Andre Norton - Ciara's Song

Trovagh raced away while Tarnoor turned to the trader. “I regret I must leave you so abruptly, but as you have heard, I have something to attend to.”

Tanrae nodded slowly. “How old is the little maid?”

“Ten years all but a week. It was for her name day I purchased some of the wares you offered.”

“Yes, so I surmised. You will not mind if I and my men also aid the search? I have a daughter of that age myself.”

Tarnoor bowed formally. “I would be deeply grateful, trader.”

He hurried from the tent with the trader at his heels calling his men.

Tanrae gave quick instructions. Within minutes the hunt was up. In a small tent among the beast tents Seran snarled. Damn that Aiskeep brat. He’d missed the girl so fast, raised the alarm so quickly, that Seran had no time to get her away. He could kill her. But Tarnoor had enough authority to hold everyone here. There was no telling what he would do if he recognized Seran.

There might be no evidence, but what lord required that if he preferred to ignore it? Seran glared at the struggling bundle beside him. Best he left the damned girl here and slipped away. There’d be another day. One he’d win next time. Thanks be to Cup and Flame she hadn’t seen his face.

He unlaced the tent flap cautiously. Fortunately the hue and cry had not yet reached this end. He thrust the squirming bundle out and laced the flap again. Then he pried up the rear of the tent and crawled beneath. By the time men were walking down this row he would be well away.

He was. Nor could Ciara say who had laid hands on her. It was Tanrae who almost tripped over the trussed girl. His yell brought everyone from Tarnoor to Trovagh running. Tarnoor slashed the cords and a ruffled, frightened, furious child emerged spitting out horsehair. Investigation of the horse blanket used betrayed nothing. Seran had stolen it elsewhere. The rope was ordinary cord used for many things in a market. Nor could any remember selling it in particular or to whom. Tarnoor kept his guesses to himself.

He did have Hanion quietly check about with several of the men. No one could remember seeing Seran or any of the other three of Tylar’s sons. That evening Tarnoor faced the trader over a drink.

“I owe you a debt, trader. I think evil was planned. Your aid made so much more excitement than her taker expected that he chose to leave Ciara and flee.”

Tanrae eyed him shrewdly. “You guess who this was, do you not?”

“Perhaps. But I’ll accuse no man without proof of some kind. It is true there is a family with good reasons to wish the girl gone. But none were seen here. The child herself can say nothing save that she was gripped about the throat from behind, lifted a little, and carried a short distance. She believes the grip on her throat made her faint for a period. When she recovered she was trussed as you found her.”

“What of the tent she lay beside?”

Tarnoor snorted in disgust. “The owner left it laced shut. There’s no sign within that it was used. Although the pegs at the rear are loosened as if someone may have entered that way. No one was seen.”

“He was lucky.”

“Very lucky!” Tarnoor said softly. Tanrae glanced at him. This lord might prefer evidence before he acted, but the trader would not like to be guilty if such evidence were forthcoming. Lord Tarnoor was powerfully muscled. He might be approaching middle-age, but it was clear he’d been a soldier and a fighter. An old sword-cut showed at the top of his left sleeve. The sword at his side was plain with well-worn hilt. Still Tanrae would wager it was a fine blade within the sheath. The lord simply saw no reason to spend on fancy hilts. But the eyes and the lines of Tarnoor’s face told a tale to one who could read.

Tanrae had not been a trader for many years without being able to read such. This man would make a loyal and generous friend—and a very bad enemy. He’d rule kindly, until one of his people crossed what Tarnoor thought essential. The trader nodded to himself, drinking off the last of his wine. Then he fumbled in his purse.

“I brought these for the lass. They’ll go with the gifts you purchased for her.”

Tarnoor looked down at the two small bells. “So they will. That is kind of you, man. Nor do I forget I owe a debt for your quick aid.” He rose, ushering the trader out. A good man that. Canny, but honest. He’d look for the man at other markets. As for the children, he’d assigned Hanion to keep watch. Right now they were busy loading the wains for the trip home. He hid a smile. Hanion was under orders to keep them from the end wagon. Ciara’s name-day gifts would ride in that, transferred there just before they departed Teral.

The ride home was uneventful. Ciara got over her fright easily. Tarnoor had convinced her that the attack had been no more than a mistake, telling a tale he claimed to have heard in the market of a girl who had run from her home. He made it convincing. Ciara believed, but Hanion knew better.

“You think it to have been that Seran, my lord? I could make inquiries. If he was from home it is likely someone will mention it if asked the right way.”

“That proves naught, unfortunately. But listen for word of him. You’ve kept one eye on the man, now keep both. I would know where he goes and what he does at all times so far as is possible. He’s a soured, dangerous enemy, and I think we’ll hear more of him.”

“Why not simply have him killed?”

Tarnoor grinned. “You barbarian! It’s a thought. But there’s more to consider. Sersgarth boasts four sons and two daughters. Already the next generation arrive. If I have Seran murdered, be sure they’d think it to have been at my word. After that there’d be blood feud. It would take a massacre to prevent that.”

“What do you think he planned for the child, Lord?”

“Me? I think the stream runs deep there. A few minutes longer without hue and cry and Ciara could have been at the edge. Thanks be to the Powers and the trader that time was not granted.”

“Then why not another accident, Lord? I’m sure Seran is sometimes drunk. How easy it is for a man in drink to fall.”

“Perhaps. I’ll think on it. Now—to work.”

A few days later it was Ciara’s name day. Elanor was thankful for that. Keeping the girl’s gifts hid had required more work than preparing the feast. But it had all been worth it. The beautifully made box was carried in, ribbon bedecked and mysterious. Ciara took it. Her gaze fell on one end where strange holes decorated the side in a pattern. Each was a thumb joint wide and from one issued forth something slim and furry.

“What is it?” Her finger reached out hesitantly to touch. “Uncle Nethyn, what is it?”

“Try opening the box, sweetheart.”

Gently Ciara unwound the ribbons. The lid was lifted and two small faces peered back at her. Then a small pink mouth opened. It meowed plaintively. The other promptly followed suit. Whatever they were they seemed to offer no danger.

Ciara reached in to lift one. It clung with small claws, purring vigorously. She lifted the other and stood cuddling them as they snuggled into her.

“What are they?”

“Cats, my dear. Well, kittens yet. I purchased them from Trader Tanrae. The Sulcar often carry them on the larger family ships to keep down rats or mice. We see them seldom here in the South but they are valiant hunters. Worthy beasts to have the freedom of a Keep.” To the listening Elanor he added quietly, “They will also be useful for trade in a year or two. I paid high. They are from different litters and should breed well. Once there are sufficient kits I can sell them to other Keeps hereabouts. If war comes they will be worth their weight in gold against vermin in the barns and storehouses.” Elanor watched the children each cuddling a happily purring kitten and smiled to herself. All that was true, but she suspected it had been thought up after the purchase. Tarnoor was kinder and more generous than he permitted most to know.