Elvenborn

to—the Elvenlord could have quickly controlled him. And in a peculiar way, that, too, had been part of the lessons in just how fragile and precious the life humans led here was.

Lydiell nodded. 'And at this point, if we try to tell him that Lord Kyndreth is no more to be trusted than Aelmarkin, he would only make the wrong decisions. He'd try to put Kyndreth off, or—or something. And now that he's aroused Kyndreth's interest, he can't do that without arousing suspicion as well.'

'Damn all politics anyway,' Gel said sourly. 'Kyndreth is going to use him, make a tool out of him, and give him nothing but fine words and empty praise for his troubles—'

'Yes—but—' Lydiell began.

Gel waited, but she didn't complete the thought. He spoke into the heavy silence. 'But it might not be bad for him; so long as he's valuable to Kyndreth, he's not going to be wasted. And as long as he's valuable, Kyndreth will see that we're left alone, no matter how peculiar some things around here may look to him.'

Lydiell nodded, and Gel felt a certain relief that she agreed with him. There was selfishness in his motivation, and he knew that; as long as Kyrtian was not only alive and well but under the open protection of someone like Lord Kyndreth, Gel and the other humans on the estate would be perfectly safe. Ael­markin wouldn't dare try to interfere or continue in his at­tempts to gain control of the manor and lands.

As for the humans living elsewhere—humans that Kyrtian would be very concerned about if he knew how bad things could be on other estates—Gel found it difficult to worry about the well-being of people he didn't know. The sufferings of hu­man slaves on other estates were just stories to him, and al­though he believed them in the abstract, he just couldn't make himself care when people he knew needed his whole concentra­tion and concern.

He couldn't really believe in anything he hadn't seen with his own eyes, not deep down where it counted.

Those are all old stories, anyway, and it makes no sense these days that the Elvenlords would wantonly waste or mar their own possessions. With wild humans on the border, drag-

ons in the sky, the Wizards threatening to start the war up again and their own children in armed revolt, they can't afford the sort of goings-on they did in the past. Slavery—-yes, there was no doubt that the Elvenlords were harsh masters, and kept their humans under complete control. It was a terrible thing that hu­mans elsewhere had every action controlled by someone else, that they could make not even the smallest decision about their own lives. But starvation, torture, abuse—why? There's no rea­son to do any of those things; a starved, abused, or injured slave works less, and is worth less, than a healthy one who is punished only when he deserves it.

'Lady, I pledge you, I will not let the boy out of my sight or care, no matter what Lord Kyndreth wants of him,' he prom­ised, coming back to concerns he could understand and see for himself. 'I'm a treacherous old bastard, and if I think he's in trouble, I'll dose the boy's wine, make Kyndreth think he's had a fit, and drag him home myself.' He surprised himself with his own sudden fierce protectiveness, and tried feebly to smile. 'Once we've got him safe, we can talk him into playing witless. If he's lost his senses, he might not be of value to Kyndreth, but he won't be a threat, either.'

And that was the best promise he could think of to give her, poor as it was.

Lydiell sent Gel back to his work without feeling much comfort from his words. She was very troubled, and could see no imme­diate way out of the dilemma that had come at them out of nowhere. I had hoped to keep him isolated from all of this, but events have conspired against us, she thought somberly, staring out the window at the placid fields spread so invitingly below. Thanks to the two latest Wizard Wars, Kyrtian 's obscure skills are no longer without value; he will be drawn into Elvenlord politics whether he likes it or not. But Gel is right; telling him some of the realities of the situation won't help him. He might be better if he remains in ignorance. If he knows what the El­venlords are really like, his own sense of honor just might drive him to make some very dangerous choices. If, however, Kyn­dreth feeds him what the Old Lords want him to know, and con-

vinces him to help them—then keeps him ignorant of the truth— he will serve them well and stay out of trouble.

There was one positive effect of all the warfare and quarrel­ing; there were nowhere near as many of the Old Lords as there once had been, and those that remained were mostly very shrewd. They have little power to spare, and won't waste any tool that comes to their hands when it costs little to keep that tool content. There are very few Dyrans about in the higher councils these days.

She sighed, tasting the bitterness of her own expedience, the sour knowledge that by keeping him ignorant she was playing the same manipulative games as those she despised.

Kyrtian would be used, indeed, but wasn't it better to be an unwitting tool than a dead hero?

I cannot see any other options.

Keeping him purposefully blinded about the true nature of his fellow Elvenlords might have been a mistake, but she could not see how she could have done anything else.

Gel did have a good idea, she reminded herself, if it looks as if Kyrtian is in danger. Everyone thinks his father was mad, and no one would be particularly surprised if he went mad under the strains they will probably put him under. Oh, Ancestors, why did I try to keep him sheltered? Why couldn 't I have given him some armor against the thorn-maze he is about to walk into?

She only prayed that her decision would not cause more harm than she had ever dreamt possible.

10

I hope I don't look as nervous as I feel,' Kyrtian muttered to

himself, as he re-checked his appearance in the gilt-edged

 mirror to his right. He'd lost count of the number of times

he'd glanced into mirrors today, making certain—of what? He

wasn't quite sure; he only knew that he didn't want to look like Lord Kyndreth's son Gildor and his cronies, nor did he want to ape the appearance of Lord Kyndreth himself. He wanted to look mature, sober, perhaps a touch on the scholarly side, but able to hold his own in physical combat as well. Looking pros­perous, but not necessarily opulent, was as important; on reflec­tion, perhaps what he wanted was to look as if he could be Lord Kyndreth's intellectual equal, but not as if he already assumed that he was. After going through at least four changes of cloth­ ing and nearly driving his poor servants mad, he finally settled on a conservative tunic and tight-fitting trews of soft doeskin dyed a rich blue and slashed to display the silver satin of his shirt. Matching boots suitable for some hard walking com­pleted the outfit, with a heavy silver chain and fillet confining his hair as his only jewelry. Jewels would not impress Lord Kyndreth, who was a powerful mage and knew how easily such things could be produced by illusion.

The mirror he kept glancing into was just outside the Portal Chamber; at any moment now Lord Kyndreth and his en­tourage should be coming through. The door to the chamber was open; it was really too small to allow for a graceful exit of so large a group. Servants in the household colors lined the chamber and the hall outside, but Kyrtian was the sole repre­sentative of the family; he was the head of the Clan now, and it would betray an unhealthy influence from his mother if she were here to receive the guests as well as he.

The servants, well-schooled in their roles, kept their eyes cast down as Kyrtian fidgeted with the chain around his neck. At long last, the Portal shimmered with energy, and Kyrtian snapped to attention, presenting a mask of calm, the perfect picture of a welcoming host.

The first figures through the Portal were, naturally, Lord Kyrtian's bodyguards, one of whom was the fighter called Kaeth that Kyrtian remembered from the combat. They de­ployed themselves on either side of the Portal with smooth, ef­ficient, and practiced movements, making a barrier of themselves between the Portal and Kyrtian's servants. They must go through such maneuvers constantly; what surprised