Bastion

newly Chosen, and at every possible level of education, and yet we manage to fit them in. You won’t be in the same classes you’d been taking with the same group of Trainees, it is true, but what of it? You might end up in classes with others of your friends. Remember, not all of you are progressing like—like Blues. We don’t have set class-years that begin and end everything together. And meanwhile, you are getting something like a holiday, one that, if you ask me, is overdue. You have been burning both ends of your candle for far too long.”
    “But what’m I supposed to do with m’self when I ain’t bein’ questioned?” he asked, plaintively, his hands clasped between his knees.
    “What do you want to do?” the Dean replied.
    It had been so long since anyone asked him that question that for a moment his mind was blank. “I—dunno—” he managed.
    “Something will come to you, I am sure,” the Dean said dryly. “You might consider reading for the pure pleasure of it, for instance. I can think of few things I enjoy more than sitting next to a fire reading a book. In the meantime, you might ask your friends if any of them need any help. If you are going to insist on being useful, I am certain someone will be grateful, even at this unholy hour of the morning.”
    That was a dismissal if Mags had ever heard one, so he said goodbye to the Dean and wandered out into the crisp autumn morning. It occurred to him then that he did know someone who could use some help—Bear. After that successful work on Amily’s leg, Bear was only technically a Trainee and only at his own insistence. But this was fall, and fall meant that Bear had a great many medicinal herbs to transplant and bring into the greenhouse for the winter—not to mention a great many herbs to harvest and preserve.
    So he wandered over to Healers’ Collegium to see if he could lend a hand.
    Bear greeted him with relief, a sort of breakfast sandwich in one hand and a small sickle in the other. Lena was gone already, probably to her first morning class, having brought Bear back something to eat. “I’ll say you can help me,” was the grateful response. “There aren’t many I know I could trust to do what I tell them, and they’re all either busy with patients or classes. Take this—” he thrust the sickle at Mags, handle first. “—and come with me.”
    Mags followed him out to the herb garden. “You already know wormwood, eyebright, and comfrey on sight,” Bear said, and Mags nodded. “I want you to carefully cut each plant off just a little above the ground and harvest it. Make sure to keep your cut clean, and don’t crush or bruise the stems. Keep them separate, obviously.”
    “I can do that,” Mags said confidently. “Bring the baskets back when I’m done?”
    “Yes, I’ll show you how to hang them for drying and where.” Bear hurried off, and Mags knelt in the soft earth between the rows of plants and began his harvest.
    Maybe someone else would have found the work backbreaking, but Mags had spent most of his life laboring on his knees in a gemstone mine, and this was infinitely superior to even the best of moments in the mine. He was in the sun, the air was clean and cool, and the work was delicate enough to be interesting. He got into a slow rhythm and was a little disappointed when he realized he had run out of plants to cut.
    He brought the three baskets to Bear, who showed him how to bind them with thread at the cut ends, three plants together at a time, and hang them upside down in the drying room. He had only just finished that task when Dallen nudged him in his mind.
    :Nikolas and his lot want to see you now.:
    Well, at least now he was in a better frame of mind for it. :Tell ’em I’m on my way,: he replied, and told Bear.
    “Bah. Well, when they turn you loose, if you are still of a mind to help me, come on back,” Bear said good-naturedly. “This time of year there’s no such thing as too much help.”
    Following Dallen’s directions, Mags found himself at last in a small, comfortable room in the Palace, facing four people: three Heralds including Nikolas, one of whom had set up as a sort of secretary, and someone who looked like a scholar.
    “Relax, Mags, take a seat over there on that couch, and make yourself comfortable,” Nikolas ordered, as he looked around and waited for them to tell him what they wanted him to do. “The more relaxed you are, the easier this will be on everyone.” Mags