"Don't be so hasty," Naitachal said sternly, not using a magical, controlling Voice, but with a normal, mun- dane voice delivered in an authoritative tone. "I've only come to see what this place is all about."
Dark Elf advanced a step. "What wondrous magic you must work in this place. You don't even need fight to work by."
"Oh, but we do not permit elves here," the man said timidly.
But Naitachal ignored him. "Don't be silly. I am a visiting diplomat. If this place is off limits, then no one has bothered to tell me." He entered a darkness punc- tuated with dim, flickering candles, some no more than stubs. No windows in this place; one or two would make all the difference. "Who's in charge here?"
"I am," a loud, booming voice announced. "Why has an elf dared to darken the doorstep of the Associa- tion Hall?"
"Soren!" the man who opened the door exclaimed.
"He forced his way in here. It wasn't my fault!" He ran off into the shadows, and stopped there, gesturing with agitation.
The second speaker answered him in an impatient voice; the little man whined his reply. Naitachal stood in the darkness, listening to them argue. As with any elf, his eyes adjusted to the gloom quickly. An over- weight wizard wearing a gaudy, tawdry robe glared at him from a spiraling staircase. Naitachal wondered how the flimsy staircase could hold the man's weight, but evidently the wizard had no worries about it.
At the top of the stairs, Naitachal saw an opened door. Naitachal only caught a glimpse of the room beyond, but from where he stood, it looked like an -- establishment of dubious repute.
Scantily clad females appeared in the doorway and peered down, confirming his suspicions, before retreating nervously and closing the door behind them.
"Please forgive my intrusion," he began evenly. "I am Ambassador Naitachal from the kingd Althea. While I respect your laws and do not wish to violate them, I would like to see how precisely," he paused, glancing up at the now-closed door, "the prac- tice of magic is sanctioned and administered in your fine land."
The wizard flushed, then blustered forward. "We do not allow beings such as yourself in the Associ Hall."
Naitachal raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"
"It is -- ah -- forbidden."
Naitachal considered his situation. I can either leave, or I can turn this into an international incident, and then leave. But something tells me this is impor- tant, that I need to see the inner workings of this place, or at least as much as I can persuade them to show me.
"Perhaps I should leave then," Naitachal began.
"Soren, is it?" He coughed, politely. "I have to admit, I am a bit disappointed at what I've seen already.
Althea, we have granted our mages homes to equal those of the wealthiest nobles, and they engage in the councils of the King as equal to any there. I was under the impression that your mages enjoyed equal power and prestige, but it appears that I was mistaken. Per- haps there isn't much for me to see here after all."
The elf turned to leave, arranging his face in a mask of disappointment.
"Now wait just a minute," Soren began. "It's not entirely fair to judge our Association by just what you've seen here. We have power and honor!"
Naitachal paused, then said casually over his shoul- der, "Frankly, I have not seen anything yet that would lead me to agree with that statement. Unless you would like to show me the inner halls of this place."
The wizard hesitated, as if he was tempted to prove to the Bard that his words were no boast.
"What could it hurt?" Naitachal added. "My liaison has never said this was forbidden to me. Go ahead.
Impress me. If you can."
The wizard stammered unintelligibly; Naitachal shrugged and started for the door.
"If you would follow me," Soren sputtered. "I will escort you to the heart of the Association Hall, the place of our deepest and most powerful magics. Only if you promise not to wander off by yourself."
"Very well," Naitachal agreed, and turned back.
Soren descended the rest of the stair and motioned to him to follow.
The wizard led him through a short passageway, opened a door with a flourish, and gestured grandly.
"Behold!" he said, proudly. "The heart of the Associa- tion!"
"This is it?" Naitachal almost said. He couldn't believe it. All the kingdom's magic is performed in this little place?
Though considerably larger than the great hall of the palace, this place left much to be desired. At least here some sunlight came in through two narrow windows, high at the top of the rafters. It was enough light, though, to show the sheer barrenness of the room, the pale wood planks that served as wall and floor, the brazier that hung above them, the unpainted walls. Hanging in the air was a nasty aroma reminding him of burning tar.
"So, as I understand it -- all magic must be cast here, and only by license." He raised an eyebrow. "To someone from my land this seems somewhat -- restrictive."
"The King is very generous when he grants licenses to practitioners," Soren replied defensively. "He almost never turns anyone down."
"Interesting." Naitachal tried to look as if it was interesting. "How much does a license cost? For say, a simple spell of good luck?"
Soren beamed. "Oh, that would be three thousand crowns. More, depending on the duration of the spell."
Naitachal wasn't sure what that translated Althean currency, but it sounded high. Nothing he saw explained why such things were regulated; and nowhere did he see a sign of all the official mages that were supposed to be here. All those wizards mat had burst into the Audience Chamber the day they arrived were nowhere in sight. Perhaps they resided in the palace on a more or less permanent basis.
Perhaps not. Perhaps, despite the robes and silly hats, they hadn't been wizards at all. Perhaps this whole thing was a facade.
But if that were the case, who was finding the "unli- censed" mages last night? And who had cast that spell of magic-detection that had come sweeping over him- self and the boy before they ever arrived here?
The hall wasn't empty. At one end, sitting outside a circle of what was probably salt, crudely drawn inside a pentagram, a "wizard" sat staring at the contents of a jar which was set at the middle of the pentagram. He sat cross-legged, looking utterly bored. As Naitachal watched, he yawned.
"He's been there all day. I'm not sure what he's up to," Soren said. "I hope you didn't have something in mind. He's booked the Hall for the rest of the day."
"And if I did?" Naitachal asked, shrewdly. "And I had the coin?"
Soren shook his head nervously. "I'm afraid that simply wouldn't be allowed. First of all, you're not a citizen."
The Dark Elf suspected this was the least of the reasons.
"And -- " the wizard continued. "You're an -- elf."
Naitachal chuckled, surprising the wizard. "I know that. My parents told me, long ago; my mirror repeats that information every day. What special significance does that have?"
Soren frowned, looking down at the wood floor. "I think perhaps it is time for you to leave." He started towards the door. "This way, sir."