Kai nodded, and took another pull of his mug.
"That's right. The nobles think they should be the only ones to have magicians. You can only perform magic in the Association Hall, with very rare excep- tions, arranged well in advance. And paid for in advance."
Sure -- but what about people like the two in here?
"And those who don't want to bother with that?" he continued delicately.
Kai laughed nervously. "The Association sends out their troops to catch the perpetrators, then fines the one who paid for the unlicensed magic double what the licensed version would have cost"
A good incentive to pay for the license. "And what... what about the magician? The one who actually did the magic?"
Kai's face lost all expression, and he leaned forward to whisper, "He goes to the Prison of Souls."
Alaire shivered at the name. "Gods, that sounds awful."
"Well," said Kai, showing some real, if ghoulish, interest. "It is. Let me tell you about it."
He did Alaire wished he hadn't.
"They put their bodies in casketlike boxes for a minimum of one year, and use crystals to capture their souls. They do everything in a room deep unde Hall."
Alaire shook his head; this was magic unlike any- thing he had ever heard of. "I can see the point of imprisoning them but -- crystals? With souls in them?
Why?"
Kai lowered his voice still more. "They use the souls to help fuel the licensed magic so that they don't have to expend personal energy for spell-casting. That's the real punishment, you see."
Alaire fought to maintain a neutral face, but inside, he was frantic. This is Necromancy!
"Tell me more, Kai."
"It gets worse," he said, with a kind of ghoulish excitement, like a child telling a ghost story. "For every year a magician spends in the Prison, his body ages twenty. So a young man of twenty will come out a year later as a man of forty -- if he is stupid enough to get caught for a major crime-of-magic or to get caught a second time, sixty or eighty! I even hear of a mage who got sentenced to a term of five years. When they let him out, he staggered into the light. Hardly more'n a skeleton. Fell dead on the spot in the Associ Hall."
The story horrified Alaire. A completely non-violent way to mete out the most cruel punishment. That must be why the people, the King's people, put up with it. It works no violence on the mage directly, so it must be perfectly just and equitable.
No, I'm not likely to be working any Bardic Magic in Suinomen!
"But don't worry. There aren't any magicians around here." The Prince glanced back at the empty table. "At least, not anymore."
Kai polished off the two steins and ordered another.
Alaire wondered if he should say something Kai's consumption.
No. I doubt that would be useful. He's going to drink whether or not I try to stop him.
So it proved. After a while, Kai slipped into his own tongue, and Alaire simply nodded and grunted at appropriate intervals. Some time later, after Kai had been babbling on in his own language for a good long while, Alaire did manage to get him to his feet and pointed towards the door. When they got outside, it was already daybreak.
Kai groaned when the early morning sun hit his face.
Alaire felt a certain amount of pleasure at that. "You weren't expecting that, were you?" he asked, but got no reply.
He escorted Kai back to the main street, a curiously silent place now that the sun was out, save for one loud drunk singing in the gutter. Soon he found the carriage, with the driver passed out inside. Du Kai on the seat, he roused the driver and, with ges- tures, managed to convey the need to return to the palace.
Slowly, and with considerably less enthusiasm than when they arrived, the carriage moved for- ward. Though not hung over, Alaire felt tired. Kai's little rampage had taken quite a bit out of him.
Maybe, if I could just sleep a little on the way back . . .
But he couldn't. Tired as he was, sleep wouldn't come. He couldn't get the awful image of caskets and crystals out of his "The Prison of Souls," Alaire murmured to Kai's sleeping form. "Gods, Naitachal, what are we about to get into here?"
Chapt As Naitachal had expected, the dinner "in their honor" was a grand affair, with all the correct seating strategies to turn it into a political event as well.
Dark Elf sat with the King and other nobles at a high table, giving him a bird's-eye view of the dining hall.
The King, however, seemed more intent on making a favorable impression on his subjects than discussing politics with Naitachal. They exchanged perhaps a half-dozen words during the entire dinner, after which King Archenomen excused himself -- though not before promising Naitachal a formal meeting the next day in his chambers to discuss matters of state.
Which was just fine with Naitachal, given his exhaustion. Wine poured freely, but he only pre- tended to indulge, knowing that if he did in his present state he would likely make a fool of himself and, in turn, of Althea. No, that would not do. At all.
He was a little put out that they did not seat Alaire next to him, but to maintain Alaire's false identity, he said nothing. After all, Alaire was a servant. It won't kill him. And he might even learn something.
After supper, Naitachal spent what seemed like hours getting acquainted with the highborn of Suinomen. But as he became accustomed to some of their nuances of speech, he realized he was little more than an oddity, and they were more interested in his race -- an elf, and a Dark Elf at that -- than his appointme Ambassador of Althea. From what he gathered from their fragments of conversation, no one really seemed to want a war, or even know that the King had made threats.
That the King allowed him to mingle so freely seemed odd. If these folk intended a fight with Althea shouldn't they spirit its ambassador off to his private quarters after supper to better control what he saw and heard? Instead, they left him to his own devices.
The worst was the surreptitious glances as he walked past their huddled groups. He soon grew tired of their impolite stares. Until these people grew used to him and treated him as something other than a freak, he preferred the company of Alaire, the King, or no one at all.
One particular nobleman, a count, or the closest equivalent to that tide, showed a little more respect than the others. He was a middle-aged man, wearing a fine fur jacket, trimmed with silver, which matched his thick head of gray-white hair. He had also been indulging generously in the wine at dinner and was eager to talk. In short, an excellent source of dropped information.
In spite of his desire to find his bed and sleep for a day, he entertained this Count Takalo, slyly turning the conversation around to international relations between Althea and Suinomen.
"Couldn't be better," the Count brayed, in a fine baritone voice that rattled all the crystal goblets within reach. "In fact, I'm hoping to establish free trade soon."
Naitachal nodded wisely. "I'm sure Althea would reciprocate. Particularly if the trade involved dieren.
That is, if you were willing to part with some of your herds."