Intrigues: Book Two of the Collegium Chronicles (a Valdemar Novel) Read Online Free Page A

some on us is shy ’bout askin’, or shamed t’ admit it. Jest hev summun a-waitin’ ina room after classes. An them as needs the help jest shews up, an’ teacher’s there t’ get ’em over the rough spots.”
    The older Herald nodded, looking oddly pleased. Mags had a nagging feeling of familiarity; he was sure he’d seen this man before somewhere. Unfortunately, he realized he was at that awkward point in the conversation where stopping to ask a name seemed a little odd. He groaned inwardly. Proper manners were very hard. Would it be wrong to ask now?
    His hesitation cost him his chance. The older Herald smiled. “Well said, and a fine idea. I’ll have a word with the right people. I am even more pleased now to have run into you.”
    Mags flushed a little. “Eh, I jest say things. Don’ mean I’m right. Jest say things ’cause I’m too dumb t’ know I shouldn’.”
    The Herald laughed. “And there is a very wise saying that only the young are unsophisticated enough to see past the mask to the truth and brave enough to speak it aloud. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.” With that, he opened the door and went into the stable, leaving Mags staring after him, still trying to pin down why he was so familiar.
    Then he shook his head and pelted for the Collegium at a dead run, vaulting the fence around Companions’ Field rather than taking the time to open the gate, and scrambling up the path with his book-rucksack banging on his shoulders. Fortunately, his next class was at the nearer end of the building; he wasn’t the last person to dash in through the door, though he was the last to fling himself behind his desk. Still, Mags managed to arrive without being late, getting into place mere moments before the teacher entered the classroom.
    The class itself took all of his concentration, and managed to drive all thought of the odd encounter right out of his mind. It was one of “those” maths classes, the ones where he was supposed to figure out angles and the like. It made his head hurt, he was concentrating so hard, and feeling altogether like the stupidest person in the class. Sums were so easy, but this . . . there were so many things he had to keep track of.
    Thank goodness the next class was history. He was always ahead on history. It was—well, not logical, exactly, because history was people, and people weren’t always logical. But it was like stories, there was a beginning, a middle and an end.
    But as he was going into the door for his last class, he was approached by a page boy and handed a piece of paper. It was a note from Herald Caelen, the head of the Collegium, asking him if he’d come by after classes were over for the day.
    His first thought, immediately, was what did I do wrong? His second was to think back to that encounter at the stable with the Herald. What if the Herald had been offended at his forwardness? What if he’d insulted the Herald by not addressing him by name? What if the Herald was one of those who didn’t approve of the new system? What if he did, but was offended by Mags’ implied criticism? His head spun, and he felt that all-too-familiar old reaction. Back in his old life, the only reason someone in authority would want to see him would be because he was in trouble or that someone was looking for a scapegoat to punish.
    He reminded himself that he wasn’t in his old life. He’d never had that sort of thing happen to him here.
    But it was hard to break his old ways of thought. He could all too easily imagine a hundred things he would have done or said wrong. As he worried them all through, the class dragged along.
    He tried to reason with himself. Maybe Caelen wanted to see him for a good reason rather than a bad one. Probably Caelen wanted to see him for a good reason. Maybe that Herald had told Caelen he had a good idea, and Caelen wanted to ask him about it. Finally he managed to convince himself that this was the most probable—a sign that at