Elvenborn

25

"Moth! Can you keep the b—Lady Triana occupied for a little?" Kyrtian asked, a little desperately. He ran both his hands through his hair frantically. "I can't see her just yet—"

"Oh, probably." Moth's annoyance was turning to amusement. "In fact, I'll take it as a challenge. Obviously you'd better talk to Gel; I'm sure he can advise you. Besides, you're in no state to entertain a lady—the least you can do is clean yourself up." Moth eyed him with disfavor. "Believe me, you'd better have your wits about you and present a marble facade to Lady Triana. I'll go and insist she tell me every tiny detail of every affair, quarrel, and inconsequential bit of maneuvering among the Great Households while you do so. I've been isolated for some time—and everyone knows what a terrible old busybody I am. If I can't engage her, Viridina can."

"You are not old," he protested, earning a smile. "Thank you."

Moth was right; he needed time to get his wits about him. While Lady Moth left the library to keep her visitor busy with a flood of gossip-—under the excuse that she needed to be caught up on all the news she had missed while surrounded by the Young Lords—Kyrtian had a lot of work to do. And first on his list was to warn the girl that Triana was here.

But when Kyrtian got up from the table, Gel finally broke off the conversation with his young woman. Renna? Reanna? Ren-nati, that was it. Both of them looked up as he approached.

"I've been telling Rennati that you had a visitor," Gel began, and Kyrtian felt a surge of panic, which eased as Gel went on, with a lift of an eyebrow, "It's a rather good thing that those poor misused slaves that the Young Lords commandeered have realized that no blame is going to be attached to them and sent one of their number to talk to you."

Thank the Ancestors he didn't give her the real story yet! Kyrtian thought, relieved. "Yes, well, you can't blame them for wanting to send a sort of delegate to me to plead their case," he replied, mendaciously. "They can't have realized that Lady Moth would treat her human servants exactly the way we treat ours. But we've got another visitor, it seems. Lady Moth tells me that Lady Triana has come calling."

Rennati's face went dead white; that alone would have been a giveaway that she had been covertly serving Triana, even if Kyrtian hadn't already known the whole story. Triana had chosen her tool very poorly, on the whole, if she so readily betrayed herself by her mere expressions.

But Triana never really thought of humans much, except as cat's-paws. She probably never once considered that he or Gel—or anyone that mattered!—would be around to see her reaction if Triana's name was mentioned.

But Gel immediately put his weathered paw over her slim hand, and said gruffly, "Now, Rennati—she needn't even know you're here—"

"On the contrary," Kyrtian said firmly, "I want Triana to know she's here. In fact, I have something in mind—it might be a little humiliating for you," he continued, turning to the girl, "but if you can weather a bit of humiliation, I think we can turn her attention away from you completely and for all time, if you'll cooperate."

He explained what he wanted her to do, and although the girl flushed with embarrassment, and Gel growled over the plan, they both eventually agreed it was the only possible solution. "She'll probably corner you at some point this evening, if only to get her teleson-ring back," he cautioned. "I think we can manage to interrupt that confrontation before she can do anything to you, but you know, if she does take back the ring, it will effectively sever all contact with you and show that she's got no more interest in you."

And if what Lashana told me is true, we can also expect to have a device to completely neutralize the collar she placed on you in a day or so, he thought, but did not say aloud. That was a secret he wished to keep to himself until Lady Triana was long gone.

Rennati nodded, and licked her lips. "I think that would be best, my lord," she whispered, as Gel squeezed her hand comfortingly. "I'll go to my quarters and prepare."

"And I'd better go to mine," Kyrtian said, stifling a groan. He left the two of them alone; no doubt Gel, who had delivered encouraging speeches to fighters in the past, could find the words to put courage into this little dancer's heart.

He didn't have a great deal of clothing with him suitable for formal occasions but he had the run of Lady Moth's mansion, and asked her servants to rummage through the closets of her late husband's wardrobe and select something appropriate. He worked a little judicious use of magic to adjust the fit of the sober, black silk and silver outfit they brought him, and it made him presentable enough. He descended from the second-floor guest quarters to Lady Moth's drawing room looking (he hoped) like the successful, but no-nonsense, military commander he was.

The ladies broke off their conversation as he entered the spacious, pale-pink and gold chamber; Lady Viridina and Lady Moth flanked Lady Triana, perched on delicate chairs on either side of the sofa that Triana occupied.

If women's clothing served as a weapon—and given all that Kyrtian knew about Triana, there was no doubt in his mind that for her, it did—then Lady Triana had come armed to the teeth. Nothing about her costume was excessive, there was nothing about it that any other lady could take exception to—except that the flesh-colored silk of her gown, though it covered her literally from neck to knee, could not have revealed more of her unless she'd been stark naked. But the effect was oh! so subtle; the silk was heavy, not thin, and her charms were disclosed by imperceptible degrees as she moved. The color contributed to the effect, and knowing what he knew now about the lady, Kyrtian couldn't help but admire her tactical expertise on her own battlefield.

That did not, however, mean he intended to fall victim to it.

He half-bowed to all three ladies, then took a step forward and made a more formal bow over Triana's hand. "Lady Triana, I have heard a great deal in praise of you," he said, keeping the irony out of his voice.

"Likewise, Lord Kyrtian," she replied. "Most especially from my friend, Lord Kyndreth. So much so that when I heard you were here with Lady Morthena, I thought I would trespass on her hospitality and come to see you myself."

Very nice. Drop Kyndreth's name so that I know I can't just dismiss you out of hand, then turn on your charm. She was certainly doing all of that, and the amazing part was that it was not at all blatant. If he'd been the naive fellow he was when he'd first taken on command of the army, he probably would have fallen directly for her. Kyrtian had always been inclined to give people the benefit of the doubt until he met them himself; if he'd done that with Triana he would have been certain that she could not be as bad as she'd been painted.

So, let me think, what should my reaction be? He really didn't want very much except to see the back of her; he doubted that there was very much he could learn from her, and frankly, there was far too much that she could learn from, or about him if she stayed very long. "I do hope that I am not a bitter disappointment to you, but I fear that most people find me quite boring," he said bluntly. "And they generally tell me so to my face. I don't cultivate any interests outside of the battlefield, my lady, and at the moment, I can't afford to."

That took her aback for a moment; he watched her as she tried to think of something flattering to say that wouldn't sound like flattery. "Well, since I haven't heard you speak more than a few sentences, I'm not in any position to judge!" she replied, with a throaty laugh that probably stole the breath of many an impressionable lad.

"It won't take you very long to verify," was his reply, brusque to the point of rudeness. Then he was saved from further pleasantries by the servant come to announce dinner—to which, of course, Triana was of necessity invited. She would have to stay the night as well, since she had come the way any uninvited guest would have—overland, from the nearest point to which she had a Portal key. Possibly Kyndreth himself had gotten her as far as the army camp, which was quite near enough for an easy day's ride. If she was on any kind of terms with Kyndreth, he would have found that an easy thing to do.

Which meant that it could be Kyndreth, and not Aelmarkin, that she was working with.

Or both. Given what the Elvenbane had told him about Kyndreth, there was very little doubt in his mind that the moment his erstwhile benefactor saw him as a possible rival, he would be eliminated—and that, of course, played right into Ael-markin's plans. So, it didn't matter whether she was working for his cousin or the Great Lord, what he had to do was to paint himself as utterly unlikely to engage in politics—the bluff soldier, happiest when on the battlefield.

Very well; now he had his course of action. Moth had ordered dinner in an intimate setting; that suited him very well. Over the course of the meal, he worked hard to establish himself as a monomaniac, obsessed with war and tactics primarily—and secondarily with discovering the whereabouts of his father, or at least, his father's fate. Every hint that he might— once the Council had decided they needed his services as a commander no longer—seek a Council seat was rebuffed. "Never!" he said at last when she stopped hinting and suggested it outright. "It'd drive me mad in a day. I'd rather take up flower-sculpting! At least the flowers wouldn't argue with me!" And that was very much to Triana's surprise, though interestingly enough, not to her discomfiture. In fact, once he established that course, she encouraged it.

"In that case—well, your training methods certainly work wonders with the gladiatorial slaves," she said smoothly. "Perhaps, if you aren't interested in breeding them yourself, you could establish a training school in concert with a breeder."

"I might." Then he threw her another mental puzzle to chew on. "Of course," he continued pompously, "as long as those wretched Wizards are in existence, the Council will require the army to exterminate them, and they'll need me to lead that army. They may have been clever tacticians compared to— well, I won't mention names—but I'm better."

Thanks to Lashana, he knew what she didn't—that two long-held Elvenlords had just been turned loose in the vicinity of Lord Cheynar's estate, with false memories of being held by a second, entirely unknown group of Wizards hidden in the strange hills and forests somewhere near there. He knew that once the Council learned of these specious Wizards so near them, there would be panic. And he would be called on to find them.

Especially if Triana brought word of his hubris to Kyndreth or Aelmarkin or both. For Kyndreth, sending him on a hunt for these Wizards was a winning strategy all around. If they defeated him, he would almost certainly die—in the past the Wizards had made killing the Elven commanders a key part of their strategy, and that wasn't likely to change. If he defeated them, Kyndreth would get the credit, and he could be deflected back into the hunt for his father's fate. For Aelmarkin, well, doubtless his cousin would hope for his defeat, and bide his time.

When Kyndreth heard his plan for finding the imaginary Wizards, he'd be doubly pleased....

"Pardon, my lord," said one of Moth's "slaves" in as formal and stiff a manner as even the most protocol-obsessed Elven-lord could have wished, "but the matter you wished to attend to—the slaves you requested have been brought, and are awaiting your pleasure."

The lad almost gave himself away; Kyrtian caught the twinkle in his eye, but his own sober expression, only barely lightened with dour pleasure, kept the liveried servant from losing his composure. "I beg your pardon, my lady," he said to Triana, "but I had arranged for a certain matter to be dealt with at dinner this evening, and I didn't think to cancel my orders. I am sure you won't mind my attending to it."

"What—a chastisement?" For just a moment there was an avidity in her eyes that made him sick. Thank the Ancestors I was warned against her—

"No, my lady—a reward, actually." He turned to Moth's slave, stiff in his formal livery. "Have them brought in."

The lad bowed; a moment later, in came Gel, escorted by two of the fighters, followed by Rennati, escorted by a pair of Moth's handmaidens. All humans, of course—

Kyrtian allowed himself a smile. "Sargeant Gel," he said, in the most overbearing manner possible, "you have distinguished yourself in my service for years, but in this campaign against the rebels, you truly have outshone any other slave in my possession. I am loath to lose you; however, I am even more loath to lose such a patently excellent bloodline. I have decided to retire you—and to ensure that your line continues, and provides me with more outstanding fighters and tacticians in the future, I am presenting you with this handsome wench as your mate." He gestured, and the two handmaidens ushered Rennati forward. The poor child was blushing furiously, casting her eyes down. Gel had managed to contrive an expression of utter dumbfoundedness. "She's quite a little athlete in her own right—" he laughed coarsely "—which should complement your own attributes, and I'm sure that providing me with more of your stock will be a pleasure to you, given her expertise and accomplishments."

Gel dropped his eyes, and went stiffly to one knee, and from the way that his neck had reddened, Kyrtian knew that it was only the full knowledge that this insulting speech was meant for Triana's benefit alone that kept his old friend from exploding with rage. "Thank you, my gracious lord," Gel got out through clenched teeth. Fortunately, with his head bowed, it sounded sincere and humble. "I can never be worthy of this honor—"

"Well, go take the girl and see about rewarding my generosity as quickly as possible," Kyrtian said airily, waving a dismissive hand. Gel got up, took Rennati's limp and unresisting hand in his own, and rather abruptly hauled her away, followed by the rest of the "slaves."

Oh, I'm going to pay for this the next time we practice.

He turned to Triana, whose face was a study in shock. "Nice little dancer my mother bought for me," he said dismissively. "Knows her business. Perfect to make sure the old fellow can do his duty by her and by me—I can guarantee she's been well trained. On top of that, she's got a fantastic physique and reflexes. If I don't get a set of unbelievable bodyguards out of those two, I'll eat my boots without sauce." Then he pretended belatedly to see Triana's stunned expression. "Oh, your pardon,' my lady—I hope I didn't shock you by being so frank, but I understood you were a breeder of some note—"

She quickly got hold of herself, and smiled falsely. "Oh, you didn't shock me in the least, my lord," she replied. "I was just contemplating what the results of that mating are likely to be. Splendid bodyguards, no doubt—but forgive me for hoping that the stock takes after her looks, rather than his!" She produced another of those low, breathy laughs. "You will recall that I breed for esthetics!"

"Of course, of course." He then turned the conversation to something else, and eventually the dinner ground its way to its finale.

He left the ladies, as was the custom, to conclude their evening together over sweet wines and conversation, blessing the custom for allowing him to escape the table before Triana.

She would, without a shadow of a doubt, try to get at Ren-nati. But it wouldn't happen tonight, and it wouldn't happen on her terms. It would be tomorrow—at the time and place that Kyrtian had picked.

The pale pink marble hallway outside Lady Triana's guest-suite looked, Kyrtian reflected with no little amusement, as if they had planned an ambush for the elven lady. In a sense, they had. Rennati waited in a marble-paneled niche close to the door. A little farther along, behind a second bronze door left just the tiniest bit open, Lady Viridina waited. And farther still, watching from the end of the hallway, behind the paneled door to one of the sitting-rooms, was Kyrtian himself. If Triana gave the little dancer too much trouble, Lady Viridina would appear—and if Viridina's presence didn't give Rennati a chance to escape, he would put in an appearance and claim "his" slave.

The doors made no sound as they opened, of course, and the only clue he had that Triana had finally emerged was the soft patter of Rennati's footsteps on the heavy carpet.

"My lady, I beg your favor!" Rennati's high, clear voice, with a hint of desperation in it, rang down the hallway. A little judicious magic allowed him to hear every word as she ap-' proached the elven lady.

"My lady," Rennati repeated, as she flung herself to her knees beside the waiting Triana, who had paused beside the open door. "My lady, forgive me—I failed you—I know I have failed you—"

"Indeed you have," Triana said, in a level voice. "The information you gave to me was of little use. You were near Lord Kyrtian only once, and that briefly. And now he has turned you into a mere breeder, which will remove you from the household altogether and occupy your time with things of no interest to me. I am not pleased."

Kyrtian peeked through a crack where the door met the frame. Rennati bent her head, trembling with fear. The poor child wasn't acting, she really was afraid of Triana. It was terribly brave of her to take this step, but it was the only possible way for her to escape Triana's toils, and both she and Kyrtian knew it. "I had no choice, my lady," Rennati replied humbly. "I am only a slave; I have no control over how I am disposed of."

"Hmph." Kyrtian took another cautious peek; Triana stood over Rennati looking down at the girl with a measure of disgust. "If you'd had an ounce or two more of ambition—" She shook her head. "I do not reward incompetence, girl. A good part of your failure is your own fault. You did not make yourself indispensable to Lord Kyrtian."

"Yes, my lady." Rennati couldn't have gotten any lower to the ground without prostrating herself.

Triana prodded at the dancer with her foot. "You've managed to maneuver yourself into your own punishment, fool. You'll be nothing more than a breeder for the rest of your life. And bred to that hideous old man! You can expect to be beaten when you don't please him, and taken like an animal when you do. On the whole, I must say I couldn't have contrived anything better as chastisement." She laughed, a cruel laugh that made even Kyrtian shiver. "I trust he'll make you suitably miserable. Now, you have something of mine, I believe?" She put out her hand.

Rennati, shaking like a willow in a windstorm, pulled the teleson-ring from her finger and managed to place it in Triana's palm. Triana slipped the ring on her own finger, spurned the dancer with her foot, pushing her off-balance so that she sprawled clumsily onto the carpet. With a final, nasty chuckle, Triana stalked off.

Rennati lay where she'd fallen, shaking violently, until Triana was out of sight; Kyrtian and Viridina remained in hiding as well. Once they were both sure she was gone, they both rushed out into the hall—

Only to find that Rennati was shaking, not with fear or in tears, but with the weak laughter of relief. Kyrtian helped her to her feet, and Viridina fussed over her for a moment—a strange sight, that; an elven lady seeing to the welfare of a mere human!

"I'm all right, really I am," Rennati protested at last. "Thank you, my lady, thank you for being so close—but I am all right. I was only afraid that if either of you had to intervene, she would sense something wasn't quite right."

"You did wonderfully well, young lady," Kyrtian told her approvingly. "Wonderfully well. I couldn't have asked for better. I must say that you've shown an ability to play-act that I hadn't expected."

"I was afraid I was going to start laughing when she described poor Gel," Rennati told him, dimpling and coloring prettily. "She couldn't have been more wrong about him—"

"And it's just as well that she doesn't know that. It's my turn to apologize for putting you through all that embarrassment now, and last night," he continued, "and I hope you'll forgive me for it."

"Only if you—" she colored more deeply. "Only if you— don't take back what you said—about me and Gel—"

"My dear child, that is between you and Gel!" he exclaimed, holding up both hands in mock-defense, as both Rennati and Viridina giggled like a pair of young girls. "I have nothing to do with it! If you have the audacity to collar and tame that wretched man, you may have joy of him!"

Stifling their laughter in their hands, Viridina and Rennati retreated into Viridina's suite—for some womanish reason, he had no doubt, perhaps to plan the conquest of poor Gel! Ah, Gel, you wretched man, you haven't a prayer against them! Whatever it was, the important mission had been accomplished; Triana no longer had a spy in his household, and it was vanishingly likely that she'd get another in there. Now he could continue with his own library search, and wait for the two "lost" Elvenlords to be found, for the Council to learn of the "new Wizards" and for the panic to begin.

Triana left that very day, and no one, least of all Kyrtian, was sorry to see her leave, although Lady Moth managed to convey the opposite. With Triana's departure, everything went back to "normal."

Kyrtian, however, gave up trying to use Rennati and Gel as his helpers. Instead, he commandeered a couple of the slaves that had been liberated from the Young Lords, a pair of remarkably intelligent twins. Bred and trained to be household slaves, not handsome enough to be put to "front of the house" duties, they had been wasted both on the menial tasks they'd been assigned and as the fighters that the Young Lords wanted them to be. They quickly learned what he wanted of them, and as they had been taught to read and write, were soon actually helping him with his hunt for information. Once he had identified the author of journals that were too late to be of any interest to him, the boys could pick through the remaining volumes and eliminate any more by the same author. As they shelved these books, the task in front of him began to look a bit less daunting.

Meanwhile Rennati had evidently taken him at his word; she was the "aggressor" in this courtship, and in Kyrtian's opinion, Gel might just as well run up the flag of surrender, because he hadn't a chance in the world. Not that he seemed to be unhappy about the prospect. But it was certainly an odd thing to see tough old Gel wandering about the gardens, eyes faintly clouded with bemusement, holding a basket for the flowers Rennati was selecting to grace the vases of Lady Moth's chambers.

Three days passed, then four, and there was no sign that the two "lost Lords" had yet been discovered. On the one hand, Kyrtian was perfectly happy with this, since it gave him more time among the books.

On the other hand, he grew more anxious with every day that passed, for there was no telling what Lord Kyndreth and the Council were up to, what they were thinking, and perhaps most importantly of all, whether Triana had been convinced that he was not ambitious for a place on the Grand Council as a Great Lord. Only if she was convinced would she in turn convince Kyndreth.

There was no further sign from the Elvenbane, either, but Kyrtian didn't truly expect anything. It had been terribly risky for her to come to him; it would be better for the next meeting to take place somewhere in the wilderness, perhaps while he pursued the false Wizards.

Then, on the fourth day after Triana left, came the summons to the teleson that he had been waiting for. It took all of his self-control to maintain a curious, but calm expression when he greeted Lord Kyndreth's image in the flat glass.

"Something entirely unexpected has come up, my Lord," Kyndreth said, in tones of controlled urgency. "Two minor El-venlords that we thought had somehow been killed on a hunting expedition decades ago have turned up. They were found by two of Lord Cheynar's slaves and brought straight to his manor, and their story—well, it's terrifying."

Ancestors! They managed to walk all the way from the forest to the estate? They must have been exhausted!

"Where were they all this time?" Kyrtian asked, carefully assuming an expression of concern. "I know that forest has an evil reputation, but how could they have been lost for decades?"

"They say that they were held as prisoners by Wizards," Kyndreth continued, "and the accident of a rockfall in the caves where they were held is what allowed them to escape. There is only one problem—the Wizards that held them are not the Wizards with whom we fought!"

"Ancestors!" Kyrtian exclaimed, falling back a little in feigned shock. "But—that's terrible!"

"It is, and the Council was in an uproar about it," Kyndreth replied with visible unhappiness. "We have to find these creatures and eliminate them. If they are laired up somewhere within striking distance of Cheynar's estate—"

"Then they are too close, however few in number they may be," Kyrtian said firmly. "I will deal with the matter, my Lord. This is precisely the sort of thing my personal slaves are trained for. We will take a small force into the forest to find the place, then return with a larger one and wipe them out."

"I knew I could rely on you," Kyndreth said, with evident relief, and broke the connection.

With a laugh, Kyrtian leapt to his feet, feeling very like a racehorse finally let loose—now he could show what he was really made of; this might have been what he had been training for all of his life.

And let Kyndreth and the others scheme as they would, for he was finally on the right side.