Andre Norton - The Duke's Ballad

Shastro stood. He reached up to take a pendant from about his neck and replace it on the chain with the knife, dropping it into his tunic with an air of finality. He smoothed his face. No sign must there be of what he knew. Kirion saw too much if a man was careless. Shastro did not intend to be careless. He would lead his sorcerer on, use him, drain all the power the man could summon up, then strike.

He found Kirion working a spell and interrupted without ceremony. “I want something done.” Kirion bowed silently, but a newly alert duke saw the quick flare of anger. Yes, his advisor did not like taking orders. Had that been contempt mixed with the rage? Shastro drew himself up. “You are to scry Franzo’s army. I want him watched whenever he is in conference with his captains.”

“That will take power.”

“What else is power for?” He softened his tone. “Besides. I may have a gift for my most useful sorcerer. A spy has bought me word that there is a whole family with the Old Blood hidden somewhere in the city. He is closing in on them. Six, maybe more, but six at the least. All half bloods. He says the parents are both that, and hence all four of their children. The city is closed; they cannot escape. What could you do with all of that power at your command!”

Kirion turned to hide his face. What could he not do? Rid himself of this arrogant fool for a start. Raise a duke who’d hang on Kirion’s every word. And win a war with Estcarp to give him an endless supply of victims to drain until his power could open gates, tear down the sky, and—He turned back avidly.

“At your command, my Lord. No word from Franzo shall escape me. But let it be soon that this family is found. It will take all the power I can leech from those we have now to overhear Franzo for any great length of time.”

“You shall have them as soon as possible, my dear advisor.” He swept out smiling to himself. Once the dungeons were empty he’d claim that the family had been taken, on the way. He’d arrange as-sassins then. That would drain any power Kirion was withholding. With his sorcerer powerless, Shastro would take great pleasure in cutting his heart out with Sharna’s own small knife.

Behind him Kirion had a blank look as he thought furiously. Shastro was up to something, but what? This family. If he had them in his hands he’d have all the power he needed. He’d do as the duke demanded until then. After that Shastro could beware.

Varnar entered and Kirion smiled at him. His hands rose to weave hypnotically. He’d see what Franzo and his army planned, but for now he’d ready this tool. It would amuse him afterward. He spoke in a quiet, compelling rhythm. Varnar sat, his eyes becoming blank as he saw his family: his adored wife, his beloved daughter. How he missed them. He’d be with them in his master’s home outside Kars if it were not for this siege. Kirion laughed soundlessly at the entranced dreaming figure.

He’d taken the fool from the low quarter. A man so ugly, so scarred that no woman had ever looked at him beyond a commercial transaction. Kirion had first drugged the man in wine offered a good servant, then started to insert the dreams.

Now Varnar believed in the lie his master had created. Kirion had made him straight, strong, and handsome. Only the strength was true. Out of Varnar’s dreams Kirion had created a family. They were an idealized portrait that had never existed: the adoring wife, the lovely gentle loving little daughter. Neither had ever existed.

The dreams had become the man’s reality, and soon Kirion would end the dreams. He’d show Varnar the truth and drink in the man’s utter despair. Varnar would die of grief for phantoms. Kirion would drain the pain and use it. He’d slash away the picture the man had of himself and allow Varnar to see his real shape, that of a man ugly beyond redemption. He smiled. It would be so much fun. But for now he must do as Shastro wished. He drew on his stored stolen power and scried. How interesting. Franzo was talking to that pup of the duke’s. The one with the plain, stupid cousin. He drew more power and settled to listen.

Aisling was talking with Shastro when she felt the tingle of magic. She had spelled bracelets, given one each to her brother and friend. The signal was different. It would warn if Kirion listened alone or if the duke was with him. Hadrann felt the prick of warning and switched smoothly to another tack. He’d been speaking of the city. Now he spoke of the duke, praising him.

“My Lord Duke feels he was grievously misled. He listened to one who was unwise, perhaps even deliberately so. Perhaps if your terms could be adjusted there might be agreement. After all, you would have no wish to punish the innocent?”

Franzo was slightly puzzled but agreed. Hadrann continued in this vein until the sharp tingling faded from his arm. Then he resumed the original discussion.

In Kars a furious Kirion sagged back. Damn. He’d lost focus. He called for Varnar and gave orders.

As the days slipped by the last of the scourings from the low quarter filed in one by one to be used up. Kirion chanted, drew power, and had the lifeless remains removed.

He focused again on Franzo’s camp. Now that was interesting. The man was sending out soldiers. Kirion split his attention trying both to hear the orders given and follow the first troop as they left. It drained his power slowly over several weeks so that by the time he found that one troop was merely on a run to collect supplies and that Franzo’s orders for the other were to ride about the walls on watch to ensure no spies slipped out, he was drained.

Midwinter came and went, and spring would sweep over Karsten in another few weeks. The city was desperate. Of those outside the palace, only Aisling and her comrades and servants had enough to eat. Twice the guards had been forced to beat off thieves who had succeeded in scaling the wall after food. The yearling lambs were eaten. The hens too long since, and only one pair of geese remained. Grain and hay were rationed; the horses grew thin. If the siege held much longer they would be food for the guards and Amara. Only Wind Dancer did well. The rats and mice were bolder and more careless.

Shastro had his own spies. He knew the dungeons had emptied. He must see to it that Kirion needed more power. He spoke quietly to men, one by one. They departed. In his tower Kirion summoned Varnar. It was time to use this fool. He must know what was being planned behind his back by his duke and the commander of the besieging army. He could draw on no more prisoners; it must be Varnar’s pain and grief that fueled a final scrying. He could afford to spend the man. Soon Shastro would find the hidden Old Blood family and bring him power to spare.

On the rented estate Aisling jerked from her seat as the geas bit at her. “Keelan, we have to go to the palace.”

“What about Rann?”

“He took another letter to Franzo. He’ll go back to give a reply to the duke first. Wait for him near the duke’s rooms then come to our suite.”

They left, riding swiftly. In Aisling’s carrysack Wind Dancer rode with them. He’d flatly refused to be left behind. With cat senses he knew that he too was a part of this. He’d be needed. In time, Hadrann was able to leave a preoccupied duke and join them. Aisling laid out her scrying tools, slipped into her pendant’s silver mists and waited patiently.

Over-mountain Hilarion felt a shift in the lines of power. A geas moved to conclusion. For success or failure he did not yet know, but he would know soon enough. In the Valley of the Green Silences those who’d known a girl, prayed for her. Prayed too that war from their cousins in another land might be averted. The lines of power firmed. It was time.