Elvenborn by Mercedes Lackey, Andre Norton Read Free Book Online Page A

be a little ex¬tra beer—not enough to cause problems, but a glass or two more than usual for everyone. Some of the household musi¬cians would come down after dinner, and there would be some lively music and dancing, and if beds had two occupants or none in them tonight instead of one, no one would be taken to task. Tomorrow would be a quarter-holiday, work and drill to start a bit later in the morning than usual so that the men could sleep in a bit. All in all, the men would feel themselves well re¬warded for their hard work today.
    And we need to begin planning the next holiday by tomorrow at the latest, Kyrtian reminded himself. He didn't like to make the intervals between holidays too long; he didn't want the house-and field-servants to start feeling aggrieved at the special treatment the fighters received.
    The carriage slowed and came to a stop; in the dusty gold light that was swiftly fading, a servant in emerald-green tunic and trews opened the door, and Kyrtian got out, followed by Gel and Lynder. Round, blue-white lights hanging in clusters of four from bronze posts already blazed on either side of the white stone staircase that led to the front portals of the manor. More green-liveried servants took possession of the armor and arms as Kyrtian looked about. Gel saluted and stalked off to¬wards the barracks in that tireless, ageless stride that Kyrtian
     
    could never imitate, with the final rays of the setting sun illumi¬nating him like some god-touched hero of human history.
    Kyrtian ran up the alabaster steps of the manor with Lynder close behind, deep shadows now giving way to blue dusk. At the top of the stairs, double doors of cast bronze would have swung open at the merest touch of his magic, but he ignored them entirely, intending to take the inconspicuous doorkeeper's entry at the side. The green-clad doorkeeper had expected just that, and was holding open the smaller portal for him, bowing slightly as he passed through.
    "Beker!" Kyrtian greeted him. "Is your wife better?"
    The human's long face brightened at the question. "Oh, much better, Lord Kyrtian! We cannot thank you enough—"
    "You'll thank me by not letting things get to such a pass before you say something," Kyrtian replied, with just enough of a stern tone to his voice that the doorkeeper would know he was serious. "Don't keep going back to the 'pothecary; when the simple cure doesn't work, go to Lord Selazian. That's why I keep him as a re¬tainer, Beker; make the lazy lout work for his living!"
    "Yes. Lord Kyrtian," the doorkeeper whispered, bowing fur¬ther. "I will, my lord."
    "Carry on, Beker," Kyrtian replied, and moved on, leaving the doorkeeper to shut things up behind him.
    "Lynder, remind Lord Tenebrinth to have a talk with the apothecary, will you?" Kyrtian said in a quiet aside as they strode down the middle of the entrance hall. A thick, pale-grey carpet beneath their feet muffled all sound of footfalls, and al¬though the alabaster ceiling and grey-veined marble walls were not imposing, Kyrtian thought they had a great deal of dignity about them. "I can't have my people getting sick and relying on that—that herb-shaman for everything! I wouldn't have had him at all, if you humans hadn't insisted on him."
    "Lord Kyrtian—it is frightening for some of us to ask a Lord for anything, much less ask him to treat us for our ailments," Lynder replied with hesitation. "You forget sometimes that al¬though many of us have been born and raised in your service, many more come from outside the boundary of your estate, and things are very different in the greater world."
     
    "Well, that's why I want you to remind Lord Tenebrinth to talk to the apothecary. I suspect the man might be encouraging those fears, and if that's true, I want it stopped." Kyrtian frowned. "Ancestors! The last thing we need is to get a plague started because a man who thinks rattling bones and brewing teas can cure everything won't give up trying till his