“Now, Trainee, as you have saved me from being cheated, I would like to treat you to luncheon. Would you permit me?”

Mags gaped at him. “Ah . . . er . . .”

:It’s all right, open your shields a bit and you’ll see,: Dallen advised. Mags followed his suggestion, and let the man’s surface thoughts wash over him for a little.

And Dallen was right; this was nothing more sinister than a kindly man who was grateful for Mags’ help. And it did not hurt that Mags was a Trainee. Mags got the distinct impression that the man was getting a bit of a thrill to be around a Heraldic Trainee.

He ducked his head. “Was doin’ no more than I should, sir,” he said modestly. “But thankee. ’Twould be kind on ye.”

The man smiled broadly and held out his hand. “Soren Mender,” he said. Mags took the proffered hand and shook it.

“Trainee Mags,” he replied. He liked the man’s face. Seamed with wrinkles, which all looked as if they had been formed out of good humor rather than bad temper.

“Well, Trainee Mags, there is a nice little tavern just over that way—” the man pointed to Mags’ right, “—and if you’ll come with me, I suspect you could wrap yourself around the outside of something hot and filling.”

Mags laughed. “ ’Spect I could, Master Soren,” he replied. “Lead on.”

Chapter 12

12

MAGS was no fool. He knew very well that Master Soren could be harboring intentions that were not good toward him.

But they were going to eat in a public place, he had done Master Soren a favor, his own brief glimpse at the man’s thoughts revealed no guile, and Dallen vouched for the man. All of these things counted for something; Dallen vouching for him counted enough that Mags felt reasonably safe.

And Soren gave him none of the signals he would have thought showed danger. They sat down, one on either side of a small table in the window, where the sun streamed warmly through the hand-sized, thick glass panes. The girl brought them hot cider, poured from the same thick pottery pitcher; Soren gave him no recommendations for food, and ordered the same when Mags asked for meat pies.

“So, you mined gemstones?” Soren asked, when the food arrived. He tilted his head to the side a little. “Aren’t you rather young for that?”

Mags surprised even himself with the bitterness of his reply. “Master Cole what owned the mine reckoned th’ smaller, th’ better. For fittin’ inter tunnels.”

Soren chewed his lower lip. “I will take it that this was . . . not a good situation.”