Andre Norton: The Duke's Ballad

Together they strolled down the rise. When they reached her dwelling and she’d finished preparing the evening meal, Aisling ate alone save for Wind Dancer, and when she was done and the scraps and dishes cleared, she lay down to sleep. For the past two nights she’d not slept well, the unmade decision to leave or stay keeping her from true sleep. Her choice made, now she could sleep. She did so, feeling the warmth of Wind Dancer, who was cuddled into one hip.

She slid into the dream unawares. There was a tower, a sickly red and black, with the colors flaring and smoking together. She drifted down to enter and saw Kirion. She stepped back in disgust at what he did. She could have left, but instead she felt warning pulse within her. She was here for a purpose; she stayed.

Over the next hour she learned much. Time had not stood still with her brother while she’d been gone. Kirion had found books of sorcery; he’d had gifts from his blood even as she. Males, wholly or partly of the Old Race, could not normally access what powers might lurk in their bloodlines. But Kirion had had a greater desire for power than most. To aid that he’d turned to sorcery and blood magic. That she had known. It was why he’d hunted her through the mountains three years gone.

Now, somehow, he’d learned of her decision to return. He would seek her again. In her sleep she frowned. She could avoid him by staying here. But why should she allow her brother to dictate her life? She’d seen what he did. How he pandered to the appetites of a man not fit to rule Kars. Besides, the need to return, to see her home once more, flared up like a physical ache. There was a tugging, a demand that she obey. She would go home. Let Kirion beware if he stood in her way. She was not the small sister he’d once frightened.

With bright morning she remembered the dream and all she had seen. Remembered too her decision to do something about Kirion’s evil, as if it thrust its way to the forefront of her mind, commanding her attention. But was it simply that she hated Kirion for his cruelty and her mind played tricks? Or had she true-dreamed? She went to Hilarion.

“Adept,” her voice was formal, warning that she asked advice of the power, not the man alone. “I have dreamed.”

His voice was equally formal, though warm to this favorite student. “Tell me your dream.” She told. When she was silent again, he considered. He’d heard about Kirion when Aisling first arrived. Later, certain others who visited the city of Kars had talked as well. Kirion was evil. Not born but made that way by his own will. In evil he saw power not obtainable from other paths. His influence over the weak and lecherous ruler of Karsten was powerful. Kirion had raised the man to be duke, but his continued assistance and encouragement of the duke’s appetites and fears were dangerous both to Karsten and to all of the Old Blood still there as well as to those who had fled elsewhere.

He nodded to Aisling. “Go. I will think on this and seek further knowledge. Return at sun high.” She left in silence as Hilarion turned to his books. He was ready when Aisling returned. He placed a chair for her, offered wine, and waited until she was comfortable. Then he began.

“It was a true-dreaming, my pupil. A warning that you would do well to heed. Kirion grows in power; and as he does so, he turns his eyes toward Estcarp. He plans raids on the borders to net himself captives from whom he may wring more power. But that is not what he will say to Shastro. He plans to enrage the duke against the witches there once more. Shastro knows that his people have begun to complain about his ways with the sons and daughters of the court. Kirion will see that Shastro is ‘paid’ in girls and youths taken in the raids. Thus both ruler and ruled will be pleased with events.”

“Estcarp won’t,” Aisling said dryly.

“No, nor will the Valley of the Green Silences here in Escore. I see the dream as a warning to you. Kirion is your brother. The power sets a sister against him. A geas is laid upon you. The choice is always yours, but that is my reading.”

She bowed her head as she thought. Then her gaze rose to meet gentle eyes. “It is my choice and I choose. I will go back to Karsten as I planned. I’ll see my family, find out all I can on the way and from them. But what should I do after that? How do I stop Kirion?”

Hilarion spread his hands. “I do not know. I can see little. Only that this task is for you and that you will not return to us I think.” She flinched. “No, I do not foresee your death, more likely another choice. What I do see is that this task is important to us all. In time to come it may be a foundation stone.”

Aisling sat silently for several minutes. It sounded like a heavy burden, but then Kirion was adept at imposing burdens on others. She nodded at last. “Yes. Well, if I’m going I’d better pack.” She stood, and Hilarion touched her arm affectionately.

“Renthans will take you to the pass. Someone will meet you on the other side with mounts.” Aisling gasped. So, Escore did have spies in Karsten. She’d suspected it.

Hilarion eyed her with mild amusement. It did no harm to confirm the girl would not be quite alone if she went up against that brother of hers. The knowledge that one’s back was shielded often strengthened the sword arm. He looked after her as she trotted down the valley toward her home of the past three years.

No, he had not seen her death, but then he had not seen she would live either. He’d seen nothing beyond the choice she would make: she would return and face the man she had once fled. But her choice had been no choice, in a way; a geas now bound her. True-dream had called her, and Aisling would answer. Either way she would be gone from the valley. He’d hear of her, but she’d not return. He sighed, then shrugged. In a war one accepted such things. And a hawk trained must always in the end be freed to fly.

At her shelter Aisling was packing with the dubious assistance of Wind Dancer. He was enjoying driving her to exasperation by removing objects almost as fast as she placed them in saddlebags. When she rounded on him at last in genuine annoyance he padded backward to stand looking up at her. Wind Dancer gave a long thoughtful stare, first at the bags, then at Aisling. The emotion sent then might best be described as a large question mark.

Aisling collapsed on her bed. “I don’t know why I’m so upset,” she told the big cat. Well, in a way she did, she thought as he bounced into her lap and settled down, purring. Her hands slid over the thick plush fur, the motion and feeling calming her as always. Of course she wanted to go home again. Aiskeep called to her. Aiskeep, grandmother, grandfather, Keelan, her brother, old Hannion, the retired master-at-arms, his nephew Harron, who now held the job. Her friends on the Aiskeep garths.

She’d left them all for fear of Kirion and his plots when her elder brother had turned to black sorcery. Three years ago she’d been a bone fought over by two snarling dogs: Kirion, who wanted to leech her power and leave her dead or mindless, and his comrade Ru-art, who wanted her for other reasons but whose destruction of her would have been as sure, if slower.

She’d made an almost lethal trip through the mountains to find sanctuary. Here in Escore she’d found training for her powers. Here she’d found peace, and the learning she’d begun to crave. Wind Dancer, kit to her brother’s cat, Shosho, had accompanied her. And in the end only his determination had brought them alive from the mountains.

A ripple of emotion seared through her. She smiled down and understood. Of course she was torn. She was going back to the place and people she loved most in all the world. But she returned too, to the man she hated and feared most, to face him in sorcerous combat if need be. Joy and fear battled. Most annoying, she had to go, and she resented the geas laid on her. She fought against the order that she must leave her peaceful life to return to strife.