Andre Norton - The Duke's Ballad

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.”