Andre Norton - The Duke's Ballad

Several hours later Wind Dancer returned. His collar still bore a sealed letter, this time addressed to Hadrann. Franzo had responded with generosity and sense. He offered an escort, a wagon to carry the weary, the old, and the very young. Safe passage to neutral keeps for all women and children trusted to his honor. He ended the note with his name and titles in full.

Hadrann read them out slowly, his lips stretching into the first genuine smile in days. “He’s sworn to carry out his offer. With that full signing he’s staking his own and his family’s name that all will be carried out as he’s said. Any soldier who lays a hand on a woman or child does it as to Franzo himself. And he wouldn’t take at all kindly to it.” He looked up. “Aisling. Go and ask Lady Varra to attend us. I want her to read this for herself.”

The lady came, read, and pronounced herself satisfied. “I know that boy. Not terribly bright but honest. If he swears to something, he’d rather die than fail. And he’s decent. He’d hold his men back from sacking Kars as far as possible, but he knows that may not be far if the fool who names himself duke holds on beyond what is sense.”

Her mouth set grimly. “And he will. Him and that Gunnora-cursed sorcerer. They’ll ruin us all and never understand how it happened.”

She rose, winced, and swore. “Thrice damned joint ills. It’s sad to be old. Never live past your children. Not that any of mine had the sense the gods gave hens, and their offspring aren’t much brighter. But I’ll get them and their children away.” She grimaced. “Not that I fancy being lowered down any walls, but if I’m the first down the others won’t be so afraid to join me.” She looked at them, a sudden bitter humor gleaming in her eyes.

“Don’t think you’ve pulled any blindfolds over my sight, the three of you. I know there’s something else going on. But I have the feeling I’d approve if I knew what, so I’ll let it be. I’ll have everyone here and ready to leave once the revels become rowdy tomorrow night. I’ll order the children to bed after an early meal so they’ll have slept well by the time we must wake them to go.”

She stumped to the door and turned to look at them. “Watch out for Shastro once he finds we’re gone. He’s always been one to act before he thinks. My advice is to go and tell him the next morning what you’ve done. Say you did it to help him and make him believe it. Mention how much less food he’ll be using now. Tell him it was all my idea if you wish. He’d find that likely.” She gave them an evil grin and departed.

The hours slipped by. All spent the day at their rented estate, asleep in various beds. Wind Dancer cuddled beside Aisling. He could feel the emotions that roiled within her and he knew the feel of his fur against her skin was comfort. The three humans rose and attended the duke’s usual lavish evening meal. The waste of food angered Aisling, and she was dull company when Shastro sought her out. Aisling took the opportunity after that to slip away, as the after-meal dancing became boisterous. She was joined in the Aranskeep suite by a steady trickle of nervous women and excited children. Hadrann and Aisling’s brother arrived after midnight.

“Kee? Did anyone notice you leaving?”

Her brother snorted. “Notice. Most of them wouldn’t notice if I walked in naked. Shastro’s blind drunk in a corner with his latest le-man. She’s throwing him walnuts, and he’s trying to catch them in his teeth. Kirion left before we did. The rest of them are cross-eyed with drink or so stuffed with food they’ve gone to sleep in their seats. Let’s get this started.” He dug into a corner chest to produce knotted ropes. Aisling took one rope, fastening it securely. The other ropes the two men were busily tying to the corners of a leather sling.

Lady Varra plodded forward. “Right. Gently now. My old bones don’t like bumps.” She turned to look at the apprehensive group behind her. “You lot come after me. Don’t waste time. Any silly fool who decides to stay after all, I daresay these good people won’t throw them out after us. But if the siege breaks the city, she’d be better off being thrown through a window. Soldiers play longer games.” She indicated three children to the fore. “You three come as soon as I’m on the ground.”

She arrived swiftly below, lurched from the sling, and raised an arm. At once three children, great-grandsons and a granddaughter, were climbing nimbly down the knotted rope to join her. She laid her arms over their shoulders and peered about. A man approached and bowed. She spoke so quietly that none about could make out the words until he looked up and moonlight lit his face. The old woman nodded to him and signaled with the wide arm sweep that meant all was well and the others should join her.

Above them, Hadrann allowed a small smile to linger. That was Franzo. The commander himself had come to make sure his honor was not besmirched.

By ones and twos they lowered those waiting. Some whimpered in fear, but none changed their minds. When at last they were done almost two hours had passed and over fifty women and children were crowded below. Hadrann looked down. Then in a clear em-phatic movement he cast off the ropes to land in a tangle below. He knew Franzo would understand. Any others who came down would not be doing so with Hadrann’s blessing. It was also a warning that others might.

Hadrann watched as below the women and children were formed into an orderly group. He leaned out of the window, allowing the moonlight in turn to reveal his face. Franzo looked up. His arm rose in a slow salute, then he turned to take the old lady’s arm. Slowly, with respect and care, the commander of the Coast Clan Army conducted the refugees to safety.

He’d ridden as a soldier or a mercenary for half his life. Now he rode as war commander for his clan. He’d seen war, seen the awful aftermath of sieges, and knew both the horrors and the long-festering hatreds that could stem from them. Kars would fall or surrender those the clan wanted. They would give the ultimatum soon. He would do what he must and as the clan commanded, but here and now he could save some innocents from the city’s death if that went as he expected. For a soldier, it was much better than nothing.

In a small room off the ducal suite Shastro faced his sorcerer. His face was twisted in fear and rage, his eyes determined. Kirion had scried. The results had not been good, even less so when he drained the last power from a captive and used the results to push for a reading on the besieger’s terms. The duke had heard them with terror, and fear in Shastro always became rage. The greater the fear the hotter the fury burned. Now he faced Kirion and shouted.

“Do it again. You must have got it wrong.”

Kirion was cold. His wagon was hitched to a fading star, and he was wondering how he could disengage. “I am unable to do so. It required great power and the power supply is… gone.” He looked down and prodded the body with a casual foot.

“I’ll get you more then. I’ll order my men out into the low quarter. You can direct the sweep, take as many of the Old Blood as you like and can find, but get rid of that clan.”

“I’m not a miracle worker,” Kirion snapped. “I can’t just wave my hands and make an army evaporate. It takes work and power to do anything at all. I’m learning all the time; I can do things I could not manage months ago. The power is getting harder to find though. And without huge amounts I can’t do more than harass that bunch across our gates. If your useless lot had found me real power, some-one of the almost pure blood. Or got over-mountain into Estcarp and brought me back a witch.”

His tones became exasperated. “It’s like pulling a wagon, Shastro. You yourself can’t haul one even loaded lightly. It takes a horse. More load, more horses. I need power to haul the load you demand.” He eyed his red-faced sweating Lord. A slight sneer colored his voice. “And it’s no use shouting at me either just because you’re scared. This is a realm where being a duke gains you nothing.”