Closer to Home: Book One of Herald Spy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Jakyr caught him eyeing the farmers; they exchanged a look, and Jakyr laughed.

  “We’d all of us starve if we had to live on a farm. I have no idea what they’re doing,” the Herald said ruefully.

  “Nor me. I’m a city girl,” Lita said from the driver’s bench of the caravan.

  “I’m . . . mixed,” Mags said. “I know every single sort of wild plant that can be eaten without givin’ yerself a bellyache. But I dunno how t’grow a blessed thing. An’ I dunno how to store any of it, neither. The mine kids ate whatever we could get our hands on an’ never saved nothin’.”

  “Nobody can know everything,” Jakyr said philosophically.

  :And it is highly unlikely you will ever have to pass yourself off as a farmhand,: chuckled Dallen. :Intrigue of the sort you will have to investigate rarely takes place among the cabbages.:

  Well, that was true enough.

  It was past time for the Harvest Fair, but Mags was not particularly disappointed. Truth to tell, he was of the mind that he was likely to be busy enough settling himself into his new duties and his new life without the distraction of a Fair.

  :Nikolas has plans,: Dallen interjected.

  :I’m certain he does.:

  The air had that scent of old leaves and faint damp, tinged with woodsmoke, that Mags remembered even from his days as a mine-slave as the signature of autumn. Back then, the smell of ham and bacon curing had been a torment, but there had always been the chance that he would be able to get his hands on a scrap of meat or two, and there would be bones in the thin cabbage soup. And autumn meant nuts, if he could manage to get out into the woods while there was some light. So although autumn wasn’t the “season of plenty” as far as his memories were concerned, it was, at least, the season of being less hungry. . . .

  Somehow, no matter how he prospered, those days of terrible want never really left him.

  But I can leave them, and think about what I have now, he reminded himself, and resolutely brought his attention back to the present.

  Every smoke-house within sight of the road was going—and Mags was very glad that they’d had a fine breakfast, or the faint hint of bacony-goodness on the wind would have probably driven him insane.

  “I, for one, will be glad to get off the road at last,” Lita said, as Amily joined her on the driver’s bench, closing the little hatch door behind her.

  “I think we all will,” Amily agreed. “Are you going to go back to being the head of Bardic Collegium?”

  Lita shrugged. “That’s not for me to say,” she replied. “I’ll leave it up to the senior staff. But . . . chances are, they’ll put me back in the hot seat.”

  Jakyr snorted. “There’s not much chance that they won’t, Lita. You were too good at your job.”

  “Well . . . there’s a little bit of politics involved. And more than a bit of reluctance on my part.” She freed a hand to rub it across her eyes. “It would be a lot easier to just go back to being a senior instructor.” She glanced sideways at Jakyr, who was wearing a rueful expression. “And just what are you thinking?”

  “That it would be a lot easier to go be a senior instructor, because the last year taught me that I am nowhere near as young as I thought I was,” he said, which startled Lita so much she unbalanced for a moment. He laughed at her. “What?” he demanded.

  The vanners looked over their shoulders at her in bewilderment and stopped dead in the road. She chirruped to them and slapped their backs with the reins to get them going again.

  “You?” she said.

  He leveled a look at her. “Who was the one that was going on about second chances?”

  She flushed, and looked away. Mags glanced at Amily, who just gave a little shrug.

  :Don’t ask me, I wasn’t privy to the conversation,: Dallen declared.

  Mags feigned shock. :What! Gossip you don’t know? Inconceivable!:

  Dallen snorted.

  “And anyway, the Healers are probably going to insist that an old man like me needs more time to recover from getting perforated like a pincushion than I’ve had,” he pointed out. “A couple of seasons as an instructor should tell us if I can change my roving ways without going insane.”

  “Going?” Lita said under her breath—but loud enough so everyone could hear.

  Jakyr just chuckled—which was a very different reaction to the one he would have displayed on the journey out.

  :Do you—: Mags asked Dallen, tentatively.

  :I am not in the business of predicting the success or failure of romances,: Dallen said dryly.

  Each time they topped a hill, the city was a little nearer. Mags judged they would probably reach the outskirts a bit after noon. It was going to be very strange to be at the Collegium again, but without Lena and Bear around. But it was going to be equally strange to be there and not be going to classes. . . .

  On the other hand, that was going to be something of a relief as well. No more worrying about passing or failing something. No more studying! Well, not formal studying, anyway. He’d have to learn about things, surely, but he wouldn’t be facing an examination at the end of it.

  :No, but if you don’t master what you are studying, you might face something a lot more serious than merely failing an examination,: Dallen pointed out.

  :Thank you, Master Wet Blanket,: he retorted.

  :I live to serve.:

  It was his turn to snort.

  “Well, I cannot wait for a proper hot bath, one I can just wallow in until the water turns cold,” Amily laughed. “And since we’ll be arriving before there is any sort of stampede for the bathing rooms, that is the very first thing I intend to get.”

  “That’s my biggest complaint, I think, next to hard beds,” Lita agreed. “Even when there is a bath-house in a village, or a bathing area in an inn, you never get to soak as long as you want because there is always someone tapping her foot and waiting for you to get out of the water.”

  “My featherbed. Meals I don’t have to cook. Firewood I don’t have to cut. Hot baths whenever I want them . . .” Amily sighed. “It’s good to be back.”

  “Aye,” Mags agreed, as they neared the edges of the city itself. “’Tis.”

  2

  To Mags’ strangely mingled relief and disappointment, there was no one waiting to greet them as they came in through the side gate mostly used by Heralds. Part of him had been dreading that there would be a crowd gathered, and part of him had hoped there would be. But in fact, there was no one waiting at all. And . . . really, why should there be? By this time, most, if not all, of the Trainees who were about his age were in the Field themselves, having gotten their Whites, and now paired with a senior Herald to supervise their first months of work according to the new training system. He knew all of that from the letters they had all picked up at Guard-posts on their circuit, many of which had been from those same friends. There were people here still, teachers mostly, who knew him well—but this time of day was right in the middle of classes. He wouldn’t want to disrupt classes just because he and Amily had turned up again.

  And at the same time, it was a relief, because right at this moment, Mags just wanted to get settled in and not be fussed over.

  All four of them already had their personal belongings packed in two bags each; not their clothing, which after so many months on the road was going to need a serious laundering, and in some cases, mending, before it was fit to wear again, but everything that was not clothing. When Lita pulled the caravan up to the stables, grooms came to take charge, and servants came to discover what was to go where.

  Servants. . . . It was going to take some time to get used to this . . . he was a Herald now. Servants came and did things for him.

  I’d better get used to it quickly. If I have to fit in with the wealthy or the highborn, I can’t slip and go to do something for myself.

&nbs
p; “Deal with the sorting out, Mags, would you?” Jakyr asked, and without waiting for a reply, he picked up one of his two bags and went around to the other side of the wagon. While Mags was sorting out what went where and with whom with the grooms and servants, Jakyr and Lita both vanished, and the grooms took the wagon and vanners away, leaving him with Amily and their bags.

  “Well,” he said, feeling suddenly very awkward. “I s’ppose you need to be getting back to your rooms—”

  “Ah—” she said, a little awkwardly. “Father . . .”

  And now he felt exceedingly stupid. Maybe he didn’t have anyone who should be breaking off what they were doing to greet him but—

  “Right, right!” he said hastily. “You go. Catch up with me somewhere later—”

  “I’ll meet you at your room in a candlemark or so,” she said, and grinned. “After Father and I finish, I want a bath, and I expect you do, too.”

  He had to chuckle at that. “Reckon I need one too. Right. Meet you at m’room.”

  Another servant had showed up at this point, and at Amily’s direction, picked up her bags and followed her, leaving Mags to take his own and head for the stables, with Dallen following like some sort of enormous dog.

  :Nothing like some sort of enormous dog, thank you very much.: With an indignant snort, Dallen trotted on ahead and put himself into the hands of a groom that appeared as if he had been summoned. :You go get that bath. You were right. You need it.:

  Rather than taking offense, Mags just chuckled, opened the door to his stable room, and chucked his bags onto the bed. Then he blinked and stared. The room had . . . changed. It was still his room, because those were his books on the table and in the bookcase, but someone had been in here, vastly improving it. There was a brand new wardrobe up against the wall, instead of a chest for his clothing, and a brand new, larger bed with a big goosedown comforter on it. He raised an eyebrow at that, but the bed he’d been using was an old one, very much due for replacement.

  It certainly did look as if someone had been hard at work in here. There were four chairs and a real table, and there was a padded bench with a padded back and two more chairs arranged in a group so people could sit and talk. The walls had been whitewashed, making things much lighter. Someone had also checked all the glazing on the window and re-puttied it, sealing it well against leaks and drafts, added shutters on the inside to be closed against the winter cold, and put up two sets of curtains—a heavy one, and a lighter one, presumably to let breezes in come summer. There were new rugs on the floor, and one of them was even made of sheepskin with the wool on, which would be nice for sprawling on. And, of course, that handsome new wardrobe.

  He opened the wardrobe, and as he had expected, there were Whites in his size waiting for him. No disguises of course; those had been either stored down in Haven, or, if common enough, in the chest of his personal clothing. He raised the lid, and satisfied himself that nothing had been removed or disturbed—except that all of his Trainee Grays were gone. Someone else is gonna get those nice sets of highborn Grays I got loaned, he thought with a little regret. But, then again . . . he was a Herald now, and all Heralds had Dress Whites. There was probably something just as fancy waiting in the wardrobe.

  He looked again at the waiting Whites, and suddenly became uncomfortably aware of the fact that, compared with the ones in the wardrobe, the uniform he was wearing was . . . a bit dingy. And a bit shabby. And Dallen was right, he was a bit dingy and shabby as well . . . just thinking about it made him begin to feel a bit itchy.

  And that was all it took for him to seize a new set of clothing and everything that went with it and head for the bathing room.

  —

  Either Amily and her father had had quite a long talk, or she must have made good on her pledge to soak until the water turned cold, because he was clean, clothed, and back at his room, rearranging things to suit himself, when she arrived just as the dinner bell was ringing at the Collegium. “Do I still eat with the Trainees?” he wondered aloud, as she paused in the doorway to look with surprise at his changed quarters.

  “If you want,” she said. “It’s up to you. Father does once in a while. When he is not eating with the Court, which is what he mostly does because he’s King’s Own, he eats in our rooms because he needs the quiet. But Father is a special case. Heralds between circuits can eat with the Court, in the Collegium dining hall, or in their rooms, or go down to inns in Haven. It really all depends on what they feel like at the time. There’s no rules about it.”

  “Oh, that’s too much to think about,” he said with a laugh, as she made a face at him. “What do you want to do? Though I think I’d rather not eat with the Court, if I am supposed to be keeping myself quiet and not be noticed.”

  She linked arms with him and pulled him toward the door. “We still have friends who are Trainees, and I expect they’d like to see us,” she pointed out as he pulled the door shut behind them. Moving quietly, they passed by Dallen’s stall on their way out. Mags had to chuckle; Dallen was fast asleep, with a little bit of hay sticking out of the corner of his mouth. It was oddly endearing.

  Wish I could fall asleep that easily.

  The weather was still outstanding, and as they neared Herald’s Collegium, Mags sniffed appreciatively. It smelled as if tonight was a batter-fried fish night, something they rarely got at inns, and never made for themselves. “Oh! Fried fish!” Amily said with glee as she recognized the scent, and hurried her steps, tugging at his arm.

  I guess things went good with her Da. . . . That was a profound relief.

  Not that he wasn’t completely certain that if Nikolas had disapproved of him and Amily being together he would have heard about it a long time ago. But . . . well . . . there was always that little bit of doubt. Because if there was anything that Mags was good at, it was doubt.

  As it happened, it was Amily who had a great many friends still at the three Collegia, and not Mags—but Mags didn’t actually mind, though it was just a little melancholy to sit down at the familiar tables and not have Bear and Lena to one side of him. Still, within moments all of Amily’s acquaintances had taken him as one of their number, not minding the Whites at all, and he found their chatter vastly entertaining. It was relaxing to not have to be analyzing everything the people around him said, matching it to their tone of voice, and trying to figure out if they had some sort of hidden agenda.

  Amily’s friends all wanted to know how Bear and Lena were, expressing some envy that they had gotten what one of the Bardic Trainees described as “The softest job ever!” And Mags was happy to tell them that this posting was going to be a very nice position for both of them.

  “A Baron,” the lad said, sighing. “I mean, she deserves it. But . . . a Baron. Did you see the castle?”

  “Manor,” Amily corrected with a laugh. “Yes, we did. Baron Burns—and isn’t that alliterative?—has a manor that’s almost the size of the Palace, I think. He’s rather imposing to look at, tall and very, very dignified, but very easy in his ways. Lena is his new Court Bard, so she’ll be doing whatever it is that Court Bards do—”

  “Direct and rehearse the other musicians, write new pieces when the Baron wants them, perform,” the boy—Rendall? Yes that was it—supplied. “Likely she’ll be asked to play for the Baron’s wife and her ladies every day. And if she doesn’t perform herself, she’ll be responsible for the music at supper every night, and if there’s any dancing or anything after.”

  “That sounds like a lot of work,” Amily said approvingly, as another friend, anxious to give them a proper welcome home, went to the serving hatch herself and brought back a heaping platter of fried fish so fresh it was smoking, and put it down on the table. Mags knew better than to snatch with his fingers when the fish was that hot; he used a pair of forks to fill his plate and Amily’s with the hot fish, steamed greens, and fresh rolls.

  “Well, i
t don’t seem like work when you’re doing what you want to be doing,” Rendall said. “You know?”

  “I reckon you’re gonna make a good Bard,” Mags said, as he blew on a piece of fish to cool it down. It occurred to him then, that maybe he shouldn’t be worrying so much about what he was going to do now that he was a full Herald. If nothing else, he was going to be doing what he wanted to be doing.

  Sure beats chipping sparklies out of rocks.

  “Well, I, uh,” Rendall said, blushing so hard it showed through his tan. “Thanks?”

  Mags couldn’t speak just then as he had a mouth full of luscious fish. He just nodded. “You’re welcome,” Amily said warmly, with an amused glance at Mags.

  Their table began to fill up with people Mags certainly would consider his friends, even if they weren’t as close as the folks who had been on his Kirball team, or Bear and Lena. Before he was halfway through his first plate of fish, it was starting to feel like a homecoming after all.

  He had always liked this room, anyway. It was big, without being pretentious. Plain wooden walls and floor, one wall with enough plain glazed windows to allow plenty of light in the daytime. Boasting a high ceiling with exposed rafters, full of plain wooden tables and benches, with a few wooden chairs, it was a room that held a lot of good memories for him. He looked up and down the table at the mix of uniforms, and the cheerful faces, and knew why he was here.