“It is unfortunate, but I am a sorcerer, not a god. I have questioned the powers that I can reach, and it appears that we have been temporarily outmaneuvered. That is Lord Franzo down there.”
“I know that. But why is it him and…”
“And not the leader I intended to be rid of nor his stupid impetuous brother, whom we could have used,” Kirion interrupted. “Because Franzo isn’t the fool the brother would have been. He’s been studying events too. My man hadn’t yet acted when the clan leader was killed tripping and falling down his witch-cursed stairs. Franzo accused the brother of pushing him, had him locked up, and assembled the clan soldiers. Then he talked to the other lords of the clan. He only let the brother out, once Franzo had secured the backing of all the clan lords.”
Shastro looked horrified. “But why here? They have no proof I’ve been involved with any of their misfortune.” His voice developed a faint whine. “I was the victim, well, almost. They intended my assassination. So why is this Franzo here and what does he want of me?”
“Go and ask him,” Kirion said tersely.
“But… but…”
“I doubt he’d harm you, not unless he wants the city to rise up and fall on him. He may have some nine hundred soldiers out there, but we have very good walls, defended gates, and a lot more people willing to fight for Kars.” He refrained from saying that fighting for Kars wasn’t quite the same as fighting for a duke, but Shastro was looking happier.
“Yes. My people wouldn’t allow me to be murdered before them.” Shastro drew himself up. “I shall invite this Franzo to appear before me.”
“With safe passage?”
“Of course. I shall show him that the duke of Kars knows how to behave. I shall display my noble blood!” Kirion refrained from pointing out that, like Pagar before him, Shastro had risen from obscurity, noble blood or not, and in Shastro’s case that had been four generations gone. Shastro was bleating on. “I shall show him he cannot think to intimidate the duke of Kars. As if he could!”
If that display of hysterical panic hadn’t shown that Franzo had succeeded, Kirion thought, he didn’t know what could. Aloud he agreed sincerely or, more precisely, with the excellent counterfeit of deep sincerity he could produce when required.
Shastro hurried off to have the throne room arranged, guards mustered to line the streets to the palace, and to first find a messenger and scribe. The duke could write but he felt that at the moment his writing might be a trifle shaky.
In the palace, Keelan and Hadrann were out and about, chatting, listening, peering out of windows, and generally putting together all the information they could uncover. Aisling sat quietly, motionless in a large chair in her room as she worked. Wind Dancer too had chosen to help. Aisling had covered him with a ‘not to be noticed’ spell and let him down from a window. Safely on the ground, the big cat had jumped from the basket and trotted off toward the besieging army.
Armies were rarely unpleasant to cats, and with Kirion engaged in coping with ducal panic, Aisling could safely link with her feline friend. Wind Dancer padded here and there, now pausing to listen to talk, now accepting a proffered tidbit from some cat-loving cook. After four hours he made his way back to the tower wall. Aisling let the basket swing down; Wind Dancer leaped in and sat comfortably as he was retrieved. Soon after that the men returned.
Hadrann spoke first. “Shastro is going to meet the clan war leader—Franzo, if that is him leading—tomorrow morning to, and I quote, ‘Discuss the possible grievances the clan may have against the duke of Kars.’” His lips curved in a small smile. “Shastro is steaming. I think he’d forgotten that he may be duke and rule Kars, but out in the lands of Karsten beyond the city, the keep lords rule, and he has little effective authority over them. He hasn’t enjoyed being reminded.”
Keelan nodded. “The court is frightened. Gossip has it that if Shastro doesn’t placate the Coast Clan the city could be taken. I don’t know exactly how many men are out there, but it isn’t likely.” He considered briefly. “Although if that’s Franzo, it might be possible.” He glanced over to where Aisling sat with Wind Dancer sprawled across her.
“That is Franzo down there. He has nine hundred and sixty soldiers and the full backing of the Coast Clan,” she informed them. “He also has the backing of a couple of allied lesser clans and several keeps that think Shastro wants taking down a notch or two. They aren’t expecting it to come to an attack on Kars, but they will if there’s no other choice.”
“And if it does?”
“They’ll strike straight through the city, not spreading out, not attacking any who don’t attack them. When they reach the palace they’ll depose Shastro. They aren’t certain whom to put in his place. If this must be done they’re intending to put Franzo in temporarily, and he’s agreed to that until they find a suitable younger ruler.”
Keelan looked surprised. “You mean Franzo would step down?”
Hadrann nodded. “He would. He’s a good soldier and knows it. He isn’t a man to enjoy sitting on a throne and dealing with a lot of paperwork and fawning courtiers.” He grinned briefly. “I’d pity the court and the quill pushers if he did rule Kars, but he’d do that if it meant peace and time to find a man who can manage. The city has always needed a ruler who can balance Kars with Karsten.” He looked wryly at his friends.
“Kars forgets as did Shastro that the city is large and densely populated but Karsten is a hundred times larger, and though the people may be scattered, they outnumber any Kars fighters ten times over. Moreover, of those out there perhaps half of all the men are fighters as well as whatever official trade we follow.” He nodded to Aisling. “Many of the women of the garths also can use a bow. In Kars there is the watch and the guard; most people have never had to fight.”
“No, they die for that when war comes to the city,” Aisling said.
“True. But most still don’t learn to fight. If Franzo decides he has to take the city make no mistake; he may well do so. I just don’t know how many would die on both sides before he succeeded.” He heard the clatter of hooves and leaned out to look. “The duke’s messenger is back. Let’s see if we can find out whether Franzo has agreed to the meeting.” Word on that spread rapidly: Franzo had. Hadrann scouted quietly through the upper city after that and returned looking worried.
“I think Shastro may be about to make a very big mistake.”
“Why?” Aisling queried.
“Because Franzo, being an experienced soldier and no fool, wouldn’t take chances with this meeting. Before his army arrived he’d have sent a number of his less obvious soldiers into Kars, most probably dressed as ordinary tradesmen or farmers bringing in produce.” His face was grim. “If the duke or that brother of yours tries to break truce and kill Franzo I suspect the soldiers would be there to either prevent it or strike back.”
Keelan spoke slowly, thinking it through. “If everyone succeeds, if Franzo is killed and the duke and Kirion are killed in retaliation, then both sides will explode. Franzo’s army will pour in to avenge him; Kars guard, with no one to give orders, will fight back. So will the ordinary people as best as they can, since they’ll believe they won’t survive otherwise. They—we—will lose in the end, but by that time Franzo’s people will have gone crazy. They’ll rip Kars apart. Loot, burn, and—Rann! We have to get Aisling out now or at least work out a way to escape once that starts.”
Aisling made a small sound of disagreement. “No, listen, Kee. First we need to get word to Kirion about Franzo’s men. He’s smart. He’ll see what can happen as well as we do and he’ll put a leash on Shastro. Even if he doesn’t or can’t there still may not be a problem.” Her smile flashed briefly. “Remember Shastro’s spies. I did. I started doing some hunting and late last night I found a way to get into the secret passages.”