Elvenblood (46 page)

She couldn't stand it anymore; she hid her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook as she laughed silently. The three lords conversed among themselves as she strove to get herself under control again.

Finally she raised her head from her hands, and, sniffing bravely, she faced them again.

"It all fits," she heard one of them say in an undertone; her father and the other one nodded.

"You have been a good and a brave child, Sheyrena," said the one who had spoken, in a voice as unctuous as massage-oil and as sweet as treacle. "You are a credit to your father and to the name of your House."

She bowed her head submissively, and the unctuous one turned back to
Lord
Tylar. "By your leave, my lord, we will return to the Council with these tidings."

He nodded; they turned and left through the Portal door.

As soon as they were gone, he chuckled. Sheyrena raised her eyes, feigning shyness.

"You have done very well, Sheyrena," he said, and studied her. He blinked once or twice, as if in surprise. "I do believe that your ordeal has actually
improved
your looks, girl!" he exclaimed, in a voice full of astonishment. "By the Ancestors, you actually are
attractive^"

"Thank you, Father," she replied meekly; she flushed with anger, but dropped her eyes so that he would assume that it was a blush of embarrassment.

"This—this all puts a new complexion on things," he muttered, and drummed his fingers on his desk. "You are of full elven blood, and now my only heir—your value as a marriage-piece is a great deal higher than when you were stolen. Hmm."

He got up from his desk, came around to her side, and put a finger under her chin, tilting it up so that he could study her face. "Hmm," he repeated, as she veiled her eyes with her lashes to hide her anger. "Add to that the fact that you're no longer a little cream-faced loon, but a handsome little thing—your value is even greater."

He allowed her to drop her head again, and stood beside her chair. She didn't reply, but he didn't seem to expect her to.

"You may go," he finally said, abruptly.

She took him at his word, rose unsteadily, curtsied, and fled. And once she was back in the safety of her own chamber, she took the packets of jewelry from their hiding places, and quickly "concealed" them in the best of all hiding places, and the one place no man would ever look—

—in the midst of all the other jewelry in her valuables chest.

Then, and only then, did she strip off her gown without calling for her maids, slip into her bed in her petticoat, and fall into an exhausted sleep.

Her father woke her—or rather, her maids did, fluttering about, agitated beyond measure that he was waiting outside and
she
was in no state to receive him! In something of a fog, she let them gown her again, and brush out her hair; the very instant she was "decent," he swept in with all the high drama of a state entrance.

"Have your maids pack up your things, Sheyrena," he said to her. "You are moving to the bower."

She stared at him stupidly; he smiled, the smile of someone who is doing what he wants and thinks he is conferring a tremendous favor.

"You are my only right-born child, Sheyrena," he said, ponderously, and he held out a hand. She put her own in his, not really knowing what he wanted, and he set a ring of keys into it—the same ring of keys she had seen her mother wearing, for as long as she could remember.

"You are the lady of the House," he told her. "
You
now have charge of the bower and the household." At her look of naked shock and dismay, he laughed. "Oh, don't worry, child—it's only an honor and a title. The slaves really see to it all. You only need to see to it that the slaves know to come to you for their orders, and I will tell you what to tell them."

"Yes, Father," she faltered.

His smile broadened. "You are far too valuable to waste on the likes of Lord Gildor," he said, sounding very pleased with himself. "I have sent my regrets to Lord Gildor, telling him that you are too precious to me now, and that I cannot bear to be without your comfort and company. I have dissolved the betrothal."

"You have?" She stared at him; she would not have believed that he would go
that
far!

He mistook her astonishment for dismay. "Oh, don't be disappointed, child! You are worth ten Gildors now! No, now, listen to me closely."

She shut her mouth, and kept her face carefully schooled into the appearance of attentiveness.

"I am going to find you a marriage-alliance that will put our House in the ranks of the High Lords," he told her gleefully. "
You
have a job to do, a very important one. You must
not
allow this present attractiveness to fade, and that is an order! I want you to rise every morning, put yourself right into the hands of your maids, make yourself presentable, and keep yourself that way! None of these afternoon naps, when you can't be viewed! No disappearing for long rides! Don't go hiding in the garden as if you were a child! Is that understood?"

"Yes, Father," she replied, flushing again with anger. And, predictably, he interpreted the anger as embarrassment.

"Now, Sheyrena, don't be upset," he said, in what he probably thought was a coaxing tone. "I'm not angry with you, but you aren't a child anymore, and you are far too important to the House now to play your childish games. Just do as you are told, and things will work out wonderfully for you. Just wait and see!"

"Yes, Father," she replied, still flushed.

"I have decided, now that virtually every lord on the Council knows your name and your story, to announce that you are free for betrothal at the next Council meeting. It will make a pleasant diversion for everyone from our final preparations for war against the wizards. I will be able to marshal my forces beside those of whoever becomes your lord." He beamed, as if he had thought of something terribly clever. "I shall—ah—put you up for bid, so to speak. And I do expect the bidding to be brisk!"

"But
Lord
Gildor—" she said, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Hah!" He laughed. "Put him from your mind. I don't know who your husband-to-be will be, yet, but you can take it as written that whoever he is, he will be as high above Lord Gildor as Lord Gildor is above the chief of my guards!"

But all that Rena could think—could hope—was that Mero would be able to read all of this from her thoughts, for she had no other way to send him this all-important message. The elves were about to break the treaty and the truce—months before any of them had thought possible!

Shana fumed, as she stood before the assembled wizards in the bare cavern they used for their meeting place, wanting very much to knock sense into several heads with a large and heavy stick! Especially the head of Caellach Gwain—and why had he chosen to take this line
now
, when he had been the one howling about the danger of the elven lords only a few months ago?

And how is Lorryn doing, and what is Lorryn doing, and why do I never hear from him, only from Mero? Does he
—
would he
—
damn it all, Shana, keep your mind on your enemies! But
—
he's in the midst of the worst of those enemies
—

"I am telling you, I have it nearly from the mouth of one of the High Lords of the Council himself!" she growled, biting off the words savagely. 'The elves know where we are, they are
going
to attack, and they are going to do it soon! They're coordinated enough to put up a Portal to bring their troops right to our doorstep!"

"Oh, please," said Caellach Gwain, waving a hand languidly. "This is an old tale, and we're weary of hearing it.
We
haven't seen any signs of this so-called mustering of troops you've been ranting about."

"That's
because"
she snarled impatiently, "the troops are all being mustered on the
estates
of three of the High Lords who
you
have been afraid to watch!"

"And who is this informant of yours?" Caellach asked shrewdly.

She didn't answer at first. They wouldn't believe her, even though they had seen Rena themselves, if only briefly. They would never believe Rena could keep her head long enough to be of any use as a spy. "I'm not about to blurt out any names when there might be a traitor among you!" she snapped.

"Oh? This is nothing more than a ruse to take our minds off the important matter of a treaty negotiated with dangerous barbarians—negotiated without permission of the Citadel as a whole, might I add." Caellach looked disgustingly proud of himself. She glanced over at Denelor and Parth Agon; the former shrugged helplessly, the latter cast his eyes up to heaven. Caellach Gwain did not have enough votes to cause her serious trouble, but he
did
have enough of the wizards on his side to embroil them in this nonsense until the elven armies were at their very door!

Once again, as she gazed out at those fat, fatuous faces, she heard Mero's voice in her mind, giving her the bad news he had in turn heard from Sheyrena. In' a panic, she had spent all of the energy she dared in trying to send that same message on to Keman, but she had no real idea if he had heard, nor where he was if he had.

It would be just her luck that he and that lady friend of his had decided to flit off somewhere together out of reach of everything and everyone. Or perhaps they had gone back south to
her
Lair, to gain "courting consent" from her parents…

Now, as she listened to the same idiocy that had kept her penned in this chamber, day after day, unable to accomplish
anything
productive, her temper snapped.

She stood up, right in the middle of one of Caellach's speeches, slamming the palm of her hand on the table. He stopped in midsentence, shock on his face at her rudeness.

"
You
can blather about this from now until you're cut down by elven blades, if you want," she spat. "
I
am going to try to do something about it."

"With what?" Caellach sneered.

"With us," Kalamadea replied, standing up himself, as every other shape-changed dragon in the place did the same. "Even if it is only to make plans to flee, with those who are wise enough to come with us."

Caellach gaped at him, openmouthed at the revolt of the dragons. "But—" he spluttered impotently. "But—'

"But I don't think that will be necessary," came a voice from the door, a voice so hoarse with weariness that Shana did not even recognize it. Until she turned, and saw—

Keman. And behind Keman, a dozen, two dozen—three, four—she lost count of how many strangers there were behind him.

All of them with dragon-shadows.

"Shana, here are your new allies," he said, as Alara exclaimed in surprise and joy and ran to embrace not only her son but a tall and handsome, ebony-haired man who stood at Keman's side. "Here are dragons from our Lair, O'ordila'i's Lair, Hali'a's Lair, Teomenava's Lair—"

He named off a half-dozen more Lairs as Shana stood there, so stunned that she couldn't even speak.

"We'll form the force on the right flank," he continued. "Dora has gone to the Iron People, and Diric should be able to bring his mounted warriors in to be our left flank before the elven armies themselves show up."

"We can plant wedges of iron that will disrupt the elven plan to bring the Portal up right on your doorstep," the black-haired man said with a grin. "Our best rock-melders are bringing it up out of the earth now in fist-sized nodules, and we're flying it out here and dropping bits of it along the way. We think we'll have enough to seed the forest for a day's march all around."

"That leaves your forces to form the rear of the trap," Keman continued hoarsely, and turned to Caellach Gwain. It was at that point that Shana was struck by the realization that Keman was no longer a "boy," by any standards. He was thinking and acting for himself, taking responsibility, and willing to live with the consequences.

She saw by the look on Alara's face that the same conclusion had just struck her on the nose as well.

Her little baby is no longer little, nor a baby… Like every mother, everywhere, her offspring had been a child to her long past the time when that ceased to be true.

"Now, you can do what you please. Lord Wizard," Keman continued, "and you can
believe
what you will. But an army of Iron People and another of dragons believe that Shana is right, and you fools are in deadly peril, and we are willing to help her. Now, we have a saying among the dragons—"

He stared at Caellach Gwain with a gaze as sharp as a sword-blade, and the old wizard actually shrank back from him.

"—
lead, follow, or get out of my flight-path
," he said forcefully. "Now, which is it going to be?"

The old wizard sank down into his chair, keeping any further protests behind his teem.

Keman bowed ironically to him, then gestured to Shana. "I believe the lightning now comes to you, foster sister," he said, with a weary twinkle in his eye. "I shall leave it to you and my friends here. I have done a great deal of flying in the past few hours, and I want to sleep for a week!"

"The Council meeting," Lorryn said, to the room full of quiet young elves. The tavern had been closed to outsiders for tonight; only those with an iron necklace were allowed inside. They were all arrayed on every seat, every bench, every space where there was sitting room. He alone stood, in the center of the room, and every emerald eye was on him. "Every lord of any importance in
their
eyes is going to be there, and they plan to go right into battle from the meeting. That leaves the field clear for you, all of you, to act while
they
are all stuck in the Council Hall, leagues and leagues from anywhere, with little transportation, few followers, and no way to communicate to their estates. There are only three High Lords who
won't
be there—the three who are going to open the Portals and send their slave armies through while the Council is in session."

"And all of those are sending their heirs to the Council," one of the er-Lords who had been part of the planning from the beginning chuckled. "They'll be as cut off as the rest of them when the er-Lords close
their
Portals behind them as they pass through."