Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) (33 page)

After some hesitation, Laine did. "Would you have? Left him in there, I mean. If he didn't answer your questions."

Ehren snorted. "I'd have given him a taste of it, no doubt about that." He looked at Laine again, saw the sincerity of the question, and raised his eyebrows. "Did you really think it of me? I'd give him the mercy stroke before leaving him to blunder in that senseless wasteland forever."

"But..." Laine said, and stopped, then tried again. "After that man in T'ieranguard..."

"The one who died from magic?"

Mutely, Laine nodded.

Sometimes Ehren felt he could have been Laine's father, for the differences in their life experiences. He shook his head, gave Laine a wry grin. "I wouldn't have killed him, either. But
you
believed it... so I used it." He shook his head. "People aren't all decent, Laine. Sometimes it doesn't matter. But when they're a threat, you do what you have to."

Laine didn't say anything. He didn't completely agree, that was obvious. But he was out of his element in Ehren's world, and that was obvious, too.

Sherran, Ehren thought, would have understood.

~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Laine held on to the mule's frayed lead rope, fingering the fringe of it. After a moment, he tied a knot to keep it from fraying further, then fingered that. Ehren was off in his own thoughts again— looking unapproachable, being the quintessential Guard as he cleaned his blooded sword so they could ride.

But Laine didn't want to ride. He was tired. Tired from traveling so much of the day in the blasted Barrenlands, and unexpectedly wearied from their encounter with the two men. And, as Ehren pulled the ring from around his neck and gave it a contemplative stare, Laine knew he had one more battle yet to fight.

"Ehren," he said, and couldn't keep some of that fatigue from his voice.

Ehren looked up, surprised. "Almost ready," he said. "With any luck, we'll find a clear path before it gets dark." He saw Laine's face and added, "We need to move on, Laine. We don't know there aren't more false Guards on their way."

"I was hoping we could stay here," Laine said. "I need to talk to you about that ring."

"I know." Ehren's hand closed around the ring; he gave it a jerk that broke the braided grass he'd been using as a chain, and hefted it in his hand. "It gave us away... it'll only continue to do so. I'm getting rid of it."

"No!" Laine blurted, suddenly afraid Ehren was about to haul back and pitch it into the Barrenlands. When Ehren looked at him, mildly surprised, Laine felt the blush on his face. "I meant— I know. We can't keep it with us. But before we go on... I want to—"

"No," Ehren said.

If Ehren thought that Shette was the only stubborn one in the family, he was about to find out differently. Laine's jaw set. "This is my decision."

"That may be," Ehren said evenly. "But I have the ring."

For a moment they faced off against one another— and then abruptly, Ehren looked as tired as Laine felt. "How can I hand this ring to you, knowing what will happen? It's hard enough to live with the enemies dead by my hand— or of good people like that border couple, who'd be alive if I'd gotten there ten damn minutes earlier. What would I do with the sight of
you
, dying because I simply didn't have the wits to keep this ring from you?"

"You'd know it was my choice," Laine said. "Besides, you've always been able to bring me out of it, Ehren.
Shette's
always been able to bring me out of it. Maybe I'd be confused for a couple days, but it'd be well worth it."

"Well worth it for
what?
" Ehren asked. He moved away from Ricasso and sat, his leg stretched out. His hair fell forward, half freed from the binding — and he scraped it back from his face. "What do you think you'll find that's worth the possible price?"

Laine blotted his face with the hem of his shirt. "Answers."

Answers
— and an end to the interminable itch, the feeling that he could just turn around and
see
who'd killed him— killed
Benlan.
Sometimes he caught himself checking behind without thinking, very quickly, as though that person lingered— as though he was being watched, even now.

"Ehren, every time I go to sleep, I wonder if this Dream is going to grab me. I wonder if there'll be someone to wake me if it goes too far. If I can only get it
over
with, follow it to the end, then maybe it'll let me go, once and for all."

Ehren looked at him, his face somber. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"Well then,
do
think of it like that! Every time they die,
so do I
."

"And if seeing it to the end doesn't stop the Dreams?"

Laine sat heavily beside Ehren. "Then at least I've tried. Would
you
settle for any less?"

Slowly, Ehren shook his head. He looked down at the ring— at his hand, where the ivy design had imprinted on his skin from the intensity of his grip. "Varien is up to his neck in machinations and intrigue— but he wouldn't have tried to kill me without a reason. The
only
thing I was doing in Kurtane was hunting Benlan's killer. If... If you happen to find that he had something to do with Benlan's death..." His hand closed, the knuckles going white. "I won't need any more proof than that. I'll kill him myself, and face the consequences."

Laine winced. This time, he knew Ehren meant it.

~~~~~

They unsaddled the horses and mule and hobbled them all, having learned long ago to three-hobble the wily mule. With little by way of conversation, they pulled out cheese and day-old bread. There were strawberry preserves for the bread, and Laine ran into some raspberries on his way back from nature's call. Added to some of Sherran's fine wine, it wasn't a bad cold meal for the road.

After they'd eaten and the horses had been grained and minimally watered, Ehren leaned back against the stacked bundles of his pack, gave Laine a long and searching look, and held out the ring. "Guides grant you a good journey."

A kindness more than anything else; the Solvans believed in Guideless Levels.

A kindness that meant all the more for that. Laine took a deep breath, looked into the dark grey implacability of Ehren's eyes, and extended his hand.

And Ehren dropped the ring into it.

Chaos and confusion and—

Benlan.

The feel of that older body had become as familiar as putting on a pair of well-used gloves. But where? Doing what? A fine pattern of mesh distorted his vision.
A training mask.
His own arm wielded an expert blade against another, though Benlan's eyes were fixed only on the center of his opponent's chest. There was no fear, no tension, just a big bellow of laughter that rolled up when a killing blow whistled in through his guard and at his chest, checked just in time to become a mere tap.

And then his sparring partner pulled his own mask off to reveal an easy grin, a carefree expression. Long, dark hair tied back from a face younger than the one Laine was used to seeing.
Ehren.

They were friends. They were truly friends.
Had he ever seen Ehren look that happy, that at ease with anyone?

His hand, Benlan's hand, clapped down on Ehren's shoulder with true affection, the air cool on skin just released from a heavy leather glove. Wilna's ring sparkled there.

Laine stared into the depth of that emerald and it widened to swallow him, sucking him through dim scenes etched green upon green. Wilna, giving the ring to Benlan, a mild spell reflecting her affection set within it. And then another set of hands, removing the emerald from Benlan's dead finger and tucking it away somewhere dark.

Finally, someone brought the ring into daylight. Laine saw nothing but neat, manicured hands, their movements precise. And the spells— Laine felt them go in.

And he knew exactly what they were.

The spell of finding, keyed on the scant remnants of Benlan's blood. The spell of location, to tell Varien of Ehren's progress. The spell to confirm Dannel's identification, which would tell Varien that Ehren's mission had been completed.

And then, tied tightly to that final spell, there was yet another, one that would trigger itself when the confirmation was used.
Death.
A slow and painful death for them all— including Ehren.
He was never meant to return from this journey
.

But the Dream didn't give him time to reflect on that unexpected revelation. It took his green visions and turned them into bare branches, thick woods with the faintest signs of buds turning to spring leaves. Benlan's body again. Taller than Laine's, with a longer stride, a confident, swinging walk despite his padded surcoat; he was sweating slightly in the spring chill. He wished Ehren had come, and rued the errand that had taken him away for the day—

The first cry hit his ears— unmistakably a death cry, plunging down into a gurgling moan. Benlan whirled, drawing his sword.

It still took Laine by surprise when Benlan's arm was cut, when he looked into the woman's eyes as she slipped past his guard to slice through the padded layers of cloth and into his belly. Laine wanted to wrench himself free as Benlan fell to his knees...
Ehren, get me out of here!
The dual thought from both their minds as sharp steel slid across his throat, moving so smoothly, slicing so cleanly, Laine hardly felt it.

But he
did
feel the eyes. He remembered there was something else yet to do.
Turn around. Someone's watching you
... His body was falling, his eyes half closed— no longer seeing. But Laine's inner Sight had brought him here— and Laine's inner sight made that turn. Through the engulfing darkness, he picked out a lone figure.

Erect, hooded and cloaked, the man watched the slaughter, nodding to himself. And though he seemed at a distance and in shadow, somehow Laine could see the aloof cruelty in his eyes. And the cool victory.

It was enough. It was someone he would know again. Satisfied, Laine turned to go—

Couldn't.

Twist as he might, he was trapped by Benlan's body— and by his death.

~~~~~

Laine dropped like a stone. Ehren watched him with no little trepidation, every muscle tense. When Laine did no more than twitch, he forced himself to relax. Muscle by muscle, leaning against the pack, thinking of the amazingly loud buzz of late summer insects, the chomping of equine jaws, the clumsy, hobbled movement in the brush. The thumping of his own heart, for that matter.

Laine took this journey for his own reasons. But Ehren knew who he'd blame if it went badly.

Laine jerked, a small contraction that seemed to sweep through every muscle in his body. He'd fallen in an awkward position, Ehren thought, and resisted the temptation to interfere by arranging him more comfortably.

A bead of sweat wound its way down along Ehren's temple, though the humidity and heat eased as evening deepened. He swatted the first of the mosquitos.

When Laine grunted, Ehren jerked, startled, his gaze snapping back to the younger man.
It's inevitable. He's going to do this; he always does. So long as he's breathing
—

Ehren winced—
there he goes
— body arched, straining, fighting battles it was never meant to fight; blood dribbling down the side of his face from a badly bitten lip; sounds of protest forced from laboring lungs—

And sudden collapse. The air left Laine's lungs in an audible whoosh; rigid, jerking muscles turned flaccid.

"Laine?" Ehren's hushed voice sounded startlingly loud, even against the backdrop of cicadas and katydids. He moved closer. "Laine? Are you... there?"

A careful hand on Laine's shoulder met no resistance, got no reaction, not even after Ehren pried the ring from his hand and shoved it onto his own finger.
Guides damn!
Ehren didn't waste any effort with gentle handling, but knelt over Laine and slapped him hard several times.

Laine's head rolled with the blows without a flicker of reaction. Was he even breathing?

No. Of course not.

"Come
back
, Laine," Ehren said under his breath, the words jerky with his efforts as he shook Laine's arms, to no avail. "Laine!" he shouted, right into Laine's ear. "Guides damn you, Laine, come
back!
"

Panting, he held his palm above Laine's mouth and nose. How long could a man go without breathing before there was no coming back?

Ehren flipped his head back, scraping the hair out of his eyes and away from his sweat-damp face. He caught a flicker of brown in the corner of his eye, and froze.
No magic in the Barrenlands.

Grunting with the effort, he worked his arms underneath Laine and hauled the younger man up over his shoulder. Then, limping badly under the strain, he crashed through the undergrowth to the border, tripping right in front of it. He and Laine both went sprawling into the Barrenlands... him flat on his face, and Laine rolling a few feet before his flopping arms slowed him down.

Ehren crawled over to Laine and shoved him roughly over on his back, prepared to slap some life into him once more.

But Laine's eyes flickered. He gave a little cough, then took a deep breath. Ehren sank back down, flooded with relief— trembling, when he thought himself seasoned beyond it.

"Ow," Laine said. "Why's my face hurt?"

~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Laine secured the packs to his mule with frustration lacing every tense movement. "I saw him," he muttered. And then, more loudly, "All I have to do is see his eyes again, or even the way he's standing. I
saw
the man behind Benlan's death— I just can't
describe
him."

"It doesn't matter," Ehren said, though of course it did. "You saw the dream to its end, and now maybe it'll leave you alone. I already knew that Varien was tracking me, that the orders went out
dead or alive
. Now I know about that killing spell on the ring— and I'm Guides-damn sure I can tie him to the mage lure smuggling. If he was involved in Benlan's death, I'll find that, too."