by Andre Nolton
But now he was in pursuit, which meant that when they did take a stand, it would come as a surprise to him, and would be on ground of their choosing. And very probably he would be facing their rested force with his own weary one.
Kyrtian stared down at the tiny image of his mother in the teleson-screen set into his campaign-desk, with Gel watching over his shoulder making interested noises.
"Triana?" he said, finally. "Aelmarkin I could understand, but why would Triana want an agent in our household?"
Gel snorted, before Lydiell could answer. "That's simple enough. They're working together. Or Aelmarkin thinks they are. From all I've heard, that b—" he coughed. "—ah, female is an even nastier piece of work than your cousin, if that's pos- sible. Sneakier, anyway. What do you think about this girl? Can you trust what she says? Can you trust what she'll do, now that you—"
Lydiell smiled. "Oh, come now, Gel. This is the Lady you're talking to. How many of our people have the human magic? And how many do you think were keeping watch on the girl's thoughts while I questioned her besides the ones I asked to— just to make sure that the others didn't miss something?"
Gel had the grace to blush. "Shouldn't try and teach my grandam what mushrooms to pick, you mean. Sorry, m'lady. So she's safe?"
"More than safe. I think we should keep her," came the rather surprising reply. "She's very intelligent, she's clever—which is not at all the same thing as being intelligent—and she's got a kind nature. I'd be very happy to see her make her home with our people. She could be very useful to us—we haven't got many people who've been raised in the slave-pens; she gives us a look into that world that is beyond price."
"Not as my concubine—" Kyrtian blurted, and flushed when Gel chuckled.
"I rather doubt that by the time she's learned to take her place among our people she'd be willing to be anyone's concubine," Lydiell replied dryly. "And after all, that would be the point, wouldn't it?"
"I take it that your plan is to have her send dearest Triana as much disinformation as you think she'll swallow?" Kyrtian said, hastily changing the subject.
"It seems a pity to waste the opportunity," Lydiell agreed, her eyes twinkling a little, or so Kyrtian thought, although the image was so small it was difficult to tell. "If it seems that the ploy is working, perhaps you might want to have her with you. I understand that many officers have a concubine or two with them—"
Before Kyrtian could object, Gel replied. "That's a good idea, when you're sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that we can trust her, Lady," he enthused. "If Triana is reporting back to Aelmarkin, we can feed her nonsense leavened with just enough truth to make it seem that the girl is doing more than the b—woman ever expected."
"I wouldn't call Triana a 'bitch,' Gel," Lydiell said mildly. "It's a terrible insult to all female canines, which are, on the whole, rather nice creatures."
Gel nearly choked on his laughter, and Kyrtian felt his face grow hot. What had gotten into his mother lately?
Or was it only that now his mother considered him enough of an adult not to mince words around him?
"In the abstract, it sounds like a good idea to me, provided that bringing her out here doesn't put her in any danger," he temporized. "And I don't mean danger from the fighting; that's turning out to be rather—well—tamer than I thought. For now, anyway. Someone's convinced the Young Lords to run, rather than stand and fight. I can't say I'm unhappy about that—it certainly makes me look like a brilliant commander. But while this girl is within the walls of our estate, she's safe enough from Triana—if she comes out here, and Triana decides that she wants more than a few words over a teleson-ring, it would be no great chore to find some way to kidnap her. Human slaves and Elvenlords are coming and going from my quarters all the time, Gel is the only person I'd trust to keep her safe, and he and I can't have her on the battlefield with us."
And I really don 'twant a female complicating things around here, he added, but only in thought. He really did not want his mother- worrying about the danger. There was, of course, a great deal more of that than he was going to tell her about. When the inevitable happened, and the Young Lords turned at bay—
Lydiell pursed her lips in thought. "That hadn't occurred to me," she admitted. "For that matter, it wouldn't take a great deal of effort on Triana's part to send someone to your quarters to intimidate the girl, and we can't have that. Well, let's hold that ploy in reserve for a while, in case Triana starts urging it on her. It may be that concocting a story that I've made her into my private maid while you're gone and she can 'overhear' my conversations with you will be enough."
"I should think," Kyrtian said firmly. "Ancestors! For once, you have been the one with all the interesting news! All I can tell you is what I have before; that, and I'm nearer to Lady Moth's estate and I think I can push the lines back far enough to put her in our hands again within the week."
"Assuming she wants to be," came the thoughtful reply. "All things considered—do you think you might be able to push just far enough that she can send a message or come to you herself, without cutting her off from the Young Lords?"
Again, Kyrtian was surprised by the question, but he saw immediately why his mother had asked it. "No one is likely to question me as long as I push them back-somewhere," he responded. "You think she has worked her way into their confidence, don't you?"
"Yes. And I'm not entirely sure you should be working so hard to defeat them." Lady Lydiell frowned slightly. "There is this: while the Great Lords are concentrating on the rebels, they aren't paying any attention to us."
"Or the Wizards," Gel added.
"Or the Wizards," she agreed. "But if you defeat the Young Lords, they are certain to want you to lead an army against the Wizards next."
The very idea made Kyrtian's heart sink, and he felt a little sick for not thinking of that himself. Of course they would! And while he didn't in the least mind bringing the young pups to heel for the old dogs, the very idea of pitting an army of slaves against their fellow humans—
"I'll resign first," he said hurriedly. "I'll find an excuse. Or Gel can break my leg."
"Or your skull," Gel growled, but there was approval in his voice. "We'll worry about that when the time comes. In the meantime—"
"In the meantime, I'll say goodbye, and you can think about what to do about Moth," Lydiell said firmly. "If we talk any longer, someone is bound to try and mirror this sending. Watch your back, my love."
"I will," Kyrtian promised, and the teleson winked out, leaving both him and Gel with far too much to think about—
—and far too little time for thinking.
17
The plight of one young woman could not hold Kyrtian's attention for long. So long as she was no longer a threat, he didn't particularly care what his mother did with her.
Truthfully, he couldn't even remember which of the three girls she was; she was Lydiell's problem now, and he would just as soon that things stayed that way. Within a few moments, he had even forgotten her name as his attention turned to the more urgent task of changing his strategy to deal with Moth and the Young Lords in light of this new information.
It was just a good thing that they had already settled at their evening campsite. Outside the tent was the usual cacophony of hundreds of humans setting up campfires and bedrolls, getting fed at the mess-wagons, and being ordered about by their elven officers. The mellow golden light of near-sunset made the western wall of Kyrtian's tent glow; the air was full of dust and the scent of trampled grass and wood smoke. There was food on a tray on his camp-bed, virtually the same sort of food that the human fighters would be eating, but Kyrtian ignored it. Gel would probably nag him into eating it eventually.
"Well, we need to rethink our battle-plan," he said to Gel, spreading his terrain-map out over the blank black glass of the teleson-screen set into the top of his campaign-desk. "The question is, what can we push towards now that will allow us to get close enough to Moth that she can send someone ou
t to us if she wants, without making straight for her estate or look as if we're trying to avoid that estate?"
"Good question." Gel pulled at his chin while he studied the map, frowning. "Damn good question. What about here—" his finger stabbed down at a spot on the map where they had noted a possible slave-camp, one full of former gladiators. "We can let it out that we think this is a training-camp for the Young Lords' soldiers. That ought to be reason enough for anyone."
Taking the army in that direction would allow them to skirt Moth's estate without actually taking it—and would give them a corridor for a strike deeper into Young Lords' territory. Kyrtian nodded, and reached absently for his mug of water, taking a sip to ease a throat tickling with inhaled dust. "Let's make a report to Lord Kyndreth and suggest the change of plan. I want him to argue against me for a little."
"Why?" Gel gave him a quizzical glance, brows knitted.
Kyrtian refolded the map carefully and set it aside. "Because this is going to serve us in more ways than one. He's going to point out that with a very little effort I can rescue Moth. I'm going to counter that Moth is probably safe where she is, that the Young Lords probably haven't even thought about one old woman in a tiny estate, and pushing towards the Young Lords at that point will make them think that Moth is valuable to us. I want him to see that it's possible some of the old retainers held behind the lines that have been ignored until now could be used as hostages. It doesn't seem to have occurred to the Young Lords to do that yet, but I want Kyndreth to realize he doesn't want to give them the idea. I do want Kyndreth to focus on that and not look for other reasons why I might not want to push at that point."
"That'll give him something more to think about," Gel said, pulling on his chin until Kyrtian wondered if he was going to stretch it out of shape somehow. "Aye, and that'll give him one more thing to warn the others about."
"Which will give the Council something else to think about besides the Wizards. It might even give them a reason to order me to hold back until they can find ways to get the people they want out of harms' way." Kyrtian nodded as Gel's eyes widened. "You see. You know, I never thought I'd be trying to think up ways to get Kyndreth to pull our forces back—but that could be the best strategy at the moment." The back of his neck ached with tension, and he rubbed it, hoping that a headache wasn't coming on. "I never thought this would be so complicated," he said plaintively, to no one at all. "If I had known—"
"If you'd known, you still wouldn't have been able to escape this," Gel pointed out bluntly. "Kyndreth wanted you; what Kyndreth wants, happens."
There was no real answer to that, and Gel knew it. Kyrtian just shook his head, and winced a little at the start of that headache he'd hoped to avoid.
He keyed the teleson with Kyndreth's seal, placing it facedown in the little round depression made for receiving such seals in the upper right-hand corner, and with a touch and a word, activated the spell. As he expected, he contacted, not Kyndreth directly, but one of the Great Lord's many underlings.
The plainly-clad Elvenlord stared up at him with a solemn and expectant expression on his long face. "Would you please consult with Lyon Lord Kyndreth?" Kyrtian asked politely. "Please inform him that I believe we need to change our battle-plans." He explained his new plans carefully and the reasons for them, while the underling took detailed and copious notes, occasionally stopping and asking him politely to repeat or elaborate on something. Kyrtian was impressed; he'd encountered no few of Lord Kyrtian's flunkies who had been utterly bored with him and his campaign since he'd been put in charge of the army, but this fellow was not of that ilk.
"I'm to be your liaison with Lord Kyndreth for the foreseeable future, Lord Kyrtian," the underling said solemnly. "Lord Kyndreth has made it very clear that your reports are to be given his first consideration, and I have the authority to break in upon him at any time—including in his sleep, if you should deem your report to be sufficiently urgent."
Well, well, well. Kyrtian blinked. "It's not urgent, since we'll still be moving through territory that the Young Lords have abandoned for at least two more days, but I should like to hear his opinion before we break camp and move at dawn tomorrow."
The underling gave a slight bow of his head. "I shall see to it that he reads this report and communicate your request to him within the hour, Lord Kyrtian."
The teleson-screen went blank again, and Gel, who had stayed carefully out of range for the duration of the conversation, chuckled. "It seems that your value has gone up in the world, Kyrtian."
"So it does," Kyrtian replied, and put a thin, flat plate of be-spelled bronze over the teleson-screen, fitting it into the slight depression where the glass had been inset there, to prevent it from being inadvertently activated. Should someone—Lord Kyndreth, hopefully—wish to contact him while the plate was in place, the plate itself would glow and emit a pleasant repeating chime to alert him. Kyrtian always "plated" his teleson when he wasn't using it himself; it was possible for outsiders to activate one's screen and spy on what was going on within its range if they had a key to it—like the ones he had to Lord Kyn-dreth's teleson and his mother's. And keys could be duplicated by even the weakest of mages.
With the plate in place, he turned to Gel. "Interesting, don't you think?" he asked. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"That Lord Kyndreth's own status is going up because of what you've managed to do out here?" Gel countered. At Kyrt-ian's nod, he pursed his lips. "If that's the case, he may want you to press ahead to Moth's estate anyway."
"So we have to think of an alternate plan." The more Kyrtian thought about it, the less he wanted to press the Young Lords now holding the estate that Moth's husband had once owned. "We've got to give him a richer victory. Not just the possibility, but the real thing."
"Ah, horse turds," Gel said sourly. "You don't ask much, do you? Let me get some scouts out; maybe they can find us a juicy prize."
He stalked out of the tent to round up a few of the scouts who had, in all likelihood, settled in at their campfire and would not be pleased to be sent out again. The scouts were all Elvenlords, of course—the previous commander had not trusted humans to run free and act as scouts, and Kyrtian was not going to risk any of his own people in this situation. None of them had more than the bare minimum of magic; they were Elven only by benefit of birth and blood. In the world of the Great Lords they were useful only as overseers and supervisors of humans and breeders of possible mates for unmarried sons or themselves. They were expendable, and often treated worse than slaves deemed to be more valuable, such as treasured concubines or skilled gladiators.
From the beginning, Kyrtian treated them with respect, and as a consequence, had gradually won their loyalty to the point where they had accepted Gel as Kyrtian's second-in-command, something no Great Lord would ever do. He took pains never to show them that he felt sorry for them, but he did. In the long story of the Elvenlords in this place, next to the history of the enslaved and abused humans, theirs was the saddest.
A chiming from the bronze plate at his elbow broke into his thoughts, and he hastily uncovered the teleson.
The craggily handsome face of Lord Kyndreth himself stared up at him, and Kyrtian made a sketchy salute. "Hrotheran passed on your request, and the reason for it," Kyndreth rumbled. "My first thought was that the young pups wouldn't dare threaten harm to another Elvenlord or lady but—" he chuckled harshly "—my next thought was that they already have."
"Well," Kyrtian replied, "yes. Frankly, we've no way of knowing if the deaths of some of the Lesser Lords on their estates were at the hands of revolting slaves, or of the Young Lords. They wouldn't admit it if they had killed one of us, not when they know very well how harsh the penalties will be when we defeat them."
Kyndreth smiled without any humor. "You show a fine grasp of reality for such a young man. I'd expected a little more idealism from you until this last message of yours."
"My lord, I have studied our history since Evelon wel
l enough to realize that honor is only for those who can afford it," Kyrtian replied, without any expression in his voice. "We have' the all the advantages and can afford to be honorable; they cannot, and the only reason they haven't taken such a step before this is probably because it hasn't occurred to them." He paused and added judiciously, "I am afraid that I have not yet detected much in the way of imagination in their tactics. I should not like to be the one to give them ideas that would not have arisen on their own."
"Well said. Now, I'll handle the Council; you go on as you have." Kyndreth chuckled dryly, this time with just a touch of real amusement. "Given their past performance, it's entirely possible that the puppies will panic and just abandon their stronghold anyway when you've flanked them. Keep me informed."
"Yes, my lord," Kyrtian said, but the Great Lord had already broken his spell and the connection; the teleson-plate reflected only Kyrtian's own face.
It was Moth's own people, and not the Young Lords headquartered on her old estate, who gave her the astonishing news that Kyrtian's forces were inexplicably turning aside without trying to take the Young Lords' stronghold. She'd had the cleverest of her "boys" out shadowing the army, and it was one of these who had come back in the dawn to report that the army was up and away at right angles to their previous line of march. They were not merely clever, four of them had the "human magic," the knack of listening to the thoughts of others. When they were close enough, they were able to hear what the common fighters and even some of the officers knew, and that was invaluable.
The army was now headed, presumably, for the training-camp that the Young Lords had set up to retrain some of the gladiators that they had taken as soldiers.
