"They knew he was driving the carriage when we left."
"That's something I haven't told you yet," Lyam said reluctantly. "He's going with us too. You see, Erik's my son, in spite of the tale he spun for you about a teacher and the House of Lieslund. More like Hou Lyam." He beamed proudly, despite his obvious worry. "Right now, he's leaving the carriage some- where on the other side of the tavern district, to throw the Swords off, and will meet us at the dock."
Alaire looked up, surprised. "We're going by ship?"
"No other way," Naitachal said. "An Arachnean trader, by the looks of it. The problem will be getting to it. Sir Jehan sealed the docks."
"Speaking of which, shouldn't we be getting out of here?" Lyam said, standing, with a visible effort. "If we wait too long, my rank isn't going to carry much weight with anyone. I won't have a rank. Or a life."
Gallen came puffing back down the stairs, wiping sweat off his forehead. "Looks like the Swords are gone," Gallen said. "But I'd be careful. They went north, towards the palace."
"Good," Lyam said, loosening his sword in its sheathe. "We're going -- "
"Don't tell me!" Gallen said, holding fingers in both ears. "I don't want to know. Now you three, you'd bet- ter get on before someone else comes looking for you."
"My thoughts exactly," Naitachal said, he Alaire to his feet. "Are you ready?"
The movement renewed his headache, which pounded in both temples and put a tight band of pain across his brow. "As I'm going to be," he groaned in reply.
They took the dark and half-hidden secondary alleys instead of the highly visible, lamplit streets.
Lyam remained wary, leading the way with a drawn dagger, checking each shadow for a potential attacker.
The snow had turned to a thick gray mush in the al- leys. Alaire had gotten a little more accustomed to the slippery stuff in the short time he had been in Suino- men, and Naitachal, graceful as a cat, predictably had no problems with it at all.
Alaire couldn't stop thinking about Kai, and what was going to happen to him. He didn't believe Lyam's story about slavery; despite the elaborate explanation, he knew it was nothing more than a story to mak -- and possibly even Lyam himself -- feel better.
Most likely the King would sentence him to die, given the circumstances. He doubted Lyam's motives in helping them. There's something in this for him, and we don't know what it is yet.
Still, Naitachal had always been a good judge of character. Granted that he probably had little choice in the people willing to help him escape from the pal- ace, Alaire didn't think the Dark Elf would p Lyam to join them if he had any doubts abou Captains trustworthiness and veracity.
Kai was going back to try to dear me. Instead, they arrested him, and will probably execute him. And there isn't a thing I can do about it.
Logic told him there was no going back, that the only thing left for them to do was to return to Althea with what they'd learned. But Alaire found himself walking a little slower when he thought abou Prince and his fate, as if the palace was a magnet, drawing him back. If I explained to Naitachal how I felt about this -- Surely I can do something to help him! After all, I'm not what they think I am, my father is the King of Althea. Now that I think about it, Nai- tachal is technically my underling, not the other way around. If it actually came to that, if I put my foot down, pointed out that I was, after all, Althean roy- alty, would he back down and agree to rescue Kai?
This was not something he really wanted to do, and not a course of action he took lightly. He watched Nai- tachal furtively as they passed through the alleys, and everything he saw in the elf's face told him he wanted to get home.
Not likely to work, Alaire thought. I've never thrown my weight around like that before, and if I did now, it would create a rift between us that might never mend. If we return to Althea, I will still have to live with him. Or else find another Bardic Master. Bight.
Bardic Masters don't exactly grow on trees -- and who would take me if I pulled rank on Naitachal No one, that's who.
The network of alleys took them out of the tavern district to a small residential district of peasants homes. The place was definitely the poor side of town, complete with raw sewage in the gutters, piles of refuse beside the street, and large, hungry-looking rats; the likes of them strolling through this cesspool raised no eyebrows. A young gang of adolescents pre- tending to be rough threw some insults in their direction, but made no serious attack. Lyam ignored them, then laughed shortly as soon as they were out of earshot. "That might have been me, thirty years ago," he said, shaking his head reminiscently.
The smell of the sea became stronger, and Alaire knew they were closer to the bay. Lyam held a hand up, signaling danger. Without a word, the three of them took cover in the remains of a burned-out house.
As they crouched behind the remains of a wall, ice- covered and ready to fall at a breath, two mounted dieren trotted down the main street, several paces away.
Swords. There was no mistaking those uniforms.