Mercedes Lackey - Elvenbane

"What do you want of me, wizard?" he asked coldly.

But the other made no offensive moves, indeed, no moves of any kind. His bearded face remained calm, even bland. "It is not what I want of you, my lord," he said, in a smooth, even voice. "It is what I can offer you."

Dyran's eyes widened in surprise, but only for a moment. Then he, too, began to smile. "So," he said, releasing his hold on the dagger's hilt and leaning back into his chair, "one of the wizards chooses to turn his coat. Is that it?"

"My lord, I protest," the stranger replied, irony thick in his tone as he spread his empty hands. "I am simply choosing to provide my services to someone who would appreciate them. The choice is simple, or so it seems to me. I can choose to serve you, live, and most likely prosper...or I can oppose you with the rest, and die, as the old ones did long ago. My name, by the way, is Garen Harselm."

"You interest me," Dyran said, and gestured at one of the stools on the other side of the table. "Do sit down. Now, what exactly are these'services' you offer, Garen?"

Garen hooked one of the stools neatly with his foot, and drew it to him before settling himself onto it. If he was disappointed at not being called "Lord" Garen, he did not show it. "First, I offer my services as a wizard. You, of course, are an acknowledged master of elven magics...but I can provide you with the other half of the equation. The wizard-powers. The ability to know what your enemies are thinking...to know what they are doing...to move objects without needing to cast a spell..."

"Enough, Garen, I know what wizards are capable of," Dyran said with a trace of impatience. "I also know that not all wizards are equally able in all aspects of those powers."

Garen shrugged. "I can't expect you to believe me when I tell you that I am as much a master of my magics as you are of yours. I shall, of course, prove that to you in time. But I can offer you two more things that

I think are of great import to you." He held up one finger. "The location of the wizards' stronghold." He held up the second finger. "The location of your son and heir."

Only years of self-control...and the suspicion that the wizard was going to say that he knew where Valyn was...kept Dyran from betraying himself.

"And just what are you asking in return for all this?" he asked smoothly, raising a long, elegant eyebrow.

Garen spread his hands. "Simple enough, my lord. The opportunity to serve you. After all, isn't it better to live in service than to die in dubious freedom?"

"Indeed," Dyran replied, smiling. "So...just where is this stronghold?"

Dyran waited, still smiling, while Triana, Cheynar, Berenel, and the rest seated themselves. Triana alone looked unruffled...but then, she was a creature of the night, and had probably been awake when his summons arrived. "My lords," he said, "and lady. Permit me to thank you for answering my call to assemble this evening." He smiled a little more as Berenel stifled a yawn. "I know it is late, but I think, Lord Berenel, you will find it was worth breaking your rest to come."

"It had damn well better be," Berenel grumbled, wrapping his cloak about himself. "This is the third night in a row that something's rousted me out of my bed."

"It should be the last, my lord," Dyran replied with a friendly nod. And you can go back to your dragon-chasing, my lord...while I go on to overlordship of the entire Council . "I have had a most unusual visitor tonight," he continued. "A wizard."

He chuckled at the swift intake of breath from Triana and Cheynar. "Yes, that is correct. A halfblood. He offered me the location of the wizards' stronghold...and his own services. An offer that would be extremely difficult to turn down, wouldn't you say?"

"In exchange for what?" Berenel demanded sharply. "And how do you know he wasn't lying?"

"In exchange for his safety, and my protection...and of course, I don't know that he was telling the truth. He could easily have been lying, both when he told me freely, and when I burned his hands off." Dyran steepled his hands before his chin, thoughtfully. "It is possible of course. But I rather think he was telling the truth both times. And I don't think he was tampering with my mind...I have had dealings with wizards before, you know, and pain completely destroys any control they have over their powers."

"Where is he now?" Triana asked...uneasily, Dyran thought. He regarded her askance for a moment. There was something going on there. When this was over, he would have to see to the Lady, perhaps. She was hiding something...

He nodded at the pile of ash a slave was sweeping up. "He'd outlived his usefulness." At Triana's frown he pointed an admonitory finger at her. "You are very young, my lady. I take it that you disapprove of my promising this renegade safety, then disposing of him."

Triana nodded slightly, reluctantly, as if she had not wanted to admit to that disapproval.

"Firstly, I never offered him safety," Dyran told her. "He assumed it. And secondly, a man who has betrayed his friends, his own kind, is never to be trusted...and a wizard, a halfblood, triply so. Anyone who turns traitor once will do so again, when the stars turn in favor of a new master. Remember that, my lady. Halfbloods are treacherous by nature, and become more so with every passing year they add to their age. Like a one-horn, they will always turn on their masters."

"For once, Dyran, I agree with you," Berenel said emphatically. "So where is this'stronghold' of theirs, and what are we going to do about it?"

Ah, I have you, my reluctant allies , Dyran thought with satisfaction, as he unrolled his map before them.

He had them all. And to think it was his bitterest enemies who gave them to him!

"Here is the stronghold," he said, pointing to the spot he had carefully plotted from the renegade's directions. "And this is what we are going to do about it..."

THAT WAS ODD, Keman thought, as he flew over the enemy campsite, trusting to the moonless night to keep him invisible. That was very odd...

Although fires were burning in every fire-pit, and torches flared beside the tents of the commanders, there was no movement in the camp. None whatsoever. And as Keman had come to learn, there was always some movement in a sleeping camp. Sentries and messengers came and went...men needed to relieve themselves...horses stirred in their sleep.

He took a deep breath and tested the air. Woodsmoke. Nothing more. It didn't smell right, either. There should have been other odors; cooking, horses, the sweat of humans.

He swooped in lower for a better look.

No sentries . That was the first thing he noticed. Of course, they could be hidden, but why bother? He cast a sharp glance at the bivouacked troops. There were bundles lying beside the fires, but they weren't moving either. Men did not just lie like logs when they slept, they twisted and tossed...

Lie like logs ... He sharpened his eyes and focused in on those bundles. Those were logs! Logs, bundles of brush, grass... Where were the fighters?

He drove himself upward with strong wing-beats, and hovered, checking the forest beneath, changing his eyes again, so that they could see the heat of warm, living bodies...

And found what he was looking for, traveling in dark and silence through the forest, somehow able to see despite the moonless night and the stygian dark under the trees. The entire enemy army, moving on a line that pointed straight at the Citadel.

For a moment, his heart stopped beating.

Fire and Rain ...

His wing-beats faltered...then, as shock gave way to panic, he drove himself upward in frantic haste.