Elvenborn

'Yes. And I'm not entirely sure you should be working so hard to defeat them.' Lady Lydiell frowned slightly. 'There is this: while the Great Lords are concentrating on the rebels, they aren't paying any attention to us.'

'Or the Wizards,' Gel added.

'Or the Wizards,' she agreed. 'But if you defeat the Young Lords, they are certain to want you to lead an army against the Wizards next.'

The very idea made Kyrtian's heart sink, and he felt a little sick for not thinking of that himself. Of course they would! And while he didn't in the least mind bringing the young pups to heel for the old dogs, the very idea of pitting an army of slaves against their fellow humans—

'I'll resign first,' he said hurriedly. 'I'll find an excuse. Or Gel can break my leg.'

'Or your skull,' Gel growled, but there was approval in his voice. 'We'll worry about that when the time comes. In the meantime—'

'In the meantime, I'll say goodbye, and you can think about what to do about Moth,' Lydiell said firmly. 'If we talk any longer, someone is bound to try and mirror this sending. Watch your back, my love.'

'I will,' Kyrtian promised, and the teleson winked out, leav­ing both him and Gel with far too much to think about—

—and far too little time for thinking.

17

The plight of one young woman could not hold Kyrtian's

attention for long. So long as she was no longer a threat,

he didn't particularly care what his mother did with her.

Truthfully, he couldn't even remember which of the three girls

she was; she was Lydiell's problem now, and he would just as

soon that things stayed that way. Within a few moments, he had even forgotten her name as his attention turned to the more ur­gent task of changing his strategy to deal with Moth and the Young Lords in light of this new information.

It was just a good thing that they had already settled at their evening campsite. Outside the tent was the usual cacophony of hundreds of humans setting up campfires and bedrolls, getting fed at the mess-wagons, and being ordered about by their elven officers. The mellow golden light of near-sunset made the west­ern wall of Kyrtian's tent glow; the air was full of dust and the scent of trampled grass and wood smoke. There was food on a tray on his camp-bed, virtually the same sort of food that the human fighters would be eating, but Kyrtian ignored it. Gel would probably nag him into eating it eventually.

'Well, we need to rethink our battle-plan,' he said to Gel, spreading his terrain-map out over the blank black glass of the teleson-screen set into the top of his campaign-desk. 'The question is, what can we push towards now that will allow us to get close enough to Moth that she can send someone out to us if she wants, without making straight for her estate or look as if we're trying to avoid that estate?'

'Good question.' Gel pulled at his chin while he studied the map, frowning. 'Damn good question. What about here—' his finger stabbed down at a spot on the map where they had noted a possible slave-camp, one full of former gladiators. 'We can let it out that we think this is a training-camp for the Young Lords' soldiers. That ought to be reason enough for anyone.'

Taking the army in that direction would allow them to skirt Moth's estate without actually taking it—and would give them a corridor for a strike deeper into Young Lords' territory. Kyrt­ian nodded, and reached absently for his mug of water, taking a sip to ease a throat tickling with inhaled dust. 'Let's make a re­port to Lord Kyndreth and suggest the change of plan. I want him to argue against me for a little.'

'Why?' Gel gave him a quizzical glance, brows knitted.

Kyrtian refolded the map carefully and set it aside. 'Because this is going to serve us in more ways than one. He's going to point out that with a very little effort I can rescue Moth. I'm go-

ing to counter that Moth is probably safe where she is, that the Young Lords probably haven't even thought about one old woman in a tiny estate, and pushing towards the Young Lords at that point will make them think that Moth is valuable to us. I want him to see that it's possible some of the old retainers held behind the lines that have been ignored until now could be used as hostages. It doesn't seem to have occurred to the Young Lords to do that yet, but I want Kyndreth to realize he doesn't want to give them the idea. I do want Kyndreth to focus on that and not look for other reasons why I might not want to push at that point.'

'That'll give him something more to think about,' Gel said, pulling on his chin until Kyrtian wondered if he was going to stretch it out of shape somehow. 'Aye, and that'll give him one more thing to warn the others about.'

'Which will give the Council something else to think about besides the Wizards. It might even give them a reason to order me to hold back until they can find ways to get the people they want out of harms' way.' Kyrtian nodded as Gel's eyes widened. 'You see. You know, I never thought I'd be trying to think up ways to get Kyndreth to pull our forces back—but that could be the best strategy at the moment.' The back of his neck ached with tension, and he rubbed it, hoping that a headache wasn't coming on. 'I never thought this would be so compli­ cated,' he said plaintively, to no one at all. 'If I had known—'

'If you'd known, you still wouldn't have been able to escape this,' Gel pointed out bluntly. 'Kyndreth wanted you; what Kyndreth wants, happens.'

There was no real answer to that, and Gel knew it. Kyrtian just shook his head, and winced a little at the start of that headache he'd hoped to avoid.

He keyed the teleson with Kyndreth's seal, placing it face­down in the little round depression made for receiving such seals in the upper right-hand corner, and with a touch and a word, activated the spell. As he expected, he contacted, not Kyndreth directly, but one of the Great Lord's many underlings.

The plainly-clad Elvenlord stared up at him with a solemn and expectant expression on his long face. 'Would you please

consult with Lyon Lord Kyndreth?' Kyrtian asked politely. 'Please inform him that I believe we need to change our battle-plans.' He explained his new plans carefully and the reasons for them, while the underling took detailed and copious notes, oc­casionally stopping and asking him politely to repeat or elabo­rate on something. Kyrtian was impressed; he'd encountered no few of Lord Kyrtian's flunkies who had been utterly bored with him and his campaign since he'd been put in charge of the army, but this fellow was not of that ilk.

'I'm to be your liaison with Lord Kyndreth for the foresee­able future, Lord Kyrtian,' the underling said solemnly. 'Lord Kyndreth has made it very clear that your reports are to be given his first consideration, and I have the authority to break in upon him at any time—including in his sleep, if you should deem your report to be sufficiently urgent.'

Well, well, well. Kyrtian blinked. 'It's not urgent, since we'll still be moving through territory that the Young Lords have abandoned for at least two more days, but I should like to hear his opinion before we break camp and move at dawn tomorrow.'

The underling gave a slight bow of his head. 'I shall see to it that he reads this report and communicate your request to him within the hour, Lord Kyrtian.'

The teleson-screen went blank again, and Gel, who had stayed carefully out of range for the duration of the conversa­tion, chuckled. 'It seems that your value has gone up in the world, Kyrtian.'

'So it does,' Kyrtian replied, and put a thin, flat plate of be-spelled bronze over the teleson-screen, fitting it into the slight depression where the glass had been inset there, to prevent it from being inadvertently activated. Should someone—Lord Kyndreth, hopefully—wish to contact him while the plate was in place, the plate itself would