“Quickly.” The soldier came running. “My friend saw a servant fleeing past us. He isn’t at all certain, but he thinks it could have been one of the men who kidnapped him. They went that way. Look for Lord Keelan.”
“Thank you, my Lord, my Lady.” He followed Hadrann’s indicating wave. A bare minute later there came the sounds of a struggle. Keelan’s voice was raised. “Rann, help!”
Aisling and Hadrann raced up the stairs. In a half-open doorway Keelan was struggling with the servant. The palace guard was trying to rise, blood pouring from a head wound. The old servant was fighting like a madman and gradually overpowering the lighter Keelan. Hadrann leapt, his hand flashing out in a blow that sent the panicked man to the ground. The guard was on his feet looking unhappy.
“You haven’t killed him, Lord?”
“No, he should wake again soon, and with so many to be questioned there may be no answers demanded of you. Many will be hauling in unconscious men.” The guard heaved a deeply thankful sigh.
“I’ll see they’ll know if they must, Lord. My thanks for your aid. All of you. I would not be well regarded if this one had slipped through our hands.”
He summoned help from comrades and hauled his prisoner away down the stairs. Aisling looked after them and shivered. She’d seen Shastro’s dungeons and knew what would happen to the servant. She hated that she’d helped, but it was more important to bring down her brother and Shastro then to agonize over the fate of a man who was far from innocent. She took her companions’ arms.
“Let us go back to the rooms. I want to make sure the searchers aren’t wrecking the place and annoying Wind Dancer. We’ll hear what was found out soon enough.”
She was wrong in that last. Three days passed. Shastro seemed to be keeping the results to himself. He was seething over the discovery that an entire clan had been conspiring against him. Kirion had been unable to wring an admission from any of the servants of an intended ducal assassination. They insisted they’d been there only to watch and listen. Those who had taken Keelan had believed him to be following one of their number. Shastro didn’t believe a word of it.
He was certain they’d been conspiring to kill him. Probably they were allied with Estcarp too. Shastro would die, and some puppet of the witches would be placed on the throne, there to talk treaties with Karsten’s oldest and greatest enemy. He fumed, demanding the servants be questioned again and again. Kirion made soothing noises.
“They can tell no more.” He shrugged. “They know nothing. It is likely they were never told to do more than watch and listen. It would have been one of that clan who’d have carried out their intent. Do you now plan to move against the clan?”
Shastro was storming about his room. He picked up a goblet and flung it hard against the wall. “And my proof? If I march every solider I have against their keeps I’d lose. The other clans would claim I was using this business to take the power of a clan. I could have them all banding together against me.” He whirled on his sorcerer.
“Well, you’re my advisor. Advise me!”
Kirion considered while pouring wine. He placed the dented goblet in the duke’s hand. “Drink, my Lord Duke, and let us consider.” Shastro sat, calming a little as he emptied the goblet and was poured another.
“You are right. We must move cautiously,” Kirion mused. “But if plague strikes, or if enemies strike this clan in secret how can it be blamed on you? After all, you can point to witnessed testimony that creatures of theirs were stationed in the palace to spy upon you and your court. I suggest you hold an open ducal hearing. Let everyone speak who knows anything at all, or even those who just want to hear themselves talk.”
“What good will that do me,” his duke asked pettishly.
“Why, people assume that if there is talking going on, then nothing else is happening. We weary everyone with this discussion and in secret we act against the Coast Clan—nothing that cannot be explained as accident or ill-fortune.”
“But they’ll guess.”
“Assuredly they will.” Kirion’s smile was dangerous. “They’ll blame you, maybe even be stupid and reckless enough to attack you openly. You can then crush them the same way. You protest that if they did not have guilty consciences they would not be jumping to conclusions over a few accidents. I learned few things from my grandsire, but one trick I did learn. We kill two sorts of men from their clan. Those who are cool-headed and those who are clever. We kill the clever because they may see our intent and the cool-headed because…”
“Because if you kill the cool-headed the hotheads go to war.” Shastro ended his sentence. “Yes. A good plan. I’ll get the trial started. We’ll try them on the kidnapping of Lord Keelan. I won’t suggest anything more to begin. Let it come out from those who talk. I shall be shocked, horrified at the perfidy.”
He smoothed his sleeve. “I can leave the rest up to you, my dear friend.” His look was sly. “And do rest assured too, you shall have your share of any plunder these traitors provide.” He strolled off leaving Kirion standing, his face blank as he fumed.
An hour later in his own apartments Kirion raged about the rooms, throwing small items at the wall and cursing his duke savagely, anger and wounded pride showing on his face. He hadn’t worked for all these years, killed, tortured, and schemed, just to be told his master would toss him a few trinkets, like a bone to a good dog.
Shastro was getting above himself, forgetting who’d put him on the throne of Kars. There were a lot of Shastros out there, all mediocre, burning with ambition, and ready to do anything for the man who gained them their dearest wish. Perhaps it was getting toward the time when Kirion should think about that.
Shastro was the last of his line, yes, but the duke who’d sat on the throne in Kars before Shastro’s great-grandsire had also left descendants. They’d jump at the chance to regain the rulership. Perhaps he should make a cautious approach there, just in case he needed a candidate quickly?
“Varnar!” Kirion tossed a small purse to Varnar when his servant appeared. “Take this, go, and drink at the Inn of the Merry Bear. Be careful, let no one realize what you do, but you are to make enquiries about the family of Jekkar the cobbler. I want to know all about them. Who is well, who may be ill, who is wed with children? Do you understand me? Be careful. I would not be pleased if you were too obvious in your questioning.”
Kirion sniffed as Varnar scurried away. The man was useful occasionally, beyond the other, darker use Kirion would have for him if there was need. He continued with his latest experiment, wondering if he should also scry for his missing servants again. He’d done so a number of times in the past five moons, hoping they had found his witch-damned sister, Aisling. Not only could he obtain no sight through them but he also could not sense anything of the witch-cursed brat either. He’d try again when next he had a surplus in prisoners, although the way Shastro made demands, that wouldn’t be anytime soon.
Varnar returned the next morning, smiling hopefully up at his master. “I found the cobbler, Lord, and I have all the news of his family.” He talked while Kirion listened intently. Once Varnar fell silent, Kirion gave him a well-filled purse and other orders before sending the man away.
He did wonder how Shastro would react once the trials of the palace servants got underway. Kirion suspected a number of them were involved in wrongdoing, not always a threat to Shastro, but servants usually practiced some deceit that could be used against them at need. He’d bide his time and see how events fell out, and perhaps Kirion could give the events some assistance if that would help his plans.