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

by Mercedes Lackey

  Lena patted Amily’s hand in a consoling manner. Mags could tell that the two girls had made instant friends. This was excellent! Lena didn’t make friends easily; when she was performing, she was wrapped up in the music and never noticed her audience, but when she was just being herself she was astonishingly shy.

  He beamed at both of them. He couldn’t have asked for anything better! Amily would have a friend up here and wouldn’t have to try and get to Lydia’s for company, and Lena would have a friend that was a girl and could presumably understand her—someone who was not in Bardic Collegium, and not a potential rival. They even looked a little alike, since both of them were small, thin, and dark haired. Lena was darker and smaller than Amily, but they could easily have been siblings.

  Neither actually had sisters. Mags wondered if they would start to feel as if they had found a sister in each other. That would be good too, at least, as he understood these things. Families were supposed to make you happy.

  Although Lena’s father didn’t seem very good at making her happy . . .

  “When d’ye think this business’ll happen, with yer leg?” he asked, to avoid such uncomfortable thoughts.

  Amily shook her head. “We have only started talking about it. Bear needs to discuss it with the senior Healers, after all, he’s only a Trainee still, and I need to talk to Father.”

  “If’n ye cain’t get er done this summer, put it off till next,” Mags advised. “People ain’t as sick in summer, so th’ Healers’ll hev more time for ye. Things allus heal better in summer, an anyway, ye don’ wanta be kempt up in bed over winter. What if there was another blizzard? What if we had one o them mortal cold streaks? An’ there ain’t as much good, healin’ food in winter as in summer.”

  “Trust you to think of food, Mags!” Lena teased, but Bear nodded.

  “No, he’s right, you will need every advantage for this, and winter would be a bad time to take such an enormous risk. Even with Healers working on you and speeding the bone-mending. Mags is right that there are fewer people who are ill in summer as well, and fewer accidents. You’ll be weaker, more likely to get some disease or other, and we shouldn’t expose you to more than we have to.” Bear sucked on his lower lip. “Best thing for it then, is to start discussions right away.”

  A moment of silence ensued, which Amily broke by saying, “Well, to change the subject entirely, I am going to kidnap Lena off to Lydia’s the next afternoon that she is free. It would be marvelous to have a friend that can sing and play for us once in a while, and I want her to meet some of the others.” She smiled. “I promise we won’t ask much of you. None of us are likely to treat you as our private entertainer unless you want to be.”

  “Aye to that!” Mags said, and added, “An’ take Bear too, an’ ye kin pry ’im away from here.”

  “Pah, I haven’t the time to spare,” Bear objected, but he looked pleased that Mags suggested it and Amily nodded. “Well . . . maybe a little. But not often. Maybe I’m only a Trainee, but people here need me.”

  “Poor Mags, it used to be you that was coming down to Soren’s house; you’re going to feel quite neglected,” Amily teased.

  He grinned, for this was the perfect opening. “Nay, I’ll be busy practicin’! Tis you that’ll be missin’ me, mebbe. Seems Dallen an’ me got somethin’ new t’ do. Yon Herald Setham wants me fer his Kirball team!”

  Bear gaped at him, Amily clapped her hands with delight, and Lena bounced up and down in her chair. “You’re going to be on a Kirball team?” Lena exclaimed. “Really? Why, that’s all anybody can talk about!”

  “It’s true,” Amily agreed. “There is speculation all over the Court about it. Everyone wants to be able to watch, although I must say there are not too many people wanting to be players except for Heralds. Though if it is going to be as dangerous as I’ve heard, that is just as well.”

  Pleased, Mags told them all about it, from Herald Caelan suggesting he should look into playing, to the interview in Setham’s room.

  “I dunno,” Bear said, looking worried. “It seems pretty dangerous to me. Real easy to get hurt. I looked over that field and I wouldn’t want to ride over it, much less play a game on it.”

  “Well it’s kinda supposed to be dangerous,” Mags pointed out, and repeated what Setham had said about the huge influx of Trainees. “There kinda ain’t a point to it, if it ain’t dangerous. It’s s’pposed t’ wake the Grays up a bit. Make ’em figger out they ain’t immortal.”

  “Still, dammit, I don’t want to be dealing with your broken head or broken neck, Mags!” Bear said, looking a little desperate. “If this is supposed to just be training, it shouldn’t be so dangerous that people come out of it seriously hurt. Bruises and maybe a break or two is one thing, but not a broken neck.”

  “I don’ think Dallen’d let me break m’neck,” Mags pointed out. “I’d be more worrit about them as is on foot or reg’lar horses.”

  “Point,” said Amily, and smiled. “I think it’s wonderful that the two of you were asked in the first place. Are there going to be trials? I had heard there were.”

  “Aye, an’ I’m t’ be in ’em fer form’s sake,” he told them and added shyly, “An I’d take it kindly if any of ye could get away t’ watch. Unless it’s too mortal bad weather!” he added, and sighed. “Knowin’ my luck, twill be pourin’ cold rain.”

  The morning of Mags’ trial day threatened rain, but it never actually happened. By noon, the sullen clouds were reluctantly moving off without actually producing so much as a drop. Mags turned up at the Kirball field, though, prepared for the worst.

  Prepared in more ways than one, as well. Although nothing had actually been said about armor, Mags had brought an open-faced helmet, a neck-brace, a stiff leather kidney-belt, shin-guards, arm-guards, and a chest protector. Having worn all of these in weapons’ practice, he was reasonably sure that he could move and ride well enough in them to satisfy Setham.

  The others had made no such preparations. Setham looked astonished at his rig-out, then pleased. “I hadn’t even gotten into discussions with the other coaches about protection,” he said, “But it looks as if you have anticipated a great deal of what we might need. Well done, Mags.”

  One of the older Trainees—the girl—raised a hand. “Permission to go raid the practice armory and bring things back here for the tryouts, sir?”

  Setham looked pleased all over again. “Permission granted, Gennie. Take Halleck with you.”

  The two sped off. Setham surveyed the rest. “You footers and cavalry,” he said after a moment. “You’ll be at a disadvantage against Heralds. Even the ones that don’t have strong Mindspeech will still have their Companions talking to each other and relaying. So, I want you to sort yourselves into groups of four, talk among yourselves, and work out a quick way to deal with that. When you’ve done that, I’ll put you out there in your group to defend the goal, four at a time, and put two Herald Trainees against you. Now, divide up!”

  There were about two dozen people trying out for both the foot and horse groups. One of them was Jeffers, who looked excited and a little sick. Maybe sick with excitement. He was on a cobby little bay that Dallen looked at with approval.

  :That’s good stock. And look how he sits, how easy his hands are. Let’s just go over there and calm him down a bit, shall we?:

  Mags was a trifle surprised. :Why? He’s pretty much gonna get on th’ team, aye?:

  :Yes, but he doesn’t know that. He could still make a bad showing out of nerves. Look at it this way, if this was before a battle, you’d be going about calming people down, right?:

  :I would?: Mags blinked at that. He rather thought he was more likely to be the one needing calming.

  :You would. It’s part of what a Herald does. So go practice on Jeffers.:

  Dallen ambled over to Jeffers’ side, giving Mags no real choice in the matter. “Heyla,” Mags said. “I seen ye at Master Soren’s, aye? I’m Mags.”

  “What?” Jeffers started a
little, then smiled weakly. “Oh, yes, probably. I mean, I don’t know Lydia really well, but we shared some tutors back when we both took classes at Bardic, and we’re more or less in the same circles.” Belatedly he stuck out a hand, which was a little cold. Mags removed his gauntlet and shook it solemnly.

  “This Kirball, seems people are takin’ it important, aye?” he offered.

  Now Jeffers’ blue eyes lit up. “Well they should! I mean, it’s not just a game, you know! This is going to be training in case, well, you know, combat training. I could never have gotten my father to agree to combat training with the Guard, but this! He thinks this is just a hearty, manly sort of game, and he thinks my playing it is a fine idea. I’m not about to tell him it’s more than that!”

  :Aha.: Dallen seemed pleased. :Keep talking to him. Ask him why his father doesn’t approve of combat training.:

  “So why’s yer Pa not want ye fightin’?” Mags asked.

  Jeffers sighed. “He’s a pacifist. And that’s fine for him. He really is quite good at negotiating settlements with people, and because of that, he thinks everything can be negotiated, and no civilized person should ever have to pick up a weapon. If he was forced to choose between grabbing a weapon and hurting an attacker or being hurt himself, and negotiation didn’t work, he’d choose to be hurt rather than inflict harm.” The young man knuckled the side of his head a little. “And I admire that, I really do. He absolutely has the courage of his convictions. But I can’t live like that.”

  Mags nodded, although he couldn’t understand someone not being willing to defend himself at all. “Well,” he said, after a moment of thought. “When ye get on team, reckon you an’ me could meet up at salle afore or after practicin’, an’ I could give ye a bit uv trainin’ like. Don’ reckon Weaponsmaster’d mind. Ye jest tell yer Pa ye was practicin’ extree wi’ me and not what at. Won’t be a lie then.”

  :Well done, Mags.:

  Jeffers jaw dropped a little, and his eyes widened. “You’d—you’d do that? For me?”

  “Dunno why not.” Mags grinned a little. “Happen I kin get some on Lydia’s friends t’ come by too. So if I got stuff to do, we kin start, like, then they kin take over. So, ye know, won’t be a lie.”

  Jeffers seized Mags hand and shook it fervently. “Mags, thank you, thank you! You don’t know what this means to me!”

  “Eh, well.” Mags flushed a little in embarrassment. “It’s not like I cain’t use extree practice m’self.” He was saved from trying to think of anything else to say by the arrival of Gennie and Halleck, who had brought back enough miscellaneous armor to fit out all the riders.

  Jeffers attached himself to a group of three horsemen, one of whom looked to be quite highborn indeed, if the quality of his tack and clothing was any indication. It wasn’t flashy, in fact it was the opposite, but among many other things, being around Lydia had taught Mags how to assess what someone wore.

  The fellow made no fuss at all about strapping on the worn and grungy armor, though, so he didn’t seem to have any airs about him.

  Then again . . . these people had all been invited directly by Herald Setham. So whoever they were and whatever their backgrounds, they had passed his muster.

  It was Gennie and a third Trainee, Pip, whom Setham set off against the first group of foot-players. Mags very quickly saw why Setham was considering her for team Captain. She and Pip moved together in a way that Mags recognized had to be due to Mindspeech. Although the foot-players managed to keep them from lobbing the ball through the goal-windows for a while, eventually a clever feint on the part of Gennie caused them to concentrate on her long enough for her to flip the ball to Pip, and Pip to peg it through an unguarded window.

  Then it was the turn of Jeffers and four of the riders against Gennie and Mags.

  :Hullo Mags,: came the cheerful mind-voice as soon as he and Dallen replaced Pip on the field. :Setham says you and Dallen are something special when it comes to riding.:

  :Uh—: he replied the same way, :Dallen thinks he is. Tells me alla time.:

  She grinned, while her Companion snorted.

  :I heard that!:

  :You was meant to.:

  :All right, I had something in mind for these fellows, so let’s see if we can pull it off. They’re already concentrating on me, which is good. Now, Pip and I play in-saddle ball games all the time for fun, so we’re used to ball passing. I don’t expect you to have that sort of coordination yet. You will, but not yet. So what I want to do is this, keep them concentrating on me, while you and Dallen run interference, and we’ll see if I can get a ball in. If I can’t, then on one of those interference passes, we’ll brush by each other and I will pass you the ball, and while they still think I have it, you try lobbing it in.:

  :We kin do that,: Mags agreed enthusiastically.

  :Right then, here we go.:

  What followed was barely-controlled chaos.

  Mags and Dallen shouldered into the riders—carefully timing and gauging their bull-rushes so as to not actually put the poor horses in danger of a bad fall. They were only horses, after all. Meanwhile, Gennie made runs at the goal.

  But the riders were good. And they had, somehow, in the short time they had been consulting with each other, worked out a strategy for communicating. Not as good as Mindspeech, but effective enough to keep Gennie away from the goal.

  Dallen rushed Jeffers’ horse and at the last minute, feinted left, went right, and shouldered him into a little rise. The hard smack of the impact of Dallen’s shoulder into the horse’s haunches shuddered through both of them, and the poor horse stumbled, but didn’t fall. Gennie shot past just behind Dallen and made a run for the goal, but Jeffers shouted “Four!” and one of the others managed to intercept her. Dallen whirled on his hind hooves, put his head down, and went straight for the rider. :Take off your blinkers,: he said with glee, and hit him shoulder to shoulder. The taller horse skidded and slipped to the right.

  “One, Two” yelled the rider, and the remaining two closed up to keep Gennie off the goal and force her to gallop off.

  :That patch to the left under the hillock with the low stone wall on it is like a bog; try not to go there,: Gennie cautioned.

  :It’s slippery where I jest was, left of goal,: Mags replied, knowing both Companions would hear him, though it wasn’t likely he would hear Gennie’s Companion.

  :Good place to shove them into,: she returned, as she and Mags milled confusingly together, and the four riders lined up again.

  There was a crowd at the fences now, and it made the four riders a little nervous, if not their horses. It made Mags a little nervous too, even though he knew that he was one of the first picks for the team. Out there—well, who knew who was out there? People who didn’t like him and didn’t feel he belonged, hoping to see him fail. Friends who maybe hoped too much. Bear, who didn’t want to see him hurt.

  :You in first,: Gennie said, and feinted with the ball. Mags made as if to take it and then Dallen dashed at the line. Two of the riders charged straight at him, without waiting to see if he actually had the ball, and Dallen compacted himself and braced for impact.

  “Three, Four!” yelled the third rider, only now seeing that Gennie was the one with the ball, too late for the two heading for Dallen to change course. Mags closed his eyes and made himself as tight and small as he could. There was another smack, a bruising impact on his left leg, and Dallen’s whole body shuddered, while the right-hand horse was forced right down on his own haunches and the left went staggering away, the breath knocked out of him.

  Ninety-nine Trainees out of a hundred would have sat there for a moment, but not Dallen and Mags. Without a word being exchanged, the moment that Dallen felt Mags’ weight shift, he was off again, rocketing straight for Gennie.

  :The ball!: Mags said, as Dallen aimed for one of the two riders that had hemmed Gennie in.

  Then they hit, and Dallen sent the off-rider stumbling into that bit of bog, and under the confusion, as they passed
, Gennie shoved the ball into Mags’ hands.

  Then Dallen put his head down and ran for the fences, Gennie right at his heels, and all four of the riders streaming out behind them in a tail chase. :I’ll make for the goal on high right!: Gennie called, looking back over her shoulder to be sure that she was still being followed and the riders thought she had the ball. She peeled away, taking three of the four with her. Only Jeffers was still on Mags.

  Dallen reversed himself suddenly, pivoting on one hoof, and slammed into the chest of Jeffers’ mount. The poor horse went staggering off, and sat down suddenly, dog-fashion, to avoid falling; Dallen ricocheted off the beast’s chest and bolted for the goal.

  “SCRUM!” yelled Jeffers, but too late. The others pulled off of Gennie, but were miles behind, and Jeffers’ horse was too shaken for the moment to get up. With horses coming at him as fast as their well-bred legs could carry them, but a clear goal ahead, Mags and Dallen kept their heads down and their wits about them and drove for the open door and windows. As they passed, Mags pitched the ball in the doorway, as the biggest opening, and heard the cheers of the crowd just as the horses caught up with them and surrounded him.

  “Goal!” shouted Setham. “Well done, Mags, Gennie, you are in! You too, Jeffers!”

  A rush of elation filled him as the crowd cheered.

  He and Dallen went out twice more, each time solo against foot groups. That was hardly fair; the best they could do was try and blockade the doors and windows with their bodies, and they couldn’t be everywhere; the goal had been planned and built that way. Mags scored goals each time, but at least one of the groups of four made it hard enough on them that Dallen was lathered by the time they made their point.

  When all four Herald Trainees were weary and their Companions lathered, Setham sent horse against horse, horse against foot, and foot against foot and sent the Trainees back to the stables. At this point, Mags didn’t care. He knew he was on the team, and that was the important thing.

  Physically, he was as bruised and battered as he had ever been since leaving Cole Pieters’ mine, but he didn’t care about that, either. He felt good, a good tired, and Dallen felt the same way.