Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) (2 page)

"What made you do that?" He leaned against the door frame and rested one relaxed wrist over the stirrup hilt of his sword. She was in mid-adolescence, blond and light-boned, and looked small among the plain but heavy furnishings of the room.

She nibbled her lip again, casting another furtive glance at that closed door. "He sent for you some time ago."

"Yes," he agreed. "And I'm here. But I've never jumped at his bidding."

She stared at him, aghast.

"You're new, aren't you?" Ehren asked. New, young, and completely intimidated. "He does go through apprentices quickly. Don't worry about it— you just do what you have to when the time comes."

She dropped her gaze to the spilled plant matter. "I'm here to learn from a master," she said resolutely. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime. You do Master Varien a great disservice to suggest otherwise."

He smiled. "Do you want to tell him I'm here, or shall I just walk in?"

"I'm sure he already knows you've arrived." But she went to the door and knocked quietly anyway.

Ehren couldn't make out the words of the muffled response. The girl winced, then smoothed her features and pushed open the door, stepping back and giving a slight curtsy as Ehren passed.

He paused in the doorway, very close to her. "Don't take it all so seriously," he told the top of her bowed head. When she lifted her eyes, surprised, he smiled. Her surprise turned to a sudden shy smile of response, and he left her standing there, looking after him.

He'd never known a wizard as neat and organized as this one, with shelves and orderly books, and instruments tucked away in cabinets and drawers. The chamber was meticulously appointed, from the thick carpeting to the matching seat cushion on the desk chair to the distinct walnut grain of each piece of furniture.

It was a place Ehren had been but half a dozen times, and one he meant to avoid in the future.

Varien stood by one of the heavily curtained windows, his hands clasped behind his back... his knuckles white. Like everyone else in Rodar's court, his hair was nearly shorn— a new style for the wizard, but one that went far toward hiding the grey in his dark blond hair. It was difficult to remember that the wizard was in his ninth decade; he looked only ten years older than Ehren's thirty-three years, but he had seen the reign of Benlan and his father before him…and now Benlan's son. Or rather, his second son, as the first had been feeble in the mind, and not survived childhood.

Ehren stopped before the dark wood of the substantial table between them. "What can I do for you?"

Varien turned. "You can start by not ignoring my summons," he said, biting the words off as precisely as he'd decorated the room.

There were many things to say to that.
I'm not yours to command
was the most polite of them, so Ehren said nothing. After a moment he raised an eyebrow and put the conversation back in Varien's hands.

The wizard turned back to the window. He was a small man, but not one Ehren took lightly despite the understated subtleties of his magics. "Benlan has been dead a year now."

"Nearly."

"And you've been given the freedom, since his death, to track down those responsible for it. I'm given to understand you've had no success."

"That depends on your definition of success," Ehren said. A clear lead to a dozen conspirators, scattered throughout the coastal cities, questioned and formally executed. And the trail? The trail was so dead that he knew he'd looked in the wrong direction from the start, been
led
in the wrong direction.

His return was not an admission of failure. After a year, someone here was bound to figure they were safe and let down their guard— and here he was, to pick up the trail anew.

"My definition of success is the same as anybody else's," Varien smiled, but didn't elaborate. "In any event, your current chances of discovering Benlan's killer are remote. And there are other things that need to be done, things more crucial to the security of Rodar's rule."

Ehren pulled out a chair, invited himself to sit, and rested his forearms on the table. "As you said, I've been away. So maybe you'll excuse me if I'm blunt." He paused, leaned forward, and said, "Why am I
here
? This conversation is not yours to hold."

Varien's laugh was short. "Whose, then?"

"The Guard answers to the king, as well you know."

"Rodar is seventeen years old." Varien seated himself opposite Ehren, placing a small silver ring between them. It had been Benlan's, a token from Queen Wilna. She hadn't wanted it back. She hadn't wanted anything to do with Ehren, or the court. She was gone, and only rumors told where.

Varien said nothing of the ring, but regarded Ehren with his head tilted, considering. "You know as well as I that our young king is slow to mature. He yet plays with his powers, delighting in his effect on the most shallow aspects of this court. That Solvany remains stable is a testament to Benlan's legacy. If it seems to you I have stepped out of place, well... perhaps it is so. But it is how things are now accomplished in Kurtane."

Ehren measured the expression on Varien's face, discovering its sincerity somehow grating. That a wizard should have even the faintest hint of decision-making power sat ill with him. Varien's only official duty requiring such initiative came with the maintenance spells on the Barrenlands.

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 her 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.