He put the report back in the box, and the box back on the shelf. On his way out, he turned over to the Archivist all of the little ribbons that he’d been given to mark where he was doing research.
“Hmm,” the man said, one eyebrow raised. “Find what you needed then?”
“Nossir,” Mags replied with resignation. “But I found all I’m goin’ to.”
Both eyebrows rose. “That has all the sound of a tragic ballad in the making. I’m sorry your excavations into the archives were not as fruitful as you would have liked.”
Mags managed a wan smile. “Well, at least I know I ain’t some bandit brat. Trouble is, that’s ’bout all I know.”
“Perhaps you can elaborate on that,” the Archivist prompted, looking interested.
Mags shrugged. “M’parents musta been caught by bandits. They was dressed good, guess they was bein’ held fer ransom. But nobody understood ’em, and they was dressed foreign, and they was killed when the Guard came after the bandits. An’ that’s what I know.”
“Actually, I can tell you a little more than that,” the Archivist responded. “They cannot have been Rethewellan, Hardornen, nor Karsite. Guard Captains have a smattering of all three languages, and the fashions of those places are either distinct, or very like Valdmaran. I would also suspect they were not Hawkbrothers, nor Shin’a’in, since the Clans are not inclined to leave their own in captivity, and they have ways of knowing where their kinfolk are. Vanyel more or less closed the passage to the North. So that leaves you with beyond Rethwellan as the likeliest.”
Mags blinked. “That’s—far.”
“And it begs the question of why your parents, who must have been traveling alone, came this far. What could possibly have driven them to come to a country where they didn’t even know the language and evidently had neither friends nor contacts? Because you may rest assured, if foreigners who did have friends or contacts went missing in Valdemar, the Heralds, the Guard, and ultimately the Crown would know about it and be looking for them.”
Mags felt that dread creeping back over him. The only reason he could think of was that they were running from something. “So mebbe I still am some kinda bad blood . . .” he said slowly.
But the Archivist only snorted. “Actually, I can think of a much better reason for running into a strange land, if one was young and foolish, as I presume both of them were.”
“What’ d that be, sir?” He held his breath, hoping for a sort of reprieve.
The old man shook his head. “One of the oldest stories there is, of course. They were in love, and their parents disapproved. And their parents were wealthy or powerful enough that only by fleeing far past the borders of their own land could they escape the long reach of parental authority.”
Mags blinked. “You think?” he ventured.
The old man shrugged. “I have known many young lovers, and most were fools,” he replied with more than a touch of cynicism. “Make of that what you will. I am sorry that you did not find all that you were looking for, Trainee, and I thank you for your courteous treatment of the Archival records.”
Well, that was a dismissal if ever he had heard one. Mags nodded, and trudged out the door and back to the Collegium buildings and his room at the stables.
Both Bear and Lena were out—at classes for the latter, probably, and off tending someone for the former—so he left them brief notes outlining what he had found.
:Look on the bright side,: said Dallen. :Now you won’t have to spend time going through those boxes anymore.:
“I suppose,” he said aloud.
:Well now that you know, maybe this will unearth some sort of memory for you. Maybe a word or two in your parents’ language, or a memory of what they looked like.:
“That don’t seem likely. I’d’a thought I’d’a remembered somethin’ like that afore this.”
:Maybe not. Memory is a funny thing. You know... smell tends to trigger it.:
“But if I cain’t remember what m’parents smelled like, I cain’t exactly trigger one, can I?” he objected.
:Not what they smelled like. The caves.:
Huh. Now that Dallen mentioned it... he did seem to get nightmares more back at the mine when the sleeping hole got mucked out and the smell was more of damp, cold earth than it was of rotting straw and filthy children.
“I’ll see if I kin ’member one of m’old nightmares,” he said, finally. “Don’ think I wanta bring ’em on me again. Useta wake up screamin’, an’ I reckon none of the Companion’s’d thank me fer screamin’ m’lungs out in middle of the night.”
:Hmm. You are probably right. So what are you going to do?:
“Right now?” Actually—he kind of wanted to take his mind off all of this, and let it rest for a moment. And he had a good idea what would do that. “Right now—I think I’m’a gonna find out about this Kirball.”
Chapter 5
:HERALD Setham,: Dallen said, instantly, and with tremendous excitement in his mind-voice. :You want Herald Setham. Wait a moment... :
Mags waited patiently, shivering a little in the cold wind. Was the wind never going to stop blowing? There wasn’t even a hint of spring on it yet.
Dallen was probably speaking to Setham’s Companion. That always took time. Of course, it would have been possible for Dallen to allow him to “hear” Dallen’s side of the conversation, but that would have ended up being confusing. It was also possible for him to listen to both sides, but that would have meant taking down shields, and getting permission. Companions were notoriously reluctant to let anyone but their own Chosen listen to them.
:Archer says Setham will meet you at the new Kirball field,: Dallen told him, finally. :It’s where they’ve been putting in all those new obstacles.:
“Aye, I know it,” Mags confirmed. He changed direction to head for the field, which actually had been part of Companion’s Field before it had been partitioned off. “Why ain’t they using the old course?”
:Not big enough.:
By now it was late afternoon, the sun was making long shadows with the Collegium buildings, and his stomach growled. He hoped that either the explanation wouldn’t take long, or that Herald Setham would be just as hungry as he was and willing to continue any discussion over food. It wouldn’t be long now until the dinner bell.
“Why ain’t the old course big enough?”
:Because they will have to fit two dozen or more people on it at the same time. They’ve finalized the rules, so we’re in luck, whatever Setham tells us is exactly how things are going to go now.:
He saw the Herald—and his Companion—waiting for them beside the new rail fence that marked the boundary of this “ball ground.” He had expected Setham to be young; it had seemed to him that anyone who was getting into something like this was going to have to be young. He thought that his expectations were confirmed when, from a distance, the Herald seemed to be shorter than even he was. He was surprised to see, as he got nearer, that while Setham was, indeed, a lot shorter than Mags, he was also well past middle age. He wasn’t a dwarf, but he was certainly not much taller than twelve or fourteen hands. The top of his head barely came up to Dallen’s shoulders!
Setham was wiry, and he kept his brown hair hair cut quite short, so that the gray at the temples was quite evident. He had a thin face, and intelligent brown eyes, and a mouth that looked as if it smiled often.