Foundation

It took the Companion a few moments to respond. Mags explained to him what had just happened, when he was sure Dallen was awake enough to take it all in. :Why would Bear lie?: he asked.

:I’m not sure.: Dallen pondered that a moment. :If I were to guess ... if he is looking for something, and he doesn’t want you or Lena to know about it ... he either thinks the information could hurt you, alter your opinion of him, or makes him feel ashamed. And before you say that whatever it is wouldn’t matter, it clearly matters enough to him to lie about it. So it matters.:

Mags moved out of the noisy dining hall to the end of the hallway where there was relative peace. :I don’ like it.:

:Nor do I. Keeping secrets of that sort almost always leads to trouble.:

:Should I ask him ’bout it?:

Dallen pondered that for a bit. :I think you had better. I will query Nikolas if you could have permission to reveal your role for him to Bear—trade a secret for a secret, as it were. You see if you can find him. Get Lena; she can be of great help.:

And that was when Mags discovered that Bear was missing.

______________

“... no, sir, he’s not there.” Lena made a better impression on Healer Praston than Mags had. The Head of the Healers’ Collegium, from a very highly placed family, had listened to Mags’ uncultured speech, looked at Mags’ short stature, and concluded immediately that Mags was a hysterical and unlettered boy, probably overstressed by the entire situation they were all in. Lena, on the other hand, had pulled on every bit of dignity she could manage, as well as the most cultured accent she could feign, and had the Healer listening and paying attention to her with the first few words she spoke. “He had no reason to leave his rooms for this long, and the three Bardic Trainees who were squeezed in there have been tending the warming furnace for him since yesterday.” She grimaced. “He wouldn’t tell them where he was going, so they assumed it was to see a girl.”

Praston grimaced. “All right, chances are he is fine; perhaps he was called down into Haven and neglected to tell anyone. But we should be sure—”

“Sir,” Lena said patiently, “we are sure. His medicines are all there, his bag is there. He’s very meticulous about organizing his medicines, too; I can tell you that nothing at all is out of place or missing.”

Now Praston began to look a little alarmed. “There is always the chance he was called into Haven for something other than a medical emergency—” He pursed his lips. “Nevertheless, let me raise the alarm. Better we do this and discover to our chagrin that he was only paying a visit to some old patient of his. Young man, ask your Companion to find us a Mind-speaking Herald that can search that way for us.”

“Don’ have to,” Mags replied immediately. “I am one, an’ I already tried.” When he first realized that there was something wrong, he had done his best to “hunt” for Bear. But his first tentative sweep of the Collegia and grounds had netted nothing; his second, aided by Dallen, had also come up with nothing, and had extended somewhat down into Haven until the press of so many minds had become too much for him to sort through. He was beginning to feel sick with worry. Why would Bear be down in Haven? And if he wasn’t in Haven, where was he? There was no way, short of a god plucking him bodily away, that he could have gotten out of Haven.

Praston no longer looked a little alarmed, he looked startled and frightened. “You two stay here,” he commanded. “Don’t move. This is clearly serious.”

As Mags and Lena exchanged a frantic glance, he summoned half a dozen of his Trainees by the simple expedient of sticking his head into the hallway and shouting at them. Within moments, they were scattering, to get the Guard, then someone from the Palace Guard, someone in charge of the Palace servants, Herald Caelen, and two others Mags didn’t recognize. It took a while for them to arrive, and until they did, Praston quizzed Lena and Mags closely about Bear, especially his state of mind since Midwinter Holidays.

He clearly did not like what they had to tell him.

“Did he seem despondent?” Praston persisted, as the first of those he had summoned arrived. “Did he talk about feeling worthless, or say that no one would miss him if he was gone?”

Mags shook his head, and Lena answered that. “No, sir,” she replied. “Nothing like that. He wasn’t happy, it was because of something that ... something that happened at home over the holidays. But he wasn’t despondent.”

“You’re absolutely sure about that?” Praston asked. “He didn’t talk about death, wasn’t interested in listening to ballads about death, didn’t write about death?”

“No!” Lena replied with force. “Nothing like that. And what—what happened wouldn’t—he was angry and unhappy but—”

“Perhaps you had better tell us so we can judge for ourselves,” said Praston, as the last person edged into the crowded office.

“I can’t.” Lena lifted her chin stubbornly. “He told me in confidence.”

Praston looked as if he was ready to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled. It was the head of her own Collegium who interrupted bluntly. “Lena, you are not experienced enough to tell if something would or would not drive a boy to thinking of suicide. Tell us. Now.”

Mags had read about command voice, but this was the first time he had heard anyone using it. He found himself ready to tell the Bard anything she wanted to hear, and probably plenty of things she didn’t, and he wasn’t the one who had been directly addressed.

Lena looked stubborn for a just a little bit more—after all, she was a Bard herself, and raised in a Bard’s household—but a moment later her shoulders sagged and her face dropped. “His parents wanted him to get married the next time he came home. They’d already betrothed him to a girl. He knew her, her family was from nearby, and he really didn’t care about her, but they weren’t in the least interested in hearing his objections. There was a big row about it. He slept at a neighbor’s house for most of the holiday.”

Whatever the adults had been expecting to hear, this wasn’t it. Praston opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, shut it again. Finally, he managed to say something on the third try. “You can’t be wedded without your consent, you know,” he said weakly.

Lena shrugged. “Have you ever tried to go against what your parents want?” she