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

patients are dead!"
    "With your permission, Lord Kyrtian, I'll ask Sergeant Gel to have a word with him first." Kyrtian saw out of the corner of his eye that Lynder was smiling a little. "The Sergeant can be very persuasive."
    Kyrtian nodded, as they turned down a side corridor to the family-quarters. "I trust your judgment, Lynder. But do feel free to bring Tenebrinth in on it; he is my Seneschal, after all."
    Lynder moved ahead to smoothly open a door on the right-hand side of the corridor before Kyrtian could touch it himself. "Yes, Lord Kyrtian," he replied, and as Kyrtian stepped through the door into his private quarters, he was engulfed by servants.
    In other households, they would have been called "slaves," and it was true that Kyrtian was their titular owner—but if any one of them wanted to leave, he would have only to pe¬tition the Elvenlord and permission would be instantly granted. Somehow, some way, Kyrtian would find a way to smuggle the human out to the territories held by the Wizards or the free humans. Not that anyone would ever ask for that permission—the world open to free humans was hostile and uncomfortable, and entirely too dangerous to be much of a temptation.
    As had been the case with Kyrtian's father and grandfather, Kyrtian and his mother were respected, admired, even beloved, not only by the humans of the estate, but by the few Elven re¬tainers who called them their liege-lords. There were three who were of the most importance; the aforementioned Tenebrinth whose position as Seneschal predated Kyrtian's birth, Selazian the Physician who had been studying the diseases of humans as well as Elves for literally centuries—and Lord Pelenal, Kyrt-
     
    ian's Agent, who handled all the affairs of the estate that needed to be conducted outside the walls of the estate.
    Kyrtian and his mother were as dependent on Pelenal's good will as he was on theirs, but he had never given them even a moment of unease. Pelenal bought new slaves, negotiated con¬tracts, and haggled to get the best prices for the foodstuffs pro¬duced by this most fertile of estates. Pelenal was one of those most despised of creatures, an Elvenlord with so little magic he might just as well have had none at all. Despite the fact that there could not possibly have been a better Agent in all of the estates, Pelenal would never have attained that position of power in the service of anyone other than Kyrtian's family. He knew that; saw Elves with more magic than he groveling for crumbs at the tables of greater Elvenlords, and demonstrated his gratitude in the most tangible of terms on a regular basis.
    That was just as well, because where real power, the political power of the Council of the Great Lords was concerned, Kyrt¬ian had none. His only power was economic, and that was in no small part due to Pelenal's clever management.
    Still, that power could be formidable.
    As servants swarmed over him, stripping him to the skin as they propelled him towards the bathing room, he allowed him¬self the luxury of feeling just a little smug. Political power came and went—even magic power could fade with time, or be lost to further generations—but economic power was a much more dependable, if underrated force. His grandfather had un¬derstood that, even if his father hadn't—but his father had the services of Tenebrinth to ensure that the estate's prosperity con¬tinued. Pelenal had simply built on that foundation.
    The bathing-room, of green-veined marble with shining sil¬ver fixtures, featured a sunken tub longer than Kyrtian was tall, and deep enough for him to sink in up to his chin. Just now it was so full of steam it was difficult to see across it. Kyrtian stepped into the tub carefully. When father vanished, things could have been very bad, if mother hadn't had the good sense to ask Tenebrinth if he knew someone he could trust to become our outside Agent. Kyrtian eased himself down into the hot,
     
    juniper-scented water of his