Mercedes Lackey - Prison of Souls

"We were all highly suspicious, and as a precaution I spent an evening fortifying Kevin with magical protection. We were certain now that Carlotta was somewhere around in disguise, possibly as Charina, although we could not be sure. When Kevin finally found the manuscript, Carlotta was there beside him.

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.

Up on the hillside above the house, in Alaire's line of sight with the watchtower, he caught movement.

Up there was the only road leading into the estate, and the moving figure on it might have been a man on a horse, or a carriage. It was too far away for the bardling to make out exactly what it was, much less who. Naitachal apparently noticed too, regarding the approaching visitor with interest.

"Messenger," Naitachal said simply. "From the court." Alaire squinted, but still couldn't make out the outline. Naitachal had demonstrated, repeatedly, that his eyesight was superior to any humans, so Alaire took his word f "Messenger?" he asked. "Is he armed? Is he Father's personal guard?"

"No," Naitachal replied, and Alaire sighed with relief. A messenger from the Royal Bodyguard would have been a certain sign that the news was bad. It would have meant, at the very least, a death in the family. Or an invasion from a foreign land, or some other earth-shattering calamity.

Naitachal frowned. "Odd. There must be some urgency to whatever he's delivering. His horse is exhausted. He's been riding hard for some time now."

Visitors were a rare treat, but Alaire awaited this one with mixed emotions. If he merely bore a friendly message from home, why would the messenger run his horse into the ground? What could have hap- pened? he wondered. He tried not to let his imagination get the better of him.

The messenger and his horse drew closer, and slowed. The boy was sixteen at most, and was wearing the dark blue riding uniform and plain blue sadd Reynard's livery. Perhaps he had simply ridden hard to impress his own Master with his diligence. Inwa Alaire groaned. No! Not another fancy, gaudy, foofy, royal visit from some princess at the castle!

"I come bearing a message for Master Naitachal from his Majesty King Reynard!" the young man announced even before coming to a stop. The horse, a beautiful gray palfrey Alaire recognized as one of the best in the messengers' stable, did a weary little dance as the boy pulled up next to them. The messenger, obviously winded and tired, waved a blue envelope Alaire changed his mind again. He would have had to ride straight through two days to get here looking like that. The horse doesn't look much better. A visit from one of Derek's would-be brides would not justify this degree of urgency, and the Master of the Horse would take this youngster apart for exhausting his beast if he had only done it to impress. Naitachal reached up for message, an envelope sealed in wax with the family crest.

"Please, take your horse to the stables," Naitachal said, motioning toward the somewhat dilapidated barn behind the house. 'There is a water pump with the trough. When you are done, you may go into the house to wash."

'Thank you, sir," the young man said, saying noth- ing to Alaire. He directed the palfrey toward the stables.

He apparently doesn't know I'm the King's Alaire thought. All he sees is Naitachal's bardling. It was rather refreshing, and he grinned to himself with a certain amount of relief. They really had forgotten all about him at court! He might even be able to sneak back some time and enjoy himself without having to put up with all the nonsense.