He leaned back, studying Captain Lyam closely without appearing to. Can I trust this man? he won- dered. Is there something peculiar about his total commitment to returning us to Althea, when he has everything to lose?
"Why are you doing this, Captain?" the elf asked at "You're wondering why I'm sacrificing everything."
Lyam dropped his masks for the first time since Nai- tachal met him. He looked old; old, tired and defeated. "Well actually, I'm sacrificing very little. One of Sir Jehan's nephews is about to replace me as Cap- tain. My next post is to be a remote wasteland in the north. It stays dark for months at a time, and it's not a place where anyone would ever go willingly. I'm ready for a career change and a change of climate. I would rather return to Althea with you, on the whole. If nec- essary, I could find work as a mercenary." He sighed.
"I cannot save my King or my country. I might as well save myself."
"That I can accept," the elf said. "What about this blockade I've heard about from Erik? Will that be a problem?"
The Captain shook his head. "You forget who -- however temporary my power may be. In the late hours, when they have the green recruits watching the port, I will have no trouble impressing them with my rank. We can get through with no trouble."
"And the ship," Naitachal persisted. "Is one ready to sail?"
"There is an Arachnean-owned ship, crewed by humans, that is due to leave in the morning. A trader, loaded with dieren goods." Lyam seemed to have thought of everything -- there were few even in this kingdom who would care to interfere with the tra Arachneans. "If you explained who you were, perhaps they would leave a little early."
Naitachal smiled grimly. "That shouldn't be diffi- cult, given my heritage." Most traders would probably be ambivalent about the troubles of an Ambassador and a Prince, since most had more loyalty to their trade than to the Crown of Althea. But no one would risk the anger of a Dark Elf, since so many of them were Necromancers, and those that were not, were formidable warriors.
If they refuse to take us, I will be very, very angry.
"If you can find out where Alaire is and get us as far as the port, you have a deal. I will get us the rest of the way."
"Deal," Lyam said. They shook on it.
The skies remained overcast, but didn't shed any- more snow on the already blanketed ground. At noon, and again at suppertime, Erik brought meals on the cart, bearing no new information to Naitachal. After dinner Lyam put a young recruit, a lad of about seven- teen, on guard duty. The Captain said that he had been pulling double guard duty, and was likely to fall asleep around midnight. The Captain disappeared around dusk, to gain access to the dungeon and have a little talk with Kai.
Shortly after midnight, Erik appeared for the last time to take the food cart away.
"This time, you get to ride out inside it," he whis- pered. "You're leaving now. We know where Alaire is.
Guards asleep, but Cap'n Lyam said to take no chances. Put a bundle in the bed to look like you. I'm taking you down to the kitchen. This way no one sees you."
"Inside this?" Naitachal asked, regarding the cart doubtfully. He sighed and, taking only his sword and harp, squeezed into the cramped space of the cart. A tight fit, but manageable; Erik draped the cloth on either side, opened the door, and rolled hi The trek was uneventful until just before Erik pushed him onto the dumbwaiter; Naitachal recog- nized Paavo's voice, and they chattered in their native language, for some time. Then Paavo walked off Erik rolled the cart into the tiny elevator, and moments later he had descended to the brightness of the kitchen. Oil lamps illuminated the now cleaned and polished palace kitchen, empty of staff at this hour save for Erik and Captain Lyam.
"Hurry. This way," Lyam said, ushering the Elf out the back door to a waiting carriage. Erik bun- dled up in a heavy dieren coat and a fur hat and jumped into the driver's seat, while Lyam tucked Nai- tachal's weapons under the seat, and threw a black cloth over him.
"With any luck, they won't see you. Duck down to the floor when I say," Lyam said urgently. "Not much going on this time of night. The most difficult part was getting to the kitchen. Did you have any trouble?"
How would I know what was trouble, unless it arrested me? "Paavo stopped Erik to talk about some- thing. I don't think he knew what was going on."
"Dammit all," Lyam muttered. "That might have blown the whole thing." He leaned out the window.
"Erik, let's go now."
The carriage lurched forward, and Lyam told the elf to get down. "Best not to take any chances."
They traveled for a short distance before they stopped, presumably at the outer wall. Naitachal stayed close to the floor, flattening himself against it like a cat. Outside, he heard several voices, speaking the strange Suinomen dialect, to which Lyam responded. Then they were moving again.
"That was too easy," Captain Lyam said, his tone very uncomfortable. "I'm not sure if we should go on."
"What choice do we have?" Naitachal asked, from beneath his drapery. "I'm already gone. We're free of the palace. Is anyone pursuing us?"
He heard Lyam shift in his seat. "It may be difficult to tell. A professional is always hard to spot. But I sup- pose you are right, we are past the point of no return."
Naitachal squirmed uncomfortably. "Is it safe to sit up?"
"For now," Lyam said, and Naitachal got up off the floor and seated himself across from the Captain, rearranging his black drapery. "Perhaps their guard was down; after all, the Prince is back in the dungeon, and the real search is taking place in town. We will have to be careful once we get closer to the tavern district."
Trees quickly gave way to brick buildings, tile roofs, the rock walls of the larger estates, all towering over the carriage.
"So where is Alaire hiding?" Naitachal asked, curi- ously, wishing there were some way to ease the knot of tension in his back and neck.
Lyam rubbed an old scar nervously. "A place c The Dead Dragon Inn. The owner is hiding him in the basement. Kai did well, putting him there. The owner is a good friend and dislikes the Crown for the taxes they weigh against the taverns. With the Swords o Association wandering about down there, that would be the safest place to hide."
Provided that the reward does not tempt him to regain some of the money gone in taxes, Naitachal added, but only to himself. And provided that the owner is not aware that his "protector and friend" is currently languishing in the King's dungeon.
Chapte Alaire emerged slowly from a deep, but restless, sleep. A confused and disturbing dream melted away as he became aware of his surroundings. First, the lumpy hay mattress, then the dank, musty odor of the room and finally the warmth and the humidity, and the sweat that had beaded on his forehead. He opened his eyes and tried to focus. The room was dark except for the orange glow of the stove.
He sat suddenly upright, banging his head on the bunk bed above him; the sudden pain forced more wakefulness into his stiff body, his slow, numb mind.