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Read Online Valdemar 03 - [Collegium 01] - Foundation by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mercedes Lackey
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soothe him.
And that was when he woke up, to a room full of empty beds, the sun shining in through the real glass windows. In a bed, under warm blankets. Not cold. Not aching. With a kind of alert lassitude suffusing him, as if his body was saying, At last, now I can let go, stop being alert, stop being afraid. Now I can rest.
A sound at the door made him turn his head in time to see a brown-haired, stooped man in green tunic and trews come into the room and head straight for him. âSo, the sleeper awakes, and hungry I hope?â the man said.
Who was this? And what did he want? Mags did his best not to try to hide under the covers. Dallen quickly moved to reassure him, and Mags pushed himself up reluctantly, and nodded. He was so used to awakening hungry he hadnât even thought about it. Of course he was hungry. He was always hungry.
:This is a Healer. He wants to discover how healthy you are. That is his job.: Mags had never seen a Healer before. When any of the kiddies got hurt or sick, they either got well on their own, or died. When any of the Pieters family got hurt or sick, Cole Pieters sent for one of his fat priest friends.
Mags had gone to sleep fully clothed, and all anyone had done was to cover him up and take his boots off. And for a fraction of a moment, as he pushed the covers back and saw his feet were clad only in socks, he had been afraid the boots had been stolen, until Dallen again washed him with reassurance. While he sat on the edge of the bed and fished for them, the man in green gave him a penetrating look. He was a cheerful sort of fellow, and truth be told, like just about everyone here, he was not the sort of person Mags was used to being around. He must have been about Cole Pietersâ age and, like Pieters, he was balding, but there the resemblance ended. He must have been very fit when he was younger; now there was a bit of fat around his middle, but nothing like Pietersâ enormous belly. His oblong face with its bushy eyebrows looked as if he smiled much more often than he frowned, and his frank brown eyes had a direct gaze to them that wasnât hard to meet unless you were used to ducking your head and hiding your eyes as Mags was.
âI had the cooks save you some porridge,â the man said, watching him shoving his feet into his boots. âI hope your Companion has explained to you that you are expected to be very cleanlyââ
Mags ducked his head. âYessir,â he said, and left it at that.
âWell, weâll leave your bath until after youâve eaten. Best time for you is in the morning for now, that way you wonât conflict with the Guardsmen. Ready?â The man stood up. âIâm Healer Betwick, by the way. I serve the Guard here.â
Whatever a Healer was . . . presumably they healed people . . . though how they did that was an utter mystery to Mags. Then again, practically everything going on now was an utter mystery to Mags. âYessir, Healer Betwick,â Mags replied, as Dallen and the memories poured into him showed him what a Healer was.
And yes, they did heal people, in a bewildering variety of ways. This particular shade of green was accepted as their color, and if you saw someone wearing it, you knew he was a Healer. Just as, if you saw someone in White, you knew he was a Herald, in Scarlet and he was a Bard. Whatever a Bard wasâ
Before another flood of memories could start, triggered by that word and half-query, Mags followed the man out of the room into a hallway he only vaguely recalled, and from there, not to the big room with all the tablesâ
âGuardsâ mess, memory prompted.
But to a spacious and fragrant kitchen full of very busy people. Or, actually, there were only four of them, but they were so extremely busy it seemed as if there were at least eight of them, and Healer Betwick evidently deemed it prudent to stay out of their way.
He motioned to Mags to go and sit on a stool at a
And that was when he woke up, to a room full of empty beds, the sun shining in through the real glass windows. In a bed, under warm blankets. Not cold. Not aching. With a kind of alert lassitude suffusing him, as if his body was saying, At last, now I can let go, stop being alert, stop being afraid. Now I can rest.
A sound at the door made him turn his head in time to see a brown-haired, stooped man in green tunic and trews come into the room and head straight for him. âSo, the sleeper awakes, and hungry I hope?â the man said.
Who was this? And what did he want? Mags did his best not to try to hide under the covers. Dallen quickly moved to reassure him, and Mags pushed himself up reluctantly, and nodded. He was so used to awakening hungry he hadnât even thought about it. Of course he was hungry. He was always hungry.
:This is a Healer. He wants to discover how healthy you are. That is his job.: Mags had never seen a Healer before. When any of the kiddies got hurt or sick, they either got well on their own, or died. When any of the Pieters family got hurt or sick, Cole Pieters sent for one of his fat priest friends.
Mags had gone to sleep fully clothed, and all anyone had done was to cover him up and take his boots off. And for a fraction of a moment, as he pushed the covers back and saw his feet were clad only in socks, he had been afraid the boots had been stolen, until Dallen again washed him with reassurance. While he sat on the edge of the bed and fished for them, the man in green gave him a penetrating look. He was a cheerful sort of fellow, and truth be told, like just about everyone here, he was not the sort of person Mags was used to being around. He must have been about Cole Pietersâ age and, like Pieters, he was balding, but there the resemblance ended. He must have been very fit when he was younger; now there was a bit of fat around his middle, but nothing like Pietersâ enormous belly. His oblong face with its bushy eyebrows looked as if he smiled much more often than he frowned, and his frank brown eyes had a direct gaze to them that wasnât hard to meet unless you were used to ducking your head and hiding your eyes as Mags was.
âI had the cooks save you some porridge,â the man said, watching him shoving his feet into his boots. âI hope your Companion has explained to you that you are expected to be very cleanlyââ
Mags ducked his head. âYessir,â he said, and left it at that.
âWell, weâll leave your bath until after youâve eaten. Best time for you is in the morning for now, that way you wonât conflict with the Guardsmen. Ready?â The man stood up. âIâm Healer Betwick, by the way. I serve the Guard here.â
Whatever a Healer was . . . presumably they healed people . . . though how they did that was an utter mystery to Mags. Then again, practically everything going on now was an utter mystery to Mags. âYessir, Healer Betwick,â Mags replied, as Dallen and the memories poured into him showed him what a Healer was.
And yes, they did heal people, in a bewildering variety of ways. This particular shade of green was accepted as their color, and if you saw someone wearing it, you knew he was a Healer. Just as, if you saw someone in White, you knew he was a Herald, in Scarlet and he was a Bard. Whatever a Bard wasâ
Before another flood of memories could start, triggered by that word and half-query, Mags followed the man out of the room into a hallway he only vaguely recalled, and from there, not to the big room with all the tablesâ
âGuardsâ mess, memory prompted.
But to a spacious and fragrant kitchen full of very busy people. Or, actually, there were only four of them, but they were so extremely busy it seemed as if there were at least eight of them, and Healer Betwick evidently deemed it prudent to stay out of their way.
He motioned to Mags to go and sit on a stool at a
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