Mercedes Lackey - Foundation

That night, Mags went to bed for the first time feeling good—completely, totally, and without reservations.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last. Because he spent the night in his dreams, hunting through the dark for something lost, precious, and in peril ....

Mags was deeply mired in the middle of a complicated sum, so buried in concentration that his tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth a little, when Dallen jarred his focus.

:Mags—: the mind-voice came, breaking into his thought and making him lose track of what he was doing. :Mags, a moment:

Carry the one. Or was it carry the three?

:Mags—: came the voice again, insistently.

:I’m a little busy here—:

:I know but ...: Dallen sounded embarrassed. :I found out who threw the ax. At least I believe I found out who threw the ax.:

For a moment, Mags could not imagine what Dallen was on about.

Then he got it.

:Hell!: Mags almost burst out of his seat. :Where? When? What—:

:I will answer all those questions if you will come out to my stall. But quietly. I don’t want them to know we are watching them.:

Mags slammed the book closed and eased his door open. He slipped out, ducking low to be below the level of the stall walls, and into Dallen’s stall. The Companion had his head down and his eyes half closed, for all intents and purposes looking as if he was drowsing.

: Well?: Mags demanded.

:At the back of the stable there are five youngsters. Two are Heraldic Trainees, one is a Bardic Trainee, one a Healer Trainee and one a young man who is getting an education at the Collegia but will be apprenticed to a Master Artificer or Builder once that is complete. They are in the stall of a Companion called Colby. I believe that they are responsible for the ghostly activity in the bodyguards’ rooms.: Beneath his half-closed lids, Dallen’s eyes glittered.

:And how come you think that?: Mags ventured a peek over the top of the stall. There were indeed several people in the loosebox of a Companion far in the rear of the stable. And there was some smothered laughing going on.

.Because I know Colby and his Chosen Barrett are pranksters. Last summer they and their friends were the ones responsible for the circles and glyphs laid down in cornfields by night. Most of the countryside was convinced they were signs from the gods. The pranksters were never caught, and we, the Companions, never told on them, but ... we knew who it was. If the doors to the stable are wide open and every horse running loose in the fields, it is a sure bet Colby was responsible.: Dallen heaved a sigh. :He is ... very young, is Colby. He is well matched to Barrett. Colby ghosts up behind people, steals hats, or startles them with a loud whinny. No apple is safe from him, no picnic or quiet tete-a-tete in Companion’s Field goes unobserved or uninterrupted. Neither of them really consider thefurther implications of what they are doing.:

:But ye still haven’ told me why ye think it’s them.:

:Barrett has the Fetching Gift. And the other Heraldic Trainee with him is a FarSeer. Both have Mindspeech of the sort that allows someone to see images of what another is seeing or remembering.:

Mags felt his eyes widening. Yes indeed, there was the answer. A FarSeer could easily “peer” into the rooms. And with that, someone with the Fetching Gift could move things.

Should he do something about it? What were his options? He could report them to Herald Caelen, he supposed—

:Not advisable, although you certainly should tell Nikolas once you are certain it is them. Barrett is highborn, and his father has the same sense of humor. If he’s caught—which I don’t think at all likely—his father will pretend to be harsh in public, but in private will demand details and howl with laughter. That is what has happened before, and probably will continue.:

:So. Well ...: He thought about what had been going on. Thought about how the mercenaries had gone out of their way to humiliate and hurt. :Well, let’s find out for sure if that’s what they’re doin’.:

Mags slipped through the stalls until he was right outside the one belonging to Colby, and paused to listen.

“Right, now use your Fetching to pull the string on the bull-roarer, but slow,” said a voice. “Do it slow and it sounds like someone groaning.”

“I can’t believe you were lucky enough to get that thing into their rooms,” someone gloated. “They never leave their rooms without at least one of them in it!”

A third voice answered with a chuckle. “That was Gordo’s doing. After I threw the ax at them, they didn’t want any more sharp things up on the walls, and what they had up there, they wanted riveted in place. So Gordo snuck in and put the bull-roarer inside the breastplate before it got hammered onto the wall. Nobody knows it’s in there but us, and it was put up in plain sight of all of them.”

Well, if that wasn’t an admission of guilt, Mags had never heard one. He straightened, and hooked his arms over the wall of the stall. “That don’ seem real friendly to me,” he said, startling all six of the occupants of the stall.

Barrett was the first to recover. “I don’t mind being friendly to people who are friendly back!” he said, with a cocky smile. “But I doubt you are going to find anyone willing to put in a good word for those bodyguards.”

“Nor their master,” the one in Bardic colors said sourly. “But none of you have had to deal with him.”

“Not d’rectly,” Mags admitted. “But I seen him. An’—does seem a nasty piece a work. You doin’ this for any reason but ’cause you can?”

Barrett looked incensed at that, and so did the rest. “Of course!” he snapped. “I got tired of seeing them swagger around and bully people! I wanted to give them something to think about besides harassing folk! And I wanted them to feel what it felt like to be harassed and bullied!”

“An’ c’n ye give me a good reason why I shouldn’ tell Herald Caelen ’bout this?” Mags persisted.

He flushed and looked down. “Uh—” he replied. “No ...”

Mags regarded all of them carefully. Just how much did he want to reveal to them? “Reckon y’oughta tell some’un,” he said slowly. “Ye’re scarin’ the servants, an’ that ain’t right.”

Barrett started at that, as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him. “We—are?” he faltered.

Mags nodded solemnly. “Happens they talk t’ me, ’cause I ain’t highborn an’ I got no money an’ no fambly,” he said matter-of-factly. “Y’skeered one wee mite near outa her skin w’ that—ax. That fair?”

Barrett flushed a deep, shamed crimson. So did the others.

:Dallen—: he thought with a sudden burst of inspiration. :Talk to Rolan. Get Nikolas here fast.:

:Oh, I see where you are going with this! Yes!: Dallen’s burst of enthusiasm heartened Mags, and even more so when Dallen continued. :We told him what’s going on. He’s coming now.:

“They keep tellin’ me,” Mags went on, deliberately stalling for time, “thet now I’m a Herald, I gotta think ’bout what I do afore I do it. Aye?”

Barrett nodded, and wouldn’t look at him.

“And—”

Foosteps behind him, deliberate, but brisk, told him that Nikolas had entered the stables. He waited for the King’s Own to make a show of “seeing” them.

“Well, is this some sort of impromptu gathering?” Nikolas’ voice sounded relaxed and genial. “Can’t quite give up Midwinter holidays, lads? Not that I blame you—”