Bastion

hadn’t known Mags existed, and the first lot hadn’t recognized him at all. But the one who had been sent to help get them out when they were exposed and who had kidnapped Bear certainly had. . . .
    Mags would never forget that moment.
    Mags stepped into the light, his hand clutching his sword hilt.
    The thin, dark-haired man dressed in strange, dark clothing stared at him.
    “Not YOU!” he screamed. “YOU are not supposed to be here!”
    He would probably see that moment in nightmares for the rest of his life.
    :You might want to concentrate on the nightmare closing in on us.:
    Mags looked back over his shoulder. There was definitely more black cloud back there, and that didn’t bode well. It seemed cruel that ahead of them was a bright, sunny, nearly cloudless sky.
    :Dallen, keep me from fallin’ off. I gotta try to warn the others.:
    He didn’t wait for an answer; he dropped all of his shields, which was safe enough out here, where there was nothing but birds and beasts and—
    Wait. Woodcutter. The man was intent on the tree he was chopping down; wise, since when a woodcutter’s mind was on other things, bad accidents often happened. Mags concentrated as hard as he could. :BLIZZARD!: he “shouted” into the man’s mind, timing his warning for the moment when the ax blade would actually strike the tree. Let’s not make things worse by choppin’ his foot off!
    He sensed the fellow jump; the ax lodged in the tree and stuck there. The man looked up and spotted the ominous clouds. The first thing that leaped into the man’s mind was relief that his cottage was not far away. The second was to get his ax out so he could run for its safe walls.
    Good. Mags left his mind behind.
    He found two more people out in the woods, a hunter and a trapper. He managed to alert both of them before moving on. He hoped they would get to shelter, though he probably would never know for certain, since neither of them had a destination in mind when he pulled his thoughts away from them. But they had a better chance now than they had before he’d found them.
    At last, he found Amily and the rest. With a surer touch now than he’d had when he’d first tried to talk to her this way, he didn’t so much shove his way into her thoughts, the way he’d done with the three strangers, as he slipped into them, a welcome guest instead of an interloper. :Amily! Blizzard behind you!: he Sent urgently.
    :What?: he Heard—and it was almost exactly like a deliberate Sending. Then :Oh, gods! Don’t worry, we’re not that far, and we’ll run for it!:
    He could have cheered at the clarity and strength of her thoughts, except he had other things to think about right at that moment.
    It was going to be easier, for him at least, to Send to Jakyr than to try to shout over the pounding hoofs of the Companions. He crouched farther down against Dallen’s neck and closed his eyes. :I warned the others,: he Sent.
    :Good,: came the labored response. :I think we’ll make it, but the storm will catch us before we get there. This is going to be a near thing.:
    :Just get us there,: he replied. :You an’ Jermayan know yer way around woods better’n me. We’ll follow you. Just don’t lose the track when it hits!:
    As they pounded along the track, Mags began to wonder if waiting for that steak-and-kidney pie for luncheon was going to prove to be the mistake that cost them dearly.
    Maybe it would have been better to ask for the sausages in rolls and eat in the saddle.
    Well, too late now to undo that mistake. And hindsight was always crystal clear.
    He kept shooting glances over his shoulder, and the view didn’t get any better when he did. The clouds boiled up behind them, still charcoal-gray, still closer every time he looked. The wind picked up behind them, colder and damper, cutting through the cloak and making him wish Lydia had got one lined with sheepskin instead of fur. Ahead of them, the trees swayed, and the wind moaned in the branches.
    It seemed they had been running forever, with the menace coming on fast behind them, and the landscape never varying. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought they were running in circles, except that you could still see the clear track passing through the trees ahead of them, with the hoofprints of the vanners clear in the damp earth and moss, huge horseshoe shapes squashing leaves into the mud.
    He fell into a kind of trance, concentrating on making himself the least burden to Dallen he