The tale of the Crossing was one that the Great Lords had probably done their best to forget. There had been a civil war in Evelon, and their side was the one that was, at the time of the Crossing, the losing side. The ancestors of the current Erven-lords decided to escape through the Gate they would build together, taking their chances on finding a hospitable land with easily cowed natives on the other side. It was either that, or face surrender, and have their power reft from them by the winners. The result would be that the losers would live on, but enslaved, and disgraced.
"Official" history said little of the war, and did not even hint that the Elvenlords might have been getting the worst of the conflict. Instead, by common consent, the Ancestors were regarded as bold, fearless pioneers, striking out on their own when life in Evelon grew wearisome through its never-changing sameness.
Lady Lydiell knew more, preserved through the female line. Even though it had been agreed that all of the Elven mages would pool their strength and magic, the more unscrupulous and selfish held back. As a result, when the Gate went up, some were drained of magic power, while others still had enough to make them the rulers on the other side.
That was the difference between the original Great Lords and the Lesser Lords, and not, as the Great Lords would have everyone believe, a matter of intelligence and inherited power.
"The machines that came over seemed to encounter difficulties, possibly due to the disruptive effect of the Gate on their spells, and may have been abandoned as a consequence. My father had found a speculative document suggesting that the war-machines they brought with them could be drained for power, even if they no longer worked correctly," Kyrtian went on. "If so, they could provide a reservoir of magic to fall back on when a mage's own powers were depleted."
Once again, he saw Lord Kyndreth's eyes narrow slightly, as he contemplated this possibility. Kyrtian's father had intended—if it could be done—to restore the magic to those Elves who lacked it. Lord Kyndreth was probably thinking in terms of keeping all that power to himself, to be doled out as he chose.
That would give him unprecedented power among his own peers, and an unprecedented tool to manipulate them. A mage with such a resource at his disposal would be what the Elven-lords had never yet had.
A King.
"At any rate, that was why Father was out hunting—looking for the machines and the books, and obviously this was not something that a rational man would have human slaves doing, because of the dangers implicit in exposing slaves to things so unknown and unpredictable," Kyrtian finished. "The humans do have their own form of magic, after all—and who knows what exposure to those machines would do? It might free them of their collars—might give them powers to match ours! No, that was a task he preferred to keep to himself."
"I can see why—and your father was a far wiser man than anyone has given him credit for being," Lord Kyndreth said gravely. "Now you have given me twice as much to think about...."
Kyrtian shook his head. "But this talk of lost machines and cached books—such things surely must wait until we have dealt with the Halfbloods and our own rebellious youth." He deliberately framed the reply to include himself in the opposite party to the Young Lords, and he saw Lord Kyndreth smile in reply.
"You are correct," the Great Lord replied. "And long before we do that, there is much we must accomplish—not the least of which is to do justice to the finale of this excellent meal."
Kyrtian signed internally, and answered Kyndreth's smile with one of his own. He had been accepted—perhaps not as an equal, but certainly as an ally. And that should put paid to Cousin Aelmarkin's plans for the near future, at least.
"Very true, my lord," he murmured. "You are entirely correct, as usual."
11
One worry, at least, was off Kyrtian's mind by the next morning. As soon as he awoke, he paid a cautious visit to the harem; if anything unpleasant had happened to the young women, he wanted to be the one to deal with it. He was, after all, the one responsible for them.
But as it happened, Lord Kyndreth had treated all three of the harem women very well; had, in fact, given them each a handsome gift of jewelry for pleasing him. They were excited and happy, and did not make much of an effort to disguise their hopes that there might be more such visits—and presents— from the Great Lord. Kyrtian found it rather touching, actually; they were so like three little girls in their innocent pleasure at being rewarded with baubles.
There were three other Elvenlords in Kyndreth's entourage, but none of them were of high enough status to be offered the services of the harem. They would have to put up with enforced chastity until they returned to their own homes, for house-servants, unless they actually offered themselves or were offered by the host, were considered off-limits. If Lord Kyndreth had shown himself to be lukewarm in his regard for Kyrtian, such a breach of etiquette could have taken place anyway, but not when Kyndreth had shown his favor. Kyrtian could remove at least this one minor concern from his long list of worries; the girls would not be abused by his guest, nor would his servants be mistreated by Kyndreth's underlings.
As soon as Lord Kyndreth put in an appearance and had broken 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. Kyrtian 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 permanently 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.