Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) Read online

  Copyright Information

  BARRENLANDS

  Copyright © 2011 by Doranna Durgin

  Published by Blue Hound Visions

  Original Copyright ©1998; first published by Baen Books

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously— and any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  License Notes:

  This efiction is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This efiction may not be re-sold or given to others. If you would like to share, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this efiction and it was not purchased for your use, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for helping the e-reading community to grow!

  ~~~~~

  Author Note:

  As a book, Barrenlands has always been a bit adrift. It's a prequel to the CHANGESPELL SAGA with Dun Lady's Jess, but it wasn't marketed that way and not too many people picked up on the common factors between them. It was written to have a sequel, but things being what they are in the publishing world, that hasn't happened yet, either (although the chances of dramatically improved, thanks to e-publishing options!) So there it was, tossed out on the shelves with no apparent relation to the things with which it really had a rather deep connection.

  This book is updated from the original publication in a spit-and-polish way. Because I couldn't resist, and I'm glad. I had a blast.

  For those of you discovering Barrenlands for the first time, I hope you find Ehren and Laine's adventures as much fun to read as they were to write. For those of you who already know this mismatched duo, welcome back! Without readers like you, I wouldn't be able to write these books. I appreciate your letters, emails, blog comments, and FaceBook posts more than I can ever express, and I love your reviews. It's amazing to be a part of such a large circle of friends through a mutual love of books!

  ~Doranna

  P.S. "Laine" is pronounced just how Shette says it the first time she fusses at him about Spike's sneaky habits: Lay-nie.

  ~~~~~

  Original Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the people who held me up when my own legs wouldn't do the job especially my family— Mona, Chuck, and Nancy— and Pat, Jennifer, Judy, Beth & Di

  Newsletter Sign-Up

  The Changespell Saga: Dun Lady's Jess; Changespell; Changespell Legacy

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  BARRENLANDS: PROLOGUE

  Answers at last. And maybe... maybe, a chance to eliminate the Barrenlands.

  Benlan tried to turn his hope into something more objective. An experienced king ought to know better, at least until he learned just what this clandestine meeting might yield.

  He walked the muddy path from the lodge stables to the hunting lodge itself, striding through a spring day with the sun coming on strong through the barely budding branches of the trees. Behind him, the silence of the King's Guard shifted to quiet conversation.

  "Where's Ehren, anyway?" Gretna's low voice wasn't meant for Benlan's ears. "He's the only one of us not here."

  "Some foolish errand for the Upper Levels." Herib sounded grumpy. Well he might, as a master of guards who'd had no say in the matter. "A favor."

  "It's odd," Gretna said, while others murmured agreement around her. "Just like this trip."

  "He don't think this is the regular spring lodge inspection, either," a third guard added. "The queen always comes along for that one."

  "That's why Ehren should be here," Herib said sharply. "There are a lot of things that make this—"

  "Odd," Greta said again.

  Benlan smiled, knowing they couldn't see it. His Guard was nothing if not devoted— and they were right, too. After months of subtle clues and warnings, he was finally taking the first aggressive steps to deal with the underlying uneasiness at court. True, the information he would get here was old— generations old— but court conspiracies had their own lives, passing down from one set of ministers to the next. He might learn nothing of importance here today— and he might learn everything.

  Benlan stopped outside the lodge, breaking a sweat in spite of the chill spring day— taking a deep breath of the crisp air, savoring the potential of the moment. Peace— and a chance to break the silence with Therand. The notion was as invigorating as the season. The Guards stopped a fair distance back from him, creating a barrier.

  The air stirred, a scraping gust on this otherwise still day. Benlan stood straighter. Magic? First Level wizard Varien had assured him the area would be shielded— but it was a strong shield indeed, if Benlan could sense it.

  Ehren should be here. Ehren, who offered not only the best protection any other man could give, but friendship and unquestionable personal loyalty as well. When the king's best interests conflicted with the politics of a situation, Ehren did what had to be done, without hesitation. The others were cautious in the presence of the Upper Levels, and Benlan supposed that was just as well. It wouldn't do to have a whole Guard full of Ehrens causing trouble.

  But it was very nice indeed to have the one.

  One of the Guards harrumphed, as if to remind the king he was still standing at the lodge, doing nothing. Benlan acknowledged him with distraction, marshaling his thoughts and his composure. If his informant was right, the material he offered would create an opportunity to work with Sherran of Therand. Benlan had heard she was strong and protective of her country— but reasonable as well. Not that he'd know; not with the Barrenlands between them. She'd taken the role of ruling T'ieran years earlier, but they'd never met; they'd never so much as sent delegates.

  The Barrenlands were an abomination, an ugly, dead region where nothing grew and no living creature stayed for long. No man could tread that ground, save for the ruling family in either country and those to whom they gave limited dispensation— and it wasn't easy at that.

  Magic rippled around Benlan, making the Guards stir uneasily— and Benlan along with them. Varien had declared the informant's numerous notes free from any hint of magical influence— even those faint blushes of association that trickled through to the paper a wizard used.

  Magic rippled…

  A shout came from the stables. Benlan jerked around, drawing his far from ornamental sword as that alarm turned to an unmistakable death cry. His Guards immediately moved into closer formation around him— but soldiers in unfamiliar uniform already glided out of the woods— solidifying into flesh from air, coalescing into shape already on the run, swords raised—

  Benlan's Guards didn't have a chance. Neither did he.

  Ehren! Benlan blocked a death blow and missed the second stroke, the one that sank deeply into his arm. He was alone, the Guards outnumbered by two and three to one, their cries of anger and agony filling the air. Ehren, I need you! His sword sank deeply into the side of the man who would have hamstrung him, notching bone to stick there.

  Benlan wrenched the blade loose and staggered around just in time to look into the fiercely grinning eyes of the woman who sank her blade into his belly.

  The strength drained from his legs and pooled onto the ground with his blood; he fell to his knees. Beside him, a Guard thumped face down to the ground, dead before the liquid mud oozed into her mouth.

  Someone jammed a knee between his shoulders and wrenched his head back, exposing his neck to the tickling warmth of spring sunshine. Warmer yet, then, as blood coursed down his skin, sprayed up against his jaw, pulsing from a cut so clean he'd barely felt it slide across his throat.

  The bracing leg disappeared from hi
s back; the hand on his head shoved him down to the ground.

  Treachery. Peace... the Barrenlands…all lost.

  Benlan lay in the mud while his blood drained away. But as his body turned into a remote, lifeless thing, he was suddenly aware of more magic— of someone watching him. Of the cold satisfaction in those eyes, the cruel dispassion for the slaughtered Guard.

  The eyes of someone he knew.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Spring in Kurtane was as it had always been. The courtyards and gardens were awash in green, the white flagstone pathways sluiced clean by rain. This day was pleasantly cool with just the faintest of breezes, barely enough to stir the fronds of the vine-draped arches shaping the trafficways of the palace yards. The odor of the stables barely penetrated the sweet scents of carefully tended flower beds; a child laughed in the distance.

  The kind of day to be savored.

  Ehren sat on a comfortable wooden bench in the midst of it all and wondered when Kurtane Keep had ceased to feel like home.

  Not that it had ever been his home, as much time as he had spent here. But there had been a time when he fit. Now, the flirting young nobles strolling these famous walkways gave him glances of polite disregard instead of respect. His dark grey gaze was hard in return, and they invariably contrived to forget they'd been looking at him at all.

  He knew what they saw. One of King Benlan's men, out of place in what was now his successor's court. A dark blue shirt of fine material that nonetheless showed wear— the shirt of a working man. Tall boots that were about ready to be resoled again, with worn straps hanging loose at the calf and ankle where metal greaves were often buckled on. Ehren's black hair, tied back for the moment, hung well past his shoulders; his honor feather hung on a long braid.

  These days the members of the King's Guard tied their feathers to wool caps, since not one of them had enough hair to take a braid— and fewer had a feather at all. But his worst offense, Ehren knew, was something he about which he could do nothing.

  Most of Benlan's sworn had been killed in the fight that took the king himself— the fight Ehren had missed. Now the faint lines beside his grey eyes, the hardened quality of his face, the number and age of the scars he carried…they all spoke of a maturity that King Rodar's young sycophants lacked.

  Their problem. His was to figure out why Varien had summoned him. Had summoned him some time ago, in fact.

  Most of that time Ehren had spent on this bench, his arms spread along the delicate curving back of the seat, his leg crossed ankle over knee, his broad shoulders relaxed against the wood. Watching Rodar's court, marking the new faces as he had not had a chance to do while scouring the coastal villages this past year, hunting for remnants of the faction that had caused Benlan's death. Wondering why the court wizard had need of him, when their paths had scarcely crossed before.

  Well, that was perhaps not strictly true. They had seen enough of each other. They had simply never had any use for one another.

  Ehren uncrossed his leg and let the foot fall to the ground with a thump, rising to stretch as though there weren't three sets of eyes on him— at least two of which most certainly thought they were unobserved. He settled his sword belt a little lower as it slanted across his hips and moved with unconcerned strides into the first of the open archways that preceded the palace proper. There were seven of these, placed closer and closer together until they merged into the building, a beauty of symmetry and precision. The guards stationed at the final two arches had been critical positions in Benlan's court; in Rodar's time they had already become more decorative than functional, matched in feature and form. Ehren nodded at them and walked on without waiting for permission.

  He could hear their hesitant step of boot on stone, could sense their struggle for decision— call him back or let him go? But these men were from the Kurtane Ready Troops— the Reds— and Ehren was ranking King's Guard. Their intense, muttered conversation died away.

  Ehren smiled a tight, private smile, and turned down the airy hall that led to Varien's suites. He passed no less than three work crews that were, as far as he could tell, gilding perfectly good stained wooden crown work.

  Changes. Inevitable. He shook his head; he couldn't help it. It seemed to him that his steps echoed too loudly as he came to the open door of Varien's anteroom.

  Varien's apprentice measured a small quantity of dried leaves on a tiny scale, engrossed. When she noticed Ehren, she fumbled her weights. The scale platform jerked; the dried matter spilled over her blotter-covered desk. She bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder to the closed door behind which her master waited. "We were expecting you earlier."

  "What made you do that?" He leaned against the door frame and rested one relaxed wrist over the stirrup hilt of his sword. She was in mid-adolescence, blond and light-boned, and looked small among the plain but heavy furnishings of the room.

  She nibbled her lip again, casting another furtive glance at that closed door. "He sent for you some time ago."

  "Yes," he agreed. "And I'm here. But I've never jumped at his bidding."

  She stared at him, aghast.

  "You're new, aren't you?" Ehren asked. New, young, and completely intimidated. "He does go through apprentices quickly. Don't worry about it— you just do what you have to when the time comes."

  She dropped her gaze to the spilled plant matter. "I'm here to learn from a master," she said resolutely. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime. You do Master Varien a great disservice to suggest otherwise."

  He smiled. "Do you want to tell him I'm here, or shall I just walk in?"

  "I'm sure he already knows you've arrived." But she went to the door and knocked quietly anyway.

  Ehren couldn't make out the words of the muffled response. The girl winced, then smoothed her features and pushed open the door, stepping back and giving a slight curtsy as Ehren passed.

  He paused in the doorway, very close to her. "Don't take it all so seriously," he told the top of her bowed head. When she lifted her eyes, surprised, he smiled. Her surprise turned to a sudden shy smile of response, and he left her standing there, looking after him.

  He'd never known a wizard as neat and organized as this one, with shelves and orderly books, and instruments tucked away in cabinets and drawers. The chamber was meticulously appointed, from the thick carpeting to the matching seat cushion on the desk chair to the distinct walnut grain of each piece of furniture.

  It was a place Ehren had been but half a dozen times, and one he meant to avoid in the future.

  Varien stood by one of the heavily curtained windows, his hands clasped behind his back... his knuckles white. Like everyone else in Rodar's court, his hair was nearly shorn— a new style for the wizard, but one that went far toward hiding the grey in his dark blond hair. It was difficult to remember that the wizard was in his ninth decade; he looked only ten years older than Ehren's thirty-three years, but he had seen the reign of Benlan and his father before him…and now Benlan's son. Or rather, his second son, as the first had been feeble in the mind, and not survived childhood.

  Ehren stopped before the dark wood of the substantial table between them. "What can I do for you?"

  Varien turned. "You can start by not ignoring my summons," he said, biting the words off as precisely as he'd decorated the room.

  There were many things to say to that. I'm not yours to command was the most polite of them, so Ehren said nothing. After a moment he raised an eyebrow and put the conversation back in Varien's hands.

  The wizard turned back to the window. He was a small man, but not one Ehren took lightly despite the understated subtleties of his magics. "Benlan has been dead a year now."

  "Nearly."

  "And you've been given the freedom, since his death, to track down those responsible for it. I'm given to understand you've had no success."

  "That depends on your definition of success," Ehren said. A clear lead to a dozen conspirators, scattered throughout the coastal cities, questioned and forma
lly executed. And the trail? The trail was so dead that he knew he'd looked in the wrong direction from the start, been led in the wrong direction.

  His return was not an admission of failure. After a year, someone here was bound to figure they were safe and let down their guard— and here he was, to pick up the trail anew.

  "My definition of success is the same as anybody else's," Varien smiled, but didn't elaborate. "In any event, your current chances of discovering Benlan's killer are remote. And there are other things that need to be done, things more crucial to the security of Rodar's rule."

  Ehren pulled out a chair, invited himself to sit, and rested his forearms on the table. "As you said, I've been away. So maybe you'll excuse me if I'm blunt." He paused, leaned forward, and said, "Why am I here? This conversation is not yours to hold."

  Varien's laugh was short. "Whose, then?"

  "The Guard answers to the king, as well you know."

  "Rodar is seventeen years old." Varien seated himself opposite Ehren, placing a small silver ring between them. It had been Benlan's, a token from Queen Wilna. She hadn't wanted it back. She hadn't wanted anything to do with Ehren, or the court. She was gone, and only rumors told where.

  Varien said nothing of the ring, but regarded Ehren with his head tilted, considering. "You know as well as I that our young king is slow to mature. He yet plays with his powers, delighting in his effect on the most shallow aspects of this court. That Solvany remains stable is a testament to Benlan's legacy. If it seems to you I have stepped out of place, well... perhaps it is so. But it is how things are now accomplished in Kurtane."

  Ehren measured the expression on Varien's face, discovering its sincerity somehow grating. That a wizard should have even the faintest hint of decision-making power sat ill with him. Varien's only official duty requiring such initiative came with the maintenance spells on the Barrenlands.