Bastion

last Herald had come through, about six months ago. There were no human supplies there, only grain for the Companions. Last year’s, just like the hay.
    “We anticipated this,” Jakyr reminded Mags, as indeed they had. There was still enough green browse to satisfy the Companions without resorting to the dubious hay. They had brought their sleeping rolls and plenty of food for several days. They left the Waystation and proceeded to the village.
    Shepherd’s Crossing was two streets crossing the main road, with a village square. A little girl out herding geese spotted them first, in the distance, and they could see her shooing her birds on ahead of her as she ran to report their arrival.
    “I want you to keep your mind open for what you can pick up,” Jakyr said, a little grimly, as they watched the little girl disappear into a cottage. “I don’t need to tell you what and what not to do, just Mindspeak me if they’re hiding something.”
    Mags nodded. The bells they had hung on their Companions’ bridles when they left the Waystation chimed cheerfully; they were the only thing cheerful hereabouts. The sky was overcast, and the village itself was anything but welcoming as they rode into it.
    They were met at the village square by an authoritative man and four others. There was no sign of anyone else, not even peeking out windows or doors.
    “Gi’ye afternoon, Herald,” the man said, his closed face revealing nothing.
    “Afternoon, Headman Blakee,” Jakyr replied with casual cordialness. “When and where will your people hear the reading?”
    “Here and now,” the headman said. Jakyr tsk ed.
    “You know better than that, and I know you know,” he said immediately. “The law is the law. All your people above the age of ten years are to hear the reading of the King and Council’s Will in the new season. So, when are you gathering them, and where?”
    There was some discontented muttering among the men; Jakyr waited while they talked, patient and stolid as an ox, without the least sign of impatience on his face. Mags brought all his shields down and allowed a few thoughts to brush against his, but it was all sullen resentment that every six months some white-clad busybody would show up, interrupt everyone’s working day, and waste their time reading out new laws that almost never applied to them.
    “Inn, one candlemark,” the headman said, finally. “Get this over with.”
    The inn was obvious by the wheat sheaf tied up over the door. Jakyr nodded acknowledgement, and the Companions moved the few paces over to it.
    No one came to take them; Jakyr dismounted and began to lead Jermayan around to the back. Mags followed his example. There was a small lean-to stable and no visible stablehands. Jakyr left Jermayan under saddle but heaped both mangers with hay and a measure of grain—only fair considering the state of things back at that Waystation. Mags brought buckets of fresh water, and the two of them went around front and entered the common room.
    The innkeeper took his time in coming over to them, considering there were no other customers at the moment. Jakyr ordered beer for both of them and paid for it on the spot before payment could be demanded.
    Technically they were entitled to be served for nothing, and the chit Jakyr would leave would more than cover whatever they got. Obviously, though, the innkeeper would have been unpleasant about the chit. Jakyr anticipated the trouble and cut it off before it arose.
    Gradually the room filled. Mags was pleased to see that both men and women were coming. At least the Headman was going to abide by the letter of the law.
    At last the Headman reappeared. “This’s all my people,” he said gruffly to Jakyr, his eyes resentful. “Let’s get this over with.”
    Jakyr stood up and read out the new laws, slowly and carefully, into the silence. Mags sensed some amusement over things that didn’t apply to these people—regulations regarding the number of goats that could be pastured on common land, for instance, since a village this far out didn’t have or need a commons—and some irritation over things that did, even when the law was a good one, like the yearly marking of borders by a surveyor from the Guard. But he didn’t pick up anything that seemed to require Jakyr’s attention.
    As soon as Jakyr finished and sat down, people began deserting the room so quickly that you would have thought he had an infectious disease. Jakyr kept his face