Elvenborn (20 page)

As soon as Lord Kyndreth put in an appearance and had bro¬ken his fast, the rest of the day was spent in an odd role-reversal, as Kyrtian tutored the older Lord in the magic of mock-combat.

It felt awkward. It was also dangerous work, and not from a magical standpoint. Somehow Kyrtian had to simultaneously be teacher and deferential (but not groveling) Lesser Lord to Kyndreth's Greater. Kyrtian walked a narrow line between those two extremes, and he dared not deviate from it, if he wanted Lord Kyndreth's protection.

But Lord Kyndreth wanted this knowledge badly enough to exert himself to be accommodating and charming, and slowly Kyrtian began to relax, forget about his own careful pose, and simply instruct.

He'd called in all of his fighters to act as subjects for the practice, though initially the magic was only cast on one. Kyrt¬ian was sure enough of his own mastery that he reckoned he could counter any mistakes Lord Kyndreth made before they caused any harm, and it was a very real measure of the trust his men had in him that the fighters took that for granted, standing relaxed and unconcerned while Lord Kyndreth felt his way through the weaving of the complicated magery the first time. It took a fine touch, a delicate touch, to ensure that the fighter en-spelled felt enough of a warning tingle to tell him that he'd been hit, even in the excitement of combat—yet was kept from actually being hurt, which would be counterproductive.

"This is the opposite of the way we train our gladiators now," Kyndreth observed, pausing to wipe his brow with a spotless scrap of white silk, which he then dropped, without thinking about it, on the ground behind him. His own man automatically retrieved the handkerchief and stepped back again. Kyndreth

never even noticed. "When they practice, even with blunted weapons, the point is that they will be hurt if they allow a blow to fall, and so their defense-work is supposed to improve."

"Yes, but if that blow falls, even in practice, it can disable a man," Kyrtian pointed out, as the fighter waited patiently for Kyndreth to complete the spellcasting. "What's the good of learning from your mistake if you end up losing so much time in recovering from your injury that you have to go back to the beginning again? Conditioning is as important as training, or so my experience leads me to believe."

"Oh, you are arguing with the converted, young friend," Kyndreth chuckled, casually massaging his hands as if they felt stiff. "I've lost far too many fine and promising specimens per¬manently to so-called 'training accidents.' It's a costly business— too costly, when now we need fighters for real combat more than we need gladiators." He resumed the task before him, and the fighter began to have a faintly glowing aura.

"In the case of men who are stubborn about acknowledging hits, I do set it high enough to hurt, though," Kyrtian admitted, as he supervised Lord Kyndreth's effort. "There are some fel¬lows who get so worked up during a fight that nothing less than real pain seems to get through to them."

"Those men I would put in the front lines," Kyndreth ob¬served wryly, with a side glance at Kyrtian. "If they are that im¬pervious. I've seen a few of those; they have a kind of madness in battle. It's useful if they're in the front line, but they're as much a danger to friend as to foe anywhere else. I put 'em on the point of a thrust; let them carve their way in, and take ground behind them with fighters that can keep their heads."

Kyrtian nodded, although he hated to think of any of his fighters being in the front lines of real combat. His eyes nar¬rowed as he kept track of Lord Kyndreth's progress. "There—" he cautioned. "That is exactly the level you can usually set it at. That's perfect." As Kyndreth let go of his control of the field around the fighter, Kyrtian flexed his shoulders to ease some of the strain in them. "Now we build the weapon." He smiled. "That's not as difficult; it's just a little different from a truly ex¬pert illusion."

Once Kyndreth had the initial magic set, he was able to swiftly make copies upon as many fighters as Kyrtian had pres¬ent. "This is amazing!" he observed, his eyes widening a little, as his total passed twenty. "The first one is difficult, but there is very little drain once the initial fighter is done! 1 had expected this to be quite expensive in terms of personal energy."

"I believe that is because you aren't exactly replicating the magic—I believe you are simply spreading it to include every subsequent fighter," Kyrtian observed, pleased with how quickly Lord Kyndreth had learned the special techniques. The sooner he has mastered all this, the sooner he can be gone, and we can get this masquerade over with. "I hope that makes sense to you."

"Perfect sense." Kyndreth gave him an odd look. "Do you also make a study of the mechanics and theory of magic? It's an esoteric branch of study, and one I had not associated with someone who is so clearly a—well, a soldier, so to speak, rather than a pure scholar."

"Only a little—I had to do a certain amount of study to repli¬cate this—" he waved his hand vaguely at the assembled fight¬ers. "I won't claim to be a genius, or even to have a particular knack for research, only a great deal of patience and persistence when it comes to something I'm interested in."

Lord Kyndreth's expression blanked for a moment, as if Kyrtian's attitude had taken him aback, but he said nothing.

"Well, let's have the fighters pair off, and see the magic in ac¬tion, shall we?" Kyrtian continued, wondering what that look meant. Have I been too modest? Have I tipped my hand? Or is it just that he isn't used to hearing someone that doesn't boast about his prowess ?

"An excellent plan." Lord Kyndreth stepped to the sidelines, and Kyrtian signaled to the fighters to begin sparring. Lord Kyndreth's pleasure in the discovery that his replication of the magic functioned exactly the same as Kyrtian's was obvious.

For his own part, Kyrtian was just as pleased. For once, he didn't have to hold both sides in the spell, and that freed up enough of his attention that he could more fully appreciate the skill of his men.

Kyrtian signaled to his men to stop, and turned to his guest, his own feeling of accomplishment matching Lord Kyndreth's. "You are a marvelously quick study, my lord, and no one would doubt your mastery of magic," he said, wim no intent to flatter. "I do not think you need to learn anything else from me. You have the technique now, and all that you need is practice. In time you will probably be faster even than I at setting the magic."

"Practice is something I can get at home; I will not strain your generous hospitality longer than I have to," the Great Lord replied immediately, much to Kyrtian's veiled relief. He wants to leave so soon! Thank the Ancestors!

"Truly, it is a great honor to be your host," he protested any¬way, for form's sake.

"And truly, it is a great inconvenience for you," Kyndreth said, with just a touch of mockery in his voice. "I am not blind, Kyrtian. For all that you and your Lady Mother live graciously, your means are limited, and I am a burden on them. This is a small and very private manor, and my folk are an intrusion and an inconvenience to your routine, no matter how you cloak that in good manners. I shall beg your forbearance for just this one night more, for there is something I would like to discuss with you, but tomorrow my folk and I will leave you and yours in peace. Meanwhile—I feel in strong need of a bath and a rest!"

Before Kyrtian had a chance to react to the first part of that statement, Lord Kyndreth had clapped him on the back like an old friend, then turned to dismiss the magic he had cast over the fighters. He strode off in the direction of the manor, presumably to return to the guest quarters, leaving Kyrtian in charge of his own people.

"You did well, men; Gel, take over the practice," was all he dared say, not knowing whether he was under some covert ob¬servation. He recast the magic, and Sergeant Gel assumed com¬mand, barking out orders to pair off and start sparring. He watched, an observer rather than a participant, as the fighters went through their usual paces, changing weapons, changing sparring-partners, until they were all drenched with sweat and exhausted. It was very difficult to remain aloof; his hands

twitched to hold a sword, and several times he had to force him¬self to remain quiet when someone required correction. It would not do for him to correct the men himself; he must be pa¬tient and wait for Gel to spot the problem and deal with it. Kyn-dreth might have a man watching; he could have a magical "eye" observing them. It would not do for Kyrtian to be seen wading in as if he was of no higher estate than his own drill-master. Only when the men were completely exhausted did he dismiss them and permit them to return to their own quarters under the supervision of Sergeant Gel. And only then could he return to his mother's office and find out what Lord Kyndreth's three underlings had been doing while he and Kyndreth were occupied with the fighters.

Lady Lydiell was waiting for him as he rose through the floor of her office; she must have seen him approaching from the practice-field. "Tenebrinth took them riding," she said immedi¬ately, knowing with that acuity that sometimes resembled a hu¬man's magic what he wanted before he even voiced the question. "They just wanted exercise; I think they were bored. Tenebrinth took them on a tour of the hunting-reserve, which is far enough away from any of our little villages to keep anything untoward from happening, and I think they may actually have done a little hunting themselves. Look—you can see them from here—"

She pointed, and he went to the western side of the office, peering into the distance until he caught sight of four brilliantly colored atomies making their way alongside a tree line that had been reduced by distance to a mere blur of green.

"What about Kyndreth's human slaves?" he asked, without taking his eyes off the distant riders.

"They remained within the guest-quarters, except for the bodyguards, who were keeping you and Kyndreth under sur¬veillance," Lydiell told him calmly. "And some of our people were in turn watching them. It made me wonder how many lay¬ers of watchers-watching-watchers we could have had before people began running into each other!"

Kyrtian turned away from the window, and caught his mother's ironic smile. "It would be an interesting experiment.

That human Kaeth is a very sharp fellow; I have no doubt that he knew his people were being overlooked. I shouldn't like to have to pit Gel against him; I think that Gel might be out¬matched in certain areas."

"Then let us hope we never need to." Lydiell looked at him sharply. "What is it that you have not told me? Something Kyn-dreth said?"

"Something he has yet to say," Kyrtian sighed, chagrined that she was able to read him so easily. I should know better than to think I can hide anything from her. "He learned the magic quite quickly; actually more quickly than I had anticipated. Whatever else his accomplishments may be, there is no doubt that he de¬serves his position as a mage and a Great Lord."

"Do not attempt to distract me; I am too old to play that game with," Lydiell responded, a touch sharply. "What was this about 'something he has yet to say' ?"

"He implied that he wishes to discuss something with me, possibly at or after dinner. 1 have no idea what it is." Kyrtian tried to shrug it all off as of no importance, but his mother im¬mediately looked concerned, then tried to conceal it.

"Did he say anything else?" she asked, a little too casually.

"One thing more—that he and his people will be leaving in the morning, which is not too soon for me." Feeling overly con¬fined by the relatively formal garments he'd been buttoned into this morning, Kyrtian ruined the efforts of his body-servants by restlessly unbuttoning the collar of his tunic and running his hands distractedly through his hair.

"At least that is good news." Lady Lydiell sank into her seat behind her desk. "I knew this charade of ours would be a strain, but I hadn't expected it to be as much of a strain as it has been."

Kyrtian nodded in agreement, and took a quick glance back at the window. The tiny figures were no longer so tiny and were growing larger by the moment—the riders must have decided that they had exercised enough for one day. Either that, or Kyn-dreth sent a magical summons to them. "If I am going to con¬tinue the game, I had best get down to my quarters to dress for dinner, Lady-Mother. Since this is to be Lord Kyndreth's last night—shouldn't we do something—well—elaborate?"

"Indeed we should, and I will follow your example as soon as I've seen the cooks." She rose from her chair and moved around her desk to kiss him fondly on the cheek. "We must show him every possible honor. We need to drive it home to Lord Kyn-dreth that we are reclusive, but neither mad, nor barbaric."

Kyrtian was tempted to break his long-standing habit and use illusion to augment his costume, for the clothing his servants laid out for him was not the sort of thing he would have chosen for himself. It was impressive, yes, but the plush velvet tunic of a sober midnight-blue was so heavily ornamented with gold bullion and tiny beads made from sapphires and emeralds that it weighed as much as armor, and the high collar was probably going to drive him to distraction before the evening was over and he could take it off.

Nevertheless, he allowed his men to assist him into the stiff costume, and made his appearance in the grand dining room well ahead of their guest. Somehow Lady Lydiell had worked miracles among the cooks, for there was every evidence of a meal worthy of the room in the offing. The table, decked in snowy damask, was adorned with a dozen different glasses at each place, and the sideboard was laden with small dishes and a myriad of specialized knives, forks and spoons, each (by the rules of etiquette) suited only to very particular sorts of courses. Also by the rules of etiquette, there was only a single plate and no utensils at each place. The particular silverware needed for each course would be laid with the course, and whisked away again to prevent any faux pas in dining on the part of a guest. When Lord Kyndreth and his three underlings appeared, con¬ducted by a household servant, even they seemed surprised and impressed by the preparations.