Bastion (14 page)

That sounded promising. Mags relayed that to the others, and they went to look for the promised caravan.

There was only one building on the grounds where vehicles were kept. Most of them were homely, working wagons and vans. There was one Royal Carriage, which held eight, but it had been decades since any Royal Family of Valdemar went on a Royal Progress, so all of the fancier wagons that would have carried their luggage and baggage had long been pressed into more practical service.

The caravan wasn’t difficult to spot. It was actually taller than most of the other vehicles here, taller even than the Royal Carriage. It had exceedingly high wheels; the ones in the front were smaller than the ones in the rear, but the ones in the rear came almost to Mags’ collarbone. It was very far off the ground. From where Mags stood, it looked like an entire cottage on wheels!

He measured the rear wheels against himself, wonderingly, as he gazed at the contraption in the light coming in through the open doors.

“That’s so she can ford rivers,” said someone behind them. They all turned.

It was an older man, quite gray-haired, and tough and wiry looking, with formidable muscles, in a rougher version of the blue-and-silver Royal livery, clearly made for a hard workingman who expected to be outdoors a great deal.

“That’s why she’s so tall,” the man continued. “She’s meant for the road, and rough road at that. Tall, so she can ford rivers. You want to hope there are always bridges, but sometimes there ain’t. So, I reckon these two are the ones that’ll be taking her out, and you’ve come to see her?” At Bear and Lena’s mutual nods, he grinned. “She’s built for six, so you two will have heaps of room. I’ll show you about.”

Mags noticed at once that the wheels were outside the body, but that the wagon itself had been built outward over the open wheels, which would add some to the interior of what was undoubtedly going to be very cramped living space. There were racks along the side where you could store boxes; the boxes themselves were stacked up to either side, out of the way. There were railings along the top as well; presumably you could store more things up there. Mags approved.

“This here’s the front,” said the fellow. “Oh, I’m Ard Ardson. I’m the Wagonmaster, as was my father, and his father before him, and his father before
him
. If it goes on wheels and belongs to the Palace or the Collegia, it’s my job to keep it in trim.”

“Then I’m right glad you were here, Master Ardson,” Bear said earnestly—and looking daunted. “I’ve—ah—never handled a wagon before . . .”

“And you won’t be handling one now,” Ard told him. “One of your teachers, I misremember who, found out about this scheme and reckoned she was due for a trip. I guess teaching you lot’s harder than driving and tending to a wagon and pair!” He laughed at his own joke. “She and I had a short run with this beauty. I’ve already checked her out, we had some hands-on, and I am here to tell you I’d let her drive any rig in this building, including this one, so no fear there. Two-hitch, four-hitch, wheel-changing, there’s nothing I wouldn’t trust her with.”

This was the first any of them had heard of it, but Mags was extremely relieved to hear it.
He
certainly didn’t know anything about wagons and horses, and he rather doubted Jakyr was an expert—although you never knew. But at least Bear and Lena would have an expert with them from the beginning.

“So as I said, this is the front.” Ard gestured to what looked like a little porch with a door in the middle. There was a fold-down seat currently locked in the “up” position for the driver and fold-out steps that were in the “down” position between the shafts. “As you can see, driver is all cozy, or as cozy as you can be driving in bad weather, which I would advise against. Horses won’t like it, and you’re better off losing a day. The storage boxes on the outside are for supplies, so you can keep clothes and the like on the inside, out of the weather. The boxes are all waterproof, I just checked ’em myself, which is why they ain’t loaded up now. Canvas bags for fodder and wood on the top, or anything else that’s light and easy to haul up or throw down.”

The more Ard spoke, the more admiration Mags had for him. He definitely took his job extremely seriously.

“The boxes on the top are going to be lashed into place. Don’t take ’em down unless you have to. They will have canvas, stakes, and rope. Two bow tents, a skirt for around the bottom of the wagon and a floorcloth for under the wagon, if there’s more than six to sleep, and they’d rather sleep under the wagon.” He raised an eyebrow. “As I said, she sleeps six, but it’s a tight six, and if the weather ain’t bad, the last lot to take her out preferred to have two sleeping below. With four, it oughta be fine. Yer teacher and the assistant can use the benches. I reckon, women don’t seem to toss as much as men. Oh, there’s a cupboard-box that bolts in under the rear; that’s for your pots and pans you use over the fire. They’ll get black and nasty and stay black and nasty, and you won’t want ’em in the wagon ’cause they’ll get smuts all over everything. Now, go on up into her.”

He gestured that they should go up the stairs and into the wagon itself.

It was bigger than Mags had expected. Inside it was all handsome varnished wood, which should be easy to keep clean. The middle part of the roof was both raised and bowed, with thin sheets of horn inset along the sides of the raised part, bringing in a lot of light and giving far more headroom than he would have expected. Not even Jakyr was going to have to stoop in here.

“Two of your beds are there at the rear,” Ard went on from the door. Mags craned his head around to look. Sure enough, two beds had been built into the rear, one above the other, with the bottom one on the floor and a small cupboard built above the upper one. Both had little windows looking rearward, also with horn panels. “Those windows open for air, but if it’s snowing, you won’t want em open, obviously. Shutters on the outside to close up against bad weather. Shutters on all the windows except the mollicroft up here.” He tapped the narrow windows up in the roof. “Mollicroft windows open, see?” He demonstrated by unlatching one and opening it on a hinge at the bottom. “Two more of your beds are built on this side.” He slapped the right side, where Mags had already seen two very narrow bench-type beds, with cupboards over and under them. There were a series of horn windows here, too. “Plenty of room for four.”

There was literally not a bit of space that wasn’t in use. Cupboards, some hardly big enough to hold a few knives or spoons, or maybe a mending kit, had been fitted in anyplace there was some useable space.

“This side, as you can see, nearest the door, there’s a nice metal hearth and chimbley.” He slapped what looked like a tiny metal fireplace with a cast-iron pot in it, standing on three legs. “What you do is, you fill that there pot with coals, and she heats the wagon at night. Come morning, you make sure to dump that pot, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you. Also, more storage for your things.” The rest of that side was, indeed, cupboards. “And that’s your wagon. She can be fixed when she breaks by just about any blacksmith or wheelwright. But treat her right, and she shouldn’t break unless you have mortal bad luck.”

Ard backed down the steps and off the wagon; the rest of them followed. This wasn’t going to be impossible, not by any means, but. . . .

:But we had all better work on our temper-keeping skills,:
Dallen chuckled.
:And I suspect that unless it is bloody freezing cold, those tents are going to be getting some use.:

•   •   •

Amily looked up from her calculations. “Well,” she said, finally, “as far as I can tell, we’ll each have room for four standard packs worth of . . . stuff. Which is not a lot, but it’s two packs more than a solo Herald on Circuit has.” She raised her pen at Bear before he could say anything. “I allotted extra room for your herbs, Bear. Lena—I don’t know what to tell you—”

“All I need is my small gittern,” she said firmly. “Maybe a flute. I’ll manage. A Bard on Journeyman’s round isn’t able to carry any more than a solo Herald.”

“That’s more’n I’ll need, Amily, if you want one’a my packs’-worth for yourself,” Mags said generously.

“I’d rather you took it and carried armor,” she replied seriously. “Just in case.” She sighed a little. “I’d hoped to bring some books, but . . . they’re heavy and bulky and I can’t think of any that would actually be
useful
under these circumstances.”

“Well, if you do, we’ll find a way to get it in,” Mags promised. For his part, he hoped that they would be able to reach The Bastion before any serious weather came in. They were going to need a
lot
of fodder, with two horses and two Companions to feed all winter. There was no way that wagon could take even a fraction of it. They’d be hard pressed to carry enough to supplement grazing on the trip itself. They’d probably have to stop several times to buy more.

:Rest easy,:
Dallen replied to the thought.
:The Bastion is being supplied for you by the Guard even as we speak. As you know, there are caves, plenty of good, dry places to store supplies for you and those of us that eat hay.:
There was a suggestion of a heavy sigh.
:But, alas, there is no good way to store pocket pies.:

Mags laughed silently.
:Guess you’ll have to suffer with plain old apples.:

:The horror,:
Dallen mourned.

•   •   •

There was a slight change of plans before it was all said and done.

There seemed to be no reason why Mags and Jakyr should not leave first. They were going to have to circle back once they thought they had left a sufficiently confusing trail, and that was going to take time. Jakyr, as always, was eager to leave the Collegia as soon as possible, and Mags didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t indulge his mentor.

There was a good reason for this haste, of course, at least as far as the Herald was concerned. Jakyr was avoiding someone.

In fact, for as long as Mags had known Herald Jakyr, he had been avoiding that same someone.

Strangely enough, it was not another Herald.

•   •   •

“That will be the new Healers’ Collegium,” Jakyr said, pointing toward one of the unfinished structures, “And that will be the new Bardic. I hope to blazes they’re done by this time next year. Meanwhile, we have all of you younglings crammed into the one building. Damn and blast Healers and Bards to perdition anyway!” He ran his hand through his hair in the first demonstration of irritability that Mags had seen from him. “Couldn’t they just have waited—” He broke off, and looked over at Mags with a rueful expression. “Never mind me, lad. I go off on a rant about this—”

“Aye, you do, Jak, and on any excuse whatsoever.” They both turned their heads at the sound of the voice, which had been pitched to carry. There was a woman approaching, sauntering slowly toward them with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked about the same age as Herald Jakyr but was dressed all in red, with a hooded coat rather than a cloak. “And I’m certain-sure he’ll hear it all enough times to be sick of it. Is this the new lad that Dallen called for help in fetching?” She nodded at Mags, and a graying blond curl escaped from her hood at her temple.

Jakyr’s expression went very stony. “Aye, Lita, it is. Now if you don’t mind I’ve—”

“You’ve got to take him off to Caelen, and then you have urgent business to be off on,” she interrupted him, with just a touch of waspishness. “Which was precisely what you always have. Lots of urgent business taking you elsewhere, and none of it keeping you here. Which is why you are in that saddle, and your bed is narrow and cold. Nah, be off you with on your urgent business!” she continued, as Jakyr’s expression went from stony to stunned. “I’ll take the boy to Caelen. You fair can’t wait to shake the last of Haven dust from your feet, so be about it. It’d be a sad day when a Bard can’t extend a bit of courtesy to a new Trainee.”

As Jakyr sat there, looking very much as if he could not make up his mind between going or staying, she added, “You think I’ll eat him? You think the leader of the Bardic Circle can’t be trusted to take one Trainee from here to Caelen’s office?”

That made up Jakyr’s mind for him. “Thanks, Lita,” he managed, as if he were strangling on the words. “I really do have—”

“Urgent business, aye, I know,” the woman sighed. “Go, and wind at your back. I’ll not wish you ill, no matter what our differences.”

There was no other word to describe Jakyr’s abrupt departure but “fled.” And when he was out of sight—which happened so quickly that Mags suspected he had deliberately chosen the route that would put buildings and trees between them the soonest—the woman looked at Dallen. “Well met, Dallen,” she said, reaching out and giving the Companion a friendly pat on the neck. “So you finally got you a Chosen?”

Dallen nodded. She smiled, then looked up at Mags. “And what would your name be, then, lad?”

“Mags.” He stared down at her, feeling rather dumbfounded. Whatever had just happened here left him entirely in the dark.

“Don’t mind Jak. He and I have some history betwixt us.” She sighed. “Not always good history, especially toward the parting end of it. And now I can’t help myself; whenever I see him, I goad him.” She shook her head. “Come along, we’ll turn Dallen over to his minders and get you into the hands of yours.” She turned and headed up a stone-bordered, well swept path, without looking back to see if he was going to come along.

•   •   •

Lita wasn’t just any Bard. Lita was the Dean of Bardic Collegium and the head of the Bardic Circle. And the “history” wasn’t just a bit of a quarrel.

Mags knew now that Lita and Jakyr had been a couple at one point. He also knew that Jakyr had all but fled the relationship. Lita clearly did not understand why, and since Jakyr made it a point to
never
get past mere friendship with anyone, not even fellow Heralds, it appeared no one else knew, either. Maybe Nikolas knew, since he knew just about everything else that had to do with life up on the Hill, but if so, he had never told anyone.