Andre Norton - The Duke's Ballad

The other two kept silence, but their attention sharpened. “Sit,” Hadrann ordered softly. “Aisling, have Wind Dancer listen for any spy within the walls, we want no listeners for this.”

He saw her gaze turn to Wind Dancer. The cat’s head came up, and his attention focused on the wall behind which the secret passage ran.

Aisling nodded. “All’s clear so far. He will alert me if he hears anyone approaching.”

“Good. Now, as you know I was to attend Shastro as soon as possible to tell him of the escape of those we aided. He had something else on his mind. He took my confession as if I’d mentioned that I like grapes. Then all of a sudden it was as if I’d brought him a gift. Listen, this is what he said.”

He recounted the conversation, carefully watching their faces. Keelan was frowning as he considered the words. Aisling was serene, but Hadrann knew under that serenity her mind would be checking, adding, measuring intent, and making leaps of intuition based on her understanding of her brother and the duke. She was so sensible, so wise, so… Hadrann’s mind made its own leap. So sweet, and he loved her. He’d always loved her, he suddenly realized. From the day they met.

He’d have her to wife or die unwed. He forced the realization from his mind. Now was not the time to speak of it or even to think on it too much. They had deadly plans to carry out. They might not survive them, nor would Aisling be pleased to be distracted. He crushed the ache in his heart as he looked at her. She must not fail, nor must she die. His body between her and death, his love a shield. He forced back his thoughts and concentrated on the raging discussion again.

“For Gunnora’s sake, Aisling. We can’t know, I agree. But it sounds to me as if Shastro might be going to surrender.”

Aisling snorted vigorously. “Shastro? His idea of surrender is to offer someone else—” She broke off, and they stared at one another. Aisling spoke in a small voice. “Someone else, yes. Like his sorcerer. His dear advisor, who could be blamed for everything.”

Hadrann picked that up. “I told him how kindly Franzo had received those who fled. He started wondering perhaps if Franzo would believe that Shastro had been fooled. But why now?”

“Because,” Aisling said slowly, “I could feel the Dark power being used last night. Maybe Kirion was scrying the army’s plans. What if those plans included a demand to be made very soon? Wouldn’t it be good to preempt that. To make first another offer?” She looked at them. “But we don’t have to sit about wondering. If we have everything prepared, if Hadrann moves fast, we can read the letter before it leaves with him for the camp.”

“A risk,” Keelan commented.

“No, I can shield the power use, and the power needed to read a short letter without unsealing the envelope isn’t great. However it’s a delicate spell, and not something I can use more than once or twice without either exhausting myself or risking Kirion’s picking up the emanations.”

The men looked at each other then back at Aisling. “Get everything ready,” Hadrann said at last. “I’ll bring the letter back as soon as I have it but to the Aiskeep rooms, not here. If Shastro has that reported and questions me I’ll say I asked to borrow Keelan’s mount for a ride in the city. Mine is lame.”

“I regret the necessity, but he will be after Aisling has paid him a visit. She’ll mention it to me over dinner.”

Aisling nodded. “I can plait a hinder cord. I’ll leave it on while I fuss with my own beast. Then have your beast led out into the street to be trotted up and down. All shall see he’s lame. I’ll give orders for him to be treated, remove the cord, and he will be well again by tomorrow. But if any of Shastro’s spies come asking, there’ll have been a lot of witnesses.”

“And I shall go down to see for myself after the meal. I’ll hear some of them, agree I can’t use the horse, and seek Keelan.”

“Who won’t be found until after you have Shastro’s letter,” Keelan added cheerfully.

The plan, as plans occasionally do, worked out. A quarter can-dlemark after midnight Hadrann was watching Aisling as she held the letter in slender hands. Her eyes were blanked as she concentrated. The scent of herbs caressed the room. Power tingled gently. Then she began to speak. It was a brief letter, the words of a man feeling his way cautiously, but the intent, the approach was clear.

Shastro was gravely distressed. After the last aborted siege he had been bothered by a feeling that the clan might have honest grievances. He had begun inquiries. He’d been forced to move secretly since the man he suspected was his friend, his trusted advisor, and had power of his own. But at last it seemed that he was finding out unwelcome truths. He had been deceived, tricked, and used. Evil deeds of which he’d known nothing had been done in his name.

Did Franzo wonder, the letter continued, that the clan had been denied justice? A duke relied on those about him. If Shastro had erred, if death and sorrow had been brought down upon the clan it had not been his doing but the scheming of another who would take power once the duke was deposed. It had all been a monstrous plot against them both. They were to destroy each other, and the plotter would take power in the ruins.

The letter was couched in obscurities. It never spoke clearly or named the one suspected. It did not have to. Those listening understood every word as would the man to whom it was addressed. He might even believe it. The three knew better, and did not. Aisling let the letter fall from her hands. She lay back against Keelan’s arm. Hadrann stopped to pick up the still-sealed note.

“I’ll likely be two or three candlemarks. Sleep a little if you can. I’ll come here when I return.”

Keelan was assisting his sister to stand. “No, better we go to the house. Meet us there once you’ve returned and attended the duke.”

“Very well.” He took Aisling’s hand in his own and held it briefly. Her gaze rose to his. “Take care, cousin,” he said. His voice harsh from the emotion he was suppressing. “I would not wish to see you in danger.”

Aisling looked into his eyes. Without intent her mind reached out to sense the emotions he was so clearly feeling. Not fear for himself, not anger at Shastro’s lies. No, his mind held only warmth, love, desire, and a terrible fear for her. That they should die and never have time to touch.

She spoke then, not from the surface of her mind, which was wrenched with surprise that he should feel as she did, but from the deeper instincts that rose to her need.

“By Cup and Flame go you forth. By Cup and Flame come you back. Fire’s heat hold you safe. Wine give you strength to return. And until you lay hand in mine once more I hold Cup and Flame in my heart.”

It was the ancient oath, given to a warrior as he rode on a quest. It meant love and remembrance no matter how long he should be gone. In a few of the older keeps there were shrines to a warrior who had rid-den away and never returned. Given by a woman unwed and free, it was an oath of another kind. Love and remembrance, yes, but also a promise that if the warrior returned he would be a welcomed suitor.

Hadrann heard it with incredulous joy. His hand closed with crushing force on Aisling’s ringers enveloped in his. He said nothing, but his eyes held hers, half in fear, half in wild hope. She gave him a small comradely grin and nodded. He said nothing, released her, took up his cloak, and left. But the grin he now wore threatened the stability of his ears. Behind him Aisling massaged her ill-treated fingers. Keelan laid an arm about her shoulder.

“I would like another brother, and you’ve chosen me the best I could ever have, dear sister. But ‘cousin Murna’ will have to walk wary.”