Kaeth was actually taken aback, and let out a low whistle as he reached for his trews. "I don't know that I've ever seen a human that old, much less a fighter! You mean your lord actually puts his old men out to pasture instead of putting them down? Great Ancestors, man, how many of these retired fighters have you got?"
"I'm not sure," Gel replied, his suspicions aroused. He's asking too many questions. He's a trained assassin, 1 know he is— what if he's targeting Kyrtian?
It was possible—Lord Kyndreth could be a patron and ally of the obnoxious Aelmarkin. It might be that he would wait just long enough to learn Kyrtian's training-technique, then eliminate Aelmarkin's inconvenient cousin.
In fact he might have been brought to get rid of Kyrtian right here and now, which was why Kyrtian got the invitation in the first place! Maybe that's why Lord Kyndreth wants to come to our estate now, to get the secret, then get rid of Kyrtian where there aren 't any witnesses—and maybe get rid of the Lady at the same time!
By now, Gel had gotten his second wind, and such alarming thoughts only increased his energy. And Kaeth, all unsuspecting, had actually turned his back to him. If there was ever a time when a trained assassin would be vulnerable, this was it.
Gel didn't even pause for a breath; he acted. He had been bent over, tying his boots; now without warning, he turned his pose into a charge, staying crouched over and rushing Kaeth, shouldering him into the wall face-first. He heard Kaeth grunt as he hit the wall, but before he could secure the assassin, Kaeth writhed loose a trifle. His reactions were as swift as a serpent's, and he managed to get himself turned around, but not before Gel grabbed a wrist in either hand and smashed them into the wall, then got his knee up to reinforce his hold. Now Gel had Kaeth pinned against the wall with both wrists imprisoned over his head and Gel's knee in his gut.
His legs are still free. If he can kick my leg out from under me—
Flushed, but impassive, he stared into Gel's grey-violet eyes for a long moment as Gel waited for him to speak or act. His wrists under Gel's hands showed no sign of tension, nor was there any indication that he intended resistance or struggle.
But that could be a ruse to get me to drop my guard.
"I suppose it's too much to ask what prompted this—ah— rather unexpected action of yours?" he finally asked mildly, a bit out of breath, but completely polite, in spite of the situation.
Gel glared at him, but he didn't drop his eyes. "I suppose you're going to deny you're an assassin," he replied flatly.
"Ah!" The expressionless eyes now reflected understanding, and the mouth relaxed a trifle in a faint smile. 'Wow I understand! You think Lord Kyndreth has targeted me at you—or perhaps, your master! Be at ease, friend; Lord Kyrtian is in no danger that I know of, other than from his own conniving cousin. And you're in no danger at all, least of all from me."
It felt honest. Gel wanted to believe him.
"But you don't deny you're an assassin—" Gel's instincts warred with his intellect. His instincts and his senses swore that Kaeth was telling the truth—his more cynical mind warned him that this was just a trick. Still, he was very tempted to release the fellow; this just didn't seem like a lie.
"Hardly, since you seem to have caught me as one," Kaeth replied, with a surprising amount of humor. "Although my own Lord isn't nearly as observant as you, since he is totally unaware of my training; I went to him, bought at auction after the unlamented death of my old lord. Still, once an assassin, as they say, the cloak never drops from your shoulders—so I'll qualify it by admitting for Lyon Lord Kyndreth, I'm an active agent, but an inactive assassin, nor am I ever likely to let him know of my more esoteric abilities."
"Huh." Slowly, carefully, Gel rocked his weight back onto his own feet, and released Kaeth's wrists. Just as slowly, Kaeth dropped his hands from the wall and rubbed, then flexed, his wrists, testing them. "And just how did you become an inactive assassin?"
"Look for yourself." Kaeth reached up and pulled the neck of his tunic open, then tilted his chin up so that Gel could see his slave-collar clearly. It wasn't the seal of Lyon Lord Kyndreth there, but that of the deceased—and, as Kaeth had said, unlamented—Lord Dyran.
Things were beginning to add up.
The noble Lord Dyran, who trained all manner of slaves in skills best left unexamined.. . and whose estate was broken up and divided among his relatives, with what was left going to auction. And that was where I saw another assassin!
That seal couldn't possibly be counterfeited, either. The fact that he was still wearing Dyran's collar meant that he'd been claimed after Dyran's death—otherwise the new master would insist on having the old collar removed and his own put on. Gel backed up, giving him a little more space. "Interesting."
"My beloved former master," Kaeth said, with a touch of ironic inflection on the word "beloved" that did not escape Gel's notice, "Was not the sort of Elvenlord to forget the traditions of his Ancestors."
"Including assassination?" Gel replied evenly.
Kaeth nodded with a dignity that impressed Gel in spite of himself. "Even so. I was trained from childhood, having shown unusual ability for getting into and out of supposedly guarded spaces and places without being caught. Whether or not you choose to believe me, I will say that my training was never employed against Elvenlords...."
"Not that Dyran would have hesitated if he'd thought he could get away with it," Gel interjected. Again, Kaeth nodded, this time with a shrug.
"Be that as it may, my usual tasks were to act as his intelligence agent, which is how I was employed at the time of his demise. And, not knowing any better, that is how my talents were advertised when the estate was broken up and the slaves went to auction, as an agent and bodyguard." Kaeth turned his palms up, and shrugged his shoulders again.
"And you, of course, were under no compulsion to enlighten the auctioneers." Gel felt a reluctant smile creeping over his lips; if this story was true, Kaeth was a very clever fellow indeed. Hardly likely he 'd tell them, when it was a lot more likely that the other Elvenlords would order him destroyed rather than take the chance of one of their number getting his hands on a trained assassin. "I don't suppose it ever occurred to you to bolt?"
"Of course it did," Kaeth replied, and sat down on the bench, indicating to Gel that he should do the same. "Oh, don't worry about anyone overhearing us. If there had been anyone listening or watching, they'd have been in here the moment you went for my throat. I cost Kyndreth a very pretty penny, and he'd take it personally if someone deprived him of my services."
And this could be a set-up, but it's getting rather too unlikely and complicated—no, I think I'll go with my instincts and take him at his word.
"Naturally, it occurred to me to flee to the Wizards and the Wild Humans," he repeated, "But—well, 1 learned a few things about these collars that I wasn't supposed to. Only Dyran could compel me magically, and once he was dead, no other Elven-lord can harm me through this collar, unless he is Dyran's equal or better in power. That was a reason to run. But Dyran was as clever a bastard as his reputation claimed—I can still be traced and pursued through the collar, and any attempt to take it off will deprive me of my head. That was Dyran's little fail-safe in case anyone ever decided to subvert me."