"Remember who and what you are," Naitachal said.
"I think they're border guards, but I don't recognize the livery, so I'm not certain. Time to assume our new roles."
Alaire said nothing as the men came closer, but was fascinated by what they were riding. The beasts cer- tainly weren't horses. These creatures were enormous, at least four hands taller than their own high-bred geldings. Each animal had a set of enormous branch- ing horns, like a pair of young trees growing from their heads, and larger and more dangerous-looking than any deer could ever boast of. Their hoofs were cloven, but larger than a horse's, and the length and muscula- ture of their legs suggested great speed and agility.
When he noticed the peculiar color of their coats, a rich reddish brown, and realized it exactly matched that of his coat, he realized what they were.
"Dieren!" he said, louder than he had intended.
Naitachal whirled around, glaring at him. "What did you think they were, rabbits? Will you please keep still while I try to establish our credentials?"
The men wore readily identifiable uniforms. Coats, trousers, boots, even saddles and saddle blankets were identical. Over the left breast of each coat was a triangular badge with the red and green colors o Suinomen flag. One of the guards sported brass decorations; he was older than the other, and that seemed to Alaire to guarantee that he was the superior officer of the pair. They wore fur hats that looked like gray loaves of bread, and seemed more ornamental than practical.
The hats looked absolutely ridiculous at first, but as the guards drew their swords as they approached, he decided that maybe the hats didn't look quite as silly as he had thought.
He had to control the automatic reflex to pull his blade. Naitachal's sword remained in its sheath.
The Dark Elf cleared his throat, and the two men started. "King Reynard, ruler of Althea to the south, has sent us to represent him. We come in peace. We would like to speak to your ruler, King Archenomen,"
Naitachal announced, in his best minstrel's voice. The words carried clearly through the chill air.
The two guards exchanged muffled words before the older guard replied, "You do not look like ambas- sadors. Look more like bandits to me. Show us your credentials." He spoke with a thick accent, making his words difficult to understand. For one thing, the emphasis was on all the wrong parts of the words; for another, they rolled the words around in their mouths as if they were gargling. At least, Alaire thought, they're using the same language. Even if it does come out a little different.
Naitachal sighed, sounding more annoyed than anything. The younger guard, still mounted on his dieren, began to advance toward them. Predictably, both Naitachal's and Alaire's horses reared up in fright.
"Hey!" Alaire shouted, fighting to get his horse back under control. The horse half-reared again, then shied sideways, nearly unseating him. When he calmed his steed down, he looked up to see how Naitachal's beast was behaving. Judging by the froth of dark sweat on its neck, it was no happier about the dieren than Alaire's gelding.
The young man laughed nastily. Alaire decided at once that the man must be a bully by nature; he had that look of unpleasant enjoyment on his face that reminded Alaire of an oversized page who had liked to catch the younger boys alone and throw them into the horse-trough. "You must be from down south after all, to be riding such loathsome, cowardly beasts. Never seen one of our riding animals, have you? Good. That's how we like it!"
Naitachal dismounted and rummaged through his pack. Finally, after a long wait, he withdrew the enve- lope Alaire's father had sent, with the scroll decl Naitachal the official envoy of Althea.
"I have a letter from my king to yours if this isn't sufficient," Naitachal said, walking towards the guard.
To look up at the mounted guard he had to remove the hood; when he did so the younger guard, then the captain, froze in shock.
"Dark Elf!" the senior guard shouted. "What are you doing in our kingdom?"
Before Naitachal could respond, the younger guard pulled his beast back, away from him. They were both terr Of course. These people are terrified of magic. Elves are active practitioners, and Dark Elves are usu- ally Necromancers!
Naitachal simply raised a calm eyebrow, as if he found their fear as nonsensical as a child's fear of beasts in the closet.
"Nothing that would violate your honorable laws, I assure you. King Reynard chose me to be his ambassa- dor because he trusts me. I practice no elven magics, either Dark or White. Do not fear me. I am only Reynards servant."
The guards regarded them suspiciously. They seemed far more concerned with Naitachal's heritage than his credentials.
The Dark Elf frowned. "Well?" He waved the packet of papers at the guard. "Are you going to look at this or not? We'd really rather not stand here in the middle of the road for much longer."
The two guards exchanged looks, then the elder said, hastily, "Please proceed to Rozinki. With our blessings. If you leave now you should reach the city before nightfall."
With that the two guards wheeled their dieren about, and rode off, back down the route they just traveled. Naitachal stood in the middle of the road, watching them ride away, and when they were a con- siderable distance away, he smiled wickedly.
'They rattle easily around here, don't they?" he said. Alaire sensed a chuckle under his words.
"I suppose so," Alaire said, trying to restrain his own laughter. "We should get going. Rozinki sounds pretty good right about now!"
The road they followed showed more signs of travel; the ruts made by wheeled vehicles, churned up mud and animal droppings, all dusted with the remains of a recent light snow. Naitachal strained his neck and turned his ear forward, as if he was trying to hear something ahead.
The terrain continued to be hilly, with the hills gradually rising higher and higher before them. They could see nothing from the top of one but the crest of the next and the valley between.
An icy, wintry wind blasted them at each hilltop.
Alaire stopped thinking of the two guards, stopped drinking of Rozinki, stopped thinking of anything except huddling on his saddle and avoiding the wind.
When they crested the final hill, Rozinki's sudden appearance below them came as a surprise.
At first it appeared to be a city of boats, and only boats, spread beneath them on a huge bay. A compli- cated network of wood and stone docks surround Many of the boats looked like homes as well as a source of income, and came in many different sizes and shapes. One of these boats, a long, flat craft, docked on the shore nearest them.
"Good gods," Naitachal said "I had no idea Rozinki was this large." He stared down at the bay in silence for a moment. "Interesting. All those ships would imply they travel, but it certainly isn't to our kingdom.
So whom are they visiting?"
Alaire shrugged. The Bard's eyes moved upwards a bit, then stopped. "And there's the castle."
Alaire followed his gaze to what he had thought was simply a more regular outcropping of stone on the cliff above the bay. Then his first impression was that it was a military fort, not a royal palace. Then again, it was probably both, palace and fortification; the harsh land probably made the kind of castles Alaire knew of impossible. Squat and round, the palace perched in the cliff above the town.