Andre Norton - Ciara's Song

“No, there is a garth along the river. It is well on the way to the mountains and east. She may spend the remainder of the winter there in safety. In spring, she can travel on as she wishes.” He bowed toward Aisling. “That is, if this accords with your desire, my dear.”

She had been listening carefully. Now she bowed in return speaking formally, “It accords with my wish in all ways save that I may have brought trouble to Gerith Keep and its lord.”

Geavon chuckled harshly. “The trouble is an old debt, child, and none of your making. Tarnoor whom you never knew was like a brother to me and distant kin also. I may not live to see the end of this, but when our spirits meet I would not have him feel £had done less than he would have done for one of my children in need. Go now and rest. I will see that messages are sent.”

He smiled as they trotted obediently away. They were good children, healthy twigs from a rotten branch. He’d always known the father would bring death or disaster, but these two were sound stock.

Messengers left before dark and a watcher saw. He went to report, not to Kirion but to Ruart, who found it interesting. He listened and smiled slowly.

One messenger to the south road. That would be to let Aiskeep know their lambs had arrived safely. The other messenger to the hills, luckily there had been two watchers. The leader was intelligent, and he’d sent his companion to follow the hill rider. Ruart had long suspected that Geavon had some holding there. The old man had been clever, but not quite as clever as he thought.

Ruart had guessed that Aiskeep might find a way to get Aisling out of their hold. The watcher had recognized Keelan. From the description, the other with Keelan could well be the sister in disguise. Ruart grunted to himself. The border was wide and lawless. Who would know what had happened there to a girl who vanished in the hills? Certainly none had known what happened to a spy riding back to his lord. And that had been in more populated lands.

Ruart’s smirk widened. He’d been visiting Kirion at Iren Keep when he’d seen the man where he should not have been. He’d said nothing to Kirion, but had the man watched. When the time was right he’d had him taken.

The spy had talked. From that Ruart knew more than Kirion for once. Let his friend find his own trails to hunt. Ruart would follow this one.

Besides that, Ruart had a grudge. He’d gone to his clan head to ask for aid in forcing Aiskeep to give up Aisling. He’d been told briefly that the clan did not care to become involved. Ruart was making himself a laughingstock, now he was making his clan a laughingstock as well. Nor did they like other comments that were said of him. Flung mud stuck—to his clan as well as Ruart. Let him choose another wife and be less obvious in his dealings.

For most of his life Ruart had had his own way. To be scolded like a naughty child drove him to utter fury.

He left, determined to have all he wanted. The girl Geavon dangled before him—and Aisling. He spent coin to hire men who would watch. They had done so to some purpose.

Aisling rode out quietly a day later just as the sky brightened. There were none to see her go. Ruart had spread his watchers along the hill trail the messenger had taken. They told him swiftly enough when she passed, though they did not see the cat, deep in his baby sack.

Ruart would have followed at once but for Shandro who insisted his favorite remain at court another few days. By then the girl would have reached her shelter. Well enough. Ruart would wait a while. There was usually a lull in the weather around midwinter. When that came, he would ride swiftly.

Meanwhile, Aisling had ridden three days along the river before turning up along the left fork that led to the higher hills. During her halts to camp, Dancer was free, returning often with some prey to eat alongside Aisling as she cooked for herself.

Geavon had drilled her in the landmarks and in what words to use when she came to the garth at last. She rode in with failing light, sitting her mount in the yard as she watched a bobbing lantern approach.

“I come from an uncle,” she said softly to that haze of light. “An uncle who dislikes a rogue.”

The light jerked sharply as the spy recognized the girl he had aided to Gerith Keep. He collected himself to reply. “All who dislike rogues are safe here,” he said clearly.

Aisling peered at the figure behind the lantern. The voice was somehow familiar. She dropped from her weary horse to walk it toward the stables. The spy spoke again and the scent of the horse, the dark, and his tones came together.

“I know you,” she said slowly. “You’re the man who helped me the night I got away from Ruart.”

In the edge of lantern light she saw him nod. “That I was, my lady. Pleased to do it, too. I have an old score against the man. I’d have aided you for that alone even had I not been Geavon’s man. Let us get the beast inside, and a meal on the table. Time for talking then and longer than we may want.”

“Why?”

“Storm’s coming. Up here they can last for days, even weeks.”

It lasted only days. By then Aisling had his story from him. A decent man, she believed. One who’d been cruelly wronged by Ruart, too. They had that in common. She liked him, trusted him even here alone on the garth with no other.

It pleased her that he liked Dancer. The cat had refused to be left again, despite all Aisling could do to persuade him. He’d arrived in his baby sack, much to the spy’s amusement once they reached the house and the cat had emerged.

That Dancer made it plain he liked this human was good enough for Aisling. The cat had proved to be a good judge of character in the past. After a short time, she liked the man for himself. But this past week Dancer had been fussing. He would run to the door wailing urgently. Aisling would allow him out, only to be howled at in exasperation. It was not that which he wanted of her.

Temon watched the cat thoughtfully. “I think, my lady, he wishes to warn you in some way.” He left her with the cat, vanishing into his storeroom to collect supplies. These he sorted slowly into a shoulder pack. Into that went all the small odds and ends that can make a camp comfortable. He added bedding, lightweight but very warm and proof against any but the longest, most driving rain. He hefted the pack then, scarred face expressionless.

He reached down journeycakes, each wrapped twice over and sealed. Two water bottles were stowed, each into a different pocket on the outside of the pack. One was empty, but a fiery cordial went into the other. Taken in sips, it was a restorative. Poured over a wound, it would cleanse. She’d come with a short bow and arrows, that would do well.

Should he add a sword? he wondered. But to carry one she could not use would be of no help, only useless extra weight.

He tipped the pack empty, checking all it had contained once more. Then he stowed the items one by one. He’d done the best he could do for her. The cat was a canny beast. If it saw danger coming, it was likely right.

He sighed quietly. She reminded him of the girl he’d loved so many years gone. This one, too, had power, fleeing Ruart. But he would see that this time Ruart did not catch her. That he swore by the Lady of the Hills. He’d hunted deep into them. He could put her on the path as far as the ancient ruined Keep far into the mountains. After that, she must make her own trails.

He walked back to give her the landmarks. He made her repeat them again and again. Then he showed her the pack made ready. Aisling added her bow and quiver to it. Dancer still fussed; indeed, as midwinter approached he became still more insistent.

Temon made up his mind. “I think the beast senses danger. In midwinter, there is often a time when the weather clears here in the mountains. The wind blows from the North then so this side of the hills is sheltered. Be ready. You know the way as best I can tell you. Your pack stands waiting. If danger comes, get you gone. I’ll do my best to delay it.”