The Duke's Ballad

III

The two men had wriggled to a half-sitting position against each other, and as Aisling and Rann arrived, one had been attempting to chew the bonds. They flinched as Wind Dancer padded forward to smell them. He looked back at Aisling, his nose wrinkling in disgust. She chuckled.

“You might get free that way, but not for a month or so. Better you answer my questions. I might then let you go in a shorter time.” She eyed them thoughtfully. “Kirion sent you.” Her voice was flat. It had to be.

The older of the pair jerked in disbelief. “How—?”

“Did I know?” She wasn’t going to mention that Wind Dancer had smelled Kirion’s scent on the smaller, younger man and had sent her a picture. “Ah, but I know many things. And,” her tone shifted to signal danger, “I shall know more. You will tell me. I already know who sent you hunting. You were sent to find me and take me prisoner. Kirion said you were not to lay hands on me on pain of death. I was to be brought to him untouched and undamaged, wasn’t I?” He stared up sullenly. “You know all, Lady. Why ask us then?”

“I know, but I’ll hear it from you, all of it. To begin with, who are you two and why would you obey such an order?” Magic should not frighten Rann. He wouldn’t be working with Hilarion if it did.

She gestured at the older man, her fingers leaving a faint trace of silver as they traced the painless spell. “Talk to me, now!”

His eyes glazed as the spell struck home, and he talked in a gush of words. She questioned him, Hadrann putting in a query now and again. When they were done Aisling stared at her captives feeling sick. What was it about her country that bred men like this? She felt fouled just being here close to them. From the corner of her eye she noticed that her companion was looking similarly sickened. Aranskeep at least did not indulge in such activities. Or did it? Could she be sure?

She shook her head slowly. There was no vice in Rann’s face, only disgust at what he’d heard. From far back in her memory a small bell rang: something about Aranskeep. It would wait. She stared at the bound pair. To release them was to send word to Kirion that she’d arrived. They’d go back to him, tell him everything, endanger Rann as well. And how many other captives would they drag to Kirion’s tower for him? They must die, for the sake of her mission. She’d talked to Hilarion about this kind of decision.

There are times when even the Light must make hard choices, he’d told her. Was this one of those times? But Rann, watching and listening, had seen the problem too. He moved away, circled casually. He drew his dagger and quietly, without the captives seeing him approach, moved behind them. The keen blade slashed twice.

Aisling vomited. She couldn’t help it. Wind Dancer ran to her, pushing his head against her hands in comfort. Aisling had ridden with scouts and helped to battle the Dark, but that had been straightforward: her life or theirs, and her blood had run hot. This was butchery, and she loathed it. Hadrann knew that of me, she thought. He acted so that I did not have to. She turned, steadying her voice, smoothing her face. One hand was buried in Wind Dancer’s warm thick fur.

“Thank you. And forgive me my weakness.” She smiled wryly.

“As some faint or may have noses that bleed at a touch, so I have a stomach that heaves easily.” She hid a smile as she remembered; it had saved her once. Ruart had not appreciated the event. She looked at Hadrann kindly. “I know it had to be done. It was kind of you to save me the doing.”

He looked up from where he was checking the bodies. “Thank me not. It was necessary, yes, but I regret that it also pleased me a little. They tortured my friend before me. Broke him to betrayal. Then they murdered Brovar and laughed.” He produced a pouch of coins and several items of jewelry. “Ah ha. Well, some of that they stole from us. The rest no doubt was payment for your swift return to this Kirion.”

He broke off looking thoughtful. “Kirion? That wouldn’t be the slimy little toad who encourages our lord duke in all his excesses, would it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Kirion of Aiskeep, heir to Lord Trovagh.”

“Well, of Aiskeep yes, but it’s Keelan who’s heir. That’s part of the trouble. Lord Trovagh disinherited Kirion, and it wasn’t a decision that pleased the… er… slimy little toad.”

Rann grinned widely. “I’d bet it didn’t. And I presume that being disinherited meant that Kirion wasn’t getting an heir’s allowance from Aiskeep either?”

Aisling nodded. Trovagh would not leave his ex-heir penniless, but he’d left him an amount that was only enough for a farmer’s son in Kars. Kirion wouldn’t have starved, but merely not starving wasn’t what her brother had in mind. He wanted to live richly, in comfort and with influence. A man didn’t do any of that on a few silvers a month. Kirion didn’t need to. By pandering to the duke he’d been granted a keep, a tower in the palace, and a ducal allowance fit to keep Kirion in the luxury he believed his due.

She said so. “And if he had to do a few things for Shastro he wouldn’t mind. He’d enjoy doing them and watching how the court feared him.”

“I saw that the few times I was there,” Rann said slowly. As they talked, he dragged the bodies toward a small deep hollow, bringing rocks to the edge of that to pile over the bodies. His gaze turned to her. “But these men were sent to trick you. They’d have captured you and taken you to Kirion’s tower. Why? You’re kin. Would he harm a kinswoman?”

Aisling snorted. “He’d harm his grandfather, his brother, or the gods themselves if it would buy him what he wanted. Shastro should beware. To Kirion he’s just a useful tool. The day he stops being useful Kirion won’t lift a finger to help him.”

“But why you?” His expression was suddenly horrified. “He isn’t, he doesn’t…”

Aisling smiled bitterly. “No, he doesn’t desire me. It’s my abilities he has in mind. From what I already know—and his man confirmed—Kirion’s found even better ways to leech power from any who have not the wards or power to prevent such a theft.”

“But that’s black sorcery. The duke, he can’t know.”

“He knows,” Aisling said harshly. “Or what’s more likely, he guesses and doesn’t want to know. Then if he must turn on Kirion, he can always claim horrified ignorance.” She had checked the dead men’s packs. Lashed to one had been a small folding shovel, the kind often used in Karsten to dig a safe fire pit for a man on the road in wild country. Aisling looked about and considered her next move.

If she took earth from that patch of brush she could cover the raw soil with leaves. She pointed mutely to a hollow. Rann began to dig at the bottom of it, leaving Aisling to carry the earth away in an emptied pack belonging to one of the dead men. He curled the bodies down into the hollow. Over them he placed their bedding, tucking it in well. With the earth and rocks over them, it might keep scavengers from the bodies for a while. The longer the better, in case Kirion sent others in this direction.

With the earth and rocks replaced over the bodies, Aisling stood and straightened her aching back. She glanced at her companion as he brought dry leaves to scatter above the now level area. It was well done. To the passerby there were no obvious signs that here lay a grave. She picked up the money pouches and ran her fingers over them lightly, her mind open. No, there was no tracker placed on anything. Interesting. From what she knew of her brother he wasn’t one to assume anything.

Wind Dancer had moved to stand on the grave and was continuing to sniff about curiously. Aisling received nothing from him until he turned to look up. There was something odd about them. Something she should investigate perhaps. She walked to stand by the grave. Her hands rose, then they lowered again as she nodded. Rann’s eyebrows went up in question.

“Something?”

“Yes. One of them is wearing a ‘here I am’ spell. Very elementary, quite basic.” So that was why Wind Dancer had smelled Kirion on them, she thought.

“Can you spoil it?”

“I could, but it’s better to leave it alone. Kirion didn’t know when I’d be arriving.” She chuckled quietly. “All the spell tells him is that they’re still here and that maybe they’re still waiting for me. If he tries to scry where they are or what they do, with only that as a reference, what can he see?”

Rann stared at the leveled earth. “Would he see through their eyes with that connection?” Yes.

“And they see nothing.” Rann was putting it together. “Only darkness where their bedding is laid over them. So that’s all he would see. What happens when he tries harder?”

She shrugged. “Oh, if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to tell they’re dead. But it would take a lot of power to go beyond that. He could. But once he knows they’ve been killed he’ll assume I did it in some way or another. He’ll forget them and send out others to find me.”

“They only just arrived here,” Rann was thinking aloud. “He can’t be sure when they’d trap you. It could be a day or a week. When he does wonder where they are, he’ll scry. He’ll see nothing. It could be another couple of days before he wastes more power and finds they’re dead. He can’t be certain that it was your doing, and where does he look for you then?” He answered himself. “At Aiskeep. We have their horses. And the two spare they brought on after my friend and I killed two of them. That’s three horses each. Do you need to be home for any reason?”

Aisling had been following his reasoning. If she wanted to reach Aiskeep before Kirion was certain she was back, it could be done. She could stay a night, leave again, and lose herself in Karsten. No, not Karsten; Kars City, and in disguise. Let old Geavon know where she was and what she was doing. Her thoughts halted. Come to that, what was she going to do about Kirion?

Hilarion had said it was sister against brother. The geas must intend for her to stop Kirion in some way. But she couldn’t simply march in and attack him openly. He had Shastro’s support. She was a trained witch but not a full adept. Well, she’d daresay something, some method or idea would present itself. But if she wanted to see her grandparents she’d better keep moving. What had Rann asked? Oh, yes.

“I do need to spend at least a night at Aiskeep. And it would be best if Kirion does not know.” Her voice was brisk. “I need to talk to Lord Trovagh and the Lady Ciara; they must know all of this.”

He nodded. “I must bury my friend, Lady. Then we shall ride.”

Aisling glanced at the sky. Wind Dancer would not like several days’ fast riding; Rann was suffering from the beating he’d taken. She’d seen him wince now and again as he moved. The day was progressing, and the burial would take more time.

“Better if we bury your friend, then eat and sleep a night,” she said gently. “It will rest the horses; theirs look to have been hard ridden. And I can craft a small healing spell for you. Nothing great, it will merely speed your natural healing while you sleep. But eat well and sleep you must.”

As she’d expected he saw the sense in that. “Then follow me, Lady. My friend lies down the trail near the wood. On the trail that circles it is a good place to camp and shelter for the night.” He too glanced at the sky. “I think it is likely to rain by the early hours.”

Aisling had already noted the thickening clouds. She scooped up Wind Dancer, mounted, and followed Rann to where the body of a slight young man lay sprawled. He had some of the features of the Old Race. His hair was black and his open staring eyes were a light gray. But his face was round and the chin was weak. There was nothing evil or lecherous in that face, Aisling thought. But nothing of strength or courage either. Yet at the last he’d done his best.

Moved by that she stooped and closed the eyes and ran a fingertip in the sign of blessing over the wide young forehead.

“Go in peace.” Her voice was soft. “I forgive anything I might have held against you.” Rann straightened the undignified sprawl. He was casting about for a suitable place to dig. Aisling considered, as a trained witch, she had another method of disposing of a body.

“Rann?” He turned to look at her, and she spoke diffidently. “If you would prefer it, I can give your friend to the flames.”

Rann nodded slowly. “We should be on our way, but will you ask for a judgment as well?” She nodded, and he stepped back in agreement. Wind Dancer caught her thought and moved away from the body. Aisling’s hands swept out over Brovar. Her voice rose in the chant of one who calls.

“By cup and flame, I summon. This one died well. I speak for him at his going. Let fire judge.” They were not the words of the standard calling of fire. This was a request for judgment. In her mind she drew the necessary runes. Then she spoke the word of invocation: “Shalarin!”

Pale silver the fire sprang up, flames racing the length of the body, sheathing it, hiding it from view. They reared up higher, died, and on the ground was nothing, not even ash. Rann bowed his head to hide the tears in his eyes. Jonrie had been generous in her words, and the goddess had judged. Brovar had not been denied.

Rann prayed briefly, then walked his mount back along the older trail. A mile farther on, he turned off to a jumble of rocks. There at the half-cave he began to strip gear from the patient horses. Wind Dancer trotted off into the trees. He’d provide his own dinner. It would be pleasant to hunt in the land of his birth again. He returned bearing a plump rabbit in time to find a fire lit and Aisling dropping a saddle blanket by the flames for him. He accepted the blanket at once with an approving purr.

Aisling laughed. “A warm fire, a soft place to lie, and a fat rabbit. What more does a cat ask?”

Rann laughed with her. “But is this one just a cat?”

“No cat is just a cat,” Aisling warned him. “But with Wind Dancer we have all wondered at one time or another. His mother had never bred. She was four when she vanished into the hills and returned in kitten. Wind Dancer was the only one she birthed.” She smiled remembering. “Since then many have asked her who she found in the hills. She refuses to tell.”

She saw Rann was eyeing her doubtfully. “No, she is no more than a cat, but Wind Dancer, well, he’s something extra. But he’s also my good friend and traveling companion, and I owe him my life. Whoever Shosho found to father him doesn’t matter.”

Her companion nodded and half-changed the subject. “Do we ride for Aiskeep in the morning? If we ride hard we could be there by the main road in a few days, but Wind Dancer couldn’t keep up.”

“He’ll travel with me. I have a special carrysack so he can ride. He won’t appreciate it, but he’ll prefer it to being left behind.” She reached out to stroke the big cat’s head and sent him pictures of the plan. His ears flattened and he howled softly. Then he sagged back in agreement. It was better than being separated from his human. And it would be very good to see his dam and home once again.

While they shared food and drink they talked casually. Aisling was still being careful of her true identity but she could talk of Aiskeep, while Rann spoke of his own home and his father. She approved of his attitude toward her. He treated her as an equal, which, Aisling thought, was only fair. He might be a trained warrior, but she was a trained witch, with equal status, and she had reached her twenty-first birthday a moon before she left the valley.

Their talk drifted into a discussion of horses, then of sheep. All keeps had their own flock to provide wool for weaving into cloth. Aiskeep was proud of their colored sheep, which had come to the keep with Ciara, Aisling’s grandmother.

“Black and… moorit, you say?” Rann was interested. “You have a true brown, not just a faded black?”

“Moorit, yes. Not just the pale kind that fades to dirty white after a couple of years, either. Some of our moorits are dark brown and keep that shade.”

Rann looked wistful. “We’ve had good black fleeces, but a dark moorit is hard to find. I wonder if the Lord of Aiskeep would trade with us some time?”

“Perhaps,” was all Aisling said, before the talk turned back to other topics.

They readied their gear before they slept. With daybreak they had eaten and were saddling the horses. After that they traveled steadily, at a slow canter much of the time, dropping to a trot or even a walk in the rougher going. Well-padded in his carrysack and cushioned by his human’s back, Wind Dancer slept, his body yielding bonelessly to the movement. He woke when they halted in the early afternoon.

Rann was unsaddling their mounts and rubbing down the sweating beasts with care. Aisling laid out food while Rann changed saddles to a fresh pair of mounts.

“What do we do with their horses when we get farther into Karsten,” he queried as he worked. “None of the four is much, but someone might recognize them.”

Aisling grinned. “Oh, no they won’t. I can do something about their looks. No, using the method I plan won’t tire me,” she added as she saw him about to object. “It isn’t magic; just a couple of tricks. We’ll push hard and get out of this area. Then we can head for my home by the old back-country trails. Once we’re well on the way, there’s a place to lie up a day and night. I can work on them then.” Rann nodded. It made sense.

He finished what he was doing, ate, rested an hour, and then rose ready to move on. They used the enemy mounts steadily until they were in sight of the deserted garth. There Aisling halted her horse to sit staring sadly at the structure for several moments.

“What is it?”

“Three years ago when I was eighteen I came this way. I had trouble behind me and was traveling as fast as I could. Both Wind Dancer and I. Temon lived here. Kirion and a lord from Kars were hunting me and Temon had an Old Blood feud with the lord. He took me in, stood by me, and died for it.” She turned impulsively to look at him. “I don’t want you to die too. Go your own way from here. I’ll be all right.”

Rann made a small sound of outrage. “I’ll do no such thing. Would you desert me if matters were in all ways reversed?” She hesitated, and he nodded sharply. “Exactly. At the very least, I’ll see you to Aiskeep.” His expression hardened. “I have debts of my own to pay, twice over. Brovar died at the hands of Kirion’s men. You have some plan in mind to destroy him, kin or not. Will you thrust my help aside?”

Aisling bowed her head. “No, you speak truth. This quest is yours also. But it will not be easy, either or both of us may die in ways I do not wish to think of. Kirion will have no mercy on those who seek to bring him down.”

“Nor will I have mercy,” Rann said, memories edging his tone. “I saw too much in Kars. It is best for our land if Kirion is gone and Shastro is not in power longer than may be helped.”

They rode on with Aisling considering the thought. She feared Shastro would not be easily deposed. He was weak, vicious, and pleasure loving. He had strengths though, and he would be no casual target. He feared enemies too much to take foolish risks. Kirion had catered to that and grown rich and powerful. But if he were gone, the duke would find another to give him what he demanded. There was always someone willing to step into a power vacuum. He might not be the sorcerer that Kirion was becoming, but he’d have power in some way.

The pendant warmed under Aisling’s bodice. It flared, sending pleasant heat across her body before it died again. So, that idea was important. If they destroyed Kirion but left Shastro, it would be a job half done. She sighed. Was she supposed to destroy both sorcerer and duke? Heat from the pendant touched her again, and she bit back a stream of curses. It seemed she was. And just how, she wondered, was she supposed to do tbaA

A day later they swung onto a backcountry trail heading south toward Aiskeep. It had been a pleasant ride despite the speed. They had continued to exchange views, and at the noontime break, they had rubbed their mounts down companionably, comparing them to other horses they had known. They were now away from the roads and riding hard for a place where they could alter the horses’ appearance, and so far they had seen no other riders.

Wind Dancer was tired of the carrysack. Almost at the end of the day’s riding, Aisling allowed him out to scamper ahead, pouncing at grass heads and thistles to relieve the stiffness of his muscles. But allowing him his freedom took time, so that was the last break the big cat was permitted before they moved on again.

They reached a safe haven in the foothills a day and a half after that and still without seeing other travelers. Aisling dismounted stiffly. It had been a hard ride. Once she’d changed the horses’ looks there’d be less haste. Nor did she have to arrive at her home by the front gates. From the cave they could travel deeper into the mountains at the rear of Aiskeep’s valley, until they had threaded the rough land at the far end, where—for those who knew the path—there was a back way into Aiskeep’s lands.

For the remainder of the day humans and horses rested and ate while Wind Dancer vanished to hunt. By morning Aisling was ready. In Escore there grew a small marsh plant with fleshy leaves. If the leaves were squeezed between flat stones they yielded a sap that, when heavily diluted, was an effective bleach. In Escore, where she had trained, it was used to clean wool. Aisling had brought plant seeds and a small container of the pure sap to show her grandmother.

Her grandmother would have to do without the demonstration. Aisling tethered the horses and studied them. Three bays and a rather shabby black. The black was easy: she’d give him a white stocking on one foreleg, a white sock on one hind. The main thing anyone would be remembering about the animal was that he had no white on him. After Aisling had worked for an hour, there was.

Then she turned to the three bay horses. Hmmm. Two had nothing that would distinguish them from thousands of others, but the third had a roman nose that flared like a war horn. She gave him a white star centered on his forehead and a lopsided blaze that slipped over one side of his muzzle. It lessened the effect of the ro-man nose considerably.

Rann was watching in amusement. “Anything else?”

“Yes. One of the other bays is young, and he’s a good horse. I’d like to keep him.”

“Him alone? So what about these other three?”

“They can be sold south once I’m home. But this one…” Yes?

“I’ll wash.” Rann gaped at her. It hadn’t been an easy trip. Had it been too much for her? Aisling saw the look and hid a chuckle. “Bring water if you will, please, lots of it.” She added the bleach and washed the bay carefully. After that she soaked his mane and tail. She rinsed the placid animal and left him to dry in the sunlight. After the meal Rann glanced at the still-tethered animal. He blinked, looked away, and back again.

“I’ll be the son of a sorcerer. He’s gone chestnut colored.” Aisling nodded, admiring her handiwork.

She’d known the bleach would work on horsehair. Once in Es-core it had been done to give a soldier a familiar-appearing mount so he could ride openly in an area held by the Dark. She grinned at Rann and was pleased at his return smile.

They slept in peace that night, and even Wind Dancer was not reluctant to move on. He loathed hard riding—it left kinks in his spine—but the smells were growing more like those of home.

It took three more days, but then Aisling saw a familiar place, a small valley through which the trail led. Beyond that was a large cave that had been the haven of wolfshead outlaws before now. The trail bent, but she knew: around the next bend would be the cave itself and then the start of the trail into Aiskeep. Wind Dancer’s head suddenly poked out of his carrysack. He paused only to send a brief pic-ture, then he was over her shoulder and leaping up the trail. Aisling did not wait to explain. She dropped the lead reins, kicked her mount into a run, and tore after him.

Rann dithered. Was she chasing the cat or did she have some purpose in mind? From around the bend came a shriek. He kicked his mount into pursuit. Now was no time to sit and consider choices. He crashed through the bushes and found his companion being swung about by some male. The man tossed her over one shoulder laughing. It did not occur to Aranskeep’s heir that if the plight were real his companion would have been using very effective methods to free herself.

But instead of using her dagger or the Power, she was beating the wretch about the shoulders and screaming to be released at once. Rann set about attaining that. He seized the man’s arm, wrenched the girl loose, and flung her captor to the ground. His sword flashing free of the scabbard, Rann would have leapt on his opponent then but for Aisling, who stepped in quickly, her mouth curving in a small warm smile.

“Rann, I’d like you to meet my brother, Keelan.” The good-looking young man grinned up from where he’d landed. Hadrann sheathed his sword hurriedly, then collapsed with a groan of exasperation and chagrin.