Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) (36 page)

"Hair can be covered or dyed," Jada said. "No one's going to question us unless we do something stupid. Rodar's got so many work gangs on renovations that it's hardly surprising to run across an unfamiliar face. Laine can do the talking, and draw the attention. That accent'll do it."

"You can't count on him in a fight," Ehren said promptly. "You'd be responsible for protecting you both." He gave Laine an apologetic glance.

Laine, who had indeed been a bit taken aback, settled on a rueful shake of his head. "No, you're right. I can hold my own in a scuffle, but not against someone who knows what they're doing. But I do want to go. I want to see Varien, even if it's only a glimpse."

"If it comes to a fight," Jada said, "we're both in trouble. I can hardly carry my sword inside and claim to be from a work crew. The point is
not
to get caught."

Ehren rubbed a hand across his face, looking tired. "I rank you, you know. You really should listen to me."

"You're outlawed," Jada replied promptly. "That doesn't leave you much of a rank." She flipped her braid behind her back and said, "Look, Ehren, if it was a
terrible
idea, you wouldn't still be talking about it. All I want to do is get in, pick up on the current gossip, and get out again. It's going to be tough enough to get through to Rodar— we might as well make informed decisions instead of wild guesses."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "In and out again?"

"I swear it on my honor feather."

Ehren snorted. "You don't have an honor feather."

Laine snuck in a suggestion, but not with much hope. "Any chance we could just... well, write it all down? That might get Rodar's attention. "

Ehren shook his head, a decisive movement. "It was just such a note that got Benlan killed."

Jada shrugged, unfazed by any of it. "Which is it to be, Ehren? Do you want to charge the palace and pretend we can fight our way through to Rodar, or will you let me take a little risk now so we can avoid it later?"

"There
isn't
any way to avoid risk," Ehren said, his expression dark. "Not as long as we're intent on seeing Rodar— and right now, as poor a king as he makes, he's still the only one I trust
not
to have a hidden motive in seeing us dead."

No, there wasn't any way to avoid risk. But Laine knew they were going in, anyway.

~~~~~

I swear it on my honor feather
. Laine recalled Jada's words and snorted softly to himself as he followed Jada through the busy halls. "He should have made you swear on something you
did
have."

She turned around just long enough to give him a beatific smile. "Yes, he should have."

"Wonderful," Laine grumbled, shifting the heavy sack of mortar on his shoulder. Jada carried one, too, and it spit tiny puffs of dust on her back from a weak seam as she walked. Her hair gleamed dark brown... a strange color, with the odd glint of copper showing through. Her face had been darkened as well, making her copious freckles more difficult to see— though frankly, Laine thought her broad and mischievous features were obvious enough, freckled or not.

Together, they'd come in through the temporary workers' entrance. When questioned by the bored guard there, Jada had spouted off an equally bored recitation of name and location assignment, and they'd been waved through.

Since then, Laine was certain, they had walked all the public areas of the palace, shifting the heavy bags from one shoulder to the other, pausing for gossip and looking busy when it was necessary. He had no idea where they were going, now, nor— since they'd heard Varien was out of the palace— did he think they'd learned anything of any use. Except perhaps that mortar dust was quick to stick to sweat.

Jada touched his arm, guided him to a hall entrance and pulled him aside, easing her burden to the floor. "Time to leave these behind."

"What are we doing?" Laine asked warily, glancing down the airy hallway. It had freshly painted plastered walls and some perfectly garish gilded crownwork. "There's no active work here— we can't exactly blend in."

"We're not likely to run into anyone," Jada said. "And if we do, you lay that accent on them. Tell them we're new, we went out to use the commons, and now we're looking for the north baths."

"If we're not going to run into anyone, how are we going to learn anything?" Laine asked. It was, he thought, a reasonable question.

"That's exactly
how
we're going to learn something," Jada hissed, growing impatient with him. "You wanted to come, didn't you?"

"To see Varien! And he's not here." But Laine set his bag next to Jada's.

"Neither is Rodar," Jada said. "That means security's not half as tight."

Laine blinked at her. "Rodar's not here? Who told you that?"

"No one. But I saw some painters coming out of the private wing. They wouldn't have been there if Rodar was in the palace." Jada glanced around the small area where they'd paused, a place where two hallways intersected, enlarged enough to serve as a small room, with large, open windows that let in the breeze and the fragrance of the garden below. "We'd better get moving before someone
does
come through," she said. "It won't be as easy to explain our presence if it doesn't look like we're at least
trying
to find our way to the north baths."

"Oh, yes it will," Laine muttered. "I'll just say we were arguing."

She ignored him, brushing past him to take the gilded hall. "C'mon."

What was he going to do,
stand
there? As Laine gave chase, he also wished fervently that he skulked about with Ehren, not Jada— for Ehren's judgment, he could trust. As it was, he was growing more than a little irritated that Jada felt free to drag him hither and yon without bothering to explain. Just how long had she known Rodar wasn't here, anyway?

Ahead of him, she put up a hand, cautioning silence; her step grew light and wary. Laine frowned as she stopped in front of a tall, heavy door and put her hand on the latch, briefly listening for signs of occupation within.

What are you
do
ing?
he wanted to demand, and didn't dare. She opened the door, stuck her head in, and removed it long enough to look at him and jerk her chin at the room within. When he hesitated, she grabbed his arm and yanked him in.

Laine found himself in a small anteroom with a desk that filled one wall and glass-faced cabinets of dried herbs lining the others. A petite scale and weight set sat neatly along the back of the desk, and a tidy sheaf of papers off to one side. "Where
are
we?" he hissed at Jada, afraid to raise his voice to the level he'd have preferred to use.

"Varien's rooms," Jada said as she scanned the contents of the room, and he could have sworn he heard a smug note in her voice.

"
What?
" he yelped.

She turned on him with a mighty frown. "
Quiet!
"

But it was too late. Someone had heard them, someone on the other side of the door that barred the way to the inner rooms— there was a muffled noise from within. Jada froze, her voice desperately low. "He's not supposed to be here— !"

"Let's go," Laine said, already turning to suit action to word.

Jada's hand landed heavily on his arm. "No— listen."

Listen?
What he wanted to do was
run
. But... Ehren trusted her. Laine clenched his teeth, took a deep breath, and listened. Within seconds, he heard what had caught her attention. Faint, muffled by at least one door, it was an unmistakable cry of distress. When Jada put her hand on the inner door's latch and looked at him again, he nodded. At least she bothered to
ask
this time.

They padded silently into the next room, a much larger chamber with thick curtains walling off tall windows, shutting out the light that would have brightened the place. Instead it was dark and foreboding— filled with heavy furniture, carpeted with a thick, luxurious rug, and overwhelmed by the massive centerpiece table.

"Ugly," Jada said softly. "Pretentiously ugly, at that."

"He's probably never even sat down at that desk." Laine nodded at the two doors dividing the far wall. "His real workroom is back there, I'll bet."

Jada rounded the table to regard the doors close up. She looked from one to the other and chose, apparently at random, closing her hand around the latch on the left door. A whimpering cry filled the air, trailing off into a weak sob.

Jada snatched her hand back and stared suspiciously at the door.

"No," Laine said impatiently. "It came from behind the other one."

"I knew that," she said, and grabbed the latch on the right. The door opened without resistance, and in she went, leaving Laine on the other side of the table. "Oh, Hells," she said, her voice filled with dismay and loathing. "Damn that man, damn him to the deepest Level."

Laine scrambled around the table to hesitate at the doorway, peering in to find a small room, windowless and unadorned. Jada stood at the far end, blocking most of his view of the cot that fit snugly between opposite walls. A small trunk, a tiny dressing table, and a pungent smell sufficed to fill the rest of the room.

"What is it?" he asked cautiously. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, not from the smell— equal parts unwashed body and ripening body waste.

"Come see for yourself," Jada said grimly, as something whimpered. She bent over, murmured soothing nonsense, and looked back over her shoulder. "Come, Laine. I'm not sure we have much time with her."

Laine came, hesitant and dreading what he might see. And when he got there, he realized his imagination had fallen far short of actuality. Jada knelt, giving him an unimpeded view of the young woman on the bed.

She wore only a thin shift stained with copious body waste, and the mottled bruising on her torso was perfectly clear through the material. Her legs, tangled in sheets, were marked with lightning strikes of blotchy purple bruises that snaked down her ankles and fanned across her feet. Her eyes bulged sightlessly at Jada, and fresh blood marked her lips; she cried in a soft, constant whimper of pain and fear.

"Who... who is she?" Laine asked. "What the Hells happened to her?"

"Varien's apprentice, Ileen," Jada said shortly. "And I have no idea what's wrong with her— except I bet it's Varien's doing."

"Yes," Ileen said, softly keening the word. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I'm going to dieeee..." A strained sob seized the word and carried it away, and Jada glanced back at Laine, nodding— as if he needed confirmation to know that the girl was right.

"Ileen," Jada said, carefully stroking the girl's limp, dirty hair, "tell us. Tell us what Varien has done. We're here for justice, and we'll see that he pays."

"Then you know," the girl gasped.

"We know he's done wrong. We need to be able to prove it. Help us."

"What did he do to you?" Laine asked, and his voice came out in a horrified whisper.

The girl's face contorted in sudden fear. "Who is it? I don't know you, I know I've never heard that accent before...
who
..."

"It's Jada," the Guard said quickly. "I've been serving King Rodar. And Laine— he's a friend, Ileen. He's here to help stop Varien. But we need
details
."

"I don't have details," Ileen said, almost too faintly to hear. "He... he's been using a drug on his apprentices. He didn't tell me, he doesn't tell any of us, and now he controls so many wizards, so many of us... . Because if he takes it away, it kills. When I found out..." She had to stop, her breath coming in shallow pants.

When she continued, they had to lean in close to hear. Laine covered his nose with his hand, trying to mask the smell.

"I found out— I was so mad, so frightened— I snooped, I wanted a way out. I discovered there was so much more going on— Loraka, the other ministers..." She stopped and took a slow deep breath, the effort obvious. "He found out I knew. He took the drug away, and spelled me so I couldn't get out of bed... not until it was too late. And then he left."

"Mage lure," Laine whispered.

"It has to be," Jada said. "Ileen, what did you find out about Loraka and the other ministers? What about Benlan?"

"Benlan?" Ileen repeated without comprehension.

Laine shook his head. "It's too much for her. Go slow, Jada."

"I can't go slow," Jada said, biting off the words with frustration. "She doesn't have that much time. Look at all that bruising... she must be bleeding inside, too. I don't know why she's even still alive..."

"The drug goes through Loraka," Ileen said. "Typhean takes some of it as payment."

"Typhean?" Jada repeated. "Who is—"

"In Everdawn. He's working with Varien... there are others..." She cut herself off with a gasp of pain that turned into a thin wail. "Oh, Guides save me!" she cried. "Take me—"

Laine made a strangled noise as the young woman clutched the sheets, rocking her head back and crying out between agonized gasps for air. Blood trickled from her nose, spilling down the side of her face and dripping to the soiled bed sheets.

"Jada..." Laine said helplessly. "Jada, we can't just watch—"

"No." Jada's shoulders squared, and she looked down at Ileen. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and then she moved too fast for Laine to follow, striking with precision— and then cradling Ileen's head as it lolled on a broken neck. Silently, she moved back and stood up, and then turned around, facing Laine's astonishment as if daring him to say something.

He glanced down at the girl and stumbled out of the room, drawing a deep breath of untainted air.

Behind him, Jada laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go," she said. "We didn't get much, but we know more than we did. Now we have to get out of here and take it to Ehren."

Laine wasn't even sure how they made it out of the palace. He remembered blurting out their prepared excuse of needing to use the commons while Jada contrived to look inconspicuous. Other than that, he put their retreat purely in Jada's hands, and she moved them swiftly to safety— from the palace itself to the grounds, to the broad streets of the city, and then to a day stable where the horses were tied, and finally to the same small tavern where they'd spent the night— and Ehren.