Where am I? was his only thought.
Loud tavern sounds filtering down through the ceil- ing answered his question. I'm under The Dragon Inn. Kai brought me here.
The room had no windows, which added to his confusion. Uncertain how long he'd slept, he didn't know if it was day or night.
What about Kai? he thought, with a sick suspicion that something terrible had happened to him. A Master. Naitachal, what are you up to right now?
He felt exhausted despite the long, deep sleep. The spell. Right. I've never reached that far, that deep for the energies before. Naitachal told me of mages who reached too far, even after years of experience, and scorched their own minds with energies too powerful for even them to handle.
His raging headache was a good indication he'd done the same thing, on a smaller scale. What should I expect? The spell turned back death. It reassembled flesh, it restored blood. Looks like my head is going to pay dearly for it now.
He must have slept all day, and he was tempted to go ahead and sleep another day, but something told him it was time to get up, that something was afoot.
The Swords of the Association are all over the place by now, he thought. Would they ever think to look down here?
Evidently, they hadn't yet. The sounds overhead, the singing, the stamping of feet, indicated the tavern was open and doing business, meaning it had to be night. He reached under the bed to make certain his harp was still there; it was, along with his other posses- sions. Kai must have left as soon as I was asleep, he thought. Gotten must be upstairs working. So that left him with one question. What am I to do now?
He remembered that Kai had warned him they had to destroy the old clothes as soon as possible, and groped under his bed for the bag that held them, find- ing it by touch alone. He tossed the canvas sack with the bloodied garments into the stove, then added more wood to it. In moments a raging tire burned, destroying the evidence. The wool clothing stank as it burned, but it was something he was going to have to put up with.
As the stove crackled and popped and the light increased, his eyes fell on a crude oak table, and the food left for him.
Well, they aren't taking too bad care of me, I guess.
Though his head hurt, his stomach was in good shape, and complaining bitterly about how little he had been putting into it lately. The food they'd left him wasn't bad; a plate of meats, cheeses and a warm stein of ale.
There was also a kettle, a mug with dried herbs, and a rough note scribbled on a piece of parchment. He had to hold it up to the light of the now-blazing stove to make it Ki sed you wood haf a baad hed wen you wok up, so i lef a mug o w G Alaire read the note twice before he understood what the barkeep was trying to tell him. "A remedy, for exactly what I have now," he thought with gratitude, although the remedy sounded a little dubious. He set the kettle on the stove to heat up. "Willow bark," he said to the mug, without much conviction. "Righ I'd try anything."
Waiting for the water to boil, Alaire stretched and scratched. He felt grungy, particularly after sleeping in his clothes; a hot bath would be really nice right now.
But the only hot bath he knew of was at the palace; it might as well have been in Althea.
Not bloody likely they'd let me get a bath if I went back to the palace now, he thought dismally. Gods, a good-long soak would be heavenly. Or maybe an hour in that sowna Now that was a great bathing invention!
A loud clatter came from up the staircase, followed by voices and footsteps. His heart leapt into his throat, and every nerve felt afire.
Oh gods -- they've found me!
Alaire jumped to his feet and reached for his blade, and stood beside the entrance to the small chamber, in the shadows. A desperate measure; but that was all he had left, were desperation measures.
The group of three, he guessed by the footsteps, approached the chamber without talking. His heart was beating so hard he might just as well have been running.
Closer. Closer.
He now wished he hadn't thrown more wood on the fire, since the flames were climbing within the lit- tle stove, casting bright light, making it impossible to hide. He took cover in the little pool of shadow next to the bunk. The intruders drew nearer.
A shadow entered the room. No, not a shadow -- the Dark Elf.
"Naitachal?" Alaire said incredulously, sword still raised and ready. His Master had been the last person he'd expected to see!
He relaxed until Lyam walked into the room, grip- ping the hilt of his sword tighter as the huge man's eyes met his.
"Lyam is on our side," the elf said simply. "How- ever, there is a complication."
"Oh gods, what now?" Alaire asked although he didn't want to hear it.
"I'll be goin' back up, now," Gallen, the third person to come in, said. "You mind that tea, it will take care of that headache real quick. And I'll let you know when those chaps are through snooping around. The sooner you're out of here the better for all of us!" The bar- keep trotted back up the stairs and shut the door.
"We won't be leaving right away," Lyam said, taking a seat on the edge of the bunk, looking as exhaust Alaire felt. "There are a couple of Swords nosing around upstairs. More likely they're looking to cadge a few free drinks, but we can't take the chance that they might spot us."
"Swords?" Alaire said, alarmed. "Here?" He looked around frantically, half expecting the Swords to appear at any moment.
Naitachal laughed softly as he motioned to Alaire to take a seat, and began an examination, first checking his eyes, and then feeling over his forehead and scalp.
"Nasty bump there. Recent." He glanced over at the bunkbed Lyam was sitting on. "Didn't know where you were when you woke up? You sat up too fast?"
"You can tell all that by a bump?" Alaire replied, a little sullenly. "They should have you tell fortunes by bumps at court, I'm sure it would be very amusing."
Naitachal didn't seem annoyed by his attitude.
"Nasty mood, too. You must have a headache, given the sort of spell-casting you've been up to."
It almost sounded like an accusation. Well, if he hadn't done what he'd done -- they wouldn't be in this predicament. "I don't want to talk about it," Alaire said. "Kai would have died had I done nothing."
Naitachal shrugged. "I don't doubt that at all. I'd like you to tell me about it, if you would. It has a bear- ing on your ability, after all."
Slowly, Alaire told him the whole story of the assas- sins, Kai's fatal wound, and the Bardic Magic he raised to save his life. Naitachal listened quietly, nodding occasionally as he poured the hot water over the wil- low bark.
"Well. You certainly are a credit to my training,"
Naitachal said, handing him the steaming mug. "I would have shown you ways to protect yourself a little better, had I known you were that far along. As it was, you fully exposed your mind to everything you were pulling in, and that's the reason for your headache. I know exactly what it feels like. My head isn't that dif- ferent from a human's. What you did was right, Alaire, even if it did create problems for the rest of us."
In a way, Naitachal's reaction made it all worse.