Elvenborn

I've run these hills myself.' Lashana then began a tale of her own, about the time when she, a mere child then and not yet the Elvenbane, had rescued a band of human children—with human magic— who were going to be culled by Lord Treves's overseer.

Lord Treves—would that be Lady Viridina's Lord? Moth's friend? What an odd coincidence!

Lashana had helped them escape and flee into these very hills—and, by another odd coincidence, had run into the infa­mous young Lord Valyn, fleeing with his wizardling half-brother and looking for Wizards to protect them both.

The story was an absorbing one, and Lashana told it well. He could see in his mind's eye the huddle of frightened children, the drenched and miserable young Valyn and the equally miser­able Mero. She described the strange monsters they had en­countered, one of which sounded eerily familiar.

'I think we nearly ran into one of those—invisible lurking things back there,' Noet said thoughtfully, and described being trapped between it and the alicorn herd, and how Kyrtian had solved the situation.

'Which is why he's the general, and we aren't,' Lynder put in, as Lashana shook her head in amazed admiration.

'That certainly sounds like one of them—well, as you move deeper into the hills, more or less in that direction—' she pointed '—and don't worry, we can guide you tomorrow—the wierdlings get thicker, and odder. Now, suppose that this Portal of yours isn't entirely closed? I've heard from Sheyrena and

Lorryn that your Ancestors left a pretty nasty place to come here....' She looked at him with speculation.

He nodded. 'If the Portal isn't quite closed and shut down, yes, things could slip over, when enough residual power built up to let the Portal open for a moment. And what came over would be very unpleasant.'

'And the area nearest where they were coming through?' she prompted.

'Would be the place nearest the Portal, of course.' He felt another burst of elation—but then worry. 'That would make it that much more dangerous. I'm not sure I should ask you fel­lows to share in something like this—it's pretty certain that Fa­ther is—dead—'

There. He'd said it. It couldn't be unsaid.

'—so looking for what became of him is really only my concern—'

'Balderdash! Begging your pardon, my Lord,' Lynder ex­claimed. 'Your father, and his father, and his father before him, are the ones that allowed us to grow up in freedom. It's as much our concern as yours.'

'And my people have—ways of dealing with most of these creatures, or getting you around them,' Lashana added. 'We've both got magic, you know, and mine's enough different from yours that they'll combine well. I'd be pleased to help you out, here.'

'It's settled, then,' Shalvan said, as the rest of his men nodded.

Once again, Kyrtian felt a surge of emotions—pride, grati­tude, a touch of embarrassment. But most of all, the warmth of knowing that they would support him, and they knew that he would support them, through anything. And a different kind of warmth, of discovering an unexpected friend and comrade in the woman called the Elvenbane, who was so very different, and so very much more, than he had ever imagined her to be.

'Then in the morning—?' he made it a question. She laughed and stood up.

'In the morning you can expect me—and a friend,' she promised. 'And until then, sleep well. And don't worry, you're being guarded. So get a good night's sleep.'

And with that, she walked off into the darkness.

And managed, again, not to trip over the bells.

'My Lord,' said Shalvan, looking after her with undisguised admiration, 'begging your pardon myself, but that is one fine woman. Not to my taste,' he added hastily, 'but one fine woman.'

'Yes she is,' Kyrtian agreed. 'And not to my taste, either! But I hope she finds a man who deserves her, assuming that's what she wants! I will make no assumptions about anything the Elvenbane might want!'

That startled a laugh out of them, and on that note, they took to their tents, and to bed, knowing that the morrow would begin an entirely new and stranger quest than they had ever imagined.

28

Triana set her jaw grimly as she paced in and out of the bars of sunlight pouring through the windows of her solar—a traditional part of the bower, where she seldom spent any time. Why bother, when she was the mistress of the entire manse?

It looked as if she was going to have to leave her domain, for a short, but distinctly uncomfortable quest. Of all the things she would have preferred not to do, this was going to be right on the top of the list. She did not enjoy 'the outdoors,' she loathed having to camp without proper amenities, and she despised rain, damp, drizzle and cold. But she was going to have to en­dure all of that, because where she was going and what she needed to do required secrecy.

Her skirts swished around her ankles with a hissing sound. She hated this idea. But she couldn't trust Aelmarkin; she couldn't trust him to be any fitter for trailing someone in the savage forest than she, and she was pretty certain he would try

to keep whatever he found all to himself. She had failed in her attempt to subvert his boring cousin for now —she was grateful that she hadn't put any term on the bet with Aelmarkin—but Kyrtian's ongoing success was making Aelmarkin impatient. Not that she cared whether she lost the bet. It wouldn't be all that difficult to train one stupid slave for Aelmarkin's use. No, the thing itself had become a challenge, an obsession. She would not be beaten, not in this, not when it was only her own skill and wit that stood between her and failure. For once, she didn't have to rely on anyone else.

It hadn't taken long in a conversation via teleson with Lord Kyndreth to discover what Kyrtian was up to and where he was going—openly. That was the key; Kyrtian might be pompous, might be deadly dull, but after his decisive victory over the Young Lords no one would ever claim that he was stupid.

She kicked the train of her skirt out of her way impatiently as she turned. No, he wasn't stupid. And just because he was dull, that didn't mean he wasn't capable of keeping some things to himself.

Triana had her own ideas of what else might be going on, when a quick check with Lord Kyndreth confirmed that Kyrtian was planning on a new expedition at the behest of the Council. What hadn't made any sense was why he would have been in­terested in the caves beneath those hills before that second batch of Wizards made an appearance. Because he had been— she knew it, because she knew some of the questions he'd been asking, and some of the maps and books he'd been requesting, before the two mind-addled captives had appeared in Lord Cheynar's forest.

It hadn't made any sense, that is, until she visited Morthena again, determined what he'd been doing there in the first place, and ferreted out just what books he'd been looking at. The two slaves who had been helping him were no challenge to her; within moments, she had them eagerly pulling volumes down for her perusal.

Now she knew. And she was, perhaps, better than any other Elvenlord, equipped to figure out what Kyrtian's ulterior mo­tives were. There were her own familial traditions of the Cross-