Foundation

asked bitterly. “Even when it’s something you hate?”

Praston shook his head, and looked at the others in the room. Caelen shrugged. “I can see where the boy would be embarrassed about it, and I can see that it would upset him, but no, I cannot see him courting death over it. Not unless he had a previous romantic attachment—?”

He looked at Lena, who shook her head, and Mags, who grimaced. “Never seemed t’ care much fer girls,” Mags offered. “Never said nothin’t’ me.”

“All right, then, that’s one thing we don’t need to worry about. So unless he’s down in Haven, which you, Salenys, will send your men to check on, we have to assume he’s still here, on the grounds, and for some reason he cannot or will not respond to us.” Mags blinked; Caelen had just taken over the search, and Praston was figuratively stepping back and letting him. “Lita, what can your people do?”

“Question witnesses,” she said immediately. “And the Trainees can go put on their cloaks and search. I’ll send out some of the teachers to do the questioning, starting with the three that are in his rooms. The rest, I delegate to you.”

Caelen nodded. “Master Howarth, I leave the Palace to your people. The rest of us can make a real search of the buildings and grounds. I’ll get that organized. Right now it is sounding as if Bear was injured or became suddenly ill and is lying in an out-of-the-way place, unconscious. The sooner we find him, the better.”

Then he turned to Lena and Mags. “And you two,” he said, his expression grim, “you had better come with me.”

__________________________

Lena was crying, though it was not from anything that Herald Caelen had said to her. It was because she, like Mags, had suddenly realized that the reason Mags had not been able to “find” Bear was—because Bear was dead.

But Mags was not ready to believe that. He had always known when Death touched anyone in or around the mine, even people he knew almost nothing about, like the house-servants. There was an absence when someone died that hit him when it happened, and left a lingering feeling of void for at least several days. The last time anyone had seen Bear was yesterday morning, and Mags was sure he would have known if Bear was dead.

Caelen sat them both down in a corner of his office and gave Lena a big handkerchief to sob into. Mags listened with half an ear as he gave orders for the search, occasionally turning to Mags to ask a question about whether Bear had ever gone to this or that place, and if he had, what had taken him there. Mags answered as best he could, but meanwhile, his mind was racing.

Then he heard it. “—no, don’t bother with the Guard Archives. The Archivist left it locked up the first night of the storm.”

“No!” he shouted, leaping to his feet, startling everyone. “No, don’ you see, tha’s it! Th’ Archives! Bear wanted somethin’ in there, somethin’ he didn’ want the rest of us t’ know about! Now they’re locked up tight, an who’d go there now anyway? ’S perfect time t’ go lookin’!”

Caelen stared at him. “And—if he had an accident in there, if a box fell on him and knocked him out—”

“Even if it didn’, ye cain’t hear in there nor be heard outside, all them papers just muffle everythin’.” Mags’ heart was in his mouth now. “An’ it ain’t heated. Ye lay there, hurt ... the cold ...”

“Lena!” Caelen barked, startling her so that she dropped the handkerchief. “Round up whoever you can, but make sure you get me a Healer among them. Mags, let’s go! In this cold—”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence.

He snatched up his cloak; Mags shrugged his coat back on. Both of them made for the stairs and the outside door at a run.

And this was where things got ... interesting. Because there was no direct route to the Archives. Instead, they had to run to and through Bardic, then Old Bardic, then Healers’, then the Guard barracks, because that was how the paths had been cut. On the plus side, they managed to scoop up four Guardsmen on their way through the barracks. On the minus side ... there was no path cut to the Archives.

But there was the clear trail of someone forcing his way through the snow to get there.

“Wait—” One of the Guardsmen suddenly held up a cautionary hand. “Sir, I am a tracker. More than one person came through here.”

Mags froze. Suddenly, he felt that fear from his dreams, from that brush against something horrible the night the blizzard began.

Herald Caelen paled a little. “Are you armed?” he asked quietly. Two of them nodded; the other two went back into the barracks and came out again with four swords, one of which they gave Mags without hesitation. He clutched the hilt in his mittened hand, then tore the mitten away and cast it aside. Better to have a freezing hand than no grip.

“Carefully now,” Caelen said, grimly, and the burliest of the Guards began forcing a way for the rest of them.

:Dallen!:

:We have raised the alarm. Help is right behind you.: Dallen paused. :Keep me tight linked.:

At the door to the Archives, the second Guard in the line carefully tried the door, as the rest of them flattened themselves against the wall on either side of it. The door was unlocked, and he eased it open, a little at a time. In his mind, Mags showered gratitude on the Archivist for being so meticulous. The door was well oiled, and opened without so much as a creak.

“Outer chamber’s empty,” whispered the Guardsman, and one by one, they all slipped inside.

:Open your mind to Caelen,: Dallen ordered. Mags blinked, then obeyed.

He sensed Caelen then, thinking hard. Mags, when you “hear” this, tell me.