"Be that as it may, my usual tasks were to act as his intelligence agent, which is how I was employed at the time of his demise. And, not knowing any better, that is how my talents were advertised when the estate was broken up and the slaves went to auction, as an agent and bodyguard." Kaeth turned his palms up, and shrugged his shoulders again.
"And you, of course, were under no compulsion to enlighten the auctioneers.” Gel felt a reluctant smile creeping over his lips; if this story was true, Kaeth was a very clever fellow indeed. Hardly likely he 'd tell them, when it was a lot more likely that the other Elvenlords would order him destroyed rather than take the chance of one of their number getting his hands on a trained assassin. "I don't suppose it ever occurred to you to bolt?"
"Of course it did," Kaeth replied, and sat down on the bench, indicating to Gel that he should do the same. "Oh, don't worry about anyone overhearing us. If there had been anyone listening or watching, they'd have been in here the moment you went for my throat. I cost Kyndreth a very pretty penny, and he'd take it personally if someone deprived him of my services."
And this could be a set-up, but it's getting rather too unlikely and complicated—no, I think I'll go with my instincts and take him at his word.
"Naturally, it occurred to me to flee to the Wizards and the Wild Humans," he repeated, "But—well, 1 learned a few things about these collars that I wasn't supposed to. Only Dyran could compel me magically, and once he was dead, no other Elven-lord can harm me through this collar, unless he is Dyran's equal or better in power. That was a reason to run. But Dyran was as clever a bastard as his reputation claimed—I can still be traced and pursued through the collar, and any attempt to take it off will deprive me of my head. That was Dyran's little fail-safe in case anyone ever decided to subvert me."
Gel winced; that took powerful magic, and it took a particularly cruel mind to think of it.
"So, on the whole, it seemed better for everyone that I turn myself in as one of Dyran's slaves and go up for auction with the rest," Kaeth concluded with a lazy smile. "After all, I still had the option to bolt if my new master proved unbearable, and I'd be able to plan my escape so that I'd have a decent chance to get so far away before they discovered I was missing that it wouldn't be worth pursuit. At the time of Dyran's death I was in a position where that wasn't a possibility."
"What if Kyndreth ever finds out from another of Dyran's slaves—" Gel began, but Kaeth interrupted him with a gentle shake of his head.
"It's not likely, since everyone who ever knew what I was trained for is dead—mostly at Dyran's hands, I might add." For just a moment, there was a shade of bitterness in his voice, but he quickly covered it. "And of all the Old Lords, frankly, Kyndreth is the least likely to use an assassin. He's powerful enough to do his own dirty work, and ruthless enough to enjoy doing so. No, I'm out of the business, unless for some reason it becomes necessary to re-enter it long enough to protect myself. On the whole, I'm rather enjoying myself. Kyndreth treats expensive property well, and my duties are light, compared to those I had under Dyran."
Gel didn't miss the veiled threat in those words, but he shrugged them off. "I don't give a flying damn what you do with your skills, as long as you're not targeting Kyrtian." He couldn't help it; a note of fierce protectiveness crept into his voice.
Kaeth blinked slowly, and looked deeply and penetratingly into Gel's eyes for a moment. "Interesting," he murmured. "I'd heard rumors about Lord Kyrtian's people ..."
Then he shook his head, as if it was no consequence. "I overhear a great deal, as all bodyguards do, and Kyndreth has the usual failing of our masters that he forgets how much his slaves see and hear. I hope you will believe me when I tell you that Kyndreth's plans are such, and so complex, that it is unlikely he could ever fit a trained assassin into them with any degree of confidence."
"Maybe against the Old Lords, and the lords that haven't re-
volted," Gel objected, "but what about the Young Lords who are still in revolt?"
"A bare possibility if they actually developed a leader with enough charisma to make them all work together." Kaeth admitted. "But it's more likely that cattle will fly before that happens. And besides, even if he did, sons aren't so thick on the ground that the victim's relatives would be very happy that the errant lad had been eliminated rather than returned to the parental fold." He smiled, but this time there was no humor in it. "After all, a youngster who has had all thoughts of rebellion neatly wiped from his mind can still function to sire the next generation, even if the rest of the time all he does is sit in a corner and drool."
That shocked Gel; he'd heard rumors that some of the Old Lords had the ability to tamper with another Elvenlord's mind and memory, but this was the first time anyone had said anything that confirmed what he had privately thought was a rather wild tale.
He did his best to seem as nonchalant about it as Kaeth was, however. "Putting it that way—I suppose you're right. Kyn-dreth would get no joy from the surviving relatives if he wiped out an heir, no matter how they felt about that heir when he was alive." He shook his head, and allowed his disgust and bafflement to show. "Damn, but this is as twisted as ball of snakes! How do you make it all out?"
"Early training, mostly." Now Kaeth actually relaxed, and for the first time, Gel saw him drop all of his defensive mannerisms. He knew that he was meant to see that—and he instinctively knew that Kaeth now trusted him as far as he had ever trusted anyone but himself. "Politics among the Elvenlords—it's considered a high art. Sometimes I think it's a pity that no one will ever know how accomplished an artist I am but myself."
Gel had to chuckle at that, and Kaeth smiled—a real, unmasked smile—in answer. "Well, I'm a plain man, and I tell you now that I'd rather map battlefield strategy than political strategy any day."
"It's cleaner." The regret in that voice was so deep that Gel could have drowned in it. For a moment, they both fell silent,
then Kaeth coughed. "Well—before Lord Kyndreth wonders what is taking me so long, and summons me—what can you tell me about this training method of Lord Kyrtian's?"
Gel studied his expression, and came to an interesting conclusion. He approves. Granted, if his master asks what we were talking about, this will give him something to feed to him, but he also approves of this and wants to know for himself. Fascinating. I wouldn 't have thought that an assassin would be interested in preserving lives.
"He's doing something with his magic that's initially complicated to set up, but doesn't take a great deal of power," Gel admitted. "That's what he's told me, anyway. Not being a lord, I don't know the mechanics of it." He brooded a moment, thinking back to the first time that Kyndreth set the spells. "There are two different pieces of magic involved: one to create a weapon that looks and feels real, but has no more substance than an illusion; and the other that he sets on the fighter that works with the weapon and reacts to what the weapon does."
"Senses it, you mean?" Kaeth asked, his eyes intent.
"I guess that's close, as close as anything a human can understand." Gel licked his lips. "Anyway, that second spell is what makes the glow and the shock when you're hit. The first time he did it, it took him most of the day; he says it gets easier as you get used to it. And according to him, it's almost as simple to work the spells on a lot of people as it is to cast them for one—he said something once about giving the magic extra energy and it copies itself for as long as you feed it." He laughed with embarrassment. "That probably sounds stupid, but that's the best I can tell you."
"No, no, it makes sense," Kaeth told him. "I've heard them talking about that, when they want to create a lot of something, like trees or flowers—doing the first one, then setting it to copy itself. That's how they can tell the difference between the illusion that a really powerful lord creates, and one created by an underling. You never see a powerful lord making copies; in his illusions, every tree, every flower is different."
"Whatever. That's the best description I can tell you." He pondered a moment, then decided to give Kaeth some informa-
tion that, should he feed it back to Lord Kyndreth, would be a protection for Kyrtian rather than a danger. "Kyrtian has as many regular fighters as any other Great Lord, but I have to tell you, all we do is practice—either in daily drill using his method, or in actual battle-simulations. That's the regular fighters. Once a fighter is over forty, he goes on light-duty; he has some other job, but keeps in practice—archery practice, mostly, though some of them keep their sword and spear work right up to their old standards."
"Which means you don't just have gladiators, you have an army, trained to fight together." Kaeth pulled on his lower lip. "And you have a back-up corps of those older men. Interesting. Only a fool would challenge your Lord."
That was said as a statement, not a question.
Good. Let Kyndreth chew on that! "Exactly," Gel nodded. "That's because Lord Kyrtian likes to see how battle-strategy really works, rather than just reading about it. We work out new combat simulations fairly often, because unless someone steps into a hole and breaks a leg or something equally stupid, we come out of combat with the same number of fighters we went into it with."
"It's a damned good system," Kaeth agreed, finally. "So good, it makes me wonder what the advantage is to Lord Kyrtian. Trained fighters could revolt, if they put their minds to it,"
Gel laughed easily. "Well, for one thing, there aren't any real weapons around where we can get hold of them. They're all locked up in the armory under Kyrtian's seal."
"So he doesn't have to worry about a slave-revolt." Kaeth's face cleared, and he nodded.
"And, of course, knowing you aren't going to get injured or killed makes the men willing to practice."
"He wouldn't have the expense of buying or raising replacements, either." Kaeth sighed in open admiration. "Brilliant strategy, especially for someone with no political allies. After today, no one will dare challenge him to a feud; his position is secure against all normal avenues of challenge. I would never have thought it, given his reputation."
"Not exactly bad strategy to make the others underrate him
until he was ready, was it?" Gel said slyly, and Kaeth actually laughed.
Gel had the impression now that despite his sinister training, Kaeth Jared was a pretty decent sort, and that surprised him, more than a little. He'd always considered assassins to be—
To be scum, actually. I suspect most of them are. This one, though—well, he's got my respect.
His thoughts were interrupted by a discreet cough from the door, where a pair of young lads in Aelmarkin's livery stood uneasily. "Your Lords—" the nearest said, a tremor in his voice.
"Our Lords require us," Kaeth supplied with a nod. Suddenly the mask dropped over his face and he was all cool surface again, remote and unreadable. "Of course, immediately."
Gel stood only a fraction behind Kaeth, who turned and offered his hand. "It was a pleasure in every sense," Kaeth said, the warmth of his tone belying his lack of expression. "I would like to meet you again under similar circumstances."
Gel clasped the offered hand solemnly. "I hope that we can," he replied as warmly, "and I look forward to it."