Redoubt (34 page)

There was nothing else of value that could be pointed to as theirs except their clothing.
Lacking any other clue, I placed the child with the townsfolk to be dealt with as
an orphan without resources. We buried the captives within the chamber that had been
their prison.”

Anticipation turned to disappointment. Was that all there was?

Another memory, this time from the Kirball game where Amily had nearly been snatched.

Mags started for Amily, as Dallen laid back his ears and backed away from the man
who was trying to seize his bridle. But wait—there was Ice! Ice on one side of him,
Stone on the other! But why were they here, instead of focusing on Amily? Weren’t
they—wasn’t it Amily they wanted?

But he felt it now, felt their concentration on him, felt a chill of real fear lance
through him
 . . .

Instinctively, Mags ducked under Ice so that the man rolled over his back and landed
on the ground. Mags got a startled glimpse of something in his hand that glittered,
reflexively kicked it away, spun, and ran toward Amily.

:They’re ’ere!:
he mind-shouted
. :They’re ’ere and they’re after both of us!:

Mags sensed Ice coming at him from the side. This time, instead of dropping and rolling,
he abruptly changed directions, heading for the piled supplies for the stables. He
vaulted over a stack of hay bales and switched directions again. Ice followed him—out
of the corner of his eye he saw that Ice was wearing a Guard uniform. Stone probably
was, too.

They had known him. And their reaction had been to abruptly change their plans from
one target to two. That was, ultimately, the only reason why they had failed in the
end. They had seen him within their grasp, and instead of protecting the prize they
already had, they had rushed after another quarry. Him.

And a last memory . . . this one very recent.

“You gotta deal with your past, Mags, you have to. If you don’t, it’ll just keep coming
back to haunt you, and one day it’ll do something to you that you can’t get out of.”

Bear probably had no idea how prophetic his words were going to be. Because right
now Mags’ past evidently
had
caught up with him, and he
couldn’t
get out of it. It literally had him in shackles.

“Now you begin to see,” the kidnapper said with supreme satisfaction. It was an extremely
smug satisfaction, too . . . and a sense that he had been certain all along that once
Mags was exposed to “the truth,” he would fall tamely into line. “You are one of us,
boy. And we will help you to see that.”

For the first time in Mags’ presence, the other one—Levor—nodded. “Kan-li is correct.”
He smiled. If it was meant to reassure, it did the opposite, since the smile sent
chills down Mags’ back. “We will awaken you to your true self. The Shadao has sent
his talisman with us for you. We shall give you its spirit, and you will understand
your proper place among your people. Then there will be no more need for such as this—”
he gestured at the manacles.

Talisman? Like the ones that Ice and Stone had worn? The ones that had
murdered
them, crushed their minds out of existence, when it knew they had been captured?

Somewhere in the valley down below them, a bird began to sing happily. Considering
how Mags felt right now . . . he’d have cheerfully changed places with that bird,
even knowing a hawk was about to eat it. Because what they were suggesting was worse
than quick death.

“We have brought the herbs of remembrance with us,” Levor continued. “I prepare them
now. We shall give them to you, and you will remember. Then we shall prepare you and
endow you with the talisman of the Shadao. Its spirit will infuse you, and you will
embrace your people and your destiny again. Then we shall steal swift horses and ride
away from here, back to our clan.”

He felt overcome with nausea, and terror sat in a hard lump in his stomach.

They’re gonna drug me, then . . . do some kinda magic, and that
thing
will take over and . . .

Absolute despair crushed him like an overwhelming wave of blackness. There was no
way out of this. There was no one to rescue him . . .

But—

There was one thing left he
could
do, and that bird, which sounded exactly like one he listened to every morning at
the Collegium, reminded him of that. He had a duty to fulfill, and he could bargain
with them to do just that. There might be nothing else he could do, but at least,
he could bargain. He would lose . . . he, or at least the Mags he knew . . . would
be utterly obliterated. But he
could
win something. Something important.

“You gotta know I ain’t gonna put up with this,” he said, roughly, losing some of
the cultured tone of his speech under the stress. “I’m gonna fight you, and that
spirit
of yours, and I don’t care if it kills me. I don’t care what you say about you bein’
my people. I don’t know nothin’ about this Shadao or any of these people, and I don’t
care spit about ’em.”

Levor looked slightly shocked, although that might only have been because Mags had
talked back to them. Both the kidnappers looked like people who were not used to being
talked back to or having their authority challenged. Kan-li merely nodded, as the
little fire crackled and the pot simmered.

“Mebbe I’ll die. Or mebbe you’ll win. I reckon the odds are even.” He took a deep
breath. “But there’s somethin’ I
do
care ’bout, right now, right this minute. I care ’bout the people that saved me.
And that ain’t you. So. I’ll make ya a deal.” He swallowed, and he tasted tears. He
didn’t want to die, and this would be a kind of death. But he was a Herald of Valdemar,
and there was so much that was more important than one little life. “Ye don’t need
the sun-dogs no more. Ye got me. Ye can all go home. Call off yer contract with the
sun-dogs. Tell ’em they can stuff it up where their sun don’t reach, an’ call everybody
ye got here back. Promise never t’go after th’ Nor—Valdemar an’ the rulers of Valdemar
ever again. Promise me thet, pledge it, an’ I won’t fight ye. I’ll drink yer stuff,
an’ ye kin do what ye want with yer talisman, an’ ye won’t haveta hold me down or
knock me out.”

Kan-li smiled, very slowly. It was the first genuine smile that Mags had seen from
him. “So speaks an honorable
man.
We understand your feelings of obligation. We will accept your bargain. Behold.”

He held out his hand, and Levor reached into his tunic and brought out the folded
parchment. Kan-li took it, muttered a few words over it, and tore it quite simply
in two, without any fanfare.

Then he shoved the two halves under the simmering pot, where they went up in a few
heartbeats, leaving behind nothing but ashes.

Mags sagged with defeat. “All right,” he said. “You got it. Bargain made.”

Kan-li nodded. “Bargain made. But forgive me if I do not remove the manacles. I believe
in surety. And I do not yet know the extent of your honor.”

Mags nodded. He hadn’t expected anything else.

“It will take some time for the herbs to steep,” Kan-li continued. “Perhaps you would
prefer to wait in the wagon.”

Since that sounded more like an order than a request, Mags nodded again. Wearily,
he got to his feet and shuffled over to the wagon, clambering back into it and falling
into his nest.

Once there, he felt tears leaking out of his eyes, but he could not be bothered to
wipe them away. He could
not
resign himself to this, and yet, at the same time, he knew he had no choice. So . . .
really, all he wanted to do now was to get it over with. Take the drugs, put on the
damn talisman, and be done with it. Waiting wasn’t going to make things any better.

:Mags:

He didn’t even have the strength to sob, really. It all seemed to have run out of
him when he agreed to this . . . thing. And yet, he would not have undone his bargain
if he had been offered the chance. He couldn’t. Not and still remain Mags. All he
could do was accept, and cry.

:MAGS!:

He’d ignored the first little whisper of Mindvoice because it was so weak, so tenuous—and
because it wasn’t Dallen. Not that he wanted it to be Dallen. He really wanted Dallen
safe, in Valdemar, and away from him. Dallen couldn’t save him, and—

: . . . Mags . . . I know you can hear me. Stop wallowing in misery and answer.:

—that, however, was impossible to ignore.

As was the distinct sensation of claws prickling in his mind, as a sort of warning
that they would soon be unsheathed if he didn’t behave himself.

: . . . Reaylis?:

:Finally. Now, don’t say anything, just listen.:

In the midst of misery, he felt a flash of happiness. At least Reaylis was free, and
if he was free, so was Franse.

There was a long pause. For a moment he began to think that the voice in his mind
had just been a figment of his imagination.

:Idiot. Their talismans are listening.:

. . . Oh. Now
he
felt like an idiot.

But what on earth could Reaylis, or Reaylis and Franse together, do? He was still
chained to this devil’s bargain . . .

:Shut
up.
Dallen is with us. We’re going to get you free.:

. . . but . . .

:Agree to the drugs, but ask them to go down to the valley first before they give
them to you.:

He couldn’t see how that would make a difference, but . . . he could profess a concern
that he’d start having visions and wander off the side of the cliff. They shouldn’t
have a problem with that. How long could it take to get down to the valley, anyway?
Not long enough to make much of a problem for them.

:Good. Now, I see you promised only not to fight their drugs or that specific talisman.
Excellent. You won’t be breaking your promise.:

Kind of moot, since he still didn’t see how one young man, a cat, and a Companion
were going to be able to free him anyway. Especially not drugged.

:I want you to take the damned things and have the damned visions so you can get to
the bottom of this mystery about your past, idiot.:

There was a very long pause. He wondered for a moment if that was all there was going
to be.

But no.

: Your friend the Healer is right. It’s going to keep coming back on you until you
deal with it, and right now you need some clues so you can start.:

He didn’t want to hope only to have his hopes dashed. But it did sound as if Reaylis
and the others had actually thought this through.

:I am not even going to dignify that with a reply.:

The offended hauteur of that actually teased a faint smile out of him.

:Better. Now, I am not going to tell you what we plan.:

Of course not! If the talismans could listen, they might be able to get it out of
his mind.

:Just get down to the valley, take the drugs, get as much as you can out of the visions.
I’m finished.:

And . . . that seemed to be that.

He waited for a while to see if there would be anything else—or if his kidnappers
might
be aware he had been getting messages from the Suncat. But all he heard out there
were occasional murmurs and the weary sighs of the horses. Finally he scooted to the
back of the wagon and put his head out.

“Uh—” He coughed, but he’d already gotten their full attention when he started moving.
“Iffen ye don’ mind . . . afore ye give me that stuff, can we move t’the valley? I
don’ wanta be tied up like afore, an’ I don’ wanta fall off th’ rim, neither.”

Kan-li looked at his partner, who shrugged. “It is possible. It would be safer. Also,
we could more easily ward our camp in the valley.”

The two of them switched to their own tongue and discussed it for a few more moments.

“More grass for the horses,” Mags suggested during a pause.

That seemed to decide them. It looked as if Levor had permitted the fire to die down
under the pot anyway; he lidded it up, strapped the lid down with a piece of buckled
leather, and carefully carried it to the wagon, where he wedged it in.

There was the usual sort of business of harnessing up the horses, but they didn’t
turn to go back down the trail as Mags had thought they would. Instead, they went
forward. They must know this road . . . had they traveled it before? Or had they been
scouting the region?

Maybe it was something as simple as memorizing a really good map.

They went very slowly and very carefully, with Levor poking his head into the wagon
every so often to make sure the pot hadn’t spilled. Mags held himself in place, feeling
the tension mount. Because even with the prospect of rescue at hand . . . he still
didn’t want to do this. He didn’t care for drugs at the best of times, and at the
worst . . . he
really
didn’t care for drugs. He had far too many bad memories and nightmares in his past,
and he wasn’t looking forward to revisiting them.

And anyway, he couldn’t have been more than three when his parents had been killed.
How was a three-year-old going to know anything? Unless these drugs were supposed
to open him up to that talisman. He was horribly afraid that was the case. Maybe with
the drugs they wouldn’t even need to put the talisman on him, it would reach out and
take him.

And he
had
agreed to accept that. Could he accept it and still remain himself? Could he accept
it and still remain loyal to Valdemar?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to have to find out the answer the hard way.

But he didn’t have a choice. The only thing he could do was to trust to his friends,
trust to his own training, and hold onto himself for dear life.

15

B
y late in the afternoon, they had reached the valley floor. It was clearly a better
place for a camp. Although the valley wasn’t particularly wide, there was a nice stretch
of meadow full of knee-high grass and even a little stream running along one side
of the valley. Both of Mags’ kidnappers looked upon this with approval.

They quickly made another, much superior camp, tethered the horses within reach of
the grass and the stream, and consulted with each other at great length in their own
language. They actually pitched a tent, dug a latrine, got some boxes and other things
out of the wagon and tethered canvas over the lot, and looked as if they planned to
settle in for a few days. Meanwhile, Mags made himself comfortable in the wagon. He
had the feeling they were going to decide that he needed to drink this stuff as soon
as possible.

Finally Levor got the pot out of the wagon and set it down by the fire. He began straining
the liquid through cloth into a bowl; when he had filled the bowl, he brought it to
Mags.

Mags looked at the stuff dubiously; it looked like swamp water and smelled about the
same. But when he looked up at Kan-li, it was pretty clear from the kidnapper’s posture
that if he didn’t drink it down, the kidnapper was perfectly prepared to “help him”
and hold him down and pour it down his throat.

So he drank it. It tasted as awful as it smelled, and it sat uneasily in his stomach.
So uneasily that he wondered if he was going to vomit it all up again.

But just as he thought that . . .

He thought he might just have hallucinations or the sort of view that a baby would
have of his parents. But that wasn’t what he got at all.

What he got was very much like standing under a colossal waterfall of images, feelings,
fragments, sounds, as if someone had shattered lives and was pouring the bits over
him.

It was completely disorienting, completely overwhelming.

None of it was coherent. It was all pouring straight into him. He understood, somewhere
underneath his panic, that these were visions, not hallucinations and not memories.
Or not
his
memories.

At least it was all limited to his past, and not to anyone else’s. A few dozen lives,
not thousands. But fragments just kept rushing at him, and he couldn’t sort them out.
A baby’s birth (his?). A couple and their infant fleeing on fast horses. Kidnapping
attempts—a
lot
of them. Killing, lots of killing. Fighting. More running. Something stolen. Glimpses
of a trading caravan. Glimpses of Karsite priests and a city the size of Haven, centered
with an enormous building that was not a palace. Another caravan. Storms, inns, sheltering
in the wilderness, guesting in temples . . .

None of it made any sense, and the more he tried to sort it out, the more kept coming
at him. It felt as if he were drowning in images, feelings, sensations . . . he felt
battered and beaten by it all. It was exactly like being in a hailstorm, and the hailstones
kept getting bigger, hitting him harder . . .

Or a sandstorm, and the images and memories were eating away at him.

The more he tried to stand his ground, the quicker he was being eroded. His life was
joining the storm.

Finally he just . . . let go. Let go and let everything flood over him. He didn’t
try to sort through it, he didn’t try to make any sense of it. He just collapsed on
himself and let it roll over him.

And the moment he let go, it stopped pounding him, and it was as if he were in the
center of a flood but was managing to keep afloat on top of it.

He just clung tightly to his sense of who he was and what was worth living for. The
more he did that, the less the flood affected him, until he felt as if he were something
like a chip being tossed on the waves of a raging torrent instead of a rock being
eroded by a sandstorm.

He clung to himself even more tightly then; and finally, after what seemed like an
eternity, it dawned on him to
shield
.

Maybe he was missing something by doing this, but at least he wasn’t getting eroded
bit by bit.

He made his shield “slick” on the outside, and now everything was just slipping over
him. He was still at the heart of a vision-storm, but it wasn’t battering him.

There was no way to sense time, no reference at all. He was utterly divorced from
his body. At least with the first lot of drugs these people had fed him, he might
have been lost in nightmares and hallucinations, but he had an anchor with his body,
which got hungry and thirsty, and fought its way clear of the drugs on a regular basis.
He couldn’t sense his body at all now. He had no idea what was happening to it in
this kaleidoscope of utter chaos.

But once he shielded, he could at least still sense Dallen’s faint presence, and he
hung onto that. As long as he had that, he wouldn’t go completely mad. As long as
he had that, he was himself, Mags, and not Meric.

Or rather, he was Meric, but he was mostly Mags . . . there were things he
did
want to remember when this was over, things that belonged to Meric and only Meric.
Things about his mother, his father.

Meric. That had been what his mother called him, the mother that had died shielding
him.

He sensed these things off in the maelstrom, but he didn’t go fighting after them.
That would only have opened him up to erosion again.

He concentrated on remembering everything good about being Mags. He went over every
move in every Kirball game he had ever played. He concentrated on what it felt like
to become a single entity with Dallen. He tried to remember every song that Lena had
performed for him. He tallied all that Bear had taught him—healing, history, and plain,
honest friendship.

And he thought about Amily.

Amily and Dallen were like twin supports for him, keeping him steady, helping him
to hold on. They were remarkably alike in so many ways . . . brave, steadfast, loyal . . .
curiously vulnerable, surprisingly strong. He finally understood, or at least, he
thought he did, what Amily wanted.

She wanted to be herself. Not her father’s daughter. Not the cripple. Just herself.
But that was by far not the only thing she wanted. She wanted the same for everyone—that
was why she didn’t press him on anything. She wanted him to make up his own mind about
things, without persuasion, much less coercion. To be
himself.
Maybe the reason she understood that so well was because she had been regarded as
everything
but
herself for so very long by so many people. She knew what it was like to be tucked
under a label and have no one look past that label.

But Mags had looked beyond the obvious, and he had seen the quiet, clever girl for
all she was and could be. That was one reason why she loved him

And she had, consistently, looked past
his
labels.

That was one reason why he loved her.

Oh, yes . . . that was part of Mags, too. He loved Amily. He hadn’t recognized it
as “love” until this moment because it was such a quiet version of that emotion—and
in that, it was the twin to hers. But it was love, all the same. And it was very like
the love he and Dallen shared, though he rather had the notion
that
was more like brothers.

That’s what they don’t have, these men . . . and they would never think I would, either.

That must be why he was able to ride out this flood when others would be overwhelmed
and lost in it, even losing their very selves to it. Mags understood then that it
was not because he was able to hold onto himself that he was surviving this. It was
because he was able to hold onto others.

And holding to that, holding to the warmth, the friendships, the loves . . . holding
to all those things outside himself that made life worth living . . . that was how
he weathered the storm, floated on the torrent; and finally, as the tempest of memories
and images, visions and sensations, began to ebb, he drifted safely into shore, dropped
lightly onto the sands of morning, still himself.

* * *

He didn’t open his eyes. Quite frankly, he was completely exhausted. This might have
been the most difficult and physically demanding night of his entire life.

He could hear Kan-li and Levor speaking, but now he found he could make out fragments
of what they were saying. Kan-li was asking his underling how long Mags would remain
unconscious.

Levor professed that he had no idea. Kan-li was not happy about this, but he didn’t
argue. Instead, he changed the subject to whether or not one of them should remain
here with Mags while the other went to steal some faster horses.

:Mags.:

It was Reaylis. Mags kept himself from starting, and possibly making a noise, just
in time.

:They’re a bit distracted, and they and their talismans are far enough away from you
that you won’t alert them. It’s safe for you to speak now. Are you all right?:

He considered that.
:Mostly,:
he replied.

:I expect you feel as though you’ve been running up a mountain with Dallen on your
shoulders,:
came the unexpectedly sympathetic reply.
:I don’t know if you know your maps of this part of the world all that well, but you
are not horribly far from White Foal Pass, and there are a fair number of Heralds
and Guard in this part of the world. Dallen has managed to summon a goodly number
to your side of the pass. It would make war break out again if they crossed the Border,
but if we can get you to them—:

:Aye,:
he replied, and then he nearly
did
jump out of his skin as a cold nose and equally cold . . . something . . . thrust
into his hands, then a weight landed on his chest. His eyes snapped open, and once
again, he was looking to Reaylis’ blue eyes. The cat had just slipped a very thin,
very sharp little blade into his hands.

:Hide that in your boot,:
the cat said. And between that moment and the next, Reaylis was gone, slipping between
the canvas and the body of the wagon. Mags slid the blade down his ankle just in time.
Kan-li unfastened the canvas flaps, looked in, and caught him awake.

“The day renews,” Kan-li said, and he looked at Mags with his head tilted ever so
slightly.

“The day renews,” Mags replied automatically, then realized he had answered the kidnapper
in his own language.

Kan-li nodded with satisfaction. “Good. It has begun, and the life of our people has
taken root in your soul. There will be another drink of the herbs in the afternoon,
all things permitting, and perhaps a third tomorrow. Then, the talisman.”

Mags just gazed at him, allowing all of his exhaustion to show.

“Perhaps food and drink, then sleep?” he replied, sagging a little sideways in an
exaggerated version of how he really felt.

Slowly, Kan-li nodded. He went out, and came back with a full waterskin and a wooden
bowl of soup—at least this time the soup was real soup, with meat and other things
in it, and not just broth.

There were seasonings to it as well that his tongue didn’t recognize but that his
memory
did. It was extremely disconcerting, because he still felt exactly like himself,
and yet he had all these . . . bits . . . that were not supposed to be part of him,
that had become part of him.

:That was the whole point, idiot,:
the Suncat said acerbically.

Kan-li returned, took the bowl, and helped him out of the wagon. To his chagrin, he
was extremely wobbly, but at least it didn’t take much to exaggerate his weakness.
It took Kan-li’s aid to get to the area they had marked out for a latrine, but at
least by the time he got there, his gait had steadied, and Kan-li did not linger but
only waited at a distance for Mags to finish and walk back to the wagon on his own.
Once he saw Mags could manage alone, he stayed by the fire. He was watchful, though,
and it was clear that if Mags made any sort of move that Kan-li didn’t like . . .

Mags got in unassisted and crawled to his nest.

He curled up in it in a position where he could easily reach his boot and the manacles,
lying on his side the way he’d been forced to lie when they’d captured him. He closed
his eyes and feigned sleep.

:He’s coming to check on you right now.:

He heard the canvas move a very little. He kept his eyes closed and breathed deeply.

:He’s gone. Start cutting on your bonds now. I’ll warn you if they come back so you
can stop.:

The knife was very sharp, and Mags worked diligently at the manacles on his ankles,
cutting them
almost
all the way through, and just leaving a little tag of leather he could readily snap.
He had to stop three times as his captors looked in on him, but Reaylis gave him plenty
of warning.

:How are you feeling?:
Reaylis asked after the third check.

He took stock of himself.
:Not bad.:

:Can you fight? You won’t be fighting very long, I expect, but you might need to fight.
Franse certainly can’t.:

He took a deep breath and felt a hot, smoldering anger inside himself that he hadn’t
expected. These kidnappers and assassins had fully expected that embedding all this
stuff
about his supposed people would make him turn toward them.

In fact, it was having the opposite effect. And he had no idea why.

He only knew that every bit of him rebelled, utterly, against their culture, their
beliefs, and their way of life, even though he couldn’t consciously remember anything
about it. He just had the utter conviction that it was all just
wrong
.

And he knew then that this must have been how his father and mother had felt. Only
this complete sense of revulsion could have made them flee so very far, across so
many foreign lands.

And he was
not
going to allow these people to win.