Valdemar 03 - [Collegium 01] - Foundation (37 page)

“—and that's the real question, isn't it,” Herald Nikolas said slowly, when Mags finished telling him about the day's surprise. “I know that song, and I always assumed it was one of those children's tales, too.”

Mags was bone-weary. It had been a very long day. And if he hadn't thought the problem was
that
important, he'd have begrudged every moment Herald Nikolas sat in that chair at his table. Mags himself was slumped over some cushions on his bed, and the moment Nikolas left, he planned to be
in
that bed.

“But what if it isn't?” Mags asked. “What if them things is real, an' if they are, why was they watchin' that man hard enough to drive him near crazy? An' if they're invisible and most folks cain't see 'em, why could he? Or at least, know they were there, ye ken?”

Nikolas got that
looking inward
expression that Mags had come to associate with a Herald talking to his Companion. The lamp next to him sputtered a little and cast flickering shadows over his face. Slowly, his brows creased, and he began to look pained, physically pained, as if he was either having to concentrate very, very hard, or something was hurting him. Mags had never seen that particular expression on the face of a Herald talking with his Companion. He felt a cold chill, and wondered if it was a draft, or fear. Why would just thinking cause the King's Own pain?

Then his expression cleared, and he looked up at Mags. “We think you have uncovered something, and a good thing that you did, Mags. If you hadn't, we would never have known of this danger. Now, as it happens, the situation was well under control, but you saw the effect of it.”

Now Mags truly felt a thrill of fear. This was far, far more than he had thought he would get into when he agreed to assist Nikolas. “Ye mean, that fellah was doin' something against Valdemar or th' King?”

Nikolas shrugged. “The answer to that has to be
we don't know.
Rolan agrees that the man was, indeed, being watched by the
vrondi
and that it was driving him mad. There are any number of reasons why his Lord would bring him here. But whether he was actually doing anything, we can't say.”

Nikolas curved his hand around the back of his neck and massaged it as he continued to speak. “He could have been a perfectly ordinary spy, which is something we expect and guard against, Mags. He could also have been here for reasons of comfort for His Lordship—men with his Gifts often act as Healers, and as Bear pointed out, His Lordship is in very real danger of harming himself with his temper.” Nikolas got up from the seat at Mags' table and began to pace slowly, looking at nothing. “The
vrondi
do not react to intent, they react to the presence of a particular kind of Gift, so Rolan tells me. He has that kind of Gift, and he probably tried to use it in some minor way. So there simply is no way of telling how that unfortunate man was going to use that Gift further. We can assume, probably correctly given His Lordship's behavior thus far, that it would not have been good for Valdemar. But we can't know.”

Mags let out his breath in a sigh. “So Bear's medicine worked?”

Nikolas nodded. “So Rolan tells me.” Now he looked up at Mags. “The King's Own Companion is . . . rather special.”

“Tha's in the stuff they first tol' me, when I got here,” Mags offered diffidently.

Nikolas smiled slightly. “Well, to be honest, no one but the King's Own, usually, is quite aware
how
special the Companion is. Rolan has spoken to Kitri, whose Herald is keeping an eye on our guests for me. He just talked to the servants for me. When last heard, the man dropped off to sleep as soon as the medicine took effect and has remained that way except when being awakened to take his dose. His Lordship has requested a wagon and escort back to the border.” His mouth quirked up in another half smile. “I think your lad Bear impressed him, mostly by not being intimidated. According to the servants, His Lordship is having those instructions followed to the letter. That sort of respect could be useful to us. If he calls on Bear for other remedies, can you try to arrange to go along?”

“Yessir.” Mags ducked his head. He was not at all averse to this plan; His Lordship made him profoundly uneasy, and he really, truly did not want Bear alone with the man. Not that he thought he would be able to fend off those highly trained bodyguards! But if anything happened, it would be impossible to silence a Trainee
and his Companion.
Dallen could raise an alarm before either of them came to serious harm.

He hoped.

:If anyone harmed a hair on your head . . .:
The rest of the thought, though Mags was not at all good at sensing feelings, was awash in red rage that shook him a little . . . and gave him a strangely warm and happy feeling at the same time.
:They would have to tell me where a door was wanted, because that is where I would kick my way through to get to you.:

“Sir, what about them mercs? They ain't feelin' them
vrondi,
surely? An'
vrondi
ain't throwin' axes around neither—” Mags scratched his head and looked up at his mentor, who paused in his pacing. “We got th' answer, mebbe, to the sick fellah, but what 'bout the haunt?”

“A very excellent question, and one I do not have the answer to.” Nikolas pursed his lips. “It's just barely possible that all of them
do
have this Gift, but suppressed and undeveloped, and since it was hidden that way, the
vrondi
didn't react to it and swarm them. But once someone with a working version of that Gift appeared, and the
vrondi
began to congregate, the men
could
see, or at least feel, their presence.”

“But the ax!”

“Does not sound like
vrondi,
no.” Nikolas shook his head. “I'm baffled. And to be honest, unless they were all from the same family, or at least the same bloodline, it is wildly unlikely that they would all have the same suppressed Gift.” He grimaced. “It does sound like a haunting, but the Palace has never been known to be haunted, and none of the Heralds have detected any such thing. I have to say, I do not like this very much. It seems to be another complication, and complications are something we can well do without. But now that we know about it, thanks to you, we will keep our senses alert.”

He smiled then, and it was a full smile, an approving one, and one meant for Mags to see. “Mags, I was not mistaken in my trust of you. You are proving to be a clever and resourceful apprentice. So, is there anything that
I
can do for
you?
Within reason, of course.”

It was not a question Mags had expected, but something immediately flashed into his mind.

“Get me, Lena, an' Bear inta t' the Guard Archives,” he said instantly. “On'y ye prolly ought t' make it look like it come from one of her teachers. She's gone an' talked to 'em about it, but they ain't given her permission yet.”

“The Archives?” Both of Nikolas' eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “But—”

Again, he suddenly got that gazing-off-into-the-distance look.

“Ah . . . your parents.” He nodded. “Yes, I can arrange that. In fact, I think it is a very good idea. The worst that you may find is what you have been told all along.”

Mags grimaced. “Aye.” He hesitated. “Do
you
b'lieve in Bad Blood, sir?”

“No, I do not,” Nikolas said, immediately and firmly. “I do believe that sometimes there are people who are born . . . defective in the understanding of morality, and empty of empathy. But I don't believe that has anything to do with who or what your parents were, and . . .”

Now he hesitated and sat down again, looking at Mags very earnestly over his clasped hands. “It's very complicated, Mags. But I have encountered people like that, and they are truly evil. What is more, they know they are being evil, they make a conscious choice. They simply do not care about anything other than themselves. You will know them if ever you meet them, I suspect. They can be very charming when they choose, but it is all surface charm, and you will always look beneath the surface.”

Now he smiled warmly at Mags again, another approving smile that made him flush, then stood up to come stand next to him. “Mags, if anything, you are the opposite of that. So no, no matter what you came from, I not only believe, I
know
your heart is good.” He reached out unexpectedly and ruffled Mags' hair. “Your head, now, that remains to be seen,” he finished with a chuckle.

That night, Mags went to bed for the first time feeling good—completely, totally, and without reservations.

Unfortunately, it didn't last. Because he spent the night in his dreams, hunting through the dark for something lost, precious, and in peril. . . .

M
AGS was deeply mired in the middle of a complicated sum, so buried in concentration that his tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth a little, when Dallen jarred his focus.

:Mags—:
the mind-voice came, breaking into his thought and making him lose track of what he was doing.
:Mags, a moment.:

:Mags—:
came the voice again, insistently.

:I know but . . .:
Dallen sounded embarrassed.
:I found out who threw the ax. At least I believe I found out who threw the ax.:

For a moment, Mags could not imagine what Dallen was on about.

Then he got it.

:Hell!:
Mags almost burst out of his seat.
:Where? When? What—:

Mags slammed the book closed and eased his door open. He slipped out, ducking low to be below the level of the stall walls, and into Dallen's stall. The Companion had his head down and his eyes half closed, for all intents and purposes looking as if he was drowsing.

:Well?:
Mags demanded.

:At the back of the stable there are five youngsters. Two are Heraldic Trainees, one is a Bardic Trainee, one a Healer Trainee and one a young man who is getting an education at the Collegia but will be apprenticed to a Master Artificer or Builder once that is complete. They are in the stall of a Companion called Colby. I believe that they are responsible for the ghostly activity in the bodyguards' rooms.:
Beneath his half-closed lids, Dallen's eyes glittered.

:And how come you think that?:
Mags ventured a peek over the top of the stall. There were indeed several people in the loose-box of a Companion far in the rear of the stable. And there was some smothered laughing going on.

:Because I know Colby and his Chosen Barrett are pranksters. Last summer they and their friends were the ones responsible for the circles and glyphs laid down in corn fields by night. Most of the countryside was convinced they were signs from the gods. The pranksters were never caught, and we, the Companions, never told on them, but . . . we knew who it was. If the doors to the stable are wide open and every horse running loose in the fields, it is a sure bet Colby was responsible.:
Dallen heaved a sigh.
:He is . . . very young, is Colby. He is well matched to Barrett. Colby ghosts up behind people, steals hats, or startles them with a loud whinny. No apple is safe from him, no picnic or quiet tete-a-tete in Companion's Field goes unobserved or uninterrupted. Neither of them really consider the further implications of what they are doing.:

Mags felt his eyes widening. Yes indeed, there was the answer. A FarSeer could easily “peer” into the rooms. And with that, someone with the Fetching Gift could move things.

Should he do something about it? What were his options? He could report them to Herald Caelen, he supposed—

:So. Well . . .:
He thought about what had been going on. Thought about how the mercenaries had gone out of their way to humiliate and hurt.
:Well, let's find out for sure if that's what they're doin'.:

Mags slipped through the stalls until he was right outside the one belonging to Colby, and paused to listen.

“Right, now use your Fetching to pull the string on the bull-roarer, but slow,” said a voice. “Do it slow and it sounds like someone groaning.”

“I can't believe you were lucky enough to get that thing into their rooms,” someone gloated. “They never leave their rooms without at least one of them in it!”

A third voice answered with a chuckle. “That was Gordo's doing. After I threw the ax at them, they didn't want any more sharp things up on the walls, and what they had up there, they wanted riveted in place. So Gordo snuck in and put the bull-roarer inside the breastplate before it got hammered onto the wall. Nobody knows it's in there but us, and it was put up in plain sight of all of them.”

Well, if that wasn't an admission of guilt, Mags had never heard one. He straightened, and hooked his arms over the wall of the stall. “That don' seem real friendly to me,” he said, startling all six of the occupants of the stall.