Surprise, Shette.
Shette took a few steps closer to them, her mouth hanging open, and Laine smothered a grin. Then the big horse stepped on his heel, and he had to take a few quick strides to keep his feet. When he looked up again, Shette had recovered her wits. She'd dropped the bag of laundry and waited with arms crossed.
Laine stopped at the wagon tongue, offering no explanation of it all but a tired and wry grin— not that Shette gave him a chance. Her eyes widened. "You stink!"
Laine's sharp reply, half-framed, was drowned out by Spike's abrupt braying, a greeting to the two horses who were wet with nervous sweat and not particularly interested in introductions. Behind Laine, the man snapped his horse's lead rope and said firmly, "Settle down." Shette's eyes went to him, and her face had a strange expression— almost disbelief.
"Are you all right?" Laine asked her, amused. He was the one with smelly sumac ooze on his shoulders and muck on his boots, his dark brown hair ruffled and messed, sweat dripping off his nose.
"Am I all right?" she repeated, truly looking at him for the first time. "I should be asking you! What's going on, Laine?" She gave the man and horse behind Laine another look, one that grew bolder when no one challenged it. "Who's this?"
"Ehren," the man said. "Your brother helped me out of a bad spot. I knew there was magic wandering around, but I never expected such an intense spell."
"Neither did I," Laine grumbled. Or such an intense smell, for that matter. "We need to talk to the caravan master, Ehren, and let him know you've joined us. Not to mention that we've got to find another way through to the Trade Road."
"I'm not at all sure I've joined you," Ehren said. "But we'll talk to the master after I've checked my horses."
"I can go get him," Shette said. "And I'm sure I can find someone with supper still on— I'll bet you haven't eaten."
Laine raised an eyebrow at her, suspicious of such cooperation, but said only, "Let's take care of the horses first, so Ehren has a few minutes before facing Ansgare." Ansgare would react strongly to the notion of a blocked road and a stranger on it, no doubt about that. She made a face at him, but it was a quick one, and then her eyes were on Ehren again.
"Just pull that saddle off," Ehren said to Laine. He was already working at the ties on the chestnut's pack, though the animal didn't strike Laine as a pack horse in the least. "We'll hobble Ricasso; Shaffron won't stray from him."
The horses were nervous enough that Laine never would have left one of them untied, but he didn't say so. Instead he flipped the stirrup over the saddle and tugged at the girth. When he glanced up, he discovered Shette had moved closer, and was extending a hand to pet the big black horse, murmuring some soothing nonsense.
"No, Shette!" he cried, lunging for the reins underneath the horse's chin just as the animal laid its ears back, flinging its head up and baring its big yellow teeth. Shette stumbled back in astonishment as Laine was swept off his feet and tossed to the ground, but Ehren was swift on those long legs and left the chestnut to snatch the cheekpiece of the black's bridle— but only to stroke the beast's neck.
The horse subsided; it lowered its head and flapped its thick mane against its neck as though nothing had happened. Shette stared at the creature, appalled— an expression she couldn't manage to tuck away before Ehren glanced at her.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It's best if you don't try to touch them. I should have said something right away."
"That's all right," Shette said, her voice uncertain; she glanced down at Laine as though looking for guidance. "I... imagine you had other things on your mind."
From the ground, Laine grunted, recovering from his awkward sprawl. "This horse has given me more bruises in one evening than Spike's managed in the last month," he said wearily. "And that's saying something."
Ehren's mouth quirked... humor, and apology as well. He leaned down to take Laine's arm.
Laine stiffened, every muscle jerking to attention. The clash of steel and eyes watching him and blood and cries of pain and fire across his throat... his legs gave way, his arm slipped out of Ehren's grasp, and he landed in a heap, on the ground again. Ehren hovered over him, surrounded by an aura of dark and ominous colors. Dangerous.
"Laine?" Shette's concerned voice sounded so very far away.
Laine took a big gasp, and blinked, and then frowned to find the earth so near again. "What the Hells?"
"Battle shock," Ehren said, his voice sounding deliberately even, and extended a hand again— his other hand. This time Laine made it to his feet without incident, though the world around him still seemed farther away than the images and sensations in his mind. He shook his head and reached for the saddle, forcing his body to behave.
"Just what did you run into?" Shette asked suspiciously, holding out her arms for the saddle Laine pushed at her. Ehren watched him, obviously not sure it was safe to leave Laine on his own just yet.
"Nothing you want to get close to," Laine assured her, snapping fully back to the here and now at the thought of those sumacs. "Some kind of spell on the sumac grove. The trees were..."
"Alive," Ehren supplied, finally turning back to the chestnut. "Slimy and alive."
"Blackened, slimy and alive," Laine decided, seizing the chance to act like a big brother instead of a vacant-minded clod. "Their branches were like cold, oozing fingers. Just imagine, Shette... going through that grove at night, with sumac fingers reaching for your neck... in the darkness... silently...."
"Stop it," Shette snapped.
"And what were those bat things?" Laine said, a genuine question this time, and aimed at Ehren. "Have you ever seen anything like that before?"
Ehren flipped the pack tarp neatly off the chestnut's load; it settled to the ground behind him. His face looked strained, Laine thought, finally noticing the details of this world again. "Not before, and never again, if I have a choice. They were quick. I'm lucky they only got me once."
"You were bitten?" Shette asked, and hastily set the saddle on end just beneath the wagon. "Are you all right?"
"Bitten or clawed, it's hard to tell," Ehren said, glancing down at his wrist as he finished unloading the horse. The pack frame fit around the animal's very normal saddle, and Ehren lifted it off. "It's not deep. But I suspect it's some kind of poison."
"Why didn't you say something?" Laine stopped short in his intent to lead the big horse to the side of the wagon where Spike wasn't.
"It is what it is," Ehren said, pulling the saddle from the chestnut's back and handing it to Shette, who hadn't managed to move after the revelation that Ehren had been injured. Laine saw the wound then; it didn't look deep, but the parallel marks were vivid, raised and puffy— and the whole wrist was swollen in an alarming... no, wait a minute. That was just the thick, strong wrist of a swordsman. Still, the poisoned scratches needed tending.
Shette exchanged a look with Laine, and he suddenly knew what she was thinking. Dajania was as close as they got to a physician on this caravan, and he bet she didn't want to let Dajania anywhere near this man.
Ehren smiled, a wry expression. "If it was going to kill me, I imagine we'd know it by now."
"You don't look very good," Shette said doubtfully, and he didn't, Laine realized. All that sweat wasn't from their exertion, and that sudden flush of color wasn't, either.
"I don't feel all that good," Ehren said. "But I've lived through worse."
"Oh, I don't know," Laine said brightly. "You haven't met Ansgare yet."
~~~~~
Ansgare turned out to be a spare man, bearded and probably older than he looked. Ehren respected him immediately; his expression was a keen one, and he didn't waste much time bemoaning the turn of events. As displeased as he was by Ehren's presence, he eventually pointed out that the road belonged to no one, and any fool was welcome to bumble along without so much as a cottage witchy to help him. His real concern turned out to be getting around the sumacs. To that end, he left Laine's wagon to gather up the caravan members and total
up their hand axes.
Ehren gave no explanation for his presence; he wore his King's Guard ailette, and that was enough. Shette's curiosity was almost palpable, but she didn't ask. She was a sheltered young woman— one who seemed to know the practicalities of life but had obviously never suffered greatly because of them. She and Laine were manifestly of the same blood, and Shette appeared to be a feminine version of Laine's sturdy muscled form— of medium height and with the same general cast of feature.
It had grown dark while Shette scavenged some semblance of a meal for their guest. By the time she presented it to him, Ehren was no longer in the mood for eating— not with the throb of his wrist and the blood pounding in his ears. Shette fretted about it, but he shook his head. "If it was going to get worse than this, I expect it would have done it by now," he told her, once again. He was even pretty sure he was right.
He was sure about something else, too. This road was the quickest way to Dannel, and therefore the quickest way to get back into Solvany doing what needed to be done. But every throb of his wrist told him it wasn't a road he could take alone. As cavalier as he'd been about the wound, it had been a much closer call than either Laine or Shette knew— for the beast had barely touched him, just a whisper of claw against skin that hadn't even left a mark.
At least, not at first.
No, this wasn't a road he could take alone. But it was a road he had to take. And that meant staying with Laine, back to the border station and out again with the caravan. It would slow him down— but in the end it was still faster than taking the Trade Road.
Shette had said something; Ehren missed it. He gave her a quick smile. Not encouragement, exactly; reassurance, perhaps, for the worried expression that had appeared on her face. They sat together on the other side of the wagon from the mountain, where the boys were hobbled for the night— away from the mules. The night remained warm and neither had suggested stirring up the dying dinner fire, but other cookfires still blazed away; dots of light traced the slightly curving line of the caravan behind Laine's wagon, and someone near the middle played a cheerful air on a stringed instrument, occasionally accompanied by a chorus of variably pitched but enthusiastic voices.
Laine had recently taken his blankets and said his good nights. Shette seemed apologetic about it, when in fact Ehren was wishing he could do the same without slighting the girl. But Shette was wound up and talking on.
"He hasn't been sleeping well," she told Ehren. "All the magic we've been running into has been hard on him, I think. He dreams..." she trailed off, creating a sudden silence that even the faraway singing didn't puncture. One of the tiny scrub owls finally filled her silence with its call.
But she'd given Ehren something to think about. "He has some sort of Sight."
"He's the reason Ansgare can run this caravan," Shette said, with a touch of pride Ehren doubted she would show in front of her brother. "He's always been able to see things. But he doesn't have a drop of wizard potential in him— at least, that's what the old village witchy said when he was my age."
Ehren shifted on his borrowed blankets. Touchy moment here, when asking more could clam her up, just on general principles. Not everyone who was brushed by magic wanted to talk about it. Off to the side, both his horses heard some sinister noise and snorted suspiciously. "All right, boys," he murmured to them, and then asked of Shette, "It took that long to get him to a wizard?"
Shette's mouth opened, but closed again, and she looked away. Sudden discretion, then. "We only go into the village once a month or so," she said finally, her voice low. "We live in the foothills of these mountains, over by the Therand border. There aren't a lot of people there, and the village isn't close."
To some extent, this confession explained Shette's unworldly ways. Not many folk chose to live in the hard border mountains when lusher Therand land was so close— only those of scrappily independent bent who were not inclined to pay the clan tithes, nor want the clan protections.
She dared to glance his way again, and seemed reassured by the bland interest on his face. "It didn't come out strong in him till then," she added, though it sounded lame to his ears. It must have to hers, too, for she suddenly stood, and said, "Ansgare's going to get us up early, I bet. Best go to sleep. I'm going to."
She left Ehren to his aching wrist and thumping head, and the quiet conclusion that Laine, at least, had a story to tell.
~~~~~
It was Shette's curse to be a light sleeper, and to be lying out under the stars with her brother. When her eyes flew open, she knew she'd heard something; it was only when Laine grunted that she realized what it had been.
Dreams again.
With a sigh, Shette sat up, letting her blanket fall to her waist. In this dead calm night, there was no breeze against her face to stir the warm humidity, nothing to cover Laine's noise.
Dreams were what she called them to annoy him, to be little-sister smart. They both knew that whatever he saw in the night, it was more than simple wanderings of his mind— no matter what that old village witchy had said. Their parents had realized it early on, when Laine casually referred to things in their own past that he'd had no way of knowing. And since they'd seemed upset, Laine had become careful not to let that dream knowledge slip any more. But they all knew it was there— just as Shette knew, without being told, that those moments from the past were not for the ears of others. Not even handsome, self-assured, startlingly competent others so unexpectedly joining the caravan.
Laine had quieted. Good. It was a shame they'd started to come back, these visions of his. As he'd grown, they more or less faded, but starting with the previous spring, two years after he'd left home to guide the caravan through the magical hazards with his unmatching eyes, they'd been back in force. Wintering at home had made their re-emergence obvious to a light sleeper like Shette, if not to their parents.
Such knowledge had made good ammunition when she was pestering him to take her on the route this year.
She flipped a hand at the bug whining near her ear. As brothers went, she supposed he wasn't so bad— but then, their isolated childhood left her little comparison. He was handsome enough, in a brawny sort of way. At fifteen years, Shette had discovered she preferred to eye a man built long and lean— Ehren— so it had taken the earthy teasing of the caravan whores to make her see anything in her brother. They liked his eyes, which were nearly always filled with guileless humor, and which had slightly down-turned corners that at the same time made him look puppy dog sad. And they especially liked the way a body had to get close to tell the difference between the black eye and the blue one.
Laine made another little noise, as if someone had stepped on his stomach. Shette sighed, a dramatic sound. Despite the irritated way she occasionally poked him awake, she'd learned long ago that it was best— and safest— not to disturb him in the middle of these spells. Once he'd blacked her eye; once he'd been dazed for hours. It never lasted long, anyway— in a few minutes she could go back to sleep.
Another grumble of sound from Laine; another sigh from Shette, as only a wronged fifteen year-old can sigh. She hadn't taken the stupid dreams into account when she'd begged to see a little of the world with her brother.
Of course, she hadn't taken magical monsters or handling Spike into account, either.
Laine jerked; the faint starlight dimly picked out the features of his face, the tightened muscles of his neck. The noise he made was harsh, torn from deep inside. Shette didn't like it.
"Laine?" she said. "Laine, wake up."
His body arched and jerked, and suddenly she didn't like it at all.
"Laine!" she said sharply, getting on her hands and knees and leaving the blanket behind. She heard the dull thud of his head hitting the ground as he spasmed again, saw his fingers splayed out stiff, then suddenly clutching at nothing. "Dammit, Laine!" she cried, forgetting she wasn't supposed to use such language. She grabbed his arm, finding the muscles clenched so tightly she might as well have been hol
ding oak. Thud went his head on the ground, as he arched back so hard she swore she heard him creak.
"Laine, stop, stop!" In desperation, she threw herself over his broad chest and held him tightly, riding him as she would a pony. "Laine!"
He gave a great gasp and fell limp, drawing in air as though he'd been drowning, his chest heaving up and down beneath Shette. She held him tight, feeling very much five years the younger— and at the same time somehow older, protective. "Laine?"
"Shette. What... ?"
"Dreams is what," she said, anger stirring in the wake of her fear. "I hope it was worth all this trouble, whatever it was."
"Not a dream," he whispered, still breathing heavily, bringing one arm up to rest over the back of her shoulders. He patted her once or twice in an absent and consoling way. "Definitely not a dream."
She knew. And she sure didn't like it.
~~~~~~~~~~
CHAPTER FOUR
Laine spent the morning dazed, Shette talked too much, and Ehren— though patently miserable— spent more time watching Laine with unreadable expression than getting the rest he ought.
Laine knew he should make something of that. He should have been amused, too, at the outrage on Shette's face when both Dajania and Sevita showed up in the early morning to inspect Ehren's wrist and concur he would, indeed, live. They left a pack of herbs for compresses and promised to return in the evening, although Laine frankly thought the women would have their hands full with merchants whose aching muscles needed massaging. None of the men and women were used to the particular labor of clearing wide trail.
But Laine couldn't concentrate hard enough for amusement. And he'd sorely tried Ansgare's temper when the two men went ahead to scout out the exact path of the new road. The impression of the sumac grove spell lingered strongly, and Laine simply couldn't discern whether it was a long-lived spell or the aftereffects of the day before.
Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) Page 6
