Mercedes Lackey: Intrigues

And sometimes he was terrified. So despite his casual words, there was a little chill down his neck when he thought about using the Healing skills he was getting on himself. It had gotten dreadfully close to that when he’d helped save Bear.

Dallen gave Mags a piercing look. :I won’t pretend it’s not possible, but it will be a good long time before you ever need to worry about being in that position. You have years of learning ahead of you. And who knows? You might end up being stationed in Haven or some other city and never go out on circuit at all. All right?:

Dallen’s mind-voice had an undertone of anxiety. Mags smiled, and rubbed his cheek against his Companion’s neck. “I’m not gonna worrit ’bout it. Just—s’ppose ’tis a good reason t’ keep payin’ more attention in harder classes, belike. ’Specially if they involve bandages!” He laughed a little. “I got a long ways t’ go afore I’m catched up wi’ ev’one else, anyway. By time I get Whites, I’ll prolly be white-haired t’ match!”

He worked on Dallen until the Companion’s thick winter coat was as soft and clean as the down from a new pillow, and his mane and tail as shiny as silk. He carefully saved away all the long mane and tail hairs for later braiding, now that he knew just how much people valued the little trinkets Dallen had taught him to make with Companion and horse-hair. He even had a little net-bag hung up on a nail in the stall to collect the hair in. He’d wind what he collected into a little circle and carefully stick it into the bag, as he did now.

With Dallen clean and under his blanket again, Mags looked out of the stall. “ ’Tween you and me, when I come in like that, Rolan looked as though I’d spoilt his best chat-up lines. Was he on ’bout business—or pleasure?”

Behind him, Dallen made a noise that closely resembled a snicker. :It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if you did interrupt him flirting, you know. Not that he would ever come off his dignity to admit it. I’m pretty sure that most of the mares have a crush on him.:

Mags turned and cocked his head. “Reckon he’s poachin’ in yer woods, Dallen?” He grinned.

Again the stallion snickered. :I’ll have you know that, pure resplendent perfection that I am, I’m in no danger of losing a light’o’love even to Rolan. It’s not as if I’m languishing away in this this box waiting for you to visit.: He managed to curvette and prance in place like a showy parade horse.

Mags had to laugh.

:Though I must admit that it does help that you are so attentive with the grooming. It puts the polish on what is already exquisite.: Dallen curved his neck and struck a pose.

“An’ modest too!” Mags chuckled.

:But of course. It is part of what makes me so lovable.: Dallen batted his enormous blue eyes at Mags.

He had to chuckle even more. “I swear, yer worse’n one’a them court fellers. Next thing, ye’ll be wantin’ me t’ find ye a silk’n’velvet blanket ’cause wool just don’t show off yer coat good ’nough.”

:Hmm. You think?: Dallen paused just long enough for Mags to begin to wonder if his Companion was serious, then whickered his laughter. :I shall recommend one to Rolan. He’ll need it to compete with me.:

“Rolan’s gonna pull yer tail off one ’a these days.” Mags shook his head. “I dunno why he ain’t yet.”

:Because no matter how miffed he pretends to be with me, he likes my tweaking his vanity. And I like to let him get all huffy with me. It’s how we muddle along.:

That was a word that was unfamiliar. He shook his head. “Muddle along? Whassat mean?”

:Muddling along is an art form, dear boy. It’s the great secret to life. You can’t plan for everything, so you take the good and the bad and cope as they happen and even though life gets muddled you somehow manage to get by.:

Mags thought about that. It was true that he mostly lived in the moment, without thinking about good or bad times, at least not on purpose. But that was because when he thought about such things, then although the times were good, there was always, somewhere under everything, a feeling of certainty that they couldn’t go on being good. All his experience had taught him that. So was that, just thinking about today and not worrying too much about tomorrow, what Dallen meant by “muddling along?”

:Not exactly,: the Companion corrected. :You get hope in the bad times that there are better ahead, and there are. You temper the good times with plans for the future because you know there will be bad ones. And, sadly, there will always be bad times; it’s in the nature of things.:

Well he could certainly agree with that.

Dallen nudged him. :The rule is that most things don’t matter as much as you might think. So long as you keep that firmly in mind, then neither foe nor loving but misguided friend can hurt you—at least not so badly that you can’t recover.:

Mags regarded him dubiously.

:We’re none of us quite so sure of our place in the world that we can’t be rocked off our feet by bad times. It’s the getting back up again that counts. Not that you fall, but getting back up again counts for more in the long run.:

Mags snorted. “You ought to set up shop in the Mindhealer’s area and charge a penny a customer with all that.”

Dallen raised his head and looked regal. :You can mock. But answer me one important question, if you will.:

Mags nodded.

Dallen lowered his head and looked his young trainee hard in the eye. :Are you actually going to eat that other half of your pie?: he queried, pointedly. :Because if you’re not... :

Mags sighed, then laughed, and gave it to him.

WHEN Mags left the stables, he hadn’t so much as a hint of a crumb anywhere about his person. Dallen had even made big eyes at him until he turned all his pockets out, proving there wasn’t even a fragment of crust left. As he pulled the door closed against the wind, he caught a glimpse of someone approaching out of the corner of his eye. He turned, and saw an older man, a full Herald, in pristine whites, walking toward the stable door. He was holding a half-eaten pocket pie in one hand. Mags grinned at him.

“I see yer had the same idea I had,” he announced. “Don’t let my Companion—Dallen—see ye have that, or ye might lose it. And fingers too.”

The Herald blinked in surprise, and then let out a rich mellow laugh. “Ah, you’re Dallen’s Chosen? That would make you Mags, yes?” His cultured accent showed that he was highborn, but he seemed quite relaxed and utterly friendly. Most of the time when Mags saw a full Herald, unless it was a teacher, it was usually someone in a tearing hurry.

Mags nodded and smiled back, noticing that the man had curiously colored eyes, a very light gray. Silver, he would have said, if he’d been asked to put a name to it. They looked very odd and striking with his dark hair. Mags wondered if he could be newly assigned as a teacher—or perhaps just in from Circuit. There were new Heralds coming and going all the time.

“We’ve been hearing very good things about you, Trainee Mags.” The Herald nodded as if to emphasize that he agreed with the assessment. “I’m glad I had the chance to run into you. You came to the Collegium with no expectations, and no memory of how we used to teach trainees. Are your classes going well under the new system? Is there anything about them that you think is giving you and your fellow Trainees trouble?”

Mags gave a surprised chuckle of his own; given how many Heralds were still against the “new system,” he was pleased to find one that seemingly wasn’t. More than that, he was pleased to find one that was actually interested in improving the system rather than just criticizing it. “Well, I’m not as good at figurin’ past sums as I oughtta be, I think. But I’m catchin up with folks ’n doing pretty good wi’ history, I reckon. If I was t’ say, though, I reckon some on us, like me, yah, but some others too, needs extree help, an’ not all on us is brass ’nuff t’ go find it. Them highborns, they kin go to ma or pa an’ say, ‘get me a tutor, eh?’ But we cain’t. We cain’t pay fer ’em, an mostly we kinda shy off askin’ teachers.” He pondered a moment longer. “So... mebbe jest find summun’s willin’ t’ give the help an’ hev’ ’em say ’bout it in class? No hevin’ t’ ask fer help, nor tryin’ t’ find summun willin’ t’ give it, ’cause some on us is shy ’bout askin’, or shamed t’ admit it. Jest hev summun a-waitin’ ina room after classes. An them as needs the help jest shews up, an’ teacher’s there t’ get ’em over the rough spots.”