"No," Naitachal replied, and Alaire sighed with relief. A messenger from the Royal Bodyguard would have been a certain sign that the news was bad. It would have meant, at the very least, a death in the family. Or an invasion from a foreign land, or some other earth-shattering calamity.
Naitachal frowned. "Odd. There must be some urgency to whatever he's delivering. His horse is exhausted. He's been riding hard for some time now."
Visitors were a rare treat, but Alaire awaited this one with mixed emotions. If he merely bore a friendly message from home, why would the messenger run his horse into the ground? What could have hap- pened? he wondered. He tried not to let his imagination get the better of him.
The messenger and his horse drew closer, and slowed. The boy was sixteen at most, and was wearing the dark blue riding uniform and plain blue sadd Reynard's livery. Perhaps he had simply ridden hard to impress his own Master with his diligence. Inwa Alaire groaned. No! Not another fancy, gaudy, foofy, royal visit from some princess at the castle!
"I come bearing a message for Master Naitachal from his Majesty King Reynard!" the young man announced even before coming to a stop. The horse, a beautiful gray palfrey Alaire recognized as one of the best in the messengers' stable, did a weary little dance as the boy pulled up next to them. The messenger, obviously winded and tired, waved a blue envelope Alaire changed his mind again. He would have had to ride straight through two days to get here looking like that. The horse doesn't look much better. A visit from one of Derek's would-be brides would not justify this degree of urgency, and the Master of the Horse would take this youngster apart for exhausting his beast if he had only done it to impress. Naitachal reached up for message, an envelope sealed in wax with the family crest.
"Please, take your horse to the stables," Naitachal said, motioning toward the somewhat dilapidated barn behind the house. 'There is a water pump with the trough. When you are done, you may go into the house to wash."
'Thank you, sir," the young man said, saying noth- ing to Alaire. He directed the palfrey toward the stables.
He apparently doesn't know I'm the King's Alaire thought. All he sees is Naitachal's bardling. It was rather refreshing, and he grinned to himself with a certain amount of relief. They really had forgotten all about him at court! He might even be able to sneak back some time and enjoy himself without having to put up with all the nonsense.
"Well, what is it?" Alaire said, unable to stand patiently any longer. Is it about me?
Naitachal flipped open the wax seal and read the message quickly, at a glance. Then he looked up.
"Well?"
Naitachal's expression was neither grim nor dark- ened, as it would be in response to bad news. It wasn't quite neutral, either. Alaire quivered with barely restrained excitement It's about me. It has to be!
Naitachal raised an eyebrow, then folded the paper back up and returned it to the envelope. Then, as it lay flat on his palm, the envelope burst into flame.
Startled, Alaire stepped back. He wasn't expecting that.
Naitachal calmly brushed the ashes from his hands and fixed Alaire with a measuring and unreadable look.
'Tell me!" Alaire said, barely restraining himself.
The Dark Elf never became melodramatic, and burn- ing the message like that required an exercise of magics he seldom "Your father," Naitachal said, after a lengthy and infuriating pause, "wants to send us on a little errand."
Without elaborating, Naitachal started back towards the house.
For a moment Alaire stared at his retreating back.
Then, flustered, he hurried into the house after him.
Naitachal's study was usually a private place where he wouldn't allow anyone, not even a maid. Alaire had set foot in the study only six times in the years he lived there, and then only because Naitachal had invited him, when some royal crisis was a-brewing.
Now Naitachal stood at the door and bec Alaire to follow. He cautiously followed his Master into the mysterious den, shivering in its chill. The place gave him the creeps.
The study had no windows, no source of light besides a single black candle as big around as Alaire's forearm. In the darkness the candle flared to life, illu- minating Naitachal's face. Standing behind him was a large shelf of ancient, dusty books, all in Elvish, which had been in Naitachal's family gods only knew how long. The Bard carefully pulled and examined the vol- umes, which had no titles on the spines.
"We are going to Suinomen," Naitachal said flatly, as he searched.
Suinomen, Alaire thought. He can't be serious!
The name conjured uneasy feelings. King Reynard discouraged all his subjects, and particularly the royal family, from traveling to Suinomen. His teachers never spoke about it in school, it never even appeared on maps, and it never had diplomatic relations with any country. After a while, one just forgot it existed.
The only contact Althea had with Suinomen was a light, seasonal trade in animal hides. Alaire didn't even know who was ruling the country nowadays. Suino- men. Why, in the seven hells, are we going there?
Their home at Fenrich was near the northern boundary with Suinomen. This probably explained why King Reynard picked them, since the border was a days travel away, the capital two; and since Naitachal had often run "little errands" that involved diplomatic maneuvering for the royal family. This still didn't explain why they were going.
"Found it," Naitachal said, selecting a thin leather book from the shelf and placing it on the desk. In the dim candlelight Alaire could make out vague Elvish script on the cover, but couldn't decipher its meaning.
"You still haven't said why we're going to this place,"
Alaire said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Since the Dark Elf had so few visitors to this room, it took the boy a moment to find something to sit on.
He finally found an old stool, layered with dust. Since his backside was already dusty he didn't have any qualms about using it.
Naitachal was perusing the book. "The land is only off limits to those who wield magic," he said, as if in an afterthought.
"So where does that leave us?" Alaire asked. "Did the King forget what you are, and what you are train- ing me to be?" Even before all the facts were in, he found himself resisting the whole idea.
"No one in Suinomen knows we are Bards," Nai- tachal replied absently. "Let me explain, before you prejudge the entire mission. You know Suinomen has been an uncomfortable neighbor for centuries, but for the most part our two nations left each other alone.
Now they are making vague, but disturbing war threats."
Alaire was about to say something else, but at the mention of war, he kept his silence.
Naitachal turned a page. 'This was why I destroyed the letter. Our mages, through their own spells, Seen an impressive military buildup. The Suinomese have stepped up their recruiting efforts despite a pro- ductive harvest. Why should they draft youngsters when the family farms need them the most? The war threats must be taken seriously."