Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) Read online

  Jada nodded. "We'll let you know what happens. But, Ehren... I hope you come back soon."

  He said nothing for a long moment— definitely none of the things he wanted to say. His voice held no promises. "As soon as I can."

  "Ben!" Jiarna's voice broke the semblance of privacy the Guards had shared, and as one, they looked over at the woman. "Gonna earn your copper today, son? We got a backup here."

  It was only then that Ehren saw the young Border Guard was on Solvan turf— and Shette alone with him. In fact, they could have been doing nothing else but watching, and perhaps listening to, the Guards. They were both on their way back to the border station now, where a group of harassed-looking travelers hastily stuffed their luggage back together. Ehren raised an eyebrow at Jada and Algere; his back had been to the border, but the two younger Guards had had a clear view of their eavesdroppers. They exchanged a glance and a guilt-ridden shrug, and he relented. They were all tired.

  "No matter," he said. "I'll have a word with them."

  The last thing they needed was for the bandits to get word of Solvany's lack of readiness. If they didn't use the information themselves, it would sell well enough to someone else.

  The young guard Ben first, then. Ehren lifted his reins, and Shaffron stirred beneath him. "Jada, Algere," he said, and hesitated, looking for the words that would mean as much as he wanted to convey. He settled for "Be careful," but he thought they understood.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shette hadn't wanted to hear any more, anyway. The three Guards knew one another— it was obvious enough from their willingness to both argue and joke with each other. She envied their camaraderie, and didn't enjoy that feeling.

  Besides, she had enough to think about.

  She would have liked to have slipped away unseen, though— and although she hadn't looked back, she was certain, after Jiarna's loud call, that the Guards had spotted them. Quietly, she and Ben returned to the Lorakan side of the border, and to the little patch of neutral ground at the inspection area.

  Ben started talking as soon as they were back by the station. "Jiarna said there was something going on over the border," he told Shette, his words coming fast and excited. "She didn't really want to talk about it— said we had our duty here. But wouldn't it be great if we caught some of the bandits? Especially since they're using fake ailettes— no one'd be fooled for long, I bet, but it wouldn't take long, and then it'd be too late. I got a free day coming up soon, and I could—"

  "Ben," Jiarna growled. The pair she'd been searching, relieved of their contraband, were just crossing into Solvany, looking much the worse for wear. Jiarna was already giving a cursory check of the two-wheeled cart that had been waiting behind them, conversing with the two men who pulled it as though they'd been going through this little ritual for years. Probably they had, Shette thought, giving the guardswoman's worn face another look as Ben hastened to help her. Shette was left standing alone by the side of the station, but she didn't mind. She had a lot to think about.

  Who was this Varien, whose name seemed to leave such a bad taste in Ehren's mouth?

  Sevita will know.

  The thought made her straighten, pushing away from the wall. She rolled her pants legs down and headed for the inn tavern at a brisk walk.

  What Sevita didn't know, Dajania would. And there were others who usually spent the first part of the day in the inn— three more women who sold themselves and who heard a lot in the process. If nothing else, Shette had learned that much on the caravan route. A whore had ears, and some men liked to talk.

  She pulled open the heavy tavern door and peeked in; she'd never been inside without Laine. But the tavern was nearly empty. Two men stood before the bar, leaning their elbows on the old, age-polished wood between themselves and the bartender with her kegs. The bartender herself was almost twice as big as Laine; in the evenings there were two of them, twins down to the hairy moles on their jaws.

  With sunlight streaming in through the open shutters and the common room occupied by five women tallying their take and the tavern percentages— including competitively snide remarks— it was almost like a different tavern altogether. No odor of crowded, unwashed men and women— although a certain amount of that was ingrained— and only one pipe in evidence. One of the whores, a middle-aged woman who stayed at the inn full time, was a cottage witchy as well, and seemed to be preparing for some sort of spell by the fireplace.

  Dajania saw Shette first. Never quiet or demure, she called out, "Shette, girl! I do believe you've got up the nerve to come see us without your brother standing watch."

  Every pair of eyes in the place riveted to her. Thanks, Dajania, Shette thought sourly, pretending she didn't see the bartender's not entirely pleasant smile.

  She threaded her way between tables to the women. "Laine's shoeing Spike," she said. "Figured I'd take the chance when I could get it."

  "He's a mite overprotective, Laine is," Sevita said. Unlike Dajania's bold painted eyes and dark hair, Sevita had a gentle appearance— soft brown hair and big hazel eyes that she painted with such subtlety they sweetened her features without looking painted at all. She was soft-spoken and pleasant— but she'd killed a man once for his cruelty when they were together.

  Shette gave an elaborate shrug, doing her best to dismiss Laine's influence. Once these women started talking about him, it was bound to go on for a while, and in some part of her mind she wished he would just go ahead and sleep with them so he wouldn't represent such a challenge to them anymore. It wasn't like he'd never—

  But she wasn't supposed to know about that. She couldn't help a secretive little smile, and it was something the women recognized right off.

  "Shette's had a thought, now, she has," Dajania declared, casually recovering a copper that had strayed, somehow, too close to one of the tavern women's piles. "Shette, this here's Erlya, Sontra, and Heliga." Erlya was the cottage witchy, Sontra a dowdy and bleary-eyed woman who hadn't donned anything besides an old, patched dressing gown, and Heliga a small, pointy-faced girl with a barely perceptible harelip who, Shette realized, couldn't be much older than she was.

  "Guides grant our acquaintance be a good one," she said, the politest greeting she knew, even if it was T'ieran. The girl snickered without bothering to hide it and Sevita gave her a low-key, even stare. The snicker stopped.

  "Never mind, Shette," Sevita said. "Some of us haven't had the benefit of much polite company. Heliga, Shette here's the one who did the pretty stitching on my blouse."

  "Ooh," the girl said. "It's wonderful, Shette. I want to learn it, someday." Her words were slurred by a severe lisp; it took Shette a moment to puzzle them out, and by then the hopeful look on the girl's face had all but faded.

  "Well," Shette said, shrugging again. "I'll probably be here a handful of days. But you'd have to get the needle and threads; I used everything up but the mending thread."

  Heliga nodded enthusiastically. "I know someone in the commonstall who carries it. He's got a liking for me, too. I can get it."

  Inwardly, Shette winced. She thought she knew exactly how Heliga would buy the goods. Stop thinking like that, she told herself. She wouldn't make any friends like if it showed on her face as clearly as Laine's thoughts ran across his own features.

  From the fireplace, Erlya muttered an alarmed curse. She threw herself away from the hearth, right before the chimney made a muffled whoomph; a cloud of soot dropped onto the hearth, accompanied by large particles of creosote ticking their way down. Dowdy Sontra sniggered the same amusement that showed on all their faces— except for Erlya's, as she got to her feet and vigorously slapped soot off the leg that hadn't quite gotten out of range.

  "Maybe you ought to just do it like the rest of us, witchie," Dajania said through her smile.

  "As if you knew anything about it," Erlya snapped.

  Now that their attention wasn't on her, Shette grew suddenly bolder, and almost without thinking, she said, "Do yo
u know who Varien is?"

  As one, they turned their surprise her way, so that she wished she hadn't spoken at all. Then Sontra gave a lazy smile and said, "I know what he likes," and the strange tension was broken. The women picked up the conversation that centered around their accounting. Shette wasn't excluded, but there was little she could add to it.

  In time, Erlya moved around the edge of the crowded table until she was next to Shette. "You mean Varien, the King's wizard, don't you?" she asked in a low voice. "That's one best left unspoken of, even here over the border. They've never proved he's done anything wrong, and the court folk either worship him or fear him. But we know better, the lower levels of witchies do. He's got too much power, and too much inclination to use it. So even whilst you're among friends, it still does no harm to guard your tongue."

  Shette kept her face blank. No one was that powerful, to hear her words in a worn little tavern at the border, but she didn't want to offend the woman. Erlya must have felt reasonably safe as well, for she dropped the furtive tone she'd been using and asked in a perfectly normal voice, "Why're you asking? You're Therand, aren't you, with talk of the Guides an' such... that one's Solvan politics."

  "I'm not from Therand," Shette said. "I grew up in the Loraka border mountains. Folks believe whichever way they choose, there." Though, in fact, when she thought of it, she could only come up with one other family that followed the Therand belief of Guides for the Nine Levels. "I just heard the name, is all. I was wondering."

  All the women exchanged glances of polite disbelief. "You just heard the name?" Sontra said. "No one banters that name around without reason. Skete, Bern, or Rikka— now those are all High Level mages you can trust, more or less. But not that one."

  "Well," Shette said uncomfortably, not sure if she was betraying some kind of confidence, but increasingly aware that she wasn't going to get any information without giving it in return, "Whoever he is, Var— er, that one is the man who took Ehren away from finding who killed his king. He seemed pretty mad about it. I was just wondering."

  "Ah, it's to do with Ehren, has it," Sevita said, as if that explained anything. "No doubt the Guard is angered if what you heard is true. He's a right good man, that Ehren. Trustworthy." The others nodded, as if this was the highest honor they could bestow him, but they were exchanging quick glances among themselves and finally broke into snickers.

  "Damn good-looking chunk of trustworthy!" Dajania said. Shette blushed bright red, and was very quiet until things settled down.

  Finally, Heliga asked, "You sure he's off that search?" with doubt on her face. "I was with a fellow just last night, drunk he was. Talking about how glad he was to have finally gotten out of that country, Solvany, I mean. Made out as how he'd been in hiding for a year, creeping for the border, scared for his life the whole time."

  "A year." Dajania repeated the words as though they had some special meaning, and at Shette's blank look, said, "It's been just that long that Benlan's been dead."

  ~~~~~

  It hadn't been hard for Shette to learn the rest of what Heliga knew. The fellow she'd bedded had been on foot, and heading for Lake Everdawn. He'd left just that morning. And Heliga, though she couldn't quote the man, was convinced that he hadn't done anything; he merely knew something. "He's a little fellow, like me," she'd said, adding, somewhat empathetically, "He just wants to feel he's safe again."

  He'd be safe enough under Ehren's wing, Shette was certain. If the man knew something that put his life in danger, he was surely running from conspiracy, and not from Guards like Ehren. And he was on foot...

  She left the tavern, elaborately casual about her good-byes, and trotted across the road to the caravan encampment. Next to their wagon, Clang the mule eyed her with mild concern, a wisp of hay straggling out of his mouth.

  Little did he know. Shette grinned at him. Clambering into the wagon, she opened the backmost compartment and pulled out a tangle of girth and bridle and blanket. There was nothing wrong with taking a little afternoon ride; Laine had never specifically said she shouldn't. And she had wanted to see more of the area, even if it was more road.

  She knew what the man looked like, what he was wearing— if she happened to come upon him, and told him she knew someone who could guarantee his safety, surely he'd come back with her. Shette's thoughts lingered on Ehren— she could well remember his expression at the thought of being taken off his search, just as she well remembered everything else about his clean, strong features. She tried to imagine the look on that face when Ehren realized she'd brought him a chance to discover who was behind his king's death.

  Shette quickly saddled and bridled the mule, who stood patiently albeit with mournful expression. She didn't realize how distracted she'd been until she tried to mount and the saddle slipped halfway down his side, dumping her on the ground. Clang craned his head around to look at her, his floppy ears perked as though he was surprised to find her there.

  "Fine," she muttered, getting up and dusting herself off. She jerked the saddle back into place and tightened the girth again. Then she walked him in a circle around the wagon, stopped suddenly, and pulled the girth as tight as she could get it. After that, the saddle firmly resisted her hefty tug, and she gave the mule a satisfied smirk. "Gotcha," she told him, and climbed successfully, if not gracefully, into the saddle.

  It was Laine's saddle, and too big for her. The stirrups were as high as they got, and her toes still barely touched the flats of them; she clutched the swell of the pommel as the mule lurched into motion, certain she was going to slide off to one side or the other. This was a far cry from her father's sturdy little mountain ponies, and she hadn't ever been all that interested in riding them.

  She gritted her teeth and urged Clang onward until he broke into a reluctant, shuffling trot. There was no telling when Laine would come out from behind the smithy, and she wanted to be out of sight by then.

  Not that you're doing anything wrong, she told herself. Just going for a ride on a busy public road. What could be wrong with that?

  But the road didn't stay busy.

  In short order the travelers thinned out. She rode alone for a good long stretch, wondering just how fast one anxious man could walk. The road was more boring than she expected— hard and level and maintained by magic.

  The Eredon River flowed off to her right, mostly a broad and majestic current of water only occasionally cut by the ripple of shallow water over rocks. Sprawling willows hung over the banks, vying for root space with shrubby growth that sometimes hid the water from view entirely. The left side of the road was much the same, with more sycamore than anything else; not far from the edge of the road, the water-cut rock rose high again, covered with greenery anywhere there was a speck of dirt or a crack in the rock. There were plenty of little animals scurrying through that growth, as well as the fast darting shadows of birds, but they somehow made the road seem all the more empty.

  Shette began to regret her impulsive dash into Loraka.

  She was considering a foray into canter when the lonely road got suddenly lonelier. Her escort of twitter and scurry had vanished. What had Ehren said? Something about a gang running the border?

  You're only scaring yourself. Shette settled more firmly into the saddle, waiting for the flitter of nerves to pass.

  They didn't.

  "C'mon, Clang, let's move a little faster," she told him, working up to a good bold thump against his sides with her heels.

  He stopped short.

  "Clang! I mean it! Let's go!" Shette tried to assume the voice she'd heard Laine use, the I'm about to have stringy mule soup for dinner voice.

  "Mule in't stupid," a lazy voice drawled from the brush beside her.

  Shette jumped, startling Clang more than the voice; he snorted and raised his head high. A man stepped out in the road ahead of her, looking as unsavory as the voice beside her had sounded. Guides help me, there is a gang. A third bandit, a short, stout woman, hopped down from the rock she'd been sit
ting on, ten feet up along the side of the lurching mountain that bordered the river.

  "C'mon, Clang!" Shette said, setting her sights for the empty bit of road behind the man who blocked her way. She dug her heels into the mule's side, no more hesitation, and slapped his rump with the long reins.

  Clang's hooves grew roots into the ground. His head and neck, if anything, rose even higher— a mule stubbed up in every inch of his body. He knew well enough that harm stood in his way.

  She thought about throwing herself off the beast and running for it. But with a rustle of brush and the scritch of hard leather boot soles against a stray pebble on the hard road, that option vanished; she couldn't bring herself to look as the bandit who'd been hidden at the side of the road stepped up to her. A casual gloved hand reeking of horse sweat and hard use closed on the reins just below the bit. His other hand curved around her waist and pulled her right out of the saddle, depositing her on the road without grace or gentility. She stumbled back a step and fell on her rump, staring up at him with her arms jutting back and the heels of her hands grinding painfully into the road.

  "You're a sturdy one," the man said, much satisfaction on his face, a stubble-bearded face with lots of cheek and very little chin. "Ought to bring us a good price." He smiled unpleasantly.

  A good price? Guides, they're worse than bandits.

  Shette stared up at him, her arms trembling hard enough to shake her entire body. Laine! she wailed inside. Laine, come find me!

  ~~~~~

  The mule was gone. Shette was gone. Ben, the young guard who was trying to impress Shette, was on duty and therefore she wasn't off with him somewhere... .

  "Damnation," he muttered, glaring at Spike as though it was all the mule's fault. Maybe it was. "If you hadn't behaved so badly, she wouldn't have had the chance for this." But no one had seen her ride out, and he didn't even know what direction she'd gone in.

  What use was Sight if it didn't help at times like these?

  Laine scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and squinted against the bright haziness of the hot afternoon. There were few others moving about the area; most of them were inside the commonstall, shopping or trading their wares. And while there'd been a handful of people passing the border station earlier, there were now none.