Elvenborn

Tirith Shor, who'd been Hakkon's father, felt that was just as well, but Gel knew it had been a great disappointment to the Old Man that his son wouldn't be the one to stand at the next Lord's side....

Kaeth Jared was an unlikely sort for an assassin, if you only saw him clothed. Tall and slim, pale, with hair of a dark auburn and long, clever hands, he didn't look particularly strong. If you saw him nude, however—or in combat—you realized that he was a great deal stronger and more agile than he seemed. There wasn't an ounce of superfluous flesh on him anywhere, and the muscles he had were wire and whipcord; tough, and powerful.

Gel wondered if the others had noticed Kaeth Jared's un­usual alertness and caution, and decided that they probably hadn't. They were just ordinary fighters, and wouldn't be trained or practiced in such careful observation and deduction. They were probably just impressed by the bout that he and Gel had completed—and perhaps a little stunned at its bloodless outcome.

Part of their awe might very well have been due to the lack of scars on Kaeth's body and his own. In the old methods of train­ing, at some point, when two fighters met, they would covertly read true expertise in martial arts not by the number of wounds collected over the years, but by the absence of scarring. An un­marked body in their world meant either that one's lord valued one so highly that he granted the use of magic in healing, or that a fighter's reflexes were so swift and movement so agile that no opponent ever got a chance to land a blow. Neither he nor Kaeth were marred by more than a few trivial lines, long healed.

As Gel emerged from the cascade of water and shook his head like a dog, he caught Kaeth watching out of the corner of his eye; Kaeth knew he'd been caught, and unexpectedly grinned. 'You gave me the best bout I've had in a long time, friend,' he said, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard over the sound of the water-cascade. 'I'm impressed.'

'So am I,' Gel admitted freely, as the circle of silent gladia­tors strained their ears to hear every syllable either of them spoke. 'And I don't mind saying that if you'd had the benefit of

Lord Kyrtian's system to train under, you'd be so much better than me that it wouldn't have been a contest.'

'I wouldn't know about that,' Kaeth replied, quickly enough to salve Gel's bruised ego. 'But if I'm any judge of Lord Kyn-dreth, he'll be using this system of yours before the month is out. And if he does, every other lord will do the same, or be thought hopelessly provincial and out-of-step. With enough ap­proval behind him, he might well mandate this system through the Council.'

The encircling men let out a suppressed sigh; so that was what they had been waiting to hear, and perhaps Kaeth had known that. Gel sympathized; such news would be like a re­prieve from a death-sentence.

Like ? By the Stars, it is a reprieve from a death-sentence! I wonder how many of their comrades were killed in training, and how many more killed in feud-combat or their masters' en­tertainments ? Now the only thing they 'II have to fear is being drafted into the Old Lords 'Army and sent up against the rebels or the Wizards.

'I dare say you're right,' Gel agreed, waving his hand in front of the cascade to stop it, then reaching for a towel from the rack behind him. At that point, a servant appeared to sum­mon the gladiators to their respective lords for the return to their home estates, and with palpable disappointment, the two groups of men filed out of the preparation room.

Kaeth waved his own hand at the cascade beneath which he'd been standing, and the sound of rushing water was re­placed by silence. He seized a towel and dried himself, then wrapped it around his waist as Gel already had and exchanged a wry smile with his companion. 'Alone at last!' he said.

Gel chuckled, warily. For an assassin, this man had a remark­able sense of humor and no reticence about showing it. 'I would hardly have thought my conversation was that entrancing.'

Surely he's here by accident. Assassins are normally sent against key humans in an Elvenlord's entourage, and there was no way of knowing who would be playing bodyguard to Kyrt-ian. Was there?

'It's better than theirs.' Kaeth jerked his head in the direction

of the exit door. 'Those poor blockheads don't have much to talk about except fighting, food, and sex. If they'd gotten up the courage to speak to us, you'd have found that out.'

Gel raised an eyebrow. 'Well, they're young,' he pointed out, as he followed Kaeth carefully into the main room.

'And under the old system, not likely to get older,' Kaeth re­torted, getting his clothing off the shoulder-high shelf beside him, and laying it out on a polished wooden bench. 'How old's your oldest fighter?'

Gel considered his reply carefully before answering, using the opportunity to lay out his own gear as a chance to stall a lit­tle. 'If you count retired fighters who could still pick up a weapon in defense of the estate—the oldest just turned seventy-eight.'

Kaeth was actually taken aback, and let out a low whistle as he reached for his trews. 'I don't know that I've ever seen a hu­man that old, much less a fighter! You mean your lord actually puts his old men out to pasture instead of putting them down? Great Ancestors, man, how many of these retired fighters have you got?'

'I'm not sure,' Gel replied, his suspicions aroused. He's ask­ing too many questions. He's a trained assassin, 1 know he is— what if he's targeting Kyrtian?

It was possible—Lord Kyndreth could be a patron and ally of the obnoxious Aelmarkin. It might be that he would wait just long enough to learn Kyrtian's training-technique, then elimi­nate Aelmarkin's inconvenient cousin.

In fact he might have been brought to get rid of Kyrtian right here and now, which was why Kyrtian got the invitation in the first place! Maybe that's why Lord Kyndreth wants to come to our estate now, to get the secret, then get rid of Kyrtian where there aren 't any witnesses—and maybe get rid of the Lady at the same time!

By now, Gel had gotten his second wind, and such alarming thoughts only increased his energy. And Kaeth, all unsuspect­ing, had actually turned his back to him. If there was ever a time when a trained assassin would be vulnerable, this was it.

Gel didn't even pause for a breath; he acted. He had been

bent over, tying his boots; now without warning, he turned his pose into a charge, staying crouched over and rushing Kaeth, shouldering him into the wall face-first. He heard Kaeth grunt as he hit the wall, but before he could secure the assassin, Kaeth writhed loose a trifle. His reactions were as swift as a serpent's, and he managed to get himself turned around, but not before Gel grabbed a wrist in either hand and smashed them into the wall, then got his knee up to reinforce his hold. Now Gel had Kaeth pinned against the wall with both wrists imprisoned over his head and Gel's knee in his gut.

His legs are still free. If he can kick my leg out from under me—

Flushed, but impassive, he stared into Gel's grey-violet eyes for a long moment as Gel waited for him to speak or act. His wrists under Gel's hands showed no sign of tension, nor was there any indication that he intended resistance or struggle.

But that could be a ruse to get me to drop my guard.

'I suppose it's too much to ask what prompted this—ah— rather unexpected action of yours?' he finally asked mildly, a bit out of breath, but completely polite, in spite of the situation.

Gel glared at him, but he didn't drop his eyes. 'I suppose you're going to deny you're an assassin,' he replied flatly.

'Ah!' The expressionless eyes now reflected understanding, and the mouth relaxed a trifle in a faint smile.