Elvenborn

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 acquire a most useful adherent. He had seen young Kyrtian's reaction 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 particular 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 fireplace—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 expect."

"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 convince 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 something 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 expression did not change by so much as a hair, but Lord Kyndreth fancied he'd heard the faintest hint of approval in the bodyguard'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 intelligent, 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 reason 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."

Again, Kaeth had volunteered an observation. Lord Kyrtian must have impressed the man so much that Kaeth's careful self-control was cracking a trifle. Kyndreth laughed mirthlessly. "By an eccentric nobody, you mean, but of course cannot say. If his dear cousin is to be believed, a half-mad nobody. Lord Levelis will have to survive being offended; he has done nothing to endear himself to me, he has bungled every attempt at putting down the rebels, and he is not one of my adherents. I can afford to offend him; let his patron find a way to console him."

There was no reply; the human really couldn't reply to the statements without being insolent, and Lord Kyndreth would not tolerate insolence, even from a slave as trusted as his bodyguard.

"The boy's position will be safe enough when it is clear that I am his patron," Kyndreth continued for Kaeth's benefit. "I could have him installed tomorrow, if I chose. Levelis has bungled too many times, and he will not dare move against me or anyone I choose to replace him with."

"Perhaps not against you—but out on the battlefield, Lord Kyrtian will no longer be under your direct supervision or protection. Lord Levelis may move against him there; my Lord, the battlefield is a chance-ridden place, and accidents do happen to even the most careful."

Well, well! I do believe that is another opinion!

Kyndreth could not resist the temptation to see what else he could draw out of Kaeth—further observations, even suggestions? This was more than the bodyguard had shown of himself in years!

"Perhaps I should send you to watch out for his welfare," he half-jested.

"I will do whatever you direct, my Lord," came the expressionless reply, and Kyndreth sighed with disappointment. Kaeth had revealed all that he was going to—and probably would not venture so much as a bland comment for the next year.

Kyndreth had no intention of assigning Kaeth—who was far too valuable where he was—to the task of seeing to Kyrtian's well-being. The boy will either be able to protect himself, or not. And if he cannot, then he does not deserve my patronage. There was that bodyguard of his own, after all—a man who had come very close to defeating Kaeth in combat. Having that particular slave in his train showed a certain amount of self-preserving sense.

Levelis wouldn't be able to eliminate him until after he'd broken the stalemate, anyway, and by then the real work would be done, and Levelis could have his old position back if he really wanted it. By that point, Kyndreth would have what he wanted; credit for breaking the backs of the rebels, and when the rebels were defeated, Kyrtian would be—

—expendable. Still useful, perhaps, but expendable.

Gel had stood silent watch throughout the long meal, listening to the conversation with a face as impassive as that of the bodyguard Kaeth—and when the servants vanished he did the same.

But he didn't go far. Like every public room in this manor, there was a spy-hole where a trusted confederate could listen to the Elvenlords when they thought they were speaking among themselves.

He didn't trust Lord Kyndreth. No matter how that particular Elvenlord acted, he would never do anything that wasn't in his own interest; solely and completely in his own interest. He might lull others into believing that he acted out of—say— friendship, or even the altruistic wish to do someone who might deserve help a favor, but there would always be a hidden reason for such actions, and either a later cost, or a current benefit.

It was moderately interesting to hear Kyndreth speaking so openly in front of, and to, his bodyguard Kaeth. It wasn't unheard of or out-of-character, though; after all, what was the use of having a fully-trained and intelligent bodyguard if you didn't make use of all of his skills?

The spy-hole was a clever little construction, built where the chimney would have actually been had the fireplace been real and functional. There was enough room to sit comfortably with one ear to the wall, forehead resting against a padded projection, in the utter darkness—not a single peep-hole, not even a thin little crack to betray the possible presence of a spy here.

So, the current commander is going to be an enemy. That was no surprise, though it was a good thing to have the man's name. Tenebrinth could put some time into investigating the fellow. It might well be possible to compensate him in some way for the loss of his important post.

It might be possible to placate him with no more than a simple visit. Kyrtian plays the humble soul very well.

The murmur of voices in the other room continued, and he strained to hear every nuance, wishing he also had some way to read Lord Kyndreth's thoughts.

The current commander isn't Kyndreth's? That's good to know; Kyndreth probably knows next to nothing about him, and if Kaeth does, he's only said that the fellow is going to be insulted. Well, insults can be negated with a purging dose of humility. If Kyrtian paid an immediate call on Levelis, after accepting the appointment but before it became generally known, and groveled ...

Must ask Tenebrinth. That can be a two-edged sword.

Assuming that the current commander could not be placated or bought off, there was a possibility that Levelis would revert to the ancient ways of Evelon. The Elvenlord was not likely to act openly—after the display at the challenge-duel hosted by Aelmarkin, no one was going to issue a challenge that they knew they were going to lose. A challenge to a duel-by-magic was possible, and there were several potential ways of dealing with it. Kyndreth and the Council could forbid it. Kyrtian could accept and the duel could go on, and he could either win or lose—and in either case, Gel would have to be certain that the stakes weren't too high to lose. What is the limit on stakes in these things? Must ask Tenebrinth. If it's pretty much a token, it might pay Kyrtian to lose anyway.

But if the Council forbade a duel altogether on the grounds that the challenge was specious and made purely out of pique, Levelis could decide to take matters into his own hands. That left the possibility—if Levelis had or could purchase a properly-trained slave—of assassination. He wished very strongly that he had Kaeth at his disposal about now—an assassin would be the best possible expert at spotting another.

But he didn't. And I spotted Kaeth, so I suppose I could spot another. Provided he was operating in the open, and not making an attempt at sniping from a distance. Damn. He made another note; make sure that Kyrtian's tent and person were always out of bow shot of any cover. Fine, provided that the current battlefield site wasn't in the middle of a forest.

But he knew that there was no use in trying to persuade Kyrtian not to go; he didn't even consider the option. It was too dangerous to try and decline the invitation, at least in the short-term. So long as Kyndreth was Kyrtian's sponsor, Aelmarkin would keep his distance.

Damn them all for a nest of twisty snakes, anyway! Why couldn't anyone among these pointy-eared bastards ever do anything in a straightforward manner?

But the subject had changed, and Gel shoved his ear even tighter against the wall, hoping for more insights.

Kara and Gianna were fussing with their clothing again, hoping for a second visit from the Great Lord and a second present of jewels, no doubt. What good jewels were, with only their master to see them, Rennati had no idea. Rennati sighed, but quietly; Kara had gone through three changes of costume already, and still she wasn't satisfied with the impression she was going to make.

She looked back at the window; a doe and fawn appeared at the very edge of the lawn, but quickly darted back out of view before she got more than a glimpse of them.

I would like a fawn, more than jewels. Or a kitten of my own, like the one that slipped in when we first came here. Any kind of pet. Kara and Gianna wouldn't want to share the harem with an animal, though.

Kara tried another gown, and rejected it immediately—not that there was anything wrong with it, but because she had worn it two days ago.

Well, maybe Lady Lydiell shouldn 't have given us such extensive wardrobes when she bought us and installed us here, Rennati thought. Half of all this costume-changing is only because Kara's got an excuse to try on everything in her closet.

Kara and Gianna twittered at each other; what did Rennati need with a bird when she had them? "The black," she said, in the first available moment of silence. "Wear the black. It's at the right end of the closet."

Two heads swiveled on two swan-like necks to peer in her direction, both sets of eyes, blue and brown, equally uncertain. "Black?" Kara said doubtfully. "But—" she shuddered. "He'll think—"

"Black's not for mourning, not with them," Rennati said, anticipating Kara's objection. "I know it's not a color you usually wear, but Lady Lydiell has perfect taste, and she wouldn't have put the black in your wardrobe if she didn't think you'd look good in it."

The fair and deceptively fragile Kara pursed her lips in thought. "I could try it, I suppose—"

The thought was mother to the act; in a mere moment, the gown of seventeen overdresses made of sheerest silk was in a heap on the floor, and Kara slid the heavy satin black over her head while Gianna picked up the discarded gown, shook it out, and put it back in the wardrobe. Gianna, fortunately, had a mania for neatness. Kara smoothed the bias-cut gown over her flat stomach, settled the pointed neckline, and twitched the long sleeves so that the points of the cuffs came down precisely over the backs of her hands, then turned to gaze at her reflection.

Gianna was already staring in awe, her lips pursed. "Oooh, Kara!" she enthused. "It's perfect, Ren's right! Wear it!"

And it was perfect; Kara's misty-blue eyes in the reflection were wide with surprise as she pulled her long hair over one shoulder to fall in a silver-gilt cascade along the shining black satin. Rennati smothered a smile. "Remember those silver-and-jet ornaments that puzzled you in the jewel-chest?" she prompted. "I would bet that they're meant to go with the black." As the other two women dove for the jewel-chest, Rennati went back to her own thoughts. She and Gianna were more than ready for any potential call for their services; it was only Kara who'd been indecisive. Kara could never make up her mind about anything, and preferred to be led by the other two.

Which was fine with Rennati. Gianna was the natural leader of the harem, if one could be called a "leader" in a group of three. Rennati was indifferent to who took the lead in such pressing questions as what to eat, what music to play, or what to wear. Even now Kara sat passively while Gianna decided what to do with her hair and the wealth of silver and black ornaments that were obviously supposed to go into a coiffure.

Gianna had been ready hours ago; last night she had worn a close-cut scarlet velvet gown with a cleavage so low and tight that she nearly popped out of it—not that, with her generous features, she wasn't perilously close to popping out of anything she wore. Tonight she favored a dusty rose that was not tight-fitting at all, but plunged so low in the back that there was not a single one of her perfectly-sculptured vertebrae that was not on show, and as usual, she had made up her mind after swiftly rifling through her closet. Rennati had been ready even earlier; last night she had worn an emerald-green sheath that matched her eyes, slit to the hips on either side, and tonight it was a pale green tunic with an asymmetrical hem and no shoes. She didn't expect Lord Kyndreth to get to her, anyway; she expected to dance while the other two worked their wiles on him. Lord Kyndreth had expressed pleasure with her dancing last night, and she hadn't even begun to show off her talent. If the other two occupied his bed, that would give her a rare moment alone to activate her teleson-ring to speak with her real Mistress.

She hadn't learned much—except that Kyndreth was pleased, very pleased, with Lord Kyrtian, and intended to become his patron—but she remembered Lady Triana's instructions to report everything. They hadn't yet been allowed out of the tiny harem, though neither Kara nor Gianna particularly cared. Rennati would have liked the chance to get out, rare though it might be for a concubine to have that chance, but she had to admit that, although the suite was relatively small, it was sumptuously appointed and should satisfy most cravings.

It even had windows gazing out on the world; from the look of things, their suite was in a tower, for the window-seat where Rennati lounged was at some height above a wide, green lawn. There were trees in the far distance, although with twilight darkening the sky it was hard to distinguish anything but a vague, bluish blur at the end of the lawn. This was a novelty; Rennati had never been in a harem that had a view of the world she had last seen as a young child, and she spent as much time as possible in the windows, watching the rest of Lord Kyrtian's slaves walking from here to there with purpose in their steps, or even working on that plushy grass.

Anything they might possibly have wanted had been supplied to them. There were the usual lutes and harps to play on, if they desired, or they could leave the instruments to play by themselves with a touch of the hand on a little silver stud in the neck. If they chose the latter, the instruments somehow also supplied an accompaniment of drums, bells, and flutes. There were materials for embroidery and beadwork, scents, cosmetics of every sort, hair-dressing instruments, and even books, though Rennati was the only one of the three of them who could read with any proficiency. The bathroom was small, but one didn't necessarily need a bath one could swim in, and the food invariably pleasant, if not sumptuous. Still, one didn't particularly want a feast presented to one every day in a harem; it was altogether too easy to overeat, and that would be a disaster for the figure.

The door-chime sent the other two into a flutter, and Rennati rose from the window seat to join them as they flew into the reception-chamber together.

Lord Kyndreth, tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome enough for any two humans, strode unaccompanied into the room. All three of them dropped to the floor in a profoundly deep curtsy the moment his foot crossed the threshold. He laughed at Kara's eager face as she looked up at him.

"Well, last night you were a lily, so what are you tonight, hmm?" he teased. "A black narcissus, perhaps?"

"I am whatever your lordship pleases to call me," Kara replied, rising first, with an expression of adoration.

She probably didn't feel adoration, but she was adept at assuming any expression she thought might be met with pleasure.

"As it should be," he responded, gesturing to Kara and Gi-anna, and gathering each into an arm. "Come now, last night I had but a brief introduction to flame-hair's dancing, and I am eager to see more."

He took a seat on a couch piled high with silk and velvet pillows, still with a girl on either side to minister to him. Rennati made the rounds of the room, touching each of the waiting instruments in turn, then set the time for the dance by clapping her hands for a measure. The instruments, in concert, struck up a lively piece; she let it play through for four measures before leaping out into the room and setting her flying feet into motion.

This, if anything, was what she lived for. She would rather have died than not dance. Her first owner, a Lord of discriminating tastes (so he styled himself) and limited means, had grown bored with her passion, and had decided to dispose of her in a private sale to finance the purchase of a new girl to train.

"There's nothing at all wrong with her," he'd told Lady Tri-ana, "It's just that she's always dancing. I'd really like to find a new girl who has talents that are a little more restful. One doesn't always want prancing about; it's very fatiguing to watch after a while."

For Lord Kyndreth, however, Rennati's passion apparently had the virtue of novelty, even if he was so busy with Kara and Gianna that he paid scant attention to the nuances of Rennati's performance. And long before she was weary, he was fully involved with them. Ornaments had been removed and set carefully aside, along with a few bits of clothing, and when Rennati signaled the instruments to play quietly to themselves and stole out of the room, none of the three even noticed. That was fair enough; she'd been Lord Kyndreth's first last night, which had left Kara out. Kara no doubt wanted a chance for a better present tonight.

Rennati stole up the stairs to the uppermost story of the tower where their bedrooms were—not so much bedrooms, as curtained-off alcoves of a room meant never to be seen by the eyes of a Lord. Here they could practice with cosmetics, sometimes to hilarious effect; here they kept the litter of their previous lives, personal belongings too shabby for a Lord to see. Kara had a battered old doll, much loved and worn, and every bit of "jewelry" she ever owned, going right back to a string of pierced sea-shells some little boy-child had once given her, up to her own efforts with needle and beads. There were a dozen works-in-progress on a table, along with a doll being costumed with beads and bits. Gianna had managed to keep hold of all of her attempts at artwork and kept her supplies and easel up here. She was making an attempt at a still-life of Kara's work-table, but Kara kept moving things around, much to her frustration.

Rennati had books—not the pretty leather-bound volumes of poetry downstairs, but dirty old things with torn covers or no covers at all on every subject under the sun, rescued from the Lord's trash-heaps. And, of course, she had Lady Triana's teleson-ring.

With a few hesitant words, she activated it.

It was too small to allow a picture; it sent and received voices only. As she had been told to expect, the first voice was unfamiliar.

"Who calls?" the voice asked.

"Rennati," she replied breathlessly, a little astonished and a little fearful to be holding a thing of such great magic in her hand.

"Ah—wait one moment. Lady Triana will wish to speak with you herself."

The ring, a beryl like the one in her collar, fell silent. Rennati waited patiently; so long as no one came up here to interrupt her, she would wait for as long as she was told to. Elvenlords were busy, and it was not reasonable to expect one to drop whatever she was doing simply to come and hear what a mere concubine had to say.

Finally, "Speak," said an imperious female voice from the ring.

"I have been here since your agent sent me to Lady Lydiell," Rennati said instantly. "I am with two other concubines, in a tower, in a small harem. I can see outside from the windows, but I have not yet been allowed to venture past the door. Lord Kyrtian has been here once only. He is entertaining Lyon Lord Kyndreth, who was here last night and is here now. Lord Kyn-dreth is going to become Lord Kyrtian's patron. He told Kara tonight that Lord Kyrtian has pleased him and that we must not expect to see very much of our master for some time, since he is going to go away to take charge of an army."

There was an odd laugh. "Well, that rather puts a kink in my plans; if he won't be there, you won't be able to learn much from him. On the other hand, if you do manage to get out, you can see a great deal more when the lord himself is away. And this other news—more than interesting. I take it that this is all you have for me for now?"

Rennati nodded, forgetting for a moment that she could not be seen, then hastily said, "I am sorry, but that is indeed all I have learned."

"It is not a great deal, but the quality is good, and I am pleased. Notify me the moment you learn anything more. You may deactivate the ring now."

Obediently, Rennati passed her hand over the ring, shutting out the light from the room for a moment, which turned it into an ordinary beryl again. Then she placed the ring in the darkest comer of her jewel-box, and hurried back downstairs. After all, it was not too late to earn another generous present from Lord Kyndreth—and more importantly, he might be inclined to talk afterwards. Elvenlord or human, if they didn't sleep, they were all often inclined to talk—afterwards.