He slipped into the next classroom behind some of the others—as usual, a mix of Trainees from Heraldic, Bardic, and Healers’—and took his usual seat, still feeling vaguely unsettled. But no sooner had the last of the students dropped into his place, when someone in Healer Greens popped his head through the door. This was unusual enough behavior to stop the buzz of idle conversation cold.

“Your instructor has had the poor taste to contract a rather nasty case of stomach disorder,” the Healer said, with a wry smile. “I’ll thank the rest of you not to do the same. You will be seeing him in another few days; come back here as usual tomorrow and we’ll have found a substitute. Meanwhile, consider yourselves dismissed.”

The Healer vanished again, leaving the students a bit dumbfounded. Finally, someone at the front—Mags didn’t see who—gathered up his books and bolted for the door. It didn’t take long for the rest to follow him.

Mags was the last to leave, and stood in the hallway for a long time, trying to make up his mind what to do next. Dallen was no help; the Companion was otherwise occupied; Mags got the impression that he and a knot of his equine friends were enjoying a good gossip. Finally, for lack of a better goal, he went out the door nearest “old” Healers’ Collegium and some of the herb gardens.

The new Heraldic Trainees were a lively sociable bunch, and that left Mags right out. He could scarcely bring himself to talk to any of them, because most of the time he didn’t know what to say. He had nothing in common with them; no parents, no siblings. Nothing he left behind with regrets—he certainly had no fond memories of the mine! When they weren’t talking about each other or the Heralds who were their teachers, most of them traded reminiscences of home, so what would he have told them? Chances were they wouldn’t believe him about his life anyway, and if they did, well, the idea of being pitied felt uncomfortable.