Bastion

“You’re always the one that wants to stop at inns.”
    That sounds like a comment that has a long, running history behind it.
    Jakyr finally turned and looked her straight in the eyes. “Hot baths,” he said, succinctly.
    She flushed and looked away.
    “Right, then. Inns it is.” He turned back to his beans.
    •   •   •
    As Mags and Amily combined their sleeping rolls into one much more comfortable whole, Mags was extremely glad of his powerful Mindspeaking Gift. He hadn’t used it often with Amily, but as the two of them cuddled up together, he projected his words into her mind as gently as possible.
    Is this uncomfortable?
    He sensed her tensing, as she tried to form a reply as clearly as possible so he could read it without getting any “leakage” she didn’t want.
    No. Not used to it, though. It’s . . . odd-feeling.
    He was actually a little surprised at how clearly her words came through, however. Was it possible she had a latent Gift?
    If she did, it would probably only be a matter of time before it stopped being latent if they continued to “talk” like this. Gifts had a way of triggering in that way.
    Hope flared in him at the idea that such a thing might happen. He couldn’t imagine anything better, or more convenient, than being able to talk to Amily without anyone overhearing them.
    Carefully, they “spoke” together. Mostly he wanted her to be reassured, to know how happy he was that she was along on this trip, and that he considered her as brave, clever, and skilled as any of them. He didn’t think Lita was at all likely to have given her any indication to the contrary, or hinted that she was some kind of burden, but he wanted to be sure. The Dean—former Dean—wasn’t always diplomatic when she was under stress; and there was no doubt that traveling with Jakyr was putting her under stress.
    Finally even he was feeling the strain of Mindspeech with someone who wasn’t a Mindspeaker, so he switched to whispers. “When did Dean Lita turn up—and why?” he asked softly.
    “Just before we left—which obviously was after you left. I guess she didn’t want Jakyr to get wind of her plan to go along with us and get Father to veto it,” Amily breathed back. “It was supposed to be Bard Kendiss, not her, but she got herself substituted and swore the Wagonmaster to secrecy. She said she wanted Bard Purchel to get a trial period as Dean to see if he could handle it—he’s the one she’s been training as her successor—and it was going to be easier on him if he didn’t have her breathing down his neck all the time. She comes from a family of drovers, and really, it’s quite true that she was a much better choice to handle the horses than Bard Kendiss. Kendiss knows horses, how to handle them and care for them, and she has had experience driving as well as riding, but she’s never had the experience with wagons that Lita did.”
    “Right, I can see that,” Mags agreed. “But . . .”
    Amily sighed. And a moment later, Mags sensed her thinking hard and opened his mind to her.
    And she also said she was not going to sit back and allow Jakyr to ruin one of the most promising Trainees she’d ever had. And I have no idea what she thought Jakyr was going to do to Lena to ruin her. Neither does Lena, or Bear, but that was what she said.
    That took him entirely aback.
    Oh, was all he could manage.
    “Exactly,” she whispered.
    Well, this was promising to make the next year quite the challenge. Even without all the other complications.
    •   •   •
    Jakyr was first up in the morning, and making griddle cakes. It was the smell that woke Mags; he’d slept long and hard, as hard as a hibernating bear. Someone had providentially gotten butter to fry them in, and Jakyr had sliced apples into the batter as they fried. Mags was starving, and he thought he had never smelled anything so good. The cakes tasted as good as they smelled.
    Someone among the group had passed away the travel time by weaving hay into holders for food—not so much “plates” as grass napkins. That made cleaning up for Mags and Amily a lot easier; just toss the grass squares into the fire, and it was done. There was nothing to wash; since the cooking pots and pans and griddle for over the fire were all of well-seasoned cast iron, cleaning was a matter of wiping them down thoroughly with more hay, then stowing them.
    Lita went out first, to get the horses ready. By the time Mags and the