Of course who knew what one who’d been offended might name an injury. It could take very little. Then there’d been Sersgarth. The whole series of mysterious events ending in a new family there—who’d also had the wealth to purchase Elmsgarth. They’d settled into both garths over the years.
They were peaceful enough but somehow, not friendly. Always polite, but without warmth. Ciara felt measured whenever one of them looked at her. As if they waited and watched to be sure what kind of opponent she’d be when the time came.
After that—her eyes blinked back tears—after that there’d been her daughter. The suggestion that the girl had been in the way of a powerful clan. There’d been nothing but the word of a suspicious servant. But an Aiskeep servant, devoted to her mistress and trustworthy. Yet what had the suspicions amounted to, after all? The idea that a large, wealthy, and powerful clan had a young wife poisoned so her husband could swear his Keep to them without objection? One Keep against the scandal that would erupt if poisoning had even been suspected? There were things a clan did not lightly risk. Open that gate and others were free to follow.
It was unlikely, she thought. Yet the servant had listed the details. The ague from which her mistress died had had unusual symptoms. It was odd that they had rid themselves of the servant with quite such haste. Odder still that the grieving husband should be swearing his Keep to another clan and so very hastily in such secret. She had a sense of something moving here, but her mind refused to put the puzzle pieces together. There was a vague link. Tanrae had been Aiskeep’s friend, Ciara’s savior. Sersgarth had been Aiskeep’s neighbor. A daughter of Aiskeep was strangely dead.
Well, worrying over it would not help, she decided. She’d done enough of that lately. Better to fix her mind on something she could remedy, like the way Aisha spoiled those brats of hers. She rose, taking Trovagh affectionately by the arm.
“I’m for our bed, my love.” He followed, glad she seemed to have found peace.
* * *
Kirin paid another visit, this time to speak with his wife. He found her infuriatingly unhelpful.
“I’m not becoming involved. I have to live here while you play at lords all over Kars. Your mother picks on me, your grandfather thinks I’m a fool, and you pay me no attention.” She burst into tears. “I’m with child again, too. Go away and do whatever you want. Just don’t expect me to help you.”
Kirin went. He rode back to the city convinced that a dukedom in Estcarp would be a boon greater than he’d thought. He could find some way of ridding himself of Aisha, and taking a younger, prettier wife. Perhaps a girl of Estcarp who would be properly grateful to be wed instead of taken as mistress. He’d take his sons in hand, too. They seemed more unruly and ill-mannered each time he saw them. A tough Armsmaster and a few beatings should cure that.
Once in Kars he was angered all over again to find Pagar was still on the border. The week it would take to ready the army had already stretched to two. Still Kirin could not legally join without causing an outcry. He must persuade Pagar to intervene before it was too late. He rode on to find him there. On the border his duke was triumphant. It seemed that the forces of Estcarp had learned the lessons Pagar had been teaching. He was closeted with his scout head as Kirin stamped in to join him.
“They pull back, my lord. If this continues, we may be through the mountains shortly. The heart is going out of them. We win and win and they see no end to this war. My spies say that the fleet in Es Bay will bear away many of their lords and their households. For that reason, too, no doubt the men fall back. Few soldiers fight well when they know their masters plan to abandon them.” He sneered at the thought.
Pagar agreed. “Keep pressing them, but do not make them too desperate as yet. The bulk of my army will be ready shortly. Once we have that we can advance at speed.” Kirin nodded agreement. Pagar waved the scout chief to depart before continuing his speech to the intent Kirin. He laid his finger on a map. “Here I will split the army. The greater portion of it, led by me, will strike into the heart of Estcarp direct for Es City. The remainder led by you, will turn northwest and travel as fast as they may to the great bay. As soon as we are through the mountains I’ll have a screen of scout-fighters flung far forward in front of that portion.”
He smiled viciously. “I want none of the Witches to know they will be cut off from their fleet in the bay. Let it come as a surprise to them. Those who suddenly have hope taken away break more easily.” He drank deep from his cup, and looked up, face flushed red with wine. “I have laid my plans a long time, but now they ripen. In a month I will sit in Es City as master. Alizon is finding their own enemies a harder nut to crack than they’d hoped. My spies say it looks possible that Alizon will be defeated. I will take perhaps a year to recover our own strength. To train soldiers, to replace those we lose. After that I will consider Alizon.”
Kirin gasped. “You would rule three countries, my lord?”
“Why not? A man takes what he can in this life. Now, as for your grandsire, I will move there soon. You lead a third of my army. Do you think I will allow some old dotard to deprive me of a commander?” He patted Kirin’s shoulder. “Come, man. More wine and look to this map.” He guided the talk thereafter, before saying he would rise early and must go to his bed.
Once retired, Pagar called for one to attend him.
“Wake me early, at first light. I ride for Kars at speed. A light escort to ride with me. Two horses for each of us. Send a courier now with these orders for my lord Draven in the city.” He thrust a roll of sealed papers into the waiting hand.
He saw the man off and relaxed. At last all his plans were in motion. So few things left to do before he ruled a subject land. He smiled to himself. He’d risen high and meant to rise higher. Estcarp, Alizon, but beyond them were lands the Sulcar knew. Why stop before he reached even further? Here in Karsten he was limited. Officially he must answer to the merchants of Kars, to the heads of his wife’s clan. But in Estcarp, Alizon—he must answer to none but his own desires. Alone with no one to see, his smile was evil.
With daybreak he rode for Kars, where fresh horses waited. Pagar rested, then rode for Aiskeep. Once there he hailed the gates. Tarnoor appeared, to look down in surprise.
“Do you wish to enter, Duke?”
“No, let you come out to talk with me, Lord. I have that which I would say in private.”
Tarnoor sighed, turning to Trovagh and Ciara. “This will be some of Kirin’s work. The boy has convinced the duke to speak for him. Well, I must go down.”
He did so, finding a tent waiting, with a table, chairs, and wine laid ready. He sat heavily. This would not be pleasant, but the law was the law. Even the duke did not break Karsten law with impunity. He listened politely at first, later with paled face and glittering eyes. Then he signed the paper offered.
“You understand you will keep silent on this. Let your family believe Kirin is sulking in Kars awaiting my return. But I have one more request, Lord of Aiskeep.” Pagar spoke again, in lower tones.
Tarnoor reared back in his seat. “I will not!”
“Are you afraid?” The duke’s voice was silky.
“I have been a soldier before, My Lord Duke.”
“Good. Then you will know how to fight. You will do as I say. The consequences otherwise will not be in your favor.” He gloated as the old man bowed his head. He had him at last. He would deal with two now, two to come. Divide and conquer had always been a valuable method. He sat there impassively. Just another mission completed.
Behind him he left chaos. Tarnoor marched, back erect through his gates, then stood silent in anguished thought. Trovagh and Ciara came running.
“Father, what did the duke want?”
Ciara saw deeper. “What did that man say to distress you so?”
“It’s nothing, child. Just a decision I have made. I’ll talk later. For now I must have speech with Hanion.”
They watched him walk away as they gazed in bewilderment. ?
??Hanion?” Trovagh muttered. “Why Hanion?”
“Oldest friend, perhaps. One he can trust to obey without question. Which means there is something wrong.”
They knew what it was soon enough. Through all the uproar, the weeping, the protests, Tarnoor held firm.
“I have made a bargain with the duke. If I ride with him he will see Kirin is safe. If I do not, he will take the boy anyhow. Once that is done, I must disinherit him—and his sons with him.”
“But, Father, that part of the law may be withheld at your choice. Kirin’s son could still be Keep heir.”
“Pagar threatens to have the clans rule otherwise. It would leave Aiskeep without heir, prey to any once we are gone. Pagar would see to that. I will not have it so.”
“But men, what soldiers will you take? Aiskeep guards?”
Tarnoor sighed. “I will not weaken Aiskeep. I have sent word to Tanrae’s son. Talron will spread it about that I am hiring soldiers. That I will not inquire as to character.”
“You’ll get only bandits and outlaws,” Ciara warned.
“That I know well. It will remove them from Karsten at the least.” Tarnoor smiled gently at her. He could not tell her the reason he acted thus. Pagar had threatened and Tarnoor had believed him. The reason Tarnoor had given his family had been only a portion of the threat. The other had been even more deadly. He held to his plan and his silence even when Elanor wept. It must be done.
Men trickled in, the most depraved-looking bunch Trovagh had ever seen. His father shrugged.
“You’d be surprised what unlikely material can make good soldiers.” He talked to the men of loot, and of the chances to do well in a subject land, until he was sure they would follow him at least until they reached Pagar. The duke should not be able to say a bargain had been broken. Still, unknown to his family, he hesitated. What if he did this thing and Pagar was the oathbreaker? He had not impressed Tarnoor as a man to care greatly. None knew of the words between them. None would know if Pagar returned triumphant to destroy those Tarnoor wished to save.
It was then that Ciara sought him out. “Father, I don’t know why you’re doing this. But isn’t there something I can do to help?”
He looked at her remembering the small terrified girl she had been. He’d buried her family while she stood by, then he’d taken her as his own. It wasn’t her fault Kirin had been rotten at the core. There’d been others in the Aiskeep line like that over the generations. Power-hungry seekers after more than one Keep. But he needed to know. He would ride, but what came after?
“Ciara, my daughter.” The words were slowly formal and the woman caught her breath. “Will you foresee for me?”
“You’ve never asked that.”
“I have never wished to know what lies before me. Now I must know. I know you cannot do this for yourself, maybe not for Trovagh. But perhaps for me it may be possible?”
Ciara clasped her hands. “I have never even tried.” Her voice dropped. “I, too, have never wished to know. Is it so important?”
“Yes.” The word was implacable.
“Then I will try. Where is Tro?”
“I sent him to the upper valley to speak with some of the garthspeople. He will not return until late. There is all the time we need, daughter.”
She bowed her head in acceptance. “Then let us begin.” The door was closed, the fire built higher. Ciara sat, pulling her chair around to face the chair in which Tarnoor waited. “I said I’ve never done this before. I can only do as I feel is right and pray.”
He nodded. Ciara lifted the pendant by its chain, taking it into her hands as she reached out to Tarnoor. “Take it between your palms.” He did so and she closed her fingers in turn about his wrists. Then she called the mists. She knew not if she would see: perhaps since his need was so great it would be he to whom the seeing came. Within the mist all was familiar. She wandered timelessly as always until something told her she should leave. She came to herself, sitting straighter, chilled. Before her Tarnoor’s face was wet with tears. He must have seen—but what? He allowed her to make up the fire once more but would tell her nothing.
When she had gone he remained gazing into the Flames. If that was the way of it, he could accept. He had seen all he required. Praise be to the Powers that they had allowed him to know. He later went in search of Hanion again. There he added to his words, and to his orders. He despised the men he would lead. They were filth Karsten would be well rid of—his face twisted into a bitter smile—and rid of them Karsten would be.
He rode out one morning. Aisha and his grandsons had not bothered to rise but Elanor, Trovagh, and Ciara were present. There, too, were all the people of the garths. They watched as Tarnoor rode down the road at the head of his men. It made a brave sight, the Aiskeep war pennant fluttering above the flag bearer. They stood watching long after the column of riders had vanished. Finally the garthspeople drifted away, back to their chores. Elanor retired to weep again. Trovagh took Ciara’s hand and held it tightly.
“Why do I feel there was something more behind all this?”
She sighed. “Because there is. What, I don’t know, but he had me foresee. I saw nothing, but I am certain he did. He would tell me nothing but, Tro, I think he saw his death. Did you know he’s left papers with the shrine? They order that you or I rule Aiskeep so long as either of us lives.”
Trovagh blinked in surprise. “The law allows. But what made him think it might be necessary to have that written?”
“I do not know but copies of it went to Geavon and to the main shrine in Kars for safekeeping. There is more also. If both of us die while Kirin’s children are yet minors, Geavon is guardian. If Aisha refuses to accept that, then Geavon’s son inherits Aiskeep.” Trovagh gasped in shock listening as Ciara continued. “Tarnoor did all this before the foreseeing. After that he seemed both sadder and easier in his mind. As if he knew the worst but there was compensation.”
They waited fearing word. Geavon sent messengers almost daily so that they should hear news of the army. It assembled, marching to the Estcarp border as each portion was ready. With one part Kirin marched as proud commander. In Aiskeep Aisha cursed him. She would bear him a third child before he returned, she was sure. He was selfish, and she hoped he never came back.
Trovagh and Ciara heard that news as their worst fears confirmed. Pagar had lied to their father, or Tarnoor had lied to them. He would have done that only if the alternative was worse.
* * *
At the border Pagar listened to his scouts.
“Lord Duke, the forces of Estcarp fall back further before us. If we move tomorrow it may be that we will reach the mountain’s heart by nightfall. We can rest the night, then strike forward with the dawn. Estcarp falters; if they see us determined, I believe they will break and flee once we reach their own land beyond the mountains.”
“What of Lord Kirin?”
“He and his men are already partway through the mountains. At your orders, Lord Duke, the rest of the army follows.”
“I so order.”
He listened to the trumpets as they sounded the advance. Close formation, rapid walk. Victory was close. Another day or two and he’d sit in Es City. Pagar called up his escort. He’d ride on down the lines of riders. Show the men he led from the front as a good commander should. His small group cantered past the moving lines. He noticed old Tarnoor with the men who followed him. More heirs were with the army here than the old man knew. Risho was in the tail of the wagons as supply master. Risho was heir after Tarnoor’s direct line was ended. Pagar smiled as he glanced back at the oblivious Tarnoor. Poor old fool, he really shouldn’t have acted as he did all those years ago. A man should honor his father and his oaths. Pagar had honored both.
He reached the head of the army just as it made camp. By now the tail would be well into the passes, too. They had orders to keep moving, making camp only when it was too dark for the horses to continue. They might be making a wet camp. Pagar studied the sky: the sta
rs had vanished. Heavy cloud gathered. The wind was chill and there was thunder in the air. He snorted. Likely the Witches hoped to give him a head cold. It would take more than that to discourage Pagar of Geen.
Behind him in the half light Tarnoor directed his men. They picketed the beasts, built fires to heat food, and laid out bedrolls. Tarnoor was grimly weary. For a man of his age the march had been grueling but he would march no more. With the fraction of his blood that came down from another people he could see the Witch lights that flickered from tree to tree. They lit the rock edges, shimmered from leaves of the low brush. Tarnoor turned from the camp, walking away down a tiny gully that opened before him. At the end of it was a stretch of mountain ice-flowers. Their sweet perfume reached out to welcome him. In the midst of them, he knelt to pray.
He’d always done his best to be a decent man. He’d cared for Aiskeep and its people. Bred a fine son to follow him. There’d been things he regretted here and there, but few serious sins. Let him be forgiven them. Let poor foolish young Kirin be forgiven, too. Let blessings abide with Trovagh and Ciara, and all he loved. Moving slowly and deliberately he doffed his helm, waiting. Above him the thickening clouds broke apart for a moment. A single shaft of moonlight slashed downward to gleam from silver hair.
Tarnoor smiled. It seemed that after a lifetime the Gods chose to remember his service. The mountains stirred. High on a peak one rock dislodged, hurtling downward to strike Tarnoor squarely across the forehead as he lifted his face to the moonlight. He died instantly. His body fell back, stretching out among the ice-flowers. In a dying reflex his hand went to his sword hilt.
Then he lay still. About him the mountains bucked and heaved.