Barrenlands
Barrenlands
PrologueAnswers at last. And maybe . . . maybe, a chance to eliminate the Barrenlands.
Benlan tried to turn that hope into something more reasonable. An experienced king ought to know better, at least until he learned just what this clandestine meeting would yield. He walked the muddy path from the lodge stables to the hunting lodge itself, not so keyed on the meeting that he neglected to enjoy a spring day when the sun was out and coming strongly through the still-barren branches of the trees.
Behind him, the silence of the King's Guard shifted to quiet conversation. "Where's Ehren, anyway?" Gretna said in a low voice, probably not meant for Benlan's ears. "He's the only one of us not here."
"Some foolish errand for the Upper Levels." Herib sounded grumpy. Well he might, as a master of guards who'd had no say in the matter. "Special request."
"Odd," Gretna said, while others murmured agreement around her. Benlan strode through the mud as if he wasn't hearing a thing. "Just like this trip."
"He don't think this is the regular spring lodge inspection, either," a third voice added, one Benlan didn't immediately recognize. "The queen always comes along for that one."
"That's why Ehren should be here," Herib said sharply. "There are a lot of things that make this-"
"Odd," Greta said again.
Benlan smiled, knowing they couldn't see it. His Guard was nothing if not devoted; they knew when something was up no matter how many other people he had fooled. And they were right, too. After months of subtle clues and warnings and an underlying uneasiness in court, he was finally taking the first aggressive steps to deal with it. True, the information he would get here was old, generations old, but if Benlan had learned one thing in his reign as king, it was that unresolved conspiracies at court tended to have their own lives, passing down from one set of ministers to another. He might learn nothing of importance . . . and he might learn everything.
Benlan stopped outside the lodge, sweating slightly despite the chill spring air, and breathing deeply just for the enjoyment of it-and because it fit his hope. Peace . . . and a chance to break the silence with Therand. The notion was as invigorating as the air. The Guards stopped a fair distance back from him, at his request; Benlan had the feeling his informant wouldn't show if he felt crowded.
What-? Something stirred the air, no normal breeze. Benlan stood straighter. Magic? Varien, ever-competent First Level wizard, had assured him the area would be shielded. It was a strong shield indeed, if Benlan could sense it.
Ehren should be here. Ehren, who offered not only the best protection any other man could give, but friendship and unquestionable personal loyalty as well. When acting in the King's best interests conflicted with the politics of a situation, he did what had to be done, without hesitation. The others were more intimidated by the Upper Levels, and Benlan supposed that was just as well. It wouldn't do to have a whole Guard full of Ehrens causing trouble.
But it was very nice indeed to have the one.
One of the Guards harrumphed, as if to remind the king he was still standing before the lodge, doing nothing. Benlan gave him a distracted nod.
"Odd," Gretna mumbled, apparently her refrain for the day.
If only Benlan's informant was right, that the material he offered meant an opportunity to work together with Therand's leader. Sherran. Benlan had heard she was strong and protective of her country, but reasonable as well, and neither of them had done anything to challenge the other since she'd taken the role of T'ierand years earlier.
It was hard to challenge their neighboring country with the Barrenlands dividing them, of course. The Barrenlands were an abomination, an ugly, dead region where nothing grew and no living creature stayed for long. No man could tread that ground, save for the ruling line in either country and those they gave limited dispensation-and it wasn't easy at that.
But it could be done. Benlan's brother, Dannel, had done it, had run away with his unacceptable Therand love. Benlan lost his brother; the Barrenlands had done that. Their age-old feud with Therand had done that. It was time for things to change.
Magic surged around him, making the Guards stir uneasily. Benlan frowned. The man he was meeting didn't have magic. He wasn't learned enough in his writing, and Varien had declared his numerous notes free from magical influence of any sort.
When the first shout hit his ears, Benlan drew his sword without hesitation-and barely unsheathed it before the alarm turned to an unmistakable death cry. It came from the stable area, and his Guards, torn between helping their own or protecting their king, turned to Benlan with faces grim and anguished-and then shocked. Soldiers in unfamiliar uniform were gliding out of the woods, solidifying into flesh from air, rippling into shape already on the run, swords already raised. Magic.
Benlan's Guards didn't have a chance. Neither did he.
Ehren! Benlan blocked a death blow and missed the second attack, the one that sunk deeply into his arm. He was alone, the Guards outnumbered by two and three to one. Their cries of anger and agony filled the air. Ehren, I need you! His sword sunk deeply into the back of the man who would have hamstrung him, notching bone to stick there; Benlan wrenched it loose and staggered around just in time to look into the fiercely grinning eyes of the woman who sunk her blade into his belly.
The strength drained from Benlan's legs and pooled onto the ground with his blood; he fell to his knees. Beside him, a Guard thumped face down to the ground, dead before the liquid mud oozed into her mouth.
Someone behind him jammed a knee between his shoulders and wrenched his head back, exposing his throat to the tickling warmth of spring sunshine. Warmer yet, then, as blood coursed down his skin, sprayed up against his jaw, pulsing from a cut so clean he'd barely felt the blade slide across his throat.
The bracing leg disappeared from his back; the hand on his head shoved him down so he flopped against his own heels, feeling the sharp pop in his knees as they tore.
As if it mattered now.
Peace . . . the Barrenlands . . . lost.
Benlan lay in the mud while his blood drained away, and as his body turned into a remote, lifeless thing, he was suddenly aware of more magic, someone watching him. Of the cold satisfaction in those eyes, the cruel dispassion for the slaughtered Guard.
The eyes of someone he knew.