Bastion

Dallen to kill him. He was pretty sure that Bey had not been lying when he said the Shadao didn’t know where he was. And even if the Shadao guessed, how would he find a body rotting away in the depths of some obscure caves in an obscure part of Valdemar?
    His gut said, logic be damned. His gut said that this young man could be trusted. That they weren’t so different, he and Mags. That the difference was mainly in how they saw the world and what they were willing to do. Bey was willing, if he could change the Sleepgivers back to what they were, to assume the gods knew what they were doing when the Sleepgivers were assigned a target that “deserved” to die. Mags was not. But . . . Mags could also not swear he would not find himself in a position one day that would require that he kill in cold blood.
    And after all, hadn’t Dallen and Jermayan just offered to do that for him?
    :For now, we trust him,: Mags said. :We can always change our minds later. I don’t fancy killing anyone in cold blood, not even if he deserves it. And how the hell do I know if he deserves it?:
    :And there are three of us,: Dallen reminded him. :You are the one in the most physical danger from him. You have to sleep some time. Maybe—probably—he can get into our cavern, but one of us will stay awake at all times, and he’ll never do it without us noticing.:
    Mags felt a chill of alarm. If all the tunnels were connected—and they must be, since the others had had that same feeling of being watched—he could get to Amily!
    :If he comes near us, he’s dead,: Dallen said flatly. :I promise you. And I think he’s smart enough to have figured that out. What’s more, if Jermayan and I keep a close watch on him, I am near certain we can stop him before he can get to you. There’s always a chance he has a second of those talismans hidden somewhere, but if he vanishes from our minds, we’ll alert you.:
    Mags took a deep, steadying breath. :All right then,: he said again. :We trust him. For now.:
    •   •   •
    “Cousin,” came a distant, echoing call, sounding as if it originated from a place very deep under the hill. “I come.” Mags wondered how far away Bey was—and how he managed to navigate in pitch-black tunnels seemingly without fear. Had he done all his exploring with one of their lamps while they had been gone? He must have; surely he hadn’t brought any such thing with him. Mags wished now that they had been more systematic about marking off what supplies they had used. They were probably missing quite a bit—bedding, lanterns, rope, food . . .
    On the one hand, it was terribly clever of Bey to have figured out they were not going to keep strict track of their supplies. On the other hand, if they had kept strict track of their supplies and found things missing they would have known, from the beginning, that there was someone in the caverns besides them.
    We prolly would have thought it was a hermit or a bandit or something, but we would have been looking for him.
    Would they have found Bey, though? Mags thought not. Bey was just too good at hiding his presence. And they were nowhere near as adept at finding someone who had that talisman and was determined they not find him.
    Shoot, all he needed to do was to move to the other side of the valley until we stopped looking.
    Bey must have worked his way across Valdemar in the same way, stealing what he needed as he followed Mags. When had he first begun? Right after Mags crossed the Karsite border, he said, and Mags had no reason to doubt him. He’d said he was on a “wild year;” if he had already been in Valdemar for a time before he picked up Mags, he’d have had plenty of time to study Heralds and the culture of Valdemar.
    If you were going to be a successful assassin, you had to learn how to assimilate quickly so you could fit in seamlessly. And Bey was the best of the best. He probably couldn’t pass as a Valdemaran, but he surely knew enough not to stand out, and there were plenty of foreigners in Valdemar. I’d give a lot to know exactly what he knows.
    Mags had not been idle in the time that Bey had gone. He’d taken the talismans—both of them—and locked them in the pot box, then piled all of the rest of the firewood on top of the box. He’d folded one of the blankets into a pad and positioned it out of arm’s reach of his bed. He had every knife that he had brought over to this cave with him, out and ready to throw or stab with. He had