Elvenborn

time since he'd come of age, Lydiell had not even mentioned the prospect of his own marriage!

And that was enough of a relief that his steps became notice­ably lighter.

9

Over the next several days, he and Gel were so busy with preparations for Lord Kyndreth's visit that he hardly had time to do anything other than eat and sleep. He certainly didn't have any time for staging even combat- practice, so the fighters were left to fend for themselves until Gel could take over their practice-sessions using the old, blunted wooden weapons instead of the magic ones.

He already knew that he did not have to worry about the fighters taking advantage of his inattention. Thanks to a very real sense of what Gel would have to say—and do—about it, if they spent their time idle, they took it upon themselves to fol­low the usual course of exercise and simple drill, varied with hand-to-hand, unarmed contests, in which the worst accident that could befall would be a broken bone or two.

Kyrtian also knew that the fighters would not give the game away by acting out-of-character. They were military, heart and soul, and would no more speak out-of-turn or hesitate to obey an order than fly. No, the fighters could be counted upon to play their parts like the professionals that they were.

It was the regular servants and field-hands who had to be drilled in subservience until it became second nature, and many times Kyrtian was strongly tempted to meddle with their minds by means of magic to keep them from forgetting. It was finally Gel who came up with the excellent solution of actually work­ing through the elf- stones on their seldom-worn collars, setting

up a warning tingle whenever the wearer altered his or her pos­ture from that of complete servility.

That worked, and far better than Kyrtian had expected. The servile pose, with shoulders slightly hunched and eyes on the ground, forcibly reminded people of how they were expected to act. 'It won't matter if they look cowed and afraid all the time,' Gel pointed out. 'Lord Kyndreth won't know it's all acting a part, no matter how exaggerated it seems to us. A real slave just can't be too servile; if they grovel a lot, he'll only think you're keeping their leashes short and using the whip a great deal. Now—much as I hate to bring this up, but what if Kyndreth doesn't bring along some of his own women? He'll expect to be offered entertainment, even if he turns it down.'

'I don't have any concubines to offer him,' Kyrtian pointed out. 'I suspect that's one of the things Aelmarkin tries to use against me with the other Lords, that I'm—ah—'

'Virginal and chaste—and probably sexless, hence no fit heir,' Gel growled bluntly. 'Well, you may not have a harem to offer him at the moment, but what are you going to do? Have you made any plans?'

'Mother had an idea,' Kyrtian replied, but made a face of distaste. 'I don't like it, mind you, but... she thinks it's just that I'm too fastidious. She's going to send Tenebrinth to the slave markets and buy a pretty concubine or two just before the visit; she'll meddle with their memories to make them think they've been here for the last couple of years, keep them iso­lated in a tiny harem of their own and have me offer them to Lord Kyndreth.'

'You're too fastidious,' Gel told him bluntly. 'It's perfect. They won't know anything about us, and they won't be related to anyone here. If there's an ... accident... we won't be los­ing any of our people.'

Kyrtian's distaste grew, but he couldn't deny that Gel's prag­matic view was at least practical. 'And what do we do with them afterwards?' he asked sourly.

Gel shrugged. 'Hardly matters. Concubines aren't the brightest as a whole, and I suspect any that your mother picks will be very pretty and very dim—much safer that way. We

could probably marry them off to someone, if you've got no taste for having them around. Or sell them again,' He raised an eyebrow at Kyrtian's expression, and snorted. 'Do yourself a favor; let your mother and Tenebrinth deal with it. Keep your hands clean if you dislike it that much.'

As if my not knowing makes it any better, he thought grimly. No, that's no answer. 'I'll tell Mother you agree with her idea, and even though I don't like the idea, I agree it's necessary, there really doesn't seem to be a better solution.'

'There isn't,' Gel said, with emphasis. 'What else do you want to do, ask for volunteers?'

That was definitely no answer. He shook his head. 'I'll do the memory manipulation—mother isn't going to be able to im­part many convincing illusions about—um—I mean, it's not as if she's a male—' He flushed, and didn't complete the sen­tence, but got the distinct feeling that Gel found his embarrass­ment highly amusing. 'We'll do what we have to, all of us, and try to make things up afterwards if there's anyone hurt by this.' He just hoped that Lord Kyndreth wasn't one of those who left women damaged. 'I can always make the girls forget every­thing when he's gone,' he added, as much for his own benefit as for Gel's.

Gel looked relieved. 'You'll never be a real commander if you can't make the difficult decisions and carry them out,' he reminded his erstwhile superior—perhaps just a touch smugly.

'I just did, didn't I?' he replied, irritated. 'Enough; we're spending more time on this than the issue warrants, and it has nothing to do with your part in this, which is getting the fighters ready. Well?'

Gel grinned. 'Oh, they're ready. Very eager to show their paces, and just as eager to see you vindicated. Have no fear, they know their parts. We'll give Lord Kyndreth a show he isn't likely to forget for the next three centuries.'

Triana considered the slave dispassionately—a rare state of mind for her. There were several considerations here, not the least of which was this; how far could one trust a human? As she had told Aelmarkin, she seldom trained female

slaves. Never was not the operative word; never was not a word to be used at all among the Elvenlords, whose long lives had no room in them for never. Sooner or later, whatever it was that had been vowed against would happen. Mind, there were El­ venlords so rigid in their thinking that they actually believed that they could say they would 'never' do something— but Tri-ana knew better.

This woman was not of her breeding; the female slaves that Triana bred on her own estate were strictly utilitarian, and while not plain (she couldn't bear to have anything plain or ugly about her) were about as animated as statues in the pres­ence of their mistress. This girl, bought, not at auction, but handpicked from among the offerings of a private sale, was the opposite of stoic and unanimated. She was trained as a dancer as well as in harem skills; she was very intelligent. Triana needed a woman who was intelligent, but with intelligence came the liability of thinking for one's self.

How far to trust her? That was the question.

'Would it surprise you very much to learn that I need a spy?' she asked aloud.

The slave shook her head slightly, enough to indicate that she was not surprised,