Bastion

behind its shelter, he should have looked ridiculous. But he didn’t. He looked impossibly brave.
    He crept up crouching crabwise on the spear; he got his hand on the shaft just behind the head and, with a yank, pulled it free of the floor. Then he slid it behind him as hard as he could, and retreated. He didn’t stand up until he was well clear of any place projectiles could possibly land.
    Bear got hold of the spear. He was wearing gloves as he handled it. “Don’t nobody touch this thing till I get a chance to wash it down,” he said shortly, and he glared at Jakyr. “And you go wash your hands five times. The gods only know what kind of poison they might have put on the shaft. I don’t want to see you back here until they’re red from scrubbing.”
    Jakyr ducked his head guiltily and left for the sink.
    Mags ran for bows and arrows and returned with three sets, handing two to Lita and Amily and keeping one for himself. Meanwhile Bear had cut the string holding what looked like paper wrapped around the shaft. It unwound; it was either paper or very stiff fabric of some kind. And there was writing on it.
    Jakyr returned as Bear gingerly spread out the long scroll on the floor. “It’s in Valdemaran!” he said in surprise.
    “Yes,” Lena agreed, “But it was never written by anyone born and raised in Valdemar.” Slowly, she began to read the words aloud as Mags, Lita and Amily watched the entrance, arrows nocked and ready.
    “To you within the cave. You have among you Meric Aket Inaken, son of the son of the Shadao Meric Beket Inaken. Too long have you held this one of the House of Sleepgivers. We call upon you to tell him to come to his people. Our blood calls to him. He has seen the Ancient Memories. He must return to be made whole. We know he holds himself to be of honor. We honor the pledge we made not to harm your Shadao, your King, and his family. But we made no such promise regarding the low-caste of your land, who have such favor in your eyes. If he does not give himself over to us, we will gather up the low-caste, of whom we made no promises, and we shall give them unto Sleep.”
    Mags stared stonily at the entrance, although he no longer expected anything to come in that way. There probably weren’t too many of the Sleepgivers out there—not like an army—but there were more than enough to pick them off one at a time, and far more than enough to keep them penned in with arrows and other projectiles. Probably there were not enough for a frontal assault. Then again, a frontal assault was not their way. And maybe there were more than he thought.
    “Well, you’re the expert in these people, Mags,” Jakyr said, bitter and angry. “I assume that means what I think it means?”
    “It does,” Mags replied, his heart turning cold. “It means unless I give myself up and let them take me off with them, they’re gonna start rounding up villagers and killing ’em. They’ll do it, too. If I make a run for it, they ain’t gonna chase me, they’re gonna start killin’ villagers or you. Or both. Goin’ to ’em is the only way I can make it stop.”
    Jakyr set his chin stubbornly. “That’s not going to happen. And you aren’t going to give yourself up. I’m going for help.”
    •   •   •
    No one tried to talk Jakyr out of his plan, because it was obvious he wasn’t in any state to be talked out of it. Instead, they all hunted for anything in the supplies that they could make armor out of. Mags and Jakyr both had their own armor, with them, but it was light armor, made to guard against glancing sword strokes and broad-headed arrows. If the Sleepgivers were going to start flinging spears the size of the one they had put their message on at him, he was going to need a lot more.
    So they put Mags’ armor on him first, to be worn under his own. It didn’t fit, of course, and they laced it on with thongs, leaving gaps, but it would serve as reinforcement. Then they made a sort of horse armor of leather, canvas, and more leather, for Jermayan. It looked horrible, but it gave some protection for his most vulnerable spots.
    “The one advantage I have is that they’re going to be no better in the snow than I am,” Jakyr said grimly, as they laced some padding over the top of his armor.
    “Worse,” said Mags. “They’re from a desert. They ain’t never seen snow afore, much less fought in this much.”
    Jakyr stopped for a moment and stared off into space. Jermayan’s