Bastion

sang along, clapped and stomped their feet or held their collective breaths. It was in every sense a masterful performance, and they knew it—instinctively if not consciously.
    Mags mostly watched Lena, who in turn was so riveted by her mentor that he suspected nothing else in the room registered with her. This was, he thought, entirely as it should be. This was not just a lesson, but an object lesson. Lita was demonstrating every possible thing that Lena must conquer in order to be called a Master Bard, and Lena knew it.
    Mags halfway expected Jakyr to return to their rooms long before the performance was over—after all, he had surely seen or heard performances like this many times before, and he was not on what you would call good terms with Bard Lita at the best of times. But he stayed, listening and watching just as intently as any of the locals, but with a completely unreadable expression on his face. Mags wondered what he was thinking, but knew he would never dare to ask.
    Finally there came a pause in the music. “This will be the last song, and we thank you for your kindly listening,” said Lita, and began at once before there could be any objections voiced.
“Of all the money that e’er I had,
I spent it in good company.
And all the harm that e’er I’ve done,
Alas, it was to none but me
And all I’ve done for want of wit
To mem’ry now I can’t recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all.”
    Half melancholy, half celebration, Lita and Lena slowly played and sang this song that Mags had heard before, at one of Master Soren’s Midwinter celebrations. It appeared to be new to the locals, but Mags knew it was very old indeed; he’d been told it might go all the way back to the founding of the Kingdom. And as Mags happened to glance over at Jakyr, he could have sworn he saw a tear in the Herald’s eye.
    But if he had, by the time the applause died down, it had been surreptitiously wiped away.
    Lita and Lena strolled back to the table with their arms full of instruments, pausing frequently to say something to each of the people who stopped them to thank them for their performances. “Not bad for a greenie and a rusty old bag,” Lita said with some satisfaction when they finally got back to the others. “Not bad at all.”
    “If you can repeat that at will, I’ll have no problem getting cooperation,” Jakyr said dryly. “I expect you are going to be quite useful.” Mags couldn’t tell if he was being sincere, or trying for irony—or just hoping to spark annoyance in the Bard.
    Lita only raised one eyebrow at the backhanded compliment, then yawned ostentatiously. “That’s harder than driving,” she said. “I’m for bed.”
    “Us too,” Bear said, as Lena and Amily nodded.
    Lita headed for the rooms before Jakyr could say anything more, with the others following. Mags got up, then paused, and glanced inquiringly at Jakyr.
    “I’ll just have a beer, then be along,” the Herald said, his face unreadable again.
    Mags nodded. He took the side of the bed farthest from the door and left a rushlight burning.
    But he was hard asleep in moments and never heard nor felt Jakyr join him.

8
    T he remaining three days were identical to the last. The sky remained threatening, the air damply cold, and yet (thank the gods) there was no inclement weather. Lita and Jakyr did verbally snipe at one another, but they confined their acerbic comments to a couple of barbs in the morning, when they all rode out, and the evening, before everyone retired. Their stays at inns were also nearly identical to the first: decent, wholesome food and drink, standoffish silence from the locals until Lita and Lena played. Then there was a kind of reticent welcome. Once they shared a room with three beds in it. Once they all had cots in a room with a dozen lined up like a common barracks.
    The local folk, with the exception of the innkeepers and staff, seemed to regard them with guarded wariness, as if at any point they might all do something unsociable. It wasn’t strong enough to be called “dislike” and it certainly wasn’t overt hostility, but it was as if the locals mistrusted them. Except for Lita and Lena. Mags would have thought that this was because the two Bards were females, but they regarded Amily with the same wariness.
    “At least,” Jakyr commented, when Mags ventured something about it, “thanks to the Bards, we aren’t likely to be murdered in our