Andre Norton: The Duke's Ballad

The two men had wriggled to a half-sitting position against each other, and as Aisling and Rann arrived, one had been attempting to chew the bonds. They flinched as Wind Dancer padded forward to smell them. He looked back at Aisling, his nose wrinkling in disgust. She chuckled.

“You might get free that way, but not for a month or so. Better you answer my questions. I might then let you go in a shorter time.” She eyed them thoughtfully. “Kirion sent you.” Her voice was flat. It had to be.

The older of the pair jerked in disbelief. “How—?”

“Did I know?” She wasn’t going to mention that Wind Dancer had smelled Kirion’s scent on the smaller, younger man and had sent her a picture. “Ah, but I know many things. And,” her tone shifted to signal danger, “I shall know more. You will tell me. I already know who sent you hunting. You were sent to find me and take me prisoner. Kirion said you were not to lay hands on me on pain of death. I was to be brought to him untouched and undamaged, wasn’t I?” He stared up sullenly. “You know all, Lady. Why ask us then?”

“I know, but I’ll hear it from you, all of it. To begin with, who are you two and why would you obey such an order?” Magic should not frighten Rann. He wouldn’t be working with Hilarion if it did.

She gestured at the older man, her fingers leaving a faint trace of silver as they traced the painless spell. “Talk to me, now! ”

His eyes glazed as the spell struck home, and he talked in a gush of words. She questioned him, Hadrann putting in a query now and again. When they were done Aisling stared at her captives feeling sick. What was it about her country that bred men like this? She felt fouled just being here close to them. From the corner of her eye she noticed that her companion was looking similarly sickened. Aranskeep at least did not indulge in such activities. Or did it? Could she be sure?

She shook her head slowly. There was no vice in Rann’s face, only disgust at what he’d heard. From far back in her memory a small bell rang: something about Aranskeep. It would wait. She stared at the bound pair. To release them was to send word to Kirion that she’d arrived. They’d go back to him, tell him everything, endanger Rann as well. And how many other captives would they drag to Kirion’s tower for him? They must die, for the sake of her mission. She’d talked to Hilarion about this kind of decision.

There are times when even the Light must make hard choices, he’d told her. Was this one of those times? But Rann, watching and listening, had seen the problem too. He moved away, circled casually. He drew his dagger and quietly, without the captives seeing him approach, moved behind them. The keen blade slashed twice.

Aisling vomited. She couldn’t help it. Wind Dancer ran to her, pushing his head against her hands in comfort. Aisling had ridden with scouts and helped to battle the Dark, but that had been straightforward: her life or theirs, and her blood had run hot. This was butchery, and she loathed it. Hadrann knew that of me, she thought. He acted so that I did not have to. She turned, steadying her voice, smoothing her face. One hand was buried in Wind Dancer’s warm thick fur.

“Thank you. And forgive me my weakness.” She smiled wryly.

“As some faint or may have noses that bleed at a touch, so I have a stomach that heaves easily.” She hid a smile as she remembered; it had saved her once. Ruart had not appreciated the event. She looked at Hadrann kindly. “I know it had to be done. It was kind of you to save me the doing.”

He looked up from where he was checking the bodies. “Thank me not. It was necessary, yes, but I regret that it also pleased me a little. They tortured my friend before me. Broke him to betrayal. Then they murdered Brovar and laughed.” He produced a pouch of coins and several items of jewelry. “Ah ha. Well, some of that they stole from us. The rest no doubt was payment for your swift return to this Kirion.”

He broke off looking thoughtful. “Kirion? That wouldn’t be the slimy little toad who encourages our lord duke in all his excesses, would it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Kirion of Aiskeep, heir to Lord Trovagh.”

“Well, of Aiskeep yes, but it’s Keelan who’s heir. That’s part of the trouble. Lord Trovagh disinherited Kirion, and it wasn’t a decision that pleased the… er… slimy little toad.”

Rann grinned widely. “I’d bet it didn’t. And I presume that being disinherited meant that Kirion wasn’t getting an heir’s allowance from Aiskeep either?”

Aisling nodded. Trovagh would not leave his ex-heir penniless, but he’d left him an amount that was only enough for a farmer’s son in Kars. Kirion wouldn’t have starved, but merely not starving wasn’t what her brother had in mind. He wanted to live richly, in comfort and with influence. A man didn’t do any of that on a few silvers a month. Kirion didn’t need to. By pandering to the duke he’d been granted a keep, a tower in the palace, and a ducal allowance fit to keep Kirion in the luxury he believed his due.

She said so. “And if he had to do a few things for Shastro he wouldn’t mind. He’d enjoy doing them and watching how the court feared him.”

“I saw that the few times I was there,” Rann said slowly. As they talked, he dragged the bodies toward a small deep hollow, bringing rocks to the edge of that to pile over the bodies. His gaze turned to her. “But these men were sent to trick you. They’d have captured you and taken you to Kirion’s tower. Why? You’re kin. Would he harm a kinswoman?”

Aisling snorted. “He’d harm his grandfather, his brother, or the gods themselves if it would buy him what he wanted. Shastro should beware. To Kirion he’s just a useful tool. The day he stops being useful Kirion won’t lift a finger to help him.”

“But why you?” His expression was suddenly horrified. “He isn’t, he doesn’t…”

Aisling smiled bitterly. “No, he doesn’t desire me. It’s my abilities he has in mind. From what I already know—and his man confirmed—Kirion’s found even better ways to leech power from any who have not the wards or power to prevent such a theft.”

“But that’s black sorcery. The duke, he can’t know.”

“He knows,” Aisling said harshly. “Or what’s more likely, he guesses and doesn’t want to know. Then if he must turn on Kirion, he can always claim horrified ignorance.” She had checked the dead men’s packs. Lashed to one had been a small folding shovel, the kind often used in Karsten to dig a safe fire pit for a man on the road in wild country. Aisling looked about and considered her next move.

If she took earth from that patch of brush she could cover the raw soil with leaves. She pointed mutely to a hollow. Rann began to dig at the bottom of it, leaving Aisling to carry the earth away in an emptied pack belonging to one of the dead men. He curled the bodies down into the hollow. Over them he placed their bedding, tucking it in well. With the earth and rocks over them, it might keep scavengers from the bodies for a while. The longer the better, in case Kirion sent others in this direction.

With the earth and rocks replaced over the bodies, Aisling stood and straightened her aching back. She glanced at her companion as he brought dry leaves to scatter above the now level area. It was well done. To the passerby there were no obvious signs that here lay a grave. She picked up the money pouches and ran her fingers over them lightly, her mind open. No, there was no tracker placed on anything. Interesting. From what she knew of her brother he wasn’t one to assume anything.

Wind Dancer had moved to stand on the grave and was continuing to sniff about curiously. Aisling received nothing from him until he turned to look up. There was something odd about them. Something she should investigate perhaps. She walked to stand by the grave. Her hands rose, then they lowered again as she nodded. Rann’s eyebrows went up in question.