Bastion

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.
    Mags certainly couldn’t figure it out, although he’d been more than a little hurt when Jakyr, the first person to ever be kind to him since he was a toddler, had done his level best to deflect any attempt Mags had made to make a connection with him.
    Only when Mags had demonstrated over the years that he really had no intention of trying to put Jakyr in the position of being a surrogate father did the Herald finally relax.
    Mags had to wonder, though, if this wasn’t the real reason why Jakyr hadn’t mentored anyone before. The Herald didn’t want ties to anyone except his Companion, yet there was no question that you could not avoid such things developing when you lived so closely with someone over the course of a year or more.
    At least he didn’t seem reluctant now. Maybe he figured that with Amily along, Mags would not be making any emotional attachments to him.
    No fear there.
    It took only a couple of days to get everything ready. Jakyr had advised them every step of the way. Traditionally, Mags had been told, Heralds and their charges left in the gray light of early dawn.
    Jakyr, clearly, was not the sort to hold with tradition.
    “We’ll leave when we leave,” he told Mags the night before. “Get a good night’s sleep and a good bath and breakfast in the morning. I’ll inspect your packs, and when I figure we are ready, we’ll go.” He had made a face. “I don’t like leaving or arriving when people expect me to. The only people who need to know my comings and goings are Nikolas and . . . well, Nikolas.”
    So Mags did exactly as he had been advised. He and Amily spent all evening together, as if they were not going to see each other for a very long while, and whenever someone commiserated with them about the coming absence, he pulled a long face, and Amily looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
    In reality, she was fighting to keep from giggling.
    But they trailed about tragically, exactly as anyone would expect for a couple about to be separated against their will. They picked at their food in public—and had a celebratory picnic in his room with goodies Lydia had sent down