And then, suddenly, at last, it was over. He had expected to have to get the door open himself, but as Dallen had said, there must have been a crew of rescuers waiting right there for him. He felt people grabbing his arms and pulling him along, felt a blast of air on his face so hot in comparison to his chilled flesh that it felt like a furnace. His eyes were caked with snow and frozen shut; he just let people hustle him along, passing him toward another set of helpers who pulled off his pack and saddlebags. More of them unwrapped the scarves from around his head and face, and helped him take off a coat that was so ice-caked it was as hard as armor. As soon as the coat was off, someone else came to wrap him in fire-warmed blankets. That same someone pushed him into a seat and he just fell back into it; he found a hot mug in his hands, and as the snow finally melted from his eyelids, he was able to open his eyes.

At first all he could see was a fire, and feeling still numb inside and out, he stared at the flames, thinking that he could never, ever get enough of them. He was not the only person here; there were two more blanket-wrapped figures trying to thaw themselves on the hearth, both Guardsmen.

He sipped at the hot liquid in the mug; it was spiced cider, but there was a good amount of something else in it. Something much stronger than wine!

He was right next to the fire in someone’s room and he wasn’t the only one crammed in there, bundled in blankets.

Besides the two Guards right at the hearth, there were two of the stablehands and another Trainee, all with identical mugs in their hands and identical glazed looks in their eyes.

“Is that everyone?” He recognized Herald Caelen’s voice.

“I’m not sure—” someone else replied uncertainly. “There’s no way to know if there is anyone fallen or lost out there unless it’s a Herald or a Trainee—”

By this time, Mags’ mind had woken up enough for him to realize that the second speaker was right—almost.

He gulped down another big swallow of his drink, coughed, and spoke up. “Herald Caelen—they tell me I got a strong Mindspeakin’ Gift. Reckon I c’n see if I c’n find anyone out there, if that’s—uh—not misusin’—”

He didn’t even get a chance to finish that statement. Caelen shoved his way through the people nearest the fire and grabbed Mags’ shoulders. “That is most certainly not misuse of your Gift!” he exclaimed. “Please, Mags—”

“Right. Here.” He shoved the mug at Caelen, huddled up in his blanket, rested his head against his knees, wrapped his arms around his legs, and closed his eyes. :Gonna need yer help with this, Dallen.: