Elvenborn (21 page)

Lydiell arrived last, in a gown of deceptive simplicity, one that Kyrtian had never seen her wear before. It was only when she drew near that it was obvious that only the "cut" of the gown was simple; with close-fitting sleeves and a modest neck¬line, it was composed entirely of miniature interwoven links and plaques of silver, each no larger than a gnat, each plaque studded with diamonds no larger than the head of a pin. She

seemed to be gowned in shimmering fish-scales, or that fabu¬lous substance, dragon skin.

And I thought my costume was uncomfortably heavy! he thought in awe. He'd had no idea she even possessed such a thing; it couldn't be illusion, but where had it come from?

I wonder if it could turn a blade ? he thought, as he waited for Lydiell to be seated. There was no telling how old such a gar¬ment might be—it might even date back to Evelon itself. If so ... perhaps the ladies of those long-gone days had made a virtue of the necessity of wearing protective armor even to a festive meal.

They took their places, and the ceremonial meal began, course after course, until Kyrtian lost count of them. Each course was no more than a taste, a bite or two of some delicacy; then the plates and cutlery were whisked away to be replaced by a new setting, another dish. Cold dishes and hot, savory, salty, sweet, sour—fragrant noodles, lightly cooked and sea¬soned vegetables sculpted like flowers, flowers made into tiny salads of petals, tiny portions of barely seared meat garnished with rare herbs and sauces, soups hot and chilled—each course was accompanied with a different drink. This was not always wine; it could be a spiced juice, a tea, or delicately flavored spring water, whatever best complemented the course.

It could not be called a meal, it was an event unto itself, a thing which swiftly acquired its own momentum. If Kyrtian was amazed, Lord Kyndreth was not—although it seemed he was very, very pleased. Hours passed, the sunset faded outside the windows and was replaced by the night and stars; Kyndreth and his people exerted themselves to be charming, and Lady Lydiell was equally charming and witty. Kyrtian was awed; he'd never seen his mother quite like this before, and he had to stretch his own wits to keep pace with the others.

Finally, the last course was placed before them—and the fact that it was the final course was signaled by the disappearance of every human servant the moment each plate was placed before the diners. Each plate held a single delicate, gilded fruit-ice the size of Lydiell's graceful hand. Each scoop of ice had been

molded into the Lion of Lord Kyndreth's House, with the de¬tails picked out in sugar-crystals and pearlescent icing.

Lord Kyndreth stood up, and raised his cup to Lady Lydiell.

"My dear hostess," he said, in a voice full of warmth and ad¬miration. "I cannot imagine how you conjured up a Court feast on less than no notice, but allow me to declare that you are surely the equal of any Great Mage in the land, and I bow to your prowess. I drink to you, Lady Lydiell!"

The rest answered his toast, and Lydiell gracefully acknowl¬edged the compliment with a nod of her head.

Kyndreth sat down again. "I can see by all of this that my judgment of your House was not mistaken. If you do not move in the circles of the Council, it is not because you do not merit such attention, but because you chose not to seek it."

He looked from Lydiell to Kyrtian, and back again. It was Lydiell he evidently expected to answer, and it was Lydiell who made the reply.

"My Lord Kyndreth, our family has long preferred to keep our own company, and live quietly and even reclusively," Ly¬diell murmured. "It is not out of unseemly pride, I beg to urge, but out of modesty and a genuine preference for a quiet and reclusive life. All of us—my late husband, his father before him, and my son as well as myself—are more of the tempera¬ment of a scholar than of a courtier, and the life of a seeming hermit suits us well. Perhaps our needs and pleasures may seem simple to you, but we find that they satisfy every wish and de¬sire we have, for our wishes and desires are for the inner world of thought, rather than the outer world, which others might find stimulating, but we find contentious and disturbing."

Kyndreth sighed, a bit melodramatically, perhaps. "And I wish that you could continue to enjoy that quiet life, my Lady, but the times, I fear, will not permit your modesty to deny the genuine talents that lie hidden in this little haven of yours."

Now he turned to Kyrtian. "Lord Kyrtian, I do not have to tell you what your reputation is among the ignorant; you have heard it already from the mouth of your kinsman, Aelmarkin. I was prepared to discount that reputation when I accepted your

invitation, but now I find that your kinsman was not only incor¬rect, he was—" Kyndreth shook his head. "Words fail me. Ael-markin is either poisonously prejudiced against you, or completely blind. I have seen and heard enough in two days to convince me that, despite your own disclaimers, you, Lord Kyrtian, are nothing short of a military genius. This is no mere eccentric hobby that you have, it is a genuine vocation."

Kyrtian opened his mouth to protest, but Kyndreth silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"You have, with no help other than that of some ancient man¬uscripts, uncovered a training method that creates expert fight¬ers in a fraction of the time we have taken heretofore and as you yourself pointed out, with none of the criminal wastage that our method entails. I have seen your strategic ability in action, I have seen your careful attention to every aspect of military life. Lord Kyrtian, you cannot remain a hermit any longer; you are desperately needed. The High Council needs you."

"I—cannot imagine why you would think that," Kyrtian stammered, taken completely by surprise. "You already hold the key to the training-magic, and you are a greater mage than I—"

"We need your military knowledge," Kyndreth insisted. "Be¬tween the wars with the Wizards and the revolt of our own un¬grateful offspring, there are precious few with the wisdom and knowledge to command, and none with your talent. We need you, Lord Kyrtian. We need you to lead our armies."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyrtian saw his mother tense, and realized that although he had not anticipated this demand, she had.

"You already have leaders," he protested. "Leaders of higher rank than 1.1 would not dare—"

"With my backing, no one would dare dispute you" Kyn¬dreth countered, grimly. "With my backing, I can easily per¬suade every Councilor that matters that you are the only possible Commanding General for our forces."

Kyrtian was dumbfounded; he had hoped that Kyndreth's gratitude would bring them a respite from Aelmarkin's enmity, but he had not expected Kyndreth to propose he take his place among the Greatest of the Great Lords!

"Lord Kyndreth, please do not think me ungrateful—rather, I am stunned," he managed. "And surely you realize that I have no practical experience!"

Lord Kyndreth raised his eyebrow. "All the practical experi¬ence of our current Commander has availed him nothing," he pointed out. "The situation with our young rebels has been in stalemate for the last month and more." He paused. "And that is to go no further than this table; only the members of the Coun¬cil are aware of it."

"Stalemate—" Kyrtian bit his lip. "How much territory are they holding?"

"Roughly half of the estates are in the hands of the rebels," Kyndreth replied. "We are fortunate that none of them are vital to the economy—they were mostly estates producing little ex¬cept slaves and luxuries. Nevertheless, that is a great deal of ter¬ritory to be in unfriendly hands—and there are isolated estates within that territory that are still in the hands of our people, loyal folk who need and deserve succor." Now he looked shrewdly at Lydiell. "Unless I am very much mistaken, one of those is the estate of Lady Morthena, your kinswoman."

"Lady Moth?" Lydiell paled. Kyrtian bit his lip. Granted, Lady Moth had conspicuously not taken sides, and if the rebels had troubled her, Lydiell certainly would have heard about it by now. Still, she might be presumed to be in danger.

"Lady Morthena is encircled and certainly trapped," Kyn¬dreth continued, his eyes nicking from Lydiell to Kyrtian. "As yet, she has held control over her slaves, so that she has pre¬vented any incursions onto her lands. As yet, the rebels have not attempted any serious effort at capturing her. But how long will it be until they see her as a valuable bargaining tool? She is a Great Lady; the honor of the High Lords and the Council would be compromised if she were to be captured and held against her will. We would either be forced to abandon her— which is unthinkable—or make concessions to the rebels— which is also unthinkable."

It is all unthinkable. Kyrtian gritted his teeth. Kyndreth ei¬ther knew or guessed that he would be extremely loyal to those members of his family—unlike Aelmarkin—who deserved loy-

alty. He had known that Lady Moth was close to the territory held by the rebels, for she herself had told them. The Young Lords could not block teleson messages, and did not even try; so far Lady Moth had seemed entirely unconcerned about her position in the midst of the Young Lords, even professing to a certain detached sympathy for their cause. But Lord Kyndreth was right; if the Young Lords cared to, they could take Lady Moth captive to use her as a bargaining-chip. A quick glance at LydielFs face told him all he needed to know; this was no idle speculation, but a real possibility.

"You must give me time to consider all you have said, Lord Kyndreth," he managed, finally. "I am—stunned. I need time to shake my thoughts loose."

"I can sympathize," Kyndreth said gravely, but there was a smile of satisfaction in his eyes. He already knew that Kyrtian would agree, just as Kyrtian already knew he must agree. It was only a matter of time, and time was not his friend.

12

Lord Kyndreth retired to his guest-suite and the competent hands of his body-slaves with a feeling of total content-ment. Not only had he just savored the pleasure of enjoying

an exquisitely prepared, presented, and served High Court feast, but he was perfectly well aware that he was about to ac¬quire a most useful adherent. He had seen young Kyrtian's re¬action to the double temptations of power and the opportunity to play the hero. He had also noted Lady Lydiell's. The boy might be naive, but his mother was no fool, and she knew that the Great Lord and High Councilor Lord Kyndreth would not have made those offers if it was possible to refuse them.

She also knows that without my patronage that cousin of theirs will continue to be a thorn in their sides, at the very least,

and might well find a patron powerful enough that he can take everything from them, he thought with satisfaction. She read that implicit threat clearly enough.

He'd mentioned Aelmarkin for just that reason. In this partic¬ular game of hounds-and-alicorns, Lord Kyndreth had herded the hounds into exactly the positions he wanted them.

His slaves undressed him and he slipped into the silk lounging-robe one of them held out for him. As always, his bodyguard Kaeth was in unobtrusive attendance, and when the last slave left the room, Kaeth remained, a faithful shadow, to be ignored—or not. Kaeth was equally receptive to either condition.

Kaeth's training must have been impeccable; Lord Kyndreth only wished that he could have gotten Kaeth's trainers along with the bodyguard. When the slave grew too old to serve, it would be difficult to replace him, and it would by necessity be with an inferior specimen.

Kyndreth turned his back on his bodyguard and took a seat beside an illusory fire burning in the very real marble fire¬place—one of the few illusions in this suite. The flames danced with rainbow colors, and as the fire "burned," it gave off a pleasant scent of cedar and aloes-wood, but no heat.

"Well, Kaeth," Kyndreth said to the fire, "the boy will take the bait, I've no doubt. He doesn't dare refuse it."

"True, my Lord." As always, Kaeth was as economical with words as with everything else. "He'll accept by morning, I ex¬pect."

"He's as good as I think." That was a statement; Kyndreth didn't expect Kaeth to disagree. "The boy is going to break the deadlock for us. The only reason Aelmarkin managed to con¬vince everyone that he was half-mad was because he stayed mewed up here. Anyone who had bothered to talk with him for more than half an hour would have known he was sane—and brilliant. If he'd been out in society, Aelmarkin wouldn't have had a chance of making a laughing-stock out of him."

"He is better than you think, my Lord."

Astonished, Lord Kyndreth swiveled his head to look at his normally laconic bodyguard. "Indeed?" he managed. By the Ancestors, I can't remember the last time Kaeth volunteered a

comment, much less an opinion! This youngster must be some¬thing truly out of the ordinary!

"I have examined his library, his strategy-room, and some of his own writings, my lord. I also watched his men when he commanded them. It is one thing to command men; it is another to lead them. Lord Kyrtian is a leader. Men may not always obey a commander—or at least, they may only obey the letter of his commands, but not exert themselves beyond that—but they will always follow a leader." Kaeth's unreadable expres¬sion did not change by so much as a hair, but Lord Kyndreth fancied he'd heard the faintest hint of approval in the body¬guard's voice.

Interesting. Very interesting.

He turned back to the fire. It wouldn't do to give Kaeth too much direct attention. The slave was intelligent, highly intelli¬gent, and Kyndreth needed to be very careful how he handled the man. Too much attention might give him a sense of self-importance that could affect his usefulness. "All the more rea¬son to put him in charge of the army. Half the time Lord Levelis has to drive the troops into action with pain and punishment. If the troops had some other motivation, that alone might ensure our victory."

"Lord Levelis," came the surprising reply, "will be mortally offended by being replaced by a—Lesser Lord."