Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) Page 9

  Laine'd noticed that this year. People traveled in unofficial caravans, as if it took a certain number of them to gather enough strength to break away from Everdawn. And in between, there were big gaps of empty road. Not that the road had ever streamed with people, but it seemed to him they moved with more caution and constraint than before.

  Well, he wasn't going to find her by standing out in the hot sun. He headed for the tavern— thinking of a cool drink and hoping Erlya had managed to master the magic that cooled the barrel of sumac lemonade.

  Dripping black sumac fingers reaching for his face, diving creatures with poisonous claws…

  Maybe cool water would do just as well.

  The bartender lifted an ambiguous hand of greeting, hardly looking up from the stain she was trying to scrape from the wooden bar. Laine wasn't sure which twin it was— that was another thing Sight seemed to be useless for. He slouched into a chair at the table nearest the bar and waited for her to get tired of the stain before he asked for his water.

  Heliga flittered into the chair opposite him, smiling, and oblivious to his preoccupation. She emptied the contents of her hands onto the scarred table top, treating the items with gentle reverence: small skeins of fine, brightly colored thread. "Look," she said, lisping through her slight harelip. "Shette said she'd show me how to do the fancy stitches."

  Laine gave her a blank look. "Shette did?" Shette had never been in the tavern without him— had never met the tavern whores, who were plenty busy in the evening and not given to spending time in idle chatter with other women.

  Heliga nodded, and smiled almost shyly. "She's nice. She's not used to us, but she didn't act all high-levels about it."

  He wasn't sure he liked the idea of Shette in the tavern without him. There were rough men here, and Shette— who thought she knew plenty about everything— had no real concept of what some of the men were like. And she was certain, besides, that she had nothing that would interest them— thanks to her faith in Sevita and Dajania, who chattered on about dainties and ribbons and Solvan noblewomen, and her refusal to listen to Laine when he pointed out that there were plenty of fashions inspired by upper level military women as well.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to frown as severely as he wanted. "I don't suppose she'll teach you anything if I can't find her. Or if I kill her when I do find her."

  Heliga's delicate brows closed in on one another. "You can't find her? I thought... well, Sevita says she's been pretty sheltered. That she didn't stray much from your camp."

  "Until today," Laine corrected her. "She's taken Clang and gone off somewhere, so if you run into anyone who has any idea where...."

  Heliga didn't say anything for a moment, but something in that silence alerted Laine. He straightened in the chair, watching her more intently. Eventually she admitted, "I might have an idea."

  "Well, don't keep it to yourself!"

  That earned a little frown. "Be civil, Laine, or learn nothing."

  Most of the time she seemed like a slight young thing, hardly older than Shette, and twice as quiet. But every once in a while she did something to remind Laine she had been well-hardened all the same. "I'm sorry," he said. "Worried, I guess."

  "Maybe with good reason," she admitted. "When we were all talking, earlier, she'd come in to ask us about Varien... who he was."

  Laine frowned, scraping through his memory. Varien. Solvany's wizard, that was it. "Why'd she want to know?"

  Heliga waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, she's all calf-eyed over Ehren, you know that..."

  Well, yes, but— Laine stopped himself from asking what that had to do with anything and just nodded, go on, go on.

  "... and she'd overheard some talk about Varien taking Ehren off his search for King Benlan's killers."

  She had? And Ehren, searching for Benlan's killers? Ansgare had said he was a King's Guard, but... "What does that have to do with where she is now?"

  For the first time Heliga looked uncomfortable, and her gaze fell to the colored thread nestled between her hands. "I thought he was still searching. I thought he was here because of the man I was with last night. He babbled something about being on the run for a year." She looked up and shrugged. "We all know what happened a year ago."

  Benlan had been killed, along with most of his Guards. It had been a slaughter, as Laine recalled hearing. How had Ehren survived it? "I still don't see what this has to do with Shette."

  Impatience crossed her fox-like features. "She thought Ehren knew nothing of the man. If she's gone, Laine, she's probably gone to fetch him."

  "Fetch Ehren?"

  Heliga threw up her hands. "Fetch the man, you thick-headed country boy!"

  Laine sat bolt upright. "You think Shette went after a killer? Ninth Level, Heliga, why didn't you come get me?"

  "I could tear my hair out trying to talk to you," she said crossly. "I didn't know she was gone till now. I'm just guessing that's what she might have done. And the man wasn't any killer, no doubt of that. Little mouse-man, knew something he shouldn't have."

  "That doesn't make any sense. Shette barely knows how to ride. She ought to have gone to Ehren with the news."

  Heliga rolled her eyes and gathered up her thread, rising. "Just proves you aren't any fifteen year-old girl, now, doesn't it?"

  Laine simply stared after her, numb. Shette did talk an awful lot when Ehren was around. She'd been a little more tractable since they'd run into him, too. He sorted his memories and found images of Shette blushing, of her gazing off into the distance at nothing, of her watching Ehren when she thought no one was looking.

  Guides damn.

  He took a deep breath, slowing his thoughts. Likely Shette would never catch up with the fugitive before she got too saddle-sore to go on, nor recognize him when she saw him. No, Laine was thinking of the border and Trade Road bandits that had rumors flying. Even barring them, the Trade Road was no place for a young woman, alone. A naive young woman.

  His sister.

  He stood so abruptly the chair tipped back before settling into place with all four legs on the floor. The bartender looked up from her scraping, a warning eyebrow raised. Laine barely noticed.

  Ehren. He had to find Ehren.

  ~~~~~

  "What's my fault?" Ehren said, looking up from Shaffron's once-again glossy hide as the movement of his brush slowed. The stable's dim light came filtered through cracks and hazed with dust motes, but he could see the distress on Laine's face clearly enough. Shaffron shifted, rustling the hay before him, and the steady grinding of his teeth filled the silence.

  "Maybe not your fault exactly," Laine said, standing well back from the stall and the reach of Shaffron's teeth, although the horse wouldn't bother anyone who wasn't grabbing for his halter rope. "Heliga says there was a man here who knows something about Benlan, and that Shette went after him."

  Ehren stiffened, so captured by the first of Laine's words that he didn't hear the rest. "Someone who knows of Benlan? Here?"

  "Not any more— he's gone on to the lake. And so has Shette!" Laine hesitated, eyeing Ehren. "It's true. You knew Benlan, and you've been looking for his killer."

  Ehren turned to face him, his dark eyes hard. "I knew Benlan from the time I was Shette's age. I knew every man and woman that died that day. I'll never stop looking."

  Laine looked at him as if seeing him for the very first time, and took some time finding his next words. "King's Guard," he said, as if maybe that made Ehren something other than a friend. His expression, normally easygoing, turned intense; his hound-sad eyes narrowed. "Still looking, no matter what Varien says. And now Shette's in trouble because of it."

  "How the burning Hells do you know about Varien?" Ehren snapped. Next to him, Shaffron stopped chewing, and his head came up. Across the aisle, Ricasso snorted. For a moment the two men stared at one another, until Ehren finally processed the rest of Laine's words. "What do you mean, Shette's in trouble?"

  Laine took a deep breath. "S
hette overheard you say Varien had taken you off your search. Don't ask me how or where— what little I know I got from Heliga at the tavern."

  Heliga. One of the whores, a little bit of a thing. Ehren had never spoken to her, but Ben of the Border Guard seemed to know her very well. "Let me see if I have this straight," he said tightly. "Heliga was with someone who knows something about Benlan. The man left this morning for Everdawn. Shette left sometime later to go after him and bring him back—"

  "Because she's trying to impress you," Laine finished for him. "She's on Clang, and she doesn't know how to handle him."

  "That's the least of her worries," Ehren muttered. He stuffed Shaffron's brush in the saddlebags that hung over the side of the stall. He'd spent the morning riding hard on the trail of border bandits, and caught nothing but frustrated failure and a badly lamed, abandoned horse that they'd had to kill. Brushing the sweat out of Shaffron's coat had been nothing but an exercise in nursing his anger. Now it was time to put it aside, take a deep breath, and start all over again.

  "All right," he said, just as Laine's mouth opened again, impatience written all over that expressive face. "Shaffron would have been better for this, but he's done all he can for the day. I'll saddle Ricasso. I suggest you rent yourself a horse, one that's used to fast work. That mule of yours is steady enough, but I don't think he'll keep up."

  Laine didn't even blink. "I've already done it. Did you think I was just going to hang around here and wait if you weren't willing to come with me?"

  Ehren gave him a wry smile. "Go on, then. I'll be right out."

  Laine nodded, and walked swiftly out to the corrals. Ehren hoped the farrier had offered up a good mount— Laine was going to need it, and it would be of more value than the absurdly ornate, too-short sword that the young man carried.

  Ricasso proved fractious, unhappy at having been stalled while Shaffron went out, and well aware that something was up. Ehren settled the saddle on his back with no-nonsense efficiency, tightening the girth in stages while he tied his water bota at the cantle and strapped on his own sword, hooking his plain, rounded helmet beside the saddle cantle. Ricasso mouthed the bit furiously when bridled, and was already dripping spit by the time Ehren led him outside.

  "Save it," Ehren told him shortly, tightening the girth one last hole before he mounted. "You're going to need that energy."

  Laine waited for him astride a dark bay mare with long legs, short back and strong rump. Therand breeding; good. Something they could depend on to last through this ride.

  Ricasso wanted to bolt out onto the Trade Road, and from the look on his face, Laine wanted to do the same. "Steady," Ehren told them both, and allowed Ricasso an even canter. Laine surged ahead of him and then seemed to get a handle on his horse. Eventually, both horses relaxed and were willing to drop into a walk.

  Laine was not so complacent. "We won't catch up with her at this pace."

  "We won't catch up with her if the horses give out halfway there, either," Ehren said, unruffled. "That was a warm-up. When they catch their breath we'll move out again."

  Laine looked away, his jaw set. He knew, it was obvious, and couldn't argue with what Ehren had said. Instead, unexpectedly, he asked, "What are you doing here, Ehren? What's a King's Guard doing on this side of the border and not in Kurtane with the king?"

  Ehren didn't say anything. He'd thought Laine wouldn't ask it, not after the first few days had gone by. "None of your concern seems like a fair answer," he said after a moment, although in fact, that was not strictly true. Not now that Shette had tangled herself in things.

  "Depends which side of the question you're on," Laine told him.

  Ehren gave him the faintest of smiles. "Maybe so. Let's say I'm tracking down a potential threat to the king, and leave it at that."

  "But you'd rather be off looking for Benlan's killers. Shette had you right on that."

  "Wouldn't you, in my position?"

  Laine looked at him, and seemed to be giving the question honest consideration. "I don't know," he said. "I grew up in the Lorakan mountains just this side of the border. Loraka certainly never laid claim to us, nor Therand. I've never had a king, queen, nor T'ieran, that meant anything to me— or me to them. Sad enough, I guess, that Benlan was killed. But Solvany seems to be surviving."

  "Is it?" Ehren said. "With bandits at the borders?" And its troops withering from within, if Jada and Algere had it right, never mind whatever was going on with Varien in the Upper Levels. Ehren looked away, over to the slow-moving water of the Eredon. "Maybe you had to know Benlan."

  Maybe it took the benefit of growing into a man in Benlan's court, seeing how many wrong decisions he could have made— and didn't. Or maybe it was simply the blind loyalty of a warrior following his leader. No matter. The result was Ehren, here and now. "I said it before. Benlan was my friend. I'll never stop looking— and Varien can't keep me away from Kurtane forever."

  He made no attempt to hide the emotion behind his words, and Laine returned his gaze without judgment... or true understanding.

  Ehren turned his back on the conversation and asked Ricasso to trot. The mare surged to keep up, catching Laine off-guard; he snatched the bay's dark mane and unself-consciously pulled himself back into balance.

  "Shette doesn't even do this well," he told Ehren, speaking loudly enough to carry over the sounds of shod hooves on hard roads. "She might have gotten Clang to trot, but not like this."

  "How much time does she have on us?" Ehren asked, automatically posting the trot when the bounce of Ricasso's powerful stride became too much trouble to sit. Laine followed suit— not gracefully, but well enough, despite his self-deprecating words.

  "At least an hour, as best I can figure."

  An hour on this empty road. She was probably no worse than bored to death.

  Ehren asked for another canter anyway.

  They rode on without much conversation after that, moving steadily, stopping once to detour to the river so the horses could drink. At last they met a small group of ill-matched travelers with handcarts going the opposite direction. Laine didn't hesitate.

  "Have you seen a girl on a mule?" he asked them. "Sandy hair? Probably mad at the mule."

  "Haven't seen anyone," one of them grumbled back without slacking pace. "Guides-forsaken road this year, it is. Too many soldiers about. Don't like it."

  Ehren gave Ricasso's sweaty shoulder a pat and waited as Laine swung the mare around to stare after the travelers, his face a map of the emotions inside: realization that Shette was in trouble, fear at the prospect, and determination to find her.

  "She may not have come this way at all," Ehren said.

  Laine just stared at him. "Do you think I'm going to take that chance?"

  "No. And neither am I. But we have to make a decision. If she was on this road, she's been taken off it. And there's no telling if that happened before us or behind us."

  Laine took a resolute lungful of air, held it a moment, and let it out noisily. "Say it was an hour. Say she never got Clang beyond a jog. We'd have caught up to her by now, wouldn't we?"

  "That would be my guess." Ehren watched the decision hesitate on Laine's face, and then said, "We could split up."

  Laine shook his head with a rueful smile. "If she's in trouble, I'm not going to do her all that much good. Not unless there's only one of them, and he's not a whole lot bigger than me."

  "That's better than thinking you're a whole lot tougher than you really are. It takes the entire first year of training to pound that into some of the new Guards. It's back we go, then."

  Laine nodded, and pushed his horse into a trot.

  "No," Ehren said, as Ricasso ambled forward. "For one thing, we want to have some horse left when we meet these people. For another, they weren't on the road. They couldn't have scaled the side of the mountain with Clang. That means they crossed the river, and left some sign of it that we missed on the way out. Single file, both sets of eyes on that side of the road. We'll fin
d the spot."

  They hadn't gone very far when Laine tensed. Ehren swept the side of the road with his gaze, finding stiff-stalked weeds that led to thick brush and a few stray sycamores. Beyond was the river, deep rushing water channeled between a series of large boulders. Not a place he would pick for a crossing. "There's nothing here."

  "That's where you're wrong," Laine said grimly. "This is what I do."

  "It's spelled?" Ehren asked in surprise.

  "There's a clear path here, once you look through the magic. I didn't see it before— moving too fast."

  "It seemed to be the thing to do at the time," Ehren said mildly.

  "Follow me," Laine said, determined again. He led them through the brush and to the side of the river without hesitation, and more than once Ehren's knees pushed right through the edges of trees where they seemed too close to allow passage. Ehren didn't realize the extent of the illusion's success until they were in the water— and Laine took the protesting mare through one of the boulders before them. The younger man might not have finesse on horseback, but he could keep his seat when the occasion called for persuasive riding.

  "Don't go around, unless you want to take a swim," Laine told him, emerging on the other side. "You can't see it, but there's a drop-off there."

  "Wonderful," Ehren muttered. To Ricasso, he said, "Trust me, son." The big horse's ears swiveled around as he faced the rock, blatantly questioning. Ehren let him stand there a moment and then urged him firmly onward; Ricasso surged through the obstacle and into darkness, emerging from the other side with such momentum that he ran into the mare's rump. She squealed and kicked, and both horses plunged through the water, arriving annoyed and safe on the other side of the river.

  "Let's hope they're not close," Ehren said, shaking off the cold shock of splashing river water. A welcome change, actually, from the sweat that had soaked him moments before. "If they are, that probably got their attention."