On top of it all was excitement and some apprehension still. Just beneath that was a bewildered sort of wonder and the certainty that at any moment they would realize they'd made a mistake — or that fearsome Alberich would call the Guards. He'd lived with what he was for so long…
Beneath that, though — was something still of the new image of the world and his place in it that he'd gotten during that encounter with Alberich. That — granted, the world stank, and a lot of people in it were rotten, and horrible things happened — but that he, little old Skif, petty thief, had a chance that wasn't given to many people, to help make things better. Not right; the job of making everything right was too big for one person, for a group of people like the Heralds, even — but better.
And under all of that, slowly and implacably filling in places he hadn't known were empty, was a feeling he couldn't even put a name to. It was big, that feeling, and it had been the thing that had broken through his barriers back there, when Cymry reaffirmed her bond with him. It was compounded of a lot of things; release, relief, those were certainly in there. But with the release came a sense that he was now irrevocably bound to something — something good. And accepted by that “something.” A feeling that he belonged, at last, to something he'd been searching for without ever realizing that he'd been looking. And there was an emotion connected with Cymry in there that, if he had to put a name to it, he might have said (with some embarrassment) was love. It was scary, having something that big sweep him up in itself. And if he had to think about it, he knew he'd be absolutely paralyzed —
So he didn't think about it. He just let it do whatever it was going to do, turning a blind eye to it. But he couldn't help but feel a little more cheerful, a little more at ease here, with every heartbeat that passed.
And there was plenty to keep him distracted from anything going on inside him, anyway.
Teren led him away from the stable and toward a building that absolutely dwarfed every other structure he had ever seen. And if he was impressed, he hated to think how all those farmboys and fisherfolk Cymry had talked about must have felt when they first saw it.
The building was huge, three-and-a-half stories of gray stone with a four-story double tower at the joining of two of the walls just ahead of them. “This is Herald's Collegium and the Palace,” Teren said, waving his hand in an arc that took in everything. “You can't actually see the New Palace part of the structure from here; it's blocked by this wing next to us, which is where all the Kingdom's Heralds have rooms.”
“But most uv 'em don't live here, at least, not most of th' time,” Skif stated, on a little firmer ground. “Right?”
Teren nodded. “That's right. The only Heralds in permanent residence are the teachers at the Collegium and the Lord Marshal's Herald, the Seneschal's Herald, and the Queen's Own Herald. Have you any idea who they are?”
Skif shook his head, not particularly caring that he didn't know. This new feeling, whatever it was, had a very slightly intoxicating effect. “Not a clue,” he said. “I figger ye'll tell me in them lessons. Right?”
“Right, we'll leave that to Basic Orientation; it isn't something you need to understand this moment.” Teren seemed relieved at his answer. “Now, straight ahead of us is Herald's Collegium, which is attached to the residence wing, both for the convenience of the teachers and — ,” he cast a jaundiced eye on Skif “ — to try and keep the Trainees out of mischief.”
Skif laughed; it was very clear from Teren's tone and body language that he meant all Trainees, not just Skif. He couldn't help but cast an envious glance at the wing beside them, though; he couldn't help but think that as a Trainee, he'd probably be packed in among all the other Trainees with very little privacy.
“Healer's Collegium and Bardic are also on the grounds, on the other side of Heralds,’ ” Teren continued, waving his hand at the three-and-a-half story wing ahead of them. “You'll share some of your classes with students from there. Healer Trainees wear pale green, Bardic Trainees wear a rust red rather than a true red. There will also be students who wear a pale blue which is similar to, but darker than, the pages' uniforms. Those are a mixed bag. Some of them are highborn whose parents choose to have them tutored here rather than have private teachers, but most are talented commoners who are going to be Artificers.”
“What's an Artificer?” Skif wanted to know.
“People who build things. Bridges, buildings, contrivances that do work like mills, pumps,” Teren said absently. “People who dig mines and come up with the things that crush the ore, people who make machines, like clocks, printing presses, looms. It takes a lot of knowing how things work and mathematics, which is why they are here.”
“Keep that away from me!” Skif said with a shudder. “Sums! I had just about enough of sums!”
“Well, if you don't come up to a particular standard, you'll be getting more of them, I'm afraid,” Teren said, and smiled at Skif's crestfallen face, “Don't worry, you won't be the only one who's less than thrilled about undertaking more lessons in reckoning. You'll need it; some day, you may have to figure out how to rig a broken bridge or fix a wall.”
They entered in at a door right in the tower that stood at the angle where the Herald's Wing met the Collegium. There was a spiraling staircase paneled in dark wood there, lit by windows at each landing. Skif expected them to go up, but instead, they went down.
“First, Housekeeping and Stores,” Teren informed him. “The kitchen is down here, too. Now, besides taking
