A loud clatter came from up the staircase, followed by voices and footsteps. His heart leapt into his throat, and every nerve felt afire.
Oh gods -- they've found me!
Alaire jumped to his feet and reached for his blade, and stood beside the entrance to the small chamber, in the shadows. A desperate measure; but that was all he had left, were desperation measures.
The group of three, he guessed by the footsteps, approached the chamber without talking. His heart was beating so hard he might just as well have been running.
Closer. Closer.
He now wished he hadn't thrown more wood on the fire, since the flames were climbing within the lit- tle stove, casting bright light, making it impossible to hide. He took cover in the little pool of shadow next to the bunk. The intruders drew nearer.
A shadow entered the room. No, not a shadow -- the Dark Elf.
"Naitachal?" Alaire said incredulously, sword still raised and ready. His Master had been the last person he'd expected to see!
He relaxed until Lyam walked into the room, grip- ping the hilt of his sword tighter as the huge man's eyes met his.
"Lyam is on our side," the elf said simply. "How- ever, there is a complication."
"Oh gods, what now?" Alaire asked although he didn't want to hear it.
"I'll be goin' back up, now," Gallen, the third person to come in, said. "You mind that tea, it will take care of that headache real quick. And I'll let you know when those chaps are through snooping around. The sooner you're out of here the better for all of us!" The bar- keep trotted back up the stairs and shut the door.
"We won't be leaving right away," Lyam said, taking a seat on the edge of the bunk, looking as exhaust Alaire felt. "There are a couple of Swords nosing around upstairs. More likely they're looking to cadge a few free drinks, but we can't take the chance that they might spot us."
"Swords?" Alaire said, alarmed. "Here?" He looked around frantically, half expecting the Swords to appear at any moment.
Naitachal laughed softly as he motioned to Alaire to take a seat, and began an examination, first checking his eyes, and then feeling over his forehead and scalp.
"Nasty bump there. Recent." He glanced over at the bunkbed Lyam was sitting on. "Didn't know where you were when you woke up? You sat up too fast?"
"You can tell all that by a bump?" Alaire replied, a little sullenly. "They should have you tell fortunes by bumps at court, I'm sure it would be very amusing."
Naitachal didn't seem annoyed by his attitude.
"Nasty mood, too. You must have a headache, given the sort of spell-casting you've been up to."
It almost sounded like an accusation. Well, if he hadn't done what he'd done -- they wouldn't be in this predicament. "I don't want to talk about it," Alaire said. "Kai would have died had I done nothing."
Naitachal shrugged. "I don't doubt that at all. I'd like you to tell me about it, if you would. It has a bear- ing on your ability, after all."
Slowly, Alaire told him the whole story of the assas- sins, Kai's fatal wound, and the Bardic Magic he raised to save his life. Naitachal listened quietly, nodding occasionally as he poured the hot water over the wil- low bark.
"Well. You certainly are a credit to my training,"
Naitachal said, handing him the steaming mug. "I would have shown you ways to protect yourself a little better, had I known you were that far along. As it was, you fully exposed your mind to everything you were pulling in, and that's the reason for your headache. I know exactly what it feels like. My head isn't that dif- ferent from a human's. What you did was right, Alaire, even if it did create problems for the rest of us."
In a way, Naitachal's reaction made it all worse.