Andre Norton - Ciara's Song

He slid through the darkness listening to Aisling as she stumbled through the brush. At least she had some idea of direction. Another half hour and she’d arrive at the road.

The thought occurred to him then that the road might be dangerous. Not from Kirion and Ruart, but there were others as bad out in the dark of night. He stepped up his pace. With luck he’d find someone before she arrived on the road. His pockets had coin enough to buy a mount if he must.

He was fortunate. A drunken garthsman heading home gleefully sold the spy the farm pony. It was fat, shaggy, and lazy; he’d paid half as much again as it was worth, but it would do. He left the farmer to walk while the spy swung into the old saddle.

He walked the beast a short distance, then halted it to strain his ears. There! The sound of someone pushing through the head-high brush near the road. He called out, keeping his voice low and gentle,

“Is someone there, do you need help?”

Aisling hesitated. It wasn’t anyone she knew, but at least it wasn’t Kirion or Ruart, either. If she crouched it would be hard for them to place where the voice came from. She called back softly.

“Who are you?”

Good girl, the spy thought. He answered softly, “One who’s been sent to look for you, I think, Lady. Make no attempt to see my face, it could be dangerous for me. I have a pony that will carry two.” He waited. There was no sound. She was still waiting for more. He nodded. Geavon’s kinblood, all right. He lifted his tones to an approximation of the old lord’s voice.

“I say I don’t trust him. Boy’s a rogue however you look at it.” He heard the light patter of footsteps in his direction.

Aisling arrived panting. It was almost an hour since she’d escaped, and she was tiring again. Even the delights of freedom were not able to keep her going much longer. She could see nothing of the man in the dark, but it didn’t matter. That mimicking of Geavon was only likely to be done by one of his men.

She held up her hands, sagging exhausted by the pony. The spy aided her up behind him. In a mile she was asleep. He kept the pony to a steady walk drawing Aisling’s arms about him to keep her in place. It felt good to know she was safe.

He’d watched Ruart for years now. One of those who’d vanished in the witch-hunts then had been his betrothed. Later he’d heard a rumor. He’d known it for truth in the end, after that he’d followed a trail. It had never mattered to him what blood she bore. He’d loved her.

Things like that spread. There were those who died, those who’d spurred on the killing, those who used it for their own ends—and those who mourned their dead and swore revenge. He’d heard Geavon was keeping an eye on Lord Ruart. The spy had gone offering all he knew. He’d been taken in, treated honestly. He’d talk to the old lord once he’d got the girl back. It would be a pity to lose his chance at Ruart and his companion now.

He walked the pony in through the small postern gate. He had the right words for it to be opened to him. He had others once he was inside. Geavon arrived to look at the still sleeping Aisling.

“I owe you blood debt for this.”

“Nay, Lord. It’s Ruart who owes the blood. This is just some of the payment.”

Geavon whistled to one of his men softly. “Call Lord Trovagh and his lady. Tell them the news is good.” He handed over Aisling to Trovagh when they appeared. She murmured sleepily but did not wake.

“Take her to bed, Tro. Stay with her. I have things to do here as yet. I’ll join you once I’m done.” He turned to his spy once they were gone with Aisling. “Tell me, what occurred? Was Kirion there?”

The tall, scarred man he questioned nodded. “He was there, Lord. But it was to Ruart’s Keep they took her.” He told the tale as he knew it from the beginning. “Likely I can’t go back. I’ve racked my brains and can think of no tale they’d swallow. A pity.”

“A pity as you say. But with what you’ve discovered over the time I can get another into Ruart’s confidence. I’d rather have her back safe than bring down that pair if I must choose. As for you, a gift from her kin.” He thrust a fat purse into the man’s hand. “I still have work for you though. Just of a different kind.” The spy found he was holding a roll of parchment.

“What’s this, Lord?”

“Your own land, the purse will stock it.” He smothered protest. “No! It’s a wage. You’ll understand when you see where the holding lies. I’ll risk you no further with Ruart, but there’ll be others you can shelter. Go now and my thanks go with you. Send word once your garth is established.”

He heard the hooves plod away and sighed. A very good man. He could still use him as he’d said. He looked up at the stars. Thank the Gods for good men when so many bad ones were nearby.

He walked slowly back inside. It was late and he was an old man. Too old for many more nights like this. He halted at the room where Aisling lay. She still slept. Ah, well. The tale would be the same in the morning. He retired to sleep himself after leaving orders with those he trusted. It was always better to be careful than regretful.

Aisling woke in her own bed early. She looked around as events rushed back into her mind. Her grandmother slept on a bed beside her. Ciara’s face was tired, she looked older than Aisling had ever seen her appear before.

On the table between them rested a jug of fruit juice, a platter of bread and cheese. Aisling ate, drank, and lay back once more. She fell asleep almost before she had pulled the covers up.

This time she woke soon after sunhigh. Beside her Ciara stirred, turning to smile at her granddaughter.

“Bright sun to you, dearling. Are you hungry again?”

Aisling was suddenly aware that she was starving. “Yes. Where’s Grandfather Tro?”

“Sleeping. He’ll come now that you’re awake. Just let me call for something to eat for us all.”

She did so. Trovagh and Geavon arrived with the meal, Keelan strode in a few minutes later to hug his sister savagely.

“Praise Cup and Flame you are unhurt. Something that will not be said for very long about that pair who took you.”

Aisling eyed him over a succulent honey-coated bun. “If you’re thinking of the two servants, you can forget them. Ruart poisoned them. I’m not sure why. It might have been so he didn’t have to pay. I know he took the money back when they were dead.”

Geavon grunted. “More likely to make sure they couldn’t give evidence against him. Shandro is duke. Kirion may have a lot of influence there, but the duke would have to listen if we made a formal complaint through the shrine at Kars.” His mouth stretched into an unpleasant smile. “His own clan don’t much like Ruart. If we took a complaint to Kars courts about this, the clan wouldn’t support him.”

Ciara shook her head. “We can’t afford to risk that and well you know it. Opening a bag usually lets all the cats out that are inside, not just the one. Shandro fears the Old Race about as much as he likes Ruart. Tro and I have talked this over. We shall leave for Aiskeep tomorrow. As soon as we found Aisling gone, I sent a swift rider relay to the Keep. Half our men ride hither, Harran leading them.” She touched Geavon’s arm gently. “No reflection on you, kinsman. If you can provide a few of your men to escort us until we meet those who ride to our aid, I would be grateful.”

Geavon agreed without protest. “But leave it to me to deal with Ruart should he return to speak of a betrothal again.”

Trovagh smiled wryly. “I do not think he will be so bold. But yes, to you the handling of him if he dares.”

The following day they rode out without fuss at first light.