The Duke's Ballad

IV

Keelan grinned “Good to meet you, aren’t you Hadrann of Aranskeep? I met you last year at Kars.”

Rann nodded, looking bewildered. “I am, but aren’t you Aiskeep’s heir?”

Aisling cut in. “We can talk about that on the way. Kee, why don’t you ride ahead to warn everyone?” She leaned over to stretch out her arms to Wind Dancer. “We’ll follow. Ooof!” The latter exclamation came as the cat landed in her arms, scrambling over her shoulder, and into his carrysack again. Keelan swung his horse alongside after he mounted. His hands went out to rub and scratch the cat around the chin, and Wind Dancer purred blissfully.

“It’s great to have you back.”

“Thank you,” Aisling told him.

“I was talking to Wind Dancer.” He prodded the cat. “Your mother is going to have to talk to you about overeating. If you get any bigger we’ll be able to saddle you.” Wind Dancer reached over to nip his wrist. “Ouch. I take it back.”

Aisling laughed. “More likely he’d be able to saddle one of us.” She patted a strap on the carrysack. “I’m already halfway there. Go on, Kee. Let everyone know. I need to speak to Rann before we arrive.” Keelan looked at her. He nodded, reached over to give her one savage hug, and then he was gone, pushing his horse to a hard gallop as they cleared the upper trail. Behind him Aisling looked at the heir to Aranskeep as they started their mounts moving on at a fast walk after Keelan.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. But when we met I’d just been attacked by two men supposedly sent to meet me. You said to use another name if I was uncertain of you, and I did.” Her gaze met his. “Rann, it was a little too clear what I am. You know how many of the folk in Karsten feel about witches. Even a healer who is too good at her work may run a risk. There’s always the chance it’s because they have the Old Blood.

“If I had told you exactly who I was then, I could have endangered my family. I had to be sure of you. I was sure within a couple of days but I still felt it was safer to be silent in case we were split up, in case one of us was captured. Under truth spell you’d have been shown as ignorant of who I am. At least the duke could not have punished you greatly.”

Her companion made an inelegant sound through his teeth. “Couldn’t he! You forget it was Hilarion’s message that sent me to meet you. How happy do you think our dear duke would be if that came out in his questioning of me? Yes,” he said, in reply to a horrified look from Aisling. “I do have certain protections. How long would they last against Kirion? And even if they did, how long would I survive if he believed me to be involved in your escape whether or not I knew who you were?”

“I’m sorry. I still feel I was right,” Aisling said miserably.

Rann grinned. “You were. I was just paying you back for not trusting me, I guess. And while I’m complaining about that I should live up to my own claim and trust you.” He spread his arms and slowly turned his horse in a circle. “Look like a witch, do I?”

“No, why?”

“Because I’m not, but my brother was.”

It came back to Aisling with a rush. Some talk, half heard, quar-ter remembered, when she was about eleven or so. She spoke slowly trying to recall what she knew.

“Your brother was older. He went to Kars and didn’t come back. He was killed by bandits on the way home.” She was watching Rann’s face as she spoke and saw the terrible look in his eyes.

He spoke evenly. “Not quite. Jasrin was my elder by six years. I loved him. He was my half brother only. Father married his mother, and when she died two years after having Jasrin, father remarried. Mother loved Jas as her own, but she died too when I was five. I followed Jas everywhere after that, and he never said I was a pest or chased me away. I remember him teaching me to ride on his own pony. Father said I was too young to start sword lessons when I wanted, so Jas taught me until Father relented.”

He looked up at her, his eyes blinded with memories. “He was a good, decent man. Then he went to Kars at eighteen. I was twelve and I missed him. He never came home again. During a party Jas said something rude about the way Shastro had come to the throne. He was drunk or he’d never have been so stupid. We heard about it from friends at court. Jas vanished. After the party he’d been seen drinking with one of the duke’s men and was supposed to have gone on to another inn with the man. They found Jas dead in the outer ditch two days later. It was put down to robbers after his money pouch. The duke’s man had disappeared, and no one knew anything.”

Aisling dropped her gaze. The pain in his eyes was deep. Her mind worked quickly, putting together what she knew and what she could guess. Kirion would have had a hand in it. They had probably taken Jasrin, planning to forcibly change his mind about the duke. Once Jas was imprisoned, Kirion would have found that the boy had the gift of the Old Race in his blood, although he couldn’t use it. However Kirion had learned how to drain those unusable gifts. Instead of turning Jas’s mind as the duke had doubtless demanded, he’d drained the boy’s powers, killing him. Kirion would have used scare tactics with Shastro. She could almost hear him.

“The boy was a witch. Did you want someone at court who could overhear your thoughts? Maybe make you do things against your will? Jasrin could have finished up by running Kars while you sat there agreeing with every word. It’s a favor I’ve done you, my Lord Duke.” She said all of this to Rann.

“That’s how I put it together now. So did Father. I think he started quietly working against Shastro from the time he decided the duke had killed Jas. I was told when I turned fourteen. Father gave me the choice to help or simply to stay silent. I loved Jas. He was the best brother a boy could ever have had. I joined the conspiracy. I’m no friend to Estcarp, but they’ve always left us alone when we’ve left them alone. I want to see that’s official policy in Kars.”

“Is that all?”

His tone was hungry. “No, I want to see Kirion and Shastro pay. I want to see a decent ruler on the throne of Kars, I want all these stupid little wars amongst the nobles and clans of Karsten, to stop. We’re bleeding the whole country dry. In a few more generations we won’t have to worry about Estcarp. We’ll have killed ourselves off without their aid.” He swore. “It was that damned fool Pagar and his ‘let’s invade Estcarp.’ So he did, and what did it get him but a really impressive grave.”

Aisling shook her head. “It goes back further, to the Horning, and much of that was Kolder doing. You might as well say we should close our borders to everyone else. Let nothing and no one new in; they bring trouble always. But that’s no solution either.”

“No, it isn’t. Isolate and when the world breaks in, and it will sooner or later, you’re that much less able to deal with what it brings. A static society breaks more easily.” Aisling was listening with some amusement. His face twisted into a sudden grin. “I think I’ve heard my father on the subject once too often. Let’s change the subject. Who are you exactly?”

“Aisling. I’m Kirion and Keelan’s sister. Kirion is nine years older than me, and Keelan’s six. And before you ask, I loathe Kirion and his way of living as much as you do. I was only a child when he tried to kill me. He tormented Kee half of his life and almost destroyed him. Grandfather made Kee Aiskeep’s heir, and Kirion hates us all for that.

“Grandmother Ciara says that Kirion’s like his father Kirin. Both think that whatever they want, they have a divine right to take. The difference is that our father was also weak. Kirion isn’t. He’s convinced that the world owes him whatever he demands. But he’s very fond of his skin. He doesn’t take chances, and that’s why he’s sorcerer to Shastro. The duke is propped up in front as a target. Getting rid of him wouldn’t make any difference to Karsten. Kirion would have another puppet standing up in a few months. Both of them have to go—permanently.”

As she spoke they were descending the last slope into the cultivated lands of Aiskeep valley. Rann eyed her with amusement and interest. She saw things with clarity. The duke of Karsten and his black sorcerer must go. She knew they wouldn’t walk away. So they’d have to be killed. He eyed her face, eager with the discussion, and felt a quiet warmth. She’d suffered at Kirion’s hands too. She understood how Rann felt about losing his brother.

From the lower portion of their trail there came a clatter of hooves and the sound of voices. The two riders broke out of the narrow trail onto the broader valley and found half the inhabitants there waiting. Aisling hooked Wind Dancer’s carrysack with its sleeping occupant over the saddle horn and was off her horse in seconds, running from one to another, hugging, chattering, being whirled by one elderly man as she laughed in delight. Rann caught snatches of talk and was quietly impressed.

This was how it should be with keeps and garths. It was this way in Aranskeep, but such affection and trust were all too rare in other places. The more so the farther north toward Kars one went. In many ways the situation in Karsten had always been unstable. Kars and the immediate lands surrounding the city were a duchy within which the duke was absolute ruler. Beyond the duchy were the keeps of Karsten, also ruled absolutely by their lords. Towns and villages, single garths—all were just as safe as their fortifications and fighters within.

He sighed as he watched Aisling welcomed home. There was so much to do and to change—if they ever could. He could foresee his grandchildren complaining about how far they had yet to go. But that was for the future. He shrugged and allowed himself to be pulled into the welcome. He was handed beer and cold meat on bread, as the horses were taken off to be fed and watered. After an hour of this he fought his way to Aisling’s side.

“Shouldn’t we be heading for the keep?”

She was flushed with the excitement and pleasure of homecoming but she nodded. “Yes, Keelan will have just about reached the keep by now. My grandparents will start riding to meet us but more slowly.” She turned to ask the crowd about their horses.

The old man who’d whirled her first in greeting replied, “Your horses were weary. Let them rest. I have had others brought. They wait now.” The crowd parted, and Rann gasped.

“Torgians? Surely that one is a pureblood?”

“Yes.” Aisling hugged the stallion, checking that Wind Dancer’s carrysack was hooked onto the saddle. The cat was gone but she knew he would return before she left the garths. The part-bred mare beside the stallion nudged for attention. Rann laughed and obligingly scratched her neck up under the mane. Torgians didn’t look like much, but they were valued for their other qualities. A pure-blood could outlast any other breed, could survive on far less, climb like a cat in rough land or over mountains, and find a safe passage through bog. They bonded to their rider and would fight for him even before being trained.

The mare wasn’t a pureblood but she was of the line. He admired her, scratching where she indicated and stroking her inquiring nose. Aisling turned to smile at the pair of them.

“We should move on as you said. Oh, and that’s Shira. She knows her name.” Wind Dancer had leaped for his carrysack again and was making small impatient sounds. “If we don’t go this awful cat here will tear holes in me.” Wind Dancer made a rude noise, and everyone within earshot chuckled.

Rann swung up, took the cat-filled carrysack, and handed it back once Aisling was ready. She settled the straps over her shoulders, cinched the waistband, and moved her mount off along the road. Sudden eagerness overtook her. If it had not been for Wind Dancer, she’d have had her mount racing up the valley to the keep. Ciara and Trovagh would be on their way to meet her by now. How she longed to see them both. It had been three years; even another minute was too long.

She held her horse to a steady walk. On the smoother stretches she allowed them to canter briefly. Soon her horse was infected with her desire to run. He sidled when held back, passaging sideways with hooves held high and hind legs flicking out in the occasional kick. Aisling was firm until after an hour of increasing tension Hadrann spoke.

“Why are we moving so slowly anyhow? I’m sure you have a reason, but you’ve been gone awhile. Are you sure the reason is that good?”

Aisling stared vaguely at him. Why had she demanded this slow pace? Well, because she’d gone away a child still and now she was returning as an adult. In Escore she’d sometimes ridden as a soldier. She wanted her family to see she could control herself, a reason that was starting to seem silly. It was natural to be excited, to want to run her mount. But what of Wind Dancer, who ended up shaken like a pea in a drum when she ran a horse full out?

From over her shoulder a nose was thrust against her neck and she received a message. Wind Dancer was as eager as she to arrive back. Stop all this foolish human indecision and move. He’d rather endure a brief shaking than this slow progress over the final few miles. Aisling smiled, then she flung back her head and laughed. She looked over to her companion.

“I’m a fool,” she confessed. “Wind Dancer’s just said so. Let’s go!” She gave a whoop as she loosed rein, and her stallion exploded into full speed. Shira was right behind him as Rann in turn allowed the mare to follow. They tore down the road, a plume of dust indicating their whereabouts. Ahead sharp eyes pointed it out. A party had already left the keep, and now the pace of those coming from the keep also accelerated.

The two parties came together soon after. Aisling’s stallion halted, plunging and rearing in excitement. From his carrysack Wind Dancer complained loudly. Aisling slipped from her mount and raced forward. Her grandparents, already on the ground, opened their arms. Aisling flung herself into them, holding, hugging, weeping in joy. She’d thought she’d never be home again, that she’d never again see the people she loved most in all the world. She could only hug them and weep, tears of happiness pouring down her cheeks as her brother and other friends crowded around to welcome her home, their straying lamb returned. Together they walked to the keep, where they celebrated in earnest with food, drink, singing, and dancing long after the sun went down.

It took a day for the celebration to wind down. When it did, the discussion of what to do about Kirion and Shastro started. Present were Aisling, her grandparents Lord Trovagh and Lady Ciara of Aiskeep, Keelan, and Hadrann. Aisling was indeed geas bound, Ciara stated. She’d checked, using her witch powers. It was a clear and simple demand. Aisling must defeat Kirion and render him unable to practice sorcery. Trovagh looked sad at that.

“The only way I can see that happening is for the lad to die. He’ll never give up power. If it is stripped from him, he’ll spend his life trying to regain it, and he may succeed. He’s bad enough as is it. If you strip his power and he regains it, he’ll be like a rabid wolf. You can’t take that chance.”

Ciara agreed. “He’s our kin, but that makes it worse in a way. If we allow him to continue his evil, then it besmirches our honor. And you’re correct in what you say, Tro: Kirion is dangerous now. If he becomes completely paranoid, looking into every shadow for those coming to disempower him, then he’ll be a hundred times as dangerous. What we do must be done quietly. He must have neither chance nor second chance to prevent us or take revenge.”

Trovagh rose and quietly opened the door. He gave a low, clear, penetrating whistle, and Hannion appeared. The old master-at-arms for the keep had officially retired some years back, but he was canny. He’d ridden and fought in younger days beside Trovagh’s father. Hannion was over eighty now but still upright, and his steps, if slower, were yet unfaltering. He had never been a fool, and his long years had brought added wisdom.

He gave a brief acknowledgment of the summons, half bow, half nod. Then he entered through the door as Trovagh held it open invitingly. Aisling rose to bring the old man a stool and place it invitingly beside hers. Hannion sat in obedience to Lord Trovagh’s gesture and looked about at them, waiting. Ciara glanced at her husband, received a nod, and started. When her explanation ran down she sat quietly.

Hannion considered a little longer. “There is no question, Lady.” His voice was firm as he spoke directly to Ciara. “Do you cherish a rotten apple until it renders the whole barrel worthless?

Does a farmer keep a rogue stud which may attack the farmer’s family and which breeds other rogues? I am—I was a soldier. I give you a soldier’s advice. A dead enemy lays no second ambush.”

He nodded to her. “I know you have no love for the boy, yet you still consider him kin. Tell me, Lady. Do you remember the bandits who came sneaking into our lands by the back paths, when you were a girl? You and Trovagh fought and beat them with the aid of the garths-people. Why did you do that? Why not allow them free rein?”

Trovagh spoke slowly and sadly, his words a decision. “Because they gave us no choice. We had to beat them or watch garths burned, goods stolen, our people raped and murdered.”

“But you took some of them prisoner, then you ordered them hanged. They were defeated; why did you do that?”

Ciara answered. “So they would not go free and harm others or return and harm us.” She sighed. “You said it yourself. A dead enemy lays no second ambush.”

“Then you have no decision to make here and now,” Hannion told her. “Your choice was made long ago. Stick to it.”

Trovagh reached out to take Ciara’s hand in his. “He’s right, my love. Kirion is this family’s responsibility. We bred him, and he’s gone rogue. Aiskeep deals with its own. Let Aisling do what she must. All we are here to do is work out how we may best help her obey the geas.”

After that the talk circled endlessly. Toward midnight Aisling spoke quietly to her grandmother.

“I need to work a transformation. On myself and Wind Dancer.”

Ciara smiled. “I wondered if he’d let you leave him behind again. I gather he won’t. What shape would you give him?”

Aisling looked thoughtful. “I could make him appear to be a lap dog, but it could cause trouble. If he had to use his claws it would rather expose the trick. No, I think a smaller cat would be best.”

Ciara agreed fervently as she imagined someone Wind Dancer didn’t like picking him up to coo over the sweet little dog and finding with disbelief that a lap dog had just scratched him to the bone with nonexistent claws. She smiled at Aisling. “I presume you know how to do that. It is a little outside my knowledge.”

“I know,” Aisling assured her. “It won’t require more power than you have, just a different way of using it. Have a good night’s sleep. In the morning I’ll teach you.” She pursed her lips. “Maybe I should tell you what other uses of the power I learned in Escore. We could work on anything else you think might be helpful to know. If we anger my brother and the duke with an attempt to lessen their power, and they realize who was responsible, there’ll be storm-rack flying this way.”

They slept well that night; Ciara had brewed a potion to make sure of it. With early morning the two women were up and already working on the first of their plans before they ate. On and off in the course of the next three days they worked together. Ciara already had the discipline and some power. She was experienced in using just as much as was needed, and wasting nothing.

At last she sagged into a chair. “My dear, I think I must rest. Many of the things you have shown me are too tiring for me to practice now, but I do know them. I shall practice them one by one after you are gone, but I think that we should turn to considering your new details—what shape you will take, what name; how you know Had-rann; why you are in Kars—all the things that you must be able to say without hesitation if asked. And how you will move against Kirion.”

Aisling mused silently, then said, “Much of that is easy. We’ve discussed it already. I shall look just like a girl I knew in Escore. She isn’t ugly, but she’s so nondescript you rarely notice her at all. I shall use part of her name as well. I’ll be Murna Leshin, distant cousin to Hadrann, at Kars to learn court polish.”

Hadrann, who had entered and was sitting nearby, sighed, assuming a tired world-weary air. “And I shall be the dutiful cousin.

Bored to yawning with this dreep of a girl my father has landed me with but too polite to say so.” He snickered. “I can bore a few of the court in turn with my complaints about it all.”

Ciara smiled. “You are wicked children. Keelan, what’s your part in this?”

“A little more complex. I shall appear to notice Murna when I discover she is a fine rider. Her only nonboring aspect,” he added in an aside to them. “Gradually I shall appear to become mildly interested in her. Of course that will amuse Kirion. He’ll watch, sneer, and count all three of us as negligible.”

A gleam of hatred showed in Hadrann’s eyes. “Kirion is used to being the hunter, and a man who is hunting often assumes that nothing is hunting him. He fails to guard his back.”

“You will be…”

“Careful? Oh yes, Lady Ciara. We shall move as cautiously as redbirds when the hawk is about, nor will we assume nothing hunts behind us.”

“And when will you leave for Kars City?”

“In two days. Keelan has hired a professional guard for us.” Hadrann sighed. “I’d have used Aranskeep men, but they might be too open-mouthed on how they do not know my ‘cousin.’”

Ciara considered that. “Then you had best be careful of Kirion. If he starts to wonder, it would be like him to send men inquiring at your home. The three of you decide why ordinary servants and men-at-arms might not know her, then write it down. I will send the letter to Aranskeep’s lord by a trusted messenger.” She looked at Rann. “Suggest one or two from the keep who can be trusted to allow some part of such a tale to leak to waiting ears. The sooner the better. I have found if that sort of tale is well-told the listener tends to accept it as truth and, moreover, usually believes he’s really known about it far longer than he has.”

Hadrann laughed. “By Cup and Flame, Lady Ciara. It is well you are for us. It’s a good trick, and my father will enjoy it. I know the very pair to spread the tale and what tale they shall spread.”

“Then go and write. I’m for my bed.”

Aisling hugged her good night, then she and Rann went to building wild tales of betrayal and true love. It was late in the night before they were satisfied with the letter and a fair copy was written and sealed. Harran, the keep’s master-at-arms, took it to Aranskeep the next morning.

The three conspirators spent the rest of that day making final preparations. After a quiet, nervous evening spent waiting for Harran to return, they were almost ready to retire for the night, when Harran finally arrived, a reply clutched in one hand as he trotted up the stairs. Hadrann broke the seal and read quickly.

“My father is well pleased. He sends coin to help with our masquerade and says the tale we wrote is now circulating from one who believes he heard it some time ago. His memory was merely refreshed. Already it garners detail. He wishes us all good fortune.” He smiled at Aisling and Keelan, omitting to mention that his father also bade them be very careful, since Lord Kirion was as quick to strike as an asp in long grass—and equally as venomous. All here had personal reasons to know the risk they ran. None would turn back. In the morning they would ride out to throw the dice, the table to be Kars, the stakes, lives. May luck and the gods be with them in this game.