Leather bottles of plum brandy appeared and went around the circle, then again. They were watered down with water from the good stream near the camp and there was ample for all. No one was drunk, not even the guards taking turns watching the trail below. But they smiled more swiftly, laughed more readily, and for that evening forgot that blood might be in common but country was not.
When they slept at last they slept without fear. They rose to eat and laugh again. Selarra took Aisling aside to consult. To a woman of Estcarp, a woman of the Power must be senior in any group.
“Lady, will you ride with us to our border or shall we part here?”
Aisling drew in a breath. “Best we part here. Your border is a day’s ride, but with spare mounts you can ride more swiftly. Before nightfall you can be across it and safer. We need to be back in the mountain keep of a kinsman before our guards come seeking us again.”
“Then I will thank you with all my heart. I know the witch will not have spoken of something between us. It is against their teaching.” She paused. Aisling smiled.
“But you and she are kin. There is much likeness, and she was so sure, so positive one would come searching, even across the border if need be. She said the council forbade that, but the one she knew would not care for such. You are sisters? Is power yours also?”
Selarra gave a soft snort. “Barely. But they’d have taken me for the training anyway although it’s little use I’d have been; my heart was set on being a border rider and wedding the man I loved.” Her grin was wicked. “So the night before I would have had to go with them I climbed from my window, and in the morning I was no fit witch.” Aisling giggled. “Oh, yes, there was a commotion, but they had no choice but to leave me. They took my little sister, and she is content. Her desire was always for knowledge and the witch powers. We have both our wishes, and I am content as is she.”
Aisling nodded. “What of your husband?”
“He was slain by your raiders some time ago.” She reached out taking Aisling by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. “For too many years I have hated all of Karsten. Now that Karsten has given me back my sister alive and unharmed, I will hate no longer. I saw how it rent you also. That you are kin to us and enemy too. Yet you saved her even from your own.” She drew Aisling slowly to her and kissed her cheek.
“I am Selarra Briarthorns Kin. If ever you come to my land ask for me. All that I have is yours, even to shelter against my own.”
In a rush of happiness Aisling hugged Selarra hard. “I’ll remember.” She reached deep into her memory. “And if you find any in your land who recall one, Lanlia, a healer whose grandmother was of Trasmor’s line, say to them that the Old Blood lives on in Karsten yet.”
“That I will do. But I see that the others wait for us to be done talking. Ride well, Aisling. May the light above you be strong, the way smooth, and evil always far from you on all the roads you take.” She vaulted onto her horse and trotted off down the trail after her patrol. At the first bend, she and her witch sister looked back and waved. Then there was only the sound of hooves receding along the trail.
XII
Aisling sat her mount thinking. Then she glanced down at Wind Dancer as he sat placidly waiting for them to move. He was thinking of roast mountain hare. So was Aisling but for other reasons. She turned her horse to stare about her. Excellent country for hares. They’d come back to those areas twisted by the Turning. Pockets of grass and clumps of brush had grown up quickly. The hares lived well.
They would be the perfect excuse for the wanderings of Aisling and her companions. Wind Dancer had already provided several winter-white hares. If they could find more they would show them off at Trevalyn Keep. She looked down at the big cat and projected the feel of hare, the delight in the hunt, and the taste of prey. Wind Dancer licked his lips and moved off. Aisling nudged her mount to follow, leaving the reins loose as she removed and strung her bow.
“What are you up to?” Keelan queried.
“The guards who return for us will find out we did not go straight to the keep. They’ll wonder, and where they wonder they’ll talk. But what if we had a good excuse, one that any guard would think only reasonable for the nobility.”
Hadrann smiled. “Such as?”
“Winter-white furs. For a cloak. Down in the lowlands or South the hares won’t turn white for another couple of months. Up here they are already. What if we hunt all day and again tomorrow. If we come back with a heap of furs, won’t they believe that?”
The men nodded. “They’ll think it quite sensible,” her brother said slowly. “A whole cloak for you and trimming for us if we get enough.”
Hadrann agreed. “We save the skinned and cleaned hares too. It’s chill up here. There’s already small patches of snow in the shadows. We can be at the keep in three days. The hares will be fine, and the whole place can eat roast hare. That will ensure us a most hearty welcome.”
“It’ll ensure they believe us too,” Aisling said. From hoof level Wind Dancer chirruped impatiently. If they were hunting let them get on with it. She broke off to laugh and signaled him. “Go then, move ahead of us. Catch what you can and beware of arrows.”
He trotted off, moving silently in long sweeping zigzags across their front. The three humans spread out in a line, each with bow at the ready. The first hare was young and nervous. He panicked, ran, and died abruptly. Keelan dismounted to pick up the body. He dropped back to skin and clean the beast before tucking body and pelt in a saddlebag, then he trotted his mount to rejoin the line.
Wind Dancer caught the next two hares, both older wilier beasts that chose to sit tight from the riders, missing the feline who led them. Wind Dancer did not miss. As they hunted they were also working their way back along the trail but parallel to it. By nightfall they had killed five more hares and made a comfortable camp. Keelan had broken off the hunt to ride ahead and light the fire, start food, and prepare hot drinks.
He’d also found a willow from which he could cut springy switches. These were curved in a circle and tied. The hare skins were stretched over them and scraped as the friends sat talking. Aisling plaited fine grass rope. They’d tie the stretched skins in flat stacks to the backs of their saddles. The horses wouldn’t approve, but that was too bad.
The next morning Wind Dancer was tucked into his carrysack, and they rode hard, pushing their tough little horses into early afternoon, when they made camp. Wind Dancer emerged from his carry-sack and stretched luxuriantly. Aisling received a picture of hares followed by other pictures. She giggled.
“Wind Dancer says we’re ruining him one way or another. Either he’ll have all his fur worn off in the carrysack or his pads worn off hunting hares.” The big cat marched off down the slope looking back to see they followed.
Keelan had halted them here because he’d seen signs of hares. He’d been right. Hares seemed to explode from the grass almost every time Wind Dancer swept out to look. They shot until there was no more room in the sacks to carry the skins and carcasses. When they returned to the camp, Hadrann looked over their spoils.
“Wonderful.” His expression turned serious. “You know, we could do worse than to return here to this spot with a packhorse once our guards reach us again. The court wouldn’t come into land this rough.”
“Or this close to the border,” Keelan noted.
“True. But they won’t be averse to a few gifts of this fur: enough to make Shastro a cloak for instance and fur trim for Aisling to give to a few of the ladies. Maybe a share in the meat to a friend or two? Hare meat will keep well in this weather, and a hare should be hung for some days anyhow.”