Bastion

untroubled by fantasies about her at night because the moment his head touched the pillow, he was asleep. Sometimes he wondered if it hadn’t been Herald Nikolas’s idea to put them both to work like this, because it left them neither the time nor the energy for “getting up to mischief” as some people delicately put it.
    But Amily swore that when she’d gone back to the rooms she shared with her father that first night, it had all been news to him. So maybe it had been a completely legitimate need of the Weaponsmaster, after all.
    Mags was discovering, however, that there were some very physical memories that he had picked up among all the others that the assassins had tried to shove into his head. He discovered it when, two fortnights after they had begun as his assistants, the Weaponsmaster had brought out a new sort of knife to throw, small, heavy, and looking a bit like a dart without a feathered end. Mags had picked up several, and with a sideways flick of his wrist that he had never been taught, he sent them in rapid succession—one, two, three—into the center of the target. The three had been placed so closely together that their tips touched.
    Weaponsmaster had given him a look, but had said nothing, except to order him to teach the others the same throw. Mags was pretty certain there was a lot being said between the Herald and his Companion, and from there onward—probably being relayed on up to Nikolas. He expected a new interrogation after dinner, but all that happened was that Dallen nudged him a little as he was parting from Amily.
    :Nikolas says if you come up with anything else useful, be sure to let him know.:
    He agreed wordlessly. Nikolas seemed satisfied.
    That night, he dreamed briefly in the assassin’s tongue again. He seemed to be witnessing two powerful men arguing. It didn’t last long enough for him to determine what it was they were arguing about; his dream began about the time they were both disparaging each other’s character. And “witness” was all he could do, for he couldn’t move or speak, and they didn’t appear to notice his presence.
    When he woke he still didn’t have a clear sense of what had been going on. It had been rather like coming into the middle of a disagreement, so that all he got was the knowledge that the two men were never going to come to terms with each other.
    It’d be nice if I were Farseeing, he thought wistfully, And those men are the leaders. It’d be awfully useful if that lot were fightin’ among themselves.
    He fell back asleep again, to find himself dreaming of training among the assassins, making his way back and forth across a sort of obstacle course, except that it was about a story above the ground. The dream-him was extremely good at this, and he took mental notes of some roof-walking techniques that he had never seen nor thought of. Acrobatics, actually. It seemed that by incorporating tumbling moves rather than simple jumping, you could get more distance.
    He was better than the other young men in his dream, and their instructor bestowed sparse praise on him that left him glowing and the others glowering. It appeared that such praise was not often forthcoming, and marked him as something special. It felt good in the dream, but when he woke up, the good feeling faded and was replaced with consternation. That was the first time he’d dreamed something about these people that had attracted him to them and their way of life. Were those memories starting to take root?
    He could only repeat to himself that Dallen knew his mind better than he knew it himself, and if something was wrong, Dallen would certainly raise an alarm about it.
    :Yes I would,: Dallen said patiently and sleepily at about the fifth repetition of this. :Mags, you are still you. There is nothing about you that has changed, just . . . grown. Do you understand what I’m saying?:
    :That I’ve had t’grow up?: he replied, feeling just a trifle irritated.
    :That is exactly what I am saying,: came the reply. :Trust me, no one likes being forced to grow up. It’s damned unpleasant. You learn you’re never safe. You learn that people you depend on to protect you might not be able to. Not even me. You learn all sorts of things you would really rather not have known. I hated it. You hate it. Everyone hates it.:
    Yes, but that didn’t make these things less true. And he hated that, too. Well, maybe hate was too strong a word, but he certainly didn’t like it, not