Andre Norton - The Duke's Ballad

He knew as the last words left his mouth that he’d gone too far. He was exhausted from the morning’s work or he wouldn’t have made that slip. Shastro was fanatical about receiving the respect due his rank. Kirion had always been careful to provide it, though in appearance only. He had no genuine respect for either the rank or the man. But it kept the relationship on a smooth basis. Of all the times to lose his temper, he thought as he watched the duke react.

He hastily smoothed his voice, dredging up the last scraps of his power to inflect his tones. “I speak only as others would, my Lord Duke. You yourself in your wisdom once commended me that I spoke always the truth to you.” Shastro hadn’t, but if he believed it was wisdom to have done so, he’d remember it. Shastro was good at changing his memories to suit his self-image. Kirion’s voice became sweetened cream pouring from a jug.

“We must work together, my Lord Duke. You with your rank and power, the many men who look to you for orders. And I who serve you in my own humble way. Get me power sources, and I shall strain every nerve to strike down your enemies. At the least, be the power sufficient, I may be able to spirit you away.” He couldn’t do that, but he could always blame his inability on Shastro’s men by claiming the power needed was greater. It was their fault if they hadn’t found enough sources of the power Kirion required. In truth such a spell was beyond him at present.

He wondered if Shastro could find any of the purer blood.

Kirion was starting to suspect the duke had his own schemes. Kirion’s man amongst the pseudobandits had reported they had a girl from Estcarp they believed a witch. Then silence. Nothing, no word until that Aranskeep pup had reported an attack by bandits. Then he’d produced, to Kirion’s bewilderment, trinkets Shastro had recognized. Since then the duke had eyed his sorcerer oddly. Kirion would have given a lot to be sure in what direction the duke’s thoughts went. And more still to know about the trinkets.

It was true his false-bandit leader had been involved with the death and disappearance of the duke’s kin, but Kirion could not believe the man had been stupid enough to have retained items from the girl. And where had she gone in any case? Could his man have played him false and let her escape? But Kirion would have known. He could swear the fool had been as baffled as he at her vanishment.

Shastro was calming. He moved away, fingering some of the items Kirion had been using. His eyes, if the sorcerer had seen them, would have shown a thoughtful look. The duke had never been quite the fool Kirion assumed. He was weak, pleasure loving, and his darker delights ruled him strongly. Nor was he clever. But he’d survived by cunning over the years until Kirion had aided him to a throne. He glanced at his sorcerer from the corner of one eye. It was almost time he rid himself of this arrogant witch.

Yes, let the army at the gates be driven away, and Kirion could be felled by a silent knife. Choose a time when his powers were exhausted, send in several men with orders to fail at peril of their family’s lives, and Kirion would die. It might even be necessary to do it before the departure of the clans out there. He could claim all the evil deeds done in Kars had been committed by the sorcerer without Shastro’s knowledge. That once the duke realized how he’d been used, he had struck back to preserve his innocent people’s honor.

A singularly nasty smile lit his hidden face for a moment. Franzo was an honorable man. He’d swallow every word. Now, Shastro would leave this dreamer of power and see some further source was found. He turned, a penitent look pasted across his features.

“My dear Kirion, I understand. We are all on edge with this damnable siege. Do you prepare while I order up soldiers for your sweep of the low quarter. Do your best, and I shall accept it gratefully.” He swept out leaving Kirion to eye his departure with speculation.

Shastro never forgot hasty words or an injury. Kirion was being used and he disliked the idea. Maybe it was time the duke stepped down. His lord had been very slightly different toward him ever since that business of the trinkets. Family—they were usually a nuisance in one way or another. Shastro’s hangers-on had been no better: the boy always wanting his cousin to be kinder to his subjects, protesting the usage of those Kirion took to drain.

And the girl was a danger. She’d had too much influence over her cousin. As long as she was about Shastro would take no other woman to wife, and Kirion had it in mind to breed a dynasty. With heirs to Kars’s dukedom Shastro would not be required further. Kirion would continue as lord advisor, consolidate his influence over the heirs until he ruled in all but name. It was better that way. Let his figureheads be targets. He looked after Shastro. He’d failed there. Perhaps it was time to reconsider and select a new duke. The old one could be tossed to the Coast Clan as a sacrifice to deflect their demands for both master and man.

Outside Shastro strode along the passage. He was met by Had-rann, who bowed low. “My dear Lord. I have a confession I must make to you.”

“Come then, sit and drink with me, and I’ll hear it. I’m no priestess but I dare swear my penance would be more welcome.” In better humor Shastro led the way to his rooms. He liked young Had-rann, and the lad’s father had large lands and much power amongst other keep lords. He listened to the tale and nodded indulgently. It fitted well with his new decision. Franzo should see that the duke of Kars had been gravely deceived by his advisor. Undeceived, the duke would put all right.

He leaned forward. “You once knew the commander, you say? He was in some small way a friend of yours? Would you then bear him a message from me?”

Hadrann hid his surprise. “I would, my Lord Duke.”

Shastro finished his glass, poured another, and drank it as he thought. It confused an enemy if you did as he wanted before he asked. Kirion’s scrying had revealed that the clan was preparing an ultimatum. They’d demand the bodies, living or otherwise, of the duke and his advisor to be delivered up to them. They would wreak what they’d consider justice on the two. Then they would aid the city in choosing a new ruler before disbanding.

But if Shastro made the first advance, offering to deliver up the evil sorcerer who’d spelled him into much of what had been done, then Franzo might just accept the claim as truth and be content with Kirion. But Shastro must stall once initial contact had been made. His advisor had genuine power and was a dangerous man. It would take time to prepare an ambush that would not backfire on the duke.

He smiled. “I thank you for your confession, Lord Hadrann. Your penance shall be to bear a message as I have said.” He allowed his mouth to droop in distress. “I fear I may have been gravely deceived by one I trusted. But you I can trust to help me put things right. Be at my private room tonight. I shall have a letter for you and a safe-conduct from the city.” He rose, tossing back the last of his wine. Hadrann stood obediently, understanding that the audience was over.

“At what hour shall I wait on you, my Lord Duke?”

“Midnight.” Shastro’s eyes gleamed in a flickering wicked mirth. “A very suitable time. Until then, go, and speak of this to none.”

“At your command, Lord.”

Hadrann got himself out of the room in haste. He could hardly wait to reach Aisling and Keelan. Something was up, and he’d gotten the impression that it concerned Kirion as well as whatever plot Shastro was hatching. He swept his friends up from a game of fox and geese. His manner was casual, but both felt his urgency and came without discussion. With all safe in the Aranskeep rooms Hadrann checked the corridor. No one in sight. He shut the door and dropped the bar across it.