:I’ll tell him ye said so.: Mags raced ahead to pull a fallen branch out of the way, then returned to Dallen’s side. He watched the log as it plowed a furrow through the snow to make sure it didn’t get hung up on anything, and ran ahead to get obstacles out of Dallen’s way.
After that, they both saved their breath for work. Despite the unspoken feeling of urgency, there was no outward sign of a reason for that urgency. Overhead, the sky was blue and mostly cloudless. But Mags remembered very well that first blizzard of the year, the one that he and Jakyr had barely beaten. It, too, had begun with cloudless skies, and had churned up over the horizon like some terrible monster.
They left their log with Bear, who had managed to round up three woodcutters, all in the green of Healers, and returned to the log pile at a trot. Soon the steady procession of logs had worn the road smooth, which made pulling easier for horses and Companions. Each time Mags got to the buildings, he could see them swarming with people bringing in supplies of all sorts, workmen nailing shutters on the windward side of the building closed, and a steady procession coming toward the stable of carts hauling hay from what must have been a storage barn. He wondered where they were going to put it all, then ceased to worry. Let them figure it out; his business was not in the stable. Right now, he and Dallen had logs to haul.
After six runs, something had changed up at the Palace, heralded first by a crack that sounded as if lightning had struck the place and made everyone jump. It turned out that there were some mechanical aids for reducing all that wood to manageable size. For the life of him, Mags could not see how the things worked, but there were two devices that were splitting entire logs lengthwise into quarters, which were then taken to two-man saw teams to be reduced to fireplace and furnace size. The sound of the logs splitting was startling even when you knew it was coming, and the horses shied every time it rang out. They were all working as hard and as fast as they could; horses and Companions alike steamed with sweat, their breath coming in great moist clouds as they pulled on their burdens.
Finally, as dusk fell, the sound of horns rang out over the entire complex, joined by all the bells of the Collegia.
:That’s the signal,: Dallen said, heaving at the log. :No more. The storm is almost on us, and these will be the last loads.:
And, indeed, those Companions and horses that were not already carrying logs were turning back, heading to their stables.
Mags had long since delivered plenty of wood to Bear; the last couple of candlemarks he had been taking their loads to one of the Palace entrances. Now he and Dallen delivered their final burden, Mags tucked the chains up into the harness, and they plodded wearily back to the stable.
And there they found one solution for the hay storage problem. The Companions were no longer in commodious loose-boxes. The stable was full of rectangular bales of hay, from floor to ceiling. One by one, the Companions were being rubbed down to take off the sweat before they chilled, covered with not only their own blankets, but extras. Then they were backing into narrow slots in those enormous stacks of hay bales. They looked for all the world like toy horses being put away on a shelf. The bales were stacked so closely together that they touched the Companions on either flank.
They won’t be keeping the stable warm with the fire, Mags, so you had better get what things you need and find someone at the Collegia to stay with, Dallen told him. :All this hay will keep us cozy, but there is no point in keeping the fires going in the ovens right now, when the wood could go elsewhere and we can tend ourselves.:
:What’ll ye do for water?: Mags asked in dismay.
:I think there will be plenty of snow,: Dallen pointed out drily. :And we know how to open and shut doors. Now hurry. Go to the eating hall. You can probably find someone with room there. Bundle up in as much as you can, wear both pairs of mittens. Wrap up your face. Take your bedding and whatever else you think you will need.:
He dove into his room, and took a quick look around. Well, what he would need would be clothing ... the bedding, as Dallen had pointed out. If he was going to be up at one of the Collegia, the last thing he would need would be books. There didn’t seem to be much else. He pulled on extra knitted shirts, then another tunic over that, and a second pair of trews. He packed Dallen’s saddlebags with more of his clothing, made all of his bedding into a fat roll that he strapped across his shoulders over his coat, grabbed both packs and reached for the door of his room—
Just as the blizzard hit the stable like a battering ram.
The walls boomed. The wind howled around the walls, which shook with the storm’s fury. Atavistic panic clutched at his guts for a moment before he managed to fight it down. But some fear still remained, and despite all the layers of clothing, he suddenly felt cold. Mags went out into the stable to see the lamps going out one by one, blown out by the cold drafts forced in through every tiny crevice.
He froze in place, suddenly picturing what it must look like out there. Not only was it dark—not only was there going to be snow so thick he’d have had trouble seeing in daylight, but that wind was going to make it hard to walk, and all the lamps on the buildings must have blown out instantly. How was he going to get to the Collegia?
:They’ve already strung rope while you were putting on more clothing and packing up. There are ropes between every building. Go out the door we usually use and feel to the right, on the frame, about waist-high.:
As he reached the door, the last of the lamps was blown out, leaving him to fumble it open in pitch-darkness. The door was in the lee of the building, so it wasn’t torn right out of his hands when he opened it. But he couldn’t see a thing; it was dark both behind and in front of him, as dark as being in the mine without a lamp.
All right. He was used to the dark. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and reminded himself of that. He closed the door behind himself and felt to the right until he encountered the rope—a good thick one that hummed and vibrated with the force of the wind on it. He grasped it in both mittened hands—and as Dallen had advised him, he was wearing not one, but two sets of mittens, felt ones inside sheepskin—and stepped away from the shelter of the building.
He was immediately glad that he had both hands on the rope. The wind nearly blew him over when it hit him, and within moments every inch of him was snow-caked. What little skin he had left exposed stung and burned with the snow being driven against it. The scarf around his mouth was damp and ice-rimed; his breath froze as soon as it hit the fabric.
:Go, Mags. The longer you take, the worse it gets.:
From that moment on, he thought of nothing more than the next step. Hunching his shoulders against the wind, head down and eyes closed—it didn’t matter if his eyes were open or shut, since he couldn’t see anything—he hauled himself along the rope, hand over hand. He had never been outside in a storm like this before. At the mine, he had either been in the mine or in the sleeping hole, and had no reason to go anywhere. He would have been terrified if he’d had the strength to spare for terror. He was already tired from the hauling; shortly, he was exhausted, and every step was agony.