“They only just arrived here,” Rann was thinking aloud. “He can’t be sure when they’d trap you. It could be a day or a week. When he does wonder where they are, he’ll scry. He’ll see nothing. It could be another couple of days before he wastes more power and finds they’re dead. He can’t be certain that it was your doing, and where does he look for you then?” He answered himself. “At Aiskeep. We have their horses. And the two spare they brought on after my friend and I killed two of them. That’s three horses each. Do you need to be home for any reason?”
Aisling had been following his reasoning. If she wanted to reach Aiskeep before Kirion was certain she was back, it could be done. She could stay a night, leave again, and lose herself in Karsten. No, not Karsten; Kars City, and in disguise. Let old Geavon know where she was and what she was doing. Her thoughts halted. Come to that, what was she going to do about Kirion?
Hilarion had said it was sister against brother. The geas must intend for her to stop Kirion in some way. But she couldn’t simply march in and attack him openly. He had Shastro’s support. She was a trained witch but not a full adept. Well, she’d daresay something, some method or idea would present itself. But if she wanted to see her grandparents she’d better keep moving. What had Rann asked? Oh, yes.
“I do need to spend at least a night at Aiskeep. And it would be best if Kirion does not know.” Her voice was brisk. “I need to talk to Lord Trovagh and the Lady Ciara; they must know all of this.”
He nodded. “I must bury my friend, Lady. Then we shall ride.”
Aisling glanced at the sky. Wind Dancer would not like several days’ fast riding; Rann was suffering from the beating he’d taken. She’d seen him wince now and again as he moved. The day was progressing, and the burial would take more time.
“Better if we bury your friend, then eat and sleep a night,” she said gently. “It will rest the horses; theirs look to have been hard ridden. And I can craft a small healing spell for you. Nothing great, it will merely speed your natural healing while you sleep. But eat well and sleep you must.”
As she’d expected he saw the sense in that. “Then follow me, Lady. My friend lies down the trail near the wood. On the trail that circles it is a good place to camp and shelter for the night.” He too glanced at the sky. “I think it is likely to rain by the early hours.”
Aisling had already noted the thickening clouds. She scooped up Wind Dancer, mounted, and followed Rann to where the body of a slight young man lay sprawled. He had some of the features of the Old Race. His hair was black and his open staring eyes were a light gray. But his face was round and the chin was weak. There was nothing evil or lecherous in that face, Aisling thought. But nothing of strength or courage either. Yet at the last he’d done his best.
Moved by that she stooped and closed the eyes and ran a fingertip in the sign of blessing over the wide young forehead.
“Go in peace.” Her voice was soft. “I forgive anything I might have held against you.” Rann straightened the undignified sprawl. He was casting about for a suitable place to dig. Aisling considered, as a trained witch, she had another method of disposing of a body.
“Rann?” He turned to look at her, and she spoke diffidently. “If you would prefer it, I can give your friend to the flames.”
Rann nodded slowly. “We should be on our way, but will you ask for a judgment as well?” She nodded, and he stepped back in agreement. Wind Dancer caught her thought and moved away from the body. Aisling’s hands swept out over Brovar. Her voice rose in the chant of one who calls.
“By cup and flame, I summon. This one died well. I speak for him at his going. Let fire judge.” They were not the words of the standard calling of fire. This was a request for judgment. In her mind she drew the necessary runes. Then she spoke the word of invocation: “Shalarin!”
Pale silver the fire sprang up, flames racing the length of the body, sheathing it, hiding it from view. They reared up higher, died, and on the ground was nothing, not even ash. Rann bowed his head to hide the tears in his eyes. Jonrie had been generous in her words, and the goddess had judged. Brovar had not been denied.
Rann prayed briefly, then walked his mount back along the older trail. A mile farther on, he turned off to a jumble of rocks. There at the half-cave he began to strip gear from the patient horses. Wind Dancer trotted off into the trees. He’d provide his own dinner. It would be pleasant to hunt in the land of his birth again. He returned bearing a plump rabbit in time to find a fire lit and Aisling dropping a saddle blanket by the flames for him. He accepted the blanket at once with an approving purr.
Aisling laughed. “A warm fire, a soft place to lie, and a fat rabbit. What more does a cat ask?”
Rann laughed with her. “But is this one just a cat?”
“No cat is just a cat,” Aisling warned him. “But with Wind Dancer we have all wondered at one time or another. His mother had never bred. She was four when she vanished into the hills and returned in kitten. Wind Dancer was the only one she birthed.” She smiled remembering. “Since then many have asked her who she found in the hills. She refuses to tell.”
She saw Rann was eyeing her doubtfully. “No, she is no more than a cat, but Wind Dancer, well, he’s something extra. But he’s also my good friend and traveling companion, and I owe him my life. Whoever Shosho found to father him doesn’t matter.”
Her companion nodded and half-changed the subject. “Do we ride for Aiskeep in the morning? If we ride hard we could be there by the main road in a few days, but Wind Dancer couldn’t keep up.”
“He’ll travel with me. I have a special carrysack so he can ride. He won’t appreciate it, but he’ll prefer it to being left behind.” She reached out to stroke the big cat’s head and sent him pictures of the plan. His ears flattened and he howled softly. Then he sagged back in agreement. It was better than being separated from his human. And it would be very good to see his dam and home once again.
While they shared food and drink they talked casually. Aisling was still being careful of her true identity but she could talk of Aiskeep, while Rann spoke of his own home and his father. She approved of his attitude toward her. He treated her as an equal, which, Aisling thought, was only fair. He might be a trained warrior, but she was a trained witch, with equal status, and she had reached her twenty-first birthday a moon before she left the valley.
Their talk drifted into a discussion of horses, then of sheep. All keeps had their own flock to provide wool for weaving into cloth. Aiskeep was proud of their colored sheep, which had come to the keep with Ciara, Aisling’s grandmother.
“Black and… moorit, you say?” Rann was interested. “You have a true brown, not just a faded black?”
“Moorit, yes. Not just the pale kind that fades to dirty white after a couple of years, either. Some of our moorits are dark brown and keep that shade.”
Rann looked wistful. “We’ve had good black fleeces, but a dark moorit is hard to find. I wonder if the Lord of Aiskeep would trade with us some time?”
“Perhaps,” was all Aisling said, before the talk turned back to other topics.
They readied their gear before they slept. With daybreak they had eaten and were saddling the horses. After that they traveled steadily, at a slow canter much of the time, dropping to a trot or even a walk in the rougher going. Well-padded in his carrysack and cushioned by his human’s back, Wind Dancer slept, his body yielding bonelessly to the movement. He woke when they halted in the early afternoon.
Rann was unsaddling their mounts and rubbing down the sweating beasts with care. Aisling laid out food while Rann changed saddles to a fresh pair of mounts.