Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) Page 13

  And that would mean the smuggling was a long-standing tradition, from before Hetna's day and back to the time of the curse, Coirra's time.

  Unai made good his chance to quit their company. He gave them a stiff nod, muttered them a wish for good travel, and left the room.

  "I guess we can hope he won't try to take any of the other horses," Shette said.

  "I tied them on the other side of Ricasso." Ehren eyed the satchel-encased book. He said, more to himself than Laine and Shette, "If Benlan really was killed because he was about to get his hands on this book, then there may be more to this than just long-gone history."

  "Be a lot simpler to have killed Unai, if someone just wanted to keep anyone from learning what was in the journal," Laine said, matter-of-factly.

  Ehren looked at him, eyebrows raised. "That's true," he said. "So there must be more to it than that." His gaze went inward a moment, and darkened considerably. "There's one certain constant between the Kurtane court then and now. Varien."

  "Just because you don't like him," Shette said, forgetting that she wanted Ehren's attention and not his annoyance.

  Good point. But before Laine could express his agreement, he was suddenly taken by the feel of a blade against his throat, the splash of his own blood across his jaw...

  "Laine!" Shette said, sharp concern in her voice. "Don't start doing it while you're awake, for Guides' sake!"

  "Watch your mouth," Laine said mildly, automatically— and glad to have those words to fall back on while he pulled himself back to the candlelit room and away from insidious dark memories that should have belonged to someone else.

  ~~~~~

  It was bound to happen. Shette understood as much even before she got her eyes open. She took a few moments to register the fact that the candle on the box between the beds, although very low, still burned— and to recall that Laine had fallen asleep in the other bed while Ehren read at the tiny, tiny little table in the corner of the room.

  But Laine wasn't asleep now. Shette lay in the bed, staring up at the light flickering off the ceiling and listening to Laine twitch. Once she'd seen that look in his eye, earlier that evening, she'd expected this. Feared it.

  "Laine." That was Ehren, and hadn't he learned from the last time that he shouldn't interrupt? She sat up.

  "You ought to just leave him alone," she said in a low voice, and winced at the thump from the next bed. She didn't look. "It's just a dream, I've told you that."

  "I've seen men die from fits," Ehren said, though from his grim voice he understood why she didn't want him to wake her brother. "This is no simple dream, Shette."

  As if on cue, Laine started thrashing. Shette covered her eyes, unable to look, unable to bring herself to stop him. Ehren had no such difficulty.

  "Laine!" he snapped, his voice holding sharp command. At that Shette did open her eyes, and was surprised to see Ehren deftly pin her brother to the bed. "Laine, that's enough. Wake up, and do it now!"

  And Laine's eyes flew open, staring right into Ehren's without comprehension. "They slit my throat," he panted. "Everyone's dead."

  "Who's everyone?" Ehren demanded, not releasing his hold. "Where are you?"

  "Hunting lodge..." Laine grimaced, deep in the thrall of being somewhere else— someone else. "I don't know... hurts."

  Ehren tightened his grip on Laine's arms; Shette saw his knuckles go white, and winced— although Laine didn't seem to notice, not even when Ehren gave him a little shake. "What hunting lodge?"

  "No... I don't know..."

  "You do know! Who are you with? Go back and find it, Laine— it's still there!"

  Shette jumped out of bed and grabbed Ehren's arm. "Leave him alone! You're hurting him, and he can't tell you anything!"

  Ehren turned on her, his intent gaze only inches from her own. She suddenly realized that those piercing black eyes were in fact a clear, dark grey— and that up close, she couldn't escape them. "He can," Ehren told her, just as fiercely. "He has to."

  "What?" she asked, incredulous. "Why? He's done this all his life and it's never meant anything!"

  Ehren ignored her. He was back at Laine, recapturing the gaze that had gone unfocused while Ehren had been distracted. "Listen to me, Laine. It's right there in front of you. Now look at it!" He growled the last words right in Laine's face— but rather than flinching from them, Laine seemed to find them an anchor.

  "King's Guards," he said, clearly and calmly. "They're all dead. Someone had to know we were coming." He gritted his teeth then, and pressed his head back into the bed, writhing against pain. "Ahhh, Guides, right in the gut..."

  "Benlan," Ehren whispered.

  Laine's eyes flew open; his head jerked up from the bed and for an instant, he looked straight into Ehren's eyes. Then the life seemed to drain out of him and he slumped back, eyes rolling up.

  Shette gave Ehren a solid shove with all her sturdy self behind it. "Leave him alone," she said again, meaning it.

  Ehren looked at her— just looked at her, and she couldn't tell what the expression meant. Then he gave Laine's shoulder a pat and said, "It doesn't matter. I found out what I needed to know. And you might discover it did him no harm, after all." He swung his leg off Laine as if dismounting a horse, and stood by the bed.

  Shette ignored him once he was out of the way. She knelt by the bed, putting a tentative hand on Laine's chest. "Laine?"

  He blinked, and looked at her, and then looked at Ehren. "Did it again, huh?"

  Shette hesitated. He seemed perfectly lucid, and she wasn't sure how to deal with that. She'd never seen it happen when he'd been woken from a dream. "Yes," she said. "Do you remember anything?"

  He frowned. "Most of it, I think. But I'm not sure why my arms hurt."

  "That was me," Ehren said, no apology in his voice. "Trying to get you back."

  "That usually doesn't work very well," Laine said, almost apologetically.

  "It worked well enough this time. You told me enough so I know exactly what you were seeing— though your Therand Guides take me if I know why."

  Laine sat up and crossed his legs. "You do? What was it? Aside from an awful lot of people dying in front of me, I mean. And... me, too."

  "Not you. Benlan."

  "Benlan the king?" Shette gave him the most skeptical of looks. "Why would Laine see that?"

  "Why would I see anything?" Laine asked back, looking far too reasonable for someone who had been in the throes of a True Dream only moments before. Shette felt like sticking her tongue out at him, but glanced sullenly at Ehren and refrained.

  Ehren said, "That's a damn good question. You happen to have an answer?"

  Laine shook his head. "It's just the way it's always been." Then he shuddered. "You should be glad you weren't there, Ehren. You'd have been killed like the others. They never had a chance."

  "They might have, if I'd been there," Ehren said bluntly.

  Shette remembered being caught by that dark grey gaze, so close to hers, and believed him.

  But Laine shook his head. "I doubt it. Anyway, I probably just dreamt about it because of that journal. That thing carries some history."

  Ehren looked unconvinced. On the slat box between the beds, the candle guttered. It threw wild light against the walls and went out.

  "No more reading," Shette said into the darkness. "Did you find anything interesting?"

  "Enough." Ehren sat down on the end of Shette's bed and pulled his boots off; they thumped against the floor. "Varien may be sorry he sent me out on this little quest after all."

  Whatever that little quest might be, Shette thought. She was suddenly acutely aware that they had no idea what Ehren was truly looking for.

  ~~~~~~

  Ansgare was as mad as Laine had ever seen him.

  So while Ehren took the horses to the barn and Shette was welcomed back at the tavern by Sevita and Dajania's open arms, Laine listened patiently to Ansgare's anger and finally cut him off cold, if cheerfully enough. "Face it, Ansgare, y
ou were just worried about us. We're back and we're on time, and even if we'd been two days later it wouldn't have made a difference in the grand scheme of things." And because he was close enough to right on all counts, Ansgare merely grumphed, reminded Laine he had a contract to fulfill, and stomped off to see what Machara was doing.

  In fact, the caravan was there for another three days, during which Laine found himself as bored as he could be... until Ehren rounded him up with an extra brigandine and practice masks from the border station.

  "I don't want you to get the wrong idea about this," he said, the mask tucked under the same arm that held his sword. "If you have a chance, run. When you lift this sword, you've got to be prepared to kill with it. Otherwise, keep it in the scabbard."

  Laine leaned against Clang, already hot in the brigandine, and scratched at his healing arm. He held the sword Ehren had bluntly described flamboyant rather than functional and too short to do him any good even if it wasn't.

  Fortunately, Laine had no problem with the idea of running away. It seemed a better thing than having someone die at his feet— and a much better thing than dying at someone else's feet. So he grinned easily enough. "Don't coddle me, Ehren. Tell me what you really think."

  Ehren laughed shortly, shaking his head. "You'll find out soon enough." He slipped the mask over his face— a fine mesh of steel wire, strong but easy enough to see through— and offered Laine a quick salute with his sword.

  Laine hastened to do the same, if awkwardly, and imitated the guard position Ehren had just shown him.

  "Footwork is just as important as what you're doing with the sword," Ehren said. "That, and knowing your distance. But we'll start out with the parries, and get you used to putting your sword where you want it to be."

  "We've got a couple weeks to work on it before we reach the other end of the caravan," Laine said, trying for optimism.

  "A couple of weeks," Ehren said, his flat tones telling Laine little. He shook his head again and raised his sword. "Best get started, then, eh? Starting with the fact that good blade work is about more than swinging your sword around and being faster than your enemy. There are various lines of attack, and corresponding parries—" But he stopped, his sword lowering as he looked over Laine's shoulder to the road beyond.

  Laine twisted around, found himself looking mostly at the solid sidepiece of his mask, and pulled it off, understanding immediately that this particular lesson was over. For he'd never seen Lorakan soldiers at the border before.

  He'd actually never seen them at all— not until they'd ridden in to Everdawn— but here they were, riding toward the border station. There were two soldiers with a third man between them, mounted on a used-up creature with his hands bound before him and tied to his waist.

  Shette, mounted bareback on the little mare, cantered from barn to wagon as the soldiers passed, bold riding and a precipitous arrival. "That's him!"

  Ehren came up beside Laine, the mask under his arm again. "That's who?"

  "That man! He's the third bandit, the one you didn't get! He was their leader, I'm certain of it— or else maybe he was their older brother, the way he bossed them around." She gave her words a satisfied bite and a little toss of her head aimed at Laine.

  Laine turned to look at the Lorakans and their prisoner, movement designed to hide his smile.

  But Ehren had gone on alert, and Laine didn't miss it. He was at his most Guard-impressive today, with the battle-worn brigandine settled over wide shoulders and the honor feather bright against long black hair, his ailette tied into place.

  Laine suddenly realized that Shette's hair was tied back exactly like Ehren's, long in the back with the temple pieces drawn back and out of her face. That wiped the grin off his face quickly enough.

  "We'll do this later," Ehren told him, and set the mask on top of Laine's wagon as he headed for the border station.

  Laine thought the Border Guards probably considered the situation to be their jurisdiction, but he said nothing as he put his mask next to Ehren's. After a second glance at his short, fancy sword, he left it on the wagon as well, and then tried to look inconspicuous as he followed Ehren's long strides toward the border station.

  As it happened, Jiarna was on duty alone, and her expression at Ehren's approach was more relieved than resentful. Competent and experienced as she was, the arrival of Lorakan military was clearly as out of the norm for her as it seemed to Laine.

  "You're a bit far afield, gentlemen," Ehren said, stopping beside one of the horses and laying an absent hand along its forehead. "How can we help you?"

  Laine thought it was a polite and restrained greeting, considering the disdain the men radiated— and considering that Ehren outranked regular troops on either side of the border.

  "The question here seems to be, how can we help you?" the largest of the two men replied. He nodded at the prisoner. "Some of your riffraff, courtesy of Loraka."

  "Our riffraff?" Ehren's hand stilled on the horse's forelock. "The man has been operating on Lorakan soil."

  "Yes," the man agreed, not sounding particularly agreeable. "It's getting irritating, the way you can't keep them on your side of the border."

  "You found a brand on him, I take it," Jiarna broke in, her voice acrid.

  The man shrugged, and nodded toward the bandit's arm. "See for yourself. Our people don't know your ailettes. This one's yours."

  "That's as much as saying no one in Loraka has the wits to think of this scheme on his own," she snapped back at him, taking a step forward.

  The man's companion bristled back, and Ehren stepped up to take the bandit's horse. "We'll handle him from here, wherever he comes from. It suits me well to know he's been stopped."

  Shette nudged the little mare up behind Laine and said under her breath, "What'd I tell you about the guy who looked like he forgot to have a chin?"

  He fit the description she'd given them, to be sure. But she'd somehow neglected to mention the cold look in those small eyes, and the impression that there was neither mercy nor scruple anywhere in the man's soul.

  "I don't care who got him," Laine said to her, just as quietly. "I'm glad he's got."

  "The question is," Ehren said, "what were you doing scouting so close to the border?"

  "We're in Lorakan territory," the smaller man said, abrupt and challenging words as he shifted forward on his horse. The animal, frothing excessively over a severe bit, responded by prancing a few steps closer to Ehren.

  "As am I," Ehren agreed, without giving ground or appearing to notice he was being crowded. "But as a matter of course you don't extend your patrols this far. If there's been a change, the Solvan Border Guard would be pleased to accommodate you."

  "The change is that you seem to need some help these days— so get used to seeing us around. We don't want to be tripping over you people."

  "No fear," Ehren said. "If you can't see where you're going, we'll be nimble enough to get out of your way." He stepped out of range of the jigging, steel-shod hooves so close to his feet.

  Jiarna, smiling benignly, spoke up before the Lorakans could raise a reply. "Gentlesirs, let me find someone to take your horses. We'd be glad to offer you refreshment while we take your evidence."

  At her words, Ben finally arrived on the scene, flushed and trying to maintain his dignity; from the way he came around behind the commonstall building, Laine suspected he'd been at the tavern. He went straight to the soldiers and waited for them to dismount and haul their prisoner down, and then took the horses. Ehren watched, expression pensive, as Jiarna led the soldiers to the station.

  "Not going with them?" Laine asked.

  "They'll cause less trouble without me." He turned to gaze to the Trade Road. "I wonder what's really going on. It sure as Hells adds up to more than a few tactless soldiers rounding up leftover bandits."

  Laine thought of the strong presence of soldiers around Everdawn and had to agree. It seemed all sorts of things were heating up along the border— and from Ehren
's reaction, he didn't think Kurtane had a clue.

  ~~~~~

  Ehren thought to stay at the border until the Lorakan soldiers left, but they seemed in no great hurry— unlike Ansgare. The caravan leader wanted no part of the border station now that the Lorakans had arrived, and Ehren's preferences held little sway.

  Jiarna pulled him aside before they departed, merchant gossip on her mind and on her tongue. "Unrest," she said. "Beyond these mountains and into their cultivated lands. Damned new political thing going on in that free trade way of theirs. Too many wizards— you know how they don't control 'em— and now they're saying expansion is their Guides-given right. Their destiny." She all but spat that final word, understanding as well as Ehren that a land-locked Loraka had very few options for expanding at all.

  And Ehren thought of the new Lorakan influence in the capital, and of the concerns Jada and Algere had brought to him; he thought of Hetna's suspicions of smuggling and collusion among the court of her time.

  I need to be in Kurtane.

  But Wilna's ring sat against Ehren's chest, strident in tone. Ehren was in no way inclined to ignore it— especially not since Laine was headed in that same general direction. For after what he'd seen— and what Laine had seen— Ehren was as interested in following Laine as he was in appeasing a crabby ring; another True Dream or two might yield him more clues.

  Even if it meant using the amiable young man Ehren was growing to think of as friend.

  The first few days of the caravan travel seemed uneventful after the time with Unai. Laine ran point and detected a number of strong spells, but none of them drifted within the caravan's path, and Ehren felt secure enough to leave Shaffron's reins resting loosely on the horse's neck while he read over a passage of the journal he'd tried— and failed— to decipher by firelight the evening before.

  Until Shette's horrified cry broke the air, and Shaffron's head came straight up, his nostrils wide while he drank the wind, searching for threat.