Andre Norton - The Duke's Ballad

In the quiet room, Hadrann lifted Aisling to her feet and held her as she leaned back against him. His voice was gentle.

“In the end Shastro died well. Let him have his tomb and his kin.” His arms closed around her. He could afford to be generous. He’d known that in some ways she’d been drawn to the duke. In her there was a need to heal. He knew, for the sake of Karsten, she’d have considered wedding Shastro if the duke had ever asked. Thanks be that he was dead. And greater thanks that Aisling had not been forced to cause that death. The duke had died well enough for Hadrann to praise him honestly.

He drew her away from the bodies. She came alive again, falling to her knees to hug Wind Dancer. “Mighty warrior. That was a battle you waged. I boast the best sword brother one could have.”

Wind Dancer purred thunderously, thrusting his head against her stroking hands. Of course he’d fought well and valiantly; no one should harm his human while he stood by. He marched over to the duke and considered. But the man had liked cats, no human like that was all evil. He purred again and looked up at Aisling. His paw came out to pat gently at the duke’s pallid cheek. Hadrann chuckled.

“That’s that, sister dear. Kirion goes out with the garbage; Shas-tro gets honorable burial. The cat has spoken.” Wind Dancer looked reproving. It was true, but he wasn’t sure he liked Hadrann’s tone. Aisling smiled.

“That’s one thing to say, another to do. Rann, you’ll have to talk to your friend.” She touched her pendant. “The guards will have heard nothing through that heavy door. They won’t enter if we forbid them in the duke and Kirion’s names. We can say that the two of them are deep in discussion about Franzo’s army and what to do.” She darted to a table where small parchments and quills lay. “Kee, Shastro’s already signed these passes. Where’s his seal?”

“On his finger, I think.” At her nod he investigated and returned with it. The pass to permit passage through the Kars gate was completed with their names, the seal impressed into the hot wax. Had-rann picked it up carefully.

“Stay here, Kee. Aisling and I will go and tell Franzo the news. She can make the guards open the gates if we have to do it that way. We should be back with Franzo and a few of his men as witnesses within the hour.” He gave Aisling his arm, then impulsively pulled her hard against him. “As for you, my lady warrior. You owe me the oath of Cup and Flame. When all is done here I shall hold you to that.”

Aisling grinned up at him, two years of comradeship and love in that gaze. “As you say, so shall it be. But first we must tell my grandmother.”

Franzo came back with them, cloaked, with ten of his best fight-ers riding unobtrusively around him. Gold had persuaded the gate warden to open the gates for Hadrann and Aisling to leave. That and the signed and sealed pass from the duke and the warden’s knowledge that this noble was in the duke’s favor and a regular messenger. Hadrann and Aisling had ridden out quietly. The city was often in darkness these days, the streets mostly empty of people save for those with particular business, and the wise among them went in groups or with guards.

Lamp oil and candles were too expensive to waste, and if you stayed in your bed, hunger didn’t bite quite so deep. Even without fuel for a fire you might not freeze to death. There’d been many deaths of that kind as winter wore on, most in the low quarter. Other deaths had often followed, as the besieged of Kars suffered in despair. The guards too stayed inside their warmer barracks as much as possible these days.

Small groups of low-quarter dwellers could attack a home safely if it was not well guarded, the alarm was not given, or, if it was, if they moved swiftly enough. If the attack was unheard, the only sign would be a door standing open when morning arrived. After that some in the low quarter might have food and fuel enough to survive a week longer. Such attacks were one reason some low-quarter resi-dents moved in groups. The other was that too many lone walkers had vanished since the siege began to bite down.

Shastro had given up trying to prevent such attacks. Another assault on the low quarter a month after the first had resulted in the retreat of his guards after much skirmishing with little effect. After that he’d settled for peace in the streets, a few hangings, and a lot of nagging at Kirion. To soothe his annoyance at the lack of effectiveness of these measures he’d drunk more and ignored any pleas for aid from the merchant quarter.

Franzo arrived at the gates, his men about him. Hadrann led with Aisling riding at his shoulder. The gate guard grunted at the pass, accepting a coin eagerly. Aisling had unobtrusively settled a “do not notice them” spell about Franzo and his men as they rode toward the gates. Along with the forged pass it served, and the gates swung open. In Kirion’s tower the bemused guards stood aside. They were suspicious, but Hadrann had come and gone often.

He made his voice stern, confident. “Let us pass. The duke requires to talk with this man.”

The guard eyed him. “I’d like to see a face. Who is he?”

Hadrann snorted. “If the duke wanted all the world to know who he summons, this one wouldn’t be cloaked, would he? Let us pass. Or do I mention that we were delayed by some fool who countermanded his duke’s orders?” The last man who’d done that had been given to Kirion, who’d made an example of him with glee. The guard hastily stood aside.

Hadrann knocked, Keelan opened the door and sniffed. “You’ve taken long enough. His Grace is becoming annoyed. Come in quickly.” He looked at the guards. “Get about your business.”

They stepped back, stiffening into line, eyes frightened. Franzo, still cloaked, entered, followed them to the main room, and stood gazing down on the man who had wronged him. Then he moved to stare down at the dead sorcerer.

“Which of them was responsible?”

“Both,” Aisling said in a soft sigh. “If you give power to a man who has never had responsibility, never been taught that he owes a duty to those he rules even as they owe a duty to him, then you have a ruler who takes what he will and thinks that he is the law. But if a dog pisses upon the carpets and bites whoever seeks to stop it, who is to blame?”

“The owner,” Franzo said sharply. “That he has not trained the beast to know better.”

“Then of these two, the sorcerer was responsible. Whatever Shastro desired, Kirion gave him. He did not teach the man he raised how to rule. Was that man then evil because he thought that as duke all was his and his desires alone were law?”

Franzo eyed her shrewdly. “You are trying to persuade me the duke was more puppet than ruler. Why?”

“I swore to him that he would lie in the Ruler’s Tomb. And that his cousins, whom he loved and Kirion murdered, would lie with him there. Hadrann knows where they were buried. We wish to see that they do lie with Shastro as I promised.”

Franzo looked down at the bodies and shrugged. “If that’s your only request I see no reason to refuse it. He was duke. It sets a bad example to the people if they see a ruler’s body ill treated.” He looked at her. “And you did say that at the end it was he who killed the sorcerer?”

Remembering that tiny flashing blade she nodded. “Well enough, then. Let him have his tomb and companions. But we’re going to need another duke.” His back straightened, “And despite what my clan may think, it isn’t going to be me!”

Hadrann grinned wearily. “I said to Aisling you wouldn’t like the idea, but we do have a candidate. Lord Jam of Trevalyn keep on the Estcarp border. He’s Geavon’s grandnephew and well trained in what responsibility and duty mean. Jam’s oldest son is of an age to take over keep rule, but Jam should have enough years in him bar-ring enemies to care for Kars another thirty years at least—long enough for the land to settle into a solid peace.”