Mercedes Lackey - Prison of Souls

As if reading Naitachal's mind, Alaire said, "I won- der what dieren look like."

"Well," Naitachal said, feeling mischievous. "I'll bet they have fur. And four feet. And antlers."

Alaire turned slowly, giving him a wry grin. "Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze even me," Alaire said in jest. "Seriously, do you think we'll see them before we get to Archenomen's castle?"

Naitachal considered this a moment. "I doubt it. All we'll see is coastline and marsh. They herd the beasts further north, on the prairies. Maybe. I've never been there myself, so I can't say."

"As long as you've lived, you've never visited Sumo- men?" Alaire seemed genuinely surp What, did he think I have been everywhere and seen everything?

"No. Not there. After my father returned from that land, he warned us never to go there, that something unspeakable awaited us all if we did." Naitachal shook his head. "Remember that it made a practiced Necro- mancer feel threatened. We were not likely to ignore his advice."

"And he never said what it was?"

Naitachal wished that he had. "Not once. He seemed particularly rattled by whatever he saw. His attitude concerning his children even once we were grown was, 'obey, and ask no questions,' so we didn't.

And we do not have the time to seek him out, wher- ever he has cloistered himself, and ask him. If he would even talk to me, renegade that I am."

Alaire pulled up closer to him as the trail narrowed to an overgrown tunnel of trees. "Did he ever tell you anything else about Suinomen? I heard only giants live in the north, in enormous ice castles, and that Suino- men allowed some mages to cast spells that wreaked havoc with the weather."

Naitachal replied, "I've heard the stories too, but they are mostly rumor according to Father's journal. I doubt that anyone can control the weather, but as I told you, these folk do permit magic under tightly con- trolled circumstances. Their passion for regulation has frightened many visitors away. Not that I blame them.

Who would want to live in a place where one cannot even cast a simple Healing spell without licenses and fees?"

"Then perhaps we could cast one last Bardic spell before we arrive?" Alaire asked coaxingly.

Naitachal considered this; the practice would be helpful to the young bardling. But he could think of no good reason to cast a spell just then, except something protective, and a protective spell would last for some time. If we conjured something to protect us they may detect any lingering magic.

"For what purpose?" he replied reasonably, as his horse shook its head until the bridle ornaments jan- gled. "We can't go tramping into Suinomen with magical residue dripping off us. I assume they have some means of detecting magic, if they are policing their kingdom of it. Which means they might even detect it from within our borders. Not a good idea."

Alaire nodded, apparently agreeing with his Master.

"You were up most of the night reading that journal of your father's. What else did he have to say?"

"We can expect a rather subdued atmosphere wherever we go. According to Father, these people don't have much fun." Not that Necromancers are known for having a good time. "Even he remarked on that extensively; he thought it might be because of the long nights, or the difficult conditions that most of the people there must face. It is a strange land, dotted with thousands of lakes filled with islands. The people tend to be small, slender, and very blond. On a dark night some might even be mistaken for a White Elf."

Alaire shook his head. "I can't think of anything we have that they would be desperate enough to go to war over. It makes no sense. Unless something has hap- pened to change things within the government; I mean something drastic, like the overthrow o Royal House."

Naitachal gave him points for that notion. He guided his horse easily across a particularly bad stretch of road before making a reply. "This is one of the things we must find out. Who rules, and who follows.

The land has no mines, no source of gold, silver or gems. For whatever they need they must trade heavily in dieren goods. They do have amber in large quanti- ties, but that is all." A thought occurred to him. "I wonder if one of the reasons why they're making these threats is to gain access to our mines in the North? I would have thought that those mines were much too far south of their border to qualify as a target, but per- haps King Archenomen thinks he can conquer enough territory to take them."

"Makes sense," Alaire said ominously. He appar- ently hadn't considered the mines as the possible target either.

Naitachal had not even thought of the mines until this moment because they were technically "owned" by the dwarves who worked them. If the Suinomites felt they "belonged" to Althea, and desired them, that changed the complexion of things. There is something in Althea that's worth fighting over.

Naitachal sensed uneasiness in the boy, which car- ried over to his horse, which fretted at the bit. Alaire said, "I was excited about this trip, and all the good it will do for Althea. Now, though, I don't have a very good feeling about what might happen to us in Suino- men, even though this trip could accomplish muc Althea. Yesterday, before that messenger arrived, I wouldn't have thought twice about the place. Now it's all I can think about, but it's as if there's a dark blot where there should be light, or discord where there should be harmony, and it makes me nervous. Maybe mystery and the lack of information has colored my imagination."

Naitachal eased his horse up beside his bardling, and looked carefully into Alaire's eyes. Something lurked there besides the youngster's active imagina- tion. "Maybe your magic is telling you things," he said slowly.

Alaire's eyes narrowed. "A warning?"

"Perhaps." Naitachal turned away himself, feeling a deeper sense of warning and foreboding than he had in many, many years.

What are we going to find in Suinomen?

They stopped for the night at a stay-station, a crude one-room stone cottage with wooden frames for their bedrolls, a fireplace, and a scanty supply of wood.

Alaire and Naitachal spent the better part of an hour gathering enough wood in the forest to keep warm through the night.

Alaire suggested tentatively that he use magic to warm the place up; the temperature had dropped below freezing, and promised to plunge further.

"This is only a taste of what we're in for, up there," the Dark Elf commented as they met at the doorway, hefting a bundle of deadwood over his shoulders. "We won't be able to use any of our usual powers to warm a cottage, or whatever lodging we find between here and there, if indeed we find any at all. We'd better get used to it. Anyway, we'll be at the palace soon enough, where we won't have to worry about gathering wood for fires."

"Of course not; we'll be putting out political ones,"

Alaire said sardonically.

Naitachal nodded. And I won't be able to use magic to deal with that, either. I suspect I am going to be very busy. And so will Alaire.

Chapte Alaire thought he would fall asleep immediately after the long ride. Instead, his aching muscles and the hard, unfamiliar "bed" kept him turning and tossing all night. Long after the fire had burned down to coals, he dozed off, his dreams colored by the sounds of wild things prowling the night outside the shelter.

Curled up in a tight little ball in his snug bed Alaire awoke to the sound of sloshing water. Naitachal was holding a leather bucket of water above him, tip- ping it ever so slightly over his stomach. Even from this position he saw that the water was just about to drench him.

"Ae-ye, you wouldn't!" Alaire shouted, scrambling into a defensive position -- as well as he could, bur- dened with his bedroll. The bucket got his attention, as did the mischievous glint in Naitachal's blue eyes, a bizarre sight when combined with the black face Dark Elf.