Asleep, Alaire looked especially vulnerable. Are you ready for this journey, my boy? Naitachal asked the slumbering bardling. Somehow he'd managed to keep his long blond hair from getting tangled in the covers.
Have I done enough to prepare you for this? Have I taught you enough to keep you safe and to be able to take care of yourself if need be?
Then he smiled. And am I going to be able to wake you without building a fire under your bed?
"Time to rise," Naitachal said, without much hope.
"Our horses and supplies have arrived We must be on our way."
Nothing.
He spoke louder. "Alaire? Will I have to cast a spell to raise the dead?"
The boy rolled over, and flung a pillow at Naitachal, who ducked expertly under it as it whizzed past. The burst of activity was brief; Alaire buried his head under a wad of blanket.
"Behavior like that is not very respectful," Naitachal scolded. "Water from the well should be particularly cold this morning." He paused, for effect. "If you catch my meaning. Get up now, or you will find out in the most direct way just how cold that water is."
Alaire reacted by sitting up slowly on the edge of the bed. "You'd do it, too," he complained, yawning.
"Did you say more messengers are here?"
Naitachal laughed. "They're out front, where I expect to see you soon."
Satisfied that his apprentice was truly awake, Nai- tachal started for the front door. Mug in hand, he stepped outside to greet the new arrivals, trying to look more awake than he felt.
"Milord," one of the messengers said. Naitachal sensed fear, of his race rather than his title, a common reaction to any Dark Elf. "We have brought horses and supplies in the name of King Reynard. For your journey."
"To Suinomen," another said awkwardly, still mounted on his sweaty horse. The King's men just stood there, visibly afraid, as if waiting for lightning to strike them.
Naitachal sighed in resignation. If only they knew how much I dislike Necromancy, he thought, sadly. At times like these he wished humans would regard him with a little less terror.
Then again, this was partially his own fault. In the past, assuming the appearance and attitudes of a Nec- romancer had gained him more authority than he probably deserved. However, Naitachal had never bothered to correct those who feared him by saying that he no longer practiced the Black Arts.
The spells and powers of Necromancy never go away. I was a Black Sorcerer for many, many years.
They are right to fear me.
He could still summon the forces to convert an enemy to dust. Or, at any moment, call up his Sword, or order the spirits of the dead to serve him.
He could flay the skin from living flesh, and flesh from bones. Few humans ever guessed that he would rather put on a jester's outfit and juggle live rats than do any of that.
The two fine horses pleased him. At least they would ride in good ambassadorial style. The horses' tack was more elaborate than he would have preferred however, particularly since they would be riding in lands that might harbor bandits or robbers. We might as well wave a banner, Naitachal thought, with exas- peration.
Alaire appeared in the doorway. He regarded the messengers calmly, with ice-blue eyes now wide awake with curiosity. The new arrivals hardly looked at him. Apparently they had no idea Alaire was the King's son, and knew only that Naitachal was a court Bard.
By wearing simple peasant clothing, Naitachal saw Alaire had gone out of his way to affect unimportance.
They probably think he's my servant, Naitachal thought, admiring how well the royal inner circle had kept Alaire's apprenticeship a secret That's perfect. These messengers have no idea that this is a prince of the blood royal.
Naitachal invited the messengers inside; they dis- mounted reluctantly, as if fearing even this show of hospitality. He showed them the guest quarters and invited them to stay a night or two in their absence, knowing it would have taken three days of hard riding to get here. Without waiting to hear their reply, he returned to his own quarters, and Alaire followed his lead. In earnest, they began packing for the trip.
The fancy costumes the messengers had presented them with would never do for traveling; they left those items securely packed away for when they arriv Rozinki, Suinomens capital. He inspected the impres- sive weapons the King had sent them, two new crossbows with an ample supply of arrows, swords from the royal blacksmith and jeweled daggers. The cloaks would at least conceal most of these, he decided.
We must leave the jeweled weapons packed. The dag- gers are too tempting a prize for bandits.
If this was too early in the morning for Alaire, he no longer showed it. The lad had an extraordinary amount of frenetic energy for someone who had just awakened. Naitachal watched him discreetly, trying to determine from body language if the boy was trying to conceal uneasiness about the journey, or if he really thought this was going to be a grand adventure, with- out pitfalls.
My father could tell him some tales about Suinomen, thought Naitachal. The book his father had written was more than a traveler's diary; it was a warning. Father never really said what was so frightening about the place. The only thing that could frighten a Necromancer would be something beyond, or worse, than death.
Alaire brought out their two harps from the house.
The boy's instrument was slightly smaller, and had the brighter, less mellow tone of newer wood Naitachal's instrument had belonged to an old hermit who claimed it was a thousand years old; Naitachal guessed three hundred, but its tone, and the odd composition of the varnish, had intrigued him.
"How long will it take us to get there by horse- back?" Alaire asked, stowing the harps carefully away in their canvas sacks, which became a balanced pair of saddlebags. "Or maybe I should be asking, when are we supposed to be there?"
Included in their supplies was another sealed letter, which Naitachal opened. Perhaps we do have an appointed arrival time, he thought, glancing over the parchment. Included with this was a detailed map of their route, which took them around the marshes and bogs that made up the southern portion of the kingdom and led them along the fjord filled, rocky coast. Swamp flanked the route on the west, with ocean on the east.
The letter was from King Reynard to King Arche- nomen, stating his desire to establish diplomatic relations between their countries. Included in the packet was another letter, for Naitachal's eyes only, giving details of the Kings thoughts on the whole mat- ter, and a separate certificate that conf Naitachal's position as a royal envoy. There was noth- ing that would indicate Alaire was a prince; once they were in Suinomen, he would be an underling, or at least give the appearance of one.
"No particular day to be there," Naitachal said. "I would guess two, maybe three days at the most. The provisions should suffice us. If not, we can hunt, though I doubt much game lives on that narrow chan- nel." Oh well, he needs to get rid of some of that baby fat anyway.
Since the girl who cleaned and cooked for them had not arrived from the village, Naitachal cooked a hearty breakfast for everyone, instructing Alaire to play as if he was Naitachal's assistant.