“But has he not sold it in Kars before he departed?”
The innkeeper shook his head. “I hear the cargo was landed from a ship well to the south of Kars. Tanrae planned to go on to the city.”
Tarnoor understood now. “I see, but then he heard the news, so he chose to travel swiftly in the opposite direction. A wise man. What goods are you sure he has for sale? It may be we shall remain a day to see.”
The list was interesting enough to ensure that. The children arrived back to eat in the early evening. Tarnoor seized on them.
“We remain here tomorrow.” He hastily hushed the yells of delight. “Ciara. I want you and Trovagh to check the herb stalls for me. Quietly! Buy nothing. Do not appear too interested. If Ciara sees any herb we do not have at Aiskeep and may need in case of war, remember where you saw it. Come back and get Hanion. I shall rely on you both in this. Ciara, you are to take Hanion’s arm. He will buy what you casually pick up to sniff or look at. A squeeze is yes, a light pinch is no. I want none to guess you have herb knowledge lest they guess more. I trust you both to be sensible and careful.”
It was this transaction that produced danger. Seran might never have noticed the children if they had been at other stalls. But Lanlia had been well-known for her healcraft and herb knowledge. He knew Trovagh, enough to recognize the boy as Seran passed the stalls. Then he saw the girl. His step faltered. Ciara did not look like the Old Blood, but she did look very like her mother. And it was that resemblance Seran recognized. He sucked in a long breath. The brat’s brother had killed Tylar, Seran’s father.
It would be fitting if she had an accident here at the market. He was pasturing his stock at her garth now but from what he saw, she and the boy were close. He saw danger to his own plans in that. Under the new laws of Kars and Yvian, she had no claim to Elmsgarth. But Yvian was dead. If the duchess returned she might favor another female. If one of the powerful clans set up another duke they, too, might favor the girl. She seemed to be well in with Tarnoor’s son.
The old lord was no fool. Elmsgarth would make a fair dowry. If Aiskeep held it from the girl it might be sold to any who had coin to buy. Good fertile land well away from likely trouble, a large house in weather-tight condition, pens and barns standing ready . . . Tarnoor could gain a fine price for Elmsgarth if he ever chose to sell. Seran glared at the unsuspecting children. Tarnoor didn’t live in great state, nor did he travel to Kars to toady to those in power. Still all knew he was related by birth and marriage to two of the clans. But if he did not have the girl in his hands, his claim to the garth would be greatly weakened.
Seran smiled, a look of vicious anticipation. The stream was deep. True in summer it did not flow so strongly but it should be sufficient to drown the Witch’s daughter. Over the remainder of the morning he stalked the children, now free from Hanion. In a large, busy market there would be possibilities.
Tarnoor was busy elsewhere. Trader Tanrae had arrived with goods both interesting and useful. The two men were busy talking prices and haggling with enthusiasm. Tarnoor made a last purchase and gave instructions for its handling and delivery. He was about to leave the trader when Trovagh appeared looking distressed.
“What is it, where is Ciara?”
“She’s gone. Hanion bought as she showed him. Then he went back to the inn. Cee and I went to look at the beast market again. She was right beside me, when I turned around she’d gone.”
Tarnoor wasted no time. Better he made a fool of himself than anything happened to the girl. “Run to the inn,” he instructed Trovagh. “Tell Hanion to turn out every man but a couple to guard our wains. I want the market combed, stall-holders asked if they saw Ciara. Hop to it, lad.”
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. A
s 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.
He’d already returned to Ciara, “Here, lass. The trader sent you these as a gift.” He held out the two bells. To them he added a matching pair of small leather collars. “Hanion made these for you. See, you may tie the bells to them.”
In minutes the kittens were scampering about tinkling merrily as they bounced and played. Trovagh trailed his scarf and the children shrieked as the kits attacked. In days they were often a foursome. The kits grew quickly, friendly to all but preferring to sleep one on each of the children’s beds. There was a swift massacre of mice, followed by rats as soon as the babies were a little larger. It made them popular with all in the Keep.
Geavon wrote again several weeks after Ciara’s name day. The news was not good. Tarnoor read it, then summoned Elanor and handed her the letter. She, too, read and frowned.
“So the Lady Loyse has reappeared in Estcarp. That makes people certain it was she or the Witches who slew Yvian. That Aldis is nowhere found makes no fuss. Indeed, it may make things easier solved. But Fulk—now that he’s been gone for months the lords about Verlaine squabble vigorously over his hold.”
“Indeed. The man was a wrecker and a rogue but he held Verlaine with a strong hand. Loyse makes it plain she will not return nor lay claim to Verlaine or Kars. Thus both rulerships are open. I think it will not be long before argument turns to warfare over Verlaine at least. That should suit Estcarp. Verlaine is close to their border. If the lords nearby squabble over Verlaine, they are not fighting nor raiding elsewhere.”
Elanor agreed thoughtfully. “Is it possible that this was why they slew Fulk and Yvian?”
“It is possible. Any soldier could have predicted the outcome.”
“So all this may have been a deep-laid plot against Karsten? In revenge for the Horning perhaps?”
Tarnoor shrugged. “Perhaps. It is done now. But it’s as well we’ve prepared. If the struggle grows violent enough at Verlaine it will pull the coast clans in. Then there is Kars. Here in the South we may be called by the clans. If that happens, then there is likely to be open war among the clan lords. Such wars are without quarter. No enemy is fought so savagely as one who is your own.” He sighed. “Alas for Karsten.”
Elanor left to ready the evening meal while Tarnoor sat thinking. He would write to Geavon suggesting a compromise. For two generations it had worked with a Keep here in the far South. He sent the letter swiftly by messenger. Geavon received it and blinked. Wisdom from a backwater. It just might work. He sat to write letters of his own. There was an advantage to be gained. Two of the disputing lords were of Geavon’s clan. If they combined, the others would back off.
* * *
They might have done so, had the letter arrived in time. Even in the South they heard how the lords battled over Verlaine. Finally, Tarnoor’s suggestion ended it, but not without many dead and hatred stored up. There was a marriage. Verlaine was again ruled. By the second son of one lord, wed to the eldest daughter of his neighbor. In a year he was dead, poisoned. His wife could not hold the Keep and fled to her clan. The war began again and spread this time.
But Tarnoor had used the year wisely. He’d bargained, traded, bought, and sold. Aiskeep was stronger than it had been in many generations.
The kits, too, had contributed. Their first litter had sold for very high prices as Tarnoor had expected. The second litter, already bulging the small female’s sides, was sold in advance. Tanrae had visited Aiskeep, once bringing a long train of loaded wains. The same Sulcar ship had met him quietly on the coast. With the trader came a second female kitten for Ciara.
Elanor might wonder that the Sulcar who allied with Estcarp would come to trade. Tarnoor did not. Civil war in Karsten could only profit other lands. If they sold Karsten goods and gear to war, then the longer and more deadly that war, while the Sulcar profited and other lands lay safer.
From overseas news came that the hounds of Alizon hunted. Karsten could not look to them for aid. They had strange allies, men said: perhaps those Kolder who had done so ill by Kars after all their promises. Meanwhile in Karsten war came closer. Twice Keeps near Kars were clan-besieged. The fighting spread to Kars for several days. It died again but sullenly. Then one arose supported by two of the clans. Kieren was young, but a fighter known from the wars with Estcarp. Since many believed that their troubles were all Witch-caused, that stood him in good stead.
He made truce with a third clan by marriage. Another year of peace, and half again. Ciara was growing. She’d been twelve last name day and Tr
ovagh thirteen. She was not beautiful but there was strength and sweetness in her face. She and the boy were as close as ever, always up to some ploy. The letters from Geavon came regularly to Aiskeep. Tarnoor expected another shortly. Instead, Geavon’s nephew came quietly in the night.
He stood in Tarnoor’s study talking softly. “My father is being drawn into clan councils. Kieren does not treat his wife well. Her clan plans to wait until she bears her child, then declare her Kars Regent in the child’s name. My uncle thinks this will bring war again. He asks that you allow his family to come here while there is yet time.”
The man he addressed nodded. “Bring them cautiously. Travel as traders or a garth family on the move. They’d be good hostages against Geavon’s compliance with orders.”
“Yes, my lord.” The young man slipped away before dawn, riding back to the Keep.
Events overtook him. It was weeks before Tarnoor heard, then he sat silent. Geavon’s letter was open before him. The boy had been slain on the return. By whom Geavon did not know, only that the body lay before their gates one morning. The lad’s father was not a man to think deeply for meanings. He assumed that it had been done by the clan opposing his and acted. A third clan had been drawn in. The remaining three might have stayed out of the fight. It was none of theirs. But the duchess’s father deemed it a good time now to strike for the duchy. The baby had been a son.
Kieren died in an ambush. The other clans swept in to do battle. Geavon was full of regret. It would not be possible just at this moment to send his family to Aiskeep. Tarnoor swore, tossing the letter into the fire. Outside on the stairs he heard the clatter of heavy boots. That was Hanion in a hurry; what troubled them now?