Elvenborn

confirmed what he had privately thought was a rather wild tale.

He did his best to seem as nonchalant about it as Kaeth was, however. 'Putting it that way—I suppose you're right. Kyn-dreth would get no joy from the surviving relatives if he wiped out an heir, no matter how they felt about that heir when he was alive.' He shook his head, and allowed his disgust and baffle­ment to show. 'Damn, but this is as twisted as ball of snakes! How do you make it all out?'

'Early training, mostly.' Now Kaeth actually relaxed, and for the first time, Gel saw him drop all of his defensive mannerisms. He knew that he was meant to see that—and he instinctively knew that Kaeth now trusted him as far as he had ever trusted anyone but himself. 'Politics among the Elvenlords—it's con­ sidered a high art. Sometimes I think it's a pity that no one will ever know how accomplished an artist I am but myself.'

Gel had to chuckle at that, and Kaeth smiled—a real, un­masked smile—in answer. 'Well, I'm a plain man, and I tell you now that I'd rather map battlefield strategy than political strategy any day.'

'It's cleaner.' The regret in that voice was so deep that Gel could have drowned in it. For a moment, they both fell silent,

then Kaeth coughed. 'Well—before Lord Kyndreth wonders what is taking me so long, and summons me— what can you tell me about this training method of Lord Kyrtian's?'

Gel studied his expression, and came to an interesting con­clusion. He approves. Granted, if his master asks what we were talking about, this will give him something to feed to him, but he also approves of this and wants to know for himself. Fasci­nating. I wouldn 't have thought that an assassin would be in­terested in preserving lives.

'He's doing something with his magic that's initially compli­cated to set up, but doesn't take a great deal of power,' Gel ad­mitted. 'That's what he's told me, anyway. Not being a lord, I don't know the mechanics of it.' He brooded a moment, think­ing back to the first time that Kyndreth set the spells. 'There are two different pieces of magic involved: one to create a weapon that looks and feels real, but has no more substance than an il­lusion; and the other that he sets on the fighter that works with the weapon and reacts to what the weapon does.'

'Senses it, you mean?' Kaeth asked, his eyes intent.

'I guess that's close, as close as anything a human can un­derstand.' Gel licked his lips. 'Anyway, that second spell is what makes the glow and the shock when you're hit. The first time he did it, it took him most of the day; he says it gets easier as you get used to it. And according to him, it's almost as sim­ple to work the spells on a lot of people as it is to cast them for one—he said something once about giving the magic extra en­ergy and it copies itself for as long as you feed it.' He laughed with embarrassment. 'That probably sounds stupid, but that's the best I can tell you.'

'No, no, it makes sense,' Kaeth told him. 'I've heard them talking about that, when they want to create a lot of something, like trees or flowers—doing the first one, then setting it to copy itself. That's how they can tell the difference between the illu­sion that a really powerful lord creates, and one created by an underling. You never see a powerful lord making copies; in his illusions, every tree, every flower is different.'

'Whatever. That's the best description I can tell you.' He pondered a moment, then decided to give Kaeth some informa-

tion that, should he feed it back to Lord Kyndreth, would be a protection for Kyrtian rather than a danger. 'Kyrtian has as many regular fighters as any other Great Lord, but I have to tell you, all we do is practice—either in daily drill using his method, or in actual battle-simulations. That's the regular fight­ers. Once a fighter is over forty, he goes on light-duty; he has some other job, but keeps in practice—archery practice, mostly, though some of them keep their sword and spear work right up to their old standards.'

'Which means you don't just have gladiators, you have an army, trained to fight together.' Kaeth pulled on his lower lip. 'And you have a back-up corps of those older men. Interesting. Only a fool would challenge your Lord.'

That was said as a statement, not a question.

Good. Let Kyndreth chew on that! 'Exactly,' Gel nodded. 'That's because Lord Kyrtian likes to see how battle-strategy really works, rather than just reading about it. We work out new combat simulations fairly often, because unless someone steps into a hole and breaks a leg or something equally stupid, we come out of combat with the same number of fighters we went into it with.'

'It's a damned good system,' Kaeth agreed, finally. 'So good, it makes me wonder what the advantage is to Lord Kyrt­ian. Trained fighters could revolt, if they put their minds to it,'

Gel laughed easily. 'Well, for one thing, there aren't any real weapons around where we can get hold of them. They're all locked up in the armory under Kyrtian's seal.'

'So he doesn't have to worry about a slave-revolt.' Kaeth's face cleared, and he nodded.

'And, of course, knowing you aren't going to get injured or killed makes the men willing to practice.'

'He wouldn't have the expense of buying or raising replace­ments, either.' Kaeth sighed in open admiration. 'Brilliant strategy, especially for someone with no political allies. After today, no one will dare challenge him to a feud; his position is secure against all normal avenues of challenge. I would never have thought it, given his reputation.'

'Not exactly bad strategy to make the others underrate him

until he was ready, was it?' Gel said slyly, and Kaeth actually laughed.

Gel had the impression now that despite his sinister training, Kaeth Jared was a pretty decent sort, and that surprised him, more than a little. He'd always considered assassins to be—

To be scum, actually. I suspect most of them are. This one, though— well, he's got my respect.

His thoughts were interrupted by a discreet cough from the door, where a pair of young lads in Aelmarkin's livery stood uneasily. 'Your Lords—' the nearest said, a tremor in his voice.

'Our Lords require us,' Kaeth supplied with a nod. Suddenly the mask dropped over his face and he was all cool surface again, remote and unreadable. 'Of course, immediately.'

Gel stood only a fraction behind Kaeth, who turned and of­fered his hand. 'It was a pleasure in every sense,' Kaeth said, the warmth of his tone belying his lack of expression. 'I would like to meet you again under similar circumstances.'

Gel clasped the offered hand solemnly. 'I hope that we can,' he replied as warmly, 'and I look forward to it.'

And with that, they parted. As Gel followed his guide, he wondered what Kaeth's emotions were. He didn't think he was mistaken; something had resonated between them.

Maybe not friendship, at least not yet, he decided, as he saw Kyrtian waiting up ahead with a sense of relief that the ordeal was finally over. But definitely admiration. And neither of us wants to ever have to kill the other. That has to count for something!

8

Kyrtian passed through the Portal, which on Aelmarkin's side was a great gilded bas-relief gate wide and tall enough for a cargo-wagon to pass through, and on the manor side was an ornately-carved wooden door with a high

lintel featuring the family crest. He had been in a profoundly thoughtful state of mind from the moment that he had parted with Lord Kyndreth, and Gel didn't interrupt his musings by trying to talk to him. Then again, it was entirely likely that Gel was too tired to talk, which didn't hurt Kyrtian's feelings in the least.

Longstanding family tradition of caution situated the Portal inside a small chamber with walls of stone and a locked door of fire-toughened bronze as insurance against an enemy using it to penetrate the heart of the manor.