They are right to fear me.
He could still summon the forces to convert an enemy to dust. Or, at any moment, call up his Sword, or order the spirits of the dead to serve him.
He could flay the skin from living flesh, and flesh from bones. Few humans ever guessed that he would rather put on a jester's outfit and juggle live rats than do any of that.
The two fine horses pleased him. At least they would ride in good ambassadorial style. The horses' tack was more elaborate than he would have preferred however, particularly since they would be riding in lands that might harbor bandits or robbers. We might as well wave a banner, Naitachal thought, with exas- peration.
Alaire appeared in the doorway. He regarded the messengers calmly, with ice-blue eyes now wide awake with curiosity. The new arrivals hardly looked at him. Apparently they had no idea Alaire was the King's son, and knew only that Naitachal was a court Bard.
By wearing simple peasant clothing, Naitachal saw Alaire had gone out of his way to affect unimportance.
They probably think he's my servant, Naitachal thought, admiring how well the royal inner circle had kept Alaire's apprenticeship a secret That's perfect. These messengers have no idea that this is a prince of the blood royal.
Naitachal invited the messengers inside; they dis- mounted reluctantly, as if fearing even this show of hospitality. He showed them the guest quarters and invited them to stay a night or two in their absence, knowing it would have taken three days of hard riding to get here. Without waiting to hear their reply, he returned to his own quarters, and Alaire followed his lead. In earnest, they began packing for the trip.
The fancy costumes the messengers had presented them with would never do for traveling; they left those items securely packed away for when they arriv Rozinki, Suinomens capital. He inspected the impres- sive weapons the King had sent them, two new crossbows with an ample supply of arrows, swords from the royal blacksmith and jeweled daggers. The cloaks would at least conceal most of these, he decided.
We must leave the jeweled weapons packed. The dag- gers are too tempting a prize for bandits.
If this was too early in the morning for Alaire, he no longer showed it. The lad had an extraordinary amount of frenetic energy for someone who had just awakened. Naitachal watched him discreetly, trying to determine from body language if the boy was trying to conceal uneasiness about the journey, or if he really thought this was going to be a grand adventure, with- out pitfalls.
My father could tell him some tales about Suinomen, thought Naitachal. The book his father had written was more than a traveler's diary; it was a warning. Father never really said what was so frightening about the place. The only thing that could frighten a Necromancer would be something beyond, or worse, than death.
Alaire brought out their two harps from the house.
The boy's instrument was slightly smaller, and had the brighter, less mellow tone of newer wood Naitachal's instrument had belonged to an old hermit who claimed it was a thousand years old; Naitachal guessed three hundred, but its tone, and the odd composition of the varnish, had intrigued him.
"How long will it take us to get there by horse- back?" Alaire asked, stowing the harps carefully away in their canvas sacks, which became a balanced pair of saddlebags. "Or maybe I should be asking, when are we supposed to be there?"
Included in their supplies was another sealed letter, which Naitachal opened. Perhaps we do have an appointed arrival time, he thought, glancing over the parchment. Included with this was a detailed map of their route, which took them around the marshes and bogs that made up the southern portion of the kingdom and led them along the fjord filled, rocky coast. Swamp flanked the route on the west, with ocean on the east.
The letter was from King Reynard to King Arche- nomen, stating his desire to establish diplomatic relations between their countries. Included in the packet was another letter, for Naitachal's eyes only, giving details of the Kings thoughts on the whole mat- ter, and a separate certificate that conf Naitachal's position as a royal envoy. There was noth- ing that would indicate Alaire was a prince; once they were in Suinomen, he would be an underling, or at least give the appearance of one.
"No particular day to be there," Naitachal said. "I would guess two, maybe three days at the most. The provisions should suffice us. If not, we can hunt, though I doubt much game lives on that narrow chan- nel." Oh well, he needs to get rid of some of that baby fat anyway.
Since the girl who cleaned and cooked for them had not arrived from the village, Naitachal cooked a hearty breakfast for everyone, instructing Alaire to play as if he was Naitachal's assistant.
"I know you outrank them, but it will be good prac- tice," he added.
Alaire's face became a distorted mask of humility, and he bowed humbly before the Dark Elf. "I am at your service, my gracious Master," he said, smirking.
"You should be able to do a more convincing job of posing as my secretary than that," Naitachal whis- pered. "They might figure out who you really are, and take you hostage. They are preparing for war, you know."
The smirk disappeared. "Aie yes, you're right. As usual. This is a serious matter, in need of your expert diplomacy. I will play the role to the best of my ability."
Alaire grabbed the wooden tray of biscuits, gravy and boiled eggs.
"We will be leaving promptly after breakfast,"