Frankly, I doubt their mages could cook something up this dramatic."
That afternoon they crossed the Suinomen border.
They found no guardhouse or barriers, just a strange stone pillar on the Althean side. Naitachal translated a series of elven runes which covered the marker. The odd message warned all elves, Dark and White, to stay away from Suinomen. It said nothing specific, accordi Naitachal, just a general stay out to all elves who saw it.
Alaire thought it might be a forgery by the Suinomen government, to persuade magic users to turn back.
The Bard shook his head. "There is a residue of elven magic on the writing," Naitachal said. "They could never have forged that."
Alaire felt strangely uneasy the moment they crossed the border into Suinomen. Not only was he leaving his home behind, he felt as if he had passed a point of no-return, and that the odds were he would never go back....
Oh don't be stupid, he scolded himself. You're see- ing bogeys under the bed again. People go across borders all the time and nothing more happens to them except a pleasant or unpleasant journey. You're not a Druid or a Cleric. You can't foretell the future.
You're just a bardling, and this is just a border like any other.
The terrain leveled out as they drew closer to the sea. The fens and marshes were clearly overrunning the western side of their trail. Alaire winced as he imagined the difficulty in taking a horse through those miserable bogs, particularly in this cold. The air here was thicker and damper, and redolent with the scent of the marshlands, a mingling of sea scent and decay- ing vegetation.
Naitachal had trotted up ahead a few horselengths to the top of a rise, then reined his horse to stop.
"Come up beside me and stop," the Bard said, b Alaire could see what had attracted his attention. "I see someone approaching."
Alaire's head came up, as if he could scent some danger in the air like a hound. Naitachal didn't seem too concerned yet. Nevertheless, his hand was on his hilt, and Alaire thought it prudent to follow his example.
Presently two riders rode over the next rise. They were several hundred paces away, and it was difficult to make out much more than that the newcomers were also muffled in heavy dieren-wool coats. The two parties regarded one another in an uneasy silence for several moments, then the others nudged their horses forward again.
"Remember who and what you are," Naitachal said.
"I think they're border guards, but I don't recognize the livery, so I'm not certain. Time to assume our new roles."
Alaire said nothing as the men came closer, but was fascinated by what they were riding. The beasts cer- tainly weren't horses. These creatures were enormous, at least four hands taller than their own high-bred geldings. Each animal had a set of enormous branch- ing horns, like a pair of young trees growing from their heads, and larger and more dangerous-looking than any deer could ever boast of. Their hoofs were cloven, but larger than a horse's, and the length and muscula- ture of their legs suggested great speed and agility.
When he noticed the peculiar color of their coats, a rich reddish brown, and realized it exactly matched that of his coat, he realized what they were.
"Dieren!" he said, louder than he had intended.
Naitachal whirled around, glaring at him. "What did you think they were, rabbits? Will you please keep still while I try to establish our credentials?"
The men wore readily identifiable uniforms. Coats, trousers, boots, even saddles and saddle blankets were identical. Over the left breast of each coat was a triangular badge with the red and green colors o Suinomen flag. One of the guards sported brass decorations; he was older than the other, and that seemed to Alaire to guarantee that he was the superior officer of the pair. They wore fur hats that looked like gray loaves of bread, and seemed more ornamental than practical.
The hats looked absolutely ridiculous at first, but as the guards drew their swords as they approached, he decided that maybe the hats didn't look quite as silly as he had thought.
He had to control the automatic reflex to pull his blade. Naitachal's sword remained in its sheath.
The Dark Elf cleared his throat, and the two men started. "King Reynard, ruler of Althea to the south, has sent us to represent him. We come in peace. We would like to speak to your ruler, King Archenomen,"
Naitachal announced, in his best minstrel's voice. The words carried clearly through the chill air.
The two guards exchanged muffled words before the older guard replied, "You do not look like ambas- sadors. Look more like bandits to me. Show us your credentials." He spoke with a thick accent, making his words difficult to understand. For one thing, the emphasis was on all the wrong parts of the words; for another, they rolled the words around in their mouths as if they were gargling. At least, Alaire thought, they're using the same language. Even if it does come out a little different.