Finally, he straightened. "We're leaving. Don't bother trying to follow. Now that I know you can't tell us anything, next time I see you, I'll just kill you right off."
The man shook his head, his fearful glance pinned to his partner. "No way you're gonna see me. There's not enough coin in the world to be worth this."
"Gag him," Ehren told Laine, and moved to the door. "It's time we left this city."
~~~~~
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"What happened?" Shette had asked, again and again. Laine only looked away.
Ehren eventually told her those particular men wouldn't follow them again, in tones short enough to end the questions.
But he wasn't at all certain there wouldn't be others. Powerful magic meant powerful intent…and no one wasted that much magic on a whim.
Which surely meant Ehren was more than just a nuisance.
More like a threat.
Ironically, he'd felt safer as soon as he'd entered Therand. Unlike Solvany, Therand was a land of subtle magics; the lore wove through everyday life. In Solvany, low-level cottage witchies like Erlya were the only sporadic signs of magic outside the colorful displays and dramatic healings of the higher levels, but here, the witchies were rife, and high magic would draw intense scrutiny. Varien— assuming Varien had been behind those two men in the first place— was unlikely to use it.
A few days into the quiet green pastures, they stopped outside a small village and waited for their fellow travelers, who— with their small donkey and footpace— slowed progress considerably. Shette and Laine traded off their ponies so all the travelers would have a turn to ride, and no one questioned why Ricasso and Shaffron weren't included in the offer. Ehren walked plenty, strengthening his leg…exhausting his healing body.
They traveled through mild rolling country, first north and then west to parallel the Barrenlands; they moved into an area of woods and pastures, with small farmhouses along the road and sheep and shepherds in the fields. Ehren discovered horses that looked much like Shaffron; they had his fire, too, and snorted challenges from behind fenced paddocks, prancing back and forth as the travelers walked by.
Being with the friendly family seemed to set Shette at ease, and even Laine relaxed a little; his Dreams were gentle, and when Shette asked, he would say only that they were brief pieces of Dannel and Jenorah's courtship.
But Ehren, wearing a ring that vibrated its unhappiness against his chest, was ever reminded of the task he'd left undone, and of the puzzle pieces he was yet unable to put into place.
Two days before they closed in on the summer lands of Clan Grannor, the family broke away from Ehren's party. Laine, Shette and Ehren traveled faster then, and stayed their last night on the road in an inn.
And early the next day, they faced the standing stones of Clan Grannor.
The stones stood several stories high apiece, marking the borders of Grannor land. Shette hesitated before them, glancing to see if anyone would stop her as she slowly reached out to touch the closest stone, running her fingers over the deeply incised letters of the old Therand alphabet— lettering Ehren knew only enough to recognize. They moved through the stones with respect, and afterward, Laine turned and stared, his head tipped with the expression Ehren had grown to recognize.
He rested a hand on Shaffron's mane, the reins hanging loose. "What do you see?"
"I'm not sure. Something we didn't trigger, I think." Laine stared a moment longer, then turned his pony back to the road. "I'd like to know what happens if someone unfriendly goes through there."
"So we passed inspection, did we?" Ehren gave Shaffron's damp neck a pat. At midday, the heat was still oppressive, but high summer had passed them by and the evenings were cool and comfortable. He gave the stones another look. "I doubt it'll be the last inspection we have to pass."
With the stones behind them, Shette took on a dreamy expression. "This is where they met, Laine. This is where Mum and Da met, and where they fell in love. Isn't it perfect?"
Ehren thought it was just another stretch of hayfields and wood strips; Laine looked as though he might say the same.
Both were too wise to say so.
Off to the south, a stand of trees ran east and west. The road paralleled it, dipping slightly between the rolling hummocks. It was a good road— Ehren thought so, and Shaffron thought so, and Ricasso gave a little snort and skip that was as good as a request.
Laine must have picked up on the feeling, for he gave Ehren a glance and sent his small horse ahead in a canter, the mule trailing. Shaffron picked up the gait right away, Ricasso behind him. Shette cried, "Hey!" as she broke out of her dreamy state and realized she'd been left behind.
Shaffron put his excess good spirits into high-stepping movement, a rolling gait full of brio that nonetheless overtook Laine's pony. Ehren kept pace with him for a time— until they saw the three mounted figures coming to meet them. Without comment, Laine fell back, leaving Ehren to canter right up to them.
They came nose to nose, then, with all four horses chewing their bits and moving restlessly beneath their riders and Ricasso fidgeting behind. The riders turned out to be two men and a woman, all clad in the red and black colors of Grannor, all handsome and well turned-out. Their matching swords hung at precisely the same spot on each hip, and the riding gear shone spotlessly.
"Clan Grannor was not expecting visitors today," the woman said.
"Clan Grannor has visitors nonetheless." Ehren glanced back to see Shette and Laine approaching at a sedate walk.
She raised a fine eyebrow; she looked petite between the men, hale specimens both. "Visitors from afar, from your speech."
"But visitors who are very close to you, as well." Ehren reined Shaffron back a step as the woman's mount laid back its ears and stretched its neck to snap.
The woman murmured a chastisement to her horse. "Visitors," she said dryly, "who like to play games."
"On occasion." Ehren shrugged. "We'd be grateful for your escort to the keep."
"I'm sure," she said, in that same dry tone. "Much more grateful than an escort back to the stones, no doubt."
"Much," Ehren said, and grinned at her.
She allowed a faint smile, uninfluenced by her two disapproving comrades. "Son of Solvany," she said, "did you think to go unrecognized here?"
He spread his hands slightly, a capitulation of sorts. I am what I am. "Important news is important no matter its source. And my companions will be more to your liking, I think."
She looked beyond him, then, her chin raised and her dark eyes narrowed. Ehren didn't have to turn to know that Laine and Shette were right behind him, quiet on the spongy turf of the road. Shette's black mare gave a little whicker of greeting.
"These are Grannor's children," the woman said.
"More or less," Laine said, directly behind Ehren. "It's... complicated."
"Considering your accent, I would say so." She afforded Ehren another long glance and lifted her reins. "Follow us, then. You raise questions. I expect answers will be easier to get if we ply you with tea than demand them from your hard Solvan friend."
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 e
scort 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."
Barrenlands (The Changespell Saga) Page 21