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Trovagh rose and quietly opened the door. He gave a low, clear, penetrating whistle, and Hannion appeared. The old master-at-arms for the keep had officially retired some years back, but he was canny. He’d ridden and fought in younger days beside Trovagh’s father. Hannion was over eighty now but still upright, and his steps, if slower, were yet unfaltering. He had never been a fool, and his long years had brought added wisdom.

He gave a brief acknowledgment of the summons, half bow, half nod. Then he entered through the door as Trovagh held it open invitingly. Aisling rose to bring the old man a stool and place it invitingly beside hers. Hannion sat in obedience to Lord Trovagh’s gesture and looked about at them, waiting. Ciara glanced at her husband, received a nod, and started. When her explanation ran down she sat quietly.

Hannion considered a little longer. “There is no question, Lady.” His voice was firm as he spoke directly to Ciara. “Do you cherish a rotten apple until it renders the whole barrel worthless?

Does a farmer keep a rogue stud which may attack the farmer’s family and which breeds other rogues? I am—I was a soldier. I give you a soldier’s advice. A dead enemy lays no second ambush.”

He nodded to her. “I know you have no love for the boy, yet you still consider him kin. Tell me, Lady. Do you remember the bandits who came sneaking into our lands by the back paths, when you were a girl? You and Trovagh fought and beat them with the aid of the garths-people. Why did you do that? Why not allow them free rein?”

Trovagh spoke slowly and sadly, his words a decision. “Because they gave us no choice. We had to beat them or watch garths burned, goods stolen, our people raped and murdered.”

“But you took some of them prisoner, then you ordered them hanged. They were defeated; why did you do that?”

Ciara answered. “So they would not go free and harm others or return and harm us.” She sighed. “You said it yourself. A dead enemy lays no second ambush.”

“Then you have no decision to make here and now,” Hannion told her. “Your choice was made long ago. Stick to it.”

Trovagh reached out to take Ciara’s hand in his. “He’s right, my love. Kirion is this family’s responsibility. We bred him, and he’s gone rogue. Aiskeep deals with its own. Let Aisling do what she must. All we are here to do is work out how we may best help her obey the geas.”

After that the talk circled endlessly. Toward midnight Aisling spoke quietly to her grandmother.

“I need to work a transformation. On myself and Wind Dancer.”

Ciara smiled. “I wondered if he’d let you leave him behind again. I gather he won’t. What shape would you give him?”

Aisling looked thoughtful. “I could make him appear to be a lap dog, but it could cause trouble. If he had to use his claws it would rather expose the trick. No, I think a smaller cat would be best.”

Ciara agreed fervently as she imagined someone Wind Dancer didn’t like picking him up to coo over the sweet little dog and finding with disbelief that a lap dog had just scratched him to the bone with nonexistent claws. She smiled at Aisling. “I presume you know how to do that. It is a little outside my knowledge.”

“I know,” Aisling assured her. “It won’t require more power than you have, just a different way of using it. Have a good night’s sleep. In the morning I’ll teach you.” She pursed her lips. “Maybe I should tell you what other uses of the power I learned in Escore. We could work on anything else you think might be helpful to know. If we anger my brother and the duke with an attempt to lessen their power, and they realize who was responsible, there’ll be storm-rack flying this way.”

They slept well that night; Ciara had brewed a potion to make sure of it. With early morning the two women were up and already working on the first of their plans before they ate. On and off in the course of the next three days they worked together. Ciara already had the discipline and some power. She was experienced in using just as much as was needed, and wasting nothing.

At last she sagged into a chair. “My dear, I think I must rest. Many of the things you have shown me are too tiring for me to practice now, but I do know them. I shall practice them one by one after you are gone, but I think that we should turn to considering your new details—what shape you will take, what name; how you know Had-rann; why you are in Kars—all the things that you must be able to say without hesitation if asked. And how you will move against Kirion.”

Aisling mused silently, then said, “Much of that is easy. We’ve discussed it already. I shall look just like a girl I knew in Escore. She isn’t ugly, but she’s so nondescript you rarely notice her at all. I shall use part of her name as well. I’ll be Murna Leshin, distant cousin to Hadrann, at Kars to learn court polish.”

Hadrann, who had entered and was sitting nearby, sighed, assuming a tired world-weary air. “And I shall be the dutiful cousin.

Bored to yawning with this dreep of a girl my father has landed me with but too polite to say so.” He snickered. “I can bore a few of the court in turn with my complaints about it all.”

Ciara smiled. “You are wicked children. Keelan, what’s your part in this?”

“A little more complex. I shall appear to notice Murna when I discover she is a fine rider. Her only nonboring aspect,” he added in an aside to them. “Gradually I shall appear to become mildly interested in her. Of course that will amuse Kirion. He’ll watch, sneer, and count all three of us as negligible.”

A gleam of hatred showed in Hadrann’s eyes. “Kirion is used to being the hunter, and a man who is hunting often assumes that nothing is hunting him. He fails to guard his back.”

“You will be…”

“Careful? Oh yes, Lady Ciara. We shall move as cautiously as redbirds when the hawk is about, nor will we assume nothing hunts behind us.”

“And when will you leave for Kars City?”

“In two days. Keelan has hired a professional guard for us.” Hadrann sighed. “I’d have used Aranskeep men, but they might be too open-mouthed on how they do not know my ‘cousin.’”

Ciara considered that. “Then you had best be careful of Kirion. If he starts to wonder, it would be like him to send men inquiring at your home. The three of you decide why ordinary servants and men-at-arms might not know her, then write it down. I will send the letter to Aranskeep’s lord by a trusted messenger.” She looked at Rann. “Suggest one or two from the keep who can be trusted to allow some part of such a tale to leak to waiting ears. The sooner the better. I have found if that sort of tale is well-told the listener tends to accept it as truth and, moreover, usually believes he’s really known about it far longer than he has.”

Hadrann laughed. “By Cup and Flame, Lady Ciara. It is well you are for us. It’s a good trick, and my father will enjoy it. I know the very pair to spread the tale and what tale they shall spread.”

“Then go and write. I’m for my bed.”

Aisling hugged her good night, then she and Rann went to building wild tales of betrayal and true love. It was late in the night before they were satisfied with the letter and a fair copy was written and sealed. Harran, the keep’s master-at-arms, took it to Aranskeep the next morning.

The three conspirators spent the rest of that day making final preparations. After a quiet, nervous evening spent waiting for Harran to return, they were almost ready to retire for the night, when Harran finally arrived, a reply clutched in one hand as he trotted up the stairs. Hadrann broke the seal and read quickly.

“My father is well pleased. He sends coin to help with our masquerade and says the tale we wrote is now circulating from one who believes he heard it some time ago. His memory was merely refreshed. Already it garners detail. He wishes us all good fortune.” He smiled at Aisling and Keelan, omitting to mention that his father also bade them be very careful, since Lord Kirion was as quick to strike as an asp in long grass—and equally as venomous. All here had personal reasons to know the risk they ran. None would turn back. In the morning they would ride out to throw the dice, the table to be Kars, the stakes, lives. May luck and the gods be with them in this game.