“What do we do with their horses when we get farther into Karsten,” he queried as he worked. “None of the four is much, but someone might recognize them.”
Aisling grinned. “Oh, no they won’t. I can do something about their looks. No, using the method I plan won’t tire me,” she added as she saw him about to object. “It isn’t magic; just a couple of tricks. We’ll push hard and get out of this area. Then we can head for my home by the old back-country trails. Once we’re well on the way, there’s a place to lie up a day and night. I can work on them then.” Rann nodded. It made sense.
He finished what he was doing, ate, rested an hour, and then rose ready to move on. They used the enemy mounts steadily until they were in sight of the deserted garth. There Aisling halted her horse to sit staring sadly at the structure for several moments.
“What is it?”
“Three years ago when I was eighteen I came this way. I had trouble behind me and was traveling as fast as I could. Both Wind Dancer and I. Temon lived here. Kirion and a lord from Kars were hunting me and Temon had an Old Blood feud with the lord. He took me in, stood by me, and died for it.” She turned impulsively to look at him. “I don’t want you to die too. Go your own way from here. I’ll be all right.”
Rann made a small sound of outrage. “I’ll do no such thing. Would you desert me if matters were in all ways reversed?” She hesitated, and he nodded sharply. “Exactly. At the very least, I’ll see you to Aiskeep.” His expression hardened. “I have debts of my own to pay, twice over. Brovar died at the hands of Kirion’s men. You have some plan in mind to destroy him, kin or not. Will you thrust my help aside?”
Aisling bowed her head. “No, you speak truth. This quest is yours also. But it will not be easy, either or both of us may die in ways I do not wish to think of. Kirion will have no mercy on those who seek to bring him down.”
“Nor will I have mercy,” Rann said, memories edging his tone. “I saw too much in Kars. It is best for our land if Kirion is gone and Shastro is not in power longer than may be helped.”
They rode on with Aisling considering the thought. She feared Shastro would not be easily deposed. He was weak, vicious, and pleasure loving. He had strengths though, and he would be no casual target. He feared enemies too much to take foolish risks. Kirion had catered to that and grown rich and powerful. But if he were gone, the duke would find another to give him what he demanded. There was always someone willing to step into a power vacuum. He might not be the sorcerer that Kirion was becoming, but he’d have power in some way.
The pendant warmed under Aisling’s bodice. It flared, sending pleasant heat across her body before it died again. So, that idea was important. If they destroyed Kirion but left Shastro, it would be a job half done. She sighed. Was she supposed to destroy both sorcerer and duke? Heat from the pendant touched her again, and she bit back a stream of curses. It seemed she was. And just how, she wondered, was she supposed to do tbaA
A day later they swung onto a backcountry trail heading south toward Aiskeep. It had been a pleasant ride despite the speed. They had continued to exchange views, and at the noontime break, they had rubbed their mounts down companionably, comparing them to other horses they had known. They were now away from the roads and riding hard for a place where they could alter the horses’ appearance, and so far they had seen no other riders.
Wind Dancer was tired of the carrysack. Almost at the end of the day’s riding, Aisling allowed him out to scamper ahead, pouncing at grass heads and thistles to relieve the stiffness of his muscles. But allowing him his freedom took time, so that was the last break the big cat was permitted before they moved on again.
They reached a safe haven in the foothills a day and a half after that and still without seeing other travelers. Aisling dismounted stiffly. It had been a hard ride. Once she’d changed the horses’ looks there’d be less haste. Nor did she have to arrive at her home by the front gates. From the cave they could travel deeper into the mountains at the rear of Aiskeep’s valley, until they had threaded the rough land at the far end, where—for those who knew the path—there was a back way into Aiskeep’s lands.
For the remainder of the day humans and horses rested and ate while Wind Dancer vanished to hunt. By morning Aisling was ready. In Escore there grew a small marsh plant with fleshy leaves. If the leaves were squeezed between flat stones they yielded a sap that, when heavily diluted, was an effective bleach. In Escore, where she had trained, it was used to clean wool. Aisling had brought plant seeds and a small container of the pure sap to show her grandmother.
Her grandmother would have to do without the demonstration. Aisling tethered the horses and studied them. Three bays and a rather shabby black. The black was easy: she’d give him a white stocking on one foreleg, a white sock on one hind. The main thing anyone would be remembering about the animal was that he had no white on him. After Aisling had worked for an hour, there was.
Then she turned to the three bay horses. Hmmm. Two had nothing that would distinguish them from thousands of others, but the third had a roman nose that flared like a war horn. She gave him a white star centered on his forehead and a lopsided blaze that slipped over one side of his muzzle. It lessened the effect of the ro-man nose considerably.
Rann was watching in amusement. “Anything else?”
“Yes. One of the other bays is young, and he’s a good horse. I’d like to keep him.”
“Him alone? So what about these other three?”
“They can be sold south once I’m home. But this one…” Yes?
“I’ll wash.” Rann gaped at her. It hadn’t been an easy trip. Had it been too much for her? Aisling saw the look and hid a chuckle. “Bring water if you will, please, lots of it.” She added the bleach and washed the bay carefully. After that she soaked his mane and tail. She rinsed the placid animal and left him to dry in the sunlight. After the meal Rann glanced at the still-tethered animal. He blinked, looked away, and back again.
“I’ll be the son of a sorcerer. He’s gone chestnut colored.” Aisling nodded, admiring her handiwork.
She’d known the bleach would work on horsehair. Once in Es-core it had been done to give a soldier a familiar-appearing mount so he could ride openly in an area held by the Dark. She grinned at Rann and was pleased at his return smile.
They slept in peace that night, and even Wind Dancer was not reluctant to move on. He loathed hard riding—it left kinks in his spine—but the smells were growing more like those of home.
It took three more days, but then Aisling saw a familiar place, a small valley through which the trail led. Beyond that was a large cave that had been the haven of wolfshead outlaws before now. The trail bent, but she knew: around the next bend would be the cave itself and then the start of the trail into Aiskeep. Wind Dancer’s head suddenly poked out of his carrysack. He paused only to send a brief pic-ture, then he was over her shoulder and leaping up the trail. Aisling did not wait to explain. She dropped the lead reins, kicked her mount into a run, and tore after him.
Rann dithered. Was she chasing the cat or did she have some purpose in mind? From around the bend came a shriek. He kicked his mount into pursuit. Now was no time to sit and consider choices. He crashed through the bushes and found his companion being swung about by some male. The man tossed her over one shoulder laughing. It did not occur to Aranskeep’s heir that if the plight were real his companion would have been using very effective methods to free herself.
But instead of using her dagger or the Power, she was beating the wretch about the shoulders and screaming to be released at once. Rann set about attaining that. He seized the man’s arm, wrenched the girl loose, and flung her captor to the ground. His sword flashing free of the scabbard, Rann would have leapt on his opponent then but for Aisling, who stepped in quickly, her mouth curving in a small warm smile.