"Lady, I pledge you, I will not let the boy out of my sight or care, no matter what Lord Kyndreth wants of him," he promised, coming back to concerns he could understand and see for himself. "I'm a treacherous old bastard, and if I think he's in trouble, I'll dose the boy's wine, make Kyndreth think he's had a fit, and drag him home myself." He surprised himself with his own sudden fierce protectiveness, and tried feebly to smile. "Once we've got him safe, we can talk him into playing witless. If he's lost his senses, he might not be of value to Kyndreth, but he won't be a threat, either."
And that was the best promise he could think of to give her, poor as it was.
Lydiell sent Gel back to his work without feeling much comfort from his words. She was very troubled, and could see no immediate way out of the dilemma that had come at them out of nowhere. I had hoped to keep him isolated from all of this, but events have conspired against us, she thought somberly, staring out the window at the placid fields spread so invitingly below. Thanks to the two latest Wizard Wars, Kyrtian 's obscure skills are no longer without value; he will be drawn into Elvenlord politics whether he likes it or not. But Gel is right; telling him some of the realities of the situation won't help him. He might be better if he remains in ignorance. If he knows what the Elvenlords are really like, his own sense of honor just might drive him to make some very dangerous choices. If, however, Kyndreth feeds him what the Old Lords want him to know, and convinces him to help them—then keeps him ignorant of the truth— he will serve them well and stay out of trouble.
There was one positive effect of all the warfare and quarreling; there were nowhere near as many of the Old Lords as there once had been, and those that remained were mostly very shrewd. They have little power to spare, and won't waste any tool that comes to their hands when it costs little to keep that tool content. There are very few Dyrans about in the higher councils these days.
She sighed, tasting the bitterness of her own expedience, the sour knowledge that by keeping him ignorant she was playing the same manipulative games as those she despised.
Kyrtian would be used, indeed, but wasn't it better to be an unwitting tool than a dead hero?
I cannot see any other options.
Keeping him purposefully blinded about the true nature of his fellow Elvenlords might have been a mistake, but she could not see how she could have done anything else.
Gel did have a good idea, she reminded herself, if it looks as if Kyrtian is in danger. Everyone thinks his father was mad, and no one would be particularly surprised if he went mad under the strains they will probably put him under. Oh, Ancestors, why did I try to keep him sheltered? Why couldn 't I have given him some armor against the thorn-maze he is about to walk into?
She only prayed that her decision would not cause more harm than she had ever dreamt possible.
10
"I hope I don't look as nervous as I feel," Kyrtian muttered to himself, as he re-checked his appearance in the gilt-edged mirror to his right. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd glanced into mirrors today, making certain—of what? He wasn't quite sure; he only knew that he didn't want to look like Lord Kyndreth's son Gildor and his cronies, nor did he want to ape the appearance of Lord Kyndreth himself. He wanted to look mature, sober, perhaps a touch on the scholarly side, but able to hold his own in physical combat as well. Looking prosperous, but not necessarily opulent, was as important; on reflection, perhaps what he wanted was to look as if he could be Lord Kyndreth's intellectual equal, but not as if he already assumed that he was. After going through at least four changes of clothing and nearly driving his poor servants mad, he finally settled on a conservative tunic and tight-fitting trews of soft doeskin dyed a rich blue and slashed to display the silver satin of his shirt. Matching boots suitable for some hard walking completed the outfit, with a heavy silver chain and fillet confining his hair as his only jewelry. Jewels would not impress Lord Kyndreth, who was a powerful mage and knew how easily such things could be produced by illusion.
The mirror he kept glancing into was just outside the Portal Chamber; at any moment now Lord Kyndreth and his entourage should be coming through. The door to the chamber was open; it was really too small to allow for a graceful exit of so large a group. Servants in the household colors lined the chamber and the hall outside, but Kyrtian was the sole representative of the family; he was the head of the Clan now, and it would betray an unhealthy influence from his mother if she were here to receive the guests as well as he.
The servants, well-schooled in their roles, kept their eyes cast down as Kyrtian fidgeted with the chain around his neck. At long last, the Portal shimmered with energy, and Kyrtian snapped to attention, presenting a mask of calm, the perfect picture of a welcoming host.
The first figures through the Portal were, naturally, Lord Kyrtian's bodyguards, one of whom was the fighter called Kaeth that Kyrtian remembered from the combat. They deployed themselves on either side of the Portal with smooth, efficient, and practiced movements, making a barrier of themselves between the Portal and Kyrtian's servants. They must go through such maneuvers constantly; what surprised him was that they looked alert and suspicious, not bored. The servants took no notice; Gel had lectured them on what they could expect and what they should—or more appropriately, should not—do. They kept their places, as if this sort of quasi-military invasion happened every day.
Lord Kyndreth was next through the door, followed by his son Gildor. Kaeth moved in closer to his lord, standing unobtrusively nearby, close enough to intercept any aggressive action. Kyrtian moved immediately to welcome the Elvenlord, making sure that his own movements were non-aggressive.
"Welcome, my lord," he said, pitching his voice low, but putting warmth into it. "And thank you for being patient enough to wait until we could welcome you with all the honor and comfort that is your due. I hope that you will be pleased with what we have to show you."
Lord Kyndreth took Kyrtian's extended hand in his, in a firm clasp that was clearly a test. Kyrtian returned an equal pressure, and Lord Kyndreth smiled, ever so slightly, as he released Kyrtian's hand. "It is I who should be thanking you for your hospitality, Lord Kyrtian," he replied, as they moved forward to permit the rest of the entourage to come through. "Your household is a quiet one, and I understand that you have few visitors; we are creating quite a disruption for you."
Kyrtian made the expected disclaimers, as he kept one eye on Lord Kyndreth and the other on Lord Gildor and the part of the entourage that was composed of Gildor's friends. "I hesitate to mention this, my lord, but we were not expecting so large a group—perhaps some of the guests would accept accommodation in a pavilion?"
Lord Kyndreth east an eye back at his son and his son's followers, who were clearly intoxicated and likely to remain that way for some time. "Lord Gildor and his associates are not remaining," he replied smoothly. "They came only to view the pitched battle, and will depart as soon as the demonstration is complete."