The Changespell Saga

by Doranna Durgin

  Or of anybody else, for that matter. Although filled with urgency and a constant harangue from the doubtful inner voice Carey had told her to ignore, Jaime stopped Lady at the small creek that crossed their path and slid off the sweaty-backed mare to splash her own face. She added a couple of quick stretches and then made a clumsy bareback mount, thanking Lady for her rock-steady patience.

  Back to the trotting. The spring had gone out of Lady’s gait, and Jaime grew spooked as she realized how alone they were. Dark green shadows in mottled sunshine gave her imagination plenty of places to hide bad guys, but it wasn’t until she closed her eyes to chase away the illusory threats that she truly ran into trouble.

  Voices.

  Her eyes flew open as Lady tensed beneath her; together they located a small group of men ahead, just barely within view on the wandering path. One of them must have heard her, for they all turned to look—and then stare—at her.

  Maybe she should just trot right by them, give them a nod and nothing else. A stand-offish kind of bluff. It was no business of theirs what she was up to.

  They must have read her mind, for they moved apart, and three abreast was all it took to block her way. Lady geared down to a walk of her own accord, and they were close enough so Jaime clearly heard it when one of the men said, “Well, Burn my balls! What kind of a woman we got here?”

  Suddenly Jaime remembered the strange expression on Carey’s face the first several times he’d seen women in form-fitting breeches, and she felt as good as naked. A tiny stiffening of her back brought Lady to a halt a safe distance away.

  People. People from another world, and their clothing—pants, soft-soled ankle boots and shirts in an assortment of sleeve lengths and collar styles—was somehow subtly off. The colors weren’t quite right—too deep a green, an odd iridescent teal...she took a deep breath. We’re not in Kansas anymore...

  What’s more, the men were well-armed with knives and short curved swords, all wearing identical, painted leather arm bands—probably enough to tell her whether they were friend or foe, if she’d known what to look for.

  They stared at each other for a moment. Finally she hazarded a tired, “You’re not just going to let me pass, are you?”

  “Depends on who you are and where you’re going,” one of the men replied promptly.

  “My name is Jaime Cabot and I’m going in this direction,” she said, just as promptly.

  A snort greeted her pronouncement. “Bullshit if I ever heard it.”

  “That’s because,” Jaime said, carefully neutral, “I don’t suppose it’s any of your business. I don’t mean anyone harm, and that’s enough.” She wondered if it might be worth chancing the whole truth. If they were from Sherra’s, they might actually help her.

  If they weren’t, they might kill her.

  The third man, the one who’d been silent all this time, finally spoke, and Jaime realized with a start that the tall, sturdy figure was in fact a woman, her lanky figure hidden in her loose sleeveless shirt, her waist obscured by the weapons and equipment on her belt, just like women cops at home. “That’s not good enough, not in these times,” the woman said. “Especially not with an odd-looking package like yourself.” She put a hand on her knife hilt and eyed Jaime pensively. “I don’t think we can afford to let you just wander on your way—no matter who you’re for. Too many questions about you, woman.”

  “I’m not trying to make trouble. I just want to get by.” And somehow, before she even thought about it, she startled Lady with abrupt heels. The dun hit a gallop in three strides, and the men jumped out of her way—but not before one of them got a good hold of Jaime’s ankle and pulled her right off Lady’s slick back.

  Jaime landed on the relatively soft form of her assailant struggled to get away from him even as she finished falling, clawing her way across his body. Her fingers found and grasped the hilt of his long knife, but not before someone jerked her head back by the short, thick braid of her hair. She cried out in surprise and pain, a yelp that was echoed behind her as Lady’s hoof beats grew loud and close again, suddenly punctuated by the solid sound of hoof against flesh.

  Jaime’s head snapped free and she jumped to her feet, whirling to locate all three of them. One was down, clutching a hip, the other was rising, his hand slapping at the empty knife sheath, and the woman was—was behind her! Jaime turned just in time to see the heavy pommel of a huge knife heading for her head, too close to avoid. Then dancing dun horseflesh flashed behind the woman and strong white teeth snatched that knife-wielding shoulder, lifted the woman off the ground, and tossed her effortlessly aside.

  Jaime ran to her champion and threw herself astride in a mount she wouldn’t have dreamed she could make, and Lady thundered down the path, taking them far away from any feeble foot pursuit. She was still running full tilt when the path abruptly opened into a narrow swath of cleared ground following along a thick log wall.

  Jaime almost fell off then, clutching mane and riding air as Lady pivoted to follow the wall without cutting her speed. When they reached the thick path that was clearly a main entrance, Jaime was ready for the equally sharp turn into the gate, and rode it much better—which didn’t make any difference in the long run. To Lady’s obvious surprise, the gate was closed, and although she reared up in an effort to stop in time, they both crashed hard into the stout wooden structure. A face full of flying black mane swept Jaime into oblivion—but not before her mind’s eye flashed her a picture of Carey, Mark and Dayna, waiting for her help.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Twelve

  Carey, tired and grim. Dayna with a dirty, tear-stained face going pale with exhaustion—a body pushed to the limit. Stumbling, Mark, catching her, speaking to her, holding a branch out of her way. But where was Jess?

  “Carey!” Jaime called. “Carey, where’s Jess?”

  Where’s Jess? Where’s—

  “You’re all right.”

  It was a calm androgynous voice, a voice that knows it has things under control. Jaime felt immediately better about everything—and then opened her eyes in renewed alarm as she remembered just what “everything” was.

  “Carey’s out in the woods!” she said, even before she had found the plump, middle-aged woman sitting cross-legged on the ground beside her, wearing a subdued blue split skirt and long tunic. The woman had a cap of thick graying, ash brown hair and remarkably serene brown eyes; she greeted Jaime’s statement with a raised eyebrow.

  “I thought I just saw him,” Jaime started—then faltered, confused. “But...that doesn’t make any sense.” She lay on her back, and aside from the woman, could see little but the trees that towered above her. It suddenly occurred to her that she was still in one piece despite the hard fall she’d taken. Carefully, she rolled to her side, testing to see that everything still worked—but she couldn’t find any of the aches and pains that should have been assaulting her after such a hard collision.

  She discovered she was just outside the now-open gate, with Lady nowhere in sight. Within the walls there were plenty of people going about their business, casting an occasional curious glance their way but leaving them alone.

  “I—I’m afraid I’m confused,” she confessed to the woman, looking down at her torn breeches and knowing she hadn’t overestimated the seriousness of the fall. And I know I saw Carey, Dayna and my brother in the woods.

  “I’m not surprised,” the woman nodded; her earrings, two flat teardrops of bright peacock blue, swing with the motion. “Healing a head injury often leaves the patient a little befuddled. It’ll pass.”

  “Healing a head injury,” Jaime repeated without comprehension, and decided it was more important to get to the heart of the matter. “I need to talk to Sherra right away. Can you take me to her?”

  “Easily.” The woman spread her arms. “Here I am, in all my glory.”

  Jaime blinked, but wasn’t taken aback for long. “I’m here for Arlen’s courier, Carey.”

  “Ah, then that was
one of his duns that you rode in on.”

  “Lady,” Jaime responded immediately. “Where is she? Is she all right?”

  “She took the collision with our gate much better than you did, dear. She’s with my own head courier right now and wouldn’t get better care if she were a princess.”

  “Carey needs help,” Jaime blurted, at once overcome with the complexity of the situation. “He’s out in the woods with some friends of mine, and he’s got Arlen’s spell. They’re on foot, and he’s sure some of Calandre’s men are after them.” For a sudden instant she wondered if she’d said the right thing, if this woman might not be Calandre instead, a very clever Calandre. But there was something about those eyes that reassured her....

  “I felt him arrive,” Sherra nodded, more to herself than to Jaime; then she focused on Jaime again and smiled. “Or should I say I felt you all arrive, Please don’t worry about him, or your friends. When I felt a spell of such magnitude, I thought it might be Carey; I alerted all my people to watch for him. Now I can tell them he’ll be with friends—and that Calandre’s annoying little minions will be snapping at their heels.” She stood up and held out a hand for Jaime, who was still dazed enough that she did not question, but reached for the warm, strong grip—and then was glad of it when the world reeled around her.

  “Slowly, dear. Head injuries are nothing to fool with, not even with a superb healer such as myself attending the wound.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve said that,” Jaime said, resolutely willing the trees to be still—and relieved when they obeyed. “My head feels fine.”

  “It is fine,” Sherra agreed. “Much better than it was half an hour ago.”

  Jaime frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.” She closed her eyes and felt again her friends’ struggles, saw their strained faces. “Poor Dayna,” she murmured. Then she looked straight at Sherra and deliberately stopped, midway through the gate. “What happened here? To me?”

  Sherra eyed her back and said simply, “You and your horse galloped straight into my closed gate. I don’t imagine she was expecting that—until recently, it hasn’t been closed in years. She was lucky and came away with some bad bruises. You, on the other hand, must have hit the gate headfirst. Your skull was broken and you were well on your way to dying by the time I got here.”

  “I—what?” Jaime couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her; something deep within her knew that Sherra spoke the truth.

  “You’re not going to faint? No? Good. Tell me, do they have magic on your world?”

  “No.” The word came out strangled, Jaime’s mouth on automatic while she tried to assimilate the near death that had passed so quickly she’d all but missed it. Somewhere along the line, perhaps upon learning that some messages still traveled by horseback in Camolen, she had classified Carey’s world as less advanced than her own—but now that rather conceited assumption wavered, as she realized she probably would not have survived this fall in Marion.

  “I’d like to hear more about it,” Sherra said firmly, tugging on Jaime’s hand. “But over a cup of tea, dear, not out here where we’re blocking the gate.”

  In a daze, Jaime allowed herself to be escorted into the hold. The first story was mortared stone, but the second was a solid log structure that radiated a homey sturdiness. On a second-story balcony, a woman who was obviously more friend than servant served Jamie and Sherra tea. Jaime found herself staring after the woman, futilely trying to classify what she saw into familiar societal structure.

  Her struggle must have been evident. “Everyone’s different,” Sherra said casually, sipping her tea with a satisfied nod; the purple earrings dipped and danced. “Don’t form your opinions of us from what I call home. If you were north in Camolen City, you’d find yourself looking out at spell-tamed lands with roads that never rut out and cities that hold tight warrens of people. The wizards are thicker up there, too, and they tend to specialize more tightly—in tall building construction, say, or traffic guides. Down here, we like a little room to ourselves; we take life at a slower pace.” A wry expression crossed her face. “Usually.”

  Jaime glanced around the courtyard. From the balcony where they sat to the flammable nature of the construction, the hold showed very little concession to defense—even the wall didn’t seem high enough to discourage anyone with real intent. “Aren’t you worried?”

  “About Calandre’s annoying little minions?” Sherra shook her head. “I have many quiet defenses to resort to. The gate, of course, is the least of it. That troublesome thing and its wall were constructed to keep the livestock in at night, and is closed now only as a reminder to be watchful.”

  Oh, yes—”There was somebody out there—” Jaime blurted, then stopped, suddenly wondering if they might have been, after all, some of Sherra’s people.

  “You were running from someone,” Sherra observed with equanimity.

  “I don’t know who they were,” Jaime admitted. “But they got threatening, so I ran. If they were Calandre’s...annoying minions, they were awful close to this place.”

  Sherra shook her head. “Then I doubt they were. We keep a careful watch—and there’s no reason for Calandre’s people to be handing around quite this close.”

  “They had armbands,” Jaime remembered. “But I didn’t really see what was on them.”

  “Armbands are very popular these days. Don’t worry about it, dear.” She sat back in her comfortable bentwood chair, and the orange earrings flared against the warm tones of her skin. But—

  “They were blue!” Jaime exclaimed, and added, lame even to her own ears, “The earrings, I mean. You made them magic, I guess.”

  “I don’t do earrings,” Sherra said. “But there’s a young woman in Siccawei Village who has a special touch with jewelry.” She smiled and fingered one of the teardrops. “But I’d rather hear a little more about you and your world. I have a feeling there won’t be much time for such talk once Carey gets here—he’ll have so many questions, I won’t have a chance for any of my own.”

  “Carey... is a determined man,” Jaime said.

  “Determined,” Sherra repeated, as if trying the word out; she smiled. “You’ve come to know him well, I see.”

  ~~~~~

  Carey pressed a hand to the stitch in his side and mulishly kept up the pace, spurred by the oppressive prickle of fear that time was running out. He’d stopped looking back at the others half a mile ago, too afraid of the fatigue in Dayna’s face. They crashed along through the woods behind him, and he knew there was no point in asking them, one more time, to try to keep the noise down. They were already doing their best.

  A movement in the trees ahead brought Carey to an abrupt stop; Dayna floundered into his back and fell, panting, making no attempt to get up. Mark came up beside him and leaned face first against a wide tree, relaxing his whole body against the trunk. “If I sit down, I’ll never get up,” he muttered, dropping Jaime’s sack of goodies by his feet.

  Carey gave him a sharp glance to let him know this was no mere rest stop, keeping most of his attention trained ahead, where the movement had not yet repeated itself.

  “How close are we?” Mark asked, his voice low and filled with concern as he, too, searched the woods ahead.

  “Not close enough,” Carey said shortly. There—he’d seen it again, and this time there was no questions. But how did they get in front of us?

  Horses. He could have kicked himself for not realizing they might try this. Even though they’d probably lost his trail at the pickup, they knew well enough what his destination would be. They hadn’t bothered tracking at all, but had merely ridden the established paths until they felt they were between the three fugitives and Sherra’s hold, and then backtracked through the woods. Stupid, stupid.

  Carey turned back to Dayna and hauled her roughly to her feet, holding her up with a cruel grip. What he really wanted to do was carry her to safety, but what he had to do was something quite different. He ignored the star
tled look on her face and shook her. “You made the choice,” he told her harshly. “Now live with it! We’re maybe two miles from Sherra’s—” he turned her to the right and kept her that way when she would have twisted back to look at him “—this direction. It’s not you they want, and there’s nothing you can do to help me, so get going and don’t stop until you get there!”

  “But—” she started, annoyance warring with confusion on her face as she turned back to look at him despite his efforts to keep her pointed correctly.

  “But, nothing! Go!”

  “Mark...?”

  “Go,” Mark affirmed, and gave her a tiny little push to show he meant it.

  “And you,” Carey added.

  Mark protested, “I can help!”

  “They won’t kill me—not outright. You, they’ll kill.” Dammit, go. The movement had coalesced into three distinct figures, heading directly for them.

  Mark gave a sly little grin and said, “Carey, old buddy, who taught you to shoot a gun?”

  Carey blinked and then looked stupidly at the sack. There were four guns in that sack, minus only a few bullets among them. He hadn’t given them a second thought after they’d left the riverside—he was back home, now, where they didn’t have such things as guns.

  “Me, too,” Dayna said in a low voice. “I can’t run any longer and you know it. And you know they won’t just let me go, either.”

  Mark released the tie and dumped the sack before Carey could respond. “Don’t fire until you see the whites of their eyes,” he said calmly.

  “As soon as I find out who’s side they’re on,” Carey said, taking the automatic Mark offered him. “Watch.” It was a simple spell, one that every good—and long-lived—courier knew. He closed his eyes a moment to slide into the proper concentration, channeling a small rush of magic into the spell that would tell him if they faced friend or foe. When he opened his eyes, those who approached were limned in orange, a quiet effect that quickly faded. “The other side,” he stated, glancing at Dayna and Mark to see if they’d seen the effect.