By now Rennati had exhausted all emotions but one—hope. And underneath all that heavy, black despair, hope stirred and eased the constriction of her throat enough to let her breathe a little. Numbly, she nodded.
Speaking carefully and exactly, Lady Lydiell outlined what Rennati was to do. And Rennati agreed to it, without ever once making a single objection or asking what would happen to her when the inevitable moment came when she was no longer useful.
It had been a long, very hard day, most of it spent in the saddle, and Kyrtian was already wearied when his mother called him.
So far, the campaign against the Young Lords was turning into something other than the hard-slogging battle he'd been
led to believe it would be. In fact, if it wasn't for the evidence of the devastated estates he'd seen, with manors half-burned and fields left to weeds, it would have been something of a farce.
Because the moment he took command of the army—quite literally from the moment he took command of the army—the Young Lords' direct opposition melted away. Quite simply, they turned and ran.
Now, as a commander, he had to agree with their tactics. He brought with him his own people, who would have strengthened the line as nothing else could have. The next pitched battle would have been a conclusive one. The Young Lords' army was not near any area that could be used as a secure base, and supplies had to be problematic, even with the use of magic. If he had been in their situation, he'd have done the same.
But now he was in pursuit, which meant that when they did take a stand, it would come as a surprise to him, and would be on ground of their choosing. And very probably he would be facing their rested force with his own weary one.
Kyrtian stared down at the tiny image of his mother in the teleson-screen set into his campaign-desk, with Gel watching over his shoulder making interested noises.
"Triana?" he said, finally. "Aelmarkin I could understand, but why would Triana want an agent in our household?"
Gel snorted, before Lydiell could answer. "That's simple enough. They're working together. Or Aelmarkin thinks they are. From all I've heard, that b—" he coughed. "—ah, female is an even nastier piece of work than your cousin, if that's pos- sible. Sneakier, anyway. What do you think about this girl? Can you trust what she says? Can you trust what she'll do, now that you—"
Lydiell smiled. "Oh, come now, Gel. This is the Lady you're talking to. How many of our people have the human magic? And how many do you think were keeping watch on the girl's thoughts while I questioned her besides the ones I asked to— just to make sure that the others didn't miss something?"
Gel had the grace to blush. "Shouldn't try and teach my grandam what mushrooms to pick, you mean. Sorry, m'lady. So she's safe?"
"More than safe. I think we should keep her," came the rather surprising reply. "She's very intelligent, she's clever—which is not at all the same thing as being intelligent—and she's got a kind nature. I'd be very happy to see her make her home with our people. She could be very useful to us—we haven't got many people who've been raised in the slave-pens; she gives us a look into that world that is beyond price."
"Not as my concubine—" Kyrtian blurted, and flushed when Gel chuckled.
"I rather doubt that by the time she's learned to take her place among our people she'd be willing to be anyone's concubine," Lydiell replied dryly. "And after all, that would be the point, wouldn't it?"
"I take it that your plan is to have her send dearest Triana as much disinformation as you think she'll swallow?" Kyrtian said, hastily changing the subject.
"It seems a pity to waste the opportunity," Lydiell agreed, her eyes twinkling a little, or so Kyrtian thought, although the image was so small it was difficult to tell. "If it seems that the ploy is working, perhaps you might want to have her with you. I understand that many officers have a concubine or two with them—"
Before Kyrtian could object, Gel replied. "That's a good idea, when you're sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that we can trust her, Lady," he enthused. "If Triana is reporting back to Aelmarkin, we can feed her nonsense leavened with just enough truth to make it seem that the girl is doing more than the b—woman ever expected."
"I wouldn't call Triana a 'bitch,' Gel," Lydiell said mildly. "It's a terrible insult to all female canines, which are, on the whole, rather nice creatures."
Gel nearly choked on his laughter, and Kyrtian felt his face grow hot. What had gotten into his mother lately?
Or was it only that now his mother considered him enough of an adult not to mince words around him?
"In the abstract, it sounds like a good idea to me, provided that bringing her out here doesn't put her in any danger," he temporized. "And I don't mean danger from the fighting; that's
turning out to be rather—well—tamer than I thought. For now, anyway. Someone's convinced the Young Lords to run, rather than stand and fight. I can't say I'm unhappy about that—it certainly makes me look like a brilliant commander. But while this girl is within the walls of our estate, she's safe enough from Triana—if she comes out here, and Triana decides that she wants more than a few words over a teleson-ring, it would be no great chore to find some way to kidnap her. Human slaves and Elvenlords are coming and going from my quarters all the time, Gel is the only person I'd trust to keep her safe, and he and I can't have her on the battlefield with us."
And I really don 'twant a female complicating things around here, he added, but only in thought. He really did not want his mother- worrying about the danger. There was, of course, a great deal more of that than he was going to tell her about. When the inevitable happened, and the Young Lords turned at bay—
Lydiell pursed her lips in thought. "That hadn't occurred to me," she admitted. "For that matter, it wouldn't take a great deal of effort on Triana's part to send someone to your quarters to intimidate the girl, and we can't have that. Well, let's hold that ploy in reserve for a while, in case Triana starts urging it on her. It may be that concocting a story that I've made her into my private maid while you're gone and she can 'overhear' my conversations with you will be enough."
"I should think," Kyrtian said firmly. "Ancestors! For once, you have been the one with all the interesting news! All I can tell you is what I have before; that, and I'm nearer to Lady Moth's estate and I think I can push the lines back far enough to put her in our hands again within the week."
"Assuming she wants to be," came the thoughtful reply. "All things considered—do you think you might be able to push just far enough that she can send a message or come to you herself, without cutting her off from the Young Lords?"
Again, Kyrtian was surprised by the question, but he saw immediately why his mother had asked it. "No one is likely to question me as long as I push them back-somewhere," he responded. "You think she has worked her way into their confidence, don't you?"
"Yes. And I'm not entirely sure you should be working so hard to defeat them." Lady Lydiell frowned slightly. "There is this: while the Great Lords are concentrating on the rebels, they aren't paying any attention to us."
"Or the Wizards," Gel added.
"Or the Wizards," she agreed. "But if you defeat the Young Lords, they are certain to want you to lead an army against the Wizards next."
The very idea made Kyrtian's heart sink, and he felt a little sick for not thinking of that himself. Of course they would! And while he didn't in the least mind bringing the young pups to heel for the old dogs, the very idea of pitting an army of slaves against their fellow humans—
"I'll resign first," he said hurriedly. "I'll find an excuse. Or Gel can break my leg."
"Or your skull," Gel growled, but there was approval in his voice. "We'll worry about that when the time comes. In the meantime—"
"In the meantime, I'll say goodbye, and you can think about what to do about Moth," Lydiell said firmly. "If we talk any longer, someone is bound to try and mirror this sending. Watch your back, my love."
"I will," Kyrtian promised, and the teleson winked out, leaving both him and Gel with far too much to think about—
—and far too little time for thinking.
17
The plight of one young woman could not hold Kyrtian's
attention for long. So long as she was no longer a threat,
he didn't particularly care what his mother did with her.
Truthfully, he couldn't even remember which of the three girls
she was; she was Lydiell's problem now, and he would just as