Bastion

Jakyr insisted that they carry the bloodstained clothing to the cave where the bathing basin was, soak it in the cold water, and leave it there, weighted down with rocks. “Give it a day or two and the blood should be gone,” he said, “And if it’s not, we’ll scrub with some salt and that will be that.”
    “Huh.” Mags scratched his head. “Useful—”
    “Usually in every couple of villages there’s someone running a laundry who knows how to clean Whites—but they get very upset when you bring them Whites with dried blood on them,” Jakyr said with a laugh. “I learned how to take the blood out first to keep my head from being threatened.”
    :Caravan is nearby,: Dallen said at that moment in Mags’ head. Judging by the way Jakyr’s head had come up at about the same time, Jermayan had warned his Chosen as well.
    The caravan clattered in through the entrance in a swirl of tiny flurries, the vanners looking very happy to see a place they associated with food, shelter, warmth, and peace. Lita was driving, as usual, and brought the whole rig right into the cave, backing the caravan into place with a skill that made Mags feel great envy. Mags ran up to them, with Jakyr strolling at a much more leisurely pace behind him.
    Lita tossed Mags the reins, and jumped down off the driver’s seat, her eyes widening as she caught a whiff of the savory stew. “Blessed gods, what is that heavenly smell?” she exclaimed, as Bear, followed by Lena and Amily, popped out of the door. They didn’t wait for Mags to unharness the vanners and lower the stairs, they jumped right down after Lita.
    “We got a deer,” Mags said, and then was occupied with welcoming Amily, leaving the rest of the explanation to Jakyr. Bear knew better than to lift the lid on the stewpot, having had his knuckles rapped hard by Jakyr the last time he’d tried, but he did poke at the pot where the bones were simmering away, looking interested.
    “Huh. Broth,” he said. “I wonder if it’s gonna be as good as beef broth.”
    “Probably,” said Jakyr. “It should actually be richer than beef broth. Venison makes good broth. Why do you ask?”
    Mags and Amily got to work unharnessing the vanners, wiping them down, blanketing them, and giving them fodder.
    “It’d be damned useful if we could preserve some, somehow,” Bear pointed out. “In case someone gets sick.”
    Jakyr considered that idea, then shook his head. “I’ll try, but we haven’t got a lot of jars I can seal easily, and I can’t think of any way of keeping vermin out,” he said with regret. “Don’t worry, though; if someone starts to get sick, we can pot a rabbit or a bird and make broth out of the whole thing.”
    “What’s in that stew?” Lita demanded, and then, when she saw a look of faintly malicious mischief cross over Jakyr’s face, she waved her hands frantically. “No, no! I changed my mind! I don’t want to know! I want to enjoy my food in ignorant bliss!”
    For a moment it looked as if Jakyr might tell her anyway, but he glanced at Lena and Amily and shrugged. “It should be ready, anyway. Good thing you made it in before nightfall; running that trail in the dark could have been a hazard.”
    They queued up for bowls of the thick, dark stew, and chunks of bread to go with it. It had a rich, wild taste to it, and the bits of organ were tasty, oddly familiar, oddly unfamiliar in his mouth. Whatever odd, metallic flavor that the blood might have given to it, Jakyr had neatly disguised with seasoning.
    “So I was thinking,” Mags said, after he’d had a couple of mouthfuls, “I was wondering if maybe you lot ought to go out ahead of us this time. That way you could sorta scout the village and let us know what’s what once we get there.”
    Jakyr frowned. “I don’t think that’s all that good a notion, Mags,” he said—and Lita predictably cut him off.
    “Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t trust us to be able to suss out the situation,” she said with scorn. “I’ve been gauging audiences since before you were in Whites, Jak. I think it’s a splendid idea.”
    She paused to inhale a few more bites of stew, and Jakyr winked at Mags while her attention was still on her bowl. Then he launched into his counterargument, an argument that was as frail as a cobweb and just as easily destroyed. He put up a brave mock fight, though. They went through two bowls of stew each before he put down his bowl, threw up his hands, and said, “Have