Intrigues

is hard enough, but once a little time has passed—the visions become memories and memories get mixed up, blurred, changed by what other people tell us.”

Mags nodded. Pip piped up. “That’s why they tell us to get witnesses to give statements as detailed as possible right away. The problem with memory is that it’s often mistaken.”

“Eyewitnesses tend to see what they expect to see, too,” Halleck reminded them. “Now, Foreseers do get special training so that we try and concentrate when we get a vision, and more or less turn off the thinking parts of our minds, but who knows what it was that gave those others the ‘feeling’ that the person with the King was a foreigner?”

“Enough of all this. We have practicing to do,” said Gennie. “And I want to find out how many of the others can join us at meals. If we put enough teammates between Mags and the idiots, at least they’ll be smart enough not to gossip in front of us and we can all eat in relative peace.”

Mags sighed. “Relative” was the operable word here.

He thought about hiding in the Guard Archives to study, because he was all too aware when other Grays and Heralds came into the stable. Some of them didn’t know, or had forgotten, that he lived out there—but most of them knew it, and it made them uneasy. But then he thought better of the idea. According to Tam and Liam, the two “not-quite-Guardsmen,” there was plenty of speculation going on among their fellows about “what should be done about that Trainee Mags.” He really didn’t want to find himself cornered by Guardsmen who had decided that “what should be done about him” was to be locked up or sent out of Haven altogether, on the theory that if he wasn’t in Haven then what had been Foreseen wouldn’t happen.

Nice theory anyway. Because after all, the Foreseers couldn’t tell where their vision had taken place, so he had heard. He could be sent out of Haven only to encounter the King by another accident.

It reminded him of a kind of morbid song Lena sang to him and Bear once, about a man who had his fortune told, and it was that he would meet Death in the village square the next day. So he flung himself on a horse and rode like the wind until at a few drips short of the appointed hour, and he dismounted in front of an inn in another city. Thinking he had escaped, he turned, and ran right into Death who said in surprise, “Oh thank you, you saved me a trip!” and took him.

But at any rate, it sounded like the Guard Archives, though quiet and warm, would not be a good place to hide out. Nor would the Collegium Library.

But the Heralds had Archives . . .

Not as big as the ones for the Guards, not even as big as the Bardic ones, but they had Archives, and almost no one ever went there.

:Actually,: Dallen said, after a moment, :That’s a good idea. You didn’t look there for information about your parents, because you didn’t know the exact dates or place where the bandits’ camp was. Now you do, and there might be something in the Heralds’ reports. More detail about your parents’ clothing—perhaps even, if you look backward a bit, you’ll find someone who ran into them on Circuit, maybe in a town, maybe on the road. Heralds are supposed to report on foreigners they encounter.:

In all of the unhappiness, Mags had quite forgotten why he had uncovered that information in the first place. He gave that some thought. :Huh.: He thought a bit more. :Well... I got studyin’. Mebbe I kin look after I’m done wi’ studyin’.:

The Heralds’ Archives were in the top floor of the Heralds’ Wing, exactly where the library was in the Collegium Wing. Unlike the Guard Archives, or the Collegium Library, this enormous room was dark, and chilly. Like the Guard Archives, there were rows and rows of floor to ceiling shelves on either side of a passage through the middle of the room. Unlike the Guard Archives, it was rather untidy, with boxes left open on the floor, and books in piles. There were only a few lamps up here, and only half of them were lit, making perhaps four pools of light in the darkness, including one all the way at the end of the room.

This was why it was very obvious when someone moved a little at the end of the room. The shadow cast under the lamp there was quite long, and the movement did more than catch Mags’ eye, it practically made him jump.

Bugger, someone’s here already, he thought. But this was the most private place he was going to find, so he continued to move into the room. Whoever this was, maybe Mags could avoid him—

Which was, of course, right when his shin hit a chair he couldn’t see, and knocked it over.

“Who’s there?” cried out a startled voice.

One he knew.

“Amily?” he called back, incredulous.

“Mags? Oh good!” the relief and the welcome in that voice made him flush a little. “I’m so glad you’re here, you couldn’t have picked a better time. Please, come here, we found out what you wanted to know.”

Being more careful this time, he hurried across an expanse of floor made treacherous by the piles of books, boxes of papers, and scattered chairs. Whatever else they were, the Heralds certainly were nothing like as tidy about their record-keeping as the Guard.

He found Amily curled up in what looked like her own private little nest, in a corner that was surprisingly warm and cozy. A good oil lamp was fastened up on what looked like—and proved to be, when he touched it—the back of a substantial brick chimney. It radiated warmth into this space exactly as the one in his room did. There was a heavily padded half-lounge here, a couple of padded chairs, two little tables within easy reach, and books and a teapot and cup on them.

Amily smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling. “I love my father dearly, but sometimes I just want to be somewhere that he’s not,” she said. “And no matter how polite he is about it, we live in three small rooms and there is never more than a single door between us. It’s not hard for me to get up here, and no one minds my being here.”

She patted the lounge, and he sat down gingerly beside her, flushing a little. “But enough about all that. I was actually just putting the last of the reports into order for you.”

“Reports?” he said, feeling thick and stupid. She didn’t know about his search for his parents, so how could —

“About what the Foreseers saw,” she explained. “There’s a protocol for such things, and a good thing too, considering how wild some of the rumors have gotten. All Foreseers are trained to either make notes on what they Saw immediately, when the vision or dream is over, or dictate to someone. And I have copies of many of them right here.” She patted a folder on her lap. “I can sum them up for you if you want, though, since they are all nearly identical.”

Mags nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Every vision was of the same thing, and every vision lasted about the same length of time—quite, quite short. They have the impression that this is the end of a fight. They first see the King, who is standing, but with a look of horror on his face, covered in blood, his hands also covered in blood. They then see what looks like a small, slight man, quite ragged, also covered in blood, with a knife in his hands. They get the impression that he is foreign-born. They get the impression that someone is dying and someone is badly wounded. And that is all.”

Mags blinked. “That’s it? Ev’think else is just what summon made up?”

She nodded. “Exactly. They don’t see the other man’s face. That’s all. They don’t know which of the two is dying, or wounded. They don’t even know if there is someone else dying or wounded that they can’t see, or even if there is an entire crowd there.”

Mags didn’t know quite how to feel. On this slender thread was hanging all that hostility, all that anger—for what?

“I think I wanta hurt someone,” he said finally. Amily nodded with sympathy. “I don’t blame you. The damage is done and it’s rather late to get things set straight.”

He sighed and buried his face in his hands. After a while, he felt her slender arm around his shoulders, and she hugged him a little. “I’m sorry Mags, I wish there was something I could do. But at least—or, well, so I hear— Gennie is doing what can be done for now.”

“Eh, she’s a good sort,” he mumbled. “Whole team is, akchully.”