Intrigues v(cc-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  Wonderful smells came up from the plate; hotcakes and bacon, hot porridge. His stomach growled and he dug in. The food went down easily and quickly and he was hungry for the first time since all this began.

  Pip and Halleck got into a passionate discussion about the finer points of intercepting a ball—something that they hadn’t even begun to work out in practice. Bear waded in manfully, pointing out that a ball going as fast as this one might when hit with a stick would likely break bones if it struck you. That triggered a discussion of more padding. Under cover of this, Gennie leaned over and caught Mags’ eyes.

  Her mind-voice rang out clearly in his head. :If we’d known you were getting harassed, we’d have done this before,: she said firmly. :I’m sorry, Mags, as your Captain and as a Trainee senior to you, I should have been looking out for you. From now on, we get meals as a team. All twelve of us, plus your friends Lena and Bear if they can, at lunch at least. Those of us that live up here at breakfast and supper. You’ll never come into the dining hall with less than six people around you. Nobody will want to lock horns with a group this big, we’re Kirball players, which is starting to count for something, and seeing us four sticking by you just quelled any doubts the other Grays had.:

  He was so astonished that he could only blink at her. He could scarcely believe she was going to all this trouble.

  She snorted quietly at the expression on his face. :What? We’re a team. And I’m almost as strong a Mindspeaker as you, with a lot more practice and training. You might be able to hold things back from me, but I would know you were, even if I didn’t know what they were. You’re good, Mags, but I have to tell you, you can’t keep me out if I want in. And all these stories coming out of the Foreseers makes it ethical for me to rummage around in your head, because of the danger to the King, if I were so inclined.:

  :So did ye?: he asked solemnly.

  She shook her head. :No, because I trust and I know you. I’d ask first, if not you, then the Dean, and I wouldn’t do it in secret. But others know that I am strong and trained, and they know I’ve had plenty of opportunity, and if they choose to assume I have had a walk around in your thoughts? Well that’s good all the way around. Because they see me here and now and that is just one more shot in the heart of these stupid suspicions.:

  :Well... : he hesitated, because he really didn’t want anyone in his head but Dallen... but if that was what it was going to take... :You kin rummage aroun’ in there all ye like.:

  She shook her head. :Thanks, but no thanks. You’ve got nightmares in there I’d rather not see. Joy says Dallen told her so. But the mere fact that you offered either means you are the sneakiest and most underhanded and clever person in the Kingdom, or perfectly honest, and since you’re Chosen, you can’t be sneaky and underhanded, so you must be perfectly honest.:

  Her perfect trust in the Companions and their Choices shone through her thoughts, warming parts of him that had gone cold with rejection.

  :I bin sneaky an’ underhanded wi’ Jeffers—: he said weakly.

  :Oh, Jeffers. That doesn’t count,: she said dismissively. :In some parts of Valdemar, he’d be married and with his own family by now. He’s capable of deciding for himself what he wants to do, it’s honorable and honest, and all you are doing is helping him get it.:

  :All right then... I gotta thenkee... :

  A flash of irritation. :It’s what we all should have been doing. But if the others won’t man up and do it, your teammates will. So there.:

  He found himself smiling wanly, and went back to the conversation, which had moved on to finding ways of disrupting Gifts during the game.

  While he talked, he let his Gift drift over all the projected thoughts out there. It was soon clear that Gennie’s ploy had worked; no more hostile thoughts from anyone wearing Grays or Whites in this room—though he was getting plenty of curiosity and puzzlement.

  Well, they cain’t be any more puzzled nor me.

  There were still hostile surface thoughts; the most worrying were the ones from the Guards, who, after all, were supposed to protect the King. He had to wonder if they would decide that it was easier to prevent him from being involved in this future calamity by, well, force if necessary. He didn’t think they’d harm him but—they could find a nice dark prison cell to throw him in. Or they could drag him off and dump him on the other side of the Border.

  It was the same problem, over and over. How was he to prove that he was not the one that was the cause of a future crime?

  I s’pose I could ask fer Guard t’ be there ev’time I meet w’ th’ King... or Nikolas or summun else that’s good as a guard . . .

  Yes, but look at how he had just run into the King by chance at the stables! How could he ever stop that sort of thing from happening? Well the Companions could coordinate, he supposed, but there was no accounting for accidents. Or a situation where they had to be in the same place at the same time.

  It was just so frustrating . . .

  And frightening, really, because even though he knew, he knew he would sooner die than harm so much as a hair of the King’s head, what if it was the result of an accident, something terrible that just happened when he was in the vicinity? What if the King was attacked while Mags was there and he wasn’t going to act quickly enough to save him? What if, what if—

  There were just too many uncertainties, and in a way, he even felt some sympathy for those poor Foreseers, who were only seeing a corner of whatever it was that was going to happen. It must have been driving them mad.

  I wisht I knew what in hellfire it was they saw, ’xactly. Might be able t’ pick summat out. But right now, it was a lot more likely that Karsites would welcome Heralds and Companions with fruit baskets and flower wreaths than it was that any Foreseers would be willing to talk to him.

  Ask your friends. Lydia, Amily, Marc and all. They’ll know what’s been Seen, ask them. Well, that was certainly an idea. He had been acting as their spy, why shouldn’t they return the favor?

  Well, he didn’t exactly have the time to go down to Soren’s house at the moment... but Marc was up here, at the Royal Kennels. And it wouldn’t take too long to nip down there. He even had time before his first class.

  They all finished their breakfasts, wrapped up the conversation, waited for Mags to finish his, and left as a group.

  “Are you going to be all right until luncheon?” Gennie asked, as the others headed in several directions for classes.

  He nodded. “Got a errand first, but it’s t’ see a friend. Nobody’s bothered me ’tween classes or in classes.”

  Yet.

  He pushed the thought down.

  “All right then, we’ll meet you here before lunch. Joy will set it up with Dallen.” Gennie headed off, and Mags scooted out the door and aimed for the Royal Kennels.

  Marc was feeding the gaze-hounds, and turned toward him with a worried frown when the dogs alerted on the stranger and he spotted that it was Mags in the building.

  “Mags—”

  “I know, I know,” he replied hastily. “Thet is t’ say, I know things’r bein’ said ’bout me, but nobody’ll tell me ’xactly what it is. Marc, I gotter know what them Foreseers saw. ’Xactly what they saw. Iff’n there’s any detail, mebbe I kin figger out if I got any real connection wi’ it.”

  Marc nodded, a lock of his red hair falling over his forehead. “All right, I can talk to Lydia and she can find out easily enough. Amily probably can too, and she’s up here with her father. I’ll talk to both, and have Amily get hold of you to tell you what she found. No point in passing things through too many hands, or having too many of us all asking the same questions. It all gets muddled.”

  “It does that,” he said. His head hurt, trying to puzzle through all of this.

  Marc sucked on his lower lip. “Amily can make out as if she’s asking on behalf of her father, and that will get her the stuff straight from the Foreseers.”

  Mags nodded, still wishing he could talk to them himself. Ther
e were supposed to be Foreseers among the Heralds, weren’t there? It wasn’t a common Gift, but surely there should be one . . .

  “Bugger,” he said aloud. All this, and he still had classes to deal with. And Kirball. He felt like a juggler with only one arm.

  His unofficial bodyguard turned up at lunch, just as Gennie said they would, and universally declared that his habit of eating a very little before practice was a wise one. Gennie sent Pip off to the kitchens to explain what they needed, and shortly Pip came back with a heavy basket “for afters.” There were pocket pies in there. Dallen was going to be thrilled.

  The people in the dining hall who were not in Grays or Whites outnumbered those that were, and this time, despite the presence of the others around Mags, there was a lot of buzz of sullen conversation around them. And a lot of narrowed eyes and black looks.

  Finally Halleck seemed to tire of it all. He stood up; Mags had no idea that he was going to do anything other than, well, leave, when his voice suddenly roared out like an angry boarhound.

  “All of you. Shut up!”

  Shocked silence descended. The attention of every person in the dining hall was riveted on the Trainee. And Halleck was not a small young man; he was at least as tall, if not a little taller, than any other Trainee, and he had a truly impressive set of shoulders. Halleck looked around belligerently. “You people are like a bunch of nasty-minded old village gossips, you know that? Like a bunch of vipers. Hiss, hiss, hiss, and all that happens is you stir each other up over nothing. The Foreseers saw this. The Foreseers saw that. Well for one thing, the Foreseers have been too damn chatty about this, and they should bloody well know better. You don’t go flinging dung around and act surprised when it hits innocent people. For another, my Gift is Foresight, and you know what I saw?”

  He waited.

  Silence.

  “Nothing. That’s right. Nothing. I haven’t Seen a damn thing since then either, and it is not for lack of trying. I’ve done everything I can to get a glimpse; nothing. Now don’t you think, me actually knowing Mags and all that, if he had anything at all for us to be worried about, I would have Seen something?”

  More silence.

  “Sometimes we See really detailed stuff. Mostly, we don’t. The farther off it is, the more confused and unclear it gets, and the more we see things that are more like symbols of what’s going to happen than the actual event. Now will you people stop acting like a crowd of hateful, vicious old gossips with too much time on their hands and too much venom on their tongues and start acting like responsible Trainees? People your Circles can be proud of instead of wincing every time your names are mentioned? Yes? No?” He waited for an answer.

  Mags could still sense hostility and plenty of it.

  “Bah, remind me never to rely on any of you for anything that actually requires thinking,” Halleck spat, and sat down again.

  “Well done,” Gennie said warmly. He grinned at both of them.

  Then he turned to Mags. “I’ll tell you the truth, Mags. Foreseers—especially all the ones attached to Temples and the like, which is, so far as I know, all the ones who saw anything about the King and a foreigner—like to make out that they know more than they do.” Halleck rubbed one eye, ruefully. “I guess it kind of comes with the whole priestly thing. Direct information from the gods and all that. Most of the ones that I know of are honest enough not to actually make stuff up, but then you get other people jumping to whatever conclusions they care to. I suppose it could all be construed as a kind of test of people’s character.”

  Mags nodded.

  Halleck shrugged apologetically. “Mostly what we get is glimpses. And those glimpses are exactly like glimpses you yourself would get if you were rushed past an event, fast, a little confused, and not all that clear. That is hard enough, but once a little time has passed—the visions become memories and memories get mixed up, blurred, changed by what other people tell us.”

  Mags nodded. Pip piped up. “That’s why they tell us to get witnesses to give statements as detailed as possible right away. The problem with memory is that it’s often mistaken.”

  “Eyewitnesses tend to see what they expect to see, too,” Halleck reminded them. “Now, Foreseers do get special training so that we try and concentrate when we get a vision, and more or less turn off the thinking parts of our minds, but who knows what it was that gave those others the ‘feeling’ that the person with the King was a foreigner?”

  “Enough of all this. We have practicing to do,” said Gennie. “And I want to find out how many of the others can join us at meals. If we put enough teammates between Mags and the idiots, at least they’ll be smart enough not to gossip in front of us and we can all eat in relative peace.”

  Mags sighed. “Relative” was the operable word here.

  He thought about hiding in the Guard Archives to study, because he was all too aware when other Grays and Heralds came into the stable. Some of them didn’t know, or had forgotten, that he lived out there—but most of them knew it, and it made them uneasy. But then he thought better of the idea. According to Tam and Liam, the two “not-quite-Guardsmen,” there was plenty of speculation going on among their fellows about “what should be done about that Trainee Mags.” He really didn’t want to find himself cornered by Guardsmen who had decided that “what should be done about him” was to be locked up or sent out of Haven altogether, on the theory that if he wasn’t in Haven then what had been Foreseen wouldn’t happen.

  Nice theory anyway. Because after all, the Foreseers couldn’t tell where their vision had taken place, so he had heard. He could be sent out of Haven only to encounter the King by another accident.

  It reminded him of a kind of morbid song Lena sang to him and Bear once, about a man who had his fortune told, and it was that he would meet Death in the village square the next day. So he flung himself on a horse and rode like the wind until at a few drips short of the appointed hour, and he dismounted in front of an inn in another city. Thinking he had escaped, he turned, and ran right into Death who said in surprise, “Oh thank you, you saved me a trip!” and took him.

  But at any rate, it sounded like the Guard Archives, though quiet and warm, would not be a good place to hide out. Nor would the Collegium Library.

  But the Heralds had Archives . . .

  Not as big as the ones for the Guards, not even as big as the Bardic ones, but they had Archives, and almost no one ever went there.

  :Actually,: Dallen said, after a moment, :That’s a good idea. You didn’t look there for information about your parents, because you didn’t know the exact dates or place where the bandits’ camp was. Now you do, and there might be something in the Heralds’ reports. More detail about your parents’ clothing—perhaps even, if you look backward a bit, you’ll find someone who ran into them on Circuit, maybe in a town, maybe on the road. Heralds are supposed to report on foreigners they encounter.:

  In all of the unhappiness, Mags had quite forgotten why he had uncovered that information in the first place. He gave that some thought. :Huh.: He thought a bit more. :Well... I got studyin’. Mebbe I kin look after I’m done wi’ studyin’.:

  The Heralds’ Archives were in the top floor of the Heralds’ Wing, exactly where the library was in the Collegium Wing. Unlike the Guard Archives, or the Collegium Library, this enormous room was dark, and chilly. Like the Guard Archives, there were rows and rows of floor to ceiling shelves on either side of a passage through the middle of the room. Unlike the Guard Archives, it was rather untidy, with boxes left open on the floor, and books in piles. There were only a few lamps up here, and only half of them were lit, making perhaps four pools of light in the darkness, including one all the way at the end of the room.

  This was why it was very obvious when someone moved a little at the end of the room. The shadow cast under the lamp there was quite long, and the movement did more than catch Mags’ eye, it practically made him jump.

  Bugger, someone’s here already, he thought. But th
is was the most private place he was going to find, so he continued to move into the room. Whoever this was, maybe Mags could avoid him—

  Which was, of course, right when his shin hit a chair he couldn’t see, and knocked it over.

  “Who’s there?” cried out a startled voice.

  One he knew.

  “Amily?” he called back, incredulous.

  “Mags? Oh good!” the relief and the welcome in that voice made him flush a little. “I’m so glad you’re here, you couldn’t have picked a better time. Please, come here, we found out what you wanted to know.”

  Being more careful this time, he hurried across an expanse of floor made treacherous by the piles of books, boxes of papers, and scattered chairs. Whatever else they were, the Heralds certainly were nothing like as tidy about their record-keeping as the Guard.

  He found Amily curled up in what looked like her own private little nest, in a corner that was surprisingly warm and cozy. A good oil lamp was fastened up on what looked like—and proved to be, when he touched it—the back of a substantial brick chimney. It radiated warmth into this space exactly as the one in his room did. There was a heavily padded half-lounge here, a couple of padded chairs, two little tables within easy reach, and books and a teapot and cup on them.

  Amily smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling. “I love my father dearly, but sometimes I just want to be somewhere that he’s not,” she said. “And no matter how polite he is about it, we live in three small rooms and there is never more than a single door between us. It’s not hard for me to get up here, and no one minds my being here.”

  She patted the lounge, and he sat down gingerly beside her, flushing a little. “But enough about all that. I was actually just putting the last of the reports into order for you.”