Redoubt (7 page)

The sound of a sponge hitting someone in the head—probably Halleck—ended that particular
line of thinking.

Mags let the heat lull him into a pleasant stupor until the water began to cool, then
reluctantly pulled himself out of the tub. Back in clean Grays, he gingerly made his
way out of the Collegium.
:Need me, sir?:
he asked Nikolas, tentatively.

:As a matter of fact, yes,:
came the reply. Mags stifled a moment of disappointment; he really would have liked
to track down Amily and get some much deserved sympathy for his bruises
. :Would you come over to the south side of the rose garden, please, and let yourself
be fussed over? Yes, for once I want you to be conspicuous.:

Mags sighed again but obeyed, slipping through the crowd as best he could with his
head down to avoid being intercepted. When he got to the appointed spot, it was pretty
obvious who Nikolas wanted him to distract. A knot of people in extremely expensive
clothing were arguing heatedly, with a lot of energetic gestures.

One of them spotted him. “Ah, look, just the person we need to settle this!” the man
exclaimed. “You’re Mags, yes?” He waved at Mags, indicating that he wanted the Trainee
to join his group.

Mags immediately went into his “good natured but slightly dim” persona, the one he
cultivated when being feted for his Kirball prowess. “Aye, milord,” he said with a
sheepish smile. “At your service.”

“Did you collude to have a tie?” demanded another man, a balding, strongly built noble
who looked as if he spent a lot of time under armor. He spoke angrily, without so
much as an introduction.

Mags made his eyes go big and round. “What?” he exclaimed. “No!” He rubbed his ribs
ruefully, and winced. “Milord, if there’d been any colludin’ about, I wouldn’ be standin’
here with a bruise like I’d been beat with a broom acrost my ribs.” He shook his head.
“Jest how it come out, is all, an’ we’d have won, if the time hadn’t run out on us.
We had that flag-stealin’ move planned from this mornin’ when we trained up t’gether.”
Now he sighed with unfeigned regret. “Wish’t the time hadn’t run out. Feels like I
got beat up for nothin’.”

“There, see?” the one who had accosted Mags said in triumph. “I told you. Nothing
more sinister than two evenly matched teams.”

“An’ we knowed each other’s main strategy, milord,” Mags pointed out. “There was people
from all four Kirball teams on both the Blues an’ the Whites. I reckon the two best
strategists were the captains; I know I’d put Gennie again’ anyone else. We could
all pretty well predict what’d happen, what th’ other side’d do. Coulda been a stalemate.
Coulda spent all four quarters scrummin’ up an’ down the field. But we all
play
th’ game, so we come up with some new stuff. Some worked, some didn’, an some, the
time ran out on.”

The first man nodded with understanding; reluctantly, so did the second. Then the
entire group began an intense questioning of him that went over every point of the
game. Mags wasn’t sure what Nikolas was getting out of this, other than the fact that
these men were positively Kirball fanatics, but it must be something.

Once they were all convinced he was telling them every bit of the truth, they became
more affable, if just a tiny bit sour over no one winning any bets. They waved a page
over, ordered Mags to ask for whatever he wanted, and moved to where he could sit
down, and gave him permission to do so. Which was no small consideration, among the
highborn; he might be a Heraldic Trainee, but he was still only a Trainee, and his
birth was the lowest of the low. For them to insist on his being seated in their presence
was quite the mark of conciliation. And . . . quite the mark of politeness, when it
was all said and done.

When they finally let him go, he felt as if they had turned his brain inside out like
a bag and shook it to make sure there were no crumbs of information remaining.

But Nikolas was clearly pleased.
:Well done, Mags,:
his mentor said warmly.
:Now, there’s another group over by the rose trees . . . :

Mags resigned himself. It looked as if he would be talking Kirball until he ran out
of wedding guests or ran out of voice. Whichever came first.

It wasn’t that he didn’t
like
talking Kirball. He could probably talk about it for days. But he’d rather talk about
it with the other players, not people who thought they knew what Foot, Riders, and
Trainees should be doing (as opposed to what they were actually doing). Some of their
ideas were reasonable, but most ranged from silly to dangerous. Silly, he didn’t mind,
but dangerous?

Reckon ye kin keep yer ideas to yerself, unless
you
be the one ready to try it first,
he thought as he approached another gesticulating group.
Then, mebbe we’ll talk!

3

N
ikolas—apologetically—kept Mags “working” until he was quite ready to pack it in.
It wasn’t all Kirball talk; once the evening really started and the drink began to
flow, he was welcome as a sort of ornament to knots of guests, rather than as an active
participant in conversation. Once that started to happen, rather than being conspicuous,
Nikolas asked him to merely stand in the background and listen. This was where he
was more than grateful for Dallen’s help, “listening” through Mags; though a bit sore
himself, Dallen was more than willing to filter what Mags overheard for useful bits
and relay only those useful bits on to Rolan and Nikolas. He was somewhat relieved
to discover that her father had set Amily at the same task; they crossed paths several
times during the evening and were able to steal a kiss or two before going their separate
ways. At least she wouldn’t feel slighted, thinking he didn’t want her company. And
although this wasn’t
quite
the holiday he’d had in mind when the wedding was announced, he was still getting
a break from classes and training, eating some amazing food, and getting to spend
more time with Amily and his friends than his schedule usually allowed.

He was beginning to get the shape of what Nikolas was looking for a couple of candlemarks
before he began to get so tired he was having a little trouble keeping track of who
was saying what. It wasn’t that Nikolas was interested so much in what was said, as
in who was saying what to whom. He figured that out after Nikolas asked him to follow
a couple of people from group to group. That was when he ran across a couple of instances
where a particular courtier expressed one opinion to one group of people and the contradictory—or
at least, differently slanted—opinion to another. Alliances within the Court were
always shifting, and Nikolas was keeping track of just how they were shifting. And
it wasn’t that anyone was actually up to any mischief—at least, not overtly. But it
definitely was that the wedding was shifting the power within the Court, people were
looking for opportunities, and this was like putting dye in the water to see where
the currents were going.

And people were being considerate of him, especially after he started walking with
a slight limp. They let him sit, even though all of them could have insisted that
he stand in their presence. They made sure that the pages waiting on them brought
him cooling drinks. One old lady even insisted he try her “special” mint cordial;
he did so out of politeness, but he found it so delicious that he had to restrain
himself from asking for more. The gardens had been specifically constructed to funnel
breezes around, so they were cool and comfortable despite the crowding. And he had
to admit the music was much, much better, plus there was a conjurer who performed
clever tricks, a little performing dog, and some acrobats to watch—and some
professional
dancers, who made all the dancers that
he
had ever seen look like the mine kiddies capering.

Once he knew what he was supposed to be doing for Nikolas, he also knew that Amily,
of course, was already aware of what her father was looking for; she didn’t need Mindspeech
to relay everything she heard because she could just drift over to where he was, drop
a few pertinent remarks, and drift away again. But that was due to her own experience
in and around the Court, working with Lydia’s friends under the supervision of Master
Soren as well as with her father. Although Nikolas cherished his daughter, he didn’t
overprotect her, and Mags knew he discussed nearly everything that wasn’t a secret
with her. Since her abduction, that had been more of a priority rather than less.
Keeping secrets from her hadn’t saved her; knowledge, and forewarning, might.

But it had been a very, very long day. Even though he wasn’t drinking very much with
spirits in it, he was beginning to find it hard to stroll around and even harder to
focus his attention on conversations that didn’t explicitly include him. Not even
the cooling breezes were helping, nor the mint cakes. When Nikolas finally noticed
he was becoming muzzy headed, he ordered Mags to bed.

:I’m sending Amily in too,:
the King’s Own added, as a subtle way of letting him know that Amily wouldn’t be
free to take off to the stable party.
:She wasn’t playing Kirball, but she was with Lydia in the stands, and it got rather
hot there.:

Poor Amily! She wasn’t getting much of a holiday either.

:That’s the hazard of being the offspring or spouse of the King’s Own,:
Dallen said, sounding a bit sleepy himself.
:When you are the King’s Own, you have to be willing to use everyone if you have to.:

Mags thought about that, and countered,
:Well, it ain’t using if we
want
t’be used, is it?:
Because he couldn’t imagine Amily—especially not the Amily of late—not wanting to
help if she could.

Dallen chuckled a little.
:Point taken; no, it is not.:

So Mags just bade Nikolas goodnight and made his way down to the stable. He was very
glad to see his bed again; he stripped off his clothing, threw the windows wide open
to the breeze regardless of the noise outside and not even the party going on in the
loft over his stable room kept him awake once his head hit the pillow. It had been
a very long day, and he hoped that Nikolas would let him off easy on the morrow.

Breakfast the next day was looking barren of people when he ambled up to the Collegium
dining hall. If anything, it appeared that people were sleeping later this morning
than they had yesterday. There wasn’t even a sign of whoever had laid out all the
food on the tables. He resigned himself to eating alone, when, to his pleasure, Bear
appeared.

He didn’t have to wave, since there were only the two of them. Bear seemed just as
happy to see him and sauntered over to stand next to him. They both examined the offerings
on the laden tables thoughtfully before making their selections.

“Where were you last night?” Bear asked, as they looked over the fruit. “Everybody
was asking for you. They were a bit worried about that whack you got from the ball,
and since I didn’t look you over, I couldn’t say one way or another, just that you
weren’t in the infirmary or in your bed, ’cause I checked.”

“Nikolas,” Mags sighed. Bear was part of his own little circle of support, so he didn’t
have to say anything more.

“Well, damn. Seems a shame to have to work when everybody else is having fun.” The
Healer Trainee shook his head.

“Well, I got to snatch what the highborn were eatin’, at least,” Mags admitted. “There’s
some advantage. An’ there was a conjurer an’ acrobats.”

“Huh. I’m jealous. I’d smack you, but I saw that hit you took, and I bet you’re bruised.”
Bear mimed a cuff at his head anyway. “Let’s just take stuff that’s not sloppy and
take over the Royal gardens before those the gardens are meant for wake up with hangovers.
At least you can actually
eat
this morning, since you aren’t gonna be Kirballing right away.”

That sounded like a fine idea to Mags, so they both loaded up with pies and other
portable foodstuffs and headed for one of their favorite spots. But finding it already
occupied, they changed their goal to another spot by the river, near the grotto that
was always cool, if a little damp.

“Somethin’ on your mind, Bear?” Mags asked, as the two of them threw themselves down
on the turf to enjoy their food. They’d each taken a napkin and tied food up in them;
now they untied their loot and spread the napkins out to share. He knew Bear very
well, and could feel how his friend was trying to find some way of broaching something.
There was unease, which Mags put down to Bear not knowing how Mags was going to react
to what Bear said.

“Well . . .” Bear picked at a bread roll for a moment. “Aye. Been something on my
mind for a good long while, actually. If I can’t trust you, I might as well just throw
myself in the river and have done. Lena and me, we’ve been talking. We’re thinking
we ought to go talk to our Deans and see if they’ll let us get married.”

For a moment, Mags was not sure he’d heard Bear correctly. “Wait, what? Married? Wouldn’t
that—what about your studies and all?” There weren’t any
married
Trainees at any of the Collegia. Would the two of them be told they’d have to leave?
“I mean . . . I ain’t never heard of that. I heard of people older than us, who came
here as Trainees, an’ they had t’ leave their families behind until they was in Greens
or Reds.” Not Whites, of course. He’d never heard of an adult with a family being
Chosen.

“But they weren’t
both
Trainees, the husband and wife, that is. We’re both Trainees. And if you choose to
get your Healing training at one of the Houses outside of the Collegium, you can keep
your family with you. I mean, that’s what my own father did. Aside from that, Lena
can leave her room at Bardic, and my space is pretty big and private,” Bear pointed
out. “More than big enough for two.”

Mags nodded; Bear was in charge of the greenhouse, and his quarters, unlike those
of the rest of the Healer Trainees, were those of the original greenhouse tender,
who had been a full Healer. They had been meant for someone like one of the instructors
permanently assigned to Haven, a Senior Healer who might very well have had a family,
so they were actually more spacious than the quarters housing the King’s Own, making
up in space what they probably lacked in luxury. Bear was there because Bear knew
more about herbs and how to tend them than anyone at the Collegium, and he had been
entrusted with the greenhouse almost since the time he had arrived here. He had a
bedroom, a sitting room, another room he just used for storage,
plus
the greenhouse and a stillroom. There was plenty of privacy, and Lena could practice
without bothering any of the other Healers or Healer Trainees.

“Aye, but . . . will they let you keep studyin’?” That was the question. Would they
insist that the distraction of being together could not possibly allow for concentration
on work? That was ridiculous if you knew Bear and Lena; they’d likely be less distracted,
if anything, but there was always going to be someone who would find something to
object to.

“Lena’s looking into that, seeing in the archives if there have
ever
been any Trainees that kept their families here, or at least, nearby.” Bear let out
a breath, as if he had been afraid Mags would oppose the very idea. Mags didn’t, not
outright . . . where he came from, among the virtual slaves at the mine, those who
had energy left over at the end of the day for anything other than scrambling for
a little more food just went ahead and did what they were going to do without thought
of marriage. And his masters were perfectly prepared to marry off their youngsters
in the cradle if that would get them some kind of advantage.

On the other hand, here, Trainees were not exactly encouraged to think about things
like getting married. After all, there was a lot of schooling to get through before
they would go into full Reds, Greens, or Whites. Some of them had, in fact,
used
the very opportunity of being selected for the Collegia to avoid an unwelcome marriage.

Mags considered all of this. “They’re gonna say you’re too young. You’re gonna say
your pa was gonna marry you off regardless. They’re gonna say how can Lena go off
on ’er Journeyman round, and
you’ll
say you’ll go with ’er an’ teach people how t’ use your kit. Or you’ll say, why can’t
she do her Journeyman round in Haven, an’ you can stay here an’ teach and show the
midwives and all down in Haven how t’ use yer kit.” Bear had developed a kit of herbs
and instructions that people who had some medical knowledge, like midwives and herbalists,
could use if there was no true Healer nearby. The Healers’ Collegium and Healers’
Circle were, for the most part, excited and supportive of this idea. There were never
enough Healers, and always people who
could
have been saved by such knowledge.

Bear’s father and brothers, however, who were the Senior Healers at their local House,
were adamantly against it. Then again, Mags had the suspicion that if Bear said the
sky was blue, his father and siblings would insist it was some other color.

“I hadn’t thought of that argument!” Bear said, looking a little more cheerful. Cheerful
enough to stuff the rest of the roll into his mouth.

“Aye, but . . . Bear, are you
sure?”
Mags chewed his lower lip. “I mean both of you . . . ’tis easy enough t’
get
married, but once in, harder out . . .”

“I . . . if it was anyone other than you saying that, Mags, I’d be mad,” Bear replied
after a moment. “And I know what you’re saying. But people younger than us get married
all the time, all over the Kingdom.
Most
people get married as young as we are, if they aren’t wealthy or highborn. The earlier
you can start on a family, if you’ve got a farm, the better. Even the highborn marry
off their youngsters if there’s a political advantage. I can’t imagine living my life
with anyone but Lena, and she feels the same way. And if we don’t do this,” he continued,
in tones of desperation, “my father is just going to
keep
trying to get me married off to go breed ‘proper’ Healers with a Gift, and . . .”
he waved his hands around a little in a gesture of despair. “What if some day the
Collegium says he’s right? Right now, there’s no reason to give in to his bullying,
but you never know what is going to happen with power and politics, and my father
is damned good at getting his own way. He’s just as good at figuring out advantages.
But if I’m married, he can’t keep playing that game.”

“He’ll prolly disown you,” Mags observed thoughtfully, and salted and ate a hard-boiled
egg. “That wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“There’s only one thing I would regret about that, and it’s that it would make my
mother very unhappy. I’d hate to upset my mother that way, but . . .” Bear sighed.
“I figured, with the Prince’s marriage and all, and how my father hired Cuburn to
mess things up and Cuburn ended up helping those assassins because he was an idiot
real fresh in everyone’s mind, if we asked now, we’d be more likely to get a ‘yes.’
I just can’t keep waiting for my father to drop some other rock on me. If I were married,
legally, he’d have no more say in what I do. Lena looked that up. Once people are
married, no matter how young they are, they can’t be pushed around by parents unless
they choose to be. They become an independent household, and if they choose to reject
parental support, they have no obligation to obey anything a parent says.”