Bastion

and—I dunno, cart me off like the last time. No.” He narrowed his eyes. “But my Companion can.”
    :Oh. I like that. Jermayan can guard me from any treachery. I can rely on him; he is very good defensively.:
    That meant Dallen was going to tell Jermayan at least. Mags wondered how long Jermayan could keep this a secret from Jakyr.
    Possibly a long time. Jakyr isn’t all that good at Mindspeaking.
    Bey nodded, as if he found this completely understandable. “Wise, and I cannot blame you in the least. Let it be so.”
    Bey closed his eyes and relaxed . . . and Mags scooted back in his bed to put a good bit more distance between them, and took his knife in his hand.
    The story unrolled in Mags’ mind as Dallen got it from Bey. The House of the Sleepgivers had once been a clan so large as to be considered a nation. They were famed for their single warriors, rather than for their army. Their home was, not unlike parts of Valdemar, an insalubrious place to live; but unlike Valdemar it was hot, dry, mountainous desert. Their warriors were all they had to sell, so sell them, they did. They sold the warriors’ services, and literally sold the warriors in some cases, when the warrior’s family was in great need or great debt.
    Mags watched as Dallen sent him the images he got from Bey’s mind. If there was a spot not unlike hell, this desert was surely it. Furlongs of sand and scrub interrupted by barren mountains, hot and dry in summer, cold and dry in winter. The only water came from infrequent rains and deep, deep wells, wells that were guarded with the lives of those who possessed them.
    The only two ways to live in this desert were by herding and by fighting. Only those families that controlled a well could herd, however. So the clan became very, very good at fighting. Now, under most circumstances, “fighting” would turn to “raiding” as they stole the property of their more prosperous, and better-watered, neighbors. But they were too poor to afford decent weapons, and a cadre of fierce fighters armed only with what they could make with wood and stone could not prevail against those armed with steel. They turned to another sort of fighting and raiding—making it the passage into adulthood for a young boy to kill a fully armed warrior of the “fatlands” and steal all his weapons. Thus, they became incredibly efficient and incredibly stealthy murdering machines.
    Once an adult, such training did not suit going into an army or even a mercenary corps; but as a bodyguard, or even a gladiator, they were second to none. So they sold their young men, and their young men commanded the highest prices.
    So . . . they prospered. But when you sell your young men, soon your numbers begin to dwindle. And that is what happened. So the Shadao—the great lord of the clan—had decided that there was only one solution.
    Sell death itself.
    Death that came on silent feet, came by night or day, at any hour, struck without warning, and was gone.
    :It’s interesting though,: said Dallen as Mags watched Bey’s quiet face. :At one point they were very careful, almost ethical, in what jobs they took. They saw themselves as the hand of the gods. They destroyed those whom the gods should have. But after a while the money just got too good, and they took any job at all.: Dallen paused. :Bey is . . . he wants to go back to the old ways. He hates that the House of the Sleepgivers has given up what he considers “honorable work” in favor of “highest bidder.” He also hates what the House has become in terms of the Sleepgivers themselves.:
    Once the Sleepgivers had never released a man to do their work unless he had reached the pinnacle of his “profession”—which essentially meant, someone like Bey. But they discovered . . . something . . .
    Mags couldn’t quite make out what it was; it seemed that even Dallen’s thoughts were foggy on the subject. It had to do with the talismans and the drugs. There was some transference of memory involved, as he knew. The talismans held a coercive spirit of some sort. Dallen seemed to almost understand it all, but he just couldn’t quite grasp what it all was and how it all worked.
    :Don’t worry about it. It’s nasty and it’s brutal. That’s all you need to know.:
    Maybe it worked like the Karsite demons. There was probably more than one kind of those.
    So now, instead of being carefully taught and nurtured, inculcated with philosophy and ethics as well as