Elvenborn

Kyrtian had two helpers at least—Gel, and that little female concubine that Lady Triana had been so considerate in planting on him. He'd sent for her a-purpose once he'd turned over his commission to Lord Kyndreth while the Council debated. If Triana was so interested in what he was doing, he was inclined to allow her more information than she could comfortably di­gest. He had a notion that she was working with Aelmarkin, at least for the moment. Lady Moth had been very helpful in pre­senting him with a summary of her past behavior, and from that he'd formed the opinion that whatever game she played, what­ever alliances she made, her ultimate goal would serve no one but herself.

Now, to his mind, the best possible way to handle her was to give her the information he wanted her to have. Gel had exam­ined the girl himself, interrogating her to the point of exhaus­tion and even tears, and it was his opinion that Lydiell had succeeded in 'turning' her. Whenever she reported to Triana— and Triana had been very interested to learn just where he was and what he was doing right now—Gel was there, making cer­tain she stuck to the script they'd agreed on.

Nevertheless, she didn't know exactly what it was he was do­ing in Moth's library; what she didn't know, she couldn't be forced to reveal if Triana or Aelmarkin ever got their hands on her. She knew only what she saw—which was that he had or­dered all the books down off the shelves to be sorted— that Moth's slaves had then reshelved and cataloged all of the printed material. While they worked, he examined the hand­written stuff, creating a second catalog, and she and Gel shelved what he was done with. She couldn't read elven hand-script; she didn't know what he was keeping and what he was reject­ing. So although she now had a wealth of information about his movements, none of it was likely to do Triana any good.

He actually expected the infamous Triana to put in an ap­pearance before too very much longer. He couldn't see how she could possibly resist trying to pry into his affairs in person. She

would probably also try to seduce him; that was her pattern in the past. He had heard, even from Moth, that she was a great beauty, and not a passive, statuesque creature either, but lively, witty, aggressive, and not afraid to show her intelligence. Such a woman had learned how to turn her looks and fascination into a weapon long ago. She might even have approached Lord Kyndreth as well as Aelmarkin, prepared to use anyone and anything in her quest for personal power. If that was the case, she might well have met her match in Lord Kyndreth, who had been playing deep games for far longer than little Lady Triana.

Ancestors—I've turned into such a cynic—

There were times when he longed for what he had been— when the worst of his worries was working out little battle-plans and conspiring with Lydiell to keep Aelmarkin at a distance. To think that he had actually looked up to people like Lord Kyndreth!

Well, I know better now.

It hadn't just been his own experiences that had enlightened him, nor the night-long, acid-washed 'frank talk' that Moth had had with him when he first arrived. It was the testament of these very manuscripts beneath his hands, that outlined the machinations and betrayals, the abuse of power and the use of it, from the point of view of those that the powerful considered too insignificant to monitor. Mind, some of them were no prizes, either, acting like chickens in the hen yard, turning, when pecked, to hammer on those beneath them. But it had been an enlightening, if distasteful education, wading through the pages they probably thought no one else would ever read.

Is it any better among the Wizards and free humans, I won­der? With most of his illusions gone, he had to guess that it was probably more a matter of degree. The Great Lords were so powerful and those who aspired to their power were so fixated on achieving it, that the very power they all held or craved cor­rupted them. It was inevitable unless, like Moth, they were acutely aware of just how dangerous that much power was. The fact that they lived such very long lives only meant that the cor­ruption and selfishness was etched deeper than it could ever possibly go with a mere human.

But there are the others. Like Moth, Lydiell—and myself, I hope. Power didn't have to corrupt, if you knew just how dan­gerous it was, and were well aware that it came burdened with incredible responsibilities. He hoped that there were those among the Wizards and free humans who knew that.

Perhaps that was the key to those among the Elvenlords who did treat the humans who had come under their protection with the same consideration that they would have given an elven un­derling; and those elven underlings who treated humans as equals. They were the ones who had felt the boot of the Evelon overlords on their backs, and had learned from the experience— or who, at least, had determined never to treat one with less power as they themselves had been treated. And those Ances­tors, in their turn, had passed their attitude down to their off­spring.

Were there more such households as his.and Lady Moth's? Possibly—for a moment, he dared to hope that there were, hiding their nature just as he and his father and grandfather had. They were probably just like his family—remaining quietly, self-sufficiently in the background, permitting the Great Lords to believe that they were hopelessly provincial and not worth trou­bling with. Ancestors knew that if Aelmarkin hadn't been such a thorn in their side, their household would never have come under the scrutiny of Kyndreth, and he would never have been forced into the 'open' to find himself recruited as a military ex­pert.

He realized at that moment that he'd been staring at the same page for quite some time, and hadn't deciphered a word of it.

Gah. I'm a scholar, not a philosopher! He bent over the closely-written page again.

Whispers from the rear of the library intruded on his attention— because one of the whisperers was Gel, and there was a tone in the man's voice he'd never heard before.

He took a quick glance over the top of the manuscript. Sure enough, there wasn't a great deal of shelving going on, but Gel and the pretty little concubine certainly had their heads close together.

Well, well, well! The granite crag cracks at last!

He didn't know whether to laugh or be annoyed. Not that he wanted the girl; oh, she was attractive and talented enough, but so were the two other girls his mother had purchased for him. But of all the times for his tough-minded partner to pick to go soft over a woman, this had to be the worst!

On the other hand, this was Gel he was talking about. Gel, who had taught him the business of war and fighting, Gel who stuck by his side like a faithful dog, Gel who had never asked for anything for himself. How could he possibly be annoyed that Gel had finally found someone who touched his heart?

Oh, Ancestors.

Now how was he going to juggle all this? Hidden rebels, possible treachery from his superiors, the hunt for his father— and now Gel in love? What next?

As he stared at the not-so-young lover, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Lady Moth had come into the library without his noticing, and she wore her mask-face, the one that generally meant that she was—well, up to something.

'We have a visitor that I believe you will want to meet your­self,' she whispered, after a glance at Gel and the girl who were completely oblivious to anything else going on around them.

Oh no—not Triana—

'You may tell Lady Triana that—' he began.

But Moth's eyebrows shot up, and she interrupted him. 'I don't know why you should be expecting her,' Moth replied, 'but it's not Lady Triana. And I do think you should put down that stupid journal written by an equally stupid blockhead and come with me. Now.'

Seeing that she was not to be denied, Kyrtian sighed, marked the place where he was leaving off, and stood up.

The lovers never noticed that he was leaving. That in itself was an indication of just how hard Gel had