Neither man cared to chance triggering it again for their answer.
That meant scouting a new route. They couldn't stray too far from the old; the terrain wouldn't permit it. They moved as far down the slight slope as they could, before the ground grew too rocky for the wagons to handle. Progressing step by step, they cut the trees while Laine tried to focus on the here and now, scanning for the edge of the old spell or the advent of a new one.
For once, it was damnably hard work. There was something pulling at him, teasing at the edges of his mind— and it had nothing to do with malicious spells. It came in flashes of memories that weren't his and faces he didn't know; it came in the odd, sharp pains that assailed him, flitting away as suddenly as they came— in his arm, or throat, or belly.
Ansgare's prodding and eventual temper didn't have a chance of keeping his attention, and finally the smaller man flung his hands up and chased Laine away. There was enough ground marked to keep the group busy for a while, and when they broke for lunch, why maybe, just maybe, Laine could keep his thoughts together long enough to check out the rest of the route.
Maybe not, Laine thought, sitting against the tongue of the wagon and scrubbing his hands through his hair. But they didn't have the fodder to linger here more than a day or two, and they all knew it. At least they didn't have to feed Ehren's beasts; the two were at liberty, picking their way through the tough grasses in the rocks above and below them.
He tried to remember just when this feeling started, this out-of-control waywardness of his thoughts. The twisted sumacs. He hadn't really felt right since he'd come out of the spelled area. He felt his eyes glaze over again, beyond his control, as a man's face appeared in his thoughts— a quick impression with eyes that lingered. Reflected in those eyes, somehow, were a handful of gory bodies, all sprawled around a central figure who'd fallen back from his knees in an twisted death pose, his rich clothing soaked with blood and his throat a gaping wound.
"Laine?"
Laine blinked, and felt Ehren's hand on his shoulder— saw the injured hand resting over Ehren's thigh where the man stooped slightly to reach Laine's level. The emerald glittered greenly before his eyes; Laine winced. "Wilna's ring," he murmured without thinking, barely realizing the name meant nothing to him.
"What?" Ehren's voice was suddenly sharp; it made Laine blink out of his halfway world and focus on Ehren's dark eyes, a gaze as sharp as his voice.
"I'm not sure," Laine said, looking up at Ehren to close one eye in doubt. Just looking at Ehren made him uneasy, and he wasn't sure why. "I suppose the shock of fighting with trees has gone to my head."
Ehren just looked at him, then finally stepped back a pace. He shook his head. "Something's gone to your head," he said. "But I'm not sure that's it." And he left, before Laine could question the statement.
Just as well. There were too many questions already bouncing around in his thoughts.
~~~~~
The following morning, Ehren took the ring off.
Wilna's ring.
Its constant nagging had grown irritating; it wanted him to move south instead of backtracking to the Trade Road. Besides, Laine's problems had started not after the encounter in the woods as he'd hazily suggested, but after Ehren had tried to help him to his feet using the hand that bore the ring. There was no reason to subject the young man to further befuddlement; clearly, his Sight made him sensitive to the thing.
Ehren thought again of the night before last, when Shette's alarmed cries had woken him even through the haze of the venom in his system. Laine's thrashing had been almost as loud. Ehren was halfway there when the murmur of the younger man's voice let him know it was over.
Whatever it was. A fit, perhaps. But Ehren didn't think so.
Ask him about it, his inner voice suggested. You've no reason to hide anything from them.
But Shette obviously felt they had something to hide from him, even if he did drive her to distraction— an embarrassingly obvious situation. No, a little watch-and-wait would help to puzzle things out, such as they were.
With the ring on a loop of tough braided grass around his neck, his gear tossed into Laine's wagon and Ricasso trotting along unburdened behind Shaffron, Ehren slid into place behind Shette and Laine. The new route had been finished the evening before, accompanied by blisters and blistering oaths alike, and the day of rest had reduced his wrist to something merely stiff and annoying. By the end of this day, they'd be back at the border station, and the merchants would split up.
Laine and Shette preferred not to travel into Solvany— or Laine did, and none of Shette's pestering could make him change his mind— and the two prostitute healers, as well, would stay by the border station. Some of the merchants preferred to camp out there as well, the ones who had no regular buyers and who had come along on speculation— it was worth a lower price to find buyers here rather than risk a fruitless journey into Solvany, paying Solvan tariffs on goods that didn't sell.
The wait was fine with Ehren. It would give him a chance to look into his suspicion of organized banditry along the border.
And it would give him time to watch Laine.
~~~~~
Shette sat on the tailgate of the wagon, her legs dangling over the edge. She studied her ankles. They weren't too thick.
But they weren't thin and dainty, that was for sure. She would never be like the high-blooded Solvan nobles Sevita talked about, the willowy young women in their lacy, beribboned dresses— styles that were not suited to her own sturdier frame. She was like her mother, Shette was— of moderate height, and perhaps not quite through growing yet. Like her brother, too— her frame layered with muscle that was more substantial than lean. All well and good for Laine— plenty of women liked the feel of muscle beneath their hands. But men wanted softness, and soft, Shette was not.
She glared at her sensible footwear— low, laced shoes with hard leather soles that had once been black, but now had much of the dye worn off. Maybe that's what was on her ankle, smudged up the side of her calf and disappearing into the loose trousers she had rolled up to just below her knees. Not exactly proper, but in the midday heat, Shette didn't much care. Her shirt had been Laine's; he'd worn through the elbows and she'd claimed it. Cutting off the lower sleeves still left her with a respectable amount of material, and she'd used the leftovers to fashion cuffs of a sort.
She'd also stitched a series of flowers across the shoulders and winding around the collar. At Sevita's wistful admiration, Shette had stitched her some, too. Her fingers weren't slender, but they were long and sturdy, and nimble enough to handle any needle.
The offering had started the awkward friendship between herself and the prostitutes, one they were still defining. Shette had been told that women such as Dajania and Sevita were loose and wicked, and spread disease. They in turn were well accustomed to rudeness from those who considered themselves respectable. But Shette had also been taught not to judge people without understanding them, and when it came right down to it, she hadn't had enough friends in her short life to be turning down the opportunity Dajania and Sevita represented.
It just took a little practice... and she still sometimes caught herself fighting old prejudices.
Not that she couldn't do with a little company right now. Laine had gone to the blacksmith's with Spike. That was always a big production, he'd told her, and one Shette preferred not to experience. She could hear Spike's protests from here. No, thank you.
She pushed off the end of the wagon and made her way past the merchants' hall. Some of those merchants looked rough, and she didn't want to go inside without Laine. But she was tired of watching the sporadic travelers pass by.
She wandered down the hard, spell-preserved road to the border station to watch the Border Guards inspect the travelers for contraband.
The border station was a small white-washed building with a second building tacked onto the back for guard quarters. She'd met both the guards— one of them was hardly any older than sh
e was, and the other was a grizzled veteran of a woman who brooked no nonsense, and whose stout form held more than enough muscle to back up her attitude. Both were Solvans; the Loraka station was set at Lake Everdawn. The territory between, if technically Lorakan, was effectively neutral.
"Look at this, Shette." It was the young guard; he seemed glad to have her for company. He met her at the side of the building, leaving his older partner going through the travel cases she'd spread on the ground. It was a much more thorough inspection than normal, although all Shette saw was privacy clothes. The owners of the luggage, however, looked a good deal more nervous than exposed privacy clothes deserved. There was already a pair of merchants waiting behind them, enforced patience on their faces.
"What is it?" Shette asked, reaching for the coin he held. It was a ruddy gold, and very heavy. Probably worth more money than she'd ever held before.
"Therand gold," the youth said. He rubbed a thumb at the side of the mustache he was trying so hard to grow. "Worth a lot more than Solvan gold, at least here."
"Gold is gold," Shette said, but her tone was puzzled; she passed her finger lightly over the crest stamped in the gold. "What's so special about it?"
"You never heard of Therand gold?" he asked, surprised. "In Solvany, only the Upper Level wizards can make tie spells into metal... but the clans have a way to stick their magic to the gold. Like mild curses and charms. I don't know the meaning of 'em, but the marks here under the crest are supposed to tell you what the charms are. Not that I'd trust 'em— who'd tell you outright they was cursing you?"
"Shouldn't you be careful with it, then?" Shette asked, quickly handing the coin back to him.
"Nah. I guess it takes some time for the spell to set in." He started a more detailed explanation, but Shette didn't quite listen, as interesting as the thought of clan-magicked Therand gold might be. For beyond the gate stood Shaffron, with Ehren on his back— Ehren, whom she hadn't seen for two days. Drying sweat dulled Shaffron's normally fiery coat, and Ehren's hair, tied back and featherless, was even darker than usual with his own perspiration. Who wouldn't get hot under that brigandine, Shette thought. In fact, he was wearing his greaves and gauntlets, too, and something around his neck, and had his helmet tucked under his arm.
She meandered over to the inspection area, an arch that came off the side of the station. Benlan— named after the recently murdered Solvan king, he'd told her, and called Ben— trailed her, not taking offense at her distraction. After all, he probably thought she was showing interest in his job.
"We have to stop them all," he told her, putting the gold in a small pile of belongings on the table at the side of the station. "Give 'em a quick search. Jiarna always finds 'em out if they got something— she knows right where to look, and how to make 'em nervous."
"What's Ehren been doing?" Shette asked. "He's been gone for days. And who are the two with him?" Now that she was closer, she could see two more guards off to the side, both mounted. Their ailettes looked more like Ehren's than the Border Guards, though, and if anything, they and their mounts were even more exhausted.
"More of the King's Guard," Ben answered readily enough.
More... ? "Ehren's in the King's Guard? Is that something special?" Shette asked almost absently as she studied the woman and man with him. The woman's broad face showed her fatigue clearly. Her coloring was like Machara's, and her freckles were visible from here— just barely out of earshot— and they matched her kinky, coppery hair. Shette hadn't seen herself for months— she wondered if she looked that grubby.
The man was nondescript, with brown hair and a nose that warred for dominance with his chin, leaving his slightly narrow-set eyes without much bid for attention. He didn't look quite as tired, but there was something else on his face. Anger, she thought. And though Ehren spoke quietly, the other man's reply was almost emphatic enough for her to decipher from here.
"Is that something special?" Ben repeated. "You sure don't know much about us, do you? It's as special as a guard can get. And Ehren was the king's closest man. Jiarna told me about him after Ehren came through the first time. When King Benlan died, Ehren spent a year looking for the killers. I guess he found some of them— I don't know why he's out here." Ben frowned. "I wonder if he's trailed someone out here?" His voice grew eager. "Maybe I can help him, you think?"
Shette wasn't really listening; she was creeping forward. She glanced at Jiarna when she noticed the woman looking at her, asking permission to cross with a hopeful expression. Jiarna nodded curtly and went back to ripping the lining out of the traveling cases.
Ben gave her a brow-knotted look. "You don't know much about us or the Therands. Where in the Levels are you from?"
Shette hushed him with a wave. She wanted to hear what the Guards were talking about, and Ben must have had some curiosity about it too, for he silenced quickly enough. They settled in to listen.
~~~~~
"We should have caught the bastards," Algere said. He and Jada looked like different people than the gamboling youngsters who had taken on Ehren in the Guard practice room not so long ago. Older, now. Suddenly wiser. "Five minutes earlier..."
Ehren said sharply, "There's no point in that," but he felt just the same, and it was difficult to keep it from his face. In the moment that followed, with the three Guards simply sitting their tired horses and shifting as the animals stamped flies off their legs, he added quietly, "I ate with that couple on my way to the border. They were good people." They didn't deserve to be slaughtered.
He recalled how wary they'd been when he'd arrived in their home, barely a week earlier. Kurtane might not know there was a serious problem here yet, but the people obviously did.
"There's something going on here, and I don't understand why Rodar's not taking it more seriously," Jada said, an almost plaintive note in her voice. "These innocent people— Solvan people— are being robbed and killed." She glanced his way and forged ahead into more uncertain territory. "We know from the men who tried to steal your horses that they're using phony ailettes— why doesn't Rodar send troops out here to take care of this?"
Algere backed her question with his own intent expression, one that verged on unspoken demand. Ehren remembered him as quiet and slower to trigger than his training partner, but he burned longer than Jada once his temper was engaged.
"I doubt he's fully aware of the problem," Ehren said dryly, keeping an eye on the younger man. "You yourself told me things had changed around Kurtane. The people making the decisions seem happy enough to let Rodar play. First and Second Level ministers, and—"
"Varien," Jada said, and scowled. "It was Varien who took you off your search for Benlan's killers, I'll bet."
"He intimated there were more hands than his involved," Ehren said. He gave the two younger Guards a hard look. "You came out here to give me a message rather than chancing it to courier. Concern about the gang running the border is admirable, Jada, but hardly under the jurisdiction of the King's Guard."
Algere gave a sudden quick grin. "Told you he'd know it was your idea, Jada."
Jada shrugged. "Bad feeling is all. Right after you left, the Kurtane Ready Troops lost half a unit of troopers— all mustered out, dishonorably, because of some prank they pulled. And it wasn't anything much, some kind of joke that got out of hand, is all. It got me to thinking about things. Gerhard's a good master, but even he can't supervise the training of under-strength troops and give them the effectiveness of experienced ranks. We're losing people— retirement, accident, dismissal, the normal things— and they're not being replaced. Border problems made a good excuse to come out— a village-level Rep came with formal complaints right after you left— and I took it. Gerhard endorsed it as a training run, so the Levels let us come."
Ehren's silence went grim. Had things gone downhill that quickly? At last, he asked, "Do you consider the Guard able to fulfill its duties?"
Algere and Jada exchanged glances. "At this point, yes, sir. But we're a long way fr
om the Guard you led under Benlan, and look what happened to him."
"That's not even taking into account the other parts of Solvany at risk," Algere said. "Border Guard was due to rotate a month ago."
"We need you in Kurtane, Ehren," Jada said. "No one else in the King's Guard has the experience to stand up to the Levels— and to Varien. We have to get things straightened out— we have to get Rodar to take interest, and take charge."
At Varien's name, Ehren felt his face grow hard. "I can't come back."
They sat in silence a moment, broken only by the swish of the horses' tails. When Ehren spoke again, his voice was more forgiving, but just as firm…devoid of the conflict within him. "You're a King's Guard, Jada. You have the right to an audience with the king— Guard's Right. Take it. Use it well. If you impress him, he'll see you again. He's seventeen years old, and you're a woman. Keep that in mind."
"Ehren!" Jada protested, while Algere's expression said the same.
He regarded them patiently, one eyebrow slightly raised. "I'm not suggesting you seduce our king, Jada. Just be impressed with him, even if he does have spots on his face. Be concerned for his welfare. Whatever you do, don't make him feel that it's his fault things are as they are— just that he has the power to fix it if he chooses."
"Is that the way you'd do it?" Jada asked, somewhat slyly, a little life showing on her face through the fatigue— and not a little bit of flirt.
That much of her, Ehren remembered well, and enjoyed. He smiled easily at her. "Probably not. Maybe that's why I'm staying and you're going. And try not to wear out too many horses on the journey this time."
"It was the only way to try to catch up with you," Algere grumbled. "We rode none of them to the ground."
Ehren said, serious again, "See that you care as well for yourselves. And send a pigeon or courier next time, eh?"
Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) Page 7
