The Duke's Ballad

VIII

Aisling had again been looking out of the window. She’d woken early, and with sunrise lighting the sky, she had risen to enjoy the massed clouds as they changed from fire red to orange and then to a softening pink. The whole sky became light, and as objects sharpened she blinked.

“Hadrann? Hadrann, come and look at this.”

“What is it?”

“I still can’t see very well because most of it is almost around the window corner. But it looks as if there’s an army out there camped along the city wall and across the main gate.”

“What?” came the bellow from across the suite. Hadrann bolted in from his bedroom, hastily shrugging his robe about him. “Where?”

Aisling pointed in silence as he leaned far out of the window and gaped. He studied the single large siege machine and considered the orderly lines of tents and soldiers. His lips moved as he counted the horse lines. His eyes went to the pennants flying from a much larger tent to the rear. His mouth curved in a sardonic grin.

“Well, well, well. So Kirion’s plans overreached. That’s the Coast Clan pennant flying out there, and judging by the part of the army I can see, Lord Franzo must have over eight hundred men at least by the Kars gates. I can see a few independent keep pennants too.”

“What will they do, Rann? Do you think Franzo plans to attack the city?” Her voice became thoughtful. “Hold on. Lord Franzo, that isn’t the clan’s leader, is it?”

“Nope. But it’s Franzo all right. I recognize his personal pennant below the clan one. He’s cousin to the main line but he’s also a good, experienced, and canny fighter. He was a mercenary leading a small company in his younger days. Maybe the clan decided to give him war leader rights. Franzo isn’t one to make a move before he knows what he’s doing, and the next in line is or maybe was the sort of fool who would. If Franzo’s in charge something must have happened to the next in line too. He’s a hothead. He wouldn’t give up his position for anything short of his life, not if he could prevent it.”

In a palace tower some distance away, a hysterical duke was asking similar questions. Kirion tossed a spell at him that left Shastro sitting mutely in a chair, a dazed look on his face. Kirion went on with his scrying. Finally he stood up. He opened and shut his mouth, then in the end made no sound. Matters had gone farther and faster than a few oaths could relieve.

He thought of the duke. Bother the man. It looked as if Kirion would have to postpone any change of ruler for a while. He required Shastro to give the official orders and, he smiled sinisterly, to take the blame for any and all events if it came to that.

Apart from anything else, his own powers were only at any strength as long as he had those he could drain of their own gift. Shastro’s soldiers found those victims for Kirion, and it would be better if the duke could also be blamed for those deaths if something ever went wrong. He flicked his fingers, and Shastro, unaware that he’d been briefly silenced, was off again. His sorcerer permitted him to babble until he ran down, then spoke slowly.

“It is unfortunate, but I am a sorcerer, not a god. I have questioned the powers that I can reach, and it appears that we have been temporarily outmaneuvered. That is Lord Franzo down there.”

“I know that. But why is it him and…”

“And not the leader I intended to be rid of nor his stupid impetuous brother, whom we could have used,” Kirion interrupted. “Because Franzo isn’t the fool the brother would have been. He’s been studying events too. My man hadn’t yet acted when the clan leader was killed tripping and falling down his witch-cursed stairs. Franzo accused the brother of pushing him, had him locked up, and assembled the clan soldiers. Then he talked to the other lords of the clan. He only let the brother out, once Franzo had secured the backing of all the clan lords.”

Shastro looked horrified. “But why here? They have no proof I’ve been involved with any of their misfortune.” His voice developed a faint whine. “I was the victim, well, almost. They intended my assassination. So why is this Franzo here and what does he want of me?”

“Go and ask him,” Kirion said tersely.

“But… but…”

“I doubt he’d harm you, not unless he wants the city to rise up and fall on him. He may have some nine hundred soldiers out there, but we have very good walls, defended gates, and a lot more people willing to fight for Kars.” He refrained from saying that fighting for Kars wasn’t quite the same as fighting for a duke, but Shastro was looking happier.

“Yes. My people wouldn’t allow me to be murdered before them.” Shastro drew himself up. “I shall invite this Franzo to appear before me.”

“With safe passage?”

“Of course. I shall show him that the duke of Kars knows how to behave. I shall display my noble blood!” Kirion refrained from pointing out that, like Pagar before him, Shastro had risen from obscurity, noble blood or not, and in Shastro’s case that had been four generations gone. Shastro was bleating on. “I shall show him he cannot think to intimidate the duke of Kars. As if he could!”

If that display of hysterical panic hadn’t shown that Franzo had succeeded, Kirion thought, he didn’t know what could. Aloud he agreed sincerely or, more precisely, with the excellent counterfeit of deep sincerity he could produce when required.

Shastro hurried off to have the throne room arranged, guards mustered to line the streets to the palace, and to first find a messenger and scribe. The duke could write but he felt that at the moment his writing might be a trifle shaky.

In the palace, Keelan and Hadrann were out and about, chatting, listening, peering out of windows, and generally putting together all the information they could uncover. Aisling sat quietly, motionless in a large chair in her room as she worked. Wind Dancer too had chosen to help. Aisling had covered him with a ‘not to be noticed’ spell and let him down from a window. Safely on the ground, the big cat had jumped from the basket and trotted off toward the besieging army.

Armies were rarely unpleasant to cats, and with Kirion engaged in coping with ducal panic, Aisling could safely link with her feline friend. Wind Dancer padded here and there, now pausing to listen to talk, now accepting a proffered tidbit from some cat-loving cook. After four hours he made his way back to the tower wall. Aisling let the basket swing down; Wind Dancer leaped in and sat comfortably as he was retrieved. Soon after that the men returned.

Hadrann spoke first. “Shastro is going to meet the clan war leader—Franzo, if that is him leading—tomorrow morning to, and I quote, ‘Discuss the possible grievances the clan may have against the duke of Kars.’” His lips curved in a small smile. “Shastro is steaming. I think he’d forgotten that he may be duke and rule Kars, but out in the lands of Karsten beyond the city, the keep lords rule, and he has little effective authority over them. He hasn’t enjoyed being reminded.”

Keelan nodded. “The court is frightened. Gossip has it that if Shastro doesn’t placate the Coast Clan the city could be taken. I don’t know exactly how many men are out there, but it isn’t likely.” He considered briefly. “Although if that’s Franzo, it might be possible.” He glanced over to where Aisling sat with Wind Dancer sprawled across her.

“That is Franzo down there. He has nine hundred and sixty soldiers and the full backing of the Coast Clan,” she informed them. “He also has the backing of a couple of allied lesser clans and several keeps that think Shastro wants taking down a notch or two. They aren’t expecting it to come to an attack on Kars, but they will if there’s no other choice.”

“And if it does?”

“They’ll strike straight through the city, not spreading out, not attacking any who don’t attack them. When they reach the palace they’ll depose Shastro. They aren’t certain whom to put in his place. If this must be done they’re intending to put Franzo in temporarily, and he’s agreed to that until they find a suitable younger ruler.”

Keelan looked surprised. “You mean Franzo would step down?”

Hadrann nodded. “He would. He’s a good soldier and knows it. He isn’t a man to enjoy sitting on a throne and dealing with a lot of paperwork and fawning courtiers.” He grinned briefly. “I’d pity the court and the quill pushers if he did rule Kars, but he’d do that if it meant peace and time to find a man who can manage. The city has always needed a ruler who can balance Kars with Karsten.” He looked wryly at his friends.

“Kars forgets as did Shastro that the city is large and densely populated but Karsten is a hundred times larger, and though the people may be scattered, they outnumber any Kars fighters ten times over. Moreover, of those out there perhaps half of all the men are fighters as well as whatever official trade we follow.” He nodded to Aisling. “Many of the women of the garths also can use a bow. In Kars there is the watch and the guard; most people have never had to fight.”

“No, they die for that when war comes to the city,” Aisling said.

“True. But most still don’t learn to fight. If Franzo decides he has to take the city make no mistake; he may well do so. I just don’t know how many would die on both sides before he succeeded.” He heard the clatter of hooves and leaned out to look. “The duke’s messenger is back. Let’s see if we can find out whether Franzo has agreed to the meeting.” Word on that spread rapidly: Franzo had. Hadrann scouted quietly through the upper city after that and returned looking worried.

“I think Shastro may be about to make a very big mistake.”

“Why?” Aisling queried.

“Because Franzo, being an experienced soldier and no fool, wouldn’t take chances with this meeting. Before his army arrived he’d have sent a number of his less obvious soldiers into Kars, most probably dressed as ordinary tradesmen or farmers bringing in produce.” His face was grim. “If the duke or that brother of yours tries to break truce and kill Franzo I suspect the soldiers would be there to either prevent it or strike back.”

Keelan spoke slowly, thinking it through. “If everyone succeeds, if Franzo is killed and the duke and Kirion are killed in retaliation, then both sides will explode. Franzo’s army will pour in to avenge him; Kars guard, with no one to give orders, will fight back. So will the ordinary people as best as they can, since they’ll believe they won’t survive otherwise. They—we—will lose in the end, but by that time Franzo’s people will have gone crazy. They’ll rip Kars apart. Loot, burn, and—Rann! We have to get Aisling out now or at least work out a way to escape once that starts.”

Aisling made a small sound of disagreement. “No, listen, Kee. First we need to get word to Kirion about Franzo’s men. He’s smart. He’ll see what can happen as well as we do and he’ll put a leash on Shastro. Even if he doesn’t or can’t there still may not be a problem.” Her smile flashed briefly. “Remember Shastro’s spies. I did. I started doing some hunting and late last night I found a way to get into the secret passages.”

She put Wind Dancer down gently then strolled toward the paneled wall. Her fingers pressed in one spot, thrust sideways in another. A small opening appeared silently, stayed open briefly, then closed again. It had been large enough for one stooped person to slide through. Both men walked across to join Aisling as she showed them the secret passage. It was uncomplicated but also unlikely to be done by accident.

“Aisling, have you explored along any of this?” Hadrann was curious.

“Of course. I went in the early hours when everyone was asleep and none of Shastro’s spies were likely to be in here because of that. I can identify half a dozen other rooms where we can get into the system. One is right down by the great audience hall, where our beloved duke will meet Franzo. We go there to listen but we shall be ready. If things go bad we run for the passage. Get in, come back up here, and wait.

“If fighting reaches up toward this level we take Wind Dancer and vanish. I took the chance Shastro’s spies would be busy somewhere else and explored again while you were away. Another branch of the passage goes straight down to the stables. If we have horses readied and order our guard to stand to in case, we might be able to get clear of Kars via the small north gate before matters become lethal. If not, I doubt they’ll fire on the palace. We can hide in the wall’s secret passages until things are quiet again.”

“Makes sense to me,” Keelan told her. “I’ll go and tell our guards.”

Hadrann was already moving toward the door. “And I’ll see if I can drop a few hints to Kirion. I just hope he’ll listen, because that fool Shastro won’t, not to me, but he may to his tame sorcerer. Kirion can always claim to have come by the knowledge through his powers.”

Kirion didn’t particularly dislike Hadrann. As far as the sorcerer was concerned Hadrann was simply another young lord at court. It was a pity he was a friend of Keelan, but Kirion was shrewd enough to know Hadrann had been trained by the lord of Aranskeep, a good soldier. He knew the Aranskeep heir kept his eyes open: when Hadrann talked, Kirion listened and nodded. Then he went in search of his duke and laid down the law delicately.

He had to convince Shastro not to attack without frightening him so much that the duke would attack through fear that if he didn’t, he’d be the vulnerable one. He succeeded for the moment but he was worried. Then he went off to make a few emergency preparations of his own. Shastro was becoming less and less stable. If Kirion lost his grip on the duke the whole city could blow up in their faces, a thought that did not inspire his confidence in the meeting’s outcome.

Franzo came armed to the meeting. The duke eyed him nervously. If that soldier thought he’d start anything he was greatly mistaken. There were Kars archers unobtrusively stationed all around the walls of the main audience chamber. Franzo noted them and mentally crossed his fingers. He had his own men waiting as well. If that fool on the throne panicked, they’d have a bloodbath. He marched up to the throne, bowed, half-turned, and his voice boomed out.

“My Lord Duke of Kars, Lords and Ladies of Kars Court, people of Kars, I do not come as a soldier but as an envoy from the Coast Clan and its allies.”

Shastro spoke, his voice thinner and reedier. “It is a strange envoy who comes with an army.”

“The army was to ensure that I arrived. Strange things have been happening to those in power within the clan lately. Nor has Kars always shown itself a friend to the clan. It was felt that I should have an escort of friends to ensure my safety.”

In the upper gallery Aisling muffled a giggle. “An escort of friends”—a lovely way to describe an army of almost a thousand. Franzo certainly wasn’t short of friends. From the looks on the faces of those listening, his words were being taken with a grain of salt there too. Below on his throne Shastro had flushed in anger. He lifted his voice.

“It is a strange envoy I say again who comes with an army. What is it to me that men die in a clan far away. Am I now to be blamed if a farmer falls in the furrow and stubs his toe?”

Franzo eyed him. “It is not you, my Lord Duke, whom we suspect. But there is one close to you who has shown pleasure in, shall we say, acquiring such things as might have lost their owners to accidental death or execution.”

From the gallery Hadrann and the two with him could see Kirion stiffen slightly. His faGe showed a hint of red across the cheekbones. Aisling shivered. Kirion would punish the man for that. Sooner or later in some way that could not be brought home to Kirion. The sorcerer stayed silent. Let Shastro do the talking. It could be useful to see if he defended the man who’d put him where he was.

Shastro had come to a similar conclusion. He planned to be rid of Kirion one day, but for now he needed him against Estcarp and his many enemies, enemies like this man and the clan from which he’d been sent. He looked down, trying hard to appear as if he were considering the man’s words. Unobtrusively he cleared his throat.

“Lord Franzo. You accuse one whose name we both know. What proof do you bring against him? I gave him a gift. I gave it without his request but in gratitude for his aid to me at a time when I had need of it. Ask any in Kars if he walks hung with gold and jewels.” He was safe with that; Kirion didn’t care about them. “Ask any if he has vast holdings.” Safe with that too. Kirion’s tower keep was medium in size and quality. Kirion preferred it that way. He didn’t have to spend too much time away from his studies, running a great estate.

The duke leaned forward earnestly. “Tell me, Lord Franzo. You come with an army. You say this is to protect you, that too many of the powerful in your clan die in strange ways. How strange are heart attacks and bandits? How unusual a fall from a horse that kills an old man growing weak? It is my understanding that the powerful in your clan themselves have decided that it was the brother of your leader who was responsible for his death. In what way do you hold me liable for that?”

With the feeling that he had the other man on the run he pressed on, his voice growing in strength. “You come with an army to protect you from the fate of those others. How does an army save you from a heart attack, from falling over your own feet?” The last sentence had been edged with sarcasm, and it was Franzo’s turn to flush slightly. He opened his mouth to reply and was overridden.

“Lord Franzo. You accuse one who has been my aide and friend for years. You have no proof, only wild tales. It is I who have proof, not of his deeds but of yours, of an attempt by men of your own clan to assassinate their duke.” He listened with satisfaction to the low rumble of anger from the crowd. “Yes. Your clan sent men to murder me secretly, and why? In what way have I harmed your clan?”

He had them now. All were intent on him alone. He stretched out his hands in distress. “Lord Franzo. If I had committed some evil against your clan, was it not their place to come here, stand openly, and speak out. We have laws in Kars and Karsten both. If I had broken these why did your clan not bring an accusation and proof against me.” He sat back, his head bowed a little as if a weight 9/ sorrow rested on him.

“But no one came. Not until you came riding to the gates with an army. You bring accusations but no proof. You terrify my people, you bear false witness, and you threaten me, your duke.” His voice gathered strength. From where he stood Kirion subtly augmented his duke’s voice with power, helping Shastro to produce deeper, more resonant tones. He bled a tinge of power into the words themselves as well, so that they impressed the listeners, even the clansmen and their leader. Franzo stood motionless as Shastro lifted his hands to him.

“Tell me, I charge you, in what way have they or I deserved this. If I have acted against your clan let you give proofs now. I will bow to them. I will stand before a tribunal of impartial judges and allow them to judge me and mine.” His voice soared up. “Speak! I listen.”

Franzo slumped. He had no proof and he knew it. He had never really hoped for any result in all this. He’d taken charge to prevent a lesser man who would have listened to no sense but attacked. He’d hoped that the duke might be made nervous enough to at least stop the deaths the clan were sure could be laid at Kirion’s door. He’d hoped the duke would understand that the clan deaths must stop. If he’d done that, he’d done enough. But here and now Franzo spoke for the clan. He must get his men out of here with the best face he could.

He bowed low. “My Lord Duke of Kars. The clan has no proof of deeds. I can say only that they feel it.” He paused to choose a word. “Unusual, when leader after clan leader dies. Coincidence may carry only so far. And within your court is one with the abilities to make such ‘coincidence.’ These beliefs I was asked to lay before you.

I have done so. I shall return to my clan.” He bowed again and turned on his heel. His men closed in behind him as he walked down the length of the audience hall.

His back tingled. He wouldn’t put it past the duke to signal an archer. Gods grant the man had more sense; it would trigger a massacre. His own men would strike back, and all were trained soldiers in a crowd of shopkeepers.

Shastro did have more sense but only because he was feeling smug. He’d stood up to the man, shown him that a duke of Kars could not be intimidated. Let the fool run back to his clan and bear them that message. He sneered at the retreating back.

Aisling stood and began to worm her way through the crowd, her brother and friend behind her. That had been instructive. She’d had her mind open in passive mode, her hand resting on her hidden pendant to help her shield in case Kirion scanned for such spying. She’d known when and where Kirion had helped the duke. She’d also read Shastro’s emotions. He believed he’d done it all on his own. He was both pleased with himself and swollen with a feeling of power. He was also still jumpy from the discovery that there had been a plan to dispose of him. It wasn’t a good combination.

Once back in his tower Kirion would have agreed with her. He was listening to the duke alternately rant of how he’d shown up that clan scum and demand that Kirion punish them further. Kirion was reluctant. Shastro had made a good point about coincidences, nor was he unaware of why Franzo had agreed to come to Kars. But if more of the clan died it would bring Franzo back or maybe another, less sensible leader, this time with orders to waste no time in talking.

It would not suit Kirion to be in a besieged city. He soothed his enraged master. As he muttered, his mind cast out frantically for an alternative. Something for Shastro to act against that might cause less harm to Kirion’s plans. The keeps? Not enough to occupy the duke, and it would set every keep lord against them both. A common enemy? Estcarp? Perhaps. Not all-out war but a few small strikes along the borders in the Northwest.

Out past Verlaine maybe. That duchess was still alive. He could encourage Shastro to wonder if she and her crooked lord might not try to return, take possession of the keep in Estcarp’s name. Come to that she was also still duchess of Kars in a tenuous legality. Kirion knew she’d as soon take the Kars throne as sit on an ant’s nest, but Shastro loved power. To him it was inconceivable she wouldn’t like to rule Verlaine or Kars if she could take either somehow.

He set out to hint the duke into the proper frame of mind. Shastro wasn’t hard to convince. He’d feared the witches all his life, and over recent years Kirion had deliberately fed that fear. He mentioned Verlaine and the possibilities. Then he spoke of Kars, and the duke’s gaze became horrified. Shastro bit on the thought.

“Yes, very likely. Think of the trouble it could cause. They’d be delighted to entangle us in our own laws.”

“Then why not change the laws? Make it illegal to desert your holdings for so many years. As for Kars, she never reigned in the city. Hold a special sitting to formally and officially declare that she has no rights here in Kars.”

“Yes, yes. I shall do that. I’ll call a court tomorrow. Then, once that’s settled I’ll attack Estcarp. It’s time they were taught a lesson.”

Kirion bit back a groan. Then he settled to explaining why that would not be advisable just now. Shastro was obstinate, so Kirion was forced to wheedle, then to talk in alternate obscurities and sor-cerous hints. Handling the duke was like dealing with a high-strung horse. He must not be reined in too hard nor allowed to run wild. Kirion was beginning to feel he’d like to shoot this nag and buy himself another.