The Duke's Ballad

XIV

They swept into the keep in a joyous laughing noisy group, Wind Dancer butting knees, bouncing, and bawling with the best of them. He was swept up and hugged as often as anyone else. After a short while he left his humans and went to find his dam. Shosho didn’t like noise and excitement. Being a normal-sized cat she sometimes got stepped on during such celebrations.

Aisling had spared him a thought as he padded off. The picture she received was Shosho rubbing happily against her giant son. She grinned and turned back to the welcome. Ciara had sat finally on her large comfortable chair before the fire, before speaking to her grandchildren.

“Dearlings, I’m so happy to see you home again. You are home again, I hope. For the winter at least?”

Aisling knelt to hug her. “Of course we are. Hadrann can only stay a few days though. He must ride on to Aranskeep. I said we’d send guards with him for safety?”

“Of course. Harran can go with six men.” Ciara waved down polite objections from Hadrann. “No, lad. There’re bandits about at this time of year. It’s on the edge of winter, and like bears, they too seek to lay up fat for winter.” She turned to Aisling again. “We have new neighbors in my family’s old garth. I forgot to tell you when you were home last.”

“What happened to the others?” Aisling remembered them as a pleasant rather stupid family from one of the smaller garths on the keep’s lands, garth born and bred, doing their work by rote because it had been good enough for their grandparents. Nothing new, never any innovations. They’d saved up all their lives to buy a garth. Everyone down to the small children contributing coppers where they could. Ciara had sold them the land and ancient sturdy house on a sliding series of payments. Now her grandmother looked sad.

“I should never have weakened. They wanted a garth so much and they’d worked so long and so hard for it. But you remember what they were like. They were one of our families, hard-working but not really very bright and too trusting. They could never remember a time when they’d been anything but protected by the keep. That garth is outside our lands at Aiskeep and isn’t protected, so it’s the perfect target.”

Aisling looked at her. “Bandits?”

“Bandits,” her grandmother confirmed with a sigh. “Just at this time last winter from the signs. We rode that way in spring to find them all dead. The door was unbroken. I think one of the bandits simply knocked, said he was stranded and could they offer shelter, and they let him in. The whole family down to the little children perished. Some of the walls had holes hacked in them, but all the hiding places were empty.”

Lord Trovagh made an angry sound. “The family gave us every copper they had. There was nothing to find, but the bandits had tortured one of the women to be sure. They left sometime in early spring. Anyway they were gone by the time we arrived.”

Ciara completed the tale. “We mended the holes in the walls, scrubbed blood from the floors. Then we sold the garth to Jontar’s second son. The lad’s smart, and so’s his wife. First thing they did was hang heavier doors and shutters. We paid for the wood.” She sighed. “We saw to it this time the door was on iron hinges inside, iron barred, and of real strength. There’s been too much blood spilled in Elmsgarth.”

For a moment her eyes were bleak as she remembered her own family, murdered in the Horning so many years ago. Ciara had been nine. She’d survived because her mother had got her into hiding and because the Lord of Aiskeep owned a debt. She recalled further and smiled. She’d repaid him by wedding his sickly son although that had been her wish and no sour bargain. Tro was her life and her love. She’d kept him alive through every winter ailment since, cared for Aiskeep as the old lord would have wished. And if that had meant she could never leave the keep or wander as she’d once dreamed, well, there had been other dreams worth the price she’d paid willingly.

Without thinking she began to hum her song. Aisling chuckled softly and joined in, singing the words in a small clear voice. It was an old song, come over-mountain with the Old Race when they first trickled across the bordering range to settle the wild empty Karsten lands. A peasant song, it had a gentle wandering tune in a minor key and words that were in one sense banal, in another, full of the meaning of life itself. But it changed key and strength in the last lines, soaring in power and passion.

It had been Ciara’s favorite ever since Lanlia, her mother, had sung her to sleep with it often when Ciara was barely a toddler forcing herself to remain awake until the last lines. She in turn had sung it to the baby Aisling. Ciara sang the words softly. Oh, yes. Her dreams had changed. Now she hoped that Aisling would be safe and happy, that Kirion would be defeated and his puppet duke unstrung, that Keelan would come home in time to rule Aiskeep wisely but not yet.

She smiled at them all and sang louder. Keelan had picked up a pipe and was accompanying them. Old Hannion had trotted away and reappeared with his bagpipes. Hadrann had picked up two spoons and was providing a rhythmic accompaniment. The welcome home became noisier, more musical.

One by one servants trickled in to join the music making and dancing. Enthroned in his chair Trovagh laughed as he watched Ais-ling swung in the circle dance by Harran.

His gaze met Ciara’s, long love and alliance shared in that glance. He stood. “Can’t let the youngsters think we’re too old to celebrate.” He bowed low over her hand. “Do me the honor of dancing, my Lady.” He spoke a few quiet words to Harran, and the tune changed. The impromptu band slowed then swung with the pipes into the soft “Lament for the Fallen Hills,” written by a great musician after the Turning.

Trovagh danced, Ciara with him. It was a slow dance but beautiful and very graceful in its simplicity. They finished and sat again as the pipes broke into a wild swinging skirl of sound. Aisling was on her feet with Hadrann. Keelan joined them, holding Jonrie from Jontar’s garth by the hand. Their feet hammered the floor as they leapt to battle and music and the equally old tune of “Beware, the Clans Are Riding!”

They danced it twice through before Ciara signaled a halt. Then Aisling came with her companions. They held food and drink and formed a small circle around Ciara and her lord. Ciara looked at them.

“And are the clans riding? I do not like the latest news Geavon sends from Kars. How close are you to fulfilling the geas, Aisling?”

The girl looked worried. “To the first question, I think the clans are too close. To the second, I’m not so close to fulfilling the geas.” She looked at her brother, and he took over.

“Kirion’s been stupid. I think Shastro wanted to weaken the Coast Clan. So he persuaded Kirion to use sorcery to make accidents happen to their leaders. However they had a few too many accidents. No one could prove anything, but the clan became suspicious and angry…”

“I heard about Franzo’s army,” Ciara said seriously. “Whatever possessed the pair of them to think the Coast Clan would not suspect more than ‘accidents?’ It’s only fortunate it was Franzo in charge.”

Hadrann spoke grimly. “That good fortune may be about to be lost.” He quickly told the tale of Jedena and her death. Ciara whitened.

“Then the clan may ride to war. If Franzo rides there isn’t a man who’d hang back. What would make him act?”

Hadrann considered. “He loves his half sister. She’s half-mad with grief over her daughter. Franzo’s youngest is heir now that Je-dena’s dead. Franzo is an old friend too of his sister’s lord. It’s all a big tangle, Lady, but I think that if anything else happens to his sister or her man, Franzo will forget his cool head and call out the clan. He loves others also; if aught happens to them it could be sufficient.”

“What could happen?”

“Anything. Even if it looks like an accident it could be enough. The clan have seen too many accidents or coincidences. They no longer believe them to be either.”

Ciara’s eyes lit with anger. “That stupid pair. Karsten doesn’t need another war, least of all one among ourselves. I swear there are times I wonder who cursed us. Ever since that half-wit of a duke and his Kolder friends.” She looked at them eyes still furious. “And what about Kirion and the duke?”

It was Aisling who replied to that tart query. “It’s difficult. I’m supposed to keep both of them from starting a war with Estcarp. That’s how Hilarion read the geas. It means I probably have to see both destroyed because they won’t stop otherwise, but that isn’t simple. I can’t attack Kirion openly; if I attack him and fail he’d use it to set the duke against me.”

She bit her lip. “Kirion would probably start by claiming that Kee was involved in any attempted assassination of his brother. At the very least Shastro would have Kee murdered for that. He’d almost certainly have Hadrann killed too, since everyone knows he and Kee are good friends. One of the Escore leaders once said that assassination is easy and impossible to prevent if the assassin is willing to die and doesn’t care what may happen to his kin afterward. But I do care, and I don’t want to die either. Not when my death could refuel Kirion’s sorcery for him. If I fail and survive he’d have that chance.”

Ciara nodded. “I see the risk. What of the duke then? If he were gone Kirion would have to seek out another puppet?”

Hadrann smiled ruefully. “He would indeed and he’d make sure whoever had wrecked his plans paid for it, if he could find us. But he’d inflame the people against Estcarp for a start. He’d claim Shas-tro’s death was a plot to weaken Karsten, and many would believe him. He’d step up raids across the border using that excuse to gather in others he can leech of power. I fear our disposal of the duke, even if we succeeded in that, would help rather than hinder Kirion.”

Ciara glared, her own look exasperated. “So what do you intend to do?”

“We play a waiting game, Grandmother.” Aisling’s voice was soft. “If we are patient, then a time will come when we can reach Shastro without Kirion being able to claim it was Estcarp’s doing. Or Kirion will relax his guard, and we can strike before he knows. Perhaps they will turn one against the other. I rode to war over-mountain. I learned one thing from that: patience is seldom amiss; impatience is almost always an error. We wait.”

Her grandmother nodded unwillingly. “If the geas will allow it who am I to argue?”

“Thus far I have not been urged to act more swiftly.” Her face became thoughtful. “This business with Franzo may be a chance. If he moves against the duke again and then we struck, all would think it to have been the Coast Clan’s doing. Kirion could scream against Estcarp all he liked. Few would listen to him.”

“No, they’d be busy escalating a civil war against the clan,” Hadrann groaned. “I swear, there are times when I feel like a kitten tangled in a ball of wool. There’s trouble whichever way we turn.”

Ciara laughed and stood. “To bed with you all, my children. Winter comes. Rest, play, relax, and make plans. Spring will be time enough to worry about what must be done.” She walked across to where Trovagh sat watching the dancers. “Come, my dear Lord. Us for our bed.” He gave her his arm, and they left quietly. Behind them the celebration continued until dawn. But like her grandmother, Ais-ling had sought her bed earlier.

She slipped between sheets warmed with a warming pan and was almost asleep when a heavy weight joined her. A purr made the identity plain, and she slid a hand down to fondle soft fur. Then she slept and dreamed. Under a soft spring sky an army lay at the Kars gate. Above the main tent floated the pennants of the Coast Clan and Franzo, followed by those of many septs and keeps. Down the main avenue of the city sped a group of men, soldiers by their gear.

They were followed by a hail of arrows. Now and again a man was struck and fell from his mount. At such times he was killed by the crowd who lined the way. They gave a path to the thundering soldiers but closed about the wounded, their faces twisted in a madness of rage and fear. The soldiers gained the gate and fought there. It opened at at last, and three men spurred free toward the safety of the war host outside. One reeled in his saddle, and another rode alongside to support him. As he did so he looked back and she knew the face. Franzo!

Her eyes scanned swiftly. The clan leader had come previously to talk in Kars, but it had not been in spring nor had his men died about him by treachery as he left. This could be a true-dreaming. Her gaze flashed about trying to see and remember all she could. It was late spring. How late she was uncertain, but it must be close to the summer’s beginning. The trees were all in leaf, blossoms showed on some bushes that did not bloom until winter’s chill was well gone.

In the camp outside Kars gate war horns were blowing. From behind trees horses dragged a siege engine, then another. She shivered. Franzo was not wasting any more time. Now he would beat down the walls first and talk after. Many were going to die in this harvest time of death. Into her dreaming mind came a small quiet voice.

“Your time, geas bearer, and three are stronger than one. Three and three: three to accomplish, three to aid.” At the last words the voice faded, as did the dream. Aisling awoke in the darkness of her room. She lay, carefully committing to memory all she had seen and heard. Her heart raced, and she felt sweat gather on her forehead. She was afraid, yet if any action of hers would save the city and her land, then she would act. There was nothing she could do as yet.

She would talk of the dream and its meaning to Ciara but she’d say nothing of it as yet to her brother and Hadrann. She lay awake another hour, trying to tease plans from her tired mind, but at length she fell asleep again, to wake late but refreshed and hopeful.

Ciara, found sewing a new wall hanging, only listened and nodded. “You are right. Let it be forgotten until you must return to Kars. Such dreams sometimes do not happen because there are others involved whose actions may change the course of events. It may be that no army will be at Kars gate in late spring. It may also be that it is not the spring to come that was the one you saw. A city does not change swiftly, and Franzo is likely to look the same for years yet.”

She picked at her feltwork as it lay across her lap. “It may also be that the dream is symbolic. If that is so it could mean powerful enemies are moving against the duke. That a rash act of his will bring destruction and death. Wait, say nothing. You will know when the time is right to tell your brother and Hadrann.”

She watched her granddaughter run laughing across the courtyard later that day. Snowballs hurtled through the air. Ciara smiled, remembering another snowball the child had thrown. Kirion hadn’t appreciated that. He hated the child then. If he discovered that Ais-ling masqueraded as Hadrann’s cousin in the Kars court he’d see to it she never returned to Aiskeep alive—for more reasons than his precious sorcery.

On the other side of the courtyard Hadrann flung a snowball at Keelan. He followed it with another before launching himself at his friend. They rolled over and over in the snow, Keelan yelling for his sister to help him. Aisling joined the battle. Snow flew. Wildly excited, Wind Dancer jumped and pounced indiscriminately on any person who temporarily emerged. Nearby the Lord of Aiskeep leaned against a wall laughing so hard he was all but bent double.

Ciara grinned before strolling back inside to arrange hot drinks. They’d need them once they slowed down and the cold made itself felt. It was good to have them home. She liked Hadrann too. Her grin widened. And if she was not mistaken the boy liked Aisling. The Old Blood was often slow to mature. Slower to age. Slow also to look for a mate. It was not that the blood ran colder. But most males were in their thirties before they found women of more than mild interest.

Part bloods like Aisling and Keelan would seek out mates earlier but still later than those who were of Karsten incomer blood alone. Keelan was closing on thirty; thus far he’d shown little interest in women. Aisling was twenty-two now; she’d begin to look about her soon. Ciara considered what she knew of Hadrann. There was a little of the blood in the old lord, his father. It wasn’t wise to play sex games with one’s own people. Tarnoor, her lord’s father, had never approved, and she thought that Hadrann’s father too would be of similar mind. The lad had probably done no more than the usual brief adventuring about court or while on the Sulcar ship.

But he was getting ready to move on. That light in his eye was unmistakable to a woman who’d lived long and seen much. The daughter of Aiskeep, sister to the heir, would be a good match for Hadrann. And Aranskeep was only a three-day wagon ride away, two by horseback and a good inn between. Aisling could come home often. She sighed. That was, if they all survived this spring; if Kirion and his duke lost their lives, and her three did not.

She stopped her gloom and poured boiling water into mugs. The hot lemony scent of the dried trennon leaves was wonderful. She inhaled with pleasure, chuckled, and thrust aside her worries. Hadrann would be here only another day. She’d not cloud his pleasure nor that of her grandchildren. Let Aisling live in the joyous present this winter. Spring would come soon enough.

In that she was wrong; winter lingered. Hadrann left for Aranskeep. Harran and his men fought a snowstorm to return. The storms dumped huge quantities of snow across the south of Karsten all that month and the next. Great fluffy drifts piled up and collapsed the roofs of less-well-built garths. The cold froze the deep mud of roads and the shallow water of streams. It even froze solid the river that ran from the Turned Mountains through northern Karsten between Kars City and the southern lands.

Karsten had not known such a winter in living memory. Whole families of peasants died, frozen to death in their hovels. While in outlying garths, even well-founded ones, the struggle to survive the cold was great. Many garth-folk did so only to find they had lost all their beasts. None from Aiskeep were suffering so, but then Aiskeep had a long and strong tradition. Their people were housed in weather-tight garths and their beasts in good solid barns. They had cut great stacks of hay, and two huge stacked banks of surplus firewood were placed, one by the keep and the other at the far end of the valley. Aiskeep people might suffer in the worst winters but never because their lord and lady did not care.

In a lull between storms Aisling was sitting hunched over a game of fox and geese with her brother. Ciara was sewing by the fire, Trovagh dozing on the other side. They had all risen early, woken by a short but ferocious windstorm. Once up, they had eaten well and settled by the old long fireplace. Sometimes in midwinter the snow abated for a few days or as much as a week, but it would come again. From outside the room came a growing commotion, and all raised their heads to listen.

Hannion’s voice could be heard, then his footsteps before his head poked around the door. “Lady Ciara, there’s trouble at Elms-garth. Young Jarria has ridden to cry aid of us.”

Ciara rose, Aisling came to join her as the garth-girl staggered in, old Hannion steadying her steps. The girl stood, shivering on her feet, half snow-blind, white patches of frostbite showing on her cheeks and nose. She lifted her mittened hands imploringly.

“Lady, the House of Jontar has always looked to Aiskeep. Help us now or we die, all of us.” She slid to her knees as Aisling ran forward. Jarria’s eyes rolled up, and she collapsed into the waiting arms. Lord Trovagh moved in his chair.

“Harran.” His voice was quiet, but it cut through the babble of voices. “Call out the guard: yourself and eight chosen men. Prepare two wagons. Outspan spare horses. Heaviest beasts only to be used. Warmest clothing to be worn. All suitable arms to be carried. Hold the wagonloading until we can find out the problem that brought the child through such weather. Go quickly!”

Harran stayed not on the order of his going. They could hear his running feet as they hammered down the stairs and the stentorian voice of Aiskeep’s master-at-arms as he bellowed orders. Both Ciara and Aisling were examining the motionless girl. Ciara looked up at her husband.

“Exhaustion mainly. Some exposure. We can heal the frostbite. Aisling can give her sufficient strength to speak briefly. But after that the child will have to stay here and be abed for a few days.”

“Do it!” Aisling complied, reaching within to summon her healing power. He watched as the white patches faded to a healthy pink.

The eyelids fluttered, and at once he was on his knees, holding Jar-ria’s hand. “Speak, lass. What is the danger to your kin? What aid can we give?”

“Bandits came, Lord. Mebbe a dozen of them. They could not force the house. They said they were desperate.” The garth-girl spoke in short panting gasps. “They said they would destroy all our firewood if’n we didn’t let them in. M’father said they’d destroy us for sure if’n we did. Better to keep them out an’ mebbe live. They burned the winter wood we had stacked outside, all ’a it. When we still wouldn’t open the door they rode away. After that we used the wood careful. Not enough left. House got awful cold, an’ the little ones was crying.”

She looked up, her face desperate. “Twas night, but there was moonlight enough. I rid all night usin’ our plow horses. I pray I ain’t ruined them, but m’ dad said I should ride. If I didn’t make it’t would be a quick painless death. If’n I got here at least I’d live to claim the garth and mebbe you’d help us.” Her hands clutched at his. “Lord Trovagh, please, they’s dying?”

He looked down at her, his eyes gentle. “I have already given the word. Men and wagons assemble. My grandson and granddaughter will ride to the aid of Elmsgarth.” Tears began to drip down her face, and he brushed them aside with a forefinger. “Child, child. You spoke the truth. Jontar’s House has ever looked to Aiskeep, as Aiskeep has looked to your kin. When Ciara and I were less than your age Jontar fought beside us against bandits. We won then; we shall win now. Go with the Lady Ciara and sleep, knowing all you could do you did.”

Keelan scooped her up as she slumped. Ciara led the way while Aisling went running to bring word of Elmsgarth’s danger to Har-ran. He grunted.

“Firewood. Yes, but that weighs. A wagon of it shall go first, not too heavily laden and with food also. After that my men will ride each with two axes. In this cold ax heads can shatter if used too long or carelessly. Elmsgarth has dead trees still unused as firewood along its stream. We can cut those onsite and haul the wood.” He studied her.

“Who else rides with us?”

Aisling grinned. “Who else? Keelan and I, of course. My grandmother will be tucking Jarria into bed right now, but she’ll be sorting medicines as soon as she’s done that.”

Harran chuckled. “And complaining about not being able to go too, I daresay.”

Aisling grinned in agreement. “I’ll leave it to you. Kee and I’ll be down soon and ready to ride.”

She was gone in a rush as Harran looked after her. She was a good lass, and he thought that after a poor start her brother too was shaping up as a lord to follow. He bawled orders for Keelan’s and Aisling’s horses to be saddled. At home both rode Torgian mounts, which would deal well with the snow. He saw the horses led out and seized their reins from the stable boy, just as two figures came running toward him. At the door behind them stood Ciara. He could hear her indignant muttering from where he waited, holding the reins of the stamping mounts. He grinned. As he’d thought, his lady wasn’t pleased others were having adventures without her.

His men piled into the wagons. The first team threw their weight against their collars, and the wood-laden wagon rolled. Old Hannion ran up panting to hand Aisling a small parcel. The gates opened, Keelan and Aisling cantered up to head the line, and the rescue party moved out, through the gates, along the winding road.

The snow had mostly halted for several days, but now the sky was leaden again. It had always been difficult to reach Elmsgarth in winter. This winter it could be impossible; yet they had to try. The lives of nine people depended on it. Aiskeep had never yet let its people down. This should not be the first time. The wagons rolled on down the rutted icy road as the first flurries of snow began to fall again from a slowly darkening sky.