"Lovely!" the female dragon said with enthusiasm. "Lord Kyrtian, you wouldn't mind if we took over one, would you?"
"We," is it? he thought, holding back a chuckle at the way Keman's expression changed from startlement to pleasure. No wonder the young cock is starting to strut! Might be a very good thing for all of them to separate this young fellow from the rest of his peers, so he's less tempted to act—well, like a young cock. With the current state of things ... best to get him settled. The next time there was a situation involving young Keman, the urge to try and prove himself could have some seri¬ous consequences.
"I would consider it an honor," he said, to both their satisfac¬tion.
"Shana's so used to depending on me, you know, and I think it would be better for her if she got out of that habit and started—well—depending on Lorryn instead," Keman said in a slightly patronizing undertone, with a glance at the now-
occupied tent. "I practically raised her—with Mother's help, of course, but I did most of it."
That concept made his head swim for a moment! "Ah— really?" he asked.
Keman chuckled. "I had all sorts of pets. So far as the others of our Lair were concerned, she was just one more! Until she started talking and acting like a person, of course."
It made Kyrtian's head swim a little more. "In the very near future—when you're settled on my estate and we have the time—you are going to have to tell me all about that," he said, as firmly as he could.
He was not going to disabuse the young dragon of his notion that Lashana "depended" on him. He did feel a pang of jealousy though, over that young Wizard, Lorryn....
No, he corrected himself. Not jealousy. Envy.
It wasn't that he wanted Shana—she was a handsome young woman, but not, well, not the type he was attracted to, really. Except, perhaps, for those characteristics of mind and spirit that he admired. No, what he wanted was the kind of relationship that she and Lorryn so clearly shared. What his mother and fa¬ther had once had together.
Ancestors. Won't that be a surprise for Mother. But he didn't think he'd give her free rein to go hunt him up a wife. Not at the moment. There were a lot of difficult days ahead of them; they were all going to have a great many more important things to occupy their time.
Like how to survive, for one thing.
He was under no illusion that with Aelmarkin gone, all of his troubles were about to vanish. Quite the contrary. He was now into the morass of the politics of the Great Lords, he had the Young Lords to worry about and—
And I'm technically a traitor. I'm conspiring with the Wiz¬ards to create a slave rebellion.
All that, in addition to trying to keep his own people safe. If he thought about it too long, it seemed impossible, and he be¬gan to doubt he'd even manage that last, and in some ways most important task, much less all the rest.
But he wasn't alone in this, now. For once, it didn't all de¬pend on him and his paltry skills. We'll be doing it together, dragons and Elvenlords, Wizards and humans working to¬gether. At last.
And with that formidable combination—he had to believe there was no problem that they could not ultimately defeat.
EPILOGUE
Triana had never been particularly afraid before she'd en¬tered these caves. She'd only thought she'd encountered terror before the construct came alive.
But the moment that the thing arose out of the rest, like some terrifying metal insect with a screaming Aelmarkin in its claws, she knew true and paralyzing horror.
By then she had been beside the Great Portal, and as the thing blundered back and forth across the cave in pursuit of Kyrtian and his people, she shrank into the shelter of one of its curved sides, praying that it wouldn't see her, wouldn't blunder into her. That was all she could manage; her knees scarcely held her up, and she couldn't have run if she wanted to. She was drenched in a cold, cold sweat; every time the thing came any¬where near she held her breath until she nearly passed out, lest it hear her breathing.
She was sure she was going to die. For the first time in her life, she stared mortality in the face, and realized that she couldn't bear it....
She couldn't bear it. In a moment, she was going to faint, or scream and betray herself. She trembled and sweated, and clenched her fists until her long nails bit into her palms and made them bleed.
One moment, there was the metal monster. Then the metal one—was attacked by a dragon.
It was impossible. It was too much. She clutched at the Por¬tal side, and turned her face into it and refused to look. It didn't matter which one of them won—the survivor would find her and kill her—she'd die like Aelmarkin, screaming in terror and pain; she didn't stand a chance—
She fought down the scream that threatened to escape—tears scorched her face and her throat ached with the need to shriek and shriek, but if she did, she'd die then and there, and she wanted to live....
Something snapped inside her. Her mouth opened, but noth¬ing came out. She felt herself start to collapse, then blackness swooped down on her like a dragon, and took her senses.
When she woke, the cave was quiet, and she lay sprawled at the foot of the Great Portal. The cave was still illuminated by the un¬certain yellow light of Kyrtian's lanterns, or what was left of them.
Suddenly, she did not want to know if Kyrtian had met the same fate as Aelmarkin. It was one thing to see mere human slaves die; it was another thing entirely to know, to see the hand of death cut down another Elvenlord.
No. The caves were not entirely quiet... in the far, far dis¬tance, out in the entrance cave, perhaps, something battered monotonously at the stone. Since the "something" sounded like metal, it must have been the metal monster that survived.
So it was between her and the only way out.
For a moment, she thought she was going to faint again, but as her hands closed convulsively and her nails bit into her palm, so did the band of the heavy signet ring she wore—
The ring. The ring! It was her Portal key—and she lay in the biggest Portal of them all!
Shaking in every limb, she got to her feet somehow, and dis¬missed the illusion she wore. If this was going to work, she would need every morsel of power.
She faced the Great Portal, closed her eyes, and slowly, care¬fully, began to weave the lines of energy that would open a long-dormant Portal like this one. It was going to take a lot— this one had been made by the concerted effort of dozens of mages, and she was only one.
But she also didn't have any choice if she wanted to live.
Bit by bit, sluggishly, the Portal began to respond. The lines of power oozed into place rather than snapping crisply into their positions. The patterns formed, but oh! so slowly!
And then, with no warning at all—the Portal snapped to full and vibrant life!
Startled, Triana opened her eyes.
The shimmering curtain of power within the glowing green arch shivered.
Parted.
And an entirely new horror stepped through.
Like some unsanctified melding of Elf and reptile, the thing stood twice as tall as she. It was long-limbed, sexless, and en¬tirely naked, covered in its own blue-green scales. It had a tail that lashed back and forth restlessly, a hairless head, legs that bent the wrong way at the knees, a lipless mouth full of pointed teeth, and—most horrible of all—eyes she would have recog¬nized on any Elvenlord. And it saw her the instant it walked through the Portal.
Before she could move, it had cleared the distance between them in a single leap, and seized her.
Its strong, scaled fingers closed around her waist, in a grip un¬breakable as metal cables. Now she screamed, shrieked and fought, but she might as well have been fighting the metal monster. It had no expression whatsoever on the flat plate that was its face.
It even smelled like a snake, musty and green, and the smell made her even more frantic, somehow, triggering fears so atavistic that she tore off nails and bit like an animal trying to get free of it. Her entire body felt afire; nothing existed for her but the overpowering need to escape—
All for naught. The thing never even winced. It was impossi¬bly strong and utterly implacable; the moment that she tired, it flung her over its shoulder.
Reduced now to mindless panic, she renewed her fight, but her shrieks made no impression on it, and she might as well have been fighting with the stone of the cave.
It carried her to the Portal, which shimmered with activity. She screamed as they approached the shivering curtain of light.
They touched it. And passed through it.
And the Portal closed behind them again.
Lord Kyndreth steepled his fingers together and stared at his son Gildor, who had just brought him news that was—well— peculiar. He wasn't certain what to make of it. He was even less certain what to do about it.
He had young Kyrtian's report on his desk, a written copy of what Kyrtian had told him via the teleson, and although he could find no fault in it, it had left him feeling vaguely unsatis¬fied. Granted, everyone knew what the forest bordering Chey-nar's estate was dangerous, full of alicorns and the Ancestors only knew what sorts of worse things. And there was no real reason why Kyrtian should have actually found the purported den of halfbloods in there. After all, they'd been hiding for cen¬turies with no one suspecting their presence, so why should one young Elvenlord find them now?
But—the report felt incomplete. As if Kyrtian was hiding something from him, although he could not even begin to guess what that "something" was.
And now—Gildor, poor dullard that he was, walked into the study with the astonishing news that Lady Triana and Ael-markin were missing. That they had left their estates with camping gear and a train of slaves that included (in Triana's case, at least) slaves trained as foresters. And now, both were missing, their estates in confused disarray, their slaves left with no orders, uncertain of what they should do now. Gildor and his friends had turned up at Aelmarkin's estate for a planned event—one at which Lady Triana was also supposed to appear— to find that both were gone, vanished.
"Thank you, Gildor," Kyndreth told his son, with the gravity due to a major piece of intelligence. "Thank you very much. Would you care to invite all of those friends of yours who were disappointed of their amusement here? I will be happy to enter¬tain them for a week, if you like."
As he'd expected, Gildor's dull face brightened at the prospect; Kyndreth summoned his steward and sent his son off with the lesser Lord to organize the entertainment. That is, Lord Belath would organize the entertainment, and Gildor would summon his friends ... it would be a great disruption to Kyn-dreth's work, in fact, he might have to retire to the hunting-lodge or the old Dowager-House while the young roisterers romped through his halls. But that would be a small price to pay if Gildor continued to bring him tidbits like this one.
Was this what Kyrtian was hiding?
That didn't fit with his reading of the young Lord. Kyrtian was not likely to conceal the fact that his cousin had come to grief, and even less likely to have murdered Aelmarkin him¬self. Kyndreth could readily see why Aelmarkin would follow Kyrtian into the wilderness—Aelmarkin would be perfectly happy to engineer an "accident" out there. But if, in the course of trying to set up such an accident, it was Aelmarkin who per¬ished, and Kyrtian found out about it, why would Kyrtian hide it?
Why would he want to? If Aelmarkin were hoist upon his own petard of treachery, Kyrtian should be only too pleased to trumpet the fact to all the world.
And as for Triana vanishing at the same time—well, the only thing that Lord Kyndreth could imagine was that for some rea¬son she had gone chasing after Kyrtian as well. Although he could not imagine why.
Kyndreth ground his teeth, feeling frustration well up inside him. This was an entirely new experience for him—and he didn't like it. Always, always, from the time he first came to power and took his Council seat, he had known who was doing what, and why. Especially why. And now things were happen¬ing that he had not been told of, had not anticipated, and worst of all, he had no real notion of the motivations that lay behind these incidents.
Motivations—what in the world could have brought Ael¬markin out into the wilderness besides hatred for Kyrtian? Or, for that matter, Lady Triana? What could the two possibly have in common?
He closed his eyes for a moment, emptied his mind, and vio¬lently suppressed the emotions that came welling up in the wake of that frustration. Emotion was not useful. He needed logic and reason—and above all, planning.
And once he cleared his mind of emotion, something else oc¬curred to him at long last. The one thing that Triana and Ael¬markin did have in common was the group that they associated with socially—the younger sons, and some few younger daugh¬ters. Until the Young Lords' Revolt, that had included—the re¬bellious Young Lords.
What if, rather than trailing after Kyrtian, Aelmarkin and Tri-ana had gone—quite coincidentally—into the same area, in¬tending to meet with the fugitives?
What if Aelmarkin and Triana had been the spies within the ranks of the Old Lords for the youngsters?
If that was the case—no wonder Aelmarkin had been so in¬tent on fostering the impression his cousin Kyrtian was dotty! And no wonder he'd been so disgruntled when Kyrtian was placed in charge of the army!
It was only a theory—could by no means be proved—but it wouldn't hurt to keep the theory in reserve. It might be useful.
Meanwhile, he should be the one to spread the news to the rest of the Council, if at all possible. How many other Council members had offspring likely to be invited to that aborted party? Not many—and none were likely to have mentioned the disappearances yet.
Good. He might be swimming in a sea of uncertainties, but he could make something out of this yet.