The Duke's Ballad

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Aisling watched the surrounding land keenly. Out there in the jumble of rock and scrub Keelan was hunting. It was for her to back him where she could. She could not link with him—they’d never had that, brother and sister though they were—but she could tell where he was. She allowed that direction to settle into her, then she let her eyes drift out of focus. She would notice the slightest movement as she scanned across the area.

There! Another flicker. Her gaze sharpened on it but before she could let fly, another arrow had flown. Hadrann too had watched. Keelan came slipping back.

“Five to go, but they have the girl in a hollow back there.” He spat dust. “Filth. She’s been tied so tightly she could be crippled even if we do free her.”

Aisling looked at him. “Her choice, her choosing, Kee. But if I were the one bound I’d rather be freed. Her friends may be able to help her once she’s back among them. If we can’t get her away she’s asked me for a clean death.”

“Can you?”

“We have an idea that may work, but better we get her out. Rann, what do you think?”

“I think we stop talking and do something.”

“True, my friend,” Keelan agreed. “So we leave Aisling out here to watch and we both go back into cover and see how many more we can pick off. I wonder what our brave guards are doing. There were three of them alive.” He turned to his sister. “Aisling?”

She concentrated. “Fear, anger, pain. Two of them are hurt, one badly. The one less injured tends him. The one unhurt is circling toward us. He wishes to find out if we are unharmed and to aid us either way. He comes from that direction.”

Her hand lifted to point as she forced down nausea again. She was fighting for all their lives, and the life of a young girl who had done no more evil than to be born with the Gift. But she hated the killing.

Hadrann nodded. “We’ll wait for the one who’s circling.” He blinked down as a furred weight thrust past his knee. “Ah ha. Wind Dancer. And what are you doing out of the carriage?”

The big cat ignored him. He went to Aisling, raised his front paws to place them against her, and uttered a low imperative cry. She dropped to one knee. He lifted his face and laid it against hers, rubbing his head along her jaw as he purred. Pictures came to her as they touched. Small, sometimes fuzzy, but clear enough. She hugged the cat sending pictures in return. His reply carried undertones of impatience. Aisling grinned.

“All right. As you wish, Wind Dancer. It’s your turn to be a hero.”

“Aisling?” Keelan was watching them. “What are the two of you planning?”

His sister smiled. “Wind Dancer wants to help the witch.”

“No,” both men protested.

“I rode as a warrior in Escore. If the distance to be traveled was not too great, Wind Dancer rode with me more than once. We work well together.”

She looked out across the rough land before them in which a girl was being held for a terrible death. “Wind Dancer’s coat blends with this land. We will go, each knowing where the other is and both knowing where those who hold the girl are hidden.”

“And what do we do?” her brother asked sarcastically. “Wait to be called for dinner?”

“No, Keelan,” Hadrann interrupted quietly. “You collect that guard and go back and help the two injured. Then you start making a noise over in that direction. Leave all three guards hidden together as a diversion. You and I will split and cover them. That gives us all a better chance no matter what Kirion’s men decide to do. Tell the guard Aisling is in the rocks above the carriage with her bow, guarding it in case the bandits try to steal it while you’re gone.”

Keelan grunted. “Sound good enough?”

Hadrann eyed Aisling. “You just be careful. Kirion would be quite happy to exchange you for the witch, I’m sure. But we wouldn’t!”

She managed a small smile at him. “I know. Now go and find that guard before he blunders into Kirion’s men. He’s turned around, and I don’t think he knows where we are.”

The two men slid off silently in the direction Aisling indicated. Left alone with Wind Dancer she looked down at him. A long affectionate look passed between them. Then they too slipped noiselessly into the scrub. Wind Dancer took the lead. If any heard them coming they would look at human height for the makers of the sounds to appear. Wind Dancer would have seconds to warn Aisling and to be missed by any hastily loosed arrow. He and his human had indeed played this game before.

They moved silently through the scrub and harsh upthrust rock. Aisling had her mind cautiously open. Just enough with her shields in place to know the direction of the enemy and no more. She came through a patch of high bushes, Wind Dancer well ahead. She halted as he came trotting back. His picture of the scene below, sent as he reared up to touch his head to her hand, was clear this time.

A hollow large enough to take almost a dozen horses and a bound motionless figure. Over it stood two men. Three others were placed around the hollow’s rim. All smelled of fear, anger, and spite. As Wind Dancer watched, one of the men had kicked their captive casually and cursed her. Another spat on her and added his curses. Aisling bit back sudden rage. That witch down there was only a child, but it was folly to let fury sway her. That sort of emotion led people to do dangerous and foolish things. She would be cold, calm, and, her mind added, when she had the chance she’d finish those sons of diseased hogs.

She circled, with Wind Dancer helping to pinpoint each of Kirion’s men. Then she moved back a little and waited patiently. Some minutes later there came a growing commotion from the south. The three men up on the hollow’s rim came running to join the two below. Aisling remained in wait. Below her there was a hurried conference, then two of the men were left with their captive. The other three vanished in the direction of the sounds.

Aisling tracked them with her mind. They were heading directly for the noise, and she grimaced. “Like shooting bound leapers, eh, Wind Dancer? I don’t know what Kirion’s paying them, but I think it’s too much.”

Wind Dancer gave a small chirrup of agreement, then padded back toward the hollow. Aisling slipped after him until they reached the rim and could look down while lying in the surrounding scrub. The witch lay as she had before. The two remaining men were standing together trying to watch in all directions at once. They had been some fifteen strong at the start of the raid. Estcarp had accounted for six of them. Now this group they’d expected to slaughter like lambs had turned out to be wolves. Kirion’s men were staying alert.

Aisling cursed to herself. Then she grinned thoughtfully. From here she could take out one cleanly before he knew. But the other could drop into cover before she could shoot again, and that cover could block her sight of him. Both men had bows of their own as well as swords and daggers. The survivor might shoot the witch out of spite before Aisling could reach him. She dropped a hand to Wind Dancer, what suggestions had a great hunter to offer?

The big cat placed a paw on her knee. Slowly he flexed his claws in and out, keeping her attention upon that wicked display. His mother had been a normal-sized cat. Wind Dancer was the one kitten she’d ever produced, and that when she was four. Who or what Shosho had found in the hills behind Aiskeep to sire her only kit none knew, but the end result, some thirty-five pounds of muscle clad in short thick fur, armed with claws that would not have shamed a young snow leopard, now offered a battle plan.

His was an intelligence that was all cat in many ways, and in others, Aisling felt, perhaps something else. Not that she ever inquired. He was Wind Dancer, her friend, her battle companion, and each owed their life to the other several times over. She watched the pictures he made in her mind and agreed. It might be dangerous for him, but she would be swift. They inched back to the rim of the hollow. The two guards remained on edge and close to one another.

Aisling stayed where she was, waiting as Wind Dancer circled. When he was in position, she shot. Even as the first man went down and the other dropped into cover Wind Dancer was moving. He was behind the guard still living and he sped down the slope in a silent savage rush. The guard heard the faint sound, turned, and screamed once before the big cat was upon him. Aisling wasted no time.

As soon as Wind Dancer struck she too was in motion, leaping down the slope in flying strides. She watched her feet. It would not do to trip in case her cat had need of her. He did not. Taken unawares by a nightmare the man had flung himself backward, tripping over a dead branch as he did so. Wind Dancer followed him down, claws and teeth striking home before the terrified man could do more than scream and then try vainly to protect his throat.

Putting aside his mail scarf would be the last battle error he ever made. By the time Aisling reached them it was finished.

“Well done, furred warrior.” Aisling knelt to hug him, stroking along the still bushed neck and shoulders. “Now, let us see what we can do for this one.” She drew her dagger and strode across to the captive. Kirion’s men had taken no chances. The girl was not only bound and gagged heavily but also blindfolded. Aisling would have spat. Wind Dancer had been right. The bonds were brutal and she only prayed that they had not been on so long the girl would be crippled.

She cut loose the girl’s feet and hands then lifted away the blindfold and removed the tightly drawn gag. She smiled. “Peace, sister. The Light has sent aid. Are we in time?”

The girl worked her mouth painfully, then gave up the attempt to speak through a mouth too long dry from lack of water. She nodded, then lifted her hands to study the deep red and blue weals. Aisling was digging through saddlebags. She found a canteen, poured a few drops of the contents on her palm and sniffed, then tasted cautiously. Water laced with Karsten brandy. She brought it back.

“Drink a little of this, slowly. Hold each mouthful a while before you swallow.” She was obeyed. Wind Dancer had disappeared to prowl about above the hollow. He returned to signal that no one was returning as yet. The witch eyed him with interest and some nervousness. The big cat walked across to her, sat, and purred. Then slowly he pushed his face toward her sniffing, continuing to purr loudly. The girl suddenly smiled. Her faltering hands went up to cup Wind Dancer’s face.

“For your aid in time of trouble, my thanks, great warrior. The Light knows its own. It seems that even amongst our enemies Est-carp may find help and friends unlooked for.” Her gaze met that of Aisling. “And you, sister? What do you here in this barbarian land.”

Aisling felt anger flare in her. “This barbarian land is my home.

I was born here, and my mother and mother’s mother before me. Is it your custom to insult one who has risked all to save you?” She saw with some satisfaction that the shaft had gone home. The witch flushed.

“Your pardon, sister. Yet…” She studied the woman before her. “Surely you are of our blood and you have power. I could not be mistaken. I feel it. There is more also. I feel a power about you that is yours and not-yours. Old… old…” her voice trailed away, then rallied. “I feel another thing too: a spell, a power that is a trap. What is it that you bear?”

Aisling had been chafing the wealed wrists, pausing to inspect the damage every few minutes. She ignored the comments. “How long were you bound so tightly?”

“Only since we halted. They planned to steal your carriage, kill the guards and nobles; you, they wished to take alive. They were forbidden to use me, but for you they had no orders.”

Aisling snorted. “They’d have regretted that. I’m no court maiden to squeal and faint if I’m seized. And the man who sent them would have killed them all very very slowly if he found out I’d been violated.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s my oldest brother. A fool who thinks his path to power is black sorcery,” Aisling told her briefly. “He’d like to have me in his hands even more than he’d be pleased to have you.”

The witch looked apprehensive. She was cold, exhausted, hungry, and her wrists were a flaring agony. She began to shake. “Your brother? And the men with you, what will they say of me?”

“Don’t worry. I loathe him a lot more than you ever will. He’s tried to kill me or have me kidnapped more than once. The men with me are a friend and my other brother.” She surveyed the shaking form. “Now, we have a problem. We had seven guards with us. Three survived the attack. They’re hirelings from Kars. They’ll take one look at you, recognize you for what you are, and either try to kill you or denounce us the minute they return.”

Aisling rose to look over the patiently waiting mounts. On one saddle she found a long cloak, on another a mail jerkin with attached coif. The owner had not been a large man. With extra padding it would fit the witch but, she looked back at the girl, not now. The freed captive was clearly in no condition to be hauled around the countryside in forty pounds of mail and on a weary horse.

They needed to stay here and rest but for the problem of the guards. She took up the cloak. “Wear this, wrap it well about you, and pull down the hood. Wind Dancer, you lie beside her and listen. Witch, hide in that patch of scrub. I must get my brother and friend aside and make plans. We have to rid ourselves of the guards we have with us else we are all betrayed. I shall return as soon as I can.” She produced a bag found with the cloak.

“Meanwhile, eat. There’s oatcakes here and cold meat. You have the canteen. I’ll be as swift as I can. You should be safe here for a while, and there’s no more I can do for you just now.” She ended her instructions with a questioning tone, inviting comment. There was none, so she turned to climb the slope.

Once at the top she heard small sounds as of someone approaching. There was no attempt to be more than reasonably quiet. Aisling drifted behind a tree and waited to see, as she’d expected, that it was Keelan who came seeking her. She stepped out to meet him, smiling.

“All’s well, brother. The two of Kirion’s men who remained are dead. The witch is freed. I left her eating and drinking, cloaked and hidden with Wind Dancer. What of the three who came your way?”

“Dead also. Of our guards, the one badly injured should be returned to Kars in the carriage. How many horses are with your witch?”

“Eleven. They are no fine bloods but they’re good hill-country beasts. They’re leg weary but not in ill condition. But my witch as you name her… Kee, if the guards see her, we’re all in great danger.”

“I know. Rann and I made a plan. We knew you’d free her then come seeking us. Listen, Aisling. Rann is telling the guards to take their friend and return to seek a healer in Kars. They’re willing to listen since their captain is dead and the badly wounded man is cousin to the other two. We said we would take the bandit horses and ride on to Jam’s keep. It is no more than a few hours from here. They are to return with a full guard and the carriage in a ten-day.”

“And us?”

He grinned cheerfully. “We sneak back into Estcarp with our witch, turn her and the spare horses over to the first small patrol we find to help repay what those scum of Kirion’s did there, and pray that the patrol doesn’t decide to kill us as a better repayment.”

His sister eyed him. “And just what did Rann say to this?”

“I won’t repeat it. He cast some reflection on our parentage and soundness of mind.”

“I bet he did!”

“Well, can you think of a better idea?”

Aisling sighed. “No.”

“Nor could Hadrann, so that’s what we’re doing. He would like to send you to Jam at Trevalyn keep. I told him if we all went we’d never get away from them in less than a week, and what did we do with the witch? Not much sense in rescuing her then letting her die out here. And if he tried to send you alone you’d just double back and join us again past the border. So he cursed some more and agreed to the plan.”

Aisling chuckled. She could imagine the exasperated conversation that had prefaced Keelan’s return to find her. Poor Hadrann. But he’d succumbed to Kee’s argument finally. That was good. She didn’t have to waste time doing her own arguing. As they talked they’d been trotting back toward where Hadrann waited with the surviving guards. Once there Aisling looked over the injuries. Many keep ladies were skilled in herb lore and wound care.

The injuries were minor in one case—a sprained shoulder easily treated with a sling—and the same man had a shallow messy cut along his side. She cleaned it carefully, dressed and bandaged the injury, then turned to the other victim. That was far more serious, as they’d feared. The cut was deep into the leg, a sword slash that had also broken the bone. The man would be unable to ride, and the wound should be stitched. She could do that as a temporary measure.

Once the man was back in Kars the healers could cut the stitches and redo her work more skillfully if such was needed. Wound fever was likely, and they could treat that better in Kars as well. Both guards were watching her, concern on their faces. She spoke quietly, telling them her beliefs. One hesitated.

“Lady Murna, we hired on to guard you.”

“And well you did so,” she agreed. “But the keep of our friend’s cousin is only three hours’ ride away. The bandits left good riding beasts saddled, bridled, and able to get us to the keep in that time. Better you take our carriage and make for the city. Your kinsman will find skilled help there for the wounds he incurred in aiding us. I will write a letter to go with you. My cousin and his friend will also sign it so none query you and your return without us.”

He nodded wearily. “My thanks, Lady Murna. We shall obey.”

Hadrann and the unwounded guard lifted the injured man. He was carried gently to where the carriage and its patient horses still stood. Once there he was placed carefully within and padded about with spare clothing to ensure he was not easily jolted from his reclining position. The horses belonging to the dead guards and those who had survived were hitched in a line. The lightly injured man would drive the carriage. His unwounded cousin would lead the mounts. They took up their places, then waited for the promised letter.

Aisling removed her bag, took out a scrap of paper, trimmed her quill and unsealed the tiny bottle of ink. She wrote swiftly before passing the paper on to her brother and friend to be signed. Then she waved it in the air. The ink dried and the paper was folded, sealed with Hadrann’s seal ring, and the guards farewelled.

“Return for us in ten days.” The man addressed acknowledged the order with a slight bow.

“That I will do, my Lord, and a full six-guard with me. On my life I swear it.”

Aisling read his sincerity and smiled. “I know that only if you yourself were slain would you fail to keep your word. Care for your kinsman and bring word back with you. I would know how he does.”

The guard’s bow this time was as deep as a man on horseback could manage. “I will bring word, my Lady. The thanks of my house for your healing.” He nudged his mount into a steady walk, the carriage swung in behind, and the small procession vanished down the trail. As soon as it did so Aisling was also in motion. Trotting quickly back toward the hollow where the witch waited in hiding. Keelan and Hadrann made further plans as they followed.

“I think we should stay out here, don’t you, Aisling?” Keelan’s voice carried, and his sister slowed.

“Yes. We can hardly appear in Trevalyn complete with a whole bunch of horses and a witch and without any of our baggage and hope the servants won’t gossip for years after about it.”

Hadrann coughed. “I’d bet they would. No. I suggest we camp out for several nights while the witch recovers but not in the hollow. We showed such a place isn’t safe from attack. We’ll go farther west and a little north, swing past Verlaine, and cut around the hill cliffs over the Estcarp border. That’s probably the way Kirion’s men brought the girl. We may even find her people hunting that way for her.”

“That’d be nice,” Aisling commented. “We could then be shot as the ones who stole her away after burning a garth and murdering its people. Going that way is good, but before we go too far I want to talk to the witch. She may know how we can be safe while bringing her home.” The witch, when questioned, had her own ideas.

“The borderers will be out in strength searching for the trail and myself at the end of it. The council has forbidden a breaking of the border, but there are always those who are deaf to such a command. Let us find a safe place nearby and sleep. Tomorrow we ride as you say, west and a little north, for another day. Then I shall see if I am able to contact friends to report.”

Aisling looked at her. “Report then so that those who come do not start shooting first and ask if you had need of a rescue later.”

The witch smiled shyly. “That I would do, Lady. I swear I will permit no harm to come to any of you at the hands of my friends.” Her eyes lowered and she glanced sideways at Aisling, her cheeks showing a slight flush. “I am sorry I miscalled your land. I spoke from the pain of my body and the fear of what was to happen, but still I say it: you have the power. How are you safe here, where the power is feared and hated?”

“It would be a long story,” Aisling said. “But quickly then. My grandmother was but a young girl when the duke of Kars ran mad. He ordered the three times Horning, and of her family only she survived. She was found by a keep lord who owed her mother a debt for healing. He took the girl in. Later she wed his son, her true love. There was the Old Blood in the lord’s family also, thinner and further back, but he remembered.” Aisling smiled as she too remembered.

“My grandparents yet live. They love still and are happy. The old lord died in the Turning. I am one of three children born of my grandmother’s son. My brother Kirion is nine years my elder. He seeks power, and having none he turned to black sorcery. He has found a way to leech it from those of the Old Blood. Keelan, my other brother, who rides with us, hates Kirion, as do I, both for many offenses and because he would bring down Karsten in war again. Shastro, duke of Kars, is Kirion’s puppet. Thus it pleases us to set you outside Kirion’s grasp.”

“And the cat? When first I saw him I thought him perhaps one of the Old Ones.” She cast a look at Wind Dancer where he rode in his carrysack on Aisling’s shoulders. The cat looked back and yawned, and the witch laughed. “Truly it is said a cat is his own master.”

Aisling grinned back. “Very true. We don’t know who his sire was although my teacher in Escore had his suspicions. Wind Dancer says nothing, if he knows aught to tell. But he aided you by his own choice, and it was at his claws and teeth that one of your guards died and I was able to free you.”

The witch leaned over to smooth the cat’s fur. “My Lord Cat, I do give thanks for your valor. Your name shall be known with praise among the council.” Wind Dancer opened an eye, looked at her, yawned again, and apparently slept. But the aura surrounding him was one of smugness.