Fran pointed back in the direction they had come, and his companion led off. Fran followed closely behind, and then Kovaar, leading Men Darnak's padder beside him. Sandon brought up the rear.
It didn't take them long to reach the small lodge. As it hove into view, Sandon doubted whether he'd ever seen a more welcoming sight. The lantern light from within was almost friendly, and inside, there would be heat and shelter. These lodges, province of the more well-to-do Guild functionaries were simple, but usually adequately enough equipped. It would be sheer luxury compared to anything he'd had to put up with for the last few weeks.
As the five of them stepped inside, slapping their arms and huddling into their clothes, the remaining member of Men Darnak's party greeted them. He had been busy, attending to the facilities inside. A wave of warmth washed over Sandon. There was a wide, open common room with a broad table. Several rough-hewn chairs lay scattered around the room across a broad stone floor scattered with rugs. It had all the rustic appeal of the current fashion. Sandon presumed this was part of the Ka Vail holdings, but there was no way of being sure. In the darkness and the weather, he had lost any concept of direction. In the corner sat a large stove, already blazing. Atop it sat a large steaming pot and nearby a low table with the makings of a fine brew already laid out. Oh, what he'd give for a hot, strong mug of tea right now, but there were other priorities, and he knew it.
"Bring the Principal in," said Kovaar. "Sit him over there."
"What?" said Men Darnak. "What are you doing, Priest? Am I a helpless child that I need to be carried and pushed about?" He shrugged off Fran's guiding hand and drew himself to full height, his eyes blazing. "Know your place, Witness Kovaar. I am your Principal."
"Yes, of course, Principal," said Kovaar, bowing his head slightly.
Men Darnak turned on Sandon. "Do I know you, Atavist?"
Sandon felt a sudden chill.
Men Darnak peered at him, held the gaze for a few moments, then shook his head and proceeded to look around the room. "Over there," he finally said, pointing to a chair near a wall covered by a tall set of shelves. "Bring me tea."
The other man scurried over to see to the brew and Men Darnak strode across the room and sat, his fingers clasped in front of him. Witness Kovaar sidled over and muttered to Sandon, still keeping an eye on the Principal.
"What has happened? What is the news?"
Sandon chewed at his top lip, and then cleared his throat before answering in a low voice. "It's Roge Men Darnak. He's dead. Some sort of accident."
There was a sharp intake of breath from Kovaar, and he turned to look at him with disbelief on his face. "Is this true?"
Sandon nodded.
"By the Prophet," said Kovaar, turning back to look at Men Darnak seated across the room. Sandon caught something on the man's face, almost a look of satisfaction, and then it was gone, leaving him wondering if he'd simply imagined it.
As if prompted by the look, Men Darnak spoke. "What is it? What are you two muttering about?"
Sandon took a few steps toward the Principal, and Kovaar gave a sharp hiss. "No," he said.
"I must," said Sandon, back over his shoulder. He approached the seated man and crouched in front of him.
"Principal," he said. He fought for the words, finding none that were easier than any others.
"There is no good way to say this. There's been an accident. Your son, Roge ... I'm afraid he was killed in the accident."
All other movement in the room abruptly stopped. The only sound was that of the wind, rushing around the lodge outside, buffeting the walls as if seeking entrance. Inside, the silence dragged on.
There was a flicker of a frown, then Men Darnak continued to look at him blankly, his face completely expressionless. "Is that so?" he said. "But I was looking for him." A slight shake of the head. "Accident. My wife was in an accident, you know." He motioned to the man by the stove. "Is that tea ready yet? Hurry up, man."
"Principal?."
Men Darnak looked up at him suspiciously. "Who asked this Atavist here, Priest?"
Sandon returned the look with concern. "Principal, your son's dead. Did you understand what I said?"
"I sent Tarlain away. Something about the Kallathik, I think."
"Not Tarlain. Roge."
