Changes

by Mercedes Lackey

  “I’ve been thinking about other things too,” Lena said, after another long silence. “I think we’re getting nowhere trying to sort out our own problems. You know, proving that Bear is as good or better than any other Healer, proving that my father is wrong about me, and finding your enemy Agents. I think maybe we should trade problems.”

  “. . . just how’s that s’posed t’ work?” Mags asked dubiously.

  “Well . . . look, I have a lot of chances to go just about anywhere up here on the Hill that I want to,” Lena pointed out. “Even Trainees are welcome anywhere they want to go. I know you’ve been training in how to be sneaky, but I’ve been training in how to be welcome. I can literally look everywhere up here for those Agents. What’s more . . .” her voice hardened. “What’s more, I can make people trust me.”

  “Wait, what?” Bear asked, startled.

  “You know my f—Bard Marchand uses Projective Empathy. They say I have it too, I just didn’t want to . . . to be so manipulative, so I haven’t gotten much past the most basic use of it, in case I have to use it some day to control a crowd in an emergency.” She lost some of the hard edge to her voice. “So if I really start training in it and use it to make people trust me, the way he does, I can find out a lot.”

  An’ ye prove ye gots th’ exact same Gifts’s Marchand too. Aye, I see where this’s goin’. But he didn’t object. On the contrary, this was one of the better ideas he’d heard. And using Projective Empathy for a purpose like this? Not only was it ethical, it was probably something that everyone in the know was wishing Marchand would get off his behind and do himself.

  “Ye know what,” Mags said after a moment. “Might could be I kin find out what’s goin’ with yer healin’ kits and mebbe find out why Amily’s Healin’ got canceled too.”

  “You aren’t—” Bear began.

  “Not a bit,” Mags replied. “They’re expectin’ me t’ snoop an’ listen wi’ m’Gift. Well, I’m still gonna, when I git a chance t’go down inter Haven, but I bet they find reasons t’keep me up ’ere. An’ I ain’t gonna use m’Gift fer that up ’ere. I’m gonna go lookin’ at comin’s and goin’s and records. Gonna chat wi’ Guards. Dependin’ on what I find out, might could tell me if’n some’un makes a lotta liddle trips down inter Haven thesselves that nobody else does. Gonna watch who’s watchin important thin’s—who gits thesselves duty so’s they kin be at partic’lar place. An’ I reckon whoever this is, they ain’t all doin’ th’ same thing . . . so who’s meetin’ up on the sly wi’ sommun odd.”

  Bear was very quiet. “Well, I had a notion . . . there’s a City Healer who belongs to one of those charitable orders that came up to talk to me about the kits. And he’s asked me a couple times if I’ll come down a few days a fortnight and work with him down there. There’s a lot more people who’d trust a potion than a Healer down there. Now . . . I could do that. And people talk when they’re getting helped. Heck, they babble sometimes. I could have you come along as my helper, Mags, and you could—”

  “Aye, could do,” Mags said, seeing immediately where he was going. “Yer right, people, they sorta rain bits’a thinkin’ when they’re hurtin’.” He perked up at the thought. “Now thet there’s a fine notion, Bear! An—ye know what? Ye do thet, yer gonna show ev’body i’ th’ whole damn Healer’s Circle thet yer gonna shove right up an’ do th’ dirty work, not jest the stuff where yer fiddlin’ wi’ yer plants an’ all an’ niver touch a real human patient.”

  He heard the life come back into Bear’s voice. “Aye. I’ll show I not only can accept responsibility, I’m willing to take it on my own.”

  “And I’ll prove I’m my father’s daughter, but . . . without being so self-centered,” Lena said, firmly.

  “An’ . . . an’ I’ll show I kin figger stuff out wi’ jest usin’ m’head. An’ Dallen,” Mags said.

  ::Thank you for that.::

  ::Yer welcome. Yer half m’brains anyway.::

  ::Only half?:: Dallen teased.

  ::Ah, hush.::

  Slowly, Mags felt his stomach unknotting, and the tension behind his eyes easing. It felt good to have a plan again, and better to have one that didn’t involve torturing children.

  He felt his eyes starting to drift closed . . . and became aware of something else.

  Bear and Lena. They were probably unaware of it themselves, but now that they had something they could actually do about their situations, they would be a great deal happier if he was elsewhere at the moment. Mags was always careful to screen out stray thoughts around these two, but nevertheless, a great deal of feeling swirled around them . . . .and . . .

  “I’m a-gonna find Amily an’ tell ’er what’s goin’ on,” he said, trying to keep it from sounding abrupt as he sat up. “Reckon she needs ter know right off, aight?”

  “Oh . . . damn, I can’t believe I forgot about Amily!” Bear exclaimed, “Definitely, she can use some good news. She’s kind of gotten over being mad at her pa, but . . . she’s not happy.”

  He got to his feet. “Mebbe I kin change thet,” he said with a smile; he started to leave the grotto but then turned back a moment.

  He caught Bear just reaching for Lena’s hand and suppressed a grin at Bear’s flush. “Lena—ye mind what yer Dean said. Aight?”

  She looked confused. “What my Dean said?”

  “ ’Bout playin’. Reckon t’day ye kin skip class fer once. Or at least, fer a liddle.” Without waiting for their answer, he strode off.

  He regretted the brisk stride within a few steps as the heat hit him like a hammer, and the headache threatened a return. ::I’m a-gonna cheat. Dallen, where’s Amily?::

  It had occurred to him that Dallen seemed to be able to locate Amily just fine, even though she was not a Herald. And Dallen did not challenge this observation. ::Well, that’s interesting . . . :: the Companion said after a moment.

  ::What is?::

  ::I’ll have to show you.::

  Following Dallen’s mental instructions, Mags found himself going into the Palace, which was not a surprise since Nikolas and Amily had their rooms in the Heralds’ Wing there—but then, following further instructions, he went down a half-hidden set of stairs he never even knew were there, into what must have been a basement, and from those stairs down a long, dim—and blessedly cool—corridor. There were several doors leading from it; the place had a definite feeling of age and was plain, without being shabby. He stopped where Dallen indicated, and tapped lightly on the solid oak door there. “It’s Mags,” he called softly. “Kin I come in?”

  “Mags?” the door muffled Amily’s voice, but the surprise in it was clear. “Yes, of course! I wasn’t expecting anyone down here—”

  He opened the door to a room scarcely larger than a closet, round and with a round table in the center. It was lit by one lantern, heavily shaded, suspended from the ceiling above the exact center of the table. Beneath it, resting on a padded base, was a sphere of crystal. The table itself was surrounded by padded benches with backs to them. As the door closed behind him, the “dead” feeling to the room showed that it was so well-insulated against outside noise that a small riot could probably take place outside the door without the occupants of the room being aware of it.. Amily was sitting on one of the benches, and it seemed she must have been staring into the sphere.

  “What—”

  “What is this place?” Amily asked. “It’s a workroom for doing things at a great distance. It’s one of the most shielded rooms on the Hill, and the shields are tremendously old. It’s said Vanyel made this place, though no one remembers how or why. We’re right underneath the Royal Suite, in fact.”

  “I was gonna ask, what’re ye doin’ down ’ere all alone?” he said, with a half smile.

  “Just . . . thinking, I suppose,” she replied, as he sat down beside her. “It seems easier to stay calm down here. And it doesn’t hurt that it’s cooler than upstairs.”

  “Aye t’thet.” Her hand lay quietly on the table; he considered
it, then put his over it. This seemed as good a time as any to ask her about something that had been on his mind for a good long time. “Y’know, yer pa started up this thin’ ’tween us t’gi’ me a reason fer hangin’ about. We were friends an’ all, an’ thet was fine, but now, ev’body seems t’figger we’re courtin’. Even yer pa. Nobody seems t’hev asked you how ye feel ’bout thet. An’ nobody seems t’hev asked ye if ye fancied the courtin’ be fer real.”

  Amily looked right at him, no blushing or faltering. He liked that about her so much—she was so straightforward.

  “I was hoping that you holding my hand right now meant you were happy with the idea,” she said, with a faint smile. “Because I don’t think I would care to be courted by anyone else.”

  He grinned hard enough to make his face split and squeezed her hand. “Reckon we feel ’bout th’ same, then,” he said warmly. He was about to say more when Amily held up her free hand, stopping him.

  “But Mags, that was one reason why I wanted to have my leg fixed—don’t you see?” she said, anxiety now coloring her voice. “I’ve been such a burden on Father all these years, I don’t think I can bear to be a burden on someone else!”

  He blinked, taken by surprise. His first reaction was to tell her she was no kind of a burden, but that wasn’t true and they both knew it. His second was to say nobody minded, and that was partly true. People were only people, patience ran out—

  —well, just look at the prime fit that she herself had pulled when her Healing had been canceled. And she was one of the most patient people he knew.

  The silence lengthened, and he knew if he didn’t say something, she was going to think the worst. He scratched his head. “Ye know, there ain’t no good answer t’thet. ’Cept thet I unnerstand. An’ it ain’t like yer never gonna git yer leg fixed, right?”

  Her eyebrows furrowed, but she nodded.

  “An’ it ain’t like nobuddy wants ter help ye. Ye know thet. Right?”

  Again, she nodded.

  “So ye ain’t hateful, an’ this ain’t gonna be ferever. It’s jest fer a liddle while longer. I think th’ world’a yer pa, but I think he’s a damn fool fer not tellin’ ye what’s goin’ on, though—an’ not jest cause it ain’t right.” He smiled crookedly. “ ’E’s a damn fool fer thinkin’ we’d all jest sit there wi’ our hands folded nice an’ not try an’ find out what’s what fer oursel’s.”

  She managed a little smile. “Or maye he does know you’re all going to try, and he figures to let whoever ordered him not to tell find out that keeping you lot from chasing after a secret is like trying to keep kittens in a basket.”

  “Ye’re in thet, too,” he reminded her. “Ain’t jest me an’ Bear an’ Lena. Bet ye’ve been snoopin’ a bit on yer own, aye?”

  She blushed. “Well,” she temporized. “People do tend to forget that I’m around when I’m quiet. Can I help it if they say things I’d rather not hear?”

  Something about the way she said that, gave him a sudden notion . . .

  He knew part of what made Nikolas so good at what he did was that he did have a subtle Gift—maybe a variant on Empathy, Mags didn’t know enough about Gifts to guess—that made people forget he was there.

  And it sounded as though Amily had the same Gift.

  I thought Companions always Chose people with Gifts?

  Well, maybe not. Maybe it was only that the people they Chose, had to have a Gift, and you could have one but not be Chosen . . .

  “I’ll tell ye this,” he continued, abandoning that particular line of thought. “E’en iffen yer leg never gits fixed, it’ll be wuth dealin’ wi’ it t’be wi’ ye. An’ thet’s th’ plain truth. I ain’t gonna say it ain’t gonna be a pain, but it’ll be wuth it.” He grinned crookedly. “Iffen you kin put up with me getting’ beat up playin’ Kirball and moanin’ and whinin’ ’bout it after, reckon we’ll be even. Aight?”

  Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it hadn’t been that, judging by her reaction. But judging by that same reaction, she was just as happy with it, if not more.

  She looked puzzled for a moment, then suddenly just beamed at him as if he had given her the best present of her life. She looked as if she, too, was searching for something to say, but he had the sudden intuition that words were probably not the best reply at this moment.

  So instead, he reached for and captured her other hand, leaned over, and kissed her.

  Yes . . . that was the best reply. The best possible reply.

  13

  Bear was right. People did babble to Healers. Mags had learned an amazing amount just by being the one who handed things to Bear while he patched folks up. He was becoming an expert on other peoples’ children, how they should be raised, other peoples’ love lives, other peoples’ grievances, other peoples’ pain, other peoples’ neighbors. Unfortunately, none of this information was leading to where the Agents were.

  Mags had solved the possible problem of being forbidden to help Bear with his charity Healing by simply not asking for permission. Bear went down into Haven one out of every two or three afternoons, and if anyone asked Mags where he was on those occasions, he would reply with absolute truth that he was with Amily.

  Which he was. She was helping Bear as well. Women were sometimes shy around a male Healer, even at the best of times. If they’d been abused or—as Bear delicately put it—“interfered with,” having to go to a male was problematic at best. So it was Amily who asked them questions, while Bear stayed a nonthreatening distance away, Amily who soothed them, and Amily who dispensed advice and herbs in equal measure. And if there was anything that was a testament to how successful Bear’s idea of allowing folk with training but no Gift to do Healing work could be, it was Amily’s work with these poor victims of abuse and assault.

  Here, her leg was a help rather than a hinderance. These women saw it, saw her as someone even weaker and at a greater disadvantage than they were, and did not react to her as they would probably have reacted to another woman who was obviously better off in the world than they were.

  As for Amily herself, although she would often come back up the Hill bowing under a mingled burden of compassionate grief and anger, Mags could see that being there, doing something that he and Bear could not, and accomplishing something good, was making a slow but profound change in her. She wasn’t just a cripple anymore in her own eyes; she wasn’t just the Herald’s daughter who had not been Chosen herself. She was Amily, whom Bear and Brother Killian relied on to handle the heartbreaking cases that would not respond to them. She was Amily, who had managed to get three women in the past fortnight to leave their abusers and allow the Brothers of the Well to get them away to the sanctuary of their corresponding Order of women, off to the north in Amberdeen—which was more than Brother Killian had been able to do in six months.

  Mags only wished he’d had as much good fortune. He hadn’t gotten so much as a hint that the Agents were anywhere in the city at all—neither rumors nor brushes of their presence. Up the Hill, absolutely no one had been acting out of character. If he had had absolutely nothing to do but listen to and watch folks, perhaps he might have gotten somewhere, but as it was, he wasn’t even running up dead ends, because he wasn’t finding any beginnings.

  Nikolas and the other Heralds were similarly baffled, if the stonewalling on Amily’s Healing and the stoney faces were anything to go on.

  He reflected on this with a feeling of dull urgency as he and Bear, with Amily on Dallen, made their way back up the Hill after another of Brother Killian’s charity afternoons.

  “Bloody hell,” Bear said, with feeling, flapping the loose neck of his sleeveless tunic to cool himself. “I never thought I’d miss winter. I swear, the hardest part of doing this stuff for Killian is the climb back up afterward.”

  “I’m sorry,” Amily immediately said, contritely, from her perch on Dallen’s back. “I—”

  “Nah, never mind ’im whingin’,” Mags interrupted. “The walk’s good fer ’im. He
’d ne’er get any exercise otherwise, wi’ ’is nose i’ book all th’ time.”

  He kept his tone light to cover his disappointment—and his growing unease. He couldn’t help but get the feeling that time was running out to find the Agents and their plants. They had to be planning something soon, he just felt it, like a storm about to break.

  Bear snorted. “As if—” he began, as they passed through the gates with a wave to the Guards standing sentry, who looked only slightly cooler than Bear.

  That was when whatever he had been about to retort was lost in the stampede of Heraldic Trainees bearing down on Mags.

  Dallen backed up quickly to avoid having Amily jostled. The Trainees were all talking at once, asking him if he’d heard, if he knew—since none of them bothered to say what it was they were so roused to a fever over, all he could do was shake his head.

  That was when Gennie and Pip came fording through the throng, good-naturedly pushing the rest out of the way until they got to Mags.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded. “We’ve been looking all over for you ever since the announcement!”

  “Off wi’ frien’s.” Mags said, gesturing vaguely toward Haven. “Wha’ ’nouncement?”

  “Well . . . it seems that half of Valdemar has gone mad for Kirball,” Gennie told him, so excited she was bouncing a little on her toes. “But they don’t just want to see it, they want to play it too.”

  “Wait—” it was Bear who spoke up before Mags could, frowning and combing his fingers through his hair in agitation. “That’s insane. The only reason hardly anyone gets hurt now is because you’re playing it with Companions. That field is a nightmare! You go using ordinary horses, and you are just begging for broken bones and maybe someone killed!”

  “Everyone knows that,” Pip replied. “That’s why the Guard’s been working with some of us to come up with a simplified version—one that uses a flat field and doesn’t need Heralds. We’ve been training two Guard teams for a moon or so now. We even have two versions, one with riders and one using all foot.”