They were followed by a hail of arrows. Now and again a man was struck and fell from his mount. At such times he was killed by the crowd who lined the way. They gave a path to the thundering soldiers but closed about the wounded, their faces twisted in a madness of rage and fear. The soldiers gained the gate and fought there. It opened at at last, and three men spurred free toward the safety of the war host outside. One reeled in his saddle, and another rode alongside to support him. As he did so he looked back and she knew the face. Franzo!
Her eyes scanned swiftly. The clan leader had come previously to talk in Kars, but it had not been in spring nor had his men died about him by treachery as he left. This could be a true-dreaming. Her gaze flashed about trying to see and remember all she could. It was late spring. How late she was uncertain, but it must be close to the summer’s beginning. The trees were all in leaf, blossoms showed on some bushes that did not bloom until winter’s chill was well gone.
In the camp outside Kars gate war horns were blowing. From behind trees horses dragged a siege engine, then another. She shivered. Franzo was not wasting any more time. Now he would beat down the walls first and talk after. Many were going to die in this harvest time of death. Into her dreaming mind came a small quiet voice.
“Your time, geas bearer, and three are stronger than one. Three and three: three to accomplish, three to aid.” At the last words the voice faded, as did the dream. Aisling awoke in the darkness of her room. She lay, carefully committing to memory all she had seen and heard. Her heart raced, and she felt sweat gather on her forehead. She was afraid, yet if any action of hers would save the city and her land, then she would act. There was nothing she could do as yet.
She would talk of the dream and its meaning to Ciara but she’d say nothing of it as yet to her brother and Hadrann. She lay awake another hour, trying to tease plans from her tired mind, but at length she fell asleep again, to wake late but refreshed and hopeful.
Ciara, found sewing a new wall hanging, only listened and nodded. “You are right. Let it be forgotten until you must return to Kars. Such dreams sometimes do not happen because there are others involved whose actions may change the course of events. It may be that no army will be at Kars gate in late spring. It may also be that it is not the spring to come that was the one you saw. A city does not change swiftly, and Franzo is likely to look the same for years yet.”
She picked at her feltwork as it lay across her lap. “It may also be that the dream is symbolic. If that is so it could mean powerful enemies are moving against the duke. That a rash act of his will bring destruction and death. Wait, say nothing. You will know when the time is right to tell your brother and Hadrann.”
She watched her granddaughter run laughing across the courtyard later that day. Snowballs hurtled through the air. Ciara smiled, remembering another snowball the child had thrown. Kirion hadn’t appreciated that. He hated the child then. If he discovered that Ais-ling masqueraded as Hadrann’s cousin in the Kars court he’d see to it she never returned to Aiskeep alive—for more reasons than his precious sorcery.
On the other side of the courtyard Hadrann flung a snowball at Keelan. He followed it with another before launching himself at his friend. They rolled over and over in the snow, Keelan yelling for his sister to help him. Aisling joined the battle. Snow flew. Wildly excited, Wind Dancer jumped and pounced indiscriminately on any person who temporarily emerged. Nearby the Lord of Aiskeep leaned against a wall laughing so hard he was all but bent double.
Ciara grinned before strolling back inside to arrange hot drinks. They’d need them once they slowed down and the cold made itself felt. It was good to have them home. She liked Hadrann too. Her grin widened. And if she was not mistaken the boy liked Aisling. The Old Blood was often slow to mature. Slower to age. Slow also to look for a mate. It was not that the blood ran colder. But most males were in their thirties before they found women of more than mild interest.
Part bloods like Aisling and Keelan would seek out mates earlier but still later than those who were of Karsten incomer blood alone. Keelan was closing on thirty; thus far he’d shown little interest in women. Aisling was twenty-two now; she’d begin to look about her soon. Ciara considered what she knew of Hadrann. There was a little of the blood in the old lord, his father. It wasn’t wise to play sex games with one’s own people. Tarnoor, her lord’s father, had never approved, and she thought that Hadrann’s father too would be of similar mind. The lad had probably done no more than the usual brief adventuring about court or while on the Sulcar ship.
But he was getting ready to move on. That light in his eye was unmistakable to a woman who’d lived long and seen much. The daughter of Aiskeep, sister to the heir, would be a good match for Hadrann. And Aranskeep was only a three-day wagon ride away, two by horseback and a good inn between. Aisling could come home often. She sighed. That was, if they all survived this spring; if Kirion and his duke lost their lives, and her three did not.
She stopped her gloom and poured boiling water into mugs. The hot lemony scent of the dried trennon leaves was wonderful. She inhaled with pleasure, chuckled, and thrust aside her worries. Hadrann would be here only another day. She’d not cloud his pleasure nor that of her grandchildren. Let Aisling live in the joyous present this winter. Spring would come soon enough.
In that she was wrong; winter lingered. Hadrann left for Aranskeep. Harran and his men fought a snowstorm to return. The storms dumped huge quantities of snow across the south of Karsten all that month and the next. Great fluffy drifts piled up and collapsed the roofs of less-well-built garths. The cold froze the deep mud of roads and the shallow water of streams. It even froze solid the river that ran from the Turned Mountains through northern Karsten between Kars City and the southern lands.
Karsten had not known such a winter in living memory. Whole families of peasants died, frozen to death in their hovels. While in outlying garths, even well-founded ones, the struggle to survive the cold was great. Many garth-folk did so only to find they had lost all their beasts. None from Aiskeep were suffering so, but then Aiskeep had a long and strong tradition. Their people were housed in weather-tight garths and their beasts in good solid barns. They had cut great stacks of hay, and two huge stacked banks of surplus firewood were placed, one by the keep and the other at the far end of the valley. Aiskeep people might suffer in the worst winters but never because their lord and lady did not care.
In a lull between storms Aisling was sitting hunched over a game of fox and geese with her brother. Ciara was sewing by the fire, Trovagh dozing on the other side. They had all risen early, woken by a short but ferocious windstorm. Once up, they had eaten well and settled by the old long fireplace. Sometimes in midwinter the snow abated for a few days or as much as a week, but it would come again. From outside the room came a growing commotion, and all raised their heads to listen.
Hannion’s voice could be heard, then his footsteps before his head poked around the door. “Lady Ciara, there’s trouble at Elms-garth. Young Jarria has ridden to cry aid of us.”
Ciara rose, Aisling came to join her as the garth-girl staggered in, old Hannion steadying her steps. The girl stood, shivering on her feet, half snow-blind, white patches of frostbite showing on her cheeks and nose. She lifted her mittened hands imploringly.
“Lady, the House of Jontar has always looked to Aiskeep. Help us now or we die, all of us.” She slid to her knees as Aisling ran forward. Jarria’s eyes rolled up, and she collapsed into the waiting arms. Lord Trovagh moved in his chair.
“Harran.” His voice was quiet, but it cut through the babble of voices. “Call out the guard: yourself and eight chosen men. Prepare two wagons. Outspan spare horses. Heaviest beasts only to be used. Warmest clothing to be worn. All suitable arms to be carried. Hold the wagonloading until we can find out the problem that brought the child through such weather. Go quickly!”