Alaire shook his head; it made no sense. "We've lived in peace with them for so long. They want noth- ing we have. Do they?"
Naitachal looked up for a moment and shrugged.
"The King thinks they're afraid of us. I must agree, only I believe the fear has gone back many centu- ries. For about a century now, Suinomen has strictly regulated magic. Althea, of course, never has. To practice magic or even the lowest level of healing is strictly illegal, unless the Crown issues a license.
This is why your father discourages travel to their land. Too many times our people have never returned because they practiced a healing to mend a broken bone, or created a magelight to start wet firewood, and wound up imprisoned for life. Or so we assume."
Alaire had heard the rumors of people vanishing into the North, but he'd never heard one confirmed. It was one of the curses of living a sheltered life. Idle street talk seldom reached his ears, even now. Being of royal blood meant you just didn't hear common gossip, even if you wanted to.
Naitachal's attention had gone back to his book.
"Magicians, even their healers, take tests in specific areas. Then, when they have paid their licensing fee, they may perform only the simplest of spells, and then only under the supervision of the Suinomen M Association."
"What about Bards?" Alaire asked. "You haven't mentioned them."
Naitachal's mouth twitched. "They permit simple musicians, but never Bards. However, they have no effective barriers to keep them out. Their mages are, in my humble opinion, amateurs. They probably wouldn't recognize a Bard unless one whacked them over the head with his harp."
Alaire stifled a chuckle, as Naitachal continued.
"But somehow they fumble about in their incompe- tence, and nab a magician or two for making a lopsided circle on the ground with onion flakes." He turned another page. "So, as I said, they permit only harmless, non-magical minstrels, even though no one over there knows how Bardic Magic really works. This is how we will present ourselves. We are minstrels, only. If anyone asks about our instruments, it is our hobby. The King chose us to be his temporary envoys."
Alaire shrugged. "Wonder why our ambassador can't handle this."
Naitachal gave him a withering look, as if he should already have known the answer. "We don't have o Suinomen. We're going to be the ambassadors. We'll have to be careful there. The reason Suinomen is making threats is because they feel endangered. Our unlicensed and unregulated magic is a threat to their security, or so they claim."
Alaire considered this, while Naitachal went through the leather-bound book. It makes sense, in a distorted fashion, he decided. We make perfect envoys. We're practically at their doorstep already, and I'm high up on the royal lineage ladder. However, something else nagged at him.
"Question," Alaire said, raising a hand. "If they don't permit magic, how can we be the ambassadors? I mean, you're an elf, and all elves are mages, right?"
Naitachal frowned, and gave Alaire that look he knew so well, which told him, don't you see yet?
"Magic use is illegal," he said, with a look of bored patience. "They permit magicians themselves, but those mages cannot invoke any powers, internal or external."
Fine. But Naitachal had been a Necromancer, and in a country that feared mages, this could cause some... problems. "You're a Dark Elf. Isn't that likely to incite, well, hostilities?"
This time Naitachal just shrugged. "My people have never had an ambassador at the Suinomen court. That is probably why King Reynard wants to send us in that capacity. Chances are they haven't seen too Dark Elves, and if they have, do you really think they would give me any trouble? If the reputation of Elves in this kingdom is bad, what do you think it is over there?"
Alaire had to chuckle. Well, I guess he has a point.
No one's going to harass him, particularly when he can turn you to powder with a single muttered spell. And it's not painless, either. Father knows he wouldn't do that, of course, but they don't.
"Your role in all this is to be rather subdued," Nai- tachal said, almost apologetically.
Alaire raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, sub- dued?
"You are to be my . . . secretary, of sorts. We will keep your real identity secret."
For a moment Alaire was resentful, then he recon- sidered; what better way to have fun with an otherwise serious assignment? If I went as a prince this trip would bore me silly. Of course they can't know who I am, and I bet they won't even suspect, since so few people in our own kingdom know I'm Naitachal's bardling.
"Ransom, you see," Naitachal said. "It's something your father would rather not contend with."
Alaire edged closer to the volume, which Naitachal held in his dark hands. "What is that book, anyway?"
"A very old travel log," Naitachal said. "Here's the map we'll need. This is the less traveled route, if my grandfather is right. He wrote this book centuries ago."
Alaire thought about the plan, and began to feel relieved, for other reasons. Visiting another country as the son of a king meant hours of boring, endless pom- posity, formalities, uncomfortable formal dress, and no privacy. Going incognito meant none of this.
Well, at least not as much. He suspected that being an Envoy would include some of the royal trappings.
But not, thank the gods, the full course.
"It's a rather difficult responsibility," Naitachal admitted. "I think we're up to it. We need to find out why they are suddenly acting so aggressive, and to stop them if we can. Do you agree, Alaire?"
"Of course I do," he said, without thinking. He had another thought, which left him a little awed, a little excited, and a little afraid. Responsibility. Naitachal had described it exactly with that single word. This is important work we can do for the kingdom. And we're the best ones for the job.
"Remember, the fact that we are Bards is to be kept absolutely secret," Naitachal said. "The Association can regulate unlicensed magic, so we must assume they must have a way of detecting it. We don't know what the penalties are, after all."
He looked up from the book again, and his eyes glowed in a rather sinister fashion. "I'd rather not find out the hard way."
Chapt Early the next morning Naitachal rose to the noisy arrival of men on horses. He glanced through the shutters and saw the messenger greeting three older comrades, each wearing the same dark blue unif They'd brought two additional horses, each loaded with goods, presumably for the journey to Suinomen.
Though Naitachal and Alaire usually didn't rise till mid-morning, it looked as if their day had started without them.
That was enough to wake the dead, he thought, frowning at the noise. Not very courteous. And they're not even trying to be quiet.
The Dark Elf threw on a robe and, with a tiny amount of magic, heated a cup of khaffe. As he walked past Alaire's bedroom he saw through the open door that the boy was, as usual, sprawled like a monkey on a bed of twisted blankets.
Such a raw youth, Naitachal thought, suddenly aware how sheltered he really was. Watching him, he felt warm, paternal human feelings, which surprised him. Even the White Elves had been known to make unflattering comments about human emotions, not to mention his own dark and more serious brethren.