Elveblood hc-2

by Andre Norton

  It is very late, she said, rather thickly, as the wine made speech a bit difficult. I beg your pardon, my lord, but I am not often abroad from my father's house and am unused to such late hours. I must go.

  The moment the last word left her lips, the room changed.

  The glade, the sky, and Jaene all vanished, leaving only the table in the middle of a room paneled with dark wood, floored with black marble. The table had not been set for three, but for two—Jaene's place setting and chair vanished with the human. Two servants stood to one side. Gildor blinked with confusion.

  And a tall and powerful elven lord stepped out of the shadows.

  Lord F-father? Gildor stuttered. Where's Jaene gone? Where's the glade?

  Lord Lyon ignored his son's questions, turning to regard Rena with a slight bow of amusement. Forgive the deception, child. Gildor insisted upon the slave's presence, but of course, I would not have inflicted such an insult upon you. It would have been unacceptably rude.

  Oh no, of course. Not while you could create an illusion instead, one good enough to fool Gildor. I thought you were a better mage than this silly setting showed.

  But she bowed her head, meekly, and clasped her hands in front of her. She was afraid to speak, lest her own mouth betray her, but the effect of the wine was swiftly burning away with her anger at such a double-deception. She had been used. She had to endure it, but she didn't have to like it

  Now Lord Lyon turned to his son. Let this be a lesson to you, Gildor. No slave must be permitted to eat with her masters, ever he said sternly. And no slave should be given the kinds of liberties you would have given this Jaene, and have given her in the past; it makes them proud and insubordinate. I had her sent away while you were eating; once you learn how to keep your females in line, you may have her back.

  Once you learn to curb your hounds, you may have them back. And apologize to the Lady who just had her dress drenched with piddle.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gildor flush and bow his head. Yes, Father, he murmured submissively. But he did not apologize to Rena. Not that she expected him to.

  My apologies, if your feelings were abused, dear child, Lord Lyon said smoothly. But you have displayed a proper maidenly modesty and forbearance that do you credit. Here.

  He held a scroll-tube out to her, this one just as elaborately decorated as the one she had brought, but with designs of moonbirds and winged stags together. She took it automatically, and although it was cool, it felt as if it burned her hand as she clenched her fingers on it.

  Please convey the contract to your noble father, with my thanks, Lord Lyon said, as Gildor stood dumb. The older man took her free hand, and kissed the back of it, a mere brushing of lips across the skin. Tell him for me that he has just such a daughter as both of us hoped, and I am pleased to welcome you to my family.

  That was the signal that she could escape; she murmured something appropriate, and took her chance to flee.

  Her escort met her outside the door, and ushered her toward the Portal with what would have been unseemly haste if she had not wanted to be out of there as quickly as possible. She wanted to fling the horrid tube away from her, but before she even entered the Portal, the chief of her guards took it from her nerveless fingers, then sent her through with a none-too-gentle shove.

  Attendants swarmed her on the other side, a display of special attentions she had never been granted before, and which was probably due entirely to a message from Lord Lyon that she had been a good and obedient little girl, doing precisely as she had been told. They hurried her off to her rooms, and once there, fussed over her as if she were some kind of prize object.

  She let them; exhausted by the tension and the need to keep her own emotions in check, she was too tired to think clearly.

  It's over. That was all that was important, for now.

  They bathed her, not permitting her to do anything for herself, in a bath foaming with perfumed oils. They dressed her in a silken nightgown she had never seen before, a gown luxurious enough to wear as a dress. They combed out her hair, shining each strand with soft cloths lightly moistened with scent. They rubbed scented creams into her hands, her feet, and her legs. They gave her tiny dainties to eat—just as well, since she hadn't had more than two bites of dinner to hold off the effects of all that wine. They handed her an exotic drink to soothe her throat and her nerves, foaming, sweet, and warm. That was the only thought in her mind, as they pampered and preened her, and finally put her to bed. It's over.

  She fell asleep immediately, before the lights went out, while they were still crowding the room, putting things away.

  But when she woke, with dawn still an hour away, alone in her room, it was with cold dread. It wasn't over. She had been sealed to Lord Gildor, and last night signaled the preparation of the sacrifice. That was why all the pampering. There would be more such, an attempt to make her into as comely a creature as possible without an actual Change. There would be less in the way of freedom, not more.

  She had been maneuvered into precisely the position she was most afraid of.

  And this was only the beginning; after the wedding it would be worse. She had deceived herself, with her thoughts of greater freedom as the er-Lord's lady.

  If living under her father's roof had been difficult, living under Lord Lyon's would be harder still. There would be no Lorryn to whisk her away on occasional escapes. Lord Lyon would have her watched, every moment, to make certain that she was the obedient little fool he thought she was. Every book she read would be scrutinized, every exercise of her powers weighed and measured. Every hour of her day would be spied upon. She would have no secrets, for Lord Lyon would be certain that a secret meant a secret plot against himself. There was only one ruler in that House, and Lord Lyon would permit no other.

  If she wanted to survive, she had only one choice: She must conform completely. She must become a copy of her mother, serene, obedient, and dead inside.

  There was only one person who could possibly help her—

  Lorryn! He's clever, he'll think of something!

  Just as she thought that, there came a faint tapping on her door. Three taps, a pause, then two, then one.

  She flung herself out of bed and ran to let her brother in.

  For one joyful moment she was certain he had heard of what had happened and had come to tell her how to extricate herself from her plight. But as he slipped inside and shut the door quickly behind him, he turned toward her with a face as pale and as fearful as her own.

  Rena, you have to help me, he whispered hoarsely, his voice choked with tension, his eyes huge and dark-circled in his white face. I don't have anyone else to turn to!

  The shock was worse than being plunged into ice-cold water. Lorryn? Helpless? With no one to turn to?

  And I do? She thought, and shook her head. I was—Lorryn, what on earth could I do to help you? What's happened to you? Possibilities swarmed her mind. Had he been indiscreet with someone who had a powerful father? Had he gambled disastrously and lost? Had he gotten into a quarrel with another er-Lord—oh, dear Ancestors, had he quarreled, fought, and the fight ended fatally? She blurted the first words that came to her lips. Did you get in trouble with—

  He shook his head violently. It isn't anything you can guess, he replied, and seized both her hands to pull her over to a seat on the couch opposite the bed. 'Trust me, it isn't anything you can even imagine. I'm in terrible danger—I'm—

  He swallowed audibly, and passed the back of his hand across his forehead. Something was supposed to happen at Lord Ardeyn's fete. The High Lords of the Council were testing everyone under a certain age as they arrived to see if they were halfbloods in a disguise of illusion.

  She nodded, remembering that tingle of spell-casting she had felt as she arrived, and remembering, too, that she had wondered why her father had ordered cosmetics for her instead of an illusion of better looks.

  Well, I didn't go to the fete, and late last night three members of t
he Council arrived here with orders to test me for illusion, he went on, beads of sweat starting out on his forehead.

  She shook her head. I don't understand, she said, bewildered. What could be so bad about that?

  She couldn't help thinking about her own plight—how could anything Lorryn faced in the way of some kind of test be worse than the trap she was in?

  They can't test me! he said hoarsely, his hands clenching on hers until she made a sound of pain in protest and he released his hold. Rena, they can't test me! If they do, they'll find out I am halfblood!

  She stared at him, the words refusing to make sense. How can you be a halfblood? she asked stupidly. Mother—

  Lady Viridina is my mother, he said woodenly. But Lord Tylar is not my father. My father was a human slave, master of her household. She kept the illusion on me until I was old enough to hold it on myself. I am a halfblood, a wizard, and when the Council finds that out—

  Once again, shock—and the fact that this time she might be able to do something—gave her mind speed and clarity.

  They'll kill you, she breathed. Oh, Ancestors! Lorryn, how—we have to do something! Can't Mother help you?

  He took her hands in that crushing grip again, but this time she hardly noticed. Despair had turned his features into a mask of pain. Mother can't save me this time; Father locked her in the bower until the testing is over. You are the only person I can turn to. Can't you hide me among your servants or something? Can you—

  I have a better idea, she replied quickly, as she made, then discarded, a dozen plans in a heartbeat. He couldn't hide here; he had to run away. And if he ran—

  He had to take her with him.

  She calculated, quickly. At least, I think I do. One of my maids always seems to have all kinds of information about the dragons and wizards—it's reliable, too; I've checked it against all the things you've found out.

  What has that— he began, then blinked. Oh. Oh, of course! If she has a way of getting information, she may have a way back to the source! A glint of hope entered his eyes. Do you think she's an agent of the wizards?

  Rena shrugged; the idea had never occurred to her before, but it certainly made complete sense. What else could she be? She's terribly forward, not much like any slave I've ever seen. She's not one of Father's castoffs, and anyway, they have a different kind of insolence. The wizards must have spies among the slaves, right? Or how else would they know what we were doing? And how else would they know who the halfbloods among the slaves were, to rescue them? She told me that the wizards were always rescuing halfblood children from the slave pens. Didn't they rescue the Elvenbane that way?

  He nodded, and his face took on a grave intensity. They couldn't have known about me, because I wasn't a slave—unless this Myre of yours was sent here because they thought that either you or me might have had human blood.

  It makes sense, she agreed. It makes even more sense when you think about all the stories she's told me about the dragons and the wizards, all the news she brought me about what they were doing. She says they're building a new stronghold right now, in fact, and that the dragons are helping them. It was her turn to clutch his hands. We should run away, both of us, Lorryn! We should go to the dragons!

  Both of us? he said, sudden doubt in his voice. But you aren't—

  If you disappear, what do you think will happen to me? she countered fiercely, before he could object. Father would never believe that I didn't know something.

  He wouldn't use a coercion on his own— Lorryn began.

  Oh yes he would, she said, with a savagery that took him aback. He wouldn't hesitate, not for a moment, and especially not with three members of the Council breathing down his neck. Years of resentment at Lorryn's preferential treatment came to a boil, and she gave him truth after bitter, angry truth. He was ready to wed me to the first drooling dotard or prize idiot that made an offer. He was willing to use coercions to get me to the fete. And he was quite prepared to have me sent away to be Changed if I didn't please Lord Lyon last night. You've never seen him fling his used concubines at Mother and expect her to smile and take them into her service! You've never listened to him insult both of us and expect us to nod and agree with him that we are useless, worthless, empty-headed idiots. You've never had to sit at dinner while he told his friends that you were hardly satisfactory, but if any of them were willing to take you off his hands, he'd be grateful! And you've never sat there in silence because if you dared to look insolent, he'd mage-lash you as soon as you were all in private. Mage-lashing, she added bitterly, leaves no marks, after all; no scars that might disfigure a potential bride.

  Lorryn looked stunned and shocked. I didn't know— he began in a whisper.

  It didn't matter, she replied, with bleak forgiveness. You couldn't have done anything except get yourself in trouble. I learned quickly enough to be meek, silent, obedient, and invisible. Just the way he wanted, and something he didn't have to think about. Then he left me alone.

  But—

  It doesn't matter, she repeated. All that matters is that I have to escape with you, because he will use coercion to find out what I know if you leave me behind. So take me with you! I still have those boy's clothes that you gave me; we can find Myre and find out what she knows—

  He nodded, slowly. If she can help us—if she knows how to find the wizards—

  She must, Rena replied, or where would she be getting all her news? I'll ring for her—

  Don't bring the others! he said in alarm, as she reached for a bell-cord. If you call servants to come boiling in here, there's no way we'll keep this silent!

  She shook her head, exasperated. Didn't he know anything about the way a bower was served? There were times when a lady did not want anyone except the personal servant of her body to come anywhere near her. Don't worry, Myre's bell goes only to her room; that's the price of her privacy and her status as my personal maid. They won't have changed that much yet.

  It occurred to her that the timing of this crisis was nothing short of a miracle, so far as their escape possibilities went. One more day, and Myre would likely not be her personal maid anymore. Lord Lyon would surely send over slaves of his own to assure her continued obedience and docility. There had been something in that drink last night that had made her sleep like a stone; surely there would be more such drinks to ensure she had no second thoughts on the betrothal.

  And in another week, she would be so busy with wedding preparations that Lorryn would have been unable to come anywhere near her during the day—and at night, there would be real guards mounted on all entrances to her rooms. Nothing was ever left to chance in a situation in which the bride might become—awkward.

  And after that, she would not even be here; she would begin a round of visits to her own female kin, then to Lord Lyon's. There would be fetes in honor of the betrothal, and long talks with each chosen female on the duty of wives to their husbands. That round of visits would end, not here, but at Lord Lyon's estate, where the wedding would finally take place.

  No, the timing on this could not have been better—

  And here was the escape she had longed for, dreamed of—even prayed for, although the elves had no deities to entreat, and felt such superstitions were the product of inferior minds. Perhaps the humans were right after all—something did listen to prayers!

  Myre appeared within moments of her sounding the bell, looking a bit out-of-sorts, but not at all disheveled; it had never occurred to her before, but Myre always looked like that, no matter how odd the hour when Rena summoned her. Did she never sleep? Or was she something other than what she seemed?

  Did wizards sleep, for instance?

  Myre's eyes widened just a trifle to see Lorryn sitting on the couch, but she nodded as Rena motioned for silence.

  There's no one listening, not even with magic, Lorryn said wearily. Believe me, I would know.

  Myre stared at him—then slowly smiled. So, wizard, she said softly. I heard about the three Council
members arriving last night, but I had thought it was because of Sheyrena's betrothal.

  Sheyrena's—what? Lorryn said, taken aback.

  Never mind, it doesn't matter, Rena told him fiercely, men turned to Myre. Please, she pleaded. You seem to know so much about the free wizards—we have to get away from here! We need your help!

  Myre's smile broadened, as if none of this surprised her in the least Indeed, she said calmly. I would say that's an understatement.

  The slave sat down on the edge of the bed as if she were the master, and not the other way around.

  Then again—right now, she is. Her posture certainly seemed to confirm every speculation Rena had just made about her. No slave ever unlearned discipline to look the way Myre did now.

  So, I do believe I can help, the slave said, leaning back on her hands and regarding them both with an amused eye, as relief made Rena feel faint The first thing we'll need is a weapon or two. And after that— She smiled, as if at a secret only she knew. Just how good a swimmer are you?

  Chapter 5

  THE DISCOVERY OF a few wild humans out here was startling in its way, although Shana had assumed ever since they began their search through the wilderness for a new home that sooner or later the wizards would come across humans that had never been subjugated by the elves. This world was simply too big, and the elves too few, for them to have either conquered or destroyed all humans in it.

  Now that they all knew the facts, though, this discovery was very intimidating; from everything they learned from Collen's clan, there were many more humans out beyond the lands she knew than Shana had thought; here was a group—one of many—that existed simply to trade with the other wild ones.

  Collen's family of traders had been unable to tell the wizards anything about the grasslands to the south of the Citadel, or who might be living there now. He and his kin stuck to the river, seldom venturing beyond it. He could only tell her that there were many groups of nomadic herdsmen that roamed the plains, and that once in a great while some of these sent representatives to the river to trade with his people.