The Duke's Ballad

XVII

Keelan, Hadrann, and Hadrann’s “cousin Murna” arrived back in Kars as soon as the roads were open. With them came the attractively marked domestic cat who had made friends with the servants the previous year. The servants were pleased to see the animal again. It was pretty, a ferocious hunter, and somehow things seemed to go better when the beast was around. Mice had reinfested the old palace, and the cat caught them by the score. He caught rats too. He often took the trophies down to the cook in the lower palace.

Wind Dancer, being intelligent and fond of his stomach, had made certain the cook favored him from the start. Now, as soon as they were settled in, he caught a plump incautious rat and stalked down to lay it at the head cook’s feet. She beamed.

“So, great hunter. You have returned to help me.” She surveyed the rat with disgusted approval. “That was well done. One less of the filth to steal my food. Here, a gift in return.” Wind Dancer received a thick slice of venison carved from the evening roast. He accepted with pleasure and departed to eat it out from underfoot. Wind Dancer liked the palace. The prey was abundant and often unwary. As something of a rarity he received attention, admiration, and a regular trickle of delicacies.

Out in the south of Karsten cats were becoming less rare amongst the keeps and larger single garths. But the original line brought in by Ciara’s trader friends were not prolific breeders. They tended to produce only once every two years, usually twins or sometimes a trio of kits. Unwary kits had accidents, and adult cats had their own problems, so across Karsten the population growth rate was insufficient to fill the demand. Kits were cherished. Cats were admired and often loved.

Keep lords and their ladies were seldom stupid. It had been observed over a couple of generations that a keep with cats had fewer diseases and more food safe in storage. So from Ciara’s feline friends the ripple of keep cats had moved out slowly. But the lords of the North and toward Kars were often unfriendly to those of the South. Cats were slow to come to that area and slower to appear in Kars City. Although after many of the court had seen the disguised Wind Dancer, there had been a number of attempts to obtain kits.

Wind Dancer approved of that, just as long as the courtiers understood that they were the cat’s humans, not the humans’ cats. People were there to serve and protect. Aisling, who knew his feelings, had grinned and stroked his ears.

“Don’t worry, brother in fur. If they ill-treat a kit it will leave them, and a dozen will stand ready to take it in. They want your kind to kill mice and rats. Much good that will do them if they must shut the cat away to keep it with them. And Shastro likes cats.” Wind Dancer who knew that very well sent her a picture of the duke forgetting his dignity to trail a string and feather.

Aisling giggled. “I know. I’ll talk to him about a cat law, that they may not be ill-treated nor confined.” Her thoughts were wistful. In some ways she liked the duke. He was interesting to talk to when he forgot to be pompous. He was weak; that was the trouble. Yet there was an underlying dark side to the man. She’d never forget their brief visit to his dungeons. She knew too how he used his lovers. She’d already picked up the gossip from several court ladies. They’d talked about the girl and her young husband who had fled.

Aisling had imagined herself bespelled as Shastro’s prey and felt sick. How must it be to know that your emotions, the love and desire you felt were produced by a spell? And if that spell wore off unexpectedly, as by all accounts had happened here, how would you feel to know you’d lain with a man you despised? Wounded your adored husband, flaunted your lust before the court, and through it all, been only something used by your ruler, who should have been the first after your husband to protect you?

Aisling shivered. Thanks be that she was immune to that sort of spell. They wouldn’t work against one with the amount of witch blood she bore. But it was for that reason she was Hadrann’s “cousin” and very plain. Shastro would not wish to be on bad terms with a large, powerful, and independent keep. Rann’s father was friends with other keep lords in his area. Nor did Shastro desire plain women.

And yet, she sighed slowly. She could have liked the duke. He wasn’t the fool many believed him to be. Aisling sighed again, reminding herself of other things about Shastro. He was self-indulgent and determined to have his way at all costs—to anyone else, that is. He was overly conscious of his rank and too ready to listen to flatterers. Under all that, though, there was a child who’d been starving poor once and who’d loved his cousins. A man who, years after their deaths, still grieved over their loss.

But both Kee and Hadrann believed him beyond saving. Even if Kirion was dead, Shastro would still lean toward finding another powerful advisor who’d get Shastro anything he set his heart upon.

She heard footsteps and turned toward the door. Hadrann entered, his gaze worried in a glowering face.

“How much did you hear about Shastro’s last woman and her man?” His tone was abrupt.

Aisling sat up. “She was married to young Damon. He’s third son to Lord Darrar. She’s the daughter of a minor lord from some-where along the South Coast.” She thought back over some of old Lady Varra’s gossip. “I was told the girl’s illegitimate. No one seems to know who the mother was, but the girl was pretty. I thought her to be only around sixteen or so. I never had much to do with her, but I never heard anything bad. The gossips say Shastro had Kirion love-spell her. My dear brother did a damn good job because Shastro flaunted her all over the court, and the girl had no shame at anything they did even in public.”

“What about her husband?”

“Nice boy, about eighteen, seemed to be really in love. From what I saw last season, so was she. I’d have said she adored him. That’s why I think Kirion must have laid one of the more powerful spells on her.” Aisling looked disgusted. “Poor girl. But they did get away. I heard they bribed a gate warden to let them out after dark toward the end of winter. Once Kirion discovered who it had been, Shastro had him flogged to death as a warning to the others. I don’t know any more than that.” She eyed Hadrann. “Why, what’s going on?”

“More than either that idiot Shastro knows or Kirion considered.” He sat, thumping into the seat with a furious expression. “I’ve just had a long letter from Geavon.”

“Geavon, why’s he writing to you?”

“Because he usually has his own man bring his letters directly to you. This time he was in a hurry, and it came by the Kars messenger, which means others saw it. If he writes to Keelan someone might be interested. And if he writes to you they’d ask why to my obscure cousin instead of to me. But it was meant for all of us. Keelan will be here in a minute.” He stood again to wander restlessly to the table where wine stood waiting. “A drink?” Aisling nodded, and he poured glasses of the gentle southern vintage, adding water. Keelan arrived, took one of them, and drained it, holding it out for more.

They sat to listen as Hadrann unfolded the letter. “I won’t read it all. Geavon has gone into a whole lot of genealogy and things about old family feuds, but the gist of it is bad for Kirion and Shas-tro. It could be even worse for Kars.” He turned to a page and read. “Lord Darrar is one of the old school. He’s never let an insult go unanswered. As for the girl, maybe none at court knew her mother, but it’s been no secret to some of us. Her father is Lord Ershmon. As a lad he took a woman as mistress who was believed to be his half sister.”

Keelan grunted. “So his father wouldn’t allow him to marry the girl?”

“Exactly. But it seems he did love her. He later wed a woman who proved to be barren. His mistress had two children, and he kept her decently. Never cast her off and continued to see her discreetly. Once his wife was dead Ershmon had the children declared his heirs.”

“So what’s this Ershmon like?”

“One of those lords who live only a step or two above their peasants. Poor land although quite a lot of it. Sea coast. A bit of wrecking now and again maybe. They get by. His line has held the keep there since the incomers first arrived. But if he has little he does have his pride. What Shastro did has touched that.” Hadrann looked up at them. “Would that what Shastro did were all.”

He returned to the letter. “I’ll summarize. We should get out of Kars without wasting time, Geavon warns. It’s a long tangle of history, but briefly Ershmon’s girl is related to the Coast Clan through her grandmother, who is still alive and powerful as the daughter of Franzo’s great-uncle. Darrar is also related to the clan through a different connection. The two children got away, straight into a bad storm.”

“They died?” Aisling’s voice was distressed.

“Worse in one way; they survived. But the girl had been pregnant to her husband. They only were sure a few days before Shastro had Kirion bespell her. I won’t go into all that seems to have hap-pened about that, but she lost the baby and almost died. She may have been left barren. Her husband got her back to their keep and to safety. But to do it he took chances with the storm. He lost a mitten, pushed on to get her under cover and developed frostbite in that hand.”

“He lost it then,” Keelan said in knowledgeable tones.

“Yes. So Geavon says. If the two of them had died, their families might never have known much of what had been going on. Or if they learned, it would have been months later, when some of their grieving would have been done and they’d have been less likely to be rash.”

Aisling sat straighter. “Do we take it from that, they are going to be rash?”

Hadrann nodded. “According to Geavon the two are in Lord Darrar’s keep. Since they got there Coast Clan people have been coming and going, and listening hard. It isn’t a very nice story. A duke who wanted a girl and didn’t care she was wed, didn’t care she was with child. Didn’t care for her name, family, reputation. Didn’t care for her life even. Didn’t care about her husband or the lad’s name and kin. As a result the girl may be barren, and the boy is left one-handed. The names of both keeps have been smeared with stinking d» .

Keelan whistled softly. “And instead of two dead to mourn, they have two live embittered people reminding everyone daily of the insult simply by being alive and present.”

“Yes. Geavon says that there’s no doubt this time. The whole of South Coast and its clan is seething. Allied keeps are sending men. They see it as not only an insult to the clan but also a clear indication of just how the keeps and their lords are disregarded. Franzo is already assembling an army. If we don’t get out of Kars now, we’ll be under siege.”

“But if we do, what guarantee is there that it will work out our way?” Aisling questioned. “We need to see Kirion stripped of his sorcery and dead. Shastro deposed at the least. I daresay Franzo would like to ensure Shastro’s death, but what does he do about Kirion?”

“What? Kill him too, I’d think.”

Aisling shook her head. “Kee?”

“No. Kirion will say he merely obeyed his duke as is his oath. He will spread his hands and look innocent. He’ll be horrified at the things Shastro forced him to do. He’ll wriggle, use his power to cloud minds and issues. He’ll hole up in his tower and make sure he’s forgotten. When a new duke is in place and things calm down he’ll drift out again. Once he finds what the new ruler wants most, what his weaknesses are, he’ll move in on them. In a year or two it will be ‘my Lord Duke,’ and ‘my dear advisor’ all over again.”

Hadrann looked from one to the other. “And you both think that will happen?” They nodded. “So we need to stay.” His voice was heavy. “But not here in the palace; there are too many eyes. Better we take a small estate in Palace Lane.” He studied the last page of Geavon’s missive. “According to this, Franzo could arrive in another week if he’s moved almost impossibly fast. But Geavon thinks three weeks is more like it. Aisling, you and I will go out to consider houses this minute. Kee, I want you to ride to Geavon.”

“For supplies?”

“Clever man. Yes. Take a couple of packhorses. Hire them if you have to. Buy food made to last. Nothing fancy, siege food: journey bread, spiced sausage, dried meat, hard cheese. Get what you can from Geavon and buy the rest carefully. Not too much of anything from the one market stall. We’ll try to find a storage place in whatever house we move to, a hidden cellar or secret room perhaps, one that can be secured and spell-hidden.”

“What of servants?” Aisling asked. “The three guards we had at Jam’s perhaps. The brothers and their cousin. They aren’t clever men, but they’re solid. If they take our money they’ll not betray us.”

Hadrann nodded. “Good idea. I’ll start looking at estates, you find the three guards and see if you can hire them.” He turned to Keelan and grinned briefly. “Hire a woman too if Geavon can recommend one who doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty and would be loyal. Bring her back with you.”

“Anything else you’d like me to haul to Kars? A few guard dogs maybe, or would you prefer geese?”

“Geese are a good idea,” Aisling said seriously. “They’re excellent watchdogs, they won’t cost to keep, and they taste a lot better than dog meat if we get desperate.”

Her brother groaned. “Why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut? I have to bring back half a pack train of siege supplies, a woman who’ll probably boss us about, and a herd of geese to keep us awake half the night.”

“A flock,” Aisling said absently. “Geese come in flocks. You could bring a half dozen hens too.”

Keelan stared at her in horror. “I’m going, in fact I’m gone, before you think up any more awful ideas.” He vanished through the door with the air of a hunted man. The two left behind laughed.

“Hens!” Hadrann said, grinning. “Do you have any idea of what house we should hire?”

Aisling grinned. “I do. Come and look at it first. If you don’t think it’s right we can split up. You keep looking, and I’ll find the guards we want. But I remember Merrian, Varra’s granddaughter’s best friend, talking about it one afternoon when I was chatting with Lady Varra. Merrian’s family keeps the house because they have to. Something about her great-grandfather’s will. He was a merchant, and I think she’s a little ashamed of that.”

“Merrian’s at court now?”

“Yes, her whole family is in the palace. I’ll talk to her at once.” She departed, to return three hours later, brandishing a ring of keys.

“Perfect timing. Merrian and her lot are leaving on a tour of family outside of Kars. They leave in three days and they don’t expect to be back for a month.”

“By which time if Franzo’s army has arrived, they won’t be getting into Kars to rejoin us.”

“No. Merrian says to look over the house. If we like it we can rent it by the quarter year. I didn’t tell her we were planning to live in it ourselves. She’d have wondered why we’d want to leave our suites in the palace. I said we were expecting family and needed a place to put the servants and lesser family members.”

“Good work. Let’s go and look over the place.”

They did so, enjoying the chance to leave the court awhile. They peered into every corner of the old house, walked about the grounds, and forced open long unused doors to various sheds. The place was a good size as to grounds. Perhaps five acres enclosed by an immensely thick stone wall built from huge stone blocks. Aisling looked at that. The original builder must have been paranoid, she thought. Or else he’d had some very dangerous enemies.

Around the house the land was landscaped with a formal garden and beds of brightly flowered shrubs, many of them with medicinal uses. But there was ample land left unused. Someone had planted that with lassin grass. The grass grew rapidly to some three inches before stopping until it was grazed down again. Then it swiftly grew back. Geese and hens would do well left here to live as free-range birds, Aisling thought.

She looked back at the house. It was two storied. Hadrann had counted seven bedrooms in the main family section, all double-sized with their own hearths. The servants quarters had another two and a small dormitory. The house was massively built, like its surrounding wall, and old. It would have secrets. And with Merrian’s attitude, perhaps secrets no longer remembered. She returned to the building, found an empty room, and locked the door. She took out her pendant, called the mists, and chanted softly, allowing her power and her will to fuse with her question.

“Let what is hidden be revealed. Let that which is shut be laid open to me.” She sank into the silver mist, opened her inner eyes, and saw. Here and there in the rooms, gold light flickered. She noted all the places it indicated, then turned her inner eye to the grounds about the house. Under an edge of the house, extending well out across a corner of lawn she could see the light outline a shape. She followed that with the inner eye. It carried on under the house and out again.

Aisling studied the area, memorized the outlines and dimensions carefully before relaxing. The silver mist slipped away as she tucked her pendant back in concealment. She wondered if Merrian had even known that her despised house had what seemed likely to be large cellars. Hadrann could be heard walking down the corridor toward the room. Aisling unlocked the door and seized his arm.

“This may be better than we knew. I spelled to seek out hidden places here. I expected hides within the walls. Any merchant would have those. But I think there are cellars as well.” She recalled the thin line of gold that had arrowed away to the surrounding wall. “There may even be an escape tunnel. Oh, let’s go and look quickly. I can pay Merrian this evening before her family leaves, if I’m right.”

Hadrann laughed, catching her hand in his. They ran along the passage and down to where the large ancient kitchen stood in all its stone-slab paved glory. Hadrann looked down. That was interesting. He could vaguely remember something he’d seen once as a young boy. His father had taken him to visit friends in a keep far south. They had a keep kitchen that was paved with large flat stone slabs. The keep’s heir and Hadrann had run and played, and his friend had shown him a secret.

Watching him think, Aisling remained silent. Hadrann turned around, letting his eyes glide over everything to be seen. He halted at the huge old hearth. There were two. One on each side of the kitchen. That was not uncommon. You could use whichever was not affected by the prevailing wind at the time. But in the southern keep, he remembered, they’d had another use. His eyes fastened on the massive iron spit and the wheel to which a handle could be affixed.

You could roast a small ox on that or—his memory broke open and poured out—you could run a cord through the wheel, move the brick in the hearth corner then, and reveal an iron bolt set in the bottom of the hearth stone. He was doing so even as he remembered. The bolt was there. A cord? He stared about and saw a light iron chain hanging on the hearth wall. He looped it around the wheel, finding that it had a small hook at each end. One around the bolt, one back to fasten the chain. Then he heaved on the spit handle.

The stone hearth lifted slowly. Aisling gaped. That was clever. Using the spit and wheel, one strong person could raise the stone. To make it impossible all that was required was to remove the spit handle. Of course another could be found. But if she was right and an escape route led from cellars beneath the house, then those fleeing could be long gone before the cellars were again open. The slab came up and tilted back to lean against the rear hearth wall.

Hadrann looked for Aisling to find her examining the other hearth. “Rann? I’d say this one works the same way. Both entrances probably connect somewhere below. That way you can escape through whichever one isn’t being used to cook at the time.” She rose to look at him thoughtfully. “And we could keep a stack of light kindling, paper, and heavier wood by the side of the hearth not in use.”

Hadrann understood at once. “So the last one down lights a fire, maybe someone else can use a lever to hold the slab a couple of fin-gerwidths open.” He watched Aisling as she experimented with a couple of abandoned lengths of firewood on the hearth. “Pull the paper and kindling over the slab. Prop heavier wood up to fall in when the kindling burns in a few minutes. Then drop the slab slowly.”

Aisling giggled. “And Eloiha! No one came this way.” Hadrann laughed at the expression she had used, it was one much favored by street conjurers when making a leaper disappear.

“I think we can go this way though; there’s steps, with the first a wide one. Room for two to stand there. Let’s go.”

They climbed down quietly after Aisling had returned from locking the wall door and both outer house doors. Aisling paused to look at the stone slab. The underside had two iron brackets set in the stone. Even better. Intruders might be certain the slabs lifted, but with a bar through these they’d find raising the slabs impossible. She pattered after Hadrann. For some time they explored underground. The cellars must have originally been dug and paved above to hold all the merchant’s considerable goods. Aisling discovered two more hides in the cellars walls and finally the escape exit.

Dust lay thick on all surfaces. One of the hides held a solid scattering of the small gold coins of Estcarp mixed with some from the Dales. Aisling picked them up carefully. Estcarp coins could not be used as they were, but there was nothing to prevent her hammering them unrecognizably flat. They could then be given to Keelan. If he came back quickly they’d already decided that he should make another run for siege supplies.

She looked at the heavy weight of coins wrapped in her scarf and the layers of ancient dust. “Merrian never knew about any of this.”

“From the depths of this mess,” Hadrann said, poking his toe into the dust, “no one’s been down here since her great-grandfather the merchant died. If they’d known of the cellars, they would surely have known there were hides. They’d have come looking for that gold.” He glanced at the scarf. “How much is there anyhow?”

Aisling hefted the parcel in one hand. “A lot. Enough for Kee to load several more packhorses. Geavon will exchange this lot for Karsten coin. With the amount of room down here we could empty a whole pack train of supplies without completely filling all of the rooms. I wonder if the merchant had this lot dug. And if he did would anyone remember?”

Hadrann looked closely at the walls. They were stone blocks, massive in most places. He shook his head slowly. “I doubt it. I think this may date back a lot further. Maybe to when Kars was unwalled. It was more likely to have been built by some lord. This wasn’t just storage. We still have an escape route to find.”

They found it after a long time and another pause to use Ais-ling’s gift and her pendant. Even knowing where the entrance had to be, it took more time to discover the secret of its unlocking. The tunnel was narrow, only a fat man wide and the height of a short one. It came out in two places. A shorter branch of the tunnel exited in a clump of ancient trees against the wall but within the grounds still.

The second and longer branch exited into where a small deep alcove slanted deep into the street side of the surrounding wall. It held a statue of Gunnora, and someone standing within the tunnel end there would be able to look through the artfully pierced carving around the inner shrine and see if anyone was present. No one however would be easily able to peer back. There was a small plate of iron that covered the hole when not in use.

With the inner latch unlocked, the whole statue swung outward on its plinth. That left a gap just wide enough for a person to slip through and appear to have been innocently praying within the niche. They returned the way they had come, ending up in the kitchen once again. Aisling nodded to herself. She’d find Merrian at once and pay her a three-moons rent.

Keelan returned two days later. With him came three laden packhorses and a strapping six-foot woman with brawny arms and a love of cooking and cleanliness. Her family had been in the employ of Geavon’s line for generations, Geavon sent word. Amara could be trusted with their lives. She had brought a half dozen loudly furious geese and two sacks of ruffled hens. Keelan had hoped for a short rest and was not pleased to be handed a scarf full of hammered coins and told that he was leaving again at once.

But he went. He had heard enough from old Hannion. Aiskeep’s retired master-at-arms had lived through sieges of Aiskeep twice and remembered them. He’d shared his wisdom on the subject with Keelan, plus other older tales of longer and more desperate siege times. So too had Ciara, who remembered both of the sieges of Aiskeep and recalled too the stories her father-in-law had recounted. Lord Tarnoor had ridden as a soldier in his younger days and had seen much.

Merrian was paid and departed with her family. Hadrann moved his entourage, complete with poultry, into the Palace Lane estate, where Keelan joined him in the kitchen on his return.

“Any sign of trouble out there yet?”

“Not yet,” Keelan grinned wryly, passing Keelan a mug of mulled wine. “But I had a nasty feeling between my shoulder blades as I rode through the gate. I think someone was watching Kars. Maybe several someones. If Franzo is coming he’d be a fool not to have scouts watching Kars and spies within the gates. When do our three guards move in?”

“Two more days. They’ll sleep in the servants’ quarters. I said they have room and stabling but no board since I’m paying them five silvers a week. They’re happy with that, and I’d wager Amara will slip them the occasional meal. I just don’t want them demanding food as of right. There may come a time when we cannot share.”

They looked seriously at each other. Wind Dancer, who adored the new lodgings, pranced in with his fifth rat, and released the undamaged beast to scurry hysterically about the kitchen. The solemnity broke up in disorder.

The guards arrived, settled in, and Aisling was left counting the days. Geavon had believed it would take Franzo three weeks at most to assemble his army and surround Kars in a siege. It had been eighteen days since then.

Franzo was right on time. His scouts appeared openly the next day. There was a prompt exodus of people who recognized the danger, and an immediate influx of others with similar motive, who believed city walls afforded sufficient protection. All were permitted their decisions without hindrance. But two days later Franzo marched in three thousand men with their gear and surrounded Kars. The siege had begun.