So he forgot about it until after Weapons class. When he returned to the stable, Dallen called to him, with mind and with a stamp of his forehoof. :Mags, if you are not busy, I need you to come here a moment, would you?:
Obediently, he went straight to Dallen’s stall. The Companion nudged him affectionately with his nose, as he reached out to scratch Dallen’s soft ears. :Come in here, please. I need you to comb out my mane and tail, and be very careful. Gather up as many of the hairs as come out as you can, don’t stretch or damage them, keep them straight. I’m going to concentrate very hard on shedding some.:
Baffled by the odd request, Mags did as he was told. Surprisingly enough, when he was done, he had a skein of silvery hairs the size of a thick rope.
:Now take that into your room, and we’ll get to work.:
Even more puzzled by now, Mags retreated to the warmth of his room. Dallen instructed him to sit down at his desk, and light the lamp he normally used for studying by. The loose bundle of hair rested beside his right hand; the hairs seemed to shimmer in the light.
:Now ... I would like you to relax. And let me have your hands. Just—don’t think about anything, just concentrate on watching. All right? This is a bit like when I was keeping you calm, except that it is all physical.:
Now completely puzzled, all that Mags could do was to sit there and try not to think at all. And when his hands started to move all by themselves, he fought down a brief moment of panic, then suppressed the urge to make them stop, and just ... watched.
Watched as those hands selected a neat little bunch of Dallen’s hairs, watched as they moved deftly and surely, swiftly turning those hairs into a braid, then turning the braid into a bracelet.
Only then did he realize what it was that Dallen was doing. Dallen had the skill to do this, but not the hands—obviously a Companion couldn’t finger-weave like this with hooves. He had the hands, but not the skill, although he was deft enough in weaving grasses. This was another skill entirely, and Dallen was a master of it. He watched in fascination as the intricate braid formed under his fingers.
When the bracelet was done, the hands set it aside, then started another braid. This one was much longer. One end terminated in a loop, the other in a fancy knot that was just big enough it couldn’t slip through the loop. :There are a lot of things Bear can use this for, but I think he will decide it should be a bookstrap. He was looking for one the other day,: Dallen explained, as Mags’ hands got to work on something new, this time a round braid, rather than a flat one, which also terminated in a knot and a loop. Then Mags’ hands made a second. :For Jakyr. Jesses for a hawk. He’s a falconer; he keeps a peregrine here in the Royal Mews. These are good jesses,—if the bird should escape, he can pick them free of the bracelets and not get tangled in a tree.:
Mags blinked at the images he got from Dallen. Falconers carried birds of prey out into the woods and fields, set them free, and flushed game for them to take down. It was so strange to him that he could hardly encompass it. He had seen hawks in the sky, of course, but cooped up in the mine all day, he had never known what they did or ate, and never knew you could train them to hunt for you. It looked altogether exciting.
“I’d like t’ learn how t’ do that for myself,” he said aloud, as Dallen released control of his hands, and he flexed them.
:I will be happy to teach you.: Dallen’s mental voice was both satisfied and relieved .. But in the meanwhile you should go and get some fancy paper and perhaps some ribbon. Go and talk to the Guard Quartermaster, I am sure he can tell you where to find such things, assuming he has not got some himself.:
In fact, the man did have such things, being accustomed to supplying them for his own troops. Such small items as Mags had made could easily be folded into bits of scrap paper left over from the wrapping of larger gifts, and the Quartermaster had no objection to simply giving the scraps away.
By the time the usual study hour came around, Mags had two little packets, neatly tied with bits of blue ribbon. He tucked them into his pocket, picked up his books, and when he arrived, simply presented the gifts to Lena and Bear, ducking his head to hide the sudden blush.
“From me an’ Dallen,” he said as Lena took hers with thanks and Bear beamed at him. “Jest little things. We made ’em. Hope ye don’t mind.”
“Oh, Mags!“ Lena exclaimed with delight. “This isn’t a little thing! Do you know how many people would pay anything just to have a Companion-hair bracelet?”
Before Mags could say that no, he had no idea, Bear had already unwrapped his gift, thriftily setting aside the paper and ribbon. “Mags!” he exclaimed with glee. “This is just the thing for a bookstrap! No more dropping books all over for me! How did you know I was looking for one?” He examined the beautifully braided strap carefully. “You did this yourself? You dog, when did you find time?”
Mags decided not to tell him it had only taken the afternoon.
:I think our little presents are a success,: Dallen observed with pleasure.
“You tell Dallen I think he’s a star for letting you steal his hair,” Bear continued, running the strap through his fingers with an expression of bliss. “My brothers are gonna hate me. None of them have a Companion-hair bookstrap!”
Now the gifts were nice, and Mags was very proud of the weaving, but he couldn’t think why they were both making such a fuss over the presents.
:It is because we rarely allow our hair to be given to anyone but our Chosen,: Dallen explained to him as they all settled down to study. :To have such a thing says that you are the great friend of both a Herald and his Companion.:
They settled down to their studying, and at the end, when Lena and Mags were packing up their books, Bear asked, “When are you leaving, Lena?”
“Right after my last examination, which is in the morning two days from now,” she said. “What about you?”
“The same! Want to travel together as far as my home? You can overnight there, it’ll be cozier than some inn full of strangers.”
He beamed at her, and she smiled happily back. “And this way for at least part of the trip, you won’t be stuck with some prune-faced old servant and have no one to talk to.”
“Oh, Havens—that would be wonderful! They’ll be sending Hamish, the steward, and I think he hates me. Or at least, he doesn’t approve of female Bards.” She shuddered. “The sour looks he gives me every time I open my mouth would curdle milk.”
“We’ll do it, then. You’ll love my family, they’re all mad about Midwinter, they’ll probably hold a feast-rehearsal just for you—” Bear continued for a bit longer in this vein, then turned and said to Mags, “So when are you—”
That was when it finally occurred to both of them that Mags didn’t have a family, or anywhere else to go. Lena looked stricken, and Bear flushed. Lena spoke first, “Mags, I am so sorry. We didn’t mean anything, we—”
He swallowed, and ducked his head. “Don’ matter. I didn’ even know what all this was about till Dallen tol’ me. So it’s not like I hev recollections or anything, eh?”
Lena shook her head. “No Mags, we were really thoughtless, and if we’d taken the least consideration, we would have asked if one of us could have you along.”
“Pish. It don’ matter. I’da felt as out of place with your kin as a pig in a sheep pen.” He managed a smile. It felt stiff and fake, but maybe they wouldn’t notice. “Dallen says this’s ‘sposed to be a family time, so you don’ need some stranger shovin’ in where he don’ fit. Anyway, you’ll be back here in no time. An’ I’ll hev a rest from lessons! I might actually get a chance to look around. There’s a mort’o stuff I never seen before, d’ye ken?”
Lena looked unconvinced, and Bear troubled, but they didn’t say anything. Well, really, what could they say? To save them further embarrassment, Mags shoved his books into his bag, making a great show of getting them in there just so. “Anyway, got an exam first thing, so I better get some sleep. See you at breakfast, then?”
&nbs
p; He hurried out before either of them could reply.
:That was awkward.: He hadn’t gotten three steps down the path before Dallen spoke ruefully in his mind.
:Aye, that,: he replied. He was feeling both sorry for them and a bit miserable himself. Despite the promise of Jakyr’s arrival, he had little confidence that the man would spend much time with him. He was, after all, a grown man and a full Herald, and had very little in common with Mags. There would be no classes and very little to occupy Mags’ time during the fortnight or so when everyone would be gone. Once, that prospect would have made him quite happy, but now ... honestly it didn’t. He’d gotten used to having people around, and gotten used to actually having friends.
:Wretched, isn’t it?: Dallen said wryly. :All this time being lonely, and never knowing you were lonely, until you weren’t anymore.:
:Aye, well, I’ll only be lonely for a fortnight. Reckon I can last that out: He pushed open the door of the stable with a sigh.
:Dammit, I am gonna be happy here,: he told Dallen abruptly, :I got every thin’ I need, an’ I got you. If I cain’t be happy with that, I don’ deserve t’have any of it.:
———
The Collegia were quiet for the first time since Mags had arrived here.
Shortly after he had waved good-bye to Lena and Bear, most of the rest of the Trainees had gone their ways as well. There were a handful still at Healers, and a couple at Bardic, but he was the only Heraldic Trainee. Only the workmen remained, taking advantage of the Trainees’ absence to do things it was hard to accomplish with people underfoot.
Bear and Lena had given him and Dallen Midwinter presents of their own. Bear’s gift to Dallen had been a mane-and-tail comb impregnated with pennyroyal oil, which would keep flies away. His gift to Mags had been a canister full of herbal tea of his own devising; something that would help Mags sleep, but had been made to appeal to his specific taste. How he had known about the nights when Mags would be awakened by nightmares, Mags had no idea. He still dreamed of being pursued, or pursuing something that was going to hurt some unspecified person he cared for, and on those nights when Mags would wake up in a cold sweat and be unable to get back to sleep—well, this would be exactly what he needed.
Lena’s gift to Mags was a long scarf of soft, gray wool; her gift to Dallen was a strange little contraption of white net that fitted closely over both ears, and was intended to keep insects out of and off them. Mags nearly choked up; it was clear that they had both put a lot of thought into their gifts.
Now they were gone, the stables were almost silent, and when Mags had awakened this morning, he decided that he was not going to get up and go to breakfast. This was supposed to be a holiday; well, he would treat it as such.
He got up long enough to brew some of that tea, though, and drink it down. It helped, perhaps, that he had been studying so hard and for so long to pass those examinations, and that now that they were over, he felt as if a heavy weight was off him. He did manage to drowse well into midmorning, then got up, got something that might have been either an early luncheon or late breakfast from the kitchen, and then—
Then wondered what he was to do with himself. The Collegium itself was full of hammering and shouting, and was not a very peaceful place to be.
:We are going to go into the city, Mags,: Dallen said firmly. :You have never seen so much as a village before. So this is what I want you to do ...:
By midmorning Mags was dressed in his uniform with Lena’s scarf about his neck and a belt-pouch with a few sausage rolls from the kitchen in it. On Dallen’s advice, he went to Herald Caelen and asked permission to visit the city; Caelen, deep in some papers that were making him frown, waved at him absentmindedly and told him to be back by sunset. And that was all there was to it.
So he mounted Dallen’s saddle and they headed out the “Herald’s Gate” in the walls around the Palace-Collegia complex. Mags hardly dared look at the enormous homes of the highborn, now that he knew what they were. Crowded closely together, they occupied every inch of space around the Palace, and most were decorated with banners and garlands of evergreen branches, holly, and other indications that this was a festive season. There was a great deal of coming and going, too, mostly of young children with escorting adults.
:Morning is the time for small children’s parties,: Dallen informed him. :Afternoon for those from about twelve to fifteen. Evening is for the adults and those old enough to be married. Every child and adult will attend at least one party every day during this season, and most will attend two or even three.:
Mags stared at one of the houses, where so many tots were streaming in the front door that it looked like a procession of ants, and blinked. :Is that all them highborn do?:, he asked. :Go to parties?:
He’d never been to an actual party, unless you counted the “feasts” that were held for the mine kiddies in order to make it look as if they were taken care of well. There had been several at the Collegium since he had arrived; he’d heard laughter and conversation from them as he had passed open doors, and took a shy glance out of the corner of his eye, but he’d not been invited. Parties looked like they were fun. Music and talking and food. And games, though he didn’t think he would be any good at games. The only games he knew were gambling ones, and that was mostly from watching rather than playing.
:Oh, going to parties is very serious business for the highborn,: Dallen replied shrewdly. :First, you must make sure you are invited to the right parties. Then, you must make sure when you get there that you have brought the right sort of gift, and associate with the right people. You must seem to be having a good time, without seeming to be having too good a time, because then people might wonder what you thought you needed to prove, or if you were hiding something. Once you are with the right people, you must make certain that they are aware that you also are the right sort of person. You mustn’t arrive too early, or leave too late. Your arrival should cause a stirring of interest, your departure go unnoticed. You must talk about the right things when you are with the right sort of people, and of nothing if you happen momentarily to be stuck amongst the wrong sort. You must dance, and again, with the right people. You must not dance anything too country, for that is too old-fashioned:
:What are the right sort of people?: he asked, watching the kiddies in their brightly colored clothing being shooed along like so many rainbow-hued hens by the black-clad nursemaids. Each of them wore more clothing than any six of the mine kiddies put together. Did a child really need boots, leggings, undergown, overgown, shawl and coat, plus mittens and a hat? They were so bundled up they looked like yarn balls.
:In general, people that are higher in rank than you, although there are the occasional exceptions, like an especially honored scholar, Guardsman, exceedingly wealthy merchant, or anyone else who is currently being lionized.: Dallen sounded as if he had been to one of these parties personally.
:Children, too?: Mags asked, wondering how children could possibly be expected to act like anything other than children. Granted, the mine kiddies hadn’t acted like children, but the mine kiddies had incentive in the form of beatings and the loss of food to make them forget about playing and settle down to work.
:Children, too,: Dallen replied, then added :Usually, it is their nurses that are the ones to make sure that their charges are seen with the right people, but yes. Children, too.:
A moment before, he had been envying them. Not now. It would be exhausting.
:Oh, and did I mention that if you are of the female persuasion you must wear a different dress to each party? Or, at least, appear to do so.:
That was sheer insanity.
:The ones old enough to marry are expected to use this season to hunt down a suitable partner among the right people,: Dallen continued, :I have to say that I do not favor Midwinter among the highborn and the wealthy. It becomes a season of partial madness, with everyone scrambling to further themselves or their families, and almost no one getting so much as a crumb of pleasure o
ut of it.:
Mags blinked. :Not real fond of them, eh?:
Dallen snorted and bobbed his head, :I have my reasons.:
Whatever those reasons were, Dallen did not elaborate. Instead, he quickened his pace through the area, trotting briskly on the hard-packed snow that covered the road. Mags wondered why they had not cleared it off, then his question was answered when he saw the sled pulled by two matching chestnut mares. It was obvious then. It was better to glide on runners than try to control a wheeled vehicle as it bounced over ruts in the snow.
They passed quickly through the area where the merely wealthy lived, then the well-to-do, all of which were so much grander than the Pieters’ house that Mags wished with some amusement Cole Pieters could see them. He’d have gone scarlet with anger and envy.
The farther out from the Palace they got, the more crowded the streets became, until at last, Dallen slowed down to an amble and then moved out of the way of traffic and came to a stop in an open square that was filled with what looked like open-sided tents, each tent holding one or more people with things spread out on tables before them and other people crowded around.
:Midwinter Market,: said Dallen. :Go walk about and look. Enjoy yourself. No one will trouble you, wearing that uniform.:
Mags dismounted, and eased himself into the crowd.
Unlike most of the people here, he was too interested in watching what the people were doing to look at what the booths held. Now, while they were engaged in trying to find gifts, they tended not to control their expressions. Some looked bored, or harried; some had the look of a person who knows exactly what he wants and is only hunting for the best possible price. Some looked worried, some uncertain. Some had a kind of serene and happy look to them. Some—rather few—bore a contented, almost lazy look. Those last, Mags thought, had probably already gotten all the gifts they needed, and were just enjoying the market itself.
Booth tenders either huddled with potential customers or cried their wares aloud. Mags ignored this for the most part, until a few words caught his ear.
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