Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) (21 page)

"What about Bessney's wagon?" Laine asked, worry evident. "Even if we could replace the wagon tongue, the pony won't be up to pulling for a while."

"We'll leave it." Ansgare came down harshly on the words, and Ehren recognized it as regret. "We'll take her goods, somehow. That reminds me— we've got to get Ehren's pack on that crazy chestnut of his. It's a miracle you salvaged as much as you did, but we're not going to have a place to put it all."

Shaffron is back.
Ehren released an anxiety he didn't know he'd had. But he doubted they'd even actually caught the gelding— and Ricasso was too bruised to carry a load.

He reached over his head to knock on the front panel of the wagon. After a moment, Laine appeared at the open side, about level with Ehren's own head. "You're awake! I think Dajania gave you too much of that wine."

"I did
not
," Dajania said in the background, and Laine winked at Ehren.

Stiffly, Ehren propped himself up on his elbows. "Don't hold us back for me."

"I don't think we'll have much choice," Laine admitted. He nodded over his shoulder, down the hill. "The creek is low this year…we're going to try to traveling it until we get past the avalanche."

"You know," Ehren said, fighting his way through thoughts thick with pain, "whoever sent that wizard is likely to know about his death. They tend to keep in touch. That's another reason to move on."

Laine grimaced. "I don't think I'll mention it to Ansgare. Machara, though..."

"Tell her," Ehren confirmed. He ran his tongue around the inside of a mouth gone dry with drugs and illness.

"Dajania," Laine said, looking aside, "I think some water would be appreciated here. And food?" he added, questioning Ehren with his gaze.

Ehren's stomach did a slow roll at the thought; he responded with a minute shake of his head. "I heard what Ansgare said about Shaffron. Don't try to handle him, Laine."

"You didn't hear me volunteer, did you?" Laine asked, humor in his voice. "He's wandering around loose, and everyone's been warned off him. Mostly he sticks by Ricasso— who's going to be fine, by the way."

"When you're ready to load him, I'll whistle him up," Ehren said. "If I hold him, we can make it work."

"All right," Laine said. "We'll give it a try."

Dajania appeared at the end of the wagon, bearing a leather water sack and some bread so fresh it filled the wagon with its yeasty scent. Ehren swallowed hard.

"You probably have nature's call to answer, too," Dajania said cheerfully. "Well, we'll get it all taken care of. And I brought you some more wine. By the time I'm through with you, you'll probably want it."

"You give me something to look forward to," Ehren said.

"Not really... but I
can
, if you'd like." She widened her eyes at him, all innocence.

Laine laughed out loud. "Told you," he said.

~~~~~~

Laine couldn't believe how fast things had gone bad.

He sat on the empty bed in Sevita's wagon, watching Ehren while Shette ran for Dajania, her shouts still audible and breathless with haste.

First the loss of his wagon and mules— Laine hadn't realized he'd gotten so attached to the creatures. They were self-serving and difficult. They didn't show the obvious affection Ehren's two horses gave him, or that Nell was already starting to bestow on Shette. But they were honest, and they had worked well for him. After two years they'd seemed like part of his life.

He didn't have the means to replace them, but maybe that didn't matter. Unless something changed, their shortcut had become too risky— which meant Ansgare had no need of Laine's Sight. And since Laine had little of a merchant's wile and none of a caravan guard's skills, he was thinking hard about the small shaggy beef cattle his parents raised.

He'd miss this part of his life, though, and wasn't eager to let it go so easily.

He slumped over on the bed, elbows on knees, tired to the bone. Every single person on the caravan had worked to clear a wagon's width of ground down to the creek, and to mend wagon damage. All of Laine's recovered belongings had been distributed among the merchants, and Ehren's things lay beneath his pack tarp, waiting for Shaffron in the morning. But they'd been so busy they'd done nothing more than peek in on Ehren now and then, satisfied to find him sleeping off the drugged wine and never guessing until too late that he was fighting— and losing— a battle for his life.

A shiver swept through Ehren's lean frame as Laine watched. In the afternoon sunlight, the bandage, wet with serum as much as blood, bit into the leg that had swelled beneath it. Laine wasn't surprised at the dark red streaks that stretched down toward Ehren's foot; he viewed them with what dismay his exhaustion left him.

Ehren moved restlessly, breath hitching, and opened his eyes as if he'd realized Laine was there— but there was no real recognition in his dark gaze, just a sort of dull wariness, a reflection of pain.

Laine didn't know much beyond the practical, everyday parts of the healing arts. But he did know no one lived through this kind of infection— not without losing the affected part, and fast. But this infection was so high on Ehren's leg, Laine didn't even know if it could
come
off— and no one on the caravan knew how to do such a thing in any event.

Shette's anxious voice reached his ears, growing louder as she worried Dajania along. Sevita was with them, too; she said something soothing to Shette, and was right behind Dajania as the darker woman climbed into the wagon.

"Oh, Hells," Dajania said, upon seeing the leg. Then she noticed Ehren's bleary gaze, and said, if a trifle too cheerily, "You've got yourself in a spot of trouble over this one, handsome." She turned to Laine, showing all the despair she'd tried to hide from Ehren. "Make yourself useful. There's a quilt under the bed you're sitting on. There's no reason he has to take chill."

Laine gave a guilty start and hopped up to search under the bed. When he turned back he found Dajania and Sevita in consultation and in his way, so he sat, drew his legs out of the way, and waited. They murmured to one another, staring at the newly exposed wound with grim expressions. Sevita touched it once, gently— Ehren startled, mindlessly striking out at her. She had no trouble evading him, and that said as much as anything.

"What do you think?" Laine asked as Sevita patted Ehren's arm and turned away.

"What you probably already know," Sevita said. "There's nothing ordinary healing can do for him. It's come on so strong, and so fast...."

"I should have cleaned it better," Dajania said. "I thought it bled clean, but it's deeper than it looks, and there might have been something caught in there. We'll never find it now."

Sevita looked at her askance. "It's not natural, is what I'm thinking. Look how he was hurt in the first place." And Dajania's expression grew even more grim.

"Aren't you even going to try?" Laine stood up so fast he knocked his head against the low ceiling. "You can't just let him... die. Not like this."

Shette jumped up to the wagon entry, balancing at the edge. "You
can't!
"

Sevita sent her a quelling look. "We've got one last thing to try. But it's not something we're qualified to do, you should know that."

"What can go wrong that's worse than having him die?" Laine crossed his arms, chin lifted to defiant mode.

"Not much," Dajania said bluntly. "But it should be Ehren's decision, if we can get it out of him. And Ansgare needs to know."

Laine gave them a suddenly suspicious look. "Just what do you have in mind?"

Sevita met his eyes squarely. "Black market magic, Laine."

Laine's eyes widened despite himself. "Sevita, you can't trust a
bought
spell, not an unauthorized one! There's no telling what it actually
is
."

She didn't back off an inch, not in expression or tone. "I got this from someone I trust. Not all qualified magic users have the crown seal of approval, you know— just the ones who grew up in the right part of town, and learned through the expensive schools. You just think of all the good that could be done if people were allowed to buy such spells, instead of punished for it. That's the way they do it in Loraka proper, and it was a Lorakan wizard sold us this."

"All a wizard has to do is sell one dud spell, and we hear about it," Dajania added. "Some of the spells don't work as well as others, but this should do no harm."

"It's a spell to kill infection?" Laine asked warily, more of Sevita's temper than any answer she might give.

Sevita pressed her lips together and shook her head. "We couldn't afford to buy something that specific. It's just a generalized healing spell, something to enhance what the body does anyway. We'll back it up with drawing compresses and the pain-slip in wine."

Laine gave her a skeptical look. If he'd been from a Solvan city, he knew, he might feel differently. They were accustomed to the Upper Levels' long-held practice of spelling finely crafted precious metals and stones, such as the ring Ehren no longer seemed to wear. But an ordinary rock? Spelled by an ordinary market wizard?

"I'll see about finding the spell," Dajania said, moving brusquely past Sevita in the narrow space and disappearing behind the curtained partition in the front of the wagon— but not before sending Laine a meaningful look.
Decision made
.

"I'll get some of that comfrey into a warm compress at the fire. I'll probably find Ansgare there." Sevita glanced down at Ehren as she turned to leave the wagon, but stopped; Laine discovered Ehren was staring at her, his gaze, for the moment, as clear and piercing as ever.

"I'm dead without that spell," Ehren said. "Whatever happens, I'll thank you for trying."

"All right, Ehren," Sevita said quietly. She leaned forward and placed her hand against his cheek. "We'll do our best for you."

He closed his eyes, and Sevita brushed her hand along his hair a few times, then straightened, giving Laine a hard look. "I'll be back. You keep your notions of boughten magic to yourself, and get that quilt over him."

"Yes, ma'am," Laine said, responding automatically to that maternal command.

As soon as Sevita went out, Shette came in. She did a fine job of hovering while Laine flipped the quilt out its full length and let it settle on Ehren.

"You've got to tuck it in," she said, and proceeded to do so with much care. But she stopped at his shoulder and fished around on the pillow, bringing up a ring on a tough braided length of grasses. When she spoke again, her voice was curiously neutral. "A woman's ring."

"What?" Laine said, and bent to look over her shoulder. "
Wilna's ring
," he murmured, though the words might as well have been coming from someone else's mouth. Shette frowned, and was about to tuck the ring back inside Ehren's shirt when Laine reached for it, prodded by some inner need…felt the cold brush of metal at his fingertips.

 The fear of ambush, the flash of metal, and eyes... a man's eyes, cold and satisfied
.

"What are you doing?" Dajania asked, her sharp voice cutting through the images— and Laine blinked up at her from the floor. Shette stared with her mouth dropped open, her gaze going from Laine to the ring and back.

The ring.
Every time he touched it, it plunged him into the world of Dreams. Deep, detailed Dreams, where he could almost turn around and
see
the person who, there and yet not there, watched Benlan die. The ring called to him, whispered to him,
sang
to him…

If he dared, he could answer that call. If he dared.

"Laine!"

"Uh..." Laine said, finally.
No. Not this time.
Not with Ehren suffering beside him. "I fell," he said. "Tripped over Shette's big feet."

"
That
, I believe," Dajania said. "It's too crowded in here. You can still see from outside the wagon, if you're bound to watch. And afterward you can sit with Ehren, Shette." Her voice changed from business-like to theatrical slyness. "Just remember,
I
have first go with him."

Laine snorted, and pulled himself to his feet, herding Shette out of the wagon before she could think of a reply. "We'll just get out of your way," he said. "I'm going to find a place to put my blanket for the night. I'll check back when you're through."

"But," Shette said, trying to turn around as Laine descended from the wagon behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and kept her moving forward. "But Laine, I want to—"

"They'll do better without an audience, Shette," Laine said, though not without understanding. "We don't want anything to distract them. Right?"

"I suppose not," she mumbled, reluctantly convinced. "I'll... I'll go brush Nell."

He took his hands off her shoulders. "Don't go back to him without me, all right? I'll be at Machara's wagon. She offered me a place for the night, though I doubt it'll rain." Nothing from Shette, who was rapidly out-pacing him, her steps annoyed and hurried. He knew better than to let her go without acquiescence. "
Shette
."

"All
right
," she snapped.

That, he supposed, was as good as he was going to get. Laine started for Machara's wagon, near the back of the caravan— but stopped, and then headed downhill instead. He needed time to think about that ring.

~~~~~

Ehren remembered— barely— that someone had held his hand and wiped his brow and even stroked his hair. He remembered the pain, and his whole body throbbing with fever and infection— how hard it had been to breathe, with a heavy weight settling across his entire body. He knew he'd protested— he remembered striking out, hitting something soft with no strength behind the blow and the only reaction an understanding sympathy. There'd been gentle hands at his shoulders, holding him down if he thrashed, soothing him when he was quiet... and a voice, murmuring in his ear. Something to hold on to.

Now the world held more form. The bed beneath him, the thick quilt over him, the light shining against his lids. His leg pounded at him, scraping against his nerves— but the pain was contained, high near the joint, and no longer encompassed his entire side….his entire body.