With his anger as a goad he worked for several nights. Then he went back to Kars. He was gone a day and a night before he returned, a sweetly vicious smile playing around his thin lips. Now he could begin his moves. In a year or two at most he should have Shandro on the throne of Kars.
After that he’d plan his campaign against Aiskeep. First he must stir hatred against the Witches once more. In later years it had somewhat died down. It must be kindled to flame again. That would be easy with Shandro; he’d grown up with tales of the mountains’ Turning. Half of his clan had died with Pagar. Yes, Kirion would begin with Shandro.
Half done is well begun, Kirion reminded himself six months later. Shandro had been easy to rouse to wrath. All Kirion had done was take every opportunity of mentioning how far down Shandro’s clan had fallen.
Of course he’d used the spell whenever he did so. He had that mastered. If only he could have risked the darker, more dangerous one that matched it. That he was not prepared to do. It would be the difference between persuasion and an order obeyed at once. But there were drawbacks. Kirion never underestimated danger to himself. The darker spell could lash back if it failed. It could recoil on the user to his doom. Kirion intended to rule Kars through Shandro, not to lie dead in some ornate tomb.
He used his spell persuading as and when he could. Gradually over the next year Shandro rose in power. His attitude and those of his shadow court hardened against the Estcarp Witches and those of the Old Race who might remain in Karsten. Two years after Keelan had deserted Iren, Shandro became duke of Kars. It was a title of little value as wealth went. The generations of unrest or outright war had impoverished both the city and the provinces about it. All Karsten was poor.
Using his spells Kirion persuaded traders to come more often to Kars. He cajoled better prices for Karsten goods. In Alizon there arose a fad for the felt wall hangings Ciara had made popular many years earlier in the South. A trickle of wealth began to flow into Karsten. It was not a great deal in itself, but it sparked a renewed hope, a rebuilding on the part of those who lived there. In another year the trickle of wealth had deepened and widened. Some of the clans and Keeps were growing rich again. Kirion made sure that the throne took its full share.
At Aiskeep Ciara was torn. She knew from Geavon that Kirion was behind the Kars throne. She heard of the growing hatred against those with the Old Blood. Geavon would have warned her if she had not seen what might come. He was too old to ride any longer, but his mind was as keen as ever, and his fingers as nimble. He wrote more often to Aiskeep to make up for the visits he could no longer manage. His letter this time brought fear.
Trovagh was with Ciara in their own room reading the latest pages. “He says Shandro is considering a new law,” she reported.
Trovagh looked up from where he added wood to the fire. “A law on witchcraft?”
“Yes. Not the Horning again, but the result is likely to be the same. They, offer half the goods of any found to be of the Old Race and practicing witchcraft, to those who denounce them.”
Trovagh was startled. “But that’s wicked. They’ll have half of the land denouncing the other. A good number of people have that blood. Any can add an accusation of spell-casting. How will they judge?”
Ciara’s voice was dry. “Probably by how much those denounced can contribute to the duke’s coffers. I smell Kirion’s hand in all this. He knows who and what I am.”
Trovagh grinned suddenly, “I don’t think he’ll even look at Aiskeep, dear heart. He’s your grandson. If he allows you to be denounced, he names himself. From what Geavon writes Kars is rapidly becoming hysterical on the subject. I wonder just how safe even Kirion may be.”
Kirion, too, was wondering of recent weeks. It seemed that one could start a fire that was far harder to put out again. He sat glumly in his room at the palace worrying. It had seemed such a good idea when he began it. Now it looked possible even he could come under suspicion. He hadn’t bargained for that. He’d better work out a way to decrease the hysteria. He worked hard most of that winter. He succeeded eventually in convincing Shandro that the idea was not to wipe out all those with any ability.
No, far better to get them under the duke’s hand. Use them to aid Kars. It took time but at last he was able to persuade the duke into revoking the law. Kirion took over the lists as yet unused. There were sure to be a scattering of those who were genuinely of the Old Race. He scanned the lines of names. He’d find those, then wring from them any indication of their abilities. Their families would stand hostage.
Here and there, he did find a man or woman of the Old Blood. None of the pure line but occasionally one of part-blood who had chosen to remain.
It did Kirion little good. The less of the blood, the less chance that they’d be of use. Most of those he found practiced healcraft in some way. That was not what he wanted. Where they had money he saw to it they vanished. His pockets were filling, as was Kars’s treasury. But it gained Kirion no power. He knew an old poisoner in the lower city who could do more than any of these pathetic remnants of the Old Race. He decided to move more openly against Aiskeep in ways they would find it harder to counter. He chose a man of Shandro’s clan to make the offer. A very carefully chosen man.
The messengers arrived the day after Aisling’s sixteenth name day. Trovagh watched as Ciara read the beautifully penned letter. Her eyes blazed in disgust as she turned to him.
“Ruart! I’d rather give her to a pig. You’ll tell him no, of course?” Trovagh hesitated and his wife stared at him.
“Tro? You aren’t going to agree, you can’t!”
“Don’t be a fool. No, I wouldn’t dream of agreeing, but look at the consequences. We can’t say the girl is too young. She’s sixteen. Kirion knows that even if Ruart doesn’t. So what do we say. A flat refusal is likely to bring half of Ruart’s clan about our ears at the insult.”
“Say she’s sick, loose of morals, mad, or promised elsewhere. Anything, Tro. But she doesn’t go to that man. He’s the one Geavon told us about two years ago when all that witchcraft fuss was stirring in Kars. I will not have Aisling wed a man of that sort even if the girl would agree. And as yet she’s shown no sign of looking at any man with much interest.”
“I agree, but we must move carefully,” Trovagh said quietly. “One thing, too. It’s to my mind that we should bring Keelan into this discussion. We made him Keep Heir over a year gone. Aisling is his sister, and he has a right to know what is asked and by whom.”
“This offer was probably instigated by his brother anyway. Yes, Tro. Call him.”
Keelan came,read the letter in silence, then stared at the fire. It was a fair offer if you disregarded the character of he who made it. Aisling was offered honorable marriage into a powerful clan. They’d accept her with only a small dowry, and they offered several sweeteners for the contract. And if she gave Ruart a son, she was then free to depart should she choose to do so. With her would go a large sum of money as largesse for the clan heir. That last was supposed to help convince Keelan.
Persuade your sister, pressure her if need be. And we’ll make you rich in a couple of years. It was well worded, of course. It could equally read that they’d let Aisling free if she wished once she’d given the clan an heir. The coin was to support the heir’s mother in her old home once she returned there. That was what Ruart would claim was intended if he was challenged.
Ruart. A crony of Kirion’s but almost ten years older, he must be around thirty-five by now. Keelan had seen more of the man than he’d wished in Iren Keep. Not a nice type.
Then, too, there was that business Geavon had mentioned. Keelan remembered thinking at the time that no matter how it had been covered over, he’d wager it had been true. But if they simply refused the offer for Aisling a storm would be raised. Ruart would demand a good reason. What could they say—we’d rather cut Aisling’s throat than throw her into your bed?