Valdemar 03 - [Collegium 01] - Foundation

by Mercedes Lackey

  “What they’re learning out of books are things I wish I had known,” the other replied mildly. “I scanted my History, and not to mention that I knew nothing about anyone’s religion but my own. Besides that, it’s a plain fact that we’re getting younglings who are functionally, if not actually, illiterate. Younglings that can barely read simple words and write their own names. You can’t teach someone something that basic without tying up an enormous amount of your own time. Our Chosen aren’t all coming from the educated folk anymore. I know, I know!” he added, when the other seemed to be about to protest. “I know it’s the law that all younglings are to get a basic education! But we’ve nearly doubled the size of the Kingdom in last few years, what with petty princelings deciding they’d rather have Valdemar’s protection than a foreign army on their door, and plenty of those petty princelings thought that pig-ignorance was the proper lot of the peasant.”

  “Gods, I hate it when you’re right,” the first man grumbled. “I just got off riding one of those circuits.”

  “Well, we are getting Chosen from those very places. Which is a good and proper thing, since a Herald from the borderlands is going to be able to tell us how to keep from offending.”

  “Holderkin!” the first man groaned. “Oh, blessed gods, may I never have to ride that circuit again. Even with that briefing—they are as touchy as a hive of hornets, and you would think that I was the enemy, not the Karsites!”

  “You see my point. We have young Chosen coming in now that need elementary education, and we need to make sure they have the tools to do their jobs before we turn them out on an unsuspecting public.”

  “Bosh! We did well enough before!” the first man said savagely. “We had Chosen who were as ignorant as butterflies! They got education over at Bardic, but they were under the eyes of their mentors every waking moment. Now what? Now what have we got? No mentors until they go into Whites! Using the Bardic model! They’re going to be all shoved together in their Collegium without a single adult present most of the time!”

  “It works for the Bards,” the second man said mildly.

  “Works? Works? Good gods, those Bardic students get into more mischief than a basket of ferrets! And now you want us to do the same with our Trainees? Who’s going to serve as the check on their antics? Who’s going to serve as an example? We’ve always run things this way—a couple of Trainees and a mentor, proper chaperoning, and instruction every waking hour. But this! The gods only know how these youngsters are going to turn out!”

  “They have their Companions,” the second man pointed out. “It’s not as if they’re unsupervised.”

  The first man snorted. “They might just as well be. What’s a Companion going to do if his Chosen gets into mischief? Mindspeak him and nag him? And what if the Companion doesn’t think it’s mischief?” He groaned. “They might as well admit to what is going to go on and install a midwife in the Collegium, because they are going to need one before the first year is out!”

  But that second man only laughed at him. “Kyle, the Trainees have been up to that sort of mischief from the time of King Valdemar, and no looming mentor ever held them back from it. And I cannot believe you are not aware of that fact—”

  “Well, other mischief, then,” the first man said stubbornly. “If the Bardic Trainees are worse than a basket of ferrets, ours will be worse than a basket of ferrets with hands and wings. Oh, I have no doubt their intentions will be relatively innocent, but the result will be calamity. This whole Collegium idea is going to be the ruin of the Heralds! Let the Bards and Healers have their schools, but we should stick to what has always worked in the past!”

  “Good gods, Kyle, where are all these mentors that you want going to come from?” the second man finally retorted. “And where in Haven are we going to put them? We’ve been assigning the Trainees three and four to a Herald, and there just are not enough of us! The latest influx—that would put us at a Trainee to every Herald, and I mean every one of us, even on the most dangerous of assignments. For the ones with ordinary routes, it could be up to six, and how the hell is someone supposed to go riding circuit with a pack of younglings at his heels? You want mischief? What about those four that went out with Herald Elyn? Good gods, that was worse than mischief, if they hadn’t had the luck of the blessed, they could have been murdered by that old man! And that was only with four Trainees! It can’t be done, Kyle. It just cannot be done.”

  “—but—”

  The second man had clearly warmed to his subject by this time. “And how about those who should never be entrusted with an impressionable young mind? What about Baren? The man never intends harm, and he’s brilliant at cutting straight through a difficult situation, but his sarcasm has put adults into a killing rage or tears, so what do you think prolonged exposure to him would do to a Trainee?”

  “Ah—toughen them?”

  “Or break them! Or Bella! There is no one I would rather have in charge of victims, but dear gods, a pack of Trainees would run right over the top of her, and they would have her in tears! Would you want to be responsible for that?”

  “—ah—no—but—”

  The two men moved out of earshot, leaving Mags thinking very hard. Finally, he ventured a quiet question to Dallen.

  :I thought—I mean, Jakyr was angry only because the building was being delayed so that the Bards and Healers could get bigger Collegia. I thought . . . : He considered that statement, and amended it. :I didn’t think this was something anyone was against.: And why should he have? All he ever heard was eager talk about what would be done once the building was complete, and all the comforts that were going to be installed there.

  There was the sense of a reluctant sigh. :No, I am afraid that not every Herald is happy with the changes,: the Companion replied. :In fact, some of them are . . . very unhappy indeed. There are arguments about it every meeting of the Circle still, even though the King himself has sent down the ruling that this is how it will be. As you heard . . . there are those that believe that Trainees should be very strictly attended to. And . . . and they have good reasons for that. Some tragic things have happened when even mentors were not as attentive as they should have been. Now, with this new system in place, there is less supervision. Many think this is a bad thing.:

  Mags chewed on the end of his pen. :So what d’you think?:

  :I think that I trust my fellow Companions and I trust those they Choose. I think there will be neither more nor less mischief. I think mischief is not such a bad thing, though there are surely people who would be very angry at me for saying that.: Dallen sounded amused. Mags could almost see him smiling.

  :Well . . . I guess.: He wasn’t entirely sure just what qualified as mischief to Dallen. Back at the mine . . . well, that word was generally applied when one of the Pieters boys did something that he was risking a reprimand for at best, and a horsewhipping at worst. It usually had to do with chamber-maids, but sometimes it had to do with meddling in things Cole Pieters felt were his own particular prerogatives.

  :This is the first year of the new system. And it has been a full year and nothing disastrous has happened.:

  :So how did the old system work?: He worked out another couple of problems while he waited for Dallen to collect his thoughts.

  :In the past, Herald Jakyr would have served as your mentor, since he was the one that found you and brought you in. If for some reason you just didn’t suit, or he couldn’t take you, someone else would have taken you on. Then one of two things would have happened. Either your mentor would be assigned to the Court or Haven and you would have spent all your time here as you will now, or you would have gone out on circuit with your mentor. In that case, you’d have spent as much time with him, away from this place, as you did here, attending classes. And it would have been his job to keep you at your lessons.:

  Mags thought that over as well. :I’d’a gotten right lost, doin’ things that way.:

  :Well, there wouldn’t have been a choice. The Hera
lds who actually stay in Haven are very few. They were already mentoring up to eight Trainees. And that was getting to be a strain, not much “better” than having you all in the Collegium. So you would have had to go out with someone who ran messages, served as an envoy and negotiator, or was on circuit. That’s what Jakyr does, by the way,: Dallen added by way of an afterthought. :He’s a negotiator.:

  Mags picked up on what Dallen did not say. :And I’d’a been in the way.:

  :I’m afraid so. But so would most Trainees. There just is no choice, Mags. As much as some of the Heralds want to keep the “old ways,” it just is not possible. Just think how much you are going to have to learn before you are fit even to think of going with a mentor! And Beren and Lyr are even more uneducated than you. I have no doubt that at some point soon we will get a Trainee who is not even aware that the arts of reading and writing exist. How could a Herald-mentor hope to teach people like that and still continue to do his or her work?:

  It was a good question, and one for which Mags had no answer. Nor did anyone else, he suspected.

  It did open his eyes, however. Here was one issue on which the Heralds themselves were at odds. And in a way that heartened him. He had never quite believed in the attractive mental picture Dallen was painting for him. This cracked that façade. If they were at odds over this, chances were there were other quarrels of which he was not aware.

  So even the Heralds were not perfectly in accord with one another. That made him, not uneasy, but conversely more secure. He trusted in his own senses to tell him when someone menaced him, and the fact that Heralds were not perfect, could disagree with each other, and still stay a somewhat coherent whole was a cause for relaxing, rather than raising, his guard. It meant that there was nothing worse lying behind the face they showed the world.

  Dallen seemed baffled by the reason for his attitude, but accepted the change with guarded relief.

  Only later did he realize that if the Heralds could be at odds with one another, anyone who wanted to, and knew how the various Heralds stood on important issues, could drive some serious wedges in the not-so-seamless front of the Heraldic Circle.

  This didn’t change how he interacted with the other Trainees, of course. The habits of a lifetime were too hard to break. He still said little, listened much, and observed always. But that made him the perfect comrade for Lena. They met every day now, at meals, and often between classes. He would listen, and she would talk. Sometimes very little, and sometimes a lot; most of that was about home, her friends, her mother, the things she used to do. Gradually, he understood that she was bitterly homesick, and that at least having someone to talk about home with was comforting to her, even if all he did was murmur some innocuous word at intervals.

  He didn’t mind, not in the least, because he found that he enjoyed having a friend. That was repayment enough for him.

  But evidently it was not enough for Lena.

  “I want to help you,” Lena said earnestly over dinner. “With your studies, at night, after dinner.”

  Mags studied her carefully. Her soft brown eyes were full of determination, and he sensed that she was not going to accept “no.” “I gots a teacher,” he said, instead of an outright refusal. “I don’ think they’d let me have a different one—”

  “I know who your teacher is, and I am just as good.” Defiantly, she raised her pointed little chin. “I can do this. There’s no reason why not.”

  He sucked on his lower lip. “Ye gots to ask her,” he said, finally. “I cain’t just not turn up, see?”

  For answer, she stood up, grabbed his hand and tugged at it. “Then let’s go.”

  A little amused, and a little alarmed, he let himself be led away; he realized that she must have some information about what he was doing at night, because she went straight to the empty classroom he and Beren and Lyr were using for the extra lessons. They were early, and the tutor looked up at the sound of footsteps crossing the threshold. Her eyes narrowed, then widened, when she saw he wasn’t alone.

  “This isn’t the time or place, Mags,” she began. But with a toss of her long, brown hair, Lena interrupted, albeit politely.

  “Chronicler Lilli,” she said, with a little bow. “I’m Bardic Trainee Lena Marchand. I know you’ve been asked to tutor three of the Heraldic Trainees. I would like to tutor Trainee Mags in your place.”

  Lilli regarded Lena thoughtfully. “And why would you want to do that?” she asked carefully.

  Lena smiled. “Because he’s my friend. And that makes me more motivated to help him pass his classes than you are; I want him to get caught up so he can have free time like everyone else. And because you have to teach three, while I will only have to think about one.”

  The Chronicler scratched the back of her head. “If it was anyone but you—but they talk well of your scholarship, Trainee Lena. And I am confident of Mags’ ability to concentrate on his studies . . .” She pondered this for a moment. Then, “Very well. You must take care that there are no distractions. You may use the room next door to this one, and I will drill him afterward.”

  Now the thoroughly bemused Mags was led by the hand to the designated room, where, with a determined look on her face, Lena set up two chairs, facing each other, with the table between them.

  Somehow, and he could not quite reckon how, Lena made a lot more sense than the Chronicler did. He reflected as she drilled him relentlessly that he wished all his classes were maths and math-related. Those things had simple logic. Two into four would always be two, never five, never three. But the things people had done in the past! There seemed no reason for them.

  Except that somehow Lena was able to explain the reasons. They might not be logical, but then, neither was Mags all the time. They were understandable. Perhaps that was what Chronicler Lilli had missed. Without reasons for what had happened, Mags simply could not grasp the events themselves; they became nothing but a series of things to be memorized, and his mind didn’t work well on strict memorization.

  Having made more progress in an evening than he had in three, after Chronicler Lilli came in, drilled him on what he was supposed to have learned, and pronounced herself satisfied, Mags grabbed Lena’s hand and wrung it in wordless gratitude. She smiled shyly at him.

  “I dunno why ye wanted t’ help a strawhead like me, but—ye’re a wonder, Lena,” he managed after a moment.

  She ducked her head. “I don’t mind. And . . . I hate being in my room and seeing where Bumper’s box used to be, and—” Her eyes grew bright, and Mags hastily searched for something, anything to distract her. Then he hit on it.

  “Ye’ve never met Dallen,” he said quickly. “Come meet Dallen afore ye go back t’ Bardic, eh?”

  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “All right—” she began, but this time it was Mags’ turn to seize a hand and drag his friend off before she could think of any reason to protest.

  The stable was very quiet at this time of night, with most of the Companions drowsing in their stalls, warmly covered against any hint of chill with their thick blue blankets. The carefully shielded lanterns glowed golden, so it wasn’t at all hard to see, and the air smelled of nothing worse than hay and horse. The atmosphere was strangely cozy for so large a building, and very peaceful. But Dallen was wide awake and alert, having been warned by Mags that they were coming, and looking for them. They could see his head from the doorway, the glow of a lamp gilding it as he peered through the shadows at them.

  Lena stopped dead in her tracks at the first sight of him. Her mouth opened in a soundless “o” and her eyes grew very big. Mags found himself smiling; always something that surprised him when it happened. He thought that he had probably smiled more in the few weeks he had been here than in his entire life before Dallen.

  :I do believe she has never seen a Companion up close, Mags,: Dallen said thoughtfully. :Interesting!:

  “Well, go on, he don’t bite,” Mags urged. “He says hullo.”

  “Can I—can I touc
h him?” she asked, her eyes shining, and her fingers twitching with the unspoken urge to stroke that silver coat.

  “Of course ye can touch him!” Mags patted her shoulder encouragingly. “I wouldn’ have brought ye here t’ meet him if ye couldn’.”

  :Tell her I quite like being touched.: Dallen’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and he lowered his nose to Lena’s tentative hand.

  “He’s a one for bein’ made much of,” Mags paraphrased, with a waggle of his eyebrow. “Don’t reckon he ever turned down bein’ scratched.”

  Lena giggled, and stroked Dallen’s nose, then gently scratched his eye ridges. Dallen sighed and closed his eyes in bliss. :Tell her she can stop in a year or so—but she can take more time if she needs to.:

  Mags chuckled—it sounded odd in his own ears, and it had rather well been surprised out of him. But he liked the sound, and he liked the way it made him feel even more. He told Lena what Dallen had said, and this time she laughed aloud. But she made no move to stop.

  “I’ve never been near to a Companion before,” she said quietly, confirming Dallen’s guess. “Heralds never came near our house, I mean, there wasn’t any reason for them to, you know. Our home is rather off the road, and we never had any reason for one to come, I suppose. And until I came here, I never really left our land . . .” Her voice trailed off a moment, and she put her cheek against Dallen’s. “He’s so beautiful.”

  :Tell her that tomorrow she can ride me.:

  Mags blinked. If there was a truism about Companions, it was that they never let anyone ride them except their Chosen, unless it was a dire emergency. But, dutifully, he repeated what Dallen had said.