Before sheathing the knife he noticed a glint of blood on its blade. The assassin's.
He regarded this tantalizing bit of evidence like a starving man would a steak. What a remarkable relic to leave behind. What a shame I can't take advantage of it. There was more than enough blood left on the blade to call the man back or track him down with magic. They may have calculated this into the plan, to lure him into the practice of magic, so as to discredit himself, his King, and his mission. This may, in fact, be an excuse to launch an attack on Althea!
If I could only.. .
Naitachal was suddenly sympathetic to the magi- cians in Suinomen; he knew there were a few, at the very least. What they must endure in order to practice their craft! Another alarming possibility came to him.
What about Alaire? If they're going to attack me, wouldn't that make Alaire a prime target? As he made his way back to his room, he shook the thought out of his head. Of course not. He's just a silly servant, not worthy of a moment's attention. Unless the fool of a child has somehow revealed himself!
The Dark Elf didn't think that Alaire would let his identity slip, but he worried anyway. Naitachal had no idea where Alaire and Prince Kainemonen had gone, or what this city was like at night. If it was anything like the coastal cities in Althea, he could have found some pretty rough trade lurking in the taverns. Com- pany that Alaire, though he was far from sheltered, might not know how to handle.
Once in the room, the Bard stoked the smoldering fire to get some heat going. Instead of lying down on the huge canopy bed, Naitachal decided to sit up and wait up for Alaire. Despite his efforts to stay awake, he fell asleep sitting in one of the chairs.
Several hours later, he woke to find Alaire entering the room. Sunlight poured in through the partially drawn shades. Though he would have rather slept horizontally on the bed, the brief nap in the chair had restored a good deal of his strength.
Alaire tiptoed carefully into the room, his eyes fixed on the shadow-shrouded bed, holding his boots in one hand. Naitachal saw his breath fogging in the room, reminding him that the fire had gone out. He evi- dently thought Naitachal was in the bed, and hadn't seen him yet.
"Good gods, look what decided to drag its weary tail in from the night," Naitachal said softly, but the quiet words made Alaire jump. Startling the bardling granted some satisfaction. That his apprentice had been out all night still perturbed him.
"Naitachal," Alaire said, clearly flustered. "I didn't see you sitting there."
"Obviously. Care to tell me where you've been?"
It was at times like these that he felt most like a par- ent, even though the boy was a very mature nineteen, and quite capable of taking care of himself. But Gods, it's dawn! where in the seven hells could he have been all this timer?
Alaire had been in at least one fight. Ale and wine streaked his rumpled clothing, and dirt smeared his face. His excited, feral look didn't fit his otherwise disheveled appearance.
Ah, Naitachal thought, understanding. He's had what the humans call a "Good Time."
"Are you drunk?" Naitachal asked.
"Oh, no," Alaire said, sitting down on the edge of the bed "Though I've been hanging out with a lot of people who were roaring drunk."
Naitachal raised his eyebrows. "Includin Crown Prince of this kingdom. Kainemonen, was it?"
"The very same," Alaire said. "So. What have you found out so far?"
The Bard shrugged. "Very little. The perception of some of the nobles is that young Kainemonen is after the Crown." He wanted to save the best for last, so as not to taint Alaire's memory of his own evening. If I told him what happened to me, he might remember all sorts of people following him that weren't there.
Alaire proceeded to describe Kainemonen in the most lurid detail. Appalled, Naitachal could not imag- ine what the King thought he was doing, letting the boy run riot like that. Fighting, drinking -- though Kai was young and bright, Alaire observed sadly that Kai had the most unsatiable thirst for ale he had ever seen in a person. "He drank enough to put you, me, and my entire family under the table."
"Even your brother Craig?" Naitachal asked, fasci- nated in spite of hi Alaire sighed. "He makes Craig look sober. I drank a little, but did my best to stay unintoxicated. It was a lot more difficult than I thought, but before the evening was over he believed me to be a long-lost friend from some time ago. Could this help us?"
Well, that was a promising development. "If he remembers tomorrow. At this point, he may not even remember meeting you last night"
Alaire shook his head sadly. "This is true. But there is something else. Something far more . . . threatening."
Naitachal didn't like the tone Alaire had suddenly taken. Threatening? Could assassins have come Alaire as well?