Redoubt (8 page)

Mags stared at the river. A flock of ducks just below them kept glancing up hopefully
at them. They weren’t bold enough to come right up and beg, but up here at the Collegia,
ducks associated people with food, rather than
becoming
food. “I still dunno, Bear,” Mags said doubtfully. “Seems to me it’d be better to
just stay quiet.”

“Can’t do that.” Bear shook his head. “Can’t keep standing around waiting to see what
my father’ll try next. You gotta deal with your past, Mags, you
have
to. If you don’t, it’ll just keep coming back to haunt you, and one day it’ll do
something to you that you can’t get out of.”

I wish I either knew my past or that it would let
me
alone,
Mags thought. Either would do. At least Bear had some idea of what he was up against,
and why.

“Before you do anything, lemme think on it a couple days, all right?” he said, finally.
“Mebbe I can figger out a way to do it better.”

Bear shrugged. “All right. It’s not as if we’re going to be able to actually sit down
and talk with anyone with all the wedding business going on. Or . . . well, I could,
but Lena couldn’t. Everyone in Bardic is so busy entertaining people there’s no point
in trying to get them to think of anything but who they’re performing for and what
they’ll be doing. I never even get to see her except as part of an audience until
nightfall, and that’s not a good time to try to round up someone to talk about anything
serious.”

Mags wished he could talk to Lydia or Master Soren about this. Lydia by preference—but
obviously this was
not
the time to impose on their friendship. And actually . . . now that Lydia was the
Princess, perhaps she was not the best person to go to after all. She might feel an
obligation to tell the Deans of Healers’ and Bardic Collegia about it. Master Soren,
on the other hand, might be a good choice. Or he might know someone who would have
some good advice, like a priest of some sort. And priests were obliged to keep things
secret that they were told in confidence.

“Have a sausage roll,” he suggested, and Bear accepted. “Might as well enjoy breakfast.
Yer pa ain’t gonna come ridin’ through the gates with a bride in ’er wedding dress
t’day.” Then he had to laugh. “An’ even if ’e did, there’d be so many lads here thinkin’
’e was an angry pa with a daughter lookin’ fer ’em that you could ’scape in the stampede.”

Bear had to laugh at that.

By the time they finished, the Palace servants had begun setting up for the last day’s
entertainments, and people had begun to appear from the Palace to enjoy those festivities.
Some of the servants were making their way down to the riverbank, laden with what
looked like pavilions and with purposeful energy in their steps. Some of them stopped
right outside the grotto . . . and it occurred to Mags that if there was one place
beside the river that was clearly suited for keeping cool drinks cool, it was where
the two of them happened to be sprawled. “Ain’t there supposed to be boat races today?”
Mags asked, noting a look in the eyes of the nearest that said
It would be very nice if you weren’t here right now.
Of course, no Palace servant was going to be so rude as to shoo off a Trainee, but
if they were in the way—

“Oh, pox. Aye.” Bear got to his feet and dusted himself off. “Here, let me give you
a hand. They’ll want us to clear off so they can set up.”

The two of them cleaned up what was left of their impromptu picnic, to the unspoken
gratitude of the servants. No sooner had the two of them gotten out of the way than
a pavilion was set up on practically the same spot they had occupied a moment before,
and servants began bringing baskets of bottles and jugs to store in the back of the
grotto.

“Where’s Lena?” Mags asked belatedly, as they moved back toward the Palace.

“Busy all day,” Bear sighed. “Just like yesterday and the first day. Don’t get to
see her until tonight. Since I figured way ahead of time that people were going to
mostly need hangover tea and remedies for overeating, and made up pounds of both for
the past couple months, I haven’t had anything to do with the visitors. They wouldn’t
want to see a Trainee anyway; they wouldn’t trust anything less than a full Healer.”

“Go talk to Trainee Finny,” Mags suggested. “She’s a Fetcher, an’ she’d be real useful
with the Healers doin’ the Kirball matches. She can pick up an’ hold a whole person.
If somethin’ bad happened, she could lift a person into a stretcher without hurtin’
’im more.” Out of the corner of his eye he’d just caught some motion in the Kirball
field and spotted a few of the Kirball players over on the course, playing the version
of the game that was just for fun and didn’t need helmets or padding. That is what
had reminded him of his promise to Finny—but once he’d told Bear, he found himself
wondering if there was room for him on either team.

:I saw that too,:
Dallen said with interest.
:Want to join?:

:You really need to ask?:
he retorted.

:Meet you there.:

Bear had seen the direction he was looking and laughed good-naturedly. He knew Mags
altogether too well, it seemed. “You never get enough of that, do you?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Well . . . I . . .”

“No, no, you don’t need to explain,” Bear chuckled. “Don’t have to explain that you
just like to do something. I’ll go listen to Lena play, she always likes it when there’s
friendly faces in her audience. When she’s done, I’ll go have a chat with your Finny.
If you say she’d be useful, then there’s no doubt she would be.”

Relieved, Mags trotted down to the Kirball field, glad that it was only midmorning
and the field hadn’t heated up yet. That blessed breeze was still holding steady,
and he was mortally glad of it. The “easy” version of Kirball was played entirely
by Trainees, teams could be anywhere from one to eight players, the ball was never
supposed to be hit hard and never supposed to leave the ground. By the standards of
one of the regular players, this was just a sort of warm-up, but that didn’t mean
that it wasn’t fun. Mags couldn’t have said that he preferred the “real” version or
the “easy” version better. The easy version was just simple-hearted fun, the real
version was a challenge, and he loved both.

Dallen cantered up the moment after he arrived, and since Pip had been sitting out
until that point, they were both welcomed to the teams, making both sides six players.

Mags declined the offer to be team Captain, Pip accepted it. There was a lot of whooping
and laughing as the game restarted. No Gifts were allowed, not even Mindspeech, so
instructions had to be shouted for anyone to hear. It was chaotic good fun. They soon
got into a scrum, but Dallen solved that by kicking the ball halfway down the field
as soon as it got under his tail. The fun version was certainly a lot more mobile
than the real version.

Without the armor, without helmets, without the padding, this was just a romp. The
breeze blew over them, keeping them cool, they could actually
see
an unrestricted view, they could move more freely. And without the competitive pressure
of an actual game, everything was much more relaxed.

Not that actual games weren’t fun in their way . . . but you couldn’t call them relaxed,
not by any stretch of the imagination.

:Yer getting right good at that,:
Mags noted, as the entire pack galloped off after the ball.

:Thanks. No idea what earthly use the skill could be in combat though.:
Pip had got there ahead of the others and bunged the ball toward the single goaltender.

:Kick out someone’s knee, maybe,:
he replied, as the goaltender intercepted the ball and smacked it back at them.

Mags got it and sent it back at the goal, with Dallen pounding after it. Pip shouted
at the others to swarm the goaltender and keep him off the ball. They managed to do
so while Mags and Dallen chased the ball right into the goal, with Dallen pulling
up at the very last minute to avoid getting into the goal itself. Which would have
been unpleasant, since the door to the goal was the size of an average human door,
and not exactly fit for a Trainee-on-Companion. He practically sat down on his tail
to keep from getting into trouble, but that was where Mags’ ability as a rider came
in. Dallen got right back up, shook the dust from his coat, and they trotted off while
the referee got the ball.

Corwin, serving as sole referee, got the ball out and took it back to the center of
the field, and they began all over again. No one was really keeping track of the goals,
and no one but other Trainees were really watching. Since it wasn’t a “proper” game,
the real aficionados of the sport couldn’t be bothered with taking their attention
away from all of the other entertainments. But the rest of the Trainees, who were
somewhat intimidated by the skill level required to play the full-on game were encouraged
by this “gentler” version, and when a player got tired and was ready to drop out,
there were others queuing up to take his or her place. Mags played most of the morning,
but by the time his stomach told him that breakfast had been several candlemarks ago,
he was ready to stop, and so was Dallen. They rode over to the stable, where Mags
unsaddled and rubbed him down himself, making sure to clean the tack before putting
it up.

Horse aroma was not the best of perfumes, so a quick wash at the stable pump was in
order before he went to find himself some lunch. And, predictably, his conscience
nagged at him. Nikolas was working. Should he be? Shouldn’t he at least make sure
Nikolas didn’t want or need him?

As he pulled on a fresh uniform, he gently nudged Nikolas’ mind without trying to
read anything. Nikolas responded immediately.

:Enjoy yourself. Nothing for you right now; perhaps tonight, when drink makes tongues
loosen again. Oh, I thought I saw Amily heading for the lunch tables at the Collegium.:

Nikolas went back to whatever it was that was occupying him; Mags grinned. Until after
dinner, then, when he’d be helping clean up, his time was free. He felt almost giddy
at this point; this was his third day with no classes and little work of any kind
except for last night. Really, that hadn’t been so bad, other than having to talk
Kirball with a lot of highborns who thought they knew the game and probably would
not take well to being corrected. Even on Midwinter holiday he’d been working at Master
Soren’s get-togethers, at least, to an extent.

He wondered what Master Soren would do this year, with Lydia being the Princess and
all. He couldn’t imagine Soren
not
hosting his open house, and yet, it could hardly be the same again, could it? There
would be more guards, and maybe the “open” part of the open house would have to end.
Or maybe Lydia would only be able to come to part of it. She certainly couldn’t attend
the Midwinter Night vigil with her uncle; she would
have
to take her vigil with her husband and her new household. Anything else would be
unthinkable.

Ah, worry about that at Midwinter.

He hurried up to the Collegium, hoping to catch Amily there. If Nikolas didn’t have
any work for
him
this afternoon, surely he wouldn’t have any for Amily. Of course, there was always
the possibility that Amily had plans with her other friends, Lydia’s own personal
circle, but since they were also
his
friends, surely they wouldn’t mind him coming along.

He actually caught her just finishing her lunch, but she was happy to join him, since
a fresh set of sweets had just been brought out. They soon had a chattering group
around them, discussing the rest of the entertainment planned for the afternoon and
evening.

A great deal of the entertainment was for the highborn only, being set in the Great
Hall, the Audience Chamber, the Lesser Audience Chamber, the Throne Room. There were
small plays, more professional dancers, some very exotic entertainers rumored to come
all the way from Katashin’a’in, the conjurer from last night, more Bards than one
could count, of course—all of these were for select audiences who would be able to
disport themselves in the cool, shaded rooms, with breezes blowing through the windows
and cool drinks available at the lift of a finger.

But for those who were not so elect, the grounds had their own entertainments, which
would culminate tonight with the illuminated procession of barges.

“Fire juggling,” Pip said with relish. “Only ever saw a fellow do that once. And it
was just him by himself, but this time there’s supposed to be a team of four jugglers
who work together. And a lot of acrobats, and a ropewalker this afternoon!”

“And a play in the Great Hall in the afternoon and early, and they’ll do it twice
to fit everyone in,” Gennie reminded them. “It’s a comedy, and that’s all I know,
but it’s that troupe from down in Haven that plays all the time in that inn.” She
made a face. “The ones
we
never get to see because the plays are always over after Lights Out.”

Mags knew exactly what troupe she was talking about and was relieved, because these
were people Nikolas worked with all the time. That meant that the entire troupe was
“safe” to be up here. In fact, the inn in question was one of the ones where he could
hide Rolan and Dallen when he and Mags went down into Haven in disguise. He didn’t
know anything about the plays themselves, since he had never been there long enough
to see much of one, except for once. He’d enjoyed that, but it had been a tragedy,
with practically everyone dead at the end. Not the sort of subject for a wedding festival.

It appeared that there was a great deal of entertainment planned, ending with that
lighted parade of tableaus on barges going down the river; but there was a detail
new to him: an ensemble of musicians playing on the bridge. His mind rather reeled
at the idea of everything going on this final day. The jugglers and acrobats in the
gardens, the ropewalkers in the courtyard at the front of the Palace, the plays in
the Great Hall, three different small stages where Bards would be performing, the
play, and the barge parade—anyone who complained there was nothing to do had to be
very jaded or ridiculously picky. And that didn’t even count all the things that had
been going on this morning while he and his friends had been at their game.