"Oh please don't say anything to Paavo," the boy pleaded. "He'd have my hide for sure."
"That fool?" Naitachal laughed at the name, for good measure. "I say as little as I can to that -- " he was about to say that human, and stopped himself.
"Well, that fool. That's the only word I can think of to describe him."
Erik giggled again, reassured. He bowed, and "Thank you, sir. I'll be back with your wood soon."
The boy vanished, his light, quick footsteps padding down the hall.
Naitachal listened to him leave, then closed the door firmly behind him.
Well, it looks like I've at least one ally in this godsforsaken place!
No one challenged Naitachal as he passed through the corridors of the main palace, though he felt some- one was watching him, noting his movements. He said nothing to Paavo as he let himself out through the front doors, but he was aware of the man's beady eyes, tracking him as he left. So be it, he thought. Let them know where I'm going. Perhaps they'll arrange my meeting with the King when they realize their childish tactics are not going to douse my curiosity.
The day was unseasonably warm for what he had come to expect from this land Though the trees were barren of leaves, the grass brown, the vines in dor- mancy, it felt almost like a spring day. For some reason this reminded him of his harp, and in particular, how little he'd practiced it lately. The beauty of nature reminded him of music. He'd had no music at all in his earlier year Well, he'd had little pleasure at all, devoting his life to Necromancy; the only beauty socially allowable was that found in the woodlands. Until he'd met Kevin in the days of the famous Carlotta conquest, he had never realized what a talent he'd had for music. Now his true nature was tugging at him, and he resolved to practice later that day.
Without Bardic Magic, of course.
And he would have to nudge Alaire about his own practicing; in spite of the court intrigue they'd found themselves involved in, the boy couldn't afford to get rusty. Bardic Magic was a weapon of defense, but music was an art.
Gods help us if either one of us are ever in a bind serious enough to break these thrice damned la Suinomen. Given the severity of the laws, and the enthusiasm this kingdom appeared to have for enforc- ing them, he doubted even the gods would be able to do much on their behalf.
All he knew of this so far had come at secondhand from Alaire; while he didn't doubt what the boy had said, he needed to verify some of the things the bardling had told. This whole mystery could hinge on what I find in this Association Hall.
The uncertainty of how they would receive him put a spring in his step, and heightened his awareness. In no time at all he found the building Erik had pointed out, somewhat reluctantly, from his bedroom window.
Everywhere but here the buildings stood so close together that there wasn't a hand's-breadth of space between them.
Except here.
There were no other buildings here, only a sad tangle of trees and bushes, setting it apart from the rest. Behind it, the hill rose steeply; too steeply to build upon, perhaps. To the right was the wall of the palace gardens. To the fore, the street. And to the lef To the left, a wide distance, full of tangled vegeta- tion, separated the building from its neighbors, as if no one wanted to build too ne There was a thin trail leading to it, blown over with leaves, that indicated very little foot traffic. But there was an odd feeling to the place itself, as if something hidden deep below the ground was -- wrong. Very wrong. Twisted.
To investigate further, however, he would have to use magic to probe, and he had no desire to spend any time in prison. This close to the Association Hall, he expected that he would have very little time before the wizards and magic-makers came storming out of the squat building, looking for whoever was stupid enough to cast a spell so near.
The Hall had no obvious guards, though he sus- pected there were probably alarm-spells to notify those within that a stranger was approaching. But as he came to the entrance, its front door badly in need of repair, he sensed nothing. Either they had used no spell at all, or they were better at this than he sus- pected.
He came to believe in the former, having seen nothing so far during his visit to suggest any excep- tional skill in the magical arts. They would have had to be quite impressive to surprise me, Naitachal thought.
At times he found it easy, living with the humans, to forget his Necromancer's past, his teachers and his clan of Dark Elves. The elves' grasp of magic went back many thousands of years, whereas the humans had only recently mastered some of the rudiments.
Yet, that was often enough. In the hands of novices, magic can be quite dangerous.
He knocked once on the large plank doors, noting the worn paint, the bare places where the weathered wood showed through. A few moments passed before he considered letting himself in.
Presently, he heard footsteps advancing towards the door, followed by a loud creaking as it opened. A small, nervous man looked around the door, peer Naitachal, and made ready to shut the door in his face.
"Don't be so hasty," Naitachal said sternly, not using a magical, controlling Voice, but with a normal, mun- dane voice delivered in an authoritative tone. "I've only come to see what this place is all about."