tip of one finger.

  :Now you step into the light, Mags.:

  Mags did so, his hand clutched to his sword hilt.

  The man stared at him.

  “Not YOU!” he screamed. “YOU are not supposed to be here!”

  The memory was burned into his memory. He couldn’t have forgotten it if he’d wanted to.

  So was another.

  He read the posting in the Guard reports with a dry mouth. “The two dead were a woman and a man in foreign garb. The woman told us that no one could understand their speech, and they communicated mostly by signs. Their clothing was rich; presumably because of this, the brigands hoped to puzzle out whence they came and demand a ransom. With them was their child, a small boy of perhaps two or three years of age.

  There was nothing else of value that could be pointed to as theirs except their clothing. Lacking any other clue, I placed the child with the townsfolk to be dealt with as an orphan without resources. We buried the captives within the chamber that had been their prison.”

  Anticipation turned to disappointment. Was that all there was?

  Another memory, this time from the Kirball game where Amily had nearly been snatched.

  Mags started for Amily, as Dallen laid back his ears and backed away from the man who was trying to seize his bridle. But wait—there was Ice! Ice on one side of him, Stone on the other! But why were they here, instead of focusing on Amily? Weren’t they—wasn’t it Amily they wanted?

  But he felt it now, felt their concentration on him, felt a chill of real fear lance through him . . .

  Instinctively, Mags ducked under Ice so that the man rolled over his back and landed on the ground. Mags got a startled glimpse of something in his hand that glittered, reflexively kicked it away, spun, and ran toward Amily.

  :They’re ’ere!: he mind-shouted. :They’re ’ere and they’re after both of us!:

  Mags sensed Ice coming at him from the side. This time, instead of dropping and rolling, he abruptly changed directions, heading for the piled supplies for the stables. He vaulted over a stack of hay bales and switched directions again. Ice followed him—out of the corner of his eye he saw that Ice was wearing a Guard uniform. Stone probably was, too.

  They had known him. And their reaction had been to abruptly change their plans from one target to two. That was, ultimately, the only reason why they had failed in the end. They had seen him within their grasp, and instead of protecting the prize they already had, they had rushed after another quarry. Him.

  And a last memory . . . this one very recent.

  “You gotta deal with your past, Mags, you have to. If you don’t, it’ll just keep coming back to haunt you, and one day it’ll do something to you that you can’t get out of.”

  Bear probably had no idea how prophetic his words were going to be. Because right now Mags’ past evidently had caught up with h
im, and he couldn’t get out of it. It literally had him in shackles.

  “Now you begin to see,” the kidnapper said with supreme satisfaction. It was an extremely smug satisfaction, too . . . and a sense that he had been certain all along that once Mags was exposed to “the truth,” he would fall tamely into line. “You are one of us, boy. And we will help you to see that.”

  For the first time in Mags’ presence, the other one—Levor—nodded. “Kan-li is correct.” He smiled. If it was meant to reassure, it did the opposite, since the smile sent chills down Mags’ back. “We will awaken you to your true self. The Shadao has sent his talisman with us for you. We shall give you its spirit, and you will understand your proper place among your people. Then there will be no more need for such as this—” he gestured at the manacles.

  Talisman? Like the ones that Ice and Stone had worn? The ones that had murdered them, crushed their minds out of existence, when it knew they had been captured?

  Somewhere in the valley down below them, a bird began to sing happily. Considering how Mags felt right now . . . he’d have cheerfully changed places with that bird, even knowing a hawk was about to eat it. Because what they were suggesting was worse than quick death.

  “We have brought the herbs of remembrance with us,” Levor continued. “I prepare them now. We shall give them to you, and you will remember. Then we shall prepare you and endow you with the talisman of the Shadao. Its spirit will infuse you, and you will embrace your people and your destiny again. Then we shall steal swift horses and ride away from here, back to our clan.”

  He felt overcome with nausea, and terror sat in a hard lump in his stomach.

  They’re gonna drug me, then . . . do some kinda magic, and that thing will take over and . . .

  Absolute despair crushed him like an overwhelming wave of blackness. There was no way out of this. There was no one to rescue him . . .

  But—

  There was one thing left he could do, and that bird, which sounded exactly like one he listened to every morning at the Collegium, reminded him of that. He had a duty to fulfill, and he could bargain with them to do just that. There might be nothing else he could do, but at least, he could bargain. He would lose . . . he, or at least the Mags he knew . . . would be utterly obliterated. But he could win something. Something important.

  “You gotta know I ain’t gonna put up with this,” he said, roughly, losing some of the cultured tone of his speech under the stress. “I’m gonna fight you, and that spirit of yours, and I don’t care if it kills me. I don’t care what you say about you bein’ my people. I don’t know nothin’ about this Shadao or any of these people, and I don’t care spit about ’em.”

  Levor looked slightly shocked, although that might only have been because Mags had talked back to them. Both the kidnappers looked like people who were not used to being talked back to or having their authority challenged. Kan-li merely nodded, as the little fire crackled and the pot simmered.

  “Mebbe I’ll die. Or mebbe you’ll win. I reckon the odds are even.” He took a deep breath. “But there’s somethin’ I do care ’bout, right now, right this minute. I care ’bout the people that saved me. And that ain’t you. So. I’ll make ya a deal.” He swallowed, and he tasted tears. He didn’t want to die, and this would be a kind of death. But he was a Herald of Valdemar, and there was so much that was more important than one little life. “Ye don’t need the sun-dogs no more. Ye got me. Ye can all go home. Call off yer contract with the sun-dogs. Tell ’em they can stuff it up where their sun don’t reach, an’ call everybody ye got here back. Promise never t’go after th’ Nor—Valdemar an’ the rulers of Valdemar ever again. Promise me thet, pledge it, an’ I won’t fight ye. I’ll drink yer stuff, an’ ye kin do what ye want with yer talisman, an’ ye won’t haveta hold me down or knock me out.”

  Kan-li smiled, very slowly. It was the first genuine smile that Mags had seen from him. “So speaks an honorable man. We understand your feelings of obligation. We will accept your bargain. Behold.”

  He held out his hand, and Levor reached into his tunic and brought out the folded parchment. Kan-li took it, muttered a few words over it, and tore it quite simply in two, without any fanfare.

  Then he shoved the two halves under the simmering pot, where they went up in a few heartbeats, leaving behind nothing but ashes.

  Mags sagged with defeat. “All right,” he said. “You got it. Bargain made.”

  Kan-li nodded. “Bargain made. But forgive me if I do not remove the manacles. I believe in surety. And I do not yet know the extent of your honor.”

  Mags nodded. He hadn’t expected anything else.

  “It will take some time for the herbs to steep,” Kan-li continued. “Perhaps you would prefer to wait in the wagon.”

  Since that sounded more like an order than a request, Mags nodded again. Wearily, he got to his feet and shuffled over to the wagon, clambering back into it and falling into his nest.

  Once there, he felt tears leaking out of his eyes, but he could not be bothered to wipe them away. He could not resign himself to this, and yet, at the same time, he knew he had no choice. So . . . really, all he wanted to do now was to get it over with. Take the drugs, put on the damn talisman, and be done with it. Waiting wasn’t going to make things any better.

  :Mags:

  He didn’t even have the strength to sob, really. It all seemed to have run out of him when he agreed to this . . . thing. And yet, he would not have undone his bargain if he had been offered the chance. He couldn’t. Not and still remain Mags. All he could do was accept, and cry.

  :MAGS!:

  He’d ignored the first little whisper of Mindvoice because it was so weak, so tenuous—and because it wasn’t Dallen. Not that he wanted it to be Dallen. He really wanted Dallen safe, in Valdemar, and away from him. Dallen couldn’t save him, and—

  : . . . Mags . . . I know you can hear me. Stop wallowing in misery and answer.:

  —that, however, was impossible to ignore.

  As was the distinct sensation of claws prickling in his mind, as a sort of warning that they would soon be unsheathed if he didn’t behave himself.

  : . . . Reaylis?:

  :Finally. Now, don’t say anything, just listen.:

  In the midst of misery, he felt a flash of happiness. At least Reaylis was free, and if he was free, so was Franse.

  There was a long pause. For a moment he began to think that the voice in his mind had just been a figment of his imagination.

  :Idiot. Their talismans are listening.:

  . . . Oh. Now he felt like an idiot.

  But what on earth could Reaylis, or Reaylis and Franse together, do? He was still chained to this devil’s bargain . . .

  :Shut up. Dallen is with us. We’re going to get you free.:

  . . . but . . .

  :Agree to the drugs, but ask them to go down to the valley first before they give them to you.:

  He couldn’t see how that would make a difference, but . . . he could profess a concern that he’d start having visions and wander off the side of the cliff. They shouldn’t have a problem with that. How long could it take to get down to the valley, anyway? Not long enough to make much of a problem for them.

  :Good. Now, I see you promised only not to fight their drugs or that specific talisman. Excellent. You won’t be breaking your promise.:

  Kind of moot, since he still didn’t see how one young man, a cat, and a Companion were going to be able to free him anyway. Especially not drugged.

  :I want you to take the damned things and have the damned visions so you can get to the bottom of this mystery about your past, idiot.:

  There was a very long pause. He wondered for a moment if that was all there was going to be.

  But no.

  : Yo
ur friend the Healer is right. It’s going to keep coming back on you until you deal with it, and right now you need some clues so you can start.:

  He didn’t want to hope only to have his hopes dashed. But it did sound as if Reaylis and the others had actually thought this through.

  :I am not even going to dignify that with a reply.:

  The offended hauteur of that actually teased a faint smile out of him.

  :Better. Now, I am not going to tell you what we plan.:

  Of course not! If the talismans could listen, they might be able to get it out of his mind.

  :Just get down to the valley, take the drugs, get as much as you can out of the visions. I’m finished.:

  And . . . that seemed to be that.

  He waited for a while to see if there would be anything else—or if his kidnappers might be aware he had been getting messages from the Suncat. But all he heard out there were occasional murmurs and the weary sighs of the horses. Finally he scooted to the back of the wagon and put his head out.

  “Uh—” He coughed, but he’d already gotten their full attention when he started moving. “Iffen ye don’ mind . . . afore ye give me that stuff, can we move t’the valley? I don’ wanta be tied up like afore, an’ I don’ wanta fall off th’ rim, neither.”

  Kan-li looked at his partner, who shrugged. “It is possible. It would be safer. Also, we could more easily ward our camp in the valley.”

  The two of them switched to their own tongue and discussed it for a few more moments.

  “More grass for the horses,” Mags suggested during a pause.

  That seemed to decide them. It looked as if Levor had permitted the fire to die down under the pot anyway; he lidded it up, strapped the lid down with a piece of buckled leather, and carefully carried it to the wagon, where he wedged it in.

  There was the usual sort of business of harnessing up the horses, but they didn’t turn to go back down the trail as Mags had thought they would. Instead, they went forward. They must know this road . . . had they traveled it before? Or had they been scouting the region?