Foundation

people were wearying of it, she decreed another dance, this time with the oldest dancing with the youngest. And then, another game. She seemed to be enjoying herself, too, and Mags wondered if part of her quietude most of the time was because she worked just a little too hard at being overlooked. He didn’t know a lot about girls, but one thing he was sure of—no matter how hard they might work at being in the background, deep in their hearts they really wanted to be seen and made much of once in a while.

As for himself, he got a great deal of enjoyment out of her pleasure, and when at last the sun crested the horizon and was greeted with cheers and toasts, he felt as if he had done a very good thing, putting her up on Dallen’s back to be noticed like that.

Nor was she allowed to hobble back into the building on her own as they toasted the sun and the new year with the last of the cider, shared in the breakfast feast that was brought out from the kitchen, and then went off to their beds. The twins hoisted her up onto their own shoulders and carried her in triumph at the head of another parade back to her room. Smiling, Mags divested Dallen of his garlands, led him back to the stable, and made sure he had hay and water and was warmly covered in his blanket.

:That was well done,: Dallen said as Mags refilled the manger. :I’ve not seen her have that much fun in a very long time.:

:How long’s she been like that?: Mags asked. :Crippled, I mean.:

:Since the accident that killed her mother when she was very small. There were no expert Healers where they were, and by the time they got her into good hands, it was deemed too painful to rebreak the bones and reset them.: Dallen sighed.: There are many who are surprised she wasn’t Chosen.:

Mags pondered that. :There’s a good reason, aye?:

:Her father. She is the light of his life, and being a Herald is dangerous. He has more than enough to worry about, being King’s Own. If Amily was Chosen, and he had to worry about all the dangers she faced along with all the cares of the King, he might kill himself with the strain.: Dallen shook his head. :Amily knows why, and she agrees this is for the best. We had to tell her, of course. It didn’t seem fair, when she was pining over the Field every day.:

Now, Dallen had never lied to Mags ... but he got the feeling that there was more to it then just that. :Anythin’ more ye’d like t’tell me?:

:Oh, just that it is frustrating for her, I think, being unable to dare as much as she would like to. And for those of us who know her ... well, seeing her as only her father’s helper is sometimes like seeing a fine dagger being used as a paperweight. It serves the purpose very well, but that is not what it is for.:

Mags had to agree. But what could he do, that the Companions couldn’t?

Still this night had made her happy. That had to count for something.

He was one of the last to come in, and the halls of the house were quiet once again. He found his room, buried himself in that lovely cloudlike bed, and dreamed of nothing at all.

Chapter 16

The holiday had not been kind to Bear or Lena, as it transpired.

They arrived together, but Mags was not there to see it. He was carrying out his assignment to keep an eye on the foreign mercenaries, and there was something exceedingly peculiar going on with them. They seemed nervous, wary—and yet they were, so far as he could tell, oblivious to the people around them. Instead, they were looking constantly over their shoulders for something. What? There was no clue in their behavior or, at least, nothing that Mags could interpret. If they had been worried about an attack on their overlords, they would have been sticking more closely to them. They were not; they were, in fact, going about their usual business.

All he could do was make careful note of how they were acting, and what set off their odd reaction. Not that he could go into the Palace to watch them—on the other hand, when they were on duty, they probably were a lot more careful to keep up their facades.

He had first gotten wind of their peculiar behavior that morning, when he overheard two of the Healers talking about it. He had been slowly eating his breakfast, enjoying one of the last leisurely meals he would have before classes started again. Already most of the extra workmen were gone—but the fruits of their labors were visible in newly opened sections of all three Collegia. More rooms for Trainees in all three, all the work on the Heraldic Library was complete and now the books just needed to be moved in, the dining hall was finished but the kitchen still needed work, and there were rumors that there was some sort of addition for the bathing room that would make all that tedious heating of buckets of water a thing of the past. It wasn’t a reality yet, however.

So he had just had a morning bath and was savoring eggs and sausages and biscuits when two Healers sat down on the bench across from him and picked up what sounded like an interrupted conversation.

“It’s bad enough that they are rude and arrogant, and that half of my work consists of patching up injuries they’ve inflicted during ‘practice,’” one of them said as he got a bowl of porridge. “But this ... how can I tell if something is wrong with someone if he won’t tell me the symptoms?”

“Perhaps they don’t speak our language well?” the other suggested diffidently. The first snorted.

“They speak it just fine. They just won’t tell me. ‘Something is wrong with us, Healer. Fix it.’ Just like that, in so many words.” The first one stirred currants into his porridge with irritation. “I finally got just as rude as they were. ‘Well, perhaps all your problems stem from the amount of strong drink you’re putting away every night down in the city,’ I said. ‘I can’t fix you if you keep making things worse by getting blind drunk every night.’”

“Good for you!” the second applauded. “Then what happened?”

“They threatened to kill me, of course. Fortunately, with the Guard there, they didn’t dare do anything other than threaten.” The Healer snorted. “I’ve told everyone that those threats were the last straw, and I am sticking to it. I would not put it past them to ambush me and beat me senseless for not groveling and making them all better. It will have to be a royal command before I have anything to do with any of that lot again.”

They finished their breakfast, with Mags lingering over his, but said nothing more about the mercenaries. He left just after they did; Dallen had not heard anything either. But Dallen took care to point out that Lydia’s friends would want to know anything at all about this—and probably, so would Herald Nikolas.

So with that tantalizing knowledge in hand, Mags decided he would intercept them on their way to the salle,