Naitachal asked delicately.
The Count considered this a moment. "Not always.
There are some lucid moments, when the sun's up."
Naitachal sighed, as if contemplating the sins of youth. "This younger generation. I just don't know. I wonder how such a lad could inspire enough trust for a revolution. It doesn't seem likely."
"I must agree," the Count replied. "Yet, the fear still exists." He seemed uncomfortable, discussing such delicate matters, and promptly changed the su "How long will you be staying here?
"That much I'm not certain," Naitachal said. "But perhaps you can recommend some sights while we are here?"
The conversation continued in a less dangerous vein, and soon a large, bosomy woman, apparentl Count's wife, snatched him up. The Count bid him good night.
Weariness settled over the Dark Elf like a heavy cloak. He knew he should stay and fish for more infor- mation here among these men, but he was just too tired from the journey to make the effort. Also, the remaining noblemen had begun talking among them- selves, and didn't seem to be receptive to admitting any stranger into their pockets of conversation. The evening had suddenly become boring.
Now I remember why I can't stand Court functions.
Thinking of soft beds and warm fireplaces and a much-needed rest, Naitachal extracted himself from the gathering and strode out of the great hall, seeking his quarters.
But the information he had gathered left him with plenty of food for ponderings. The Crown Prince.
Strange, Naitachal thought. Very, very strange. As he puzzled over the exchange with Count Takalo, he wished Alaire's mother, Queen Grania, were here. She would have dissected and devoured that group back there with ease, and they would have divulged far mare than they intended before they knew what was going on. Very wise, very crafty, famous for being able to charm information right out of people, Grania would have been of far more use here than Naitachal was.
Being a male and a Dark Elf, I'm at a disadvantage.
Not all of Grania's power was due to charm, though.
Some of it -- as Alaire's Bardic ability proved -- came from another source entirely. Did Alaire know his mother was a powerful mage in her own right before she married his father? Surprisingly, Naitachal didn't know the answer to this. She knew whenever her off- spring were in trouble without casting a single spell, though she no longer used formal magic. Oh I think that's where Alaire got his gift, all right, Naitachal decided.
She often said that the court mages were enough to take care of any problems magic could cure. Grania preferred being Reynards right hand "man" to any kind of magery. Naitachal wished again that he had her with him.
She could get to the bottom of this mystery in no time on pure personality alone. Looks like we're both going to have to do it on intelligence and stealth.
Naitachal returned to their room from memory, through ornate halls, steep, rock staircases and then smaller, damper halls, all lit with torches or candles.
The closer he got to his room, the more spread out were the sources of illumination. Large swaths of darkness separated the tiny islands of light Few peo- ple, evidently, were staying in this part of the palace this evening.
When he arrived at his room, he found the door slightly ajar. His first thought was that Alaire had arrived before he had, but Alaire would never have left the door open, particularly in unfamiliar and potentially hostile territory. Then, while he puzzled over this, the Dark Elf sensed a sudden movement of air behind him as someone moved closer.
He started to turn -- but too late. The garrote slipped expertly over the Dark Elf's neck, then tight- ened over his windpipe.
Naitachal reached for the rope and stepped back- wards, gasping for the breath that had so quickly been shut off; he could not see the attacker, but judged him to be bigger and stronger than himself. He pushed harder, trying to force the man against the wall. The attacker held on, unyielding. His lungs screamed for air.
He reached up, clawing at the attacker's wrists. The thought formed unbidden in his mind.
Archahai Necrazach. Sceptre Touch. Touch of. . .
Death...