Elvenborn

Elven-lords and didn't need allies). Everyone so easily forgot that it was because of Lashana that they had needed those 'allies,' and needed to leave their comfortable, easy life in the old Citadel in the first place!

She was up to something; he knew it, he could taste it! She was up to something, and it could only mean new trouble for everyone else!

If only he could find out about it before everything fell apart—if he could catch her at some folly and prove she was up to something that would only drag everyone here into some new danger, they'd all believe him again!

That was it—that was it!

He kicked another shoe from his path, but this time with a triumphant cackle of laughter. That would serve the brat her just desserts! He'd use her own fancy magics to spy on her and find out exactly where she was going —then he'd use more of them to find out what she was doing! He'd catch her red-handed, and then he'd haul her back to the Citadel and make her confess in front of everyone! Oh, it would serve her right for her own magic to be used against her!

He turned abruptly and rummaged through the litter on his desk for the piece of smoke-quartz that served him for a magni­fier of his power, then cleared a space and concentrated on the scrying spell. Lashana didn't discover everything about magic, after all! She hadn't been the one to learn that in scrying, you didn't have to look for a place you knew, or even a person—just a particular object or kind of object. That was how they filched provisions from the Elvenlords, back in the good old days....

So rather than look for Lashana—because she might be alerted if she sensed someone scrying for her—he looked for an object. Something she always wore. A dragon-skin belt, made from the shed hide of her so-called 'foster brother' and unique in that it had been dulled with dye so that it didn't catch the eye the way the brilliantly colored skin normally did.

When he found it, he would find her—then he would study where she was carefully—very carefully.

Then the next time she left, he would follow, a little behind. He'd find out where she was going, and what she was doing.

And the moment that he found out her secret—

He closed his hand into a fist, and smiled.

29

Triana lay on her stomach on the cold, hard ground be­neath a bush, peering down at an encampment in the tiny valley below her. Water dripped down on the hood of her cloak from the branches above her, and although the cloak itself was waterproof, mist permeated even the cleverly-magicked fabric somewhat. It was not a comfortable position, but her sheer astonishment at the sight that lay beneath her allowed her to ignore her discomfort.

There was a campsite down there in the mizzle, with six or eight standing figures, putting the place to rights, and one sit­ting figure. It was the seated one that had her attention.

'You see, my lady?' murmured the human tracker in Tri-ana's ear. 'It is as I told you. There is the Elvenlord you wished to find.'

Well, it was an Elvenlord, all right, but it was not the one she had intended to find. Not that the tracker could be blamed in this case. He didn't know what Lord Kyrtian looked like, espe­cially at a distance. He couldn't know that Kyrtian, the fool,

would never have sat back and watched while his slaves put up a camp. But what in the name of all the Ancestors had gotten Aelmarkin to stir his lazy behind and come out to this howling wilderness?

She was rather pleased to see that he didn't look very happy. Hunched over, elbows on knees, even from here she could see his frown. Ancestors! She could feel his frown. His slaves were trying to light a fire and not having a lot of success with the wet wood; he slumped on a stool beneath the shelter of his tent, watching them. She couldn't tell what he was thinking from here, but a moment later, he pointed his finger at the pile of wood and it roared up, causing his slaves to leap back lest they be scorched.

Could it be that he, too, was following Kyrtian? And without ever bothering to inform her?

She ground her teeth in a sudden flare of temper. The nerve of him! How dare he—

But just as quickly the temper subsided, because she couldn't honestly sustain it. Hadn't she expected this? And had she both­ered to tell him what she was planning? Of course not, so why be angry with him when she was doing the same thing? And al­though to her this was just a wager, to him it was a great deal more than that. Enough to force him into a place that was as alien and uncomfortable to him as it was to her.

Well, if he was following Kyrtian, she would just follow him! It would save her a great deal of work, for he was by no means as woods-wise as his cousin, nor were his men. Only if he be­gan to flounder would she have her men strike out on their own.

Meanwhile, Kyrtian was bound to go underground eventu­ally; he had to look for Wizards, and he wanted to look for the Great Portal, and both would be in caves. If the caves were as extensive as rumor painted them, it would be child's play to get ahead of Aelmarkin.

'You've done well,' she whispered back to the slave, who beamed at her, the smile of pride transforming an otherwise un­handsome face. 'Watch them. I will send Kartar to you. When they leave, you both follow. Send Kartar back to fetch us to where they camp next.'

'My lady,' the slave bowed. He was a hard man, as were the others she had with her; forest-trackers all, they were used to the roughest of conditions. He was outfitted for the forest, in tough canvas, sturdy boots and a waterproof, hooded tunic. She wore the same, with modifications-—an additional waterproof cloak, and her clothing made of materials that were just as tough, but softer to the skin. From the look of it, Aelmarkin had taken no such precautions, and she smiled grimly as she eased her way out from under the cover of the bush and back down the other side of the hill, where another of her slaves awaited her.

He led her silently down a tangle of deer-trails; only the An­cestors knew how he was finding his way, and