Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) (28 page)

The summer home turned out to be a keep designed more for convenience than defense; Ehren doubted anyone had ever actually tried to hold these walls against invasion. The wall meandered in a leisurely fashion, inscribing a rough circle around the low wood and stone keep and leaving a generous gap at the road. Its sole purpose seemed to be marking where the general populace and grounds workers could build their own small homes.

And, of course, it held sheep. Everywhere, sheep.

Their escort waved at the generous scattering of children— and the outnumbered women trying to keep those children out of the road. Beyond the inner walls, laborers gathered sharpening scythes and mending rakes, and circled up wagons for the final cutting of hay.

The woman stopped her horse beside the narrow stone doorway of the keep entrance, and gave her reins to one of the men. "Torre, see that their beasts are cared for, and then escort them into the hall."

"Yes, ma'am," the man said, taking the reins of the other man's horse when the fellow, still rather stiffly at attention, followed the woman into the keep.

Their remaining escort said little as he led them to a long, low three-sided shelter with paddocks down its length. Behind it was a small building, and it was there they stowed their packs; Ehren kept his saddlebags.

"Grass or in paddock?" the man asked.

"Grass," said Laine immediately— but winced in second thought as he eyed Ehren's two.

"Mine aren't safe to approach," Ehren told the man. He made no comment, but returned to the building and came out with strips of red cloth.

"Tie these to their manes and tails," he said. "Even the children will stay away from them."

Thus decorated, Shaffron and Ricasso celebrated their freedom by cantering into the green grounds of the keep, tails flagged and heels kicking.

"Ridiculous," Ehren said, but his mouth twitched in a smile, and he turned to follow their escort into the keep.

~~~~~

Laine had never been in any building as solid as the Grannor summer keep. Thick stone walls held a timber framework beneath a tiled roof, and the massive structure could have held his own home over and over... and over.

They moved through the hallway at a pace that was obviously too fast to suit Shette, who lingered at windows and gazed at tapestries and touched the gleam of woodwork and bright touches of cloth accent. Laine finally hooked his arm through hers to pull her along, trying to catch up with Ehren; he and the escort had outpaced them despite the hitch in Ehren's gait.

She resisted his pull. "Laine, I want to see—"

"Shh!" he hissed. "If we behave ourselves, you'll get plenty of opportunity."

She subsided, but not without the sullen expression that meant she'd be back at it with the first opportunity. They hurried to reach the huge archway at the end of the hall, where Ehren— and the escort— waited.

The hall sprawled before them, with a line of empty tables down the center and a room-wide dais flanked with intensely colorful tapestries.

At the far end of the tables, sitting casually in a wooden, high-armed chair with a drink before her, waited the woman who'd met them on the road.

Their escort turned, and with some satisfaction, said, "Sherran, the T'ieran Clan Grannor."

Ehren looked back long enough to catch Laine's eye and give him a quirk of eyebrow and mouth before striding out into the hall.

"Tea?" the T'ieran asked Ehren, her voice as implacable as ever, "or would ale be more to your liking?"

"There's a Therand tea we occasionally import to Kurtane," Ehren said. "It's called Ariel's Spice. If you don't have any, ale would be fine."

"Oh, we have it," she assured him, and although she'd made no signal, a young woman suddenly approached the table. She gave a quick gesture of obeisance, and waited. "Ariel's Spice," Sherran said. "Cooled, please."

When the girl left, Sherran gestured to the chairs on either side of her. "Have a seat. You, for one, look like you need to get off that leg."

"There's truth to that," Ehren said, and Laine wondered why it sounded like sparring when the words were so bland and polite. He took one of the chairs and Shette another, while Ehren moved to the T'ieran's other side, dropping his saddle bags on the floor.

Laine decided not to wait for the rising tension to break. "My name is Laine," he said. "This is my sister, Shette. My parents were hoping we'd be safe here, and that we could stay for a while."

"Were they, now?" the T'ieran asked, though her voice wasn't unfriendly.

"You'll know the names, I think," Ehren said, and he clearly enjoyed the taste of surprising her. "Jenorah of Clan Grannor, and her husband Dannel— another of Solvany's sons."

Her eyes narrowed, her sharp gaze pinning first Laine, then Shette. They were like Ehren's eyes, dark and penetrating, and they were set in an oval face whose strong expression offset delicate features. She wasn't nearly as old as Laine had expected— perhaps just a few years younger than Ehren.

"This is unexpected," she said evenly, and then brought that sharp gaze back to Ehren, waiting for more.

He shrugged. "It was unexpected when we found the T'ieran riding out with her road guards." He leaned back so the young girl could set pitcher and mugs on the table.

"I enjoy a good ride," Sherran said, as the girl took away her previous drink and replaced it with the tea. She held Ehren's gaze long enough to make Laine uneasy, and then turned back to him— and to Shette. "Well, there's no denying it, you've the stamp of Grannor in your faces. But there are plenty of us to be had in Therand."

"My mother wrote a letter," Laine said, pulling it out from where it had been tucked in his sword belt— the scabbard empty now— at the small of his back. Several weeks in his saddlebags had left it worse for wear.

She took it without remark, broke the seal, and neatly caught the ring that fell out. She scanned the letter, glanced up at Laine, and read it again. "Do you know what this says?"

"I haven't read it," Laine said, suddenly wondering if he should have done so before his mother sealed it. "I know it's safer for my parents right now if we're away from... where we live. I also know they'll worry less if they think we're staying here."

She raised an eyebrow at him, then looked at Ehren; they exchanged what looked like a knowing glance. Laine felt a prickle of irritation, but before he could put words to it, she asked, "And what would
you
like?"

"I'd like them not to worry," Laine said, feeling unaccountably stubborn.

Sherran looked at him for another long moment, then abruptly put the letter on the table and held out the ring to him. "All right," she said. "We won't push that for now. I can send a message to let Jenorah know you've reached us safely, if you'd like."

Carefully, Laine took the ring. "Does that mean we can stay?"

"Of course you can. The day when Grannor cannot take in two of its own will be a sad one. Other things... will require some discussion." She gave Ehren another glance; he tipped his raised mug at her. "Now, how about that message?"

Shette put her mug on the table. "Oh, that would be—"

Laine interrupted her. "It'd be better if their location doesn't get out."

"No fear," said Sherran. "We have some excellent courier birds. I'll have my handler take care of it; you need only provide a good image of the area from your thoughts, both large and small scale."

"It'd be a good idea if I looked at a map."

"He'll bring his own, the ones the birds are used to working with. We even have some of Solvany—" she gave Ehren a sly look— "so you can take them all, and never give us a clue to where your parents are." She hesitated, and leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Just tell me this. Are they happy? Did they make the right choice?"

"No one who sees them would ever question it," Ehren told her, answering in Laine's stead. "Love doesn't answer to boundaries on a map."

"No," she said, giving him a thoughtful look. "It never has."

"What about Ehren?" Shette asked; it made them all blink, and the T'ieran seemed positively taken aback. Shette looked at them all with extreme patience. "He needs to get home."

"Of course." She gave a small nod and took a deliberate sip of tea. "Jenorah mentioned it. Dannel's idea, she said— and not the first time he's had it." She smiled to herself, but quickly turned her attention back to Ehren. "She says you'd like passage through the Barrenlands."

"I was prepared to ask for myself," Ehren said, "and not entirely without something to offer in return."

"Passage is not something we give lightly," Sherran told him. "In fact, aside from Dannel, I can only name a handful of people within the last century who've crossed on their own."

"It's not something I ask for lightly."

She didn't respond immediately, and Laine decided it was a good moment to try the tea. From the corner of his eye, he spotted several young men and women enter the hall from the kitchen entrance, stop short at the sight of their T'ieran sharing tea with strangers, and then hover uncertainly. Sherran lifted a hand to gesture them in.

"This is no longer the place or time to talk," she said. "They need to prepare for dinner, which you are welcome to join. Come at the first bell; the second is for the servants and yardmen. I'm afraid I'll be tied up for the rest of the evening, but we'll talk again tomorrow. My bird handler will be with you shortly."

"There's one more thing," Ehren said, just as Laine leaned forward to get up. Surprised, he settled back again, unable to guess what Ehren was up to this time. Ehren didn't make him wait; he dipped his hand into his saddlebags and came out with the small thick vial he'd found on the dead wizard after the avalanche. Laine had forgotten about it, but not about its magical properties. Piercing blue-white light seemed to glow right through Ehren's fingers, burning Laine's eyes.

He quickly looked away, catching Sherran's quickly disguised flinch in the process. She asked, "Where did you get that?"

"From someone who couldn't tell us what it was," Ehren said. "It may have come from this country. I hoped you would recognize it."

Ehren must have noticed how she averted her gaze from the vial, for he moved it below the level of the table. Laine heaved a sigh of relief, and Sherran sent him a quick, perceptive glance. But her full attention was on Ehren. "I have an idea what it might be," she said. "But I'd prefer not to say anything until I have Marcail, my resident magic user, take a look at it. Are you willing to let me take it?"

"If you're willing to give it back, no matter what it is," Ehren said without hesitation.

After a moment, she gave the slightest of nods. Ehren reached for one of the thick cloth napkins piled in the center of the table and, holding the vial below the edge of the table, wrapped it up. He then presented it to Sherran, holding it in the palm of his hand.

Her nose wrinkled in distaste she obviously tried to suppress, Sherran took it from him with two fingers. "I'll get back to you as soon as Marcail has an answer for me," she said. "And at that point, perhaps you'll be willing to share some of its history with me."

"Perhaps," Ehren said, with no promise in the words at all. He rose to his feet. Laine hastened to follow, with some vague realization that remaining seated when the T'ieran was about to rise was not the thing to do.

Ehren went one further, and offered his hand to Sherran.

Laine didn't really expect her to take it. But she did.

~~~~~

Laine rolled over to his side and punched up the feather pillow beneath his cheek.

Crisp sheets, soft pillows, a semi-private chamber with its own tiny privy…they all underscored the obvious truth: Laine was a very, very long way from home.

As if he hadn't seen enough to drive that fact home already, with the lengthy and sometimes boisterous evening meal, or the after-gather in the casual sitting room— one with instruments placed casually around the room, and no lack of those willing to pick them up and play.

They'd met Grannor relatives, summer home residents, and a significant number of suitors for the T'ieran's hand. None of those men seemed to be trying very hard; it was almost like they were playing out roles in a game. They'd also met any number of servants, some of whom took breaks to contribute to the singing. And Shette had already fallen in with several girls, all of whom who were filling her with their notions of true Clan Grannor fashion and deportment.

She'll be all right here
, Laine had realized with some surprise. And if he worried about her discretion…he was beginning to think there was no need. He'd walked by once as the girls broke into fits of giggles over Ehren, and Shette glanced at him with eyes dancing, but her mouth closed.

He didn't think he fit in nearly as well. Not with his odd-colored eyes; not with his Dreams. Not with the need to
do
something— and something more than merely fighting his Dreams while Ehren was off fighting battles on his own.

They're battles Ehren knows how to fight and you don't.
He flopped over to his stomach. The bed was too big; maybe that was the problem. Or too comfortable. Or too quiet, without the familiar sound of companionable breathing from the other bed in this room— the one Ehren would occupy once he quit roaming the night. Shette already slept soundly in an adjoining room— the door open at her request, and only a heavy curtain between them.

Unaccountably, it made him feel more like a big brother than he had for a long time.

Awash in comfort, breathing in the cool breeze from the wide, unshuttered window, Laine finally fell asleep.

Straight into True Dreaming.

Dannel and Jenorah.
The black and red colors of Grannor, now-recognizable summer home around them, the obvious importance and status of Jenorah's family... struggles made sweeter by Laine's inner knowledge that the lovers would win their battle to be together.

And then the Dreams took him deeper, past the place where he could
watch
and into the place where he simply
was
, spitting him out to live Benlan's death anew— into a yard full of desperate Guards who first fought for their lives, and then laid them down to protect their king.