Sir Jehan seemed to recognize what the elf was about to do, however. "Stop what you're doing! Put your hands on your head! Or your servant will die right here on this dock!"
Eyes closed, lost in concentration, Naitachal stood motionless. The air about him began to hum.
"Stop it, Necromancer!"
His eyes fluttered open just long enough t Alaire, with the knife at his throat. The elf paused, his black hand barely beginning to glow.
"On second thought," Sir Jehan said, smugly. "Go ahead and cast a spell. Raise the magic. Break our laws! It would give me a reason to throw you i Prison of Souls along with Alaire!"
Alaire bit into his captor's hand, and in the moment it pulled away he screamed, "No! Don't do it, Master!"
The knife cut deeper into his throat. More blood trick- led down his neck. The hand closed over his mouth again.
The guards surrounded the Dark Elf with cross- bows carefully aimed in his direction. He heard a scuffle, then rattling shackles. They hurried Alaire off the dock to a crude wagon. Bolted to the floor of this was a series of iron rings. They made him lie down, belly first, and his chains rattled as his captors locked his shackles into place. He looked up at the sound of a footstep, and saw Soren, the fat wizard, holding a little wooden club.
Powerless oaf can't even use a spell to immobilize me, he has to use fetters!
A brief discussion in the Suinomen tongue fol- lowed. Soren climbed onto the wagon and stood directly above him. Then, light and agonizing pain exploded at the base of Alaire's skull, and he knew no more.
Chapter "Stop it, Necromancer!" Sir Jehan screamed a Dark Elf.
Naitachal's instinct was to ignore a command, any command, especially when trying to concentrate on raising magic. Why should I? he thought, torn between complying with the demand, and bla Sir Jehan and his men into the sea with Bardic energy.
But this was Suinomen, and they were renegades, and now both he and Alaire were in serious danger.
He opened his eyes and saw the Royal Guardsmen holding Alaire, with a dagger at his throat.
They had the boy. The game was over.
Defeat and despair settled over him as he accepted whatever fate Sir Jehan had for both of them. There was no way to raise enough power, even Bardic power, in time to do any of them any good. It looked like they'd even nicked the boy a bit already.
But he didn't drop the harp; he set it down, care- fully, so as not to scratch it, and stood solemnly.
The guardsmen swarmed around him. Those who did not bring crossbows to bear on him shackled his hands and feet, and pushed him towards Sir Jehan.
One of them picked up the harp, holding it gingerly, as if he thought it might come to fife in his hands.
Naitachal stood calmly before Sir Jehan, who remained on the ship. He avoided meeting the elf's eyes. He threw his men a black cloth. "Blindfold him," he said simply.
He said nothing as they put the cloth over his face.
It's the King who I must speak with again. I have not used magic, though it is obvious Alaire has. If there's any chance I am immune diplomatically, someho The guardsmen shoved him forward. The rattle of a wagon or carriage pulled up in front of him, followed by the creaking of a steel door. They threw him into the back of whatever had arrived, and he landed in a heap on a cold, iron floor. There's someone in here with me, he sensed. Behind him, the door slammed shut, followed by the sound of a key turning a lock.
They started off immediately as the Dark Elf strug- gled to sit up in the lurching wagon. Strong hands assisted him, and when he was sitting against the wall, someone pulled the blindfold off his face.
"Lyam," Naitachal whispered. Even in the darkness of their moving prison, he saw the Captain's outline.
There were windows on three sides of the iron box, which allowed moonlight, and cold, in.
"They took Alaire in another wagon," Lyam said dismally. "The Swords have him now. I think my son got away before the troops moved in. I can only hope."
Lyam looked directly at the Dark Elf, his face full of apology. "I'm sorry I got you into this. I had no ide Jehan was this clever."
"Nor I," Naitachal said. "I admit, we are running out of options. But as long as I still breathe, all is not lost."
Lyam's look was of disbelief. "No?" he said wearily, running a hand through grimy, tousled hair. His own shackles clanked loudly against his chest. "What options have we left?"
Naitachal glanced out the back of the wagon. A hundred or so Royal Guardsmen were following closely behind on dieren, a shifting, moving thunder- ing shadow blanketing the road. "I don't suppose picking that lock would be very productive," he "No," Lyam admitted. "I think someone might notice."
This would be amusing, if our deaths weren't immi- nent. "It seems odd they would shackle us, and then not chain us to something else."
"They know we can't go far with these," Lyam said.
"Had no idea how heavy these were," he added, lifting the chains with some difficulty. "You were saying?
Options?"
"I'm still the Ambassador of Althea," Naitachal said stubbornly. "That must count for something."
Lyam stared at him. His expression was for a moment unreadable. Then his face broke into a smile, followed by loud, bellowing laughter. "Oh are you now?" Lyam said, when he paused long enough to speak. "You've just been taken prisoner. You're wear- ing chains. Do you think it matters what your official office is in Althea? In Suinomen, you're a prisoner.
And a non-human one, at that."
"And what bearing does being non-human have on this?"
Lyam grew serious. "These days, it means instant death, usually. Elves, fairies, dwarves, Arachnids, any- one who isn't human, simply are not taken prisoner.
They are conveniently killed 'trying to escape.' That they haven't bothered to eliminate you already is a good sign, I suppose."
Naitachal leaned back against the side of the wagon and tried to think. "So what do you think is going to happen now? Any ideas?"
"Well, for starters," Lyam said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "Alaire's on his way to the Prison of Souls.
No doubt about that. He's been tried, convicted, and sentenced already, in his absence. And, let's see, I'll probably be executed. Hanging is the preferred method, although given the circumstances, Sir Jehan might arrange something a little more private in the dungeon. It will depend on the King's mood. A Kai, I doubt he's still alive. He's probably already been executed."
Naitachal was amazed at the offhanded wa Captain discussed his impending demise. Then again, this man was no stranger to death.
"And your son?" the elf asked.
"No one in the palace knows he's my son. To them, he's just another servant child." He turned and Naitachal a threatening look. "And if you tell them he is, or it accidentally slips out of those black lips of yours, I'll personally kill you myself."
Naitachal shrugged, deciding not to take offense at the remark. "What I meant is, how can he help us?"
"Help? Against the Royal Guard or the Swords?"