She knew what it was, and she wanted it. If we hadn't fled Volmar's castle when we did, she would have seized it and destroyed us. She pursued us with her magics. Not all of us survived those magics..."
His voice trailed off, and Alaire saw something he had never seen before on his Master's face.
Grief.
He dared not interrupt, although he was burning to hear the end of it all.
Naitachal seemed to shake himself, and completed the tale. "When we returned to Volmar's castle it was with a band of some traveling musicians. Kevin thought they were his Master's human friends, but actually they were elves and allies of King Amber. Vol- mar was staging a grand event of some sort, inviting nobles from all over, and we suspected it had some- thing to do with Carlotta. We knew we had to work quickly."
"And you were a hero," Alaire said.
Naitachal shook his head. "Hardly. It was Kevin, for he was truly a Bard by then, who should get the credit for what happened In a short time he mas- tered the spell, and delivered it flawlessly, Volmar and Carlotta appeared. There, before every- body, she returned to her original, fairy form."
"I thought she died," Alaire said. "That's Mother said. Gawaine thought so, too."
Naitachal laughed, but it had no humor in it. "That's what the Queen wants to believe, but alas, I'm afraid that simply isn't what happened. Carlotta escaped in the melee that followed. It was all we could do to Volmar's soldiers from executing us on the spot. His men followed him blindly, and it was only when they saw Charina's ghost, who openly accused the Count of her murder, that their loyalties turned. And I had nothing to do with that! By then I'd had my fill of Nec- romancy." He took a deep breath and his face cleared of the shadows of the past. "And that is the end of that tale. Where Carlotta went after that is anyone's guess.
She didn't die. She only changed."
"Do you think Carlotta is still alive?" Alaire had to admit he didn't feel too comfortable with the chance that Carlotta still lived.
Naitachal seemed to consider this seriously for a moment, but Alaire suspected he already had an opin- ion formulated "Simply put, yes, though I haven't the first clue where she would be, or when she might sur- face. It's not worth worrying about, at least not at the moment. You have more important tasks at hand, such as learning real swordsmanship." He laughed again, this time with real humor. "When I think how Kevin begged the Amazon and me to teach him the sword!
And how horrified his Master was when he learned that we had!"
Alaire's thoughts, and gaze, had drifted during the brief history lesson. Perhaps this was why he didn't notice when Naitachal slipped over to the swordrack and retrieved his weapon. He even managed to hide it, until now.
"I hold a weapon," Naitachal said, smirking, and saluting him with the practice sword. "Why don't you?"
Alaire opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Damn him, the boy thought. He knows when I'm not paying attention! That's when he pulls these little stunts!
The Dark Elf tossed Alaire the wooden sword, which he caught skillfully by the hilt, then took another from the rack.
"On your guard," Naitachal said. Alaire took the position, and tried to focus on the swords. Carlotta's story still haunted him.
Naitachal quickly tore into him, with more energy than he expected; once he started trying to avoid the elf instead of countering his blows, he knew it was all over.
Again Alaire lay sprawled in an exhausted heap. He did not even know what he had tripped over. My own feet, probably. During the fall, he lost track of his sword. It was now sticking upright out of the ground, quivering slightly.
"You have more lives than a cat," Naitachal said, holding out his hand. "You're dead again."
"Don't remind me," Alaire said, struggling to his feet. At least I'll improve, even if he beats me like this every time.
The sun was still high in the sky, reflected brightly in the white walls and the little fishpond in the yard of their home. The house was roomy, and by local stand- ards was certainly a "mansion," but of course it was nothing like the opulence Alaire had grown up in.
That made it all the better; he felt free here, and the simple pleasures of country life were a welcome relief from the court.
Rising from the center of the home was a watch- tower, giving the house a templelike appearance. An odd conceit, but one that gave both of them pleasure in watching storms and stars. From the watchtower, one could see the distant coastline, and sometimes even the sail of a ship.