Intrigues: Book Two of the Collegium Chronicles (a Valdemar Novel)

by Mercedes Lackey

  The class itself took all of his concentration, and managed to drive all thought of the odd encounter right out of his mind. It was one of “those” maths classes, the ones where he was supposed to figure out angles and the like. It made his head hurt, he was concentrating so hard, and feeling altogether like the stupidest person in the class. Sums were so easy, but this . . . there were so many things he had to keep track of.

  Thank goodness the next class was history. He was always ahead on history. It was—well, not logical, exactly, because history was people, and people weren’t always logical. But it was like stories, there was a beginning, a middle and an end.

  But as he was going into the door for his last class, he was approached by a page boy and handed a piece of paper. It was a note from Herald Caelen, the head of the Collegium, asking him if he’d come by after classes were over for the day.

  His first thought, immediately, was what did I do wrong? His second was to think back to that encounter at the stable with the Herald. What if the Herald had been offended at his forwardness? What if he’d insulted the Herald by not addressing him by name? What if the Herald was one of those who didn’t approve of the new system? What if he did, but was offended by Mags’ implied criticism? His head spun, and he felt that all-too-familiar old reaction. Back in his old life, the only reason someone in authority would want to see him would be because he was in trouble or that someone was looking for a scapegoat to punish.

  He reminded himself that he wasn’t in his old life. He’d never had that sort of thing happen to him here.

  But it was hard to break his old ways of thought. He could all too easily imagine a hundred things he would have done or said wrong. As he worried them all through, the class dragged along.

  He tried to reason with himself. Maybe Caelen wanted to see him for a good reason rather than a bad one. Probably Caelen wanted to see him for a good reason. Maybe that Herald had told Caelen he had a good idea, and Caelen wanted to ask him about it. Finally he managed to convince himself that this was the most probable—a sign that at least, if he had not overcome his instinctive reactions, he could finally reason his way past them.

  Regardless, everything about the impending meeting kept him distracted during a lesson that was not one of his best subjects. This was the language class, and language, with all of its rules about grammar and spelling—made no sense to him. Nothing about it was logical, and just when he thought he’d gotten a rule straight in his head, it all went out with some exception or other. And as for his spelling, well, it was . . . creative.

  This generally made for a long lesson at the best of times, and being preoccupied made it longer.

  At last the teacher dismissed them, though unfortunately with a writing assignment. Just what he needed, with his head all of a muddle. Mags wondered if Lena would help him put it together, and then wondered if he was going to be too busy trying to make up for what he’d done wrong to ask her.

  Once again, his mood dropped, and he had convinced himself that he was in trouble. He pulled his books together into his shoulder bag, suddenly wishing the lesson had been even longer. What could Caelen want?

  As he walked along the corridor, feeling as if he was under a dark cloud, and wondering if he should pretend he never gotten the note, he felt a familiar presence in the back of his head. :It’s probably not bad, you know,: his Companion assured him, :I would have warned you if I’d seen you doing anything that was that bad. But you aren’t going to find out unless you go.: There was an amused chuckle. :No matter what, you’ll muddle through. Besides, how do you know Caelen isn’t going to thank you for coming up with a good idea?:

  That was enough to lift his mood, at least a little. And give him enough courage to head for Caelen’s office and knock tentatively on the door.

  “Come in,” called Caelen through the door.

  Mags pushed it open. The block-like Herald was, as usual, rather buried in things on his desk. There were sheafs of papers stacked precariously around him, and it was impossible to tell which were things he was done with and which he had yet to work on. Mags blinked owlishly at the piles. How did Caelen ever get through all the work that was piled on him? Every time he thought that he was piled high with work, he would get a glimpse of what Caelen faced, and know that the work of a Trainee was nothing.

  Caelen looked up and gave Mags a warm smile, and then followed his gaze, and made a wry face. “Budgeting,” he sighed. He waved vaguely at the piles. “I have to account for every penny spent in Herald’s Collegium, and my procrastination has come back to bite me. Again.” He stabbed a finger at the paper in front of me. “It doesn’t help that I have no idea sometimes what I’m signing for. Here it says we ordered a bale of dried marrow root.” He rolled his eyes. “I have no idea what marrow root is, or, since this order is missing half of its information, where it came from. And yet, I have to sign to say it’s justified. And if someone comes to ask me what in heaven’s name I was thinking when I signed for it, I will be sitting here looking like a fool.”

  Mags peered at the paper. “Bear would prob’ly know,” he suggested, trying to be helpful.

  Caelen laughed. “Well, since he’s the one that put in the request for it, I sincerely hope so. I gather it is something that he feels would do you lot good in the winter.” He put aside the piece of paper, and looked Mags over. “You’re growing,” he noted, nodding approvingly. “It’s good to see you filling out, considering the size you were when you arrived. I won’t say you were the smallest Trainee we have ever had, but you were certainly the thinnest, and certainly the shortest for your age.”

  Mags looked down at himself. “Can’ really help it,” he said, shrugging. “Sorta happens all by itself.”

  The Herald rubbed his greying temples. “I suppose it does,” he replied with a nod. “Well, that brings me to the reason I brought you up here. I was reminded today that you are in a room that is usually used for the grooms that care for the Companions, and I thought, now our building work was getting closer to completion that you might like one of the newly built rooms that are free. It would get you out of the stables and in with the other trainees.”

  Mags was shocked, and his jaw dropped. “Move away from Dallen?” he asked, aghast.

  Caelen gave a chuckle. “I can see, if you put it like that, that it would be a wrench. But it would stop you from standing out as . . .” he gave a wry smile, “the Trainee that we stuck off in the stable.”

  “How’s that bad?” Mags asked, adding as an afterthought, “Sir? Not like it bothers me.”

  “You’ll recall that bit of an altercation over you being there in the first place,” Caellen said with a grimace. “You know already that there are many of the adults who would be certain any boy out in a room alone far from adult supervision is certainly up to no good, Trainee or not.”

  Well of all the things he’d heard here, that took the prize for making no sense. “But I got ’dult supervision!” Mags protested. “Companions! Bunches on ’em! If I was t’ get t’ jiggerypokery, ye know they’d be callin’ in t’ their Chosen!” He could just imagine it, too. Say, purloining a couple of bottles of wine to try out what being drunk was like. He’d not get two cups into the first bottle before half the Collegium, including all the teachers, would be at his door. And he didn’t even want to think about what would happen if he was up to anything worse than that. And what Dallen would say to him—he’d rather be whipped.

  Caelen shrugged. “You have a very good point about the supervision. Well, if that is how you really feel, I won’t make you move. I thought a boy your age would be a little worried about how the others might think of him. It might be thought a little odd to be down there all alone. People are very likely to wonder why you are there, if there is something, that makes you antisocial, or if—oh, say for example, your Mindspeech is less than controlled, and we are keeping you apart from the others to prevent problems from it. Or as if you are some sort of pariah, and we want to keep you away fr
om the others to keep you from contaminating them.”

  Mags shook his head. “If’n I can stay, I want to,” he stated firmly. “It ain’t like I’m in the way. It’s the warm end o’ the stables, ’n I think the Companions like me being there. If somethin’ was t’ happen, I’d be right there, ’fore even someun’s Chosen could or one’a the grooms, ’cause the Chosen ’d haveta run down from Collegium an’ Dallen’d wake me afore a groom knew there was aught wrong. I dun mind bein’ alone; I’d druther, actually. It’s quiet. Easy t’ study. Easy t’ sleep, ain’t no one larkin’ about an’ makin’ noise. I never had no privacy afore, an’ . . . an’ I like bein’ where no one kin bother me. An’ I definit’ly like being next t’ Dallen.”

  “Well. I suppose if you feel that strongly about it.” Caelen sighed. “I suppose it can’t hurt to have someone in the stable as we come toward foaling season anyway. The Companions usually keep everyone aware of when foaling is likely, but once in a while it’s a surprise.” He cocked his head and looked Mags over. “I reckon you’ll be able to keep a level head in an emergency—and of course, the Companions will help. Even though Dallen is a jokester, he’s solid in a crisis, I understand.”

  Mags grinned with relief—and a little at hearing Dallen described as a “jokester.” Evidently his “tweaking of Rolan’s tail” had gotten around. “Aye, sir. That I reckon ’e is.”

  Caelan blinked. “You know—you are a little young for this, but something just occurred to me. I’ve something I’d like you to consider adding to your lessons. It’s a good thought, actually, and something that will . . . get you working with some of the other Trainees a good bit more.”

  :He means he thinks you need to be socialized,: Dallen said wryly. :He thinks you ought to be running about with a herd. That’s all right, he means well. And perhaps whatever it is he just thought of will be fun. You have been sorely missing out on fun.:

  Caelan carried on, oblivious to Dallen’s comments; well, after all, he couldn’t hear them. Companions rarely Mindspoke to anyone but their Chosen. It was unusual that Rolan had let Mags hear his sarcastic remarks to Dallen. “You and Dallen have an exceptionally close bond—I’m told your Mindspeech is remarkably strong. According to your records you and Dallen are also two of the leaders in the riding lessons. Those two things would make you a pair of ideal candidates for what I have in mind.” The older Herald grinned like a young boy. “Think you’d be up to being part of a Kirball team?”

  Mags frowned. “Kirball?” He’d heard the term bandied about, mostly during meals, but hadn’t really gotten any notion of what it meant besides that it was some sort of game. A brand new game, one that several of the Heralds themselves were devising for the Trainees—but Mags had no idea what was involved. Well, other than the fact that, judging by the exuberant hand-gestures and pantomime, it was probably going to be very exciting for those who were in it.

  “It’s a new game that the Heralds are trying on the students this year. They are rebuilding the obstacle course out in the field and running it over that. It’s part goal scoring, part capture-the-flag and part team building.” Caelen was oblivious to the fact that none of this meant anything to Mags; fortunately, Dallen quickly provided his Chosen with images of what Caelen meant. “We think it will be a good learning exercise for the Trainees. I believe it originally got its name since Herald Kiri came up with it. She’s always one for inventing crazy ways to test the trainees, but this one has definitely become popular. The name seems to have stuck. It doesn’t hurt that one could say it was meant to honor King Kiril as well.”

  Something nagged at the back of Mag’s mind, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, and the thought ran away as Dallen rang in loud and clear.

  :Oh, I would like that! Just think, you’ll get to compete on the fastest Companion in the city!: came an eager comment, showing Mags that Dallen was still listening in. :We’ll be fantastic at this!:

  The Herald continued, leaning forward and becoming animated as he did so, “Here’s the basic idea. Now, we’ve done a lot of games on Companion-back in the past, but what is new about this is that the students form teams from all three Collegia. Some will be on Companions, of course, but some will be on horses, and then some afoot. It’s a twelve-person team, and the way we have planned to run it is that competition can be two teams against each other, a three-way, three goal arrangement or even four teams all in. Though for now, while we work play and rules out, it will just be two teams against each other.”

  :It’ll be chaos on the field, and if I understand Kiri’s Companion correctly, that’s sort of the idea. It’s supposed to show how well you deal with a fight, and get you used to something like a battle without actually being in one. It’s wargames by any other name,: noted Dallen. :That said, it should also be a lot of fun.:

  Mags frowned. “Wargames?” he repeated aloud.

  Caelen winced visibly. “Well, that’s part of it. I can’t pretend it isn’t, but it’s a combination of riding skill, teamwork, communication and how well you use your Gifts in a pinch. There will be people on each team that don’t have Gifts, don’t have Mindspeech, don’t have Companions—which is just like a battlefield. This will test and train your abilities to put together an effective small force of all sorts of folk, setting things up so that each uses his strengths. That said, I think it’s going to be fun, and it’s going to be something for all the students to get involved in.”

  Mags’ thoughtful frown deepened. “Gifts are allowed?” he asked, pondering how that would work.

  Caelen nodded vigorously. “Within reason. I think we might have issues with someone using Firestarting to burn someone, since we don’t want actual combat as such, but I should think most Gifts will be useful. I suspect the people with the Fetching Gift are particularly going to be in demand for this. And those that don’t plan on a counter to it are going to find flag and ball scored against them without the other team even moving.”

  Mags furrowed his brow. “Huh. I think I see. That’s gonna to take some thinkin’ about.” Actually, it looked as if the amount of planning was going to equal the amount of playing. Well as long as it wasn’t him having to do the planning. . . .

  “Yes, it certainly is. Anyway, the riding instructors are going to be pushing people onto the teams as I permit. We don’t want people getting onto teams that aren’t fit for a bit of roughhousing, after all.” Caelen raised an eyebrow at him.

  “ ’M pretty tough, sir,” Mags said, since he could sense Dallen’s excitement in the back of his mind, and didn’t want his poor Companion to explode. “Reckon this’d make me a mite tougher, too, an’ that ain’t bad.”

  Caelen nodded. “Once this gets well underway, I suspect that your weapon instruction might be more focused on defending yourself from the back of a Companion as opposed to merely on foot this year. And if what I hear about the way you ride is correct, you’re going to be a popular pick for one of the two Heraldic positions on a team. Ordinarily I’d eliminate a first-year Trainee just on the basis of lack of skill and experience, but you have more than enough skill to make up for any other lack.”

  That startled him. The idea of being popular and wanted for something was quite unexpected. He had never really thought of himself as excelling in anything other than riding, which was, face it, a rather solitary occupation; oh he was good enough with weapons, the hand to hand ones, but he wasn’t brilliant. And the riding, well, that was mostly Dallen’s doing, and he had figured everyone knew that. He didn’t quite know what to say in response.

  Caelen looked pleased at his reaction. “Didn’t think you were any good, eh? Still worrying about not measuring up.” He gave a soft chuckle and tousled Mags’ hair. “Don’t worry about it. And don’t stand there gawping like a fish gasping for air. Go now, off with you. And if you change your mind about rooming up here in the main building, you let me know. All right?’

  Mags closed his mouth, still blinking and tried to exit the room gracefully. He leaned
against the wall outside, feeling a little breathless.

  Dallen was amused. :Of course you’re a good rider. You’re on me! Who wouldn’t be brilliant on the fastest, sleekest, most handsome Companion in all of Valdemar?:

  That broke his shocked mood, of course, and made him laugh. Still laughing, he headed on toward the dining hall.

  He clattered down the stairs to the main hall, and joined the thin stream heading in the direction of food. Savory scents were already filling the hallway, making everyone hurry. On the way, amidst a gaggle of other students, he spotted the dark, curly hair and rust-colored uniform of his best friend Lena, herself a Bardic Trainee. He called her name and she waved, and weaved her way through the crowd toward him.

  “Mags!” she greeted him. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy—”

  “You better’ve been eatin’,” he chided her. “I ain’t seen ye fer two days!”

  She ducked her head, guiltily. “I’m sorry. I got caught up in a special project; it’s a four-person performing group. And yes, we were eating; our teacher had food brought in so we could eat while we worked. Did that history paper go over well?”

  He grinned at her, relieved, as she tucked her hand into his arm and they breasted the crowd together. “Aye. It did, and thankee kindly, miss teacher. King Tyrdel and the war of the harvests, and how after ’e died, his daughter Elspeth made peace and expanded the borders wi’ treaties and a marriage.” He patted her hand. “I reckon a Bard coulda tole the tale better though.”

  She smiled back. “Well, it sort of is our job to be historians, Mags. Bardic talent goes hand in hand with a love of stories; and it doesn’t matter if we make them up ourselves, nor if they are modern or from deep in history. At least so my tutors keep telling me.”