Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga)

by Doranna Durgin

  The other First Levels— the Minister of Diplomacy, the High Secretary, and the Military Commander— had plenty of influence over any monarch's rule. When banded together, few were the kings and queens who would— or could— go against them. But the wizards had always been held apart. Most reckoned a wizard of the Upper Levels had enough power already.

  Ehren was among them.

  He picked up the ring, a delicate thing set with a beveled emerald and a band of intertwining ivy. A woman's ring. It had always looked like it belonged with Benlan in spite of that, right along with Wilna's love.

  Ehren placed it back on the table, not ready to ask how the ring came to be here. "So," he said. "There are other things more crucial to Solvany than punishing the conspirators who killed her king. Enlighten me."

  "I'm surprised to find it necessary. You, after all, are the one who has been traveling through the land. Surely you have observed the unrest, the dissatisfaction with Rodar's rule— such as it is. Surely you have heard Dannel's name come up, again and again."

  Unrest, indeed... Ehren had fended off three ambushes on the way home. "There are always dissatisfied voices when something changes. It happens every time one of the First Level ministers is replaced. It happened when you replaced Coirra, if you remember."

  "I do," Varien said. "But I'm surprised that you do. You can't even have been born."

  "I wasn't." Ehren let the words sit there a moment, making their point. Then he said, "Dannel is gone. Benlan talked of his older brother often enough; the man wasn't suited to rule, even before he fell in love with a Therand T'ieran's daughter and ran off to who-knows-where. He won't be coming back to snatch the throne away from Rodar."

  "And his children?"

  Ehren snorted again, showing a little more derision this time. "That's what this is all about? You're worried Dannel's children might make some sort of play for the throne?"

  Varien's eyes narrowed. "There will be no better opportunity."

  "Granted. A good reason for all Rodar's ministers to be prepared with their best rhetoric. Supposing these hypothetical children should appear."

  "We have no intention of waiting for them to appear," Varien snapped.

  Finally, then, here was some of the temperament Ehren knew to be Varien's. He gave the wizard an even smile. "Most of the Guard is unblooded. Half of them haven't spent three nights in a row under the stars. If you want to waste time and Guards looking for Dannel, you might as well get some training done while you're at it. Which brings me back to my original question— why am I here?"

  Varien didn't answer right away; he seemed to be tucking his temper away. Ehren's eyes narrowed at the satisfaction that found its way to the wizard's soft features. Varien said, "You will be doing the searching, Ehren."

  While Benlan's killers still live? While the conspirators who had seen to the death of half his fellow Guards, his friends, still gloated over that victory?

  Ehren's jaw set hard; he forced a deliberate calmness— of sorts— into his voice. "If you're concerned about the king's safety, this is where I need to be. If those First Level fools hadn't sent me off on a trivial errand last spring, Benlan might yet be alive." Ehren's bitter voice held accusation. "Do you want to make the same mistake again?"

  "I've heard you say this before," Varien said coolly. "Do you really think your presence would have made the difference, simply because Benlan considered you friend? And do you really think the ministers care to deal with you, ever reminding them of the possible truth behind your words? Do you think the new Guard is eager to have you here, breathing over their shoulders and reminding them they have no experience?"

  "To the lowest Hell with what they want," Ehren said. "The important thing is the safety of the king."

  "It will be hard to keep the king safe if his ranks are in disruption," Varien said. "Your very existence reminds everyone that you were Benlan's man. And there are plenty who will remember how difficult you were, even then. Who do remember, and don't want you here."

  Difficult? Perhaps. He did what was necessary to keep Benlan safe. Ehren sat back in the stout chair, holding Varien's gaze. "Difficult will be as nothing, if you consider sending me on another fool's mission while Benlan's killers run loose and Rodar turns this throne into an adolescent fantasy."

  "It's been a year, Ehren!" Varien stood and leaned over the table. "What do you suppose that looks like? A year, and you're still searching? You're already on a fool's mission!" He took a deep breath and straightened, resting his hands lightly on the back of a chair. "Frankly, you don't have much choice. There are plenty of First and Second Level people who see you as a threat— a disruption that Rodar's rule is not capable of handling. Don't underestimate the lethal dangers in those scheming Levels— forced resignation is the least of what you're facing. I hope I make myself clear."

  So that's how it was. Take this assignment, and lose his chance to track down the conspiracy— or refuse it, and lose everything.

  Ehren stayed where he was, leaning back in the big chair, eyeing Varien, barely aware that his jaw was set. "Are these your words?"

  "They're my words, yes. But they come from the mouths of others as well. In fact, it was my idea to give you this last chore. You'll be gone some while, and perhaps by the time you return, things will have settled. Consider this before you refuse us."

  He'd consider it, all right. He'd consider the fact that he'd never judged Varien a man to do something that benefitted only one person, unless Varien was that person. If searching for Dannel was Varien's idea, there was more to it than one last face-saving assignment for Benlan's favorite Guard.

  Which, perhaps, was reason enough to do it. How else to discover what the wizard was up to? Besides, once he was through, he could return here and pick up where he left off. Someone here in Kurtane was frightened enough of him to drive him out, and that was the best lead he'd had in months.

  Ehren leaned forward, picked up the ring, and studied its flawless emerald. "Tell me about the ring."

  ~~~~~

  "Lain-ieee!"

  "Not now, Shette." Laine frowned at the slight shimmer of the ground in front of him, barely discernible in the morning light. It wasn't Shette's fault she couldn't see it— but her timing was characteristically awful.

  The caravan stretched out behind Laine, several dozen uninspiring but sturdy wagons carrying Therand goods bound for Solvany via the bordering mountains of Loraka. The merchants waited with an impatience that was almost palpable.

  But it was Laine's job to guide them through the leftover magics of this tricky, hard-country route, and their hurry was of little concern when he felt something amiss before them.

  The spells of the area were several hundred years old, things that had been loosed during the same war that had wrought the lifeless, magic-made Barrenlands between Therand and Solvany. The Barrenlands made travel between the countries impossible; the spells made travel through the mountains perilous. But there would always be a market for fine Therand cloth goods and precision trade work in Solvany, just as Therand took in a steady supply of hardy northern breeding stock and quality wines from Solvany. Commerce always found a way.

  In Laine's childhood, that way had been a triangular route along the Lorakan Trade Road— a slow and costly journey capped with tariffs. And then Ansgare had stumbled on to Laine and his Sight, and his quick merchant's mind had divined a way to take advantage of the younger man's idiosyncratic skill.

  Lingering spells made Laine twitch.

  It didn't matter what they were. They could be traps meant to slow the enemy by tripling his weight, or by turning his boot soles ice-slick— or worse, but not usually; generations earlier, no one had wanted to risk his own troops with such things. Seeing through them took a careful balance of not looking too hard at any one thing while concentrating on all of it— and Laine had learned not to hurry.

  "Lain-ieeee." Shette's voice, drawing out the last syllable of his name again, knowing how he hated it. This was h
er first trip away from their family's mountainous pasture land, and she had yet to acquire patience when it came to waiting out his Sight.

  Or when it came to waiting for anything, for that matter.

  "Not now, Shette." Laine eyed the rutted road ahead, heeding the silent, disquieting voice that warned him of magic tangled in their way. The ground shimmered faintly, subtly. After three years of guiding the caravan through this route, Laine had come to recognize the flavors of the old Border War spells drifting through this region— but this one felt new…harder edged. It made some spot behind his eyes twitch, and put a cold, hard knot in his stomach. And with his younger sister standing at the wagon behind him, he wasn't about to get careless.

  Slowly, he closed his left eye, the blue one, and after a moment switched and closed the right. The old habit seldom worked, but sometimes…

  Behind him, a mule grumbled, punctuating displeasure with an explosive snort. Shette made an equally explosive sound of dismay. "He did that on purpose! You know he likes to snort all over me! Laine, why do I have to—"

  "Shut up?" he finished, rounding on her where she stood by Spike, the near-side mule, in front of their small four-wheeled wagon. She was the picture of irritated sibling, her loose trousers rolled up to the knee, her sandy hair tied off at the base of her neck, and her expression displaying graphic revulsion as she vigorously rubbed her shoulder against the mule's lower neck.

  The mule did indeed wear a half-lidded expression of satisfaction. It had probably been as tired of Shette's whining as Laine. "If you're not quiet, we'll be here for the rest of the day while I sight this out. Do you want to explain that to Ansgare?"

  Sometimes the five years between them seemed like a century.

  Shette made a face and pushed the mule's head away from her; he swung it back with a sleepy innocence, perfectly aware of her still hesitant authority. His partner, Clang, was happy to follow Spike's lead in the matter.

  Even now Spike flopped his jagged namesake of a mane back and forth to rid himself of a fly, and gained a sneaky foot in the doing of it. "Shette," Laine said, and his teeth ground together a little as he strode forward, caught the mule's lines under the animal's chin, and backed him the exact step he'd stolen, "you've got to watch him. If I can't trust you to keep him back, I'll swap you with Dajania— she doesn't let him pull anything. You can ride with Sevita."

  "Laine, I don't want to ride in a whore wagon!" Shette said, truly horrified.

  Her reaction was so satisfying that Laine regained his normal good humor at once, and merely smiled at her despite the threat of the spell tickling at his back.

  "It's all your fault, anyway," she grumbled with embarrassment, perhaps remembering that the women in question had actually been quite kind to her on this trip. "There's nothing up there, and Spike knows it."

  "Laine." A new voice, startling him from behind the wagon. Ansgare. Of course. Riding his big cat-footed pony. "Seems we've been here quite a while."

  Laine gave Shette a quick warning look and eased along the wagon to meet Ansgare; there was no room for the little horse to come forward. On one side, granite jutted far above their heads, and on the other lay such a jumble of fallen rocks and tall grasses that riding it begged a broken leg.

  It hadn't been easy, finding a decent route through the Lorakan mountain chain.

  Laine put his back to the rear panel of the wagon and gave Ansgare a shrug as he rolled his long sleeves up around his biceps. Even at twenty, Laine's was a casual approach to life, reflected by the frequent humor in his eyes. "Whole trip is going slow this time, Ansgare— someone's been playing with these mountains. Loraka's turning apprentices loose to practice, I'll bet."

  "It doesn't take this long to unscramble apprentice spells." Ansgare rubbed a hand over his short, grey-shot beard, glancing over his shoulder. Kalf's squat, solid wagon of fine Therand mercantiles blocked the view, but Laine knew Ansgare was mentally placing the caravan's strongarms— Machara and her two men, Dimas and Kaeral. Likely they were spread evenly among the wagons, as was their habit. When Ansgare turned back, it was with a shrug— as though, defenses set, he could afford to take Laine a little less seriously. "Loraka's never minded us here before. Take a drink, close your eyes a few minutes. See if it's still there."

  "Have I ever been wrong?" Laine asked, more amused than offended.

  "No, son, but Guides grant us, things change. It never was natural, you being able to see things with no training, and no call to magic."

  "Natural, maybe not. But the Sight's always been there, and it's shown no signs of fading." Laine grinned at the man, knowing the merchant's thoughts well after their years together. "Patience, Ansgare. Your goods won't spoil. You're just restless from winter."

  "That's a certain fact. And so's this— your old Spike mule decided to move ahead without you."

  "What?" Laine spun around to see the wagon creeping away from him. "Damn," he said, slapping a hand to his utilitarian short sword. "Shette— !"

  Her rising voice added a note of panic to its frustration. "Spike, whoa, you stupid mule!" A loud grunt of effort, no doubt from a correction Spike didn't even notice. "Spike, would you just— !"

  Laine scrambled alongside the wagon, stumbling on the stones there, as Shette's words stopped in a gasp, then escalated. "Spike, get back, get back, get—" Spike's alarmed snort overrode her, and Laine was just close enough to glimpse his sister over Clang's back when she screamed.

  The quaver of resolving magic before her was all too clear. The path suddenly tracked left, through what had looked like solid stone, and the ruts Spike had been following phased to sparsely grass-edged rocks. Clang's foolishly floppy ears went back and he reared, nearly concealing the coalescing boil of darkness that appeared only a few feet away from Shette.

  Boil of darkness—

  Laine slapped the beast's neck on his way by. "Stand, Clang! Stand, Spike!" He pulled out his sword, an unblooded blade with a sweeping basket hilt, and when he threw himself between Shette and the smoldering darkness, it seemed an insignificant weapon indeed.

  "Laine," Shette gasped, staring at the unknown that towered over them and tugging at his arm. "Laine, come on."

  He shook her off. From behind, Ansgare bellowed. "We're coming, Laine! Hold on!"

  Machara, he hoped— and hoped fervently— as the darkness solidified in front of them, choosing form and texture. A dark beast, a bristle-hided thing with ichor dripping from its short-muzzled mouth and reddish piggy eyes that seemed quite happy to see them. Shette snatched Laine's arm again, dragging him away. He shoved her back as hard as he could, never taking his eyes off the oddly assembled beast so very close.

  Its bat-like face bobbed up and down on a short neck; Laine took the gesture for uncertainty, as Ansgare and the three fighters clattered over the rocks behind him. But its lips drew back, an absurd parody of a grin, and—

  "Duck, Laine!" Ansgare roared, so close to him that Laine flinched away, and so was caught only by the edges of the spittle aimed at his face. Laine yelped, swatting at the fierce burn along his arm and nearly dropping his sword.

  Shette screamed "Laine!" as someone else cried "Watch it!" and Machara's light, commanding alto overrode them to shout "Spread out!" The strongarms came on in a flurry of movement, facing off a hunch-shouldered beast that appeared more amused than threatened by them. Laine ended up on the periphery, his venom burns forgotten, bouncing on the balls of his feet and waiting for opportunity while the others baited the creature— but something was wrong with it all.

  Very wrong.

  Machara feinted at the thing when as it clearly sized up Dimas, Kaeral didn't even duck as it slapped him to the ground, and Ansgare seemed completely unaware when it turned on him, its face drawn up in the grimace of its spitting attack.

  No time for words; Laine shoved his boss aside, bringing his sword across in a quick backhand sweep that cut deeply into the beast's neck. At that one instant, everyone focused on the creature where it was,
and then just as quickly they were feinting at phantoms again.

  They don't see it! Startled, Laine closed an eye, leaving himself open to attack— and Saw. While the bulk of the thing's body was the same to both Sight and sight, the head whipped around in two different patterns— the truth, and the lie. And only Laine saw the truth.

  But Shette's rock pinged solidly enough off its hide. "Be careful!" Laine shouted at her as she flung another rock, totally unaware when it swung its head to face her. Laine squelched his instinct to go after it.

  If he let it think it was unobserved…let it commit itself to attacking his little sister... . He swallowed hard, pulled himself up short, and joined the others, battering the empty air while he watched the true beast out of the corner of his eye. Certain it was safe, the beast gathered venom with each bob of its head, drew back its lips—

  Laine whirled and put his entire body behind the blow, his sword connecting with bone just behind the creature's skull. Shette jumped back, clearly surprised by the sudden flash of Laine's sword at nothing, at—

  Something.

  The creature collapsed, its heavy skull thunking to the ground with Laine's sword imbedded in its neck and wrenched from his grasp.

  Machara stared at the empty space she'd been so successfully engaging. "Well, I'll be damned."

  For the moment, that seemed to be the general consensus. Then Shette ran to Laine and made fussing noises over his arm, which then of course started to hurt. Spike postured behind them, little half-rears of threat accompanied by the sharp tattoo of his front hooves against the ground.

  "Never seen anything like that," Kaeral pronounced finally, still breathing heavily. Laine glared at the creature, hands on hips, panting. Something Kaeral, in all his years of experience, had never seen. Wonderful.

  "The thing had us completely fooled." Dimas shook his head in disbelief.

  "No," Ansgare said, crossing in front of Laine to jerk the short sword out of the thing's neck. He handed it to Laine, moving up close to look directly in his eyes. Looking, Laine knew, into eyes of two different colors. A black eye and a blue so dark you had to be this close to see the difference. "No," Ansgare repeated. "Not all of us."