The Duke's Ballad

XXI

Kirion had ordered his servant to sit in a corner. He’d be wanted shortly. Kirion did not wish to waste time calling for him when the time came. Varnar sat obediently. He allowed his memories to surface and smiled as he sat. If he must wait, the gods and his master knew how long he’d pass the time in remembering. He frowned a little. It had been some time since he’d seen his wife and daughter, hadn’t it? His brow wrinkled. It was strange, he couldn’t quite recall.

Kirion had called in another man and a boy. They had been held in a place unknown to the duke. His master drained the poor wights, and the guards removed the bodies. Kirion smiled slowly. Varnar in his corner shivered. When his master smiled in that way it boded ill for someone. The sorcerer waited. He’d had that pair in reserve for many months. The man himself hadn’t known he bore the Old Blood, a full quarter and much power. Or why it was his master had hired him and allowed him to have his son live with him. Well, he knew now, if he could know anything at all wherever his soul had fled.

Shastro had called men and given quiet orders. Six assassins bowed and left to deal with the man their lord had come to distrust and hate. They died as they attacked. It drained almost half of their target’s recently stolen power, but he had a little left and in the corner his fool sat dreaming and smiling. The sorcerer cursed. Trust Shastro to pick the wrong time. But then Shastro probably considered the time right, before the family he’d promised could be brought. Kirion prepared the word that, when said, would dispel Varnar’s illusion, releasing all the man’s emotion in a great wave of pain and grief. Then he waited for his duke.

Shastro came quietly, and, unknown to any but those who followed, behind him came one under a geas and those who aided her. Wrapped in her mists Aisling laid the unseen over them: over herself and Wind Dancer, who padded at her heels, over her brother, and Hadrann, her love. It was time to cast the dice, letting all ride upon the outcome. Life, death, and love. She walked to a destiny not knowing what it would be, only that what she did was necessary for the sake of her beloved land. That they all knew. If they died, then they’d accept death to buy Karsten life.

In front of them Shastro reached the door to his sorcerer’s tower. The guards stepped back. Their master had forbidden entry to any, but it would take far more reckless men than they to deny their duke passage. Shastro wasn’t known for a placid acceptance of insolence. He swept by, one hand rising unconsciously to clutch at the shape of a small knife within his tunic. He entered the large room, his gaze flicking quickly from side to side.

Kirion eyed him with amusement. The fool really thought he had power here. Kirion would show him power. It would be the last thing this creature he’d raised to rank would ever see. He leaned forward in his chair and drawled a greeting. Shastro turned.

“What have you seen from your scrying, sorcerer. What plans has Franzo?”

Kirion smiled. “Plans that change, my Lord Duke. Once he demanded the lives of two men. Now it seems he would settle for one.” He was referring to the letter he’d seen, which had offered only Kirion. But the duke had seen a different missive. His face reddened. This man, this thing who dared to taunt him, was bold enough to refer to his own treachery against his ruler. His voice developed an edge.

“Yes, indeed. Franzo would accept one instead of two. So I also heard.” He took a pace forward. “An interesting thought, but perhaps not so welcome for the one being sold.”

Kirion nodded. In a room off this, lay six assassins, bodies cooling. He hadn’t found the idea of being sold to Franzo welcome, no. And this duke he’d raised from the low quarter to rule, dared to taunt him with it. At least Kirion had drawn off some of their power as they died, enough to replace a little of what he’d used to stop them. In his corner Varnar dreamed, oblivious to the sound of voices. Kirion glanced at him. Not yet. Not quite yet.

“My dear Shastro, why not sit and drink a little wine with me. You are weary.”

His dear Shastro straightened. “I drink no wine with you, sorcerer. There are too many things in your cup.” His voice dropped to a tone half regret, half memory. “And I have drunk too often of the cup you have offered.” His eyes fixed on Kirion’s face as his voice became accusatory. “What cup did you offer Sharna and Paran, sorcerer? No, do not lie to me. I have proof. It was your men who killed them and not bandits as you said. What have you to say to that now?” Kirion shrugged as Shastro raged on.

“My cousins, my friends. You murdered them and for what? So yours would be the only voice I heard. Well, I have stopped listening.” His face hardened. “As you will stop speaking. I’m done with you.”

His hand dipped to draw the grace knife even as Kirion rose. Shastro flung himself forward. Kirion lifted a hand, and the duke halted, unable to move. Kirion concentrated. Fire came to his fingers and he flung it in an arching spear of white flame. Shastro cried out as the shaft of fire sliced through him. He dropped, writhing, and lay, his fingers clutching the knife hilt. Kirion walked over to look down at the man he had raised to a throne.

“You were quite right about that, my Lord Duke. You are indeed done with listening, but not because you wished that. It is I who am tired of talking to you.” He laughed scornfully. “What, did you think to best me. I made you. If I had those pitiful idiots you called cousins murdered, it was my right. You’ve had years of luxury, any lover you desired. Power, rank, wealth—all have been poured into your lap, by me’t”

His voice came as a hiss. “And you’d have betrayed me to Franzo. Sold me to him with your lies. I did as you demanded, my Lord Duke.” The sarcasm in the last words slashed out. “You demanded the Coast Clan be punished for its refusal to bow to you. I merely obeyed your command.” Kirion was coldly angry. He’d done only what had been asked of him, and see how he was repaid? Nor had the last fiasco been his fault.

“You demanded those who wished nothing of you turn to you with desire instead. I saw to it. You commanded I spell that brainless woman with her young idiot of a husband. I spoke and she was besotted with you, allowing you any liberty, even before the whole court. Then your own gatekeepers were bribed to allow them to go free. And once again it was I who had to seek out the guilty one for you. Wasting my power on minor needs over and over. So very well you ran the city I gave into your hands. But you weren’t mentioning any of this to Franzo. Oh, no. It was all my doing.”

He kicked the duke viciously. “Listen when I speak, my Lord Duke. Yes, I had your stupid cousins ambushed. You must have suspected all these years, but you took what I offered anyway.” His tone mocked savagely. “What does that make you, my Lord Duke?”

Shastro felt only the fire. It was consuming him. But underneath it he heard the words. If he’d had the strength, he’d have denied that change. He’d never known, never even suspected. He’d have taken nothing at Kirion’s hands, not even his life, if he’d had any idea. A single tear of blood gathered in the corner of one eye.

Paran, his friend, the brother of his heart, and Sharna, whom he’d loved as he’d loved nothing else since she had gone. He’d looked for her in all his light loves and found nothing but brief pleasure and a momentary distraction.

In the flames he saw Sharna. She was smiling, holding out her hands. Paran stood at her shoulder, love and welcome clear to read in his face. They did not condemn him. Kirion kicked again but his victim made no sound, did not move. It was unsatisfying. The sorcerer muttered another word, and the white fire drew back a fraction.

In the passage outside the corner tower Aisling had halted. She touched her pendant and drew power. The witch jewel gleamed openly on her breast, but the pendant lay hidden still as her teacher had warned. She touched the jewel, keying it with the word of command. She could feel the power rise in it; the trap was set.

Her hands lifted, wove slowly, and a glittering web of light sprang from them. She cast it forward. It settled over the guards, and they stiffened into immobility. Unaware of the intruders, they would see and hear nothing. She walked past them to open the door. The others followed. Aisling spoke under her breath and the guards returned to duty unknowing.

The four who had entered slid quietly behind the drapes that cloaked the entrance. They’d arrived just after Shastro was struck down, in time to hear Kirion’s ranting. Now Aisling drifted past the drapes sparing a glance for Shastro. He would not survive. The fire her brother had called was eating him alive. Her eyes as they met his showed pity. His lips curved into a tiny rueful grin of acceptance and regret. In his eyes was a faint hint of surprise at seeing “Murna” here. Aisling moved on and appeared, undiscovered, to one side of her angry brother. She said his name in soft command.

“Kirion!”

He turned and laughed, Hadrann’s brainless cousin. “What are you doing here, cousin?” He sneered. “It’s the wrong time to come calling on a sorcerer. Do you want a potion to make you pretty, to make men love you, is that it? Well, once I’m done here I might even give it to you. But you’ll have to wait.”

“No,” Aisling said quietly. “I’m done with waiting.”

He turned sharply. “You’ll do what you’re told, you brainless clod.”

“You could not order me as a child. You will not order me now,” was her reply. Kirion stared. Something teased the corners of his eyes. By Cup and Flames, the girl was beglamoured. His hands wove a swift spell and cast it outward. It passed over her, and she changed before him. Kirion gave a strangled yelp of recognition, then smiled, a slow evil smile of anticipation.

“Sister. My dear little sister. Come out of your kennel at Aiskeep to see your brother. What a prize for me. What a morsel of power. I’ll drain you and that jewel dry, and feast.”

No.

“Oh?” She was too confident. Allies! That was it: there were others. He cast his power out again and winced. Two humans and—he blinked in amusement—a cat. Kirion flung back his head. A high whinnying laugh rang out from him. “Dear little sister, you bring help against me but what help? Two without training and a cat. If that is all you can conjure against me, then I have nothing to fear. Let me deal first with them.”

He hurled power so that it flowed about the three who stood behind her. Kirion poured out more of his darkness until he knew them held fast. Then he turned back to his sister as she waited. He studied her a moment, and his smile was hungry.

“That jewel, it tells me where you were, but it is a gateway into you, sister. I have the power to draw from it all you are.” He raised his hand slowly, speaking soft words that seemed to smoke across the room. The chain that held the jewel fell into glittering dust, the jewel flew to Kirion, seeming to nestle into his hand. He smiled.

“Now, sister, I shall have it all.”

“Ishari!” She spoke aloud the word that would free the jewel’s power, even as his mind probed into it.

She was still near the door, her allies behind her, and Kirion was almost in the center of a large room. The jewel exploded, but Aisling was able to shelter herself and those with her. Kirion too was more fortunate than Aisling would have wished. He had always feared some trap of the power might strike at him, so about himself he had layered protections.

The jewel’s force beat at those like a whirlwind. Kirion reinforced his words from within, spending recklessly almost everything he had left. The trap tore at his protections, tearing them down almost as fast as he could reinforce them. For long moments they contended, but Kirion had sucked just sufficient power from his two victims. When the storm was over, he was unharmed, yet there were only the dregs of his power remaining to him. Now, it seemed, was the time to use Varnar.

Kirion spoke his word softly. In the corner Varnar shuddered. His eyes snapped shut in a reflex of agonizing pain. His wife, his adored child. In that instant both died, and he knew the bitter truth: he’d been tricked, betrayed, cheated of all he’d ever wanted and come to believe in. They had been lovely illusions, his life with them crafted perfectly to cause him the greatest agony a man could bear. He was Varnar the ugly, Varnar the scarred. Varnar who walked alone and always had, always would. He groaned, a slight breathy sound redolent of the agony that filled his mind and heart. His master drank in the torment and felt dark power swell within him.

Unseen by the sorcerer Wind Dancer padded forward. Hadrann and Keelan were bound by Kirion’s spell, but the big cat was untouched. He moved with the slow flowing gait of the hunter.

Aisling had learned from Hilarion, but her gift was mostly for the land, for healing and growing. Her spells were more defensive than those that brought death or destruction. Kirion was chanting. His power slashed out, striving to reach her again, to drain from her all she had or was. She shielded as step by step she closed with him. For a moment she felt despair. He was too strong, too skilled. He’d had longer to learn, and his sorcery was overcoming her mists.

But Kirion too was growing fearful. The girl was still advancing. Involuntarily he stepped back a pace, then another, half-turning as he retreated. Wind Dancer had circled. His paws were silent as he padded around behind the fringe of wall drape. He moved until he was just inside his enemy’s edge of vision, paused to be sure Kirion caught the movement, then leaped.

As he did so, he howled, the wild tearing cry of a cat about to give lethal battle. Kirion flung up an arm and screamed a word. Fire surrounded the leaping cat. It dispelled the glamour Wind Dancer still wore and more. To Kirion’s amazement the attacking beast swelled in size. It was now twice, three times the size of a normal cat, but other than that, Kirion’s power had left it unharmed. He cursed and drew savagely on Varnar’s pain.

It flooded in, transformed into the rawness of dark power. But Wind Dancer had reached the sorcerer. His claws and teeth fastened to a leg, and Kirion howled as they dug in. He seized the beast by the scruff, dragging him loose and casting him aside with all his strength. Wind Dancer hit the wall with stunning impact. As he landed, Kirion struck at him again with a hammer blow of force. No spell, no finesse, merely brute power. Wind Dancer wavered up onto his paws. His ribs were flaring pain where he had met the edge of the wall.

Across Wind Dancer’s shoulders he felt a touch. The pain was gone. It was Kirion alone who saw a dim upright shape standing behind the big cat. It turned slanted, emerald cat-eyes on him, and scowled even as one hand touched away Wind Dancer’s injuries. Distracted, the sorcerer stepped back once more.

From his corner Varnar came crawling weakly. He’d lost everything. His wife and child had been illusion, all their happy years together illusion’s bitter ash. Everything he’d remembered, dreamed, rejoiced in—all had been dreams to sow a harvest of power in pain for the man who used him.

He crawled forward, not knowing why, only that he wanted to hurt the one who’d torn out his heart and feasted on his pain. If these people wished to harm his enemy, then he’d aid them with his last breath. Wind Dancer had paused. He felt a hand stroke lightly over his ears. There was a scent in the air about him. No human would have smelled it, but the nose of a cat is far keener. It reminded him of herbs his human used. He took in the room with one swift cat-eyed glare.

There two of his human friends were held unable to move. There, a man who stank of pain, crawled. There too another lay shuddering. One who’d been kind to Wind Dancer, now struck down by an enemy. His human was closing with that enemy. She should not fight alone while Wind Dancer, hunter, warrior, son of Shosho remained alive. He felt approval flow from the presence that stood by him. It warmed him, although he had no need of approval. He was a cat; he would do what he willed, and he willed to attack. He screamed again as he leaped.

Beset on two sides Kirion lost his temper. He cast a curtain of fire about Wind Dancer and Aisling. The cat ignored it and appeared on the other side before the surprised Kirion. Aisling had diverted the fire cast at her. To one side the wall hangings were smoldering. Her fingers wove frantically as she tried to contain the dark power her brother had stolen. Varnar reached his master. The strength Kirion leeched from him was slowly stopping his heart, but he had strength enough to reach up.

He ignored the duke, crawling past him as Shastro sprawled, deep in his own pain. The white fire was consuming the man who’d ruled, but Shastro didn’t care, not since he’d seen his cousin’s faces. He’d seen Aisling’s transformation and dimly understood she was the sister Kirion had spoken of before. The cat’s change was more puzzling, but he had no strength left to bother with that. He clung to the remnants of his life. Something told him he should, and dumbly he obeyed.

Varnar crawled to where Kirion stood looming over him, back carelessly turned. Long ago Varnar had been given a broach. It was tawdry, tarnished brass with the glitter of glass jewels. But the woman who’d gifted it had owed him a debt. He might not be lovely, but he was strong. He’d saved her child from danger, so she gave him the only gift she had that her man would have allowed. Varnar had kept it, the sole gift freely given and with honest gratitude and kindness that he’d ever received. Laboriously he unfastened it with one hand as he crawled.

Within his rooms and tower Kirion wore boots of soft leather. They came to mid calf, sagging a little in elegant black creases. Down the back they bore insets of patterned gray lizard skin. Varnar fixed his eyes above the boot tops, where Kirion’s calf muscle bulged out.

The broach lay open in his hand. It was large enough, a typical ornament of the poor quarter, where size and show were counted as status. The pin behind it was a full four fingers in length. Varnar opened it, and as Aisling and Wind Dancer attacked again, he drove it into his master’s leg from behind, deep into the fleshy calf just above the boot top. Kirion’s initial yelp was more surprise than pain. Buried in bleeding flesh the pin did no true damage, but the distraction did.

From one side Wind Dancer latched on to Kirion’s wildly waving arm. Maddened, Kirion reeled, unable to concentrate on further spells or chant as the brass pin stabbed pain with every movement of his leg. The cat’s claws and teeth sliced savagely into one arm. The sorcerer howled inhumanly in pain and fury. He’d wreak such a vengeance on these who defied him as would warn others for a generation. His free hand fell to his sword. It was a pretty toy, but the point was needle sharp. He’d kill both cat and sister. He drew, stepped back and away from the wall to gain room for his thrust, and his heel came down beside Shastro.

The duke lay still, the white fire burning too deep for him to make a sound, but he knew how desperately others battled his enemy. He’d liked Murna. He did not wish to see her die, whoever she really was, Kirion’s sister or Shastro’s friend. Sharna’s beloved face drove him on. Maybe if he redeemed himself a path would open, and he would go where his kin had gone. In his hand he felt the chased hilt of her grace knife. He drove it home, slicing deeply through the soft leather of the sorcerer’s boot.

He’d cut crossways, and severed the tendon at the back of Kirion’s heel. This time Kirion’s scream was genuine agony as well as surprise. It echoed from the walls as he howled, reeling, trying to keep his balance on one foot, the other foot turning under him, as the severed tendon refused to take his weight. Wind Dancer released the mangled arm to spring again.

With the weight gone abruptly from his arm, Kirion waved it frantically in the air trying desperately to save his balance. He was falling. Instinct told him that to fall before these foes was to lose the battle. He fought to remain upright. Wind Dancer sprang high, his teeth bit into the bone in the sorcerer’s wrist even as some thirty-five pounds of cat jerked down against the savaged limb. It was enough. The big cat leaped free again as the sorcerer stumbled, his balance gone. Kirion landed hard on the floor beside his puppet duke.

With a bitter smile Shastro raised himself on one elbow, leaned over, and carefully cut Kirion’s throat. Then he slumped back to lie beside his fallen sorcerer. Aisling cried out in horror. Kirion’s eyes closed. His power was gone. His heart slowed, stopped, and in the room where so many others had died at his command, he followed them.

Wind Dancer had halted, waiting to see what would happen when Kirion fell. He padded back now, sniffed his dead enemy, and spat vigorously through bristling whiskers. Then, turning his back, he pawed the floor as if covering waste. After that he marched over to stand by his human. Wind Dancer had delivered his verdict on events. No one else need comment. By the door Keelan and Had-rann, freed by Kirion’s death, began to grin.

Aisling dropped to one knee beside the duke. He was dying. She could not prevent it, and she was not sure she would have tried. He too had been part of the geas. His rule had not been good for the land yet he’d been kind to her. She had liked him. She was grateful only that his death had not been at her hands and that he did not have to die writhing. She laid her hands against his chest, took away the pain, and waited. His eyes opened slowly to study her. The pain had gone, but he could feel the ice of death closing about his heart.

“Kirion’s dead.” It was a statement, but she answered it.

“He’s dead. You killed him.”

“Murna? Who are you really?”

“Aisling. Sister to both Keelan and Kirion.”

“Why?”

She understood the question. “Why did I fight him? For Karsten. Over-mountain where I studied, a geas was laid on me. Sister against brother for the life of our land. If Kirion had lived he’d have persuaded you to wage war with Estcarp. In that war both our lands would have descended into darkness. Karsten would have been destroyed. When a land is weak enemies gather. Even if we could have defeated Estcarp those others would have come hunting, with Alizon likely to be the first.” She took his hand.

“I love Karsten. It’s my land. I couldn’t let it die if I could save it. So I came back, hid my identity, and waited.” Her finger lay over the pulse in his wrist. She could feel it fading. “You loved Kars. In the end you’ve helped to save it. You liked Murna, Shastro, and she liked you too. You helped to save her—me—as well. What service do you ask for that?” His lips parted slowly, she leaned close to hear his whisper.

“Bury me… Sharna… Paran.”

She took his face in her hands, focused his gaze. “You shall lie with them, I swear it. In the tombs of the rulers of Kars.” His eyes met hers, and he smiled. Then the life went out of him. Aisling laid down the head grown heavy.

Over-mountain, Hilarion sighed. It was done. The trap jewel had not been used as it had been crafted to be, but Kirion had been forced to waste his stolen power to protect himself from it, which had led to his death. Hilarion and Escore would settle for that. His good student had completed the task. Lines of power faded; the geas was fulfilled.

In the quiet room, Hadrann lifted Aisling to her feet and held her as she leaned back against him. His voice was gentle.

“In the end Shastro died well. Let him have his tomb and his kin.” His arms closed around her. He could afford to be generous. He’d known that in some ways she’d been drawn to the duke. In her there was a need to heal. He knew, for the sake of Karsten, she’d have considered wedding Shastro if the duke had ever asked. Thanks be that he was dead. And greater thanks that Aisling had not been forced to cause that death. The duke had died well enough for Hadrann to praise him honestly.

He drew her away from the bodies. She came alive again, falling to her knees to hug Wind Dancer. “Mighty warrior. That was a battle you waged. I boast the best sword brother one could have.”

Wind Dancer purred thunderously, thrusting his head against her stroking hands. Of course he’d fought well and valiantly; no one should harm his human while he stood by. He marched over to the duke and considered. But the man had liked cats, no human like that was all evil. He purred again and looked up at Aisling. His paw came out to pat gently at the duke’s pallid cheek. Hadrann chuckled.

“That’s that, sister dear. Kirion goes out with the garbage; Shas-tro gets honorable burial. The cat has spoken.” Wind Dancer looked reproving. It was true, but he wasn’t sure he liked Hadrann’s tone. Aisling smiled.

“That’s one thing to say, another to do. Rann, you’ll have to talk to your friend.” She touched her pendant. “The guards will have heard nothing through that heavy door. They won’t enter if we forbid them in the duke and Kirion’s names. We can say that the two of them are deep in discussion about Franzo’s army and what to do.” She darted to a table where small parchments and quills lay. “Kee, Shastro’s already signed these passes. Where’s his seal?”

“On his finger, I think.” At her nod he investigated and returned with it. The pass to permit passage through the Kars gate was completed with their names, the seal impressed into the hot wax. Had-rann picked it up carefully.

“Stay here, Kee. Aisling and I will go and tell Franzo the news. She can make the guards open the gates if we have to do it that way. We should be back with Franzo and a few of his men as witnesses within the hour.” He gave Aisling his arm, then impulsively pulled her hard against him. “As for you, my lady warrior. You owe me the oath of Cup and Flame. When all is done here I shall hold you to that.”

Aisling grinned up at him, two years of comradeship and love in that gaze. “As you say, so shall it be. But first we must tell my grandmother.”