“Father, I don’t think Ciara is well.”
“No.” Tarnoor didn’t think. He knew. It was as if a wasting fever had the lass in its grasp. “Does she talk to you? Say anything about her nightmares?”
“No. I asked, but she doesn’t want to say. What can I do to help?”
His father sighed. “Just be her friend, lad. Maybe she’ll talk once she’s been here a while longer.” He returned to a letter from a friend as Trovagh ran off. News from Kars was odd these days. Yvian had made ax-marriage to the daughter of Verlaine. The mother’s line had been well enough, but the father’s? Faugh! The man was a wrecker and a rogue. And what of Aldis, she’d not appreciate being thrust aside for some maiden. Letters were few and slow arriving of recent weeks. This one was dated before the Horning. He took up another of a later date and read in bewilderment. What all this talk of Kolder was he did not know, but he liked nothing about it.
He finished reading and rose slowly. Out in the stables he found Hanion and took him aside.
“Strange things happen in Kars of late. I think it wise that we mend walls and shut gates. Make no haste too obvious but be sure all is secure.” He saw the sharp glance that met his. “Yes. It is possible trouble may travel this far. We host messengers of other lords as they pass. Tread lightly, but I would know how others of our rank have dealt with the Horning.”
“That I can tell you already, Lord. Many have ignored it, or openly taken people under their protection. The messenger of Lord Geavon came through last week. He said his lord was very angry, saying that his family had been lords of Gerith for centuries. They took no orders to murder their people from some upstart mercenary. The only man who attacked at the horns bidding, he took and hung.”
Tarnoor grinned. He knew Lord Geavon. A crotchety, gloomy man but a good friend and kin to Tarnoor. Geavon’s great love was his lineage and his Keep. In Kars Yvian’s word ran, but further out, the lords remembered their duke was a man of no family. They might bow politely in Kars. In their Keeps they bowed to none. Yvian had been raised to duke to keep order in the towns and city. If he failed at this, it was likely there would be plots to depose him. No decent lord appreciated the sort of disorder that was now upon Kars. He proved right in mat. As days passed small groups of refugees slipped by Aiskeep. Some, bolder, ventured in with letters of introduction from men known to Tarnoor.
He helped all who did so. Some would have taken Ciara with them, had he asked. He did not. Lanlia had trusted him. Besides, the child was too weak to travel. He did not yet acknowledge that he had grown swiftly to love her. The slow seep of those who fled lessened and died. It bothered him. He wasn’t above being tempted; there’d been things done he regretted in his life. But this wholesale slaughter of the innocent appalled him. He would kill if he was attacked, or occasionally as a needed example. But Yvian was ruining Karsten with this folly. His grimness lightened considerably with the next letter.
His bellows of amusement brought Trovagh, Ciara, Hanion, and Elanor.
“My lord?” Hanion was interested.
Tarnoor read further and shouted again with mirth. He looked at the circle of puzzled faces. “A letter from a friend near Kars. Yvian is short a bride. The girl vanished into Est-carp to wed some boy there. It appears Yvian was not to her taste. The Kolder, too, are ended. Estcarp made a foray against them and the Kolder are gone from Kars.” He snickered loudly. “None of this will sit well with the duke. Makes the man look a fool, not that he isn’t. But no man likes the world to know it. He’ll have to move in some way to regain authority. Hanion, just in case it’s in this direction, move the work along faster. I want the walls mended in another week. You may also look for another half-dozen suitable guards. I’ll be sending you with some of the men to Teral market. We want more weapons and I’d like to lay in barrels of beer and salt beef.” He clapped his hands still grinning. “That’s all the news. Off with you.”
Trovagh stayed. “May Ciara and I go along, Father? She’s never been to a real market in a town before.”
His father considered. It might perk the child up. She didn’t look of the Old Race so should be safe enough in Hanion’s care, then again was she fit to travel so far? It would be a full day’s ride there and another home again. He compromised.
“The market I want won’t be for two more weeks. Tell Ciara she may go with you if she is better by then.” He smiled as the boy raced away to share the promise. It reminded him, he must look at the boxes found in Elmsgarth. Thus far they had been stowed away unopened. The only action he’d taken had been to record the transfer of Elmsgarth to himself. It had been done quietly so far as he knew, none but he and a clerk in faraway Kars had knowledge of what had been written. Of course he had also taken the bag of coins. That was going toward mending the Keep walls, and gathering extra supplies. It was fair. Walls would help to protect Ciara, while supplies would be shared with her as well.
He watched the girl over the days. She might force herself to eat. It did no good, all that she ate returned, weakening her further. Tarnoor guessed that something within her revolted at living. Unless one of those who cared for her could find the secret and convince her otherwise, Ciara would go to join her slain kin. He would not have that happen. He loved his son as a strong man loves one who will follow him. But Ciara he had come to love as one who protects responds to the need of one weaker. For her his love was a sheltering roof to her frailty. He watched helpless and raging as she failed.
In another ten days she was too weak to leave her bed for more than a handful of hours. Trovagh stayed with her. He brought games, stories, ideas, anything that would divert her. Elanor played and sang to both children. She had a soft voice, but clear and true, and some small skill with the hand harp. Ciara in particular loved the old songs, begging them over and over. Nightmares still plagued the girl. She woke crying out more than once most nights, the lack of sleep also wearing hard on her.
She refused Elanor’s offer to share the bed. She did not wish any to know the shape of her dreams. They seemed to her to be a monstrous wrong and wicked. It was Trovagh at last who broke through the wall of her grief and pain to understand what tore at her. Ciara was sleeping but the boy was awake. As he lay quiet he heard the whimpering from her room. On silent feet he stole through the door. Ciara slept, yet in that sleep tears ran down her face. Now and again her mouth shaped a name.
“Mother, Father, Larian?” Her words became loud enough for the listening boy to understand.
“Mother, please, I’m lonely. Mother, where are you?” Her hand slid out, fingers curled as if they sought for another clasping hand. “Father?” Her voice was a moan. “Larian, why am I alone? Why did you all leave me here?” Her voice trailed off into soft weeping once more. Trovagh took the reaching hand in his. With his left hand he shook her gently by the shoulder.
“Cee? Cee, wake up. You aren’t alone. You have me and Father, and Elanor now. Cee!” She opened vague eyes to stare at him. The fingers gripping his convulsed. Still half asleep, she spoke her horror for the first time.
“They all left me. There’s no one now. I don’t have anyone. No family, everything is cold and empty. When you and Lord Tarnoor came I was afraid. Mother always said Yvian dealt justice, and the guards were there to protect us. But they killed everyone by the duke’s order. Why? What did we do that was so evil? I was afraid you would kill me, too, so I hid. I’m afraid all the time now and I have no one. Lonely, so lonely…” Her voice shuddered to a halt. Trovagh did the only thing he could think of.