“What do you think of it?” asked Setham.
“Not sure what t’ think sir,” Mags confessed. He scratched his head. “Looks risky.” Actually it didn’t so much look risky as insane. He could scarcely imagine trying to ride over this thing at speed.
:I like it. It’s a real challenge!:
“There is a lot of risk there, I won’t deny it,” Setham replied. “Only the best riders will be able to take this course full out. You and Dallen will take falls, I am sure. People are going to get hurt. But we have a big influx of Trainees right now. Historically that means that we are going to need those Trainees when they become Heralds, and that means Valdemar is going to be facing some trouble down the road. Better some bruises and breaks now than dead Heralds later.”
Mags turned to see if he could read Setham’s expression. This was the first time he had ever heard a Herald being quite that—blunt.
Setham looked deadly serious. “I’m not the first Herald in my family,” Setham said. “I’m fourth generation in fact. My great grandfather was in the middle of the Karsite conflicts, and my grandfather knew Vanyel. Now . . . maybe the reason we’re getting all you Trainees is because Valdemar is about to get a lot bigger. I won’t deny that’s possible—all sorts of little dukedoms and tiny kingdoms are looking at us and thinking they might want to throw in with us. We’re all hoping this is why we have so many new Chosen coming in, so many new foals being born. But we aren’t going to count on that. We’re going to count on finding ourselves neck deep in war, and needing lots of Heralds, and if the other happens, we’ll just be glad and feel lucky.”
Mags scratched his head. “No way t’ tell?” he ventured.
Setham shook his head. But then, he relaxed. “However, we also know whatever happens will be years away, and no rule says we can’t make this training fun as well as risky,” he continued. “So—that’s why we are doing it this way.”
“Yessir,” Mags said. “I kin see that. But ye said, on’y the best. So what ’bout the rest? Ain’t they gonna need the trainin’ too?”
“Oh they’ll get it,” Setham replied. “They will certainly get it. The difference is that we want the best for the first teams, to get everyone excited and motivated. Then in the regular riding classes, we’ll teach the Kirball technique and strategy instead of the old riding lessons, and I hope that will stimulate some more excitement.”
Mags wrinkled his nose. “Not sure what yer aimin’ fer, with all this excitement stuff. Sir.”
Setham leaned against the fence. So did his Companion. It struck Mags that he had never seen a Herald and Companion who looked quite so alike before.
“Look, you seem like a serious young fellow,” Setham said slowly. “I tell you that the Circle is looking at the current conditions and anticipating trouble in a few years, and you understand that. I can see it in the way you react to what I just told you—you squared up your shoulders, you looked a little resigned, but determined to meet the challenge. Am I right?”
Mags flushed a little with embarrassment, but nodded.
“But you’ve got to have seen how some of the Trainees just don’t—seem to take things nearly as seriously as you do,” Setham continued. “Knowing your background . . . your reaction is logical. Knowing theirs, well, so is theirs. They aren’t what you would call ‘grown up’ yet. They’re still thinking about things the way someone who has never had to face hardship thinks about them. Even that lot that helped you rescue your friend, Bear—within a fortnight or so, the fear of the rescue had faded, and it became just a fantastic adventure in their memories. Whereas you—”
Mags shivered. He still had the occasional bad dream where he saw those mad eyes, and knew that he could, very easily, be dead in a few moments.
“Exactly.” Setham nodded. “You actually know, in your heart, that you could be killed or worse. They still think, in their hearts, that they are immortal. They’ll learn better, but they don’t know that now.”
“So . . . that’ d be why they don’t take some of the trainin’ serious-like.” This was somewhat unreal to Mags; he had seen death often enough that he could not remember a time when he hadn’t known, emphatically, that if he wasn’t smart and careful and clever all the time, the next corpse could be him.
Still . . . he had seen for himself how some of the others were. They talked, they acted, as if death simply didn’t exist for them.
It was just one more way in which he simply did not fit in. For a moment, it made him feel his isolation all the more.
Then again, Setham was not like that. Setham understood.
He fumbled his way in the direction Setham was trying to go, reasoning out loud. “So since they ain’t takin’ the trainin’ serious enough, an’ maybe not puttin’ ’nough effort inta it, ye reckon t’ give him—what’s it called? Motivation? Somethin’ that’ll make it worth it to ’em t’ fling thesselves inta it.”
Setham grinned. “Exactly. Nothing gets interest going like a game. Where going over and over the obstacle course gets boring, Kirball is going to be exciting. Some people will do very well at it. Those people are going to find their reputations going up, and they are going to become popular. Other people will want to have some of that popularity, and so they will strive more for it. It’s just human nature. We like to have heroes.”
Mags blinked at him. “I—you ain’t thinkin’—”
“I don’t know for certain, Mags, if you’ll become wildly popular because of this. You tend to be solitary, and that will work against popularity.” Setham looked at him shrewdly. “But you already have something of a good reputation, because of helping to rescue your friend. I think you should prepare for the fact that others will want to associate with you if you become a star player of Kirball.”
Mags shook his head. “That don’t seem right . . . I mean, be a hero for a game? Fer doin’ summat important, mebbe, but not fer a game . . .”
Setham shrugged. “It is what it is. People become popular for lots of reasons. Even when they aren’t very pleasant people to be around, like certain Master Bards I won’t name! It won’t only be the Trainees that will be following Kirball, it will be virtually everyone here at Court. So be prepared for that, and you and Dallen should discuss how you want to deal with notoriety.” Setham smiled crookedly. “As I told you, I was a jockey, and I was a good one. Now there is something that makes no sense—being made much of because you happen to be able to stick on the back of a fast horse and bring the best out of him! Ridiculous. Nevertheless, being taken by surprise by success can be as hazardous as being taken by surprise by failure. Now. Back to the game. So you’ve seen the field. Now let me tell you the rules.”
He pointed at the two stone towers. “Those are the goals. There will be three ways to score. The first is to lob a Kirball through the windows or the door of the opposing team’s tower. That’s one point. The second is to occupy the tower and hold it for a quarter candlemark. That’s ten points, and it’s going to be difficult to do that, and I very much doubt anyone is going to try it. Lobbing balls is going to be a lot faster and easier. The third is to steal the opponent’s flag and get it back to your tower. That’s fifty points, and pretty much game-ending, because you have to get the flag back to your home base.”
Mags nodded.
“Each team will be of twelve players on the playing field,” Setham continued. “Four Herald Trainees, four players afoot, and four mounted players, who can come from anything. The foot-players are supposed to guard the goal, but they are going to be allowed to move around the field, so who knows. The mounted players can do whatever the team captain wants them to do, as can the Herald Trainees. If someone gets hurt or tired, you can substitute a new player, but only if the one retiring from the field can get to the edge of the field and tag in the new player.” Setham grinned. “We can’t make this easy on you, after all.”
“Nossir,” said Mags, though privately he wished that for once, someone would. It would be very nice to encounter so
mething easy for a change
“What the mounted players and the Heralds do is entirely up to the team captain,” Setham continued. “You can lob balls, you can go for the flag, or attempt to drive the opposing team off and occupy their goal. It’s all up to you. You’ll have to coordinate among yourselves somehow, which will be easier for the Herald Trainees and a lot harder for those without Mindspeech. Let’s just pick one strategy as an example—an obvious ploy might be to pick someone with Fetching Gift and try to snatch the flag without getting near the goal.”
“Aye, well, somethin’ tells me anythin’ obvious ain’t gonna work too well,” Mags said with a sigh. His stomach growled.
“Let’s go back to the Collegium and we can discuss this over dinner,” Setham offered. Just as he said that, the bell rang, calling them all to the meal.
“That was rare good timing, sir,” Mags said with a chuckle. “Aye, that suits me. I was hopin’ ye’d say as much.”
Setham did not go to the common dining room. Instead, he led Mags around to a hatch that Mags had not even known existed. He rapped on it and the hatch slid up. It looked right into the kitchen.
“Two of whatever is going,” Setham said casually, then with a glance at Mags, added “and extra pie.”
The kitchen boy nodded and darted away. Mags watched him make up the same sort of food basket that he’d gotten for Lena, and a moment later came back with it and handed it to Setham.
“I would just as soon not be surrounded by three dozen Trainees all asking questions once they find out I am one of the Kirball coaches,” Setham said, with a crooked grin. “There are going to be four of us to start, and we’ll each pick our own teams. My preference is for outstanding riders; the others will probably have preferences of their own.” He passed the basket over to Mags, who took it without a word.
“Now, I am going to be running trials just to make sure of the general skill level of my players, but I am fairly certain you are going to pass those handily, Mags,” he said, as he led the way into the Heralds’ Wing. “I don’t, however, think you are going to be team captain. I am inclined to think it will either be an older Trainee or one of the Guards.”
“I wasn’ expectin’ such, sir!” Mags exclaimed, shocked, as Setham opened the door to his quarters. Setham waved him inside what proved to be very spare rooms indeed, and just two of them. Plain wooden floors, bare walls, a simple desk with a lamp, two more chairs with leather seats, and a bookcase. The single window was covered with a shutter, and considering how it rattled, that was probably a good thing; this room must face the direction of the wind. Through a half open door Mags could just glimpse an equally plain bedroom. In fact, the place looked very much like his own room in the stable, and he felt immediately at home.
While they ate, Setham described more of how the game was likely to proceed. He already had two of his foot players—two young Guard recruits who were second-generation Guardsmen but not quite old enough to formally join the Guard itself. As was often the case with youngsters like this, they were acting as aides to the Captain of a Guard troop that did not include their parents or older siblings.
He also had one of his mounted players, the son of one of the Council members. He didn’t say who it was, but from what Mags already knew, he recognized the person as Jeffers, the son of the head of the Printer’s Guild. While not a member of Amily’s immediate circle of friends, Mags knew the young man to have been among the visitors to Soren’s house over Midwinter. He’d been quite affable there, and after identifying him, Mags had encountered him now and again up here at the Collegium where he was taking a few classes. Setham must know enough about him to trust him on the team, so that was good.
“I have my eye on a couple other Trainees, older than you, to round out the Heralds,” Setham continued. “I’m thinking one of them will be the Captain. You don’t have any objections to a girl Captain, do you?”
Mags shook his head. “Wouldn’ dare,” he replied. “They’d prolly smack me inna nose.”
Setham laughed. “All right then. The four coaches are holding the trials for their teams over the next four days. I have tomorrow afternoon, someone else has tomorrow morning. Turn up at the Kirball field instead of your riding and weapons lessons; you’ll have leave in advance. If I can’t firm up the team tomorrow, I’ll hold an open trial, but you won’t need to turn up for that one unless you want to and you’re free. Can’t have you missing too many lessons, after all.”
“Yessir,” Mags nodded. “Nossir.”
“Right then, off to your classwork with you. Kirball will be no excuse for doing poorly in class. And leave the dishes,” he added, as Mags made to gather them up. “Someone will be along for them later.”
Mags decided on impulse to go see if Bear was about—and maybe Lena too. He wanted to tell them about Kirball and see what they thought of it. Had they heard the rumors, perhaps?
He left the Herald’s Wing and headed toward Healer’s, and saw to his pleasure that there were lights burning in the glass-walled conservatory that Bear called home. Now if Bear was just there and not out on some errand or other—
As he got closer, he saw that both his friends were there, deep in a conversation—and so was his friend he had met through Master Soren, Amily, the daughter of King’s Own Nikolas! His spirits rose at that. He told all of Lydia’s friends about Bear and Lena, of course, so Amily knew all about them. He hadn’t any idea that Amily wanted to meet Bear and Lena, but to see her with them made him irrationally happy.
He’d wanted to introduce them some time ago, but just hadn’t gotten the chance to. If she’d decided on her own to come introduce herself, that was marvelous!
He tapped lightly on the door to the outside, and saw all three heads turn quickly to the sound. He poked his head around to one of the windows and waved at them. Bear jumped up to let him in.
As always, Bear’s pair of ground-glass lenses were perched on his nose, and he looked more like his usual self than he had of late. Instead of looking strained and cross, he looked like a sleepy, affable bear, with a round face, untidy short brown hair, small, but friendly eyes, a pug nose, and a generous mouth that was finally smiling again. He stood at the door, peering down at Mags, with a little bit of a stoop.
“Hope I ain’t innerruptin’ anythin’?” he said, suddenly wondering if, actually, he was. But to his relief, Bear shook his head.
“Come on in, got your friend Amily here,” the Healer Trainee said, moving aside so Mags could come in the door. As usual, thanks to the heating under the floor, the conservatory was as warm as a summer day. The air smelled of clean, damp soil, with a hint of green and the faint, confused aroma of many, many herbs. Just now, rosemary was predominant
“Mags!” Amily said, waving him over to a stool at the table, “I missed you the other day at Lydia’s. I’d been hearing rumors about how Bard Marchand got a right royal dressing-down, and I asked her about it. She told me all about your friend Lena and how rude Bard Marchand had been. I’d heard so much about Lena and Bear already that I thought it was just time for me to come around and introduce myself.”
Amily was normally one of the most peaceful people to be around that Mags knew, but today she seemed even more so. She tended to wear soft browns, which with her brown hair and quiet face made her seem almost invisible at times, and yet she made her presence felt in the pool of serenity that was around her. Mags took a glance at Lena, and knew immediately that whatever had prompted Amily to come and talk to his friends, it had done Lena a world of good. Bear too, probably.
This visit wasn’t just an impulsive gesture on Amily’s part, either. Amily couldn’t do anything impulsively; one of her legs was badly lame, and that made it difficult for her to move about. He knew now that it had been ruined in the same accident that had taken her mother’s life, that she had been treated by the farmers that found her, and that by the time decent Healers had gotten to it, it had already set all wrong. She must have decided that Lena needed to be
brought out of her unhappy sulks, and the best way to do it would be to make her feel that if she rejected the invitation to join Amily and Bear, she would be doing something unpardonably rude.
Mags wanted to hug her for her generosity. He settled for beaming at her. She seemed to understand his meaning, and smiled back at him.
“Well it’s a good thing that she came down here,” Bear said happily. “She and Lena are getting’ on like anything, an’ I’ve come up with some concoctions for that bad leg. Stuff to help her sleep better, stuff to make it ache less.” He gave Amily a mock-stern glance. “You should have come see me before. You’ve never been seen by a good Healer that had something other than a Gift.”
“You have a Gift, Bear,” Amily chided. “It just doesn’t happen to involve a personal power. Anyone with half an eye to see knows that your understanding of herbs and surgery is a Gift, and a profound one.”
Bear flushed, and looked pleased.
“And Bear thinks that we ought to try re-breaking and setting it,” Amily added. “They said they wanted to do that once before, but—” she shuddered “—I didn’t even want to think about the pain. But Bear thinks he can keep me asleep while they break it, give me something to make sure I can sleep at night while it is mending, and he says there is a new Healer here that can do something about the pain when I am awake. If I can get Healing sessions so that the bones mend faster, it should all be done in a moon or less. I’m feeling quite optimistic now!”
“It isn’t going to be perfect,” Bear warned. “There’s only so much we can do. While it’s mending, you’ll need help to do anything. Once it’s mended, it’ll still be some crooked. You’ll still limp, maybe need a cane. It’s going to be shorter than your good leg.”
“But at least I’ll be able to move easier,” Amily countered. “And completely on my own.” She didn’t have to say anything more. Mags knew very well how much being able to get about without help would mean to her.
Intrigues: Book Two of the Collegium Chronicles (a Valdemar Novel) Page 9