Bastion

the sort of cider that Mags like best—spiced, with a touch of honey, and served warm. Evidently the beer was just as good, as Jakyr sipped his as slowly as Mags sipped his cider.
    The fruit pies would keep and were just as good cold, so they rode off with some for later. Dallen and Jermayan were stuffed full, and Dallen didn’t complain in the least that he hadn’t had enough. Mags was just glad that the constitution of a Companion was a lot more robust than that of a horse. That many pocket pies would have sent horses straight to the Healer.
    They rode past sunset to reach the next inn, but it, too, was worth it. It didn’t have the variety of fare that the first inn did. The custom here was that everyone was offered the same thing, and tonight it was roast pig with roast vegetables and very good bread. But the food was cooked perfectly, the beds were good, and there was a bathhouse.
    If Jakyr had been conducting a pleasure trip, the next three days could not have passed better. Sometimes they ambled, sometimes they went at the Companions’ ground-eating lope. Jakyr said this was to throw off anyone who was attempting to follow them, but Mags secretly suspected their varied pace had more to do with Jakyr’s favored inns than the stated reason.
    He didn’t mind. He was enjoying himself to the top of his capacity. The weather remained fine. He studied the people around him assiduously, keeping in mind he might have to pass as one of them some day. He took pleasure in the good food and the comfortable accommodations. There was something to be said for Jakyr’s philosophy of enjoying oneself as one could, in the moment.
    After three days, they cut North and spent two nights in Waystations rather than inns. This was to break their trail; Jakyr was, indeed, a very good cook, and he’d made certain to get provisions before they went off the roads. He introduced Mags to a fantastic dish made of white beans and a little sausage that Mags thought he could probably eat five or six days in a row before he grew tired of it.
    Then they cut West again, this time back to the pleasant pattern of using inns—but under different names. Jakyr was “Herald Boyce,” and Mags was “Trainee Hob.” Mags could only assume that either Jakyr was known by that name on their new route—entirely possible, since he wasan intelligence agent—or he had made very certain not to be memorable on his last visits to these inns. Whichever reason it was, no one hailed him by his real name, nor did anyone look puzzled when he gave the false names.
    They were not going truly West; it was a bit North as well. Mags was very glad that they were staying at inns at this point, as the leaves were starting to drop rapidly from the trees, and the nights were getting bitter. When they stopped it was lovely to walk into a warm common room, full of the smell of cooking food, knowing you wouldn’t have to tend the Companions, build a fire, and wait until your dinner was cooked before you could eat it.
    “We’re close,” Jakyr said, one morning as they rode out under a sky that was overcast and leaden instead of cloudless. A wind too cold to be called “brisk” was finding its way down Mags’ neck past the upturned hood of his cloak.
    “How soon will we catch up with them?” Mags asked.
    “Tonight. It’ll be after dark, but if we ride good and hard, we’ll meet them at the Waystation tonight.” Jakyr glanced at Mags for a reaction. “I imagine you’ll be glad to see Amily again.”
    Hang you and your problems, Mags thought, with a touch of irritation. Whatever they are, that’s no cause for me to pretend I’m indifferent. “Very,” he said, “It can’t be soon enough, in fact.”
    “In that case—” Jakyr didn’t do anything, but his Companion surged into a lope that was almost a canter. Dallen snorted and matched the other, pace for pace.
    At least Jakyr wasn’t scornful of his wish to see Amily soon. In fact, he seemed to be going out of his way to accommodate it. They barely stopped for food, pushing hard; although the weather threatened, nothing came of the threat, and nightfall found them forging along a river road, with the river at least a full story below them, at the bottom of a steep and stony bank. Mags was very grateful when Jakyr led the way off that road and onto a little trail; putting a foot wrong would have sent them tumbling down that nasty little cliff into water that could not be much warmer than ice.
    He was