He nodded, as the bardling paused. "Yes, Alaire.
Please continue."
Alaire stared at the wall for a moment, as if he was thinking of something too horrible to describe, or even react to. Rubbing his temples, looking like he was summoning the nerve to discuss what he'd lea Alaire finally continued.
"Kai and I were in a tavern. The local constables came in and arrested two men. Kai told me right away they were unlicensed magicians, and that the Swords of the Magicians' Association had caught up with them."
Naitachal calmly held up a hand. "The Swords of the what?"
"The organization responsible for enforcing the magic laws. They wear black and operate in groups of about six, with a leader, and seem to presume anyone they're arresting is guilty without trial. But that's not what's so scary about this place. When I asked Kai to elaborate on what was going to happen to those men, he told me about the Prison of Souls."
At once, Naitachal felt a darkening of his spirit, as if someone had drawn the curtains, snuffing out the sun, and a chill crept over him that made him shiver in a way that had little to do with the cold air of the bed- room. But the sun continued to shine, warming his feet on the carpeted floor. There was more to the name than the suggestive language. He imagined the darkness this prison contained and saw the tortured souls stored there. Yes, stored. Was this what Father encountered, that time he traveled afar? Had he trav- eled to Rozinki?
The cold chill Naitachal felt seemed to have touched Alaire with its spectral fingers, for the bardling shivered as well. "It's not like any normal prison, like we have at home. Its more like a, well, mausoleum. They store the bodies in caskets, but somehow they extract the souls and keep them sepa- rate, storing them in crystals somewhere deep beneath the Association Hall."
"Aie," Naitachal said in dismay, shaking his head.
"Even my people have yet to come up with something so ... malevolent. Or cruel!"
"Oh, but that's not the half of it." Alaire was on his feet now, making broad, animated gestures in the air, as if by movement he could drive away the chill of fear.
"Not nearly. For every year they imprison someone, his body, stored away elsewhere, ages twenty!"
"Which means -- let me see if I have this right -- "
"Which means," Alaire interrupted, "If they impris- oned me in this thing for two years, I would be sixty years old when they released me. Think of it! And if one was stupid enough -- "
"Or desperate enough," Naitachal interrupted back.
Good Gods, what an evil device! But consider the source.
"This came from the mouth of a young drunk, who was, by your accounts, intoxicated. Are you certain he wasn't exaggerating? This is almost too horrible to believe."
Alaire paused, considering. "I don't think so. At least not this. The arrest there at that tavern seemed to sober him instantly. For a moment or two he was lucid enough to convince most people he hadn't been drinking. This place scared him as he described it. I could see it clearly in his face. And it scared me."
Though not completely convinced, Naitachal was almost ready to accept the story at face value. I must confirm this with someone else. But for the time b I'll assume this to be true. Alaire is shaking, talking about it.
"I think someone wanted me to use magic tonight," Naitachal said, and told Alaire about the assassin. "I came within a breath of summoning a rather nasty dose of Sceptre Touch to do away with him."
"Did you stop yourself in time?" Alaire asked, vis- ibly shaken.
"Just barely. As tired as I was, I was operating on reflexes only. I wonder if this assassin realized how close to dying he really was. He wasn't trying to kill me, I don't think. Just trying to get me desperate enough to fling a spell at him."
Naitachal decided to try and make light of the situ- ation. There was no point in frightening the youngster any further. "And, if I had used magic, it would not have been the end of the world. I am, after all, a Elf. Who knows, I might be able to make friends in a place like that They might have decided I made a bet- ter teacher than a body in their prison."
Alaire made a sour face.
Naitachal forced a laugh. "And with my elven con- stitution, a year or more wouldn't make much difference, nor would the aging effect."