Bastion

have devolved to that.
    It might still have, except that Lita had already arranged to have a semiformal concert for the entire garrison once the dishes were cleared away, and that is what she did. Once again, Mags had the intriguing experience of watching a Master tune her art to please exactly the audience she faced. Not only the audience, but the mood they were in—winter was coming, always a hard time. Shorter days meant less light, depressing to the spirit. And this garrison was full of men who were far from home, far from their loved ones, and far from women, serving people who were, if not overtly hostile, certainly nothing like friendly. It was hard on them, far from home with Midwinter coming, and Lita’s concert was purposed to raise their spirits.
    It was a shorter set than the ones she’d done at the inns that they had stopped at, but, then, she wasn’t playing for an audience she had to win over—they were hers from the beginning. She began with purely comic songs, just to test the crowd, but before long, she was working into material like drinking songs that everyone knew, so everyone could sing the chorus.
    Mags held Amily’s hand as soon as the concert started, but as the audience got completely caught up in a lively ballad that relied heavily on double-entendres and allusions rather than coming out and saying what was going on, he felt her squeeze it tightly. Glancing over at her, he saw her nod ever so slightly toward the door. He let go of her hand, and she slipped away under the cover of the chorus. Giving her a bit of time—not that he thought they were fooling anyone, but for the sake of pretending to propriety—he followed.
    With the rest of the concert as a muted background, they spent a very satisfactory, if also somewhat frustrating, candlemark cuddled up together in her bed, kissing and holding each other, but not much more. There was no telling when someone would come along, and he understood without her saying anything that she would be painfully mortified if anyone caught them getting farther than that. They broke apart, reluctantly, and only when they heard the first lines of “The Parting Glass” floating in from the mess hall.
    He had the distinct feeling that Lita had chosen that song deliberately to warn them that the concert was over. Finally someone was on their side!
    •   •   •
    When a Guardsman says that “they are leaving at first light,” he is being literal. Mags already knew that, but Lena, Bear, and Amily were still scrubbing the sleep from their eyes as they mounted the steps to the caravan and Lita took up the reins.
    At least they can go back to sleep, Mags thought, a little glumly. He wasn’t used to sleeping in a place as busy as the Guardpost was at night. There had been men coming and going down the corridor as the watches changed, and each time they had, it had woken him up. As if she had heard the thought, Lita looked up at him from the driver’s position. She looked like she’d slept like a baby—but then, she was used to sleeping in Bardic Collegium, where it was never quiet.
    “You know, there is no reason why you have to ride for the first part of this journey,” she pointed out, then looked over at Jakyr, who looked very much as if he had stayed up too late last night. Evidently he’d found a convivial comrade in Sergeant Milles. “Nor you either. Although . . . if you were—” She mimed drinking “—you probably would be better off riding than being in the caravan, the way it’s going to be swaying over those rough roads.”
    Somehow she made it sound as if Jakyr made a habit of getting drunk. And Mags could not imagine how she’d done it. Jakyr predictably bristled, and Mags didn’t blame him. Lita hadn’t made any effort to keep her voice down. Deliberately, he was sure.
    “As it happens, I was ironing out some last-minute details with Sergeant Milles,” he snapped, “I was seeing to some extra supplies that he had not thought of, and those were mostly for the comfort of you ladies. So thank you, yes, I will take to the caravan for a candlemark or two.” He looped Jermayan’s reins over the saddle horn and reached for the side of the porch. As Lita hastily scooted out of the way, he swung himself over onto it, pulled open the door, and ducked inside, brushing the Bard with a foot near enough that, although he didn’t actually kick her, it was clear he could have if he had chosen to be a cad, and sloughed it