Sandon walked quickly past the still-open garage and headed for the stables. The broad door was closed, presumably against the weather, and he pulled at its edge, trying to ease it open far enough to slip inside and find his padder, if it was there at all. He'd have to saddle it, find the rest of his belongings. Who knew what they might have done with them? Inside, he was still cursing fate. Every time he seemed to get anywhere near the Principal, something conspired to wrest him away. There had to be a reason for that. There was a reason for everything. He was putting his weight behind the door, heaving against its bulk when one of Ka Vail's men appeared around the corner, looking pale.
"You," he said. "Where's my padder?"
The man stopped, looked blankly at him and shook his head. "I can't help you, Atavist," he said. "Such terrible news." He shook his head again.
"What is it?" asked Sandon, pausing in his efforts.
The man stared into nothing. "Principal Men Darnak. The new Principal."
"What? What is it?"
"No, of course you couldn't have heard. There's been an accident. He's been killed."
Sandon felt the ground move beneath him, but it was no quake. "What do you mean? How could he...?"
The man kept shaking his head. "For some reason he took a groundcar when he left the other night. What possessed him to do that, I don't know. The Guildmaster's youngest son was with him. It must have failed. The storms. Jarid Ka Vail has just managed to get back with the news not a few minutes ago."
Sandon's mind was running in confused circles. None of this made sense.
"What are you talking about? Tell me what happened."
"I told you. An accident. The groundcar. Jarid is unhurt, thank the Twins, but Roge Men Darnak didn't survive. According to the boy, there was no chance for him. I don't know what we are going to do. The Guildmaster has sent out a group to try and help, but there's nothing to be done, apart from retrieving the body. We need a firm hand in the Principate, not this. To lose him so young, and so soon into his time as Principal, it's shocking."
Sandon felt himself unable to move. He was barely able to close his mouth. He had to do something. The Principal. The real Principal -- Leannis Men Darnak. He couldn't possibly know.
"Has anyone been sent to tell the old man?"
"Which old man?"
"Principal Men Darnak. The boy's father. What old man do you think?"
The man looked confused. "No, no, I don't think so."
"No, of course not," muttered Sandon, then to the man. "Quick, help me find my padder."
The man didn't seem to register that he was suddenly being ordered about by a bedraggled looking Atavist, and he moved to help Sandon with the door. "This way," he said, leading him toward the back of the stables. All the while, Sandon's mind was racing. The Principal had not been acting himself for some time. His headlong flight into the countryside in search of Roge, the insistence upon coming here himself, none of it made sense. The implications for the structure of the Guilds was enough on its own. How was Men Darnak going to take the news of his son's death? It really didn't matter now; he had to be told. Sandon had a duty to tell him.
Sandon's padder was in a stall right at the end. It looked up at their approach and grumbled, then gave a mighty snort. His belongings had been bundled unceremoniously into one corner. He was thankful, at least, that the padder had not seen fit to use the things as a place to leave a nice reminder about its digestive processes.
"Here." Ka Vail's man had disappeared and returned shortly after with Sandon's saddle. He assisted getting it on, then tying the pack to the animal's rear. Sandon led the padder out of the stall, thanked the man, and then headed outside, an empty hollowness ringing inside him. Roge Men Darnak dead. What could be worse? The Principate and the Guilds would be in chaos. The old man would have to step back in if they were going to restore some sort of order.
