Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) (30 page)

"But not you," she murmured, watching him with that sharp gaze.

"No. Not me. So they sent me off to be less inconvenient, and they probably hoped I'd be killed along the way. Instead I've found the trail I was looking for all along. Now
you
tell me if I'm wasting my time, because if I am, I'll leave immediately for the long road to Kurtane."

"I see," Sherran said, taking it all in stride. "Not a Son of Solvany so much as
the
Son of Solvany. In your way."

He tipped his head. "The bastard son, perhaps."

She took a measured sip of wine, sat back in her chair, and watched him— taking her time to respond, because she was the T'ieran, and it was her time to take. "This explains what happened to Sandy and Sem."

He crossed his arms, waiting…patience flagging.

She smiled quiet sympathy, a genuine expression. "Before I can make a decision, I need to know if what you've found— if what you're involved in— affects my country."

"It might." Not that he had any intention of telling her Solvany's business, and she should know it. "There are signs of serious unrest and warmongering in Loraka. You must know about the problems at your border— you may not know that the same thing, only to a greater extent, is happening at the Solvan-Loraka border as well. And it's possible—"

"Ehren…" Laine shifted uncomfortably.

Ehren shook his head. This information, Sherran needed to have. "It's possible," he repeated, "that there's a tricky pass in the middle of the Barrenlands. Both our countries could be at risk if the Lorakans learn of it, and I have reason to believe at least some of them have. Imagine soldiers keeping us busy at the Lorakan borders while the bulk of their army comes at us from the Barrenlands."

She considered him over her wine glass, perfectly comfortable under his regard. Finally she nodded. "In that case, I had best let you go. And if there's nothing to it... well, you're the one taking the risk."

"The risk?" Laine drew up in his seat.

She looked at him, something of pity in her eyes. "Didn't you know? The Barrenlands are kind to no man, royal dispensation or no."

~~~~~

Fatigue shadowed the T'ieran's eyes— now that Laine had gone to bed; now that she and Ehren sat alone at the table, and she seemed to let go of the official part of persona.

Ehren was glad to see it. The glory of Clan Grannor, also simply being herself.

No, he wouldn't have let the curse discourage him.

The glory of Grannor did not miss his examination. She was small but solid, with precise features and expressive eyes— her deep brown hair glinting gold highlights in the low lamplight and her mouth a full curve with a tiny half-moon lining the corners, as if it was made to smile. Not this current pensive mein, with the edge of her lower lip caught between her teeth.

It was not, he thought, his frank admiration causing that expression. She was too strong a woman to let that bother her. In fact, she was too strong a woman to let anything of insignificance bother her, so he asked her. "What is it?"

She released the lip. "You're going to allow him come with you? To trigger those dreams? It doesn't seem like a very good idea. Dangerous, one might say."

One might. "Yes," he said, answering both question and observation. "Sherran, Laine's a grown man. He knows what he wants, and he knows the risks. And he knew exactly what he was doing, dangling Benlan's killer in front of me. I'm Benlan's man, and he's dead. What lengths do you think your people would go to, if you had been similarly slaughtered?"

After a moment, she said quietly, "I would hope to have at least one with the same loyalty Benlan has in you."

"If you don't, your people are fools," Ehren said with feeling, and then cleared his throat, giving the merest shake of his head. "Unless you deny him, there's nothing I can say that will stop Laine. Sometimes I think his Sight directs him as much as he directs it."

"Yes," Sherran said. "Magic can be like that."

Ehren gave her a sharp look.
She knows
. Never mind that little charade of handing the blue vial over to her wizard— Sherran had more than a passing acquaintance with magic. "Was that vial what you thought it was, then?"

She hesitated another moment, and then dipped her hand in the pocket at the side of her long, casual tunic. It was a well-worn, comfortable piece of clothing, something that told him she'd really rather be off-duty. On the small, round table between them, she set a tightly wrapped cylinder. "I'd like to know where you got this."

He raised an eyebrow. "Without telling me what it is? I don't think so."

A frown drew her brows together, though he didn't think it was anger.
Concern and frustration.
Which meant there was something in that vial after all.

"Sherran," he said, and nothing more.

She threw herself back in her chair and with one practiced motion freed her hair of the thong that held it back and scratched her scalp at the freedom. "It's contraband of the highest order, that's what it is. I'd thought we'd put a stop to its production several years ago. Obviously I was mistaken— this batch is fresh enough." She made a face, complete exasperation. "Damn them, anyway."

"Damn who?" Ehren said, under the strong impression she didn't mean whoever had made the substance.

"The young magic users who think it won't happen to them. The ones who think they can get away with using it." She shook her head, her gaze going inward. "Damn them," she whispered to herself.

Ehren picked the vial up, and turned it over in his hands. "It's magic, I know that much. Laine can hardly glance at it. Nor can you."

She sighed. "Taken in minute doses, it enhances a wizard's ability to channel magic— and does so significantly."

"And?" Because there was an
and
waiting. He could see it in the distress behind her eyes.

"And," she agreed, and blew out an exasperated breath. "And
everything.
Over time, it's deadly. At the same time, it's almost instantly addictive. Far too many Therand youth have succumbed to its lure— that's what it's called, mage lure. It's the rare individual who can escape after using it."

Mage lure.
Hetna's
ML
.

"This," Ehren said, hefting the heavy glass, "was not found in Therand."

She frowned at him, slowly sitting up straight in the chair. "It has to have been. There are detection spells at the border, and only Therand grows the raw material."

"Loraka," he told her. "In the mountains."
Near Dannel's pass
.

Of course, near Dannel's pass. Because if a wizard was going to smuggle, what better substance? Such smuggling would provide more than riches…it would provide power. A way to control every young apprentice who might come to a wizard with more ethics than the wizard himself— and to dispose of them if they became problematic.

Ehren did a quick tally of Varien's successful apprentices, the ones who had moved on. There was Bevis, to whom Varien sent many of his own unsatisfactory apprentices, and Thayer, who was entirely reclusive, and Farica, who lived closest to the border. Any one of them had the means to be involved in this smuggling.

Ehren thought of the young woman who had greeted him upon his entry to Varien's rooms— so very young, so very anxious. Cold anger stirred his temper.

"Ehren," Sherran said, and the warmth in her voice reached through his wrath. He looked up at her, startled. She leaned back in the chair again, fiddling with a tangle in her thick dark hair…her fingers moving gently, absently. "I don't know what you were thinking of just then, but I hate to think it was my part in this conversation."

He was startled a moment, but then shook his head, his mood growing lighter. "Not in the least."

She just looked at him. He very much felt the tables had been turned beneath that open appraisal, and he floundered just a little as he went back to the conversation. "If you recall the pass I mentioned, I think you'll see there
is
a way for the mage lure to get into Loraka without triggering your detection spells."

"You know more than that," she said without hesitation, surprising him.

"I do," he told her, and opened his mouth to say it wasn't his story to tell— but she held up her hand.

"No," she said. "It's all right. Or rather, it's not. If you were anybody else, I wouldn't let it stop with that. But you..." She offered a wry smile. "Insisting won't do me any good with you. And knowing that, I'd rather leave you with the best possible memories of this place."

He stood up. It was one fluid motion— until he hit the hitch in his leg and touched his fingers to the chair for that hint of support. She noticed, of course.

He sent her rueful grin. "Avalanche in the Lorakan mountains. Believe about half of what Shette says about it, if you want the truth."

"I know how to listen to a teenage girl," Sherran said, still relaxed in her chair. "I was one, once, a very long time ago. I even had my share of crushes on dashing warriors."

He stood in front of her, looking down at her; he could see in her eyes she knew exactly what she'd said.

But.

Regret tinged his voice. "I have to go."

"And I have to stay." She stood up to meet him, and her head only came to his chest. A foot away, close enough to touch, and neither of them did it. For a moment, they just stood there.
Breathing.
She looked up at him and said, "But perhaps it won't always be that way."

~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sherran and a handful of guards rode to the border with Laine and Ehren, complete with the Grannor pennant and dress uniforms. Shette came on Nell, her face uncommonly pinched and unhappy.

Her bid to join them on this journey had been brief. But her attempt to keep Laine from going was not yet played out, and Ehren wished she'd get it over with.

The Grannor pennant lifted with the play of air, as did the long black tail of hair down Sherran's back. Though they'd started before dawn, it was coming on the heat of the day when the ochre-brown Barrenlands showed up on the edge of the horizon, stark against the rolling hills of sheep-shorn grass.

Ehren had glimpsed the Barrenlands more than once, always from Solvany's flattened, shrubby landscape. From there, it hadn't been as much of a contrast…or as much of a blight. From this impossibly lush green and wild land, it seemed a travesty.

A travesty of half a day's fast travel and a lifetime of madness.

Ehren realized that the entire party had eased to a halt, silently considering the sickened land before them. Shette looked from the border to her brother and back, her face a study in horror, but Sherran remained composed— although she, more than anyone here, knew of the dangers of this land. "Dannel came through on a lark, and well-protected. As you should be, given my sanction— if nothing goes awry. Others have risked passage, and not been so lucky." But she seemed to read something of Ehren's determination in his face, for she smiled, just a little bit sad around the eyes, and lifted her reins.

Within half an hour they stood at the border, a defiling demarcation of green to barren brown, and the guards withdrew while Sherran dismounted and Ehren and Laine followed suit.

Laine went to Nell and looked up at Shette. "I'll be back," he said. "There's no need to let Mum and Da know I'm gone— let them think I'm still safe with the Grannor."

"I don't understand why you think you have to do this," Shette said, biting her lip and sounding only the tiniest bit petulant— which, Ehren thought, was probably a major victory for her. "He's not going to let you use the ring." And she glared at Ehren, as if she could make it so by dint of will.

"Maybe not," Laine said. "But things change. Shette…we've had this conversation. You only traveled the caravan route once... but it was what I
did
. Whatever's going on has a part in my life, and not just because I keep
Seeing
things."

She looked at the foreboding land before them, staring into it for a long, moody moment. Almost without warning, she turned to her brother and threw her arms around his shoulders, bending down to reach him from Nell's back. When she broke away she gave Ehren a quick, red-eyed look and said quickly, "Be careful," before she whirled Nell around and cantered away.

Sherran lifted her chin at one of the guards and he followed at a more sedate— and discreet— pace.

"Well, that was easier than it might have been," Laine said, sighing.

"We had a talk yesterday," Sherran said, and was rewarded with a look of surprise from Laine. "I have the impression she's done a lot of growing up this summer."

Laine nodded, watching after Shette's diminishing figure. "I expect she has. I did, my first summer out."

Sherran eyed him with sympathy, but when she spoke, she was all efficiency. "This is generally the only magic a T'ieran knows— but we do know it well, gentlemen. It'll get you through the Barrenlands— and back, if you decided to turn around immediately. It lasts a full day, but no more."

She fished into a pocket along the bottom edge of her dress tunic— red tunic belted with black leather, over black trousers; black scabbard at her side was black, and black, knee-high riding boots trimmed with red. But she wore no insignia; no indication that she was anything other than her guards— or that she was any less able to look after herself.

Far too easily discouraged…

She opened her hand to Laine and showed him a smooth flat oval of rock. "This will get you home, Laine, if you should decide to come back this way. We'd welcome you."

Laine regarded her with some surprise, but it changed to gratitude quickly enough. He took the proffered stone. "But what do I do with it?"

She smiled. "It's a spellstone. Trigger it, and it'll release the spell I've placed within it."

Laine glanced at Ehren, who was remembering Sherran's exact words.
Generally, this is the only magic a T'ieran knows
.