The Changespell Saga

by Doranna Durgin

  “Come, now, Arlen,” Calandre said with a definite trace of irritation. “You’re already losing, bit by bit—you’ve even lost the outer room, and you’re stuck in your own bathroom.” For the first time, Jaime realized the seat Arlen perched on with such aplomb was a wooden toilet, and that there was a washbasin next to him, and that the brown thing peeking out into her field of view was a fancy wooden tub. “What next, you’ll be stuck only on the toilet? Or perhaps you’ll try to convert the spell to a personal shield. Very risky in your condition. And of course by then, your courier will be...” she glanced at Jaime, “a very unhappy woman.”

  “I can see that,” Arlen replied acerbically. “You’ve obviously started in on her already.”

  Calandre laughed. “Oh, no. I assure you, when my people use someone as leverage, there is no mistaking the results. This is just the side effect of her capture—I told you our little skirmish is spreading out beyond this ugly little stone den of yours.”

  “You’re a disturbed woman, Calandre,” Arlen murmured in a curiously detached voice.

  “I like this place,” Jaime dared to mutter.

  “Yes, dear, you’re very loyal,” Calandre said. She held her elbows again, regarding Arlen with complete composure. “I might even give you the night to yourself; you can spend the hours looking forward to tomorrow.”

  Bitch. Jaime gave her an even stare, a complete bluff.

  “You might not need it,” Arlen said. “Give me a few minutes with her. Give me time to see what’s been happening. I may decide there’s no point in keeping the spell from you anymore.”

  “Very good. You said that with a straight face.”

  Arlen shrugged. “What can you lose, Calandre? If you’re in luck she’ll spend the time pleading with me to help her—as you can see, she’s certainly not going to do that while you’re here.”

  “Not today, anyway. However...” she glanced first at Willand and then over her shoulder at the guard. “You searched her for weapons or spell stones?”

  Willand nodded with satisfaction. “She had a protection stone, that’s all. And a small knife, of course, but Gerrant has that now.”

  “Well, then.” Calandre gave Jaime another hard look. “Beg well, Jaime. Your future depends on it.” She turned her back on them and marched out of the room, followed by Willand, who could not help a few doubting, backward glances.

  Jaime couldn’t believe it. “Just like that?” she asked incredulously.

  “Nothing is ever just like that,” Arlen said. “Now, tell me the things you think I most need to know.”

  Jaime hesitated. “What if she listens?”

  “She can’t, not in these rooms. Quickly, now, don’t waste what little time we may have!” His tired voice slid into command mode and though it made her prickle, she balked no longer.

  “I met Carey on a different world, my world. It’s—well, it’s too complicated to go into, but we ended up back here—three of us, and Carey and Jess. Carey gave Sherra the spell, and she’s got everyone working on a check for it. I’ve been riding with her couriers to coordinate the whole thing, and I was on a run when Willand and her pals got me.” She thought a moment and added reluctantly, “Carey wanted to come get you—he said something about a special recall—but Sherra wouldn’t let him. She didn’t want to set Calandre off. It looks like Calandre’s out causing trouble anyway.”

  “Jess?” Arlen murmured, taking her news about the lack of forthcoming rescue with a thoughtful nod.

  “Lady. The magic turned her into a woman on my world. She’s a horse again, though—that’s who I was riding. I sent her back to Sherra’s, so they should be able to figure out I didn’t just lose my way.”

  “I suppose that’s how you got those battle scars. Willand and her errand boys wouldn’t have liked that.”

  Jaime scowled, even though it hurt. “Willand. That woman belongs in a bad beach movie, damn perky little nose of hers. I wish it could feel like mine does right now.”

  “Yes, well...I’m afraid, my dear, that your nose may be the least of it before this is over.”

  “Is this where I’m supposed to beg?” Jaime asked, suddenly realizing how sick her stomach felt. “I’ve never done that before, but I think I could get real good at it.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, he shook his head. “I can be of no help to you. This is more important that either of us, although it must seem particularly unfair to you. At least I got myself into this mess. And you must know by now that there is very little chance of rescue from Sherra—not that I blame her. It’s the right decision.”

  Right. “What...what do you think they’ll do to me?” Jaime asked in a low voice. Something graphic, no doubt, something to make an impression on Arlen. Her imagination took over and ran, presenting her with scenes of torture that came straight from the Inquisition.

  “Jaime, don’t,” Arlen said. “Listen to me. This won’t go on for long—it may not happen at all. I haven’t eaten in...well, a couple of days, now. I moved preserved rations up here the same day I sent Carey out, but I didn’t plan on being closed in this long. I don’t get much sleep—the guards all have orders to rouse me. Calandre is right when she says I won’t be able to keep this up much longer.”

  “At least you chose the right room to defend,” Jaime commented, trying hard for a lighter atmosphere.

  Arlen smiled, a weary looking expression almost hidden in his scruffy beard. “When it first became obvious that no one was going to help—though Sherra did try at first, and Calandre was delighted to tell me Sherra couldn’t get through her shields—I tied a second spell in with my shield spell. When it finally fails, I will die.”

  “But—” Jaime said, startled; then her protest died unvoiced, as she realized his genuine acceptance of such a fate. “I keep hearing about Ninth Level this and Ninth Level that, but no one’s said anything about God. Do you have a god to pray to, Arlen?”

  Arlen shook his head, brow creased, and Jaime suddenly realized that the word god had come out in English. “How can you have heaven without—”

  “You didn’t change his mind, did you?” Calandre said from just inside the big room. “I didn’t think you would—but I can be as indulgent as the next person, when I feel like it.”

  Jaime gave Arlen a searching look, trying to find that which had sustained him through his harrowing imprisonment—something that she could use for herself. He gave her a sad smile, and she said, “I don’t think I’ll be very good at this, Arlen. Don’t hold it against me if I do try to change your mind, later.”

  “No,” he said simply. “I won’t.”

  ~~~~~

  The sudden three-tiered call of a morning owl brought Carey out of his thoughts and he glanced through the deep gray light of dawn to the indistinct figures who followed him through this lightly wooded area. They still panted after the ascent up the steep, shaley hill that loomed over the dry riverbed, but no one’s saddle was sneaking backwards, and the horses still looked good.

  At first he’d chafed at the way Mark and Dayna slowed him, resenting every extra moment between this one and the one in which he planned to trigger the special recall, but as the miles passed and neither of his neophyte riders ventured a complaint, the uncharitable thoughts faded. They were doing their best, and he’d be foolish to push them so hard that they had nothing left when he needed back-up in the little hollow he’d chosen for their camp.

  Their departure had been straightforward, if not as simple as Carey had hoped. With most of the hold occupants busy in the village and many of the foot soldiers escorting slow-moving wizards around, he had casually and without ceremony walked through the threshold spell that was supposed to keep him in the room. The three conspirators had armed themselves with food pilfered from the kitchen and walked quietly to the barn. The horses were snorty and curious about the late night activity but ultimately accepting; the trio left the barn with nary a wayward whinny, and with three of Sherra’s precious horses and Lady.

&n
bsp; It was the gate that had almost tripped them up. The guard had turned out to be a man new enough to the post that he was still looking for excuses to use his authority, such as it was, and he seemed almost eager for them to create a disturbance.

  Katrie had appeared to ease the way for them. Katrie, whom Jaime had first fought, and then gained as a friend—and who knew who Carey was, and where he should have been. Out and about on her own business, she was drawn to the commotion in front of the closed gate. In a brightly stitched, suspiciously rumpled tunic, still hand in hand with a man who was obviously smitten by her, she told the troublesome guard that Carey, his two friends, and his extra horse were known to her and were classed as good folk, not to be harassed. She held Carey’s eye while the disgruntled man went to open the heavy gate, and said evenly, “Just bring her back.”

  For that role in events, Carey had no doubt there would be a price—and that she would face it head on. It was a gift he accepted without guilt or hesitation, and now he wondered if he should have asked her to join them despite the delay it would have caused. Instead, he had two earnest but out-classed and tired friends from another world.

  A chorus of trilling birds had joined the morning owl, and Carey gave another look over his shoulder. This was their second dawn of summer-heat travel and about time to call it quits for a few hours, so they would be well rested—or as close to it as they could get—for the final approach to the hollow. Dayna was right behind him on the little smooth-gaited bay Mark had quickly labeled Fahrvegnügan, a name that seemed to amuse Mark and made Dayna give him one of her grow up looks. Mark rode on a rangy, cold-backed gray who would cheerfully ignore the banging his rider might inflict upon him while just as cheerfully barging through, past and over any obstacles in his path. Carey rode the big black horse he’d come to know fairly well, and following him on a loose lead line was Dun Lady’s Jess—the one horse who’d already taken the stairway in the hold.

  A shift of his weight and the gelding stopped, patiently mouthing the bit while Carey waited for the others to draw abreast. “We’ll hit some thicker woods in half an hour or so,” he said, prompting them both to check their watches. “As soon as we do, we’ll eat a bite and grab some sleep. After that, it’s only another couple hours to the hollow I was talking about. You two holding up all right?”

  Mark groaned expressively in response, but Dayna had the same look she’d kept during their interminable run from the pickup truck toward Sherra’s—drawn, tired, and not about to admit it. Well, a couple hours sleep would do her some good—and after he’d invoked the recall, she’d have all the time it took him to return to the hollow by horseback. It would have to be enough.

  He touched the gelding with his calves and turned toward the distant hollow.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You want me to what?” Jaime stared at Willand, a blunt and defiant expression.

  Willand studied her long fingernails in a posture of boredom. “I’m quite certain you heard me the first time, but I’ll repeat it anyway. Take off your clothes.”

  Jaime looked at Arlen, a request for guidance. He returned a grave countenance, one that told her there would be no easy answers here. They’d had a virtually sleepless night during which they exchanged bits and pieces of their lives with one another, for Calandre had returned only long enough to tell them they would have the benefit of one another’s company for the duration—a more convenient arrangement than ferrying Jaime from place to place. The guard’s replacement had carried up a breakfast meal that was so good Jaime knew it had to have been solely for Arlen’s benefit. She’d tried to refuse it, but he wouldn’t let her and she hadn’t argued with him; it would have been a pointless gesture to go hungry.

  Now she was suddenly afraid that breakfast would stage a reappearance. She vowed she would at least wait until Willand was within range, and clamped her jaw on the taste of bile etching at the back of her tongue.

  “You know,” Willand said suddenly, shooting her a dangerous look, there and then gone again as she continued to contemplate her manicure, “this can be a lot worse than I had planned. It’s up to you.”

  Jaime’s hands strayed to her tunic, nervously smoothing the closely woven material and running over the belt-loops of her culturally alien breeches beneath. Another glance at Arlen showed he’d deliberately turned his back. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and shrugged the tunic over her head, dropping it on top of the knee-high riding boots she’d removed the evening before. Her thin linen camisole offered little coverage, but suddenly she felt very attached to it.

  “Oh, be reasonable, Arlen. We knew you’d try this, the I’m not watching ploy. Do you think you can not listen as well? You’d better be listening now, because I’m telling you that if you don’t pay proper attention, we’ll just kill her right now.”

  Blonde beach bimbo, Jaime thought in amazement, wondering how such a thoroughly depraved person could be hidden behind that face, and how she ever could have missed it at first glance.

  “You’re going to kill her anyway, in the end,” Arlen said heavily, still facing away from them. Jaime’s hands hesitated by the snap of her breeches, and Willand made an imperious gesture that commanded her to wait until this little discussion was over.

  “Maybe we’ll kill her, maybe we won’t. The point is, unless you participate I’ll just do it right now. After all, as long as she’s alive, there’s some chance you might be able to save her—that’s worth playing the game, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t play games, Willand, especially not the kind of games Calandre is fond of. But...Jaime, it’s up to you.” He turned his head ever so slightly, just enough to let her know he waited for a reply. “If it helps, you should know that this is no idle threat. They won’t bother to keep you alive if you’re of no use to them.” His voice sounded tired, the weariness of someone who has already seen too much.

  Great choice, Jaime thought. Die now, or endure torture and then probably die later anyway. Her trembling hands found the fingered the snap at her waist and she said, “I’m sorry, Arlen, but I’m not ready to give up yet.” I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to watch this.

  He turned around as the breeches slid past her hips and down to the floor. She stepped out of them and deliberately lay them on top of the tunic, her eyes on Arlen’s and finding if she had that compassionate dark gaze to look into, she had the strength to pull the soft linen undershirt over her head and to wiggle out of her briefs as well. And then she just stood there, looking at him, and gratified to discover there was approval there—not in what she was, the sturdy, well-shaped rider’s body she had revealed, but in who she was, and in who she’d just chosen to be.

  Willand relaxed noticeably, in complete control of them again. In swift, graceful gestures, she touched Jaime’s wrists, biceps and ankles, and Jaime’s already racing pulse edged into panic as invisible manacles closed around her limbs, trapping her upright at the edge of the thick worn rug; she put her weight against the restraints at her wrists and felt no give at all. She would stand whether she chose to or not. This was happening, it was real, it was—

  Agony. Willand’s light touch, tracing lines of fire from the notch of her throat down between her breasts and all the way past her navel. Jaime wrenched away from her, screaming as much from surprise as the pain. Willand’s finger lost contact, the pain faded, and Jaime found she was choking on breakfast, gasping and spitting, trying to clear her mouth so she could breath. She had only enough time for the far too brief satisfaction of seeing Willand’s fouled dress before that neat, ladylike finger touched her again, and the world disappeared into vision grayed by the force of her screaming as lines of fire traced intimate routes across her body.

  ~~~~~

  “Jaime.”

  She became aware of herself again, of the slightly rough fabric against her hypersensitive skin. Delicate puffs of breath against her eyelids startled her, and the couch stirred with light footfal
ls of some creature running away. She was, she realized, still unclothed, but at the moment it didn’t seem to matter much.

  “Jaime.” A quiet voice. Tired. Concerned.

  Her mouth was dry and tasted vile. “That bitch,” she muttered, words that barely made it into actual sound.

  Relief and some amusement touched the voice that responded. “So you told her, and more than once.”

  She was on the couch, that’s where, and that meant her clothes were on the floor next to her dangling arm. She groped for them, the arm strangely lifeless, her eyes not quite yet willing to open and face what might be waiting for her. Ah, that felt like her underwear, all right.

  “She’s gone. I don’t think she’ll be back for a while. From what I could gather, there are forces moving in around the hold—still some distance out, but obviously readying for approach.”

  “And suddenly I’m not that important any more,” Jaime said resentfully, finally opening her eyes as she sat up and slowly, like a creaky old woman, fumbled to get her underwear over her feet. There was no separate ache or pain to plague her, but a general malaise that gripped each and every part of her body, echoes of the torment Willand had visited upon her. Jaime got herself dressed as far as the tunic, and then just sat there, worn and directionless, trying to evade the forever crystalline memories of her torture.

  “Would you like a drink?” Arlen asked.

  She glanced at him. He sat on his chosen throne, resting his chin in his palm, and she searched his expression for any taint of judgment or censure at the way she’d reacted to Willand’s games. She didn’t think she saw any, unless it was a reflection of her own disappointment in herself. She hadn’t thought she’d buckle so easily, that she wouldn’t have any resistance at all.

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t have any secrets they wanted,” she said bitterly, self-reproachfully.

  “Oh, Jaime, don’t start down that road,” Arlen said in gentle admonishment. “Why do you think I’ve locked myself in my own bathroom? It’s because I know better than to think I could endure what you’ve been through and not tell every secret I ever knew. Now, how about that water?”