Elvenborn hc-3

by Andre Nolton

  But relief from one problem didn't help much with the others, and if this young woman did not have much time, they needed to make plans, urgently. "Bless you, Lashana. Now— let's decide between us what I can do for you and yours."

  Gel was not happy with him.

  "Next time—" Gel muttered under his breath. "The next time you go making hare-brained meetings without me, with women you've never seen and don't know anything about, I'll take you to the horse-trough and hold your head under till you come to your senses, I swear!"

  Kyrtian sagged against the back of his chair, but was not going to back down this time. He didn't blame his old friend—but something had told him that Lashana and Gel shouldn't meet, yet. There wasn't enough time to negotiate all of Gel's suspicions, not and come to an understanding before she had to leave. Ancestors! The danger she had put herself in by coming to him directly! And the danger had increased with every moment that passed; there was no telling who could have discovered her there.

  Gel's dinner sat uneaten in front of him; he had already stuffed his meal down his own throat as he'd explained the miracle that had happened in that incongruously ordinary room this afternoon. "Gel, Morthena was there the entire time—and what could one little wizard-girl possibly do to me?" he asked, reasonably.

  Gel only growled. "I suppose you know she could have been talking things she's got no authority to promise?"

  "Morthena says she has the authority, and that's good enough for me." His mind was too full of plans now to be put off by Gel's irritation. His old friend was mostly just annoyed that, for the first time, he had made plans and forged a pact without Gel's supervision. "I know what I'm doing, Gel," he said, with perfect conviction.

  Gel looked at him with one eyebrow raised, then slowly and grudgingly nodded. And his expression changed completely. He went from anger—to defeat.

  "I guess you do," he said slowly. "I guess you don't need me anymore."

  Now it was his turn to feel exasperated, and he tossed his fork down on his plate. "Oh for—don't be ridiculous. I'd as soon cut off my right hand! Now, look—we need to try and think of all possible contingencies here, and have some sort of skeleton in place if—"

  There was a tap on the door, and Lady Moth poked her head into the library. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a wizard, or else you somehow conjured the baggage by saying her name," she said sourly. "I seem to be attracting all manner of visitors today."

  This time, Kyrtian knew that the name that sprang into his mind was the right one. "Oh, no—" he said, grimacing. "Lady Triana. Just what we need."

  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 imperc
eptible 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.