Foundation

Feeling rather as if all control of everything had been matched out of his hands, Mags dismounted and followed.

Chapter 7

Mags sat gingerly on the edge of a short wooden bench. Gingerly, on the edge, because the rest of the bench was taken up with a huge pile of books with a pillow balanced inexplicably on top. It was, however, the only available seat in Herald Caelen’s office, as the rest of the room was also taken up with books. Herald Caelen’s small desk, however, was immaculately clean, and the blocklike fellow gazed at the piles of books with distaste. Mags immediately got the sense that Herald Caelen had not put those books there himself, and the man’s words confirmed that. “I don’t know why my office should be the repository of every book that the librarian thinks is too valuable to keep in the library,” he said, aggrieved. “When it was only one or two, or even a dozen, I didn’t mind ... or at least, I didn’t mind that much.” He shook his head. “My own fault. I’ll deal with it. Now—you would be Dallen’s new Chosen, according to Merlita—I didn’t get your name? No, wait a moment—” He opened a drawer, pulled out a sheaf of paper, and leafed through it quickly. “Ah, yes. Mags. Just Mags. Mixed up in that business with the mine. Well, let’s see ...” He real some more. Mags tried not to squirm; his natural inclination at the moment would have been to make himself as unobtrusive as possible; Dallen had to keep reminding him that he was not in trouble, and that Herald Caelen might have his feelings hurt if Mags tried to hide from him. “Hmm. Hmm.” He looked up again, and Mags held himself very still; not quite the paralysis of fear, but not far from it. “You’ve probably gathered that we are chronically short of room. And, in fact, there is no room. I haven’t got a bed to put you in. And if you were from some other background, I would never ask you to do this—but would you be willing to sleep in the Companions’ stables? Not in a stall or anything of that sort,” the Herald added hastily. “There are some perfectly good rooms with heating that makes them as cozy and warm as anything in this building and as clean and all, that the stableboys use. But it is the stable—”

Mags blinked. Here he was, someone who had, a weeks ago, been sleeping in a hole under a barn floor—and this man was asking if he minded sleeping in a bed, in a warm room, just because it was in a stable. “Be fine, sir,” he said, a voice just above a whisper.

Herald Caelen let out a huge sigh of relief. “Bless you. I pray to the gods that the next Trainee we get in here is a Healer or Bard, because finding space for him will be Lita’s or Paako’s problem, not mine. Unless we can get some of you graduated to field trials and out of here, I am going to be stacking you like so many hens in nestboxes atop one another soon.” He went back to his papers, occasionally looking up to ask Mags a question. When he had finished, he took out a fresh sheet and began writing on it, then got up and edged his way around the desk, taking care not to topple over the piles of books. “Follow me, then, and I’ll get you taken care of. Uniforms first.”

Right. Uniforms. He had some memories from Dallen about that. He nodded, and followed Herald Caelen out of the office and into a building that was clearly half finished on the inside. There were still workmen putting up wall panels and plastering the ceiling.

The borrowed memories sharpened, and he understood what was about to happen when they were halfway down the corridor. He would be a Heraldic Trainee, and he would wear a gray uniform, identical to Jakyr’s and Caelen’s except for color. That was how they did things here; Trainees—they might as well be called apprentices, really—wore something in the same color family as the Bards, Heralds, and Healers, but it was more than enough different to let anyone who saw them know that they weren’t exactly ready to act like the real thing yet.

They went through a set of double doors at the end of the corridor, and then made an abrupt turn to go down a set of dark little stairs. This brought them to a cramped room piled high with neatly folded clothing in white and gray. Herald Caelen pulled tunics from the top of piles, held them up against Mags, muttering to himself, refolded and stowed them away again until he found something that met his criteria. At that point, Mags found himself burdened with a staggeringly tall pile of things. “Do those boots fit you?” Caelen asked abruptly. Mags peered at him over the top of the clothing.

“Uh—”

“Do they pinch your feet?”

He had to think about that. His feet were so tough, he probably wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. “Nossir.”

“Are they falling off you? Did they rub blisters anywhere?”

Well, that he was sure of. “Nossir. Mebbe a bit big ...”

“Wear extra socks, then.” A couple more pairs got tucked under the top of the pile. “Right. Come with me.” He grabbed a couple of cloaks, draped the gray one rather haphazardly over Mags’ shoulders and the pile of clothing, and slung the other, white one around his own neck.

Again, Caelen set off briskly. Mags stretched his legs to keep up. They went back up the stairs, then outside via a nearby door, and headed down a path that clearly ended at a stable building. “That’s the Companions’ stable, and that is where you’ll be living,” Caelen explained. “We’ll arrange for that now.”

Mags was slowly getting the lay of the place as they headed for the stables, where he had left Dallen. The Heralds’ Collegium was actually attached to this other building, which was roughly four or five times its size. The unfinished buildings, which he vaguely gathered would be Bardic and Healers’ Collegiums, stood alone. The Companions’ stable was across a big stretch of open area and on the other side of a broad lane, of course ... the road that had brought him here was there—

In the stables, he felt a little more relaxed. Not so many people. Companions all about. Dallen peering over the wall of a loosebox just ahead. He took a deep breath and smiled—they must keep this place as clean as a room in the Guards barracks, for the only scent in the air was of crisp straw and sweet hay, with an undertone of clean horse. Herald Caeler gave a sharp whistle and waved over someone who proved to be the Stablemaster. He quickly explained what he wanted and just as quickly got an answer.

“Aye, I’d just as soon that room there at the end got used. Been a bit of a temptation, that, come evenin’— empty room, quiet stable, willin’ kitchenmaids?” The Stablemaster waggled his eyebrows, and Caelen cracked a wry smile.

“Then I am happy to be able to solve two problems with one solution. Can we get a couple of the lads here to help make it livable?” the Herald asked.

In answer, it was the Stablemaster’s turn to whistle, and within moments, Mags was helping another strong fellow carry a bed in from a storage room, while a second went off for linens and a third carried out the odds and ends that had been stored there, swept the place, and found a couple of chests in the tack room for Mags’ use. The Stablemaster himself scoured up a table and chair and a couple of lanterns. The room was already warm, thanks to the brick ovens built into that end of the stables. The whole end wall was brick, actually; the ovens, according to