Bastion

Mind yourself. Yes, even broken as it is. But it needs to be on your body for some time, to grow accustomed to you. We, those of us at the head of the House, don’t wear the common ancestor-spirit talismans. These talismans are reserved for those of our blood, the direct bloodline. We are . . . privileged. But we wear these to keep us from being detected in the course of our missions.”
    Mags swallowed again. This was a very surreal conversation. He kept expecting Jakyr to burst in here at any moment, regardless of the blizzard. Realistically, he knew that Jakyr would be lost in moments if he tried. “What do you mean, our blood? ” he asked. “’Cause . . . you called me cousin. And we damn sure look alike. And . . . I reckon you know about two fellers called Levor and Kan-li, and they pretty much out and said that I was kin to them. But I don’t know just what I’m supposed to be kin to.”
    “May I sit?” the young man asked. At Mags’ stiff nod, he did so, crossing his legs and sitting near enough to touch Mags on the shoulder. He didn’t appear to be the least uncomfortable sitting on the bare stone. He was as graceful as a cat, supple as a serpent. Mags had to think for a moment about what the stranger had said—that he’d been trained from the cradle. It fit in with those memories he’d gotten from one of the previous assassins.
    His clothing was . . . odd. Something like Kan-li and Levor had worn, but the fabric was thicker and looked softer. It wasn’t a single color, either; it was a mottled gray, and Mags realized after a moment that this would have allowed the young man to blend in just about anywhere the stone of the hills showed through. Which was to say, virtually everywhere in these caves and the valley.
    “As I said, be at peace. I could have killed you too many times to count, my cousin,” he said. “Watch.”
    He was only just within reach of Mags, but a moment later, he had Mags’ knife in his hands. Then in the next instant, before Mags could even blink, the knife was back in the sheath at his side.
    “You’re one of—that bunch of killers,” Mags managed. He tried very hard not to sound accusing. The last thing he wanted to do was set this man off on a rampage.
    “Correct.” The young man nodded, not taking offense in the least. “That is what we do. The House of the Sleepgivers. That is the name we give ourselves. Of course, the true Sleepgivers are only those who are trained to the peak of perfection. The others of the House are . . . less able.” He wrinkled his nose. “Very much less able, in the case of those who first encountered you and your adopted kin. Truly, we should never have given in to venality and taken the commission in the first place. For that, my apologies.” And he gave a little bow. “But I was not in command of the situation of you. And although we are taught to master our emotions, in the case of my father and my other relations, their emotions, sadly, mastered them.”
    “You know, what you’re saying sounds real pretty, but it’s not making any sense to me,” Mags responded, with a touch of irritation, which he quickly covered. Don’t make him mad, stupid. Never make the trained killer mad . “Who are you, why’re you here, and—”
    As he looked at the young man, he could see subtle differences from his own face. His was a trifle thinner, the cheekbones more prominent. His hair had a bit of a wave to it, this young man’s was straighter. He thought perhaps that he was shorter than the other, too, although until they stood side by side, he wouldn’t be able to tell. There was no doubt that they were related, and closely, and they could certainly pull off convincing masquerades of each other. But they were not twins.
    In a way that was comforting. He didn’t want to be anyone’s twin. Especially not the twin of a trained killer.
    “Again, my pardon, and I shall begin at the beginning. I am your cousin Beshat.” He smiled, broadly. He had very good teeth, even, strong, and white. Nicer than Mags’ teeth. “Call me Bey. And although the name you were born to was Meric, as it always is for the first son of the line, I shall call you by the one you have here. Mags.”
    Mags began to feel a hint, just a hint, of friendliness to this—Bey. Because Bey wasn’t forcing a name that wasn’t his any longer onto him. Unlike Levor and Kan-li, who insisted on calling him “Meric.”
    “And so, Mags, this is a tale, a