The Changespell Saga

by Doranna Durgin

  But I was wrong about Jess. “Magic affects things. It reveals things. It doesn’t create them, or change non-living matter into living matter.”

  “All of which is a roundabout way to say that Jay is right,” Mark said dryly, looking up from his tea. “Which also means that Arlen’s probably pretty hungry by now.”

  “He’s not going to be able to keep the security walls up forever,” Carey muttered. “Not once he weakens.” He flopped back against the bench, his head tilted back so he looked up at the fluffy white clouds above them. Damn, damn, damn. This gets worse and worse. Jaime and Mark remained quiet, giving him his thoughts.

  “I know how to get to him,” Carey said finally, abruptly. “It’s foolhardy, and it’ll probably get us both killed, but I do have a way.”

  “How can you get in there if Calandre can’t?” Mark asked reasonably.

  You had to know it was there. You had to know how to use it. “Because I’ve got the only recall that can also be triggered to his private quarters.” Carey fingered the stones again, remembering the day he’d been taught the extra nudge of triggering that would take him to Arlen’s quarters instead of the stable receiving room—when Arlen had chosen him as head courier. I’m not a healer, Carey, he’d confessed, but you’re going to risk your life for me on a fairly regular basis. If something should happen...well, you use this. I’ll do all I can for you. He’d even used it once before, the day he lost Lady’s half-brother. What had he been carrying? Something for Calandre, before she got so ambitious. It hadn’t even been all that important, but some burning little wizardlet had thought it would be the key to his own success. Arlen had played the healer well enough on that day.

  “Carey?” Jaime prompted. “I think you’ve wandered off without us.”

  “Sorry,” Carey said absently, thinking about the guns stowed beneath his bed. “Nothing important. Just wondering how long it’ll take me to get this rescue launched.”

  ~~~~~

  “Absolutely not,” Sherra said. Her hand, poised over a platter of sliced venison, withdrew and momentarily tightened into a fist beside her plate. But if she was torn over her decision, there was no other sign. Carey’s responsive bristling was anything but subordinate, and Jaime wondered if they were going to get into a brawl over lunch. Sherra’s husband, Trent, eyed them watchfully from a few seats down.

  After a moment, when Carey’s attitude made it obvious he had every intention of charging off on his own despite her verdict, Sherra collected herself. “Our first priority—the same as Arlen’s first priority, and you know it—is to find a checkspell.

  “That doesn’t have anything to do with me,” Carey said, not a whit less determined. “You do your job, and I’ll do mine. I work for Arlen, if you’ll remember.”

  “It has everything to do with you.” Sherra reached for the meat she had abandoned, bringing the conversation back down to a less confrontational mode. Jaime relaxed slightly, and lifted the tumbler of the herbal tea for which she was beginning to acquire a taste. Her eyes never left Carey and Sherra; in her peripheral vision, Mark continued his meal without slacking. He always could eat through anything.

  Carey shook his head. “Don’t stop there, Sherra, not if you’re trying to get me to change my mind.”

  “I’m thinking,” she snapped. “I have to say this just right to have any chance at getting through your thick skull.”

  Jaime coughed, covering laughter, and avoided Carey’s quick, suspicious gaze.

  “I’m missing something here,” Mark said. “Carey told me about your Wizard’s Council, and the precinct justice sessions. Why didn’t anyone in Erowah manage to warn you guys about Calandre?”

  “I’ve wondered the same thing.” Jaime looked over her tumbler and caught Sherra’s gaze, raising her eyebrow. “No one noticed she was amassing manpower? Magicpower?”

  “I watched your television news,” Carey said. “Plenty of little governmental overthrows going on. Same thing here. Making quiet alliances with other, lesser wizards wouldn’t be all that difficult to accomplish, as long as she didn’t make waves in other ways. And she hasn’t—until now.” He glared at Sherra and came down hard on his next words. “And I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”

  All right,” Sherra nodded, apparently having arrived at her strategy. “Given: we’re going to need all of the high-caliber wizards at work on a checkspell, and we cannot afford to be distracted. After all, there is a time-limit here—as soon as Arlen can no longer keep up his security, Calandre’s people will be on him. She will get the spell from him.” She nodded to herself, her thick hair stirring with the motion, her eyes on her internal scenario. Then she looked back at Carey and said simply, “Anyway, given that, we cannot afford to have you stirring Calandre up.”

  “Why?” Mark asked, somehow managing to time an empty mouth with the right moment to insert the question.

  “Why?” she repeated, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Carey can tell you that one, if he thinks about it.”

  Carey scowled. “She’s got more than ground forces—she’s got a cadre of former students. If she throws a temper tantrum, it’s going to take magic to counteract her.”

  “Skilled magic,” Sherra asserted. “There are plenty of useful spells around that can be subverted to do harm. Counteracting them would take away from our crucial efforts to get that checkspell.”

  “But if you rescue Arlen, you won’t need to race Calandre for the checkspell,” Jaime said, puzzled.

  “I know it doesn’t seem clear cut,” Sherra admitted. “But our priority has to be the checkspell. Even if Calandre acquires the spell, we’ve still got to get a checkspell in place. It might seem like whipping a horse after the race is over, but we can keep the damage to a minimum. If we anger Calandre, we’re back where we started in this conversation—diverted from our essential goal.”

  “So,” Mark said, “even though you can’t be sure it’s not the right thing, the consequences of having it be the wrong thing are too great to risk going after Arlen.”

  “Pay attention to him,” Sherra said to Carey, faint humor in her voice. “You could learn from a sensible young man like this.”

  Carey did not take the gentle reproof well; it struck sparks in his hazel eyes. “Sensible is not what Arlen needs! He needs help, and I can’t sit around here wiggling my toes when I’m the one that can give it to him!”

  “Oh, you won’t have the time to sit around wiggling your toes,” Sherra responded with satisfaction. “I need couriers aplenty to help me coordinate this checkspell business. There’s no way, of course, that we’re going to spellspeak our information—and there’s far too much riding for the people and horses I have left. Even the addition of your mare will be of great help to us.”

  “Bring the others here,” Carey suggested without sympathy.

  “And draw us all together in one big target? I don’t think so.” Sherra shook her head with a wry smile.

  “Could you use another rider?” Jaime heard herself saying.

  “Jaime, no!” Carey said sharply. “It’s too dangerous. Ask Sherra why she’s so short on horses and riders in the first place!”

  But Sherra eyed Jaime with a thoughtful look on her face. “No, it might work, Carey. It’s true that I’m short because my people have been injured, but she can take the rides that are close to home, the ones to the less prestigious wizards. We can easily give her a maplight.” She paused a moment in thought and then said, “That would certainly free up some of our own riders for the longer runs—the ones out of Siccawei.”

  Carey looked completely unconvinced. “There’s no reason to put her in danger. More danger.”

  “It’s my decision, Carey,” Jaime said, an edge in her voice.

  “And mine,” Sherra asserted. “And I think we’ll try it, Jaime, with much gratitude. If you feel differently after a few runs, you can always change your mind. We’ll still be that much further ahead.”

  Mark said cheerfully
, “I can’t ride like Jay can. But I clean a mean stall.”

  Sherra smiled. “We’ve no shortage of people qualified for that job. But I don’t doubt we’ll find something to keep you occupied.”

  The conversation stalled, while Carey picked over his food and a harried man commandeered Sherra’s attention with his crowded page of notes. When he left, Carey looked up from the meal he had been pushing around in his plate; his expression had lost its defiance, if none of its determination.

  “There’s something else,” he said. “Another friend of mine needs help.”

  “That would be Jess?” Sherra asked.

  He snorted. “I should have known you’d have heard about that.”

  “Morley,” Sherra provided. “I have no answers for you, Carey. Before Hanni was forced to take action, I could have been more reassuring, but now.... Once we get past some of the details of getting the other wizards here, and have started work on the checkspell, Chiara will investigate the situation.”

  Jaime half expected another argument, but instead Carey nodded. “It’s more than I expected,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t bother—not until Chiara’s managed to find time. There’s no predicting what’s ahead of us, Carey. Assuming that our world will fall back into place just as it’s always been is a mistake.” Sherra got up from the bench seat and gathered her dishes, looking at Jaime and Mark. “I’m glad we had the chance to lunch together. If I don’t have the time to speak with you at length in the near future, please don’t take it amiss.”

  “Of course not,” Jaime said, as Mark chimed in with, “Heck, no.” Jaime watched as Sherra took her utensils to the wash tub and cleaned them, and suddenly realized how much she admired this woman; she seemed to be as expert with people as she was with magic.

  Carey had given up on the pretense of eating; he clicked his tongue, luring one of the several rangy dogs that wandered the room. The animal cleaned his plate with big eager swipes of his tongue while Mark and Jaime kept their silence, letting Carey choose the path of their conversation.

  “Hey, guys.” The voice behind her was quiet, a little uncertain, a little embarrassed.

  “Dayna!” Mark and Jaime chorused, twisting to see her. She was dressed in a simply cut shift that reached to mid-calf, a deep sky blue that echoed the color of her eyes and contrasted with black lines of piping along the seams and hems. Like her own borrowed clothing, Jaime thought—simple but not without style. Dayna herself looked drawn but steady on her feet, if somewhat unsure of her reception.

  Jaime and Mark wasted no time scooting away from one another, leaving room for Dayna in an unspoken invitation to sit. Unencumbered by food, she climbed over the bench and sat, quietly offering, “I already ate upstairs.”

  “Are you all right? You look pretty good. In fact, you look too much like a certain Dayna I know who doesn’t believe in magic,” Jaime teased.

  “Just because it’s here doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Dayna said, her fine brows drawn together.

  “Ow.” Jaime winced.

  Dayna twisted the material of a long sweeping sleeve, and muttered, “Sorry. It’s not you I’m mad at.”

  “Who are you mad at?” Mark asked.

  Dayna looked like she was about to burst with anger and frustration, and it took her a moment to get her words together. “They say I have to learn magic!”

  “Who says?” Mark glanced at Carey, who shrugged.

  “Sherra. Her students. All the wizards here. I told them I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

  Carey replaced his well-licked plate on the table and scrutinized Dayna. “The ability to channel strong magic is a rare thing, Dayna. You should explore it while you have the chance.”

  “I don’t want to explore it. I don’t even want to be here. What I want is to go home.” Fierce words, determined face under its short wedge of rumpled sandy hair.

  “We all want to go home,” Jaime told her. “They have other things to worry about.”

  “They have the time to force me to learn magic!”

  Carey looked straight at her, and without sympathy, said, “They’ve seen what an untaught magic user can wreak on this world. If they insist that you learn the basics, then that’s what you have to. Even if they lock you in a room and force feed it down your throat.”

  Dayna flushed in angry recollection. “That’s exactly what they said.”

  “Then maybe you should think about it,” Jaime said gently. “It’ll keep your mind off going home. That’s why I volunteered to ride courier.”

  “And I still don’t like it,” Carey said. “But as long as Sherra’s said yes, let’s go talk to Morley. I want to make sure he understands the kind of assignments you get.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Jaime said, gathering her dishes as she got up from the table. “I’m not a kamikaze, no matter what you might think.”

  Carey gave her look of clear skepticism, but Mark just grinned. “Have fun, Jay.”

  “Oh, go clean a stable,” she told him, and gave him a sisterly pinch on the arm.

  ~~~~~

  Lady flicked her tail at a fly and found herself—yet one more time—mildly surprised when thick black hair actually brushed her side in response. It was not something she understood, this surprise, just as she failed to understand why feeling out the world with her whiskers was such a preoccupation, or why she occasionally expected to see something else with her eyes.

  Given too much time to concentrate on such physical vagaries, Lady became as irritable as during her springtime heat. Her courier runs with Jaime were a blessed relief.

  She didn’t know why this new person rode her; she missed Carey’s wooing voice in her ear. Jaime’s praise, although welcome, did nothing to fill that silent space. And her touch was nothing like Carey’s. Light, almost evanescent, it lacked his firmness, yet somehow managed to be just as reassuring. And, as Lady had discovered, the sensitivity of Jaime’s touch was not an indication of weakness. Balking for balking’s sake warranted a swift and potent reaction, and Lady soon gave up on the subtle little tricks she liked to pull with anyone but Carey.

  Besides, the work they did together quickly captured her complete attention. Jaime showed her how to extend herself, lengthening trot strides with power and suspension. She learned how to collect those same strides into an equally powered and elegant gait, building on the careful basics that had made her a balanced and responsive courier mount. Half-passes from one side of the road to the other let her play with diagonal movement, crossing her legs forward and sideways until she snorted with something that kept wanting to be pleased laughter.

  Sometimes, it was almost enough to drive away the nagging feeling that something—some unique and important part of her—was missing.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Fifteen

  Extended trot—now!

  Jaime fed energy into Lady’s dun sides and captured it in the reins, pushing the mare into big bold strides of extension. Not too many...stop it while she’s still successful...and quietly she brought the mare back down into a good working trot, gently slapping the side of the sweat-darkened neck, ruffling the thick dark mane up and down Lady’s crest. There would be no more dressage on today’s run; the days of constant work were wearing the edge off the energy of a horse Jaime had found to be nearly tireless. Lady snorted, dipped her head to take advantage of the rein Jaime fed out, and trotted on in an even rhythm before easing down to a walk.

  For Jaime the courier runs meant time for dressage—and they meant opportunities to think. Out on runs that rarely took more than half the day coming and going, she was usually back in time to pitch in at the village. The previous week she had helped with dredging stronghold wells—not all of which were in constant use, but all of which would have to flow freely to provide clean water to community under siege. This week it was the tedious process of mowing and gathering the first cutting of hay—although it had been interesting to watch the students com
e out and place mold-retardant spells on the fodder, a spell she deeply coveted for her own Ohio hay.

  After that she thought to wonder how many other subtle ways magic was at work in this community, where mechanical technology had never advanced past swords and plowshares because magical technology took care of so many necessities. She became caught up in the strangeness of the culture and diverted by the uses of everyday magic. She had even had some success with the glowspells and no longer needed a candle in the room she shared with Dayna—although the feel of using magic was uncomfortable for her, rather like an unreachable tickle in the back of her throat.

  If it was a tickle to Jaime, magic was a gall to Dayna, who was learning in spite of herself. Withdrawn and unwilling, Dayna attended the daily work of Chiara and several of Sherra’s other students, all of whom had had their lessons suspended for the duration. And although they were now trusted with the commonplace magics that helped to run the stronghold, the students obviously felt a little left out of the pivotal checkspell work, and were glad to immerse themselves in the new if unwilling project of Dayna. Jaime smiled at the thought of her petite friend wielding magic with competence.

  Mark applied himself in the only area he felt he could be of use—stronghold and village defense. Though the weaponsmaster continued to drill Mark, it quickly become plain that close confrontation would not come naturally to her brother, with or without weapons. But youthful Boy Scout experience in archery had unexpected benefit, and he spent several hours a day in practice.

  Jaime only hoped that he’d never have occasion to use his new skills.

  Beneath her, Lady lowered her head and snorted, bored with the slow pace of their breather. “All right,” Jaime told her, checking the ground ahead of them for the maplight. A small, bright pinprick of light, it kept her on the unfamiliar routes scattered near Sherra’s stronghold. After only a few runs, Lady had learned to follow the guide too, which gave Jaime a chance to keep an eye on their surroundings. Not that there was much to see in this forested area. There were few families still staying outside the fields surrounding the village; the rare soul she met on the road was invariably aloof and occasionally hostile.