“So you did.”
Kevin stiffened at the casual reply. “That really doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?”
“Oh, it does.” It was the barest whisper. “ I cannot remember the first time I was forced to take a life. But 1 have never totally forgotten the horror of it”
“You c-can’t remember? How could you not remember—”
“Kevin, I don’t know how much you know of my people. Humans tell some truly bizarre stories about the Nithathil, those you call the Dark Elves. But one thing they say of us is quite true: we are indeed raised without love, without anything that might weaken us. I was singled out early in my childhood as one who held sorcerous promise. That means only one thing to the Nithathil. For all the years of my life I have studied dark magic, the magic of death. Necromancy, as you call it. But ... ah. Powers, I am so very weary of it!”
Kevin glanced at the Dark Elfin surprise. “Then I was right, wasn’t I? You were every bit as horrified as I was when that bandit died from—from age.”
“When I killed him, you mean? That life-draining spell is called Archahai Necrawch, Spectre Touch in your language.” Naitachal shuddered, ever so faintly. “It is a very dark thing, indeed. But there wasn’t much time to act, not with that knife about to slay you, and I couldn’t think of any other way to save you.”
“You had a ... sword.”
“A Death Sword, Kevin, a temporary thing drawn from sorcery’s heart. You heard its joy in taking life, did you not? That soft and empty laughter? I couldn’t run the risk of even scratching you with it.”
Hearing the bitter self-loathing in the Dark Elf’s voice, the bardling cried, “I don’t understand! If you don’t want to work death-spells, why do it? Why not try something else?”
“There is nothing else, not for one of my kind. Not yet, at any rate,” the Dark Elf added softly. “I meant it when I told you 1 intended to prove my people had nothing to do with the stealing of Count Volmar’s niece—Love or hate, they are my people. But I have no intention of ever returning to them.”
“What will you do?”
“Aye, bardling! I don’t know, not yet.” Naitachal paused. “You don’t know how I envy you.”
“Me?”
“You know what you want from life. You have the joy that is your music, and with it, the promise of bright, happy, living magic.”
“I don’t understand! Surely your people have music, too? I mean, they’re elves, and I thought all elves—”
“We are not like the other elven races. We alone have no music.”
“No music! B-but that’s terrible!”
“Oh, it is. Listening to your songs, bardling, has been untold delight for me.” The Dark Elf gave a soft, rueful laugh. “Ay me. Here I try to help you, and end up telling you my problems instead 1”
Kevin blinked, all at once realizing that somewhere during this strange conversation, the specter of the bandit he’d killed had ceased to haunt him. “You haw helped.”
“Misery loving company, eh?” Whatever else he might be, Naitachal was still Dark Elf enough to be ashamed of showing weakness. “Ah, enough of this!” he said abruptly, getting to his feet. “The night is late, boy. Go get some sleep.”
But then Naitachal paused, teeth flashing in a sudden grin. “And if you tell anyone about this conversation,” he said, a touch too lightly, “I shall deny it all!”
Something damp was hitting his face. For a sleepy moment, Kevin thought he was bade in the castle, with the squires playing one of their pranks on him. He opened his eyes with a cry of:
“Will you stop—”
“The rain?” Lydia cut in wryly. “Don’t think any of us can manage that”
Kevin sat up in dismay, clutching his cloak about him. It wasn’t much of a rain, more of a light but persistent drizzle. “But it’s going to wash away the tracks!”
“Probably. Let’s get going, boy. I want to get as far as we can before that happens.”
Gathering up his damp belongings, the bardling muttered, “It never rains in the songs.” At least the day wasn’t cold, but the ride was still going to be an unpleasant one.
He hadn’t guessed just how unpleasant As though the previous day had never happened, the two elves began bristling towards each other once more. And Naitachal showed not the slightest sign of the lonely, music-hungry soul of the night before.
I give up! Kevin thought. I just give up!
Of course the weather had a good deal to do with deteriorating tempers. Kevin knew that. Not that such wisdom helped him any. Discovering that even a relatively lightweight mail shirt became incredibly uncomfortable when wet, the bardling had to keep a tight rein on anything he said, particularly when Tich’ki made some waspish remark.
She can’t help it, he forced himself to accept. The fairy, after all, had to be the most uncomfortable of them all, constantly fluttering her wings in a vain attempt to keep them dry—No wonder she was snapping at elf and human indiscriminately! Too waterlogged for flight, she must fed frighteningly helpless.
Lydia, meanwhile, fairly radiated angry frustration, bent nearly double over her horse, muttering under her breath as she hunted for the rapidly fading trail.
It didn’t help uncertain tempers to realize that they were almost out of supplies for people and horses both. Granted, the animals would probably be able to find enough forage to keep them going, but it wasn’t going to be much fun hunting for game in this weather.
At least, Kevin thought, struggling for any sign of good humor, the drizzle did seem to be letting up. Who knew? Maybe the sun would even deign to put in an appearance and dry everybody off.
But even as the first feeble rays did at last break through the clouds, Lydia threw up her hands in disgust “That does it”
“I take it the rain washed away the cracks?” Naitachal asked.
“Hell, no! They aren’t washed away, they simply disappear, just like that! As though horse and rider, up and vanished into the air.” Lydia let out her breath in an angry hiss. “I’ve had trails go cold on me before, but I’ve never had one just—stop!”
“Wonderful,” Tich’ki said flatly. “Now what?”
What, indeed? After a moment, Kevin began, “I think—”
“We’re going to have to go on to Westerin,” Lydia said, just as if he wasn’t there.
Eliathanis shook his head. “There’s no evidence they rode that way.”
“There’s no evidence they didn’t! Besides, the horses need grain, and a hot meal and a bath wouldn’t hurt any of us, either.”
“Ah, I think—” Kevin began again, but Naitachal cut in:
“Lydia has a point. We would be more likely to learn something important in a city than out here in the middle of open country.”
“That’s a human city!” Eliathanis snapped. “How willingly do you think they’re going to admit a Dark Elf?”
Naitachal shrugged. “About as willingly as they would a White Elfin these uncertain days. But our cloaks are hooded, after all. No one need know our races, as long as we’re careful.”
“Huh! No one’s going to bother a fairy!” Tich’ki boasted.