Bastion (15 page)

Mags certainly couldn’t figure it out, although he’d been more than a little hurt when Jakyr, the first person to ever be kind to him since he was a toddler, had done his level best to deflect any attempt Mags had made to make a connection with him.

Only when Mags had demonstrated over the years that he really had no intention of trying to put Jakyr in the position of being a surrogate father did the Herald finally relax.

Mags had to wonder, though, if this wasn’t the real reason why Jakyr hadn’t mentored anyone before. The Herald didn’t want ties to anyone except his Companion, yet there was no question that you could not avoid such things developing when you lived so closely with someone over the course of a year or more.

At least he didn’t seem reluctant now. Maybe he figured that with Amily along, Mags would not be making any emotional attachments to
him.

No fear there.

It took only a couple of days to get everything ready. Jakyr had advised them every step of the way. Traditionally, Mags had been told, Heralds and their charges left in the gray light of early dawn.

Jakyr, clearly, was not the sort to hold with tradition.

“We’ll leave when we leave,” he told Mags the night before. “Get a good night’s sleep and a good bath and breakfast in the morning. I’ll inspect your packs, and when I figure we are ready, we’ll go.” He had made a face. “I don’t like leaving or arriving when people expect me to. The only people who
need
to know my comings and goings are Nikolas and . . . well, Nikolas.”

So Mags did exactly as he had been advised. He and Amily spent all evening together, as if they were not going to see each other for a very long while, and whenever someone commiserated with them about the coming absence, he pulled a long face, and Amily looked as if she was about to burst into tears.

In reality, she was fighting to keep from giggling.

But they trailed about tragically, exactly as anyone would expect for a couple about to be separated against their will. They picked at their food in public—and had a celebratory picnic in his room with goodies Lydia had sent down from the Palace kitchens in the hopes of tempting his appetite and comforting him. It was very kind of Lydia, who had absolutely no idea that this was not exactly what it appeared to be, and they enjoyed the unexpected feast greatly.

There was no one about to be impressed with how doleful he was in the morning, so he enjoyed his usual hearty breakfast after a good bath—because no telling when he would next get one, breakfast
or
bath—got his packs, and went into the stable proper to await Jakyr. It was just chilly enough that he preferred to wait in the stable itself, over by Dallen’s stall. The stablehands had already begun firing up the ovens that stood at either end of the stable, ovens that warmed the huge masses of brick of which they were made, and thus kept the entire stable warm without the danger of fire.

Mags loved the stable; he’d always loved living here instead of up at the Collegium. His fellow Trainees were a noisy lot; here it was always calm, with nothing more than the occasional stamp of a hoof or a whicker or mutter as the Companions conversed wordlessly among themselves. The air always smelled of clean horse and straw, scents that meant comfort to him
.
In winter, it was warm, and in summer, when all the windows were open to a prevailing breeze, it was almost never too hot. But most of all, it was peaceful.

As the Herald approached, Mags had plenty of time to watch him, because he wasn’t hurrying his steps. Jakyr had aged a bit in the last several years, but not so much that he’d lost any of his somewhat rough-hewn good looks. The few times that Mags had seen him around others—ladies in particular—women didn’t seem to find him ugly, but he never responded to overtures with anything but cool politeness.

And it wasn’t because he preferred men to women, either.

Dallen had once remarked that Jakyr preferred “company that he paid for.” Mags hadn’t understood that at the time, but he did now, after seeing Jakyr going nonchalantly into one of the better and more ethical brothels down in Haven, one where the ladies plied a trade and paid their taxes just like any other business. And where they had ample protection from those who might take that as a license for something other than the services advertised.

Mags had no issues with brothels of that sort, and he doubted anyone else did, either, except priests of sects that held congress without marriage to be a sin.

But it was highly unusual for a Herald to make use of their services, and it probably never ceased to surprise the ladies there. It was the easiest thing in the world for a Herald to find even a casual partner without having to pay for it—Heralds were almost as popular in that regard as Bards.

But seeing Jakyr enter the House of Red Silk, Mags suddenly understood what Dallen had been saying. When the exchange was for money, it ended with money, and that was how Jakyr liked it. No ties. No promises. Nothing implied.

It seemed a sad way to live, at least to Mags. But he had no intention of telling Jakyr that. Logically, Jakyr could have some excellent reasons for his standoffishness; where others looked at the life of a Herald, found it often short and violent, and chose to
make
ties to others, it could be that Jakyr found it needful to break them. Or, at least, never make them in the first place.

So, as the Herald stopped at Dallen’s stall, borrowed a bit of thong from the saddlery supplies that Mags always kept there, and tied back his graying brown hair into a tail with it, Mags just kept his mouth shut on his thoughts and said instead, “Ready for inspection, Herald,” and sketched a comic salute, as if he were a Guardsman about to be inspected.

Jakyr laughed. “All right. But I’m not about to unpack everything just so you have to pack it back up again, like a drill sergeant would. Tell me what’s in this one.” He poked the rightmost one with a white-booted toe, then looked up. His eyes gleamed with sardonic humor. “If you’ve done your job right, you’ll know down to the last leather scrap.”

Mags had had some inkling that Jakyr would do something like this, since that seemed to be a common thread among the Trainees who had been taking the wilderness survival classes. So he did know, and he proceeded to recite. Jakyr’s eyebrow rose approvingly.

“And this one?” he asked, poking the other. Mags obliged.

“And the ones that are going off with the caravan?” he persisted.

“Every spare uniform that isn’t in these, ’cept the special ones. Ink and paper, cause I reckon I can get goose quills anywhere. My clothes that ain’t uniforms, I got three changes. Armor, light armor, since ye said that heavy armor was gonna be worse’n no armor in the snow. Needles an’ thread. Harness-repair stuff. Saddlesoap. Extra blankets for Dallen. Went t’ Stablemaster an’ got his list of simple stuff for ailin’ horses, an’ he give me a little book t’ go with it an’ give t’Bear. You said we’d be stoppin’ at Waystations, so I got them smoke things that kill bugs. Extra soap, chilblain salve, that kinda thing. Second heavy cloak, light cloak for when it gets warm again. Extra fire-startin’ kit. Fishhooks an’ arrowheads. Couple more knives.” Oh, how many years of his life would he have paid to have had the kit, a knife, fishhooks, and arrowheads when he’d been trying to make his way back across Karsite territory! “All of Dallen’s hair what got combed out an’ I saved. That’s it.”

“Oh, that’s right, I remember, you braid things from it. Good idea, we might be stuck somewhere because of weather, and you’ll need something to keep your hands busy.” Jakyr nodded with approval. “Is there any room in there?”

“Aye, a bit. Not much. Reckon we can get ’em to ship us up more uniforms if we need ’em with Guard supplies and pick ’em up at the Post. In fact, I packed up some books an’ asked ’em to be shipped there for us to get later.”

“Better to have a bit of room left,” Jakyr agreed. “We’re having women along, and they always overpack. And yes, excellent thinking, we can almost always have things sent with the supply trains to the Guardpost.”

Mags shrugged. “Lena an’ Amily’re used to havin’ everything they want an’ need. Might be hard for ’em to pare down.”

“Well, then. I think we’re ready,” Jakyr said with satisfaction. “I left my packs here last night. I’d planned for you to have to repack a little, but since you don’t need to after all, we can start right now, wander our way at a leisurely pace into the East, and come on a very nice inn I know in time for luncheon.” He made his way over to his Companion’s stall and started saddling him. Mags made a note of which set of saddle and harness Jakyr was using and did the same. This was a set he’d never used on Dallen before; it had only two bridle bells, rather than the full set of bells on bridle and barding on his formal gear, but those could be taken off easily and stowed. Jakyr did so now on his Companion, and Mags did the same. Otherwise, the gear was the same blue and white as the formal gear, rather than the utilitarian brown of the set that they used to practice everything from Kirball to the obstacle course.

As they rode out of the stable, there was no one to bid them goodbye. Even the Guards at the gate merely waved them through without a farewell or a greeting.

And Mags had absolutely no doubt in his mind that this was the way Jakyr wanted it.

•   •   •

Perhaps if it had been anyone other than Mags who rode at Jakyr’s side this morning, they would have been out of sorts by now. Possibly even angry. Jakyr had done everything possible to prevent friends from making their farewells and waving them off. He’d made sure all the Trainees were in class. He’d prevented Amily from knowing exactly when they were going to leave. Not even the stablehands had been around to say goodbye to Mags, and Mags knew every one of them by name, all about their families, and as much about them as he knew about any friend.

Many entirely reasonable people would have reacted poorly to this sort of treatment.

But Mags had spent most of his life fundamentally friendless. He didn’t remember his parents. Farewells were things he just wasn’t used to getting, so not
having them didn’t particularly bother him. The people he most cared about he was going to be seeing again in a few days anyway.

:As you are thinking, that is one reason among many why Jakyr has never been asked to be a mentor,:
Dallen said dryly.

:You know, I could do with a bit less mystery, horse,:
Mags responded.
:If you know what the devil happened between him and Lita, I’d like to hear it.:

:It wasn’t anything dramatic,:
Dallen said.
:No great tragedy, no sudden misfortune that befell a friend and made him rethink things. I think perhaps Lita got a little aggressive about wanting some sort of formal acknowledgement, but I don’t know for certain. All I do know is that things cooled off rapidly enough that it was the cause of gossip for some time, and things have been uncomfortable between them ever since.:

Mags felt a certain amount of sympathy for them both. Who knew? There might not have been any great tragedy, but certainly
every
Herald and Trainee knew that the nickname for those in Whites among the Guard was “moving target.” Maybe Jakyr had been having second thoughts about having a romance with
anyone
when he might be killed without warning.

And maybe, after the blowup with Lita, it just became a lot easier for him to prevent any further ties from developing.

:It did happen about the same time that Nikolas recruited him. That might have had something to do with it,:
Dallen observed.

Hmm. Perhaps Lita had known and objected. Perhaps Jakyr had just been made aware that his potential to be a target had just increased a
lot
when Nikolas recruited him as an intelligence agent.

Perhaps Lita had known and wanted to be included.

I think I am just going to stop speculating and enjoy this ride. It ain’t my business, it’s his. I don’t like it when other people get all up in my business, and I don’t reckon he likes it either.

“We don’t get too many chances to enjoy ourselves, youngling,” Jakyr said aloud, in an uncanny echo of Mags’ own thoughts. “I don’t know how much of this expedition of ours is going to be pleasurable, but right now, it’s a treat. Take my advice and drink it in.”

They were practically the only people on the road, in fact. The fields to either side were full of farmworkers getting the last of the harvests in. A little while ago, they’d passed workers drying hop cones, stirring the cones on their drying sheets. The air had been scented heavily with the pleasant bitterness. At the moment, they were passing through apple orchards with some folks gathering up the windfalls to feed to pigs and cattle, some up on ladders getting down the last of the ripe and green apples. The green were just as good as the ripe ones, if you knew what you were doing, as Mags had found out when he’d helped in the Collegium kitchen. The farmer had a press going in there, just out of sight of the road. The winey scent of freshly pressed cider was enough to intoxicate.

Jakyr inhaled deeply. “There’s the thing I think about come autumn! Now, I like cider better when it’s had a chance to age,” he said, philosophically. “Just hard enough to make a man feel pleasant.”

“I like it hot, with spices,” Mags said. “Maybe a drop of mead in it. Like Master Soren sets out at his Midwinter parties.” He sighed. “I am going to miss that. Midwinter, we’ll probably be living in caves. Master Soren sets a mighty table at Midwinter.”

“Caves with villages near enough that we can buy ourselves the makings of a nice little Midwinter feast,” Jakyr reminded him. “And caves we can make all cozy before then. I’ve spent many a Midwinter in a Waystation that hadn’t been kept up as well as it should have been, and I’d prefer a nice dry, draftless cave any day over a Waystation with holes in the wall you can stick a finger through.” He paused a moment in thought. “Now that I consider it, if we offload everything from the caravan into the caves, we can drive that caravan to one of the biggest villages and load it up well—and do it over again at another village. If vermin turn out to be a problem in the caves, we can keep it all safe in the caravan. I think getting a cat would not come amiss. She can live in the caravan and keep out the mice.”