“Now . . . ehu, I am torn.” Bey sighed in the darkness. Then there was a rustling of straw, Bey picked up one of his hands and put a familiar shape into it. “Please to eat of this apple while I think.” The sounds of someone biting into a crisp fruit told him Bey was taking his own advice. Mags realized that his throat and mouth were very dry, and did the same. “Well . . . if I were to order you, I would tell you to remove your talisman and send your mind up above, among the Sleepgivers, to see what you might find.”
“Not certain I’d find anything,” Mags offered. “The last couple of times I tried that, back in Haven, the talismans of the Sleepgivers saw me and shut me out.”
“But they did not warn their bearers?” Bey bit, and chewed. The clean scent of apple wafted around both of them. Bey, like Mags, had the habit of eating his apples seeds and all. A desert dweller’s habit, in Bey’s case, and the habit of a boy who had mostly starved in Mags’.
There was a frown in Bey’s voice when he spoke again. “I cannot imagine a Spirit of one of my Ancestors not warning me when the Blessed were sniffing about my mind. And the Spirits in the Talismans are supposed to be the Spirits of the greatest of the Sleepgivers. So, so, so. Either they are very stupid Spirits, or they do not think kindly enough of their bearers to protect them in that way. Something to think on. Well, then . . . are you brave enough, oh, my cousin, to send your mind aloft?”
Mags didn’t even have to think about it twice. They needed information, and that was a fact. And he’d rather be doing this, than choking a man to death.
“I can do this . . . passively, if that makes any sense. Let things come to me. That’s less likely to alert them.” He took his talisman off, finished his apple and settled himself.
It was a matter of expanding shields, he knew now, rather than dropping them. He could safely ignore his friends, huddled in the dead-end tunnel . . . and he was glad he was not an Empath. Their thoughts were hard enough to bear; he didn’t think he’d be able to take their actual fear and Jakyr’s pain. If this was bad for him, it was much worse for them, in the dark and cold and with NO idea what was going on—
Oh, wait . . .
:Amily. First part went fine. Waiting on the second part.:
He caught her start of surprise, then left her mind as she whispered his news to the others. All right. The Sleepgivers weren’t within that area, so, he had to expand . . .
He knew immediately when he had found them, which was . . . mere heartbeats after moving his shields a little more outward. There they were, overhead, and their talismans were like sullen pools of stagnant water. But they weren’t doing anything to guard the thoughts of their bearers.
“I got them. They don’t know I’m watching,” he breathed, as if the mere act of speaking might alert them.
“Good.” Bey sighed. “Oh, cousin—”
“Don’t start,” Mags said, cutting him off. “Try finding yourself a nice Blessed girl and raising your own. Or teach her to be like Amily, so she’s your partner instead of something you keep in the women’s quarters all the time.”
“...what an interesting idea,” Bey replied, after a long pause. “It is one I shall definitely consider.”
Mags had settled into being as passive and receptive as he could manage—and with all the practice he’d had of late, he evidently made no more impression on the talismans than if he’d been a rook in a nearby tree. Once again, having shared Bey’s thoughts had taught him a level of patience he’d never had before. He was able to . . . to relax, if that was the right word. To enter into a state where it didn’t matter how long it took for something to happen, because he knew it would, and he only had to wait for it. It might have been harder if he’d been hungry, thirsty, or uncomfortable, but he was none of these things.
It was possible, however, to track the passing of time by the changing light outside the cave. So it was, he thought, about noon—the sun was glaring down on the snow out there—when the Sleepgivers finally started to get restless, cautiously looking over the edge of the drop, and muttering to each other.
“They’re getting uneasy, Bey,” Mags reported. The thoughts he picked up were a mix of concern and exasperation—although the concern was more along the lines of why haven’t they reported back, than I hope nothing has happened to them. There were also touches of the same contempt for each other that Bey had for them.
“Huh. No love lost there,” he said aloud.
Bey snorted. “It is as I told you. We do not foster bonds among each other, only the bond that a man has to the House, and to the Shadao. Are they considering sending another lot?”
“They’re starting to talk about it.” It was hard waiting for thoughts to become urgent enough to pass over to him from behind the barriers that even people who were not Mindspeakers had. “They seem to think there was an accident. They’re talking like they think the first three fell down a hole and broke something.”
“Oho!” There was malicious humor in Bey’s voice now. “Well, then, that changes my plan, a trifle. I am going to the chimney to see if I can convince the others there has been an accident. Wait, and worry not when you hear sounds.”
:Amily, Bey’s trying something. Don’t you folks be worried if you hear noises.:
He turned his attention back to the Sleepgivers just in time for Bey to start moaning at the chimney, and babbling words in his own tongue.
It took them a while to hear it; it took them a while longer to realize it was coming from the same place that smoke and cooking smells had been coming from. But when they figured it out and gathered around the spot to listen, their contempt was the one thing that united them. Mags wished he could Mindspeak with Bey the way he could with Amily, but the talisman he wore made that impossible.
After a while, the sounds faded, as if the “victim” had lapsed into unconsciousness. Bey returned from out of the darkness. “Well?” he asked.
“It worked. They’re sending down more. Something else, Bey; the reason there’s so many of them is that’s four separate groups, all figuring on getting me and impressing the Shadao. One group’s under the Shadao’s orders direct, two are from factions, and one’s your followers.”
“My followers! Interesting! Before I left, I had carefully shown no interest in you. I wonder why they think . . . ah, I have it.” He sighed, but did not elaborate. “Pity I will have to kill them.”
“You already did, two of the three,” Mags told him. “Or you and I did.”
Bey gripped his arm, and Mags stopped talking. This time the Sleepgivers were making no effort at all to hide their activities. Down came the men on the ropes that were already there. Once they all had gathered, they pulled something out of their belts, and there was a flare of fire. Mags scuttled across the cave to his place, as Bey took up his, and they waited.
Except this time there were four of them. And the flare of fire meant that they came with crude torches.
Well, that’s a complication. It was a complication they were prepared for, but this could end their ability to mount ambushes. Oh, well. We knew it was going to come to a straight fight sooner or later.
He backed up, deeper into the shadow, and farther around the corner. There was a niche . . . he backed along the wall, feeling for it, until he found it, and pressed himself back into it. This was going to be tricky. And it wouldn’t be silent. With luck . . .
Bey began to whimper and call in a thin voice that sounded uncannily distant. I have got to learn that trick! Mags thought, as the man nearest him turned away from him, and held out his torch in the direction of the sounds. Mags knew that was the only chance he was going to get.
He launched himself at the man, and let Bey’s memory take over, because this was certainly nothing he had ever done in his life. But somehow . . . it worked. Somehow he managed to land a blow to the back of the man’s neck that stunned him, caught him, twisted his head viciously and broke his neck, and lowered him to the floor.
All in the space of about a heartbe
at.
But the torch clattered to the ground, and the noise attracted the other three, who spun and saw him crouching over their fallen comrade. Without thinking, Mags whipped out his knife and threw it while he had a good and clear target. It slammed into the left eye of the one nearest him, and the assassin fell with a gurgle, while Mags was already sprinting for cover.
He got out of reach of the torchlight and abruptly changed direction just in time to avoid the two knives thrown at him. One came close enough to graze his ear.
Then he shoulder-rolled and avoided a third knife that clattered into the darkness next to him. He sprang up and onto his feet, reaching for his own knives. But there wasn’t anyone for him to hit; just four torches burning on the floor, and four bodies, one of which Bey was standing over.
“Oh, my cousin,” Bey sighed softly into the sudden silence. “What a Sleepgiver you would make!”
• • •
Bey was disposing of the bodies again. The next assault would be a frontal one. As far as Mags could tell, none of the noise they’d made in the second ambush had gotten up to the top of the hill to warn the others, but after losing two teams, the Sleepgivers had to understand they’d been ambushed. There were now five of them, versus the five the Sleepgivers were aware of in the cave—but three of the five were women, and they knew that, and in their land, women were never taught to fight. So they would only expect resistance from Mags and Bear. And they wouldn’t expect a Companion.
Mags took one of the torches to light his way to the others and met them at the barrier to explain all of this in person. Jakyr was lying on the bedding in the straw; the vanners were at the very back of the tunnel behind him. The rest came up to the barrier, huddled against it, eyes dark and solemn and in the case of Bear and Lena, a little frightened. Lita looked angry. Amily looked determined.
“This is where we finish this,” he said. “Bey’s settin’ up the main cave for it. We can’t afford for any of ’em to get away.” He looked at Lita. “How’s your shootin’?”
“In a cave by firelight? I’ll hit one of you,” she said with regret. “I was never that good when I was young, and my eyes are older now.”
“Then you stay here and shoot anything that comes at the barrier that ain’t us.” Bear, he already knew was of no use, because of his weak eyes. Lena was no good with a bow. “Let’s get the firewood down and Dallen and Amily out.”
He led the two of them back out into the main cave, where Bey was waiting. It was very nice to have Dallen at his back again. “Where you want us?” he asked.
“Amily, I know from my cousin’s memory that you are deadly with your bow,” Bey said with a little bow. “Please to take a place inside the caravan. You will be safest there. If you see any of the Sleepgivers with bows—and I expect this—drop them, please. There are five left; I expect three in the front, two behind with bows.”
She nodded and went straight to the caravan. From inside, she opened the window; the shutters were already opened. You couldn’t tell she was even in there. Bey turned to Dallen. “I do not expect them to attack until after dark. So, is it possible for you to slip out when the sun sets and hide yourself against the snow? You will be our last guard to prevent any from escaping.”
Dallen nodded.
Mags went to stand where he had stood the first two times, and Bey extinguished the torch.
Now . . . it was waiting. Waiting as the light outside waned and finally died. Waiting as Mags watched the thoughts of those above grow first confused, then angry, as they realized that they had somehow been duped. It was with relief that Mags saw they were convinced that Mags had been the one who had made the cries of distress. If they’d had a guess that Bey was working with them, one of their number would almost certainly have left at that moment, to find a way across country and back to the House of Sleepgivers to alert them to the existence of a traitor. Probably having Dallen Mindspeak to other distant Companions and alert the countryside would take care of that problem, but . . . these were Sleepgivers, and they had managed to elude the best of the Heralds before this.
If they hadn’t been wearing their talismans, he would have taken a chance and pushed the idea into their minds that he was the one who had duped them. But he didn’t dare.
The light in the valley went to dusk and then full dark. Mags never saw or heard Dallen move, but at some point after the darkness fell he heard :I’m up to my chest in snow and laying my head and neck along it. Just behind the parapet. I think I am pretty adequately concealed from above as long as I keep my eyes closed.:
“Dallen’s ready,” he whispered, keeping constant watch over the thoughts of the remaining five Sleepgivers.
Their anger was a burning, sullen furnace. They could not believe they had been duped by a lot of people they considered to be weak and soft and not terribly crafty. They barely assuaged their outrage by deciding that it was all Mags’ doing. After all, he was of the House! They had learned in Valdemar from tale and rumor that Mags had partaken of the herbs that should have given him his proper memories. That must have been it, their angry thoughts went, so angry, that they easily projected into Mags’ mind. He remembers what he is, but not who he should be. Finally they were all united in their rage and determination. Mags was not going to be allowed to escape them. He would take the herbs and the talisman, and finally he would join them. He would prove himself by killing these people he thought were friends, and they would all return triumphant to the Shadao.
“They’re coming,” he said softly into the icy dark, and not long after he warned the others, there came soft thumps as five men on the three ropes dropped down at the entrance to the cave. They were not even trying to be stealthy. Mags wished rather desperately that there could have been some way to bring up some light behind them, because they would have been easy targets for a volley of arrows.
But there wasn’t—not without exposing themselves.
A fire-arrow suddenly arced across the dark cave, slammed into the back wall, and fell, still burning. Another joined it, and another, until the whole back wall was lit up. Clever move. Now if any of them came from out of cover, they’d be clearly silhouetted.
Mags heard five sets of footsteps coming down out of the dark entrance. He remained pressed against the rock. Now his heart was pounding the way it usually did before a fight. There was nothing like this in Bey’s memories, for Bey had never dealt with a straight-up fight in his life. The words of the Weaponsmaster came to him first. Get in the first blow from a distance. Even a wound makes a weakness, and a weakness will give you an opening for a kill.
He listened with every fiber, and tried to hear their thoughts, but the talismans were all awake and concealing everything. He didn’t think he’d betrayed himself—
:It was me. They sensed me,: Dallen said with chagrin.
:Hell. Well, at least they didn’t tell the Sleepgivers.:
He couldn’t see them from where he was, not without exposing himself. But the arrows were burning out . . . and their eyes were more blinded by the light than the defenders’ were.
Take the risk and take a shot with a throwing knife, and chance getting an arrow? Amily was handicapped by a limited field of fire from that tiny window in the caravan . . . she might not be able to pick them off before the last fire-arrow burned out, and—
Suddenly he heard it—the unmistakable sound of two arrows fired off in quick succession—which was immediately followed by the sound of a scream and a gurgle and two bodies hitting the ground.
He jumped out of hiding and threw at the first thing he could see.
And then the entire cavern filled with light as the pile of oil-soaked wood in the firepit went up with a roar. Bey had set off the fire, probably by tossing one of those arrows into it.
“To me, cousin!” shouted Bey, and Mags raced across the space between them, putting his back to Bey’s back.
A glance at the archers showed him that the two archers weren’t dead yet; Amily was still sh
ooting, keeping them from getting to the bows they had dropped. Then the three Sleepgiver swordsmen were on them, and he and Bey were fighting for their lives.
As contemptuous as Bey had been of these Sleepgivers, Mags didn’t see anything to hold in contempt, and from the grim determination he sensed in his cousin . . . neither did Bey.
But they fell into a rhythm as if they had been fighting together all their lives. Mags’ world narrowed to the three swords flashing in and out of range, his hunt for a target, and the need to keep his back to Bey’s. If either of them failed to cover the other, the Sleepgivers would surely see to it that was the last mistake they made.
This was dirty, brutal fighting, nothing pretty about it; if they hadn’t been fighting on bare rock all five of them would have been kicking or throwing dirt in each others’ faces. Nothing was off-target and there was no such thing as an illegal blow. If you could get it, you took it; a rush parried turned into a bash with the hilt to the face. Moments in, and Mags had a gash on his leg, a cut over his bicep and a bruised cheekbone.
But their opponents were in no better shape. One of them had a black eye that was rapidly swelling shut thanks to Mags; another had a slash across the forehead that was bleeding freely; Mags didn’t know if that was his work or Bey’s. The third had had to switch hands; his left was useless, thanks to Bey’s work.
Then it all came undone.
Bey slipped in a splat of blood and went down on one knee. The Sleepgivers all converged on him. Mags whirled and slapped away the blade of the first, and rushed the second, but the third had Bey wide open and Mags was not going to get there in time—
And then the third simply wasn’t there anymore, as a raging Dallen ran right over the top of him, turned in a flash, and pulped the head of the second.
Mags saw the opening, and took it, ramming his sword to the hilt in the first one’s chest.
Then he went to his knees next to Bey.
It was over.
Epilogue
Bastion Page 33
