Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) Read online

  She considered him over her wine glass, perfectly comfortable under his regard. Finally she nodded. "In that case, I had best let you go. And if there's nothing to it... well, you're the one taking the risk."

  "The risk?" Laine drew up in his seat.

  She looked at him, something of pity in her eyes. "Didn't you know? The Barrenlands are kind to no man, royal dispensation or no."

  ~~~~~

  Fatigue shadowed the T'ieran's eyes— now that Laine had gone to bed; now that she and Ehren sat alone at the table, and she seemed to let go of the official part of persona.

  Ehren was glad to see it. The glory of Clan Grannor, also simply being herself.

  No, he wouldn't have let the curse discourage him.

  The glory of Grannor did not miss his examination. She was small but solid, with precise features and expressive eyes— her deep brown hair glinting gold highlights in the low lamplight and her mouth a full curve with a tiny half-moon lining the corners, as if it was made to smile. Not this current pensive mein, with the edge of her lower lip caught between her teeth.

  It was not, he thought, his frank admiration causing that expression. She was too strong a woman to let that bother her. In fact, she was too strong a woman to let anything of insignificance bother her, so he asked her. "What is it?"

  She released the lip. "You're going to allow him come with you? To trigger those dreams? It doesn't seem like a very good idea. Dangerous, one might say."

  One might. "Yes," he said, answering both question and observation. "Sherran, Laine's a grown man. He knows what he wants, and he knows the risks. And he knew exactly what he was doing, dangling Benlan's killer in front of me. I'm Benlan's man, and he's dead. What lengths do you think your people would go to, if you had been similarly slaughtered?"

  After a moment, she said quietly, "I would hope to have at least one with the same loyalty Benlan has in you."

  "If you don't, your people are fools," Ehren said with feeling, and then cleared his throat, giving the merest shake of his head. "Unless you deny him, there's nothing I can say that will stop Laine. Sometimes I think his Sight directs him as much as he directs it."

  "Yes," Sherran said. "Magic can be like that."

  Ehren gave her a sharp look. She knows. Never mind that little charade of handing the blue vial over to her wizard— Sherran had more than a passing acquaintance with magic. "Was that vial what you thought it was, then?"

  She hesitated another moment, and then dipped her hand in the pocket at the side of her long, casual tunic. It was a well-worn, comfortable piece of clothing, something that told him she'd really rather be off-duty. On the small, round table between them, she set a tightly wrapped cylinder. "I'd like to know where you got this."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Without telling me what it is? I don't think so."

  A frown drew her brows together, though he didn't think it was anger. Concern and frustration. Which meant there was something in that vial after all.

  "Sherran," he said, and nothing more.

  She threw herself back in her chair and with one practiced motion freed her hair of the thong that held it back and scratched her scalp at the freedom. "It's contraband of the highest order, that's what it is. I'd thought we'd put a stop to its production several years ago. Obviously I was mistaken— this batch is fresh enough." She made a face, complete exasperation. "Damn them, anyway."

  "Damn who?" Ehren said, under the strong impression she didn't mean whoever had made the substance.

  "The young magic users who think it won't happen to them. The ones who think they can get away with using it." She shook her head, her gaze going inward. "Damn them," she whispered to herself.

  Ehren picked the vial up, and turned it over in his hands. "It's magic, I know that much. Laine can hardly glance at it. Nor can you."

  She sighed. "Taken in minute doses, it enhances a wizard's ability to channel magic— and does so significantly."

  "And?" Because there was an and waiting. He could see it in the distress behind her eyes.

  "And," she agreed, and blew out an exasperated breath. "And everything. Over time, it's deadly. At the same time, it's almost instantly addictive. Far too many Therand youth have succumbed to its lure— that's what it's called, mage lure. It's the rare individual who can escape after using it."

  Mage lure. Hetna's ML.

  "This," Ehren said, hefting the heavy glass, "was not found in Therand."

  She frowned at him, slowly sitting up straight in the chair. "It has to have been. There are detection spells at the border, and only Therand grows the raw material."

  "Loraka," he told her. "In the mountains." Near Dannel's pass.

  Of course, near Dannel's pass. Because if a wizard was going to smuggle, what better substance? Such smuggling would provide more than riches…it would provide power. A way to control every young apprentice who might come to a wizard with more ethics than the wizard himself— and to dispose of them if they became problematic.

  Ehren did a quick tally of Varien's successful apprentices, the ones who had moved on. There was Bevis, to whom Varien sent many of his own unsatisfactory apprentices, and Thayer, who was entirely reclusive, and Farica, who lived closest to the border. Any one of them had the means to be involved in this smuggling.

  Ehren thought of the young woman who had greeted him upon his entry to Varien's rooms— so very young, so very anxious. Cold anger stirred his temper.

  "Ehren," Sherran said, and the warmth in her voice reached through his wrath. He looked up at her, startled. She leaned back in the chair again, fiddling with a tangle in her thick dark hair…her fingers moving gently, absently. "I don't know what you were thinking of just then, but I hate to think it was my part in this conversation."

  He was startled a moment, but then shook his head, his mood growing lighter. "Not in the least."

  She just looked at him. He very much felt the tables had been turned beneath that open appraisal, and he floundered just a little as he went back to the conversation. "If you recall the pass I mentioned, I think you'll see there is a way for the mage lure to get into Loraka without triggering your detection spells."

  "You know more than that," she said without hesitation, surprising him.

  "I do," he told her, and opened his mouth to say it wasn't his story to tell— but she held up her hand.

  "No," she said. "It's all right. Or rather, it's not. If you were anybody else, I wouldn't let it stop with that. But you..." She offered a wry smile. "Insisting won't do me any good with you. And knowing that, I'd rather leave you with the best possible memories of this place."

  He stood up. It was one fluid motion— until he hit the hitch in his leg and touched his fingers to the chair for that hint of support. She noticed, of course.

  He sent her rueful grin. "Avalanche in the Lorakan mountains. Believe about half of what Shette says about it, if you want the truth."

  "I know how to listen to a teenage girl," Sherran said, still relaxed in her chair. "I was one, once, a very long time ago. I even had my share of crushes on dashing warriors."

  He stood in front of her, looking down at her; he could see in her eyes she knew exactly what she'd said.

  But.

  Regret tinged his voice. "I have to go."

  "And I have to stay." She stood up to meet him, and her head only came to his chest. A foot away, close enough to touch, and neither of them did it. For a moment, they just stood there. Breathing. She looked up at him and said, "But perhaps it won't always be that way."

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sherran and a handful of guards rode to the border with Laine and Ehren, complete with the Grannor pennant and dress uniforms. Shette came on Nell, her face uncommonly pinched and unhappy.

  Her bid to join them on this journey had been brief. But her attempt to keep Laine from going was not yet played out, and Ehren wished she'd get it over with.

  The Grannor pennant lifted with the play of air, as di
d the long black tail of hair down Sherran's back. Though they'd started before dawn, it was coming on the heat of the day when the ochre-brown Barrenlands showed up on the edge of the horizon, stark against the rolling hills of sheep-shorn grass.

  Ehren had glimpsed the Barrenlands more than once, always from Solvany's flattened, shrubby landscape. From there, it hadn't been as much of a contrast…or as much of a blight. From this impossibly lush green and wild land, it seemed a travesty.

  A travesty of half a day's fast travel and a lifetime of madness.

  Ehren realized that the entire party had eased to a halt, silently considering the sickened land before them. Shette looked from the border to her brother and back, her face a study in horror, but Sherran remained composed— although she, more than anyone here, knew of the dangers of this land. "Dannel came through on a lark, and well-protected. As you should be, given my sanction— if nothing goes awry. Others have risked passage, and not been so lucky." But she seemed to read something of Ehren's determination in his face, for she smiled, just a little bit sad around the eyes, and lifted her reins.

  Within half an hour they stood at the border, a defiling demarcation of green to barren brown, and the guards withdrew while Sherran dismounted and Ehren and Laine followed suit.

  Laine went to Nell and looked up at Shette. "I'll be back," he said. "There's no need to let Mum and Da know I'm gone— let them think I'm still safe with the Grannor."

  "I don't understand why you think you have to do this," Shette said, biting her lip and sounding only the tiniest bit petulant— which, Ehren thought, was probably a major victory for her. "He's not going to let you use the ring." And she glared at Ehren, as if she could make it so by dint of will.

  "Maybe not," Laine said. "But things change. Shette…we've had this conversation. You only traveled the caravan route once... but it was what I did. Whatever's going on has a part in my life, and not just because I keep Seeing things."

  She looked at the foreboding land before them, staring into it for a long, moody moment. Almost without warning, she turned to her brother and threw her arms around his shoulders, bending down to reach him from Nell's back. When she broke away she gave Ehren a quick, red-eyed look and said quickly, "Be careful," before she whirled Nell around and cantered away.

  Sherran lifted her chin at one of the guards and he followed at a more sedate— and discreet— pace.

  "Well, that was easier than it might have been," Laine said, sighing.

  "We had a talk yesterday," Sherran said, and was rewarded with a look of surprise from Laine. "I have the impression she's done a lot of growing up this summer."

  Laine nodded, watching after Shette's diminishing figure. "I expect she has. I did, my first summer out."

  Sherran eyed him with sympathy, but when she spoke, she was all efficiency. "This is generally the only magic a T'ieran knows— but we do know it well, gentlemen. It'll get you through the Barrenlands— and back, if you decided to turn around immediately. It lasts a full day, but no more."

  She fished into a pocket along the bottom edge of her dress tunic— red tunic belted with black leather, over black trousers; black scabbard at her side was black, and black, knee-high riding boots trimmed with red. But she wore no insignia; no indication that she was anything other than her guards— or that she was any less able to look after herself.

  Far too easily discouraged…

  She opened her hand to Laine and showed him a smooth flat oval of rock. "This will get you home, Laine, if you should decide to come back this way. We'd welcome you."

  Laine regarded her with some surprise, but it changed to gratitude quickly enough. He took the proffered stone. "But what do I do with it?"

  She smiled. "It's a spellstone. Trigger it, and it'll release the spell I've placed within it."

  Laine glanced at Ehren, who was remembering Sherran's exact words. Generally, this is the only magic a T'ieran knows.

  But not always, apparently.

  "It might not work the first time," Sherran said, responding to Laine's doubt. "It's a matter of holding it with firm intent. Most of us have at least that much push when it comes to magic, and there's no doubt in my mind you'll have a bit more. You'll know when it works— you'll recognize the feeling."

  She put a hand on his arm, and wove the other into the crook of Ehren's elbow as he held Shaffron's reins. Ehren watched her face— studied it— as she concentrated. She remained serene, the only sign of effort the tiny hold her teeth had on her lower lip. He barely noticed the cool wash of magic through his veins.

  "That's what you'll be looking for," she told Laine, giving his arm a pat. "Don't lose the stone, or you'll be going home the long way around."

  "I might, anyway, if I can't get it to work." But Laine's good-natured expression was back where it belonged. He turned back to his horse and tucked the stone away in the bottom of his saddlebag.

  Ehren looked down at Sherran's hand, still hooked around his elbow. She dipped into her pocket again, taking his hand to press another stone into it. "And you— don't lose this. In case you should ever find a reason to return."

  Ehren turned the stone over in his hand, his smile quiet. "I won't lose it."

  They stood together a moment, until Ehren looked up to find Laine watching him with some surprise, and perhaps a little suspicion that he'd been left out of something important. Sherran released the hand that held the stone, and stepped away so Ehren could gather his reins and mount.

  When Laine had done the same, she said, "The spell holds as long as you don't do anything to negate it. That's where most people get into trouble." She lifted one shoulder in a shrug— or an admission. "We all have some small bit of magic, some more than others. And while the Barrenlands don't bother beasts, even spelled travelers feel the oppression of it. To counter that, they often bring into play, all unthinking, what little bit of magic they might have." She put her hands on her hips and stared at them. "Don't."

  "No fears," Laine said

  She only frowned at him. "You, most of all. You'll feel the lack of your own magic, Laine— don't reach for it. My protection will withstand all from without— but it cannot stand what comes from within." When he winced, she nodded— satisfied, this time. "Guides grant you both safe journey."

  "Guides grant," Ehren said, and turned from her as if it was no matter at all, slipping the stone into the small leather pouch hanging at Ricasso's withers.

  Shaffron, while not affected by the Barrenlands as a whole, had some serious reservations about placing his feet on ground that changed color and texture so abruptly. They danced more than walked into the life-leached land, while Shaffron blew rolling snorts high in his nose and Ricasso alternately crowded their quarters and hung back.

  "Boys," Ehren muttered at them, "you're not making a good impression."

  Ehren heard Sherran laugh— and then the Barrenlands slid closed around him. The sound of her humor sliced away.

  There was no breeze. No scent of green grass and moist ground and horseflesh. No bright glint of sunlight. Looking at the ground, Ehren would have sworn he saw the hoof prints from the last man to ride this way— and he somehow knew the signs of their own passage would remain until the next traveler obliterated them.

  "Ehren?" said Laine from behind him, and Ehren twisted in the saddle to find Laine had crossed the border as well. Pale and practically reeling in the saddle, he clutched at his horse's mane, grabbing deep gulps of air.

  Ehren stopped Shaffron and let Laine's horse draw up alongside before moving forward; as they walked, he leaned down and wrapped his hand around Laine's upper arm, digging his fingers in. "Ignore it," he said, his voice harsh. "Ride on and ignore it." To punctuate his command, he sent Shaffron into a fast trot, jarring Laine into something he'd have to concentrate on if he didn't want to bruise his bottom.

  The horses exchanged repeated snorts of comment, little sneeze-like exclamations that told Ehren he'd gotten their attention as well. He kept them all movin
g, and when he looked back again— for Laine's smaller horse quickly lost ground— Laine looked less bereft and more annoyed.

  "All right, you got me," he said, the second time Ehren looked back. "Can we stop now? That or canter!"

  Ehren laughed and touched Shaffron's sides; the horse moved into a relaxed canter. Laine said, "Thank you," making it clear that all his sarcasm was still intact, if not his magics. They moved on through the desolate, oppressive land, and what dust stirred in their passage settled heavily to the ground.

  Ehren took them down to a walk before Laine's Nimble grew tired; they had a long day of traveling through this place. Laine came alongside Shaffron. "This must be what the Hells are like."

  "Those who stumble in here without protection don't come out again." Ehren didn't look too closely at their surroundings— not the dull rock or dead soil, or at the stark skeletons of scrubby transition foliage. "Foolish of me not to realize there was danger even with the T'ieran's sanction." He raked a gaze across Laine. "I take it you've got yourself under control?"

  Laine made a face. "I'm trying not to fight it," he said. "It's... not easy."

  "Try hard," Ehren said sharply. "Without protection, this place will take your sight, your hearing, the feel of your feet against the ground and the air against your face. Even two steps over the border, there's very little chance you'd find your way out again."

  Laine, already pale, closed his eyes. "Sherran might have mentioned it."

  "Would knowing have changed your mind?"

  "No," Laine said, as if reluctant to admit it. "I guess not. And there's no way she could have described to me it's like to be cut off from my Sight. You don't feel any different?"

  Different? Oh, yes. He felt... dulled. He thought that here, he wouldn't be able to count on the leaps of intuition and occasional preternaturally quick reaction that had, in the past, saved his life. But to Laine he said, "Nothing significant."