Changes

by Mercedes Lackey

  Mags kept his head down to avoid being blinded by a sudden flash of lightning. ::Is there any odds we’ll git hit?:: he asked a little nervously.

  ::I’ll see that we don’t,:: Dallen replied.

  ::You’ll—:: Mags was at a loss for words for a moment. ::Is thet somethin’ all on ye kin do?::

  ::Aye. Why do you think, with all the terrible storms they ride through, Heralds never get struck by lightning?:: Dallen seemed amused; his ears were up again. ::However, I am not moving out of a walk. The streets are too uncertain.::

  A walk seemed more than fast enough to Mags. The rain was coming down so fast that it wasn’t able to flow into the drainage ditches on either side of the road, and Dallen was splashing through an ankle-deep, swiftly moving stream where the road had been. ::This’s crazy. Ain’t never seen rain come down like this.::

  ::Once in a very great while. Rather like the blizzard we got the year you arrived.:: He felt Dallen’s amusement. ::Did you bring extreme weather with you?::

  ::Not thet I know of . . .:: He peered gingerly under the rim of his hood, but he couldn’t make out where they were. ::’Ow far are we, anyroad?::

  ::At this rate? About four times as long as it would have taken in good weather.::

  ::Bah.:: He wished he had a way to contact their host and apologize. Which was a little silly, since their host was, without a doubt, very much aware of how bad the storm was and would surely not be annoyed at Mags for being delayed.

  ::He’s more likely to thank you for coming at all,:: Dallen pointed out.

  Still. He wondered if he could somehow tell Amily what was going on. After all, he was able to make those who could not Mindspeak hear him on the Kirball team—he should be able to make her hear him.

  Well, if he could contact her at all. The members of his Kirball team were always nearby and were aware that he was going to do this. They practiced it long before they did it on the field, and Mags was very familiar with how their minds “felt.” He’d deliberately avoided Amily’s mind, shielding himself tightly around her, so he wouldn’t pick up any of her thoughts even by accident. This was not just because that was the ethical way to do things, but because he would have felt very uneasy invading her privacy like that, even if it was inadvertent. He hadn’t even warned her by Mindspeech when they’d been attacked—though he hadn’t needed to, since it was pretty obvious.

  But if he could contact her at a distance at all, this was certainly the time to do so.

  All right. Lessee if I kin . . .

  He closed his eyes and let his shields down, just enough to send out a tentative thread of thought, looking for her—or rather, for something that “felt” like her. She couldn’t be too far away now . . . he and Dallen were forced to stay on the road, but thought could go in a straight line.

  Lots of thoughts, most of them along the lines of Oh, my dear gods, we are all going to wash down the side of the Hill! None of them at all familiar. He quested a little farther.

  Finally he thought he sensed someone familiar. ::Amily?:: he sent, tentatively.

  ::MAGS!::

  It was a mind-scream, full of fear and panic. ::Mags! Mags! Help me! Hel—::

  He felt the blow to her head that knocked her unconscious as if he were the one who had been hit.

  Dallen felt it too, and without prompting lurched into a frantic, splashing gallop, heading for their host’s manor, utterly heedless of his own safety.

  Mags pulled the hood off his head and peered through the rain, knowing that with two foreward-facing eyes his vision was better right now than Dallen’s was. His heart raced, and he was afire with anger and fear, but somehow cold with it too. It had to be Ice and Stone; who else would have taken her? He had been wrong, everyone had been wrong. They had been clever enough to realize that now was the time to try to snatch her, precisely because everyone would think they would retreat and regroup after their failure—

  As Dallen charged through the rain, he thought he saw something ahead of them—

  ::There!:: he shouted. A carriage! A carriage pulled by two horses that were galloping at breakneck speed.

  Dallen didn’t bother to reply, he just stretched his neck out and redoubled his efforts. And Mags locked his grip on the saddle horn, closed his eyes, and projected what had just happened to every Herald he could reach, straining until a bolt of pain lanced across his head and interrupted him. Now they knew.

  Not that any of them would be able to get here . . .

  He opened his eyes and saw that Dallen was gaining on the carriage. He couldn’t make out who it was that was lashing the horses so savagely, and he couldn’t sense anything human from it. Which could only mean those strange shields had locked down tight, and Ice and Stone were, for all intents and purposes, invisible.

  Lightning hammered down and hit something just ahead and to the right of the carriage. The horses shied sideways, sending the carriage careening on two wheels before it dropped back down again. The figure on the driver’s box looked back; he must have spotted them, because he sawed at the reins, and the horses—now in a blind panic—plunged to the other side of the road and skidded around a corner Mag hadn’t even seen.

  He and Dallen overshot; Dallen executed a muscle-pulling reverse and resumed the chase.

  Another lightning bolt hammered down, and the horses shied. This time the carriage skidded back and forth wildly, and Dallen had to drop back a little.

  Mags braced himself in the saddle. He could see in Dallen’s mind what he wanted to do: come alongside so that Mags could jump into the open carriage. They could do it if Dallen could get close enough. Then Dallen, without Mags’ weight on him, could surge ahead and shoulder the horses off the road while Mags protected Amily, who must be lying on the floor of the carriage.

  The driver looked back again, saw them still on his tail, and viciously heeled the horses over again. The carriage slewed from side to side, and again, Dallen had to drop back.

  But the horses weren’t going to be able to keep this up for very long. They didn’t have the stamina that Dallen did. Not even the fact that they were going downhill was going to help.

  Every hair on his body suddenly rose up, and he smelled something sharp and—

  Dallen swerved violently sideways, and another bolt of lightning struck where they had been. The heat of it scorched his cheek, it was so close, and it seemed to suck all the breath out of his body and blind him, all at once—and the thunder nearly flattened him into the saddle.

  For a moment, he fought for air, mind utterly blank.

  When his mind came back, the carriage was lengths ahead of them, and Dallen was standing like a horse made of stone, and both of them were steaming. His whole body tingled painfully, his skin felt burned, and for a moment he had trouble thinking of what they were supposed to be doing.

  Suddenly Dallen shook himself all over, and lurched into a gallop again. Mags tried to make his mind work, but it was moving slowly, thoughts blundering around like blind beetles. Dallen closed the distance between themselves and the carriage, and Mags finally felt his mind staggering back to normal. The driver wasn’t looking back. Did he think they’d been struck?

  Had he somehow been the one that caused the strike?

  It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the carriage and making the jump.

  Dallen closed the gap. His nose was practically at the rear wheel. Now his head was alongside the rear wheel. Mags tensed and raised up in the stirrups. This would take incredible timing. Rain torrented down, making it even harder. He would have to land right in the carriage, because in this rain, the chance of catching the side and saving himself was—not good.

  A little more . . . just a little . . .

  Neither he nor Dallen saw the object that hurtled out of the carriage into them—but they both felt it. It was big and solid enough to slam into Dallen’s neck and flank with terrible force, and neither of them were ready for it.

  Dallen lost his footing; started to go over, foug
ht for it, hurtling sideways on the sluice that was the street, as Mags clung desperately to the saddle, breath completely rammed out of him.

  They both knew at the same moment when Dallen was not going to be able to keep his feet.

  Mags flung up his arms to shield his head; Dallen fell with as much control as he could muster. The pavement slammed into both of them, and everything went black.

  “Mags! Mags!”

  Mags hurtled up out of unconsciousness like a panicked starling shooting into the sky. His eyes flew open; his body registered rain, his mind recognized Heralds, and his memory shouted Amily! He tried to lurch to his feet.

  Someone held him down.

  He flailed at them. “Lemme go! Lemme go! They got Amily! They’re gittin’ away! Lemme go!”

  A stranger in Herald’s Whites grabbed his head in both hands and forced him to stop struggling. “Mags. It’s too late. They’re long gone. We got here to find you and Dallen lying in the street and no sign of them.”

  He stared at the man without comprehension for a long, long moment. “No—” he croaked. “No—they cain’t—”

  “Yes,” said the man, with compassion, but without any attempt to soften the blow. “They can, and they did.”

  A million things raced through his mind. He wanted to burst into tears. He wanted to shove this fellow off him and go running down the street. He wanted to scream, or pull lightning down out of the sky himself, or—

  He did none of these things, for none of them would get Amily back. Instead, he looked up into the stranger’s face. “What—what do I do?” he asked. “What do we do?”

  The stranger gave him a long, searching look, then nodded. “They won’t kill her; they won’t even hurt her for now,” he said. “If they’d wanted to do that, they wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble. So for now, we go back where we have resources, and you tell us everything you can. Think you can stand?” He took his hand off Mags and his knee off Mags’ chest.

  Mags lurched to his feet, stumbled in the rain, and looked around. To his great relief, he saw Dallen also on his feet, even if the Companion’s head was hanging so low his nose touched the street.

  ::Dallen?::

  ::I’m all right. Bruised. Nothing broken. And furious.:: The Companion raised his head and looked into Mags’ face. Pure rage blazed at Mags from the blue eyes.

  “Anything broken?” asked the stranger.

  “Dallen says no—”

  “I meant you,” the stranger interrupted.

  Mags took a deep breath—or tried to. Every muscle in his chest suddenly constricted painfully. But there weren’t any stabbing sensations, and he answered, “Don’ thin’ so.”

  “Blessed Cernos, I have no idea how that happened. Do you see that?” The stranger pointed to a rectangular shape lying off to the side of the road. Mags guessed it was about at long as he was tall. “That was a seat in the carriage. At a guess there was one of them driving and one on the floor, making sure the girl didn’t bounce out or come to and jump out. He ripped out that seat and flung it at you when you came alongside. It probably weighs about as much as you do.”

  “Oh.” Well, that explained what had hurtled into them.

  “You can thank all that game practice for keeping you both from breaking your necks.” The stranger, who had an oddly familiar look to him, raised his head, rain streaming over him as he closed his eyes for a moment. “There. Everyone knows you’re all intact. Friends are bringing Nikolas up from Haven.”

  He whistled shrilly, and a moment later, an extremely tall Companion came trotting in through the rain curtains.

  “Any sign?” the stranger asked his Companion.

  The Companion blew out a disgusted snort and shook his head vigorously.

  “Well, it was worth trying. If anything could track them in this muck, it would be you.” The stranger sighed and turned back to Mags. “All right, let’s get you into the saddle. I’d rather you didn’t walk too far until a Healer has a chance to look at you.”

  Obediently, Mags turned toward Dallen, but the stranger’s Companion shouldered in between them. The blue eyes bored into his. ::Not Dallen, he’s in no better shape than you are,:: said a crisp, clear Mindvoice with the sound of bells in it. ::My saddle.::

  “Uh . . . oh . . . aight,” he replied, blinking, and with every muscle in his body screaming in protest, he reached up to the saddle horn.

  He managed that, but he couldn’t get his foot high enough to go into the stirrup—

  Before he could think, he felt the stranger boost him, so he did manage to scramble into place. The strange Herald started trudging up the street, plowing with determination through the downpour. His Companion followed, and Dallen moved painfully alongside.

  ::Who is that?:: he asked Dallen, half of his mind trying to figure out why the stranger looked so familiar, the other half trying to think of some way, any way, he could find Amily and get her back.

  ::Sedric,:: Dallen replied, shortly.

  That name was . . . familiar.

  “You’re lucky I was close, and I’m a strong Mindspeaker,” said Sedric. “I have literally just gotten back from my first circuit. I was waiting out the rain at Master Soren’s when I heard you shouting.”

  “You know Master Soren?” Mags asked, still thinking furiously, but fruitlessly.

  “I should, I just proposed to Lydia.” There was a sort of grim amusement in his voice. “It’s a damn good thing she doesn’t believe in evil portents, I suppose.”

  “Evil . . . Lydia?” With his mind racing in a hundred directions, he tried to make sense of that. “You—you’re going to marry Lydia?”

  “She seems to think so. I’m glad she knows what she’s getting into, or this would likely have sent her screaming away from me.” Sedric waited for a moment for the two Companions to catch up with him, and he put a steadying hand on Dallen’s shoulder when he stumbled a little.

  “If you’re—why didn’t I know about this?” Mags asked, staring down at the young man.

  “Because, my dear naïve Trainee, it’s generally not a good idea for the Heir to the Throne to broadcast his choice of wife when he’s about to be away from the Palace for two years,” Sedric said dryly. “Father tentatively approved when I left, provided Lydia felt the same when I got back. Reasonable—well, my head knew it was reasonable, even though my heart was sobbing worse than a mooncalf lover in one of Marchand’s treacly ballads, and we will not mention in polite company how other parts of me took the edict.”

  Finally, the words penetrated the fog of anger and grief and guilt that swirled around inside him. Sedric. Prince Sedric. Herald Prince Sedric. The son of King Kiril’s first marriage—made when the King himself was still a very young Prince—a marriage of state, in which the poor bride, very, very much older than the Prince, had not survived the birth of her son.

  A son who had been raised by the very young second wife, the love match, a situation that in ballads, at least, was not inclined to end well.

  “Mother was incensed on my behalf,” he said fondly, then sighed. “Dammitall, these bastards have a wretched sense of timing. She’d be beside herself with joy except that right now she’s beside herself with worry over Amily.”

  “It’s—it’s all my—” Mags began, the grief starting to overpower everything else.

  “You can just stop that foolishness right now, Trainee,” Sedric said fiercely, looking up at him through the rain, his eyes blazing as Dallen’s had. “I know that you are thinking that if you had been with her, she wouldn’t be in their hands now. It is not your fault. It cannot possibly be your fault. Did you call this damned storm?”

  His relentless logic startled Mags. “Uh . . . no . . .”

  “There you are. Now listen to someone who knows. From experience. If you wallow in guilt, you are wasting time you could be using to help figure out a way to get her back. You have only so much time and so much thinking power, so concentrate it all on her.” When Mags nodded slowly, he
appeared satisfied and hunched his head down against the rain again. “Now. All I know is what I’ve been getting from Father’s letters and in bits and pieces from everyone mind-shouting right now. Begin at the beginning. What in hell has been going on while I was gone?”

  19

  For all of Sedric’s grim determination, no solutions presented themselves, and Mags felt himself teetering on the very brink of utter despair. Nikolas had already plunged headlong into that state, and for once it was the King and Queen who were trying to comfort the King’s Own, not the other way around.

  Lena blamed herself. She was the one, after all, who had persuaded Mags and Amily to leave the safety of the Palace to go to Marchand’s concert. Mags, of course, knew that this was his fault—he should have said no. He could have asked to get off from that last class and gone with her. He had done neither, and this was the result.

  Marchand, who had made all the arrangements, babbled about them to anyone who would listen and had not thought anything amiss when a strange carriage and driver appeared instead of the one he had hired. He blamed everyone but himself.

  The Karsite agents had made no contact nor any demands, but that was only a matter of time.

  . . . or Amily’s lifeless body would turn up.

  That was something no one wanted to think about, but it hovered in the back of everyone’s thoughts like a specter. If the Karsite agents wanted to destroy the King’s Own now, it would be heartbreakingly simple to do so. They had to know that.

  If that happened . . . .

  Well, Mags would find them and kill them, or die trying.

  If Amily’s kidnapping had affected only those who loved her, it would have been hideous, but the situation was being made even worse by the fact that it was getting political, with one faction demanding that Nikolas resign his position (as if he could!), another faction spinning hysterical suppositions about what demands the kidnappers were going to make, and a third faction quite ready, willing, and able to declare war on Karse and take the Army across the Border.