“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.
:Got ye, sir,: he thought back, hoping that he had properly understood those lessons from Dallen about how to think into the head of someone without Mindspeech so that they could hear him.
Good. I want you to relay my orders to the Guards. You have my permission; theirs is implicit.
Whatever that meant. If Caelen said it was allowed, it must be.
He opened his own mind a little further, to the four in his vicinity, and told them what Caelen told him. :Crouch low, crawl if you must. Stay below eye level. Do nothing until Caelen signals, no matter what you see or hear. Nod if you understand:
All four Guardsmen nodded, although one looked a little startled. Caelen signaled for all of them to move forward. You, too, Mags. You are going to be my eyes and ears. I am too old to crawl; all I will do is give the game away.
Well, Mags was used to crawling on his belly through narrow tunnels at need; this was nothing to him. He sheathed the sword, turned his belt around so that the scabbard was at his back, and flattened himself on the floor, skittering along noiselessly, like a lizard.
The door into the Archive room was open a crack. The large Guard eased it open as well. They all moved inside.
It was brighter here than in the outer room, but still dim. The worktable was overturned, and one of the chairs smashed, a box lying on its side with the contents strewn on the floor. Mags reported it all to Caelen.
Tell the redheaded Guardsman to work his way around the wall, with the rest of you following. I want you directly behind the redhead.
Once again, Mags relayed the instructions. This time he was the one to give the signal, and the designated Guard, who was almost as good at belly slinking as Mags, eased forward.
:Keep your mind open to me, too, Mags,: Dallen urged.
They all inched their way across the frigid floor, their breaths puffing out and hanging in the still air in tiny white clouds. Halfway down the length of the room, the silence was broken by a low moan.
“Hushabye baby,” said a strange, high voice. “They haven’t come for you yet. Here. Drink your drinkie, there’s a good baby.” The voice giggled. “Oh, and when they come for you, there will be such a surprise! They’ll be so pleased!”
Oh, dear gods ... that sounds like a trap. Mags was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to have heard that thought. But he had—and so had Dallen.
:Tell Caelen that Nikolas is getting something ready. Mags, we are going to need you; you are the key to this. I want you to ease close until you can see what is going on, get a good look, and then ease back.:
I’ve been told, Mags, came Caelen’s thought, hard on the heels of that. Do what they tell you.
:I need to scout,: Mags thought at the Guardsmen. :Ain’t getting closer than I have to.:
All four nodded, and he slithered past them, trying to breathe as slowly and silently as he could.
When he got to the end of the shelves, he moved over across the aisle so that he was sheltered by their bulk, then peered around the corner.
The Archivist’s desk was here, and a strange, thin, dark man was seated at it. Behind him, tied to another chair, bound hand and foot and with a gash on his forehead, was Bear, unconscious, but still alive. The man was dressed in odd clothing of a very dark gray; his head and hands were wrapped in what appeared to be bandages, and despite the fact that it was freezing in this room, his arms were bare. Laid out on the surface of the desk was a glittering array of knives.
The man seemed to sense Mags looking at him. He glanced sharply at the shelves, but he was looking high, not low, and Mags pulled back out of sight. He waited, listening for footsteps, but none came.
He slithered back to the others.
:Mags, Nikolas says that is a very dangerous man, some sort of highly trained killer. He can easily fight all five of you at once, and if he thinks you are going to win, he’ll kill Bear.:
:But—!:
:Don’t worry, we have a plan. All we need you five to do is to fight him, distract him, get him as far away from Bear as you can. And stay alive! He’ll concentrate on the one he thinks is weakest, that will be you. So your job is to be the lure, drawing him away from Bear. The Guards are to keep coming at him, but never let him close with them. Have you got that?:
Mags motioned to the others to put their heads together with him. Carefully, Mags thought those instructions into the heads of the Guardsmen as hard as he could, staring into their eyes. All four of them nodded slowly. The redhead pointed at Mags, and mouthed the word “bait.” Relieved, Mags nodded.