Andre Norton - Ciara's Song

“Why?”

“Because I’ve changed my mind I told you. She’s too good for the games you play, Kirion. I’m not wasting a girl like this on a lot of chanting and spell-casting. You can have her afterward.”

Aisling had glanced about the room in intervals between her misery. Two bodies lay twisted to one side, wineglasses beside them on the floor. The two who’d stolen her, she presumed, paid off in a more permanent way than they’d expected.

It was Kirion in the doorway. His face bland but the beginnings of dangerous anger in his eyes. Ruart should be careful.

He might think himself safe in his own home, but not for long if he crossed Kirion.

She heard Ruart raise his voice. He’d moved over by the door to join her brother.

“ No . That’s my word on it. You can have her once I’m tired of the girl. D’you think I paid out for weeks just to watch you draw circles on a pavement? I want her first.”

Aisling understood enough of that to turn her cold. Kirion was dabbling in real sorcery. It wasn’t anything she’d disbelieve of him, but it made her feel like a mouse between two cats. Of course lie wanted her untouched.

She felt sick again. She darted a glance about the room. No way out save past the two still arguing. She was badly cramped from the ropes and long journey. Her stomach rebelled whenever she moved, but she must try to find something to help her escape.

She was unable to reach out to the table near her without being noticed. But she knew from experience that people often dropped things down the backs of this new kind of seat. The wife to Geavon’s grandson had a set of them. Astia had asked Aisling only a few days ago to help search down the upholstered back for a lost needle. She’d found it by running the point painfully into a finger. And before that they’d also discovered two walnuts and a gaming counter.

Her fingers twisted downward, being careful not to let them see her moving., Her hand scrabbled slowly along the edges of the upholstery. Ah, no, it was only a coin. Still it might be of use in some way she thought. She moved her hand up to drop it into her boot top. Another coin and then a third.

Then her questing fingers touched something else. It was long, perhaps the length of her hand. Narrow, thin, pliable. At first she could not guess what it might be, then she managed a look down from the corner of her eye.

She knew now. Yes, that really might be of use. She might be able to sharpen it on stone if she was ever left alone. Doubled for strength it would be perhaps three or four inches in length. But hadn’t Keelan once said you could stab to the heart in less?

You could do other things with something like that, too. Hanion had taught her years ago as a kind of amusement one very cold winter when she was bored. The argument was growing more angry. She caught enough of it as it also grew louder to guess what might be the outcome.

Kirion was furious. What? Were his plans to be thwarted by the tool of his, this womanizing idiot? He was unpleasantly surprised to find they were.

Ruart was equally furious. His demands for anything he wanted hadn’t been refused since he’d risen to rule in his Keep. Now, and in his own home, mind you, this unpleasant little panderer was trying to keep the lord of his Keep from his desires.

He was angered enough to press the demand. He was afraid of Kirion—well, not actually afraid, he told himself, just wary. The man did have some kind of power. But nothing could happen to Ruart here. He had only to call and fifty servants would appear. He could have them do whatever he wished with Kirion then. He could even have him tossed into the special cell below. That thought sparked another.

His voice became quieter. “Listen, Kirion, are we to fall out over a female?” Soft talk never hurt, Ruart thought. “I can toss her in the cell downstairs. You know the one,” he said, leering. “No escape there. Then we can talk this over in comfort. I’ll throw dice against you for her if you like.”

Kirion paused in midshout to consider. It was true his sister wouldn’t be escaping from that cell.

“Very well. We could gamble for her, as you say, my dear Ruart.” My dear Fathead, his mind added. Something in your wine and you can sleep away a day and night. I’ll be long gone with her. You’ll get over it the next time you need me to persuade someone around to your way of thinking. Aloud, he added,

“I’ll come down with you. Two will manage her more easily in case she tries to escape.” Or in case you try anything, either, he added silently.

Aisling was dragged down stairs, stairs, and yet more stairs. She allowed herself to go almost limp, letting her feet stumble convincingly. The men were half carrying her and panting at the exertion. But with her head bent she was able to scan the levels she passed.

Like some old Keeps, half of this one was underground. Three floors, she estimated. The lowest would be where siege supplies were stored. The wine racks would be here, and any dungeons. Here, too, would be at least one secret escape route.

She had time for a quick look through a window slit as they dragged her from the original room. It was early afternoon. She calculated swiftly. She’d been taken soon after her morning meal, which she’d had quite early. She didn’t think she’d been unconscious long on the pony. Nor had Ruart and Kirion been fighting over her for much time—although it had seemed hours.

So Ruart’s Keep couldn’t be more than three or four hours’ walk away from where she’d been taken. She knew the direction, too; on one of his visits, Ruart had gone on about his Keep. How convenient the location, just to the northeast of Kars. Gerith Keep was also northeast of Kars. If she managed to escape, she’d know which way to go.

Her family wouldn’t have been twiddling their collective thumbs in that time, either. They probably had someone keeping an eye on the Keep outside right now. If she could get away, she was sure there’d be help waiting.

Ruart shook her hard. “Take a look at this, Lady.” He pointed. “See, we drop this bar across the whole door when we leave.” He hauled her onward, halting again, “See this? A good strong lock.” He grinned in an extremely unpleasant way. “I lock all the doors down here or the servants get into the wine—and maybe other things I don’t want broached.” He leered suggestively.

Aisling felt sick again. Kirion snorted.

“When you’ve finished showing off, Ruart, let’s get on with it.”

His target grunted, pushing Aisling ahead of him through an open door. “You’ll be safe here. Just wait until I come for you. Don’t go running away now.” He bellowed with laughter as he slammed the door. A key turned with a loud clunk. Aisling flung herself at the door to listen. She heard a second lock clank and then in the distance a dull thud as the bar went into place. Her eyes flicked about her prison. A heap of moldy straw, a bucket, and an empty tin jug and plate. Nothing she could use.

But in her clothing she had something that might aid her. Aisling still felt sick, and to that was added growing hunger and a tormenting thirst.

She dug hastily into her boot to produce the item she’d found. At some stage a woman had been in the room upstairs. She’d been reboning a bodice in the fashionable way. One of the pliable strips of metal ‘boning’ had been dropped onto the chair, to make its way down the back out of sight. Probably the owner had never missed it.

Aisling bent it into a right angle toward one end. Then, very slowly, very carefully, she began to pick the lock. The lock was old, hence it was clumsy with large, easily felt wards and only two of them. It had been kept well oiled as well. It had been a long time since Hanion had taught her this as a game. But in a short time she had the lock open.