Foundation

overstrained imagination and my tendency to worry about everything.”

Mags nodded somberly. “Hope so, sir.”

“Now, let’s try that exercise again ....”

Chapter 14

The days of the holiday flew by. What he had thought were going to be empty and lonely times turned out to be neither. When Herald Jakyr did not appear until Midwinter’s Eve, Mags had actually forgotten he was supposed to come at all, and his arrival came as something of a surprise.

For once, the salle was empty. The mercenaries, so the rumor at breakfast said, had gotten into a drinking contest down in a tavern in the city. They had won—barely—but two workmen who had seen them brought back up again in a hired wagon told everyone within earshot that it was unlikely they would be moving swiftly this morning. If at all. From the condition they had been in, and the fact that they were brought up just at dawn, well, the workmen were taking bets on whether they would be seen in public at all that day.

So Mags had the salle all to himself, which he rather liked. He’d been able to set up an archery target inside, something he rarely had a chance to do, which was a vast improvement over standing in the snow to shoot. When he had shot his required fifty arrows, and had decided that throwing knives at his current skill level was going to be hazardous to the big glass mirrors, he switched to simple exercises to round out the workout. He was working out against the pells alone when he heard someone enter the salle. He didn’t look up, however, until he heard a familiar voice say, “Fancy trying your skill against me, youngling?”

And then he whipped his head around and grinned with delight. “Herald Jakyr! I—”

What he was about to say was I forgot all about you coming, but fortunately he stopped himself. That would be—very impolite. Jakyr weighed a practiced blade in one hand and said, with a look of embarrassment touched with a bit of apprehension, “I know you were expecting me, but I was detained. And I can’t stay—”

“Well, you come at last, so I c’n give ye my little somethin’!” Mags replied happily, resolutely tightening his shields against Jakyr’s thoughts. He didn’t want to know what the man was thinking ... but guilt gave them such force that a little of it leaked through anyway .... not someone else, clinging to me, strangling me ...

“Little something? Mags, you didn’t get me a Midwinter Gift—” Jakyr betrayed more apprehension, although if he hadn’t been getting those lessons from the King’s Own, Mags probably wouldn’t have seen it. “That is really unnecessary.”

“Come on, ’s just a bit of nonsense, but Dallen said ye might like it.” He put up his practice blade and headed for the door, and Jakyr had perforce to follow. “I was makin’ stuff for m’ friends for Midwinter, ’cause Dallen said ’twas the thing to do, an’ he reckoned ye’d like these. I got two good friends who are Trainees—ye’d laugh t’ see us—one’s Healer, one’s Bard.” He chattered on about Bear and Lena, and watched Jakyr’s tension slowly ease, in the set of his hunched shoulders that straightened, and in the uncreasing of his brow. So. Jakyr probably had delayed his arrival because he had been afraid that Mags was going to be ... needy. He had assumed he would be the only “friend” Mags had.

Huh. Reckon I’m learnin’ more than I thought I was. He hadn’t been able to read Jakyr nearly so well before. It had seemed that nothing could shake Jakyr—but it appeared that beneath his facade, Jakyr was just as fallible as anyone else. And just as human. This must be Jakyr’s big flaw, that he was skittish about being tied down to anyone, afraid of demands on himself. Well, whatever his reason for that was, it wasn’t Mags’ to sort out.

And he still liked Jakyr, even with having “heard” that unflattering thought. But now he had a lot more sympathy for the Bard that had been his lover. If that was how the man felt about her— well, no wonder she was sharp with him. Being thought of as a weight around someone’s neck—that was enough to make anyone angry. Especially if they were perfectly competent on their own and had no thought to make demands. It was sadly clear that Jakyr saw such things where nothing of the sort actually existed.

In Mags’ case, he had not wanted Jakyr to be a father (as the man seemed to fear he did), nor a brother, nor a mentor, nor even a protector anymore. He had Dallen as a brother, he had friends—and as for a mentor, in a real sense, he had Herald Nikolas, who seemed to have appointed himself as mentor. As for a father, well, he had gotten this far without one. He supposed he could continue to function without one.

Protector—well, that had always been up to him, to protect himself.

:And you have me,: said Dallen. : I will always protect you.:

He smiled a little. That was no small thing. :Aye, I have you.:

They headed up the hard-packed snow path, the clear, bright light of a cloudless winter day making both of them squint against the glare. The buildings loomed darkly against the hard, bright sky, and with so little activity about the sound of hammering and sawing rang out in the clear air. Jakyr turned toward the Collegium; Mags had to correct him. “I got a room in th’ stable, there ain’t ’nuff room up there. I like it. An’ it lets me be near Dallen.”

Jakyr frowned and looked as if he was about to be angry. “The stable? That hardly seems ... right. A Trainee doesn’t belong in the stable, like some—stablehand.”

Mags only smiled. “What ain’t right is th’ way they got them Trainees packed in rooms up there, like sheeps all penned up t’gether. I got privacy! Ye’ll see—” By this time they were inside the stable, and half a dozen Companions beside Dallen whickered a welcome. Mags waved to all of them, then flung the door of his room open and bowed Jakyr inside.

The older Herald looked around and rolled his eyes a little. Mags was glad he had neatened it up that morning; the small window let in a lot of light, even if the panes of glass were thick and bubbly and no bigger than his hand. The thick walls kept out the drafts better than some rooms at the Collegium did at this moment, what with doors being left open, and access to the roof, too. His back wall radiated warmth, since the ovens had been pressed into use by the Palace kitchens to bake bread for the Midwinter Feasts taking place each night. His bed had been neatly made, and over the course of the last few weeks he had managed to get extra blankets, cushions, even a rug. Candles on the table, an oil lamp on the wall; not even the best rooms at the Collegium were better than this.

Jakyr nodded a grudging approval. “All right, this is reasonably cozy. If things are as crowded up there as you say—I’d probably prefer this, too.”