Elvenborn

came the undoing of many of the fighters. Lord Kyndreth abruptly stood up, and Kyrtian took that as he was meant to, blowing the shrill whistle that signaled the end of the demon­stration.

Obedient to the signal, fighting ceased immediately, and in the sudden silence, Lord Kyndreth turned to his host with a broad smile.

'This has been a most impressive demonstration, Lord Kyrt­ian,' he said, with as much warmth as Kyrtian had ever seen him display until now. 'Even more so than the single-combat you originally showed us. I am looking forward to learning this new application of magic in the next few days—but I fear than my son and his friends have previous commitments and must be on their way—' Now he leveled a gaze on his bemused son that shook the young Elvenlord into momentary sobriety. 'Mustn't you, Gildor?'

The younger lord, startled by his sire's abrupt change of mood, stammered out his reply. 'Of—of course, certainly,' he babbled. 'Previous commitments, pressing engagements, and all that. So sorry. Excellent show. Be on our way now—'

'My people will show you the way back to the Portal Cham­ber, Lord Gildor,' Kyrtian replied, with as fine a display of the height of good manners as anyone could have asked. He gave no hint that he had heard the disparaging remarks, nor that he was well aware that Gildor was so drank he probably could not have found the door without help. 'I cannot tell you how grati­fied I was by your presence, or by your appreciation. I hope that we will be able to give you a better demonstration of our hospi­tality at some time in the future.'

Gildor and his friends filed back into the dining hall, sub­dued by Lord Kyndreth's enthusiastic reception of the demon­stration. There were no more jeering asides, no more snickers. Kyrtian was under no illusions about this; he fully expected that the moment the younger Elvenlords passed the Portal, they would begin their scornful gossip again. But for now, it was ob­vious who the master was, and what the master approved—and all the young lords fell obediently into line.

Odd, Kyrtian thought, as Lord Kyndreth exchanged some

polite compliments with Lady Lydiell and the last of the un­wanted visitors passed through the doors of the lesser dining hall. I would have thought, given the way he likes to puff him­self up and bluster, that Gildor would have sided with the Young Lords against his father. Lord Kyndreth isn't going to pass over power any time in the foreseeable future, and I would have thought that by now Gildor would be hungry for that power.

Perhaps, though, Gildor liked comfort better than power. Perhaps he already knew he didn't dare to challenge his father. Or, perhaps Gildor was less ambitious than Kyrtian would have been in his place. As it was, Gildor had prestige, status, and a carefree, pampered existence. If he sat where his father now heJd sway, he might actually have to work.

Kyndreth turned to Kyrtian, who collected his scattered

thoughts. 'I believe that I would like to retire to my quarters to

prejpare for dinner and think about all you have shown me,' he

said. 'Unless you have something more planned to show me

today?'

'Only one thing, and that is on the way,' Kyrtian replied, with a slight smile. 'Please, allow me to escort you. Perhaps some questions will occur to you that I can answer as we walk.'

They both bowed to Lady Lydiell, who nodded gravely to both of them without speaking. Kyrtian waited while one of the servants held the door open for them; he also waited for the bodyguards to flank his guest before taking his own place be­side Kyndreth. Other than that, he paid no attention to the bodyguards.

Kyndreth glanced sharply around as they passed along the hallways; for a moment, Kyrtian wondered what had caught his attention, then Kyndreth answered his question with a query of his own.

'You use no illusion here, do you?' Kyndreth asked, as if surprised.

'Very little, my lord,' Kyrtian replied, and smiled slightly. 'Perhaps we are somewhat conservative in nature, but we—my mother and I, that is—prefer the real to the illusory. Illusion is—' He groped for words.

'Cheap?' Kyndreth surprised him with the word he had been

trying to avoid, and the ironic lifting of his eyebrow. 'I tend to agree, actually. Any halfway competent mage can cloak rotting timber and moth-eaten tapestry in illusion. To maintain a gra­cious and attractive home without illusion requires dedication and effort. Illusion is, I believe, the lazy man's way.'

'I agree, my lord. We here prefer substance to style, one might say.' Again, he ventured a smile. 'Our home may be old-fashioned in style, but that is the price of preferring substance.'

By this time, they had reached the area of the old nursery— which was now the new harem—and Kyrtian paused. 'I would like to offer you all the comforts of our house, my lord. If you would care to pass within?'

Lord Kyndreth could easily see the shimmer of power that cloaked the door, which meant his bodyguards would not be able to follow him inside. But there was also no doubt what Kyrtian's words had implied, and he was probably curious just what sort of harem the notoriously ascetic Kyrtian had. He sig­naled to his bodyguards to join the two guards at the door, and followed Kyrtian within.

The three young women were waiting for them, and rose in­stantly to their feet, pausing just long enough for Lord Kyn­dreth to get a good look at them before they sank to the ground in deep curtsies.

For the very first time, Kyrtian saw the Great Lord surprised. So surprised, in fact, that his jaw dropped, just a trifle. The he recovered his composure, and turned to Kyrtian with a sly grin.

'You young dog!' he exclaimed, and clapped Kyrtian on the shoulder. 'No wonder nothing tempts you to mix with the other youngsters. They haven't anything to offer that could ever match these treasures!'

Kyrtian bowed his head slightly. 'So I believe, my lord.' He gestured, and the young women, flushing prettily, rose again. Lord Kyndreth surveyed them again, his eyes lingering on each in turn.

'I believe I shall take up your offer,' he said with a chuckle. 'But after dinner. There is, as the Ancestors said, a pleasure in anticipation that the wise man learns to cherish as much as the fulfillment of that anticipation.'

'Very true, my lord,' Kyrtian murmured deferentially. 'Very true.'

Lord Kyndreth was a surprisingly good dinner-guest. He ate and drank moderately, gave praise to the cook, and took care to involve Lady Lydiell in the conversation. Kyrtian gradually re­laxed. The visit was going well; if it continued in this vein, the entire expenditure of time and energy would have been well repaid.

As the dessert course was brought in, Lord Kyndreth turned to Kyrtian, and for the first time there was a hint of hesitation in his expression. 'Lord Kyrtian, there is something that I have been curious about for a very long time, but I hesitate to bring up a subject that would cause you or your Lady-Mother any discomfort.'

'What subject would that be?' Kyrtian asked, cautiously.

'I am—and have been—very curious about your late father,' came the surprising answer. 'More to the point, I am curious as to his reasons for vanishing into the wilderness. I know some have made inappropriate observations about him, but I saw noth­ing in your father's demeanor before he vanished to make me be­lieve that he had anything but very good reasons for his actions.'

Kyrtian glanced at his mother, who nodded slightly. The un­spoken message was clear: he could go ahead and reveal some of what he already knew.

Kyrtian cleared his throat. 'There is a tradition—some might call it a legend—in our family that when the Elves first came across from Evelon, the machines and most of the books they had brought with them were too burdensome to carry. More pressing concerns had to be dealt with—in the hunt for a place to live and the means to do so, ancient knowledge was of no use in such a brand new world. So all these things were more of a handicap than an advantage, and they were cached shortly after the search for more hospitable territory began. For some rea­son, no one ever went back for them—perhaps only because the Elvenlords were too busy subduing the natives. Those caches of ancient knowledge were what my father was hunting when he vanished.'