Foundation

heavenly afterlife, he didn’t much care what befell him after he was dead, because the here and now was just fine. And that brought him to what he was to learn, which was not just the school lessons, but the other things. He could hardly believe he had been asked to help some of the other Trainees who were struggling with riding—or that the Weaponsmaster wanted him to help those who were still trying to get beyond hitting the pells with sticks.

From the sounds of things, the complainers were saddling up to go out on riding practice themselves. Which is what Mags should be doing soon ... could have been doing now, except on the whole he preferred to practice alone, and the instructor was inclined to let him now. The instructor was really there for those who had never been on a horse in their lives. Once you got past being afraid to fall off with every step, unless your Companion needed instruction in war maneuvers, if you wanted, you were left alone to practice at your own pace. That suited Mags. He sensed that some of the others wondered why he was so slow to make friends, but there was no way he could explain it to them, and he didn’t want to try. They would never understand.

Truly, he still didn’t know quite why he and Lena got on so well. It made no sense at all, really. There could not possibly be two people in this world as different as he and the little Bardic Trainee, and yet here they were, inexplicably friends.

Friends ... that was another thing he had never, in his whole life, had before. Not a real friend.

The sounds of hoofbeats leaving the stable let him know that the others were leaving. And he might as well give up trying to sleep anymore. Besides, he needed to get Dallen saddled; Lena was coming for a ride.

He wondered what it was that thrilled her so much about riding Dallen. Without the kind of mindlink that he and Dallen had, it was really not much different from riding a superbly trained horse, and he knew she must have had plenty of opportunity to do that. From everything she had told him about her family, they were at least as well-off as the Pieters were. So what was it? Was it just the mystique of the Companions? Or despite not having Mindspeech, could she still sense something about him that was out of the ordinary?

:Of course she can. I am a magnificent creature. Just ask me.:

Mags had to chuckle at that. :I don’t have to ask you,: he replied. :You’ll be sure and tell me every chance you get:

He was wide awake at this point, and there was no use in trying to drowse anymore. He got up, expecting to find the stable empty of anything but Companions, and nearly ran right into a Herald.

The man scowled at him. He had the tightest shields Mags had ever seen; to Mags’ extra senses he wasn’t even there. Mags stammered an apology, feeling the blood draining from his face.

“What are you doing here, Trainee?” the man barked.

“I ... I live here, sir,” Mags faltered.

“Here? In the stable?” The man stared at him as if he suspected Mags of lying.

“Aye, sir.” Mags waved in the direction of the open door. “There, sir.”

The Herald glanced briefly inside. “Who told you that you could live out here alone?” he replied, not at all mollified by Mags’ answer.

“Herald Caelen, sir.” He tried to will himself smaller. Maybe if he looked insignificant enough, the man would leave him alone.

“And he sent you out here to live alone.” The man was getting red in the face. When Master Cole got red in the face, someone ended up beaten. “Why?”

“There wasn’t enough room in the Collegium, sir.” Dallen stirred restlessly in his loose-box and snorted.

“Without adult supervision.” Now the tone of voice was a growl.

“I gots me Companion, sir,” Mags whispered. “’S Dallen, sir. He’s growed.”

The man sneered. “Oh, surely. Who is your mentor?”

“I don’t ... got one. Sir.” Mags was having a hard time breathing now. “Herald Jakyr, he brung me, but he’s off—”

“Doing something important, no doubt.” Still a growl, but one full of contempt. Mags did not look up to try and read the man’s face. He stared as hard as he could at his toes. “Leaving you here to frolic about without discipline. No doubt you’ve got stolen spirits in there, and you are carrying on with serving wenches all night long!”

Dallen’s hooves drummed angrily on the dirt of the stall floor.

“No, sir,” Mags choked out. “I don’t got no drink in there. An’ nothin’ else neither. I dunno any servin’ wenches.”

But by now, the Herald had warmed to his subject. He reached out and grabbed both Mags’ shoulders and shook them until Mags’ teeth rattled. “Tell me the truth, curse you! I’ll have it out of you if—”

Before the man could finish the sentence, he was suddenly pushed aside abruptly, shouldered into the wall by Dallen, who shoved in between them.

:Go back into your room until I say to come out, Chosen,: Dallen said calmly. :I will deal with this.:

Mags was not at all averse to following Dallen’s orders. In fact, he fled into the safety of his room, and threw the bolt on the door. Then thinking better of that action, he unlocked it almost immediately, wedged himself into the farthest corner of the room, and sat there staring at the door.

Shortly afterward, he heard more voices, speaking too quietly for him to make out what they were saying. The tone was low and urgent—or in the case of the strange Herald, low and angry. Eventually, he heard footsteps going away.