Water. It suddenly had a blissful sound to it. “You have some I could get to?” she asked hopefully, looking at the faint spell-shimmer around the edges of the bathroom door.
“Rainwater,” he said. “It hasn’t been strained, but it hasn’t killed the cat yet—or me. Check out the window.”
That’s what had been so delicately sniffing at her face. “A cat,” she said. “I probably scared it worse than it scared me.”
“If she wasn’t a spooky little thing, she’d never have lived through Calandre’s invasion,” Arlen said. “She’ll be back.”
Jaime stood on wooden feet, not particularly concerned about her nearly naked lower half. Being watched during torture was a quick road to intimacy, that was for sure. She made it to the window and leaned out. There, on the wide ledge that blended into the rock on the side of the hill, was the cat—a little black and white creature who stared at her with wide eyes, poised to dart away at any sudden move. On the other side of the cat was a small catch basin with a tile pipe that snaked down from the top of the hill, perched to deliver the rain. Outside the bathroom there was a similar arrangement, except the tile ran right into the room.
“Excuse me, kitty,” she said with perfect sincerity, expecting the creature to bolt at her voice. But the cat stood and primly raised its tail, stalking away from the basin as though Jaime had said something rude. Jaime reached for the basin’s dipper and with only a rudimentary check for dead bugs, drank her fill. It was warm, it had a funny taste of minerals, and it was the most wonderful water in the world. She splashed another dipper on her face and carefully scrubbed her hands over it, removing what she could of dried tears and other residue from the day’s activity. Then she turned around and leaned back against the windowsill, groaning, “Oh, I’m so glad that was there.”
“So am I,” Arlen said as she paced back to the couch and retrieved her breeches. After she had wiggled into them, she took another look at her boots and decided to put them on. If Willand came back, it would take all the longer to undress again. With deliberate movements, she worked the calf-snugging field boots onto each foot, so absorbed in the simple task that when Arlen spoke again, it startled her. “Tell me, Jaime, does your world have people such as Calandre?”
After a moment, she said, “Too many of them. Of course, they don’t have magic to play with. They have to make do with guns and bombs and blind political fervor.” Jaime returned to the window, this time looking past the ledge. The view was that of the road she’d come in on and bright green spots of garden punctuating dusty paddocks and lighter green pastures, and she stared at it for quite some time as late afternoon slid into early evening. She thought of the comfortable old farmhouse, and of Keg, who was waiting for them to return, and of a barnful of horses that needed to be fed and exercised, and she forced her thoughts in new directions to wonder at how she’d fit so easily into Camolen life. And finally, when she realized her few moments at the window had turned into many more, she turned back to Arlen and asked, “How can so many things be the same, Arlen? How can you have people, and horses, and carrots and tomatoes, along with the Calandres?”
“That,” he responded, coming to the limits of his shield so he could see her as he spoke, “is something I’d hoped to be able to look into myself.”
Jaime returned to him, and found she had to look up to find his eyes. She said, “Tell me it’s worth it, Arlen. Tell me that all of Carey’s effort, and Jess’s heartbreak, and Eric’s death, and my—” and she couldn’t go on then, had to look down and work out the tremendous lump that filled her throat. Arlen’s voice, as strong and intent as if he hadn’t spent the last months in isolation, brought her gaze back up again.
“I would obliterate the existence of that spell in a moment, if I could,” he said. “I would undo the scores of small decisions that led Calandre down her path, and Carey down the one that led to you. But even magic doesn’t have that power...and the only magic I have left is the spell that will trigger my death.”
Jaime shuddered. She wished she could reach through his barrier and hold him, just because they both needed it so badly—and because her friend Jess had taught her to act on such impulses when they hit, and not shove them away under the veneer of propriety. Unable to breech the shield, she merely hugged herself, which was more of retreat than a comfort.
“Jaime,” he said, and there was such an odd note in his voice that she instantly feared his shield was failing, and that he, therefore, was about to die, but his eyes were focused beyond her, and she jerked around to see what he looked at.
Nothing. A quick glance showed her his attention had not faltered, and she gave it another try. Then, somewhere between one blink and the next, the empty space in the middle of the chairs was full of dun and black movement, pungent horseflesh, and the startled cry and rush of the guard. The needlework and its chair went tumbling backward, driven by the same flashing black leg that collided with the astonished guard and smashed him back against the wall.
Carey—recall—don’t just stand here gawking and Jaime rushed in to take Lady’s reins, pulling her out of the melee so Carey could concentrate on the panicked gelding. She ended up next to the guard whom she unceremoniously kicked in the stomach with her booted foot, turning his efforts to rise into retching instead. She wrenched his short curved sword away as Lady dragged her backwards, and managed to position herself and the snorting dun in the doorway where the guard could not get past them to run for help—although he still panted on the floor, and Jaime was amazed how her surge of hope had given her the strength for that kick, pushing her through the aftereffects of Willand’s sadism.
The black’s hooves beat a nervous tattoo on the floor when Carey finally coerced him into standing in one spot, and the courier turned his attention on the guard and his efforts to crawl inconspicuously away. He put his foot firmly between the man’s shoulder blades and shoved him back to the floor. “Stay put,” Carey commanded. “We don’t want you and we don’t care about you—but if we have to worry about you, that’ll change.”
“She’ll kill me,” the man groaned indistinctly, his words distorted by the hard stone against his cheek.
“She probably will,” Carey agreed coldly. “You’ll have your chance to run in a few minutes. Jaime—” he looked at her for the first time, and stopped short, staring at her face; it took obvious effort to refocus his attention. “Where’s Arlen?”
“On the toilet,” she said without thinking, and then blurted, “I mean—”
A laugh from the small enspelled room cut her off, and Carey turned with relief to the source. “Arlen—stand still!” The last was to the gelding, who’d taken advantage of Carey’s inattention to jerk him around; Carey gave the reins a retaliatory yank and said, “C’mon, Arlen, we’ve got to get started. I thought this gelding would be all right for the stairs but I also think I blew his puny mind with the recall.” Then he craned his neck to try to see his friend, and added, “Are you all right? Can you manage?”
“I’ll manage,” Arlen assured him, although Jaime thought the strength in his voice was a ruse. “But there’s the small matter of a death spell that’s linked to the shielding on this room. It’ll take a minute or two to get it untangled so I can get out of here without triggering my own demise.”
Carey rolled his eyes. “Hurry,” he urged, and turned immediately to Jaime. “Here’s the plan, Jay,” he told her, talking fast. “Lady’s been down these stairs before, and I think the gelding will follow, if he can find his brain before Arlen gets out of the bathroom. We’re counting on surprise—they may know someone jumped in here, but they won’t be expecting two horses on the top floor of the hold. We’re going to do our best to just plow through them. Sherra’s got forces gathering a mile or so out, and if they’re enough of a distraction, we may just be able to keep on plowing, all the way out. Oh, yeah—this may help.” He reached into the black’s saddlebags, a bobbing target on restless haunches, and stretched to hand her a gun while t
he gelding pulled him the other way.
A gun. For a moment Jaime just stared, remembering the things Carey had said about keeping the knowledge of such things from this world. Then she took it, a little ashamed of the relief she felt when its cool metal filled her hand.
“There are five bullets,” Carey said evenly, catching her eye to make sure she really heard him. “Don’t use them unless they can do some good.”
She thrust the gun into the deep pocket of her tunic, and then divested the guard of his sword sheath and belt, which she had to wrap twice around her own waist before she could stow the weapon. When she looked up, Arlen was in the room, leaning against the back of the one chair that was still standing.
“Let’s go,” he said simply.
Carey had only one hand free; he used it to grip Arlen’s upper arm in a tight contact that lasted only a second, his face filled with the expression of a thousand words that wouldn’t quite make it to his tongue.
“I know, Carey,” Arlen said. “I know.”
Carey cleared his throat and said, “Mount up. I’ll be behind you in a moment; don’t worry about handling the horse.”
Jaime gathered Lady’s reins and swung up into the saddle, feeling a definite wrongness in being mounted up in this room at the uppermost level of a stone hold. The stirrups were adjusted for Carey and too long for her; she slung them crossways in front of her to keep them from banging around and looked to Carey. He was just settling himself behind Arlen on the gelding—a much stouter horse than Lady even if he had left his brains somewhere else, as evidenced by his continued capers. Carey reached around Arlen to take the reins, supporting his friend with the cage of his arms.
Then there were voices and footsteps in the stairwell, and Carey nodded to her. “Plow through ’em,” he repeated grimly.
Desperately wishing for the feel of the gun but not daring only one hand on the reins, Jaime gave Lady a firm and sudden squeeze that sent the dun into a startled bold trot down the hall. A strong, double half-halt to gather the dun’s haunches beneath her, to take her into the turn of the stairs balanced and paying absolute attention, and they were doing it, they were lurching and slithering down stairs too narrow for hooves to find good purchase, making one hundred-eighty degree turns in virtual pirouettes while the black followed, sloppily, with much snorted objection and Carey’s blistering commentary—”That was my knee, burn you!”—a commotion loud enough that it almost overwhelmed the startled oath of the young wizard coming to check on Carey’s magical shout of arrival.
“Guards!” the man cried down the stairwell, frantically trying to get out of the way. Jaime rode him down without a second thought, feeling Lady’s slight stumble over top of him, thinking only of the fact that there were others still below. With a raw shout of encouragement, she urged the dun mare downward, trying not to think about what would meet them when they got there.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Nineteen
Lady felt the soft flesh beneath her hooves and quailed inside, ever fearful of uneven footing. She remembered the stairs with Carey—but she remembered them at a much slower pace, and the speed to which Jaime urged her on brought out the sweat of fear on her neck, lathered with the rub of the reins. “Come, Lady,” Jaime said, a firm encouragement not at all like Carey’s wooing tone. But Lady gathered herself to it, and ignored the slips and twists of her feet against carved stone until they were finally on level ground.
The black surged ahead of her then, clearing the way with his bulk and scattering men and women like poorly stacked wood. Jaime abandoned her tightly controlled riding and turned Lady’s head loose, offering one solid thump of her legs to release the speed that waited. Lady knew the way from here, knew how the hall opened up into the stable built at the bottom of the hill. She crowded up against the black’s hindquarters, ignoring the tightly tucked tail of his protest.
Behind them the shouting grew, and a wild arrow clattered against the ceiling above them, scaring Jaime and Lady both so that their balance of togetherness was lost and Lady’s leg skidded out in front of her; Jaime clutched mane and left the reins alone and Lady caught herself, feeling the wrongness in her leg and forgetting it just as quickly as they came to the closed stable door and she slid right into the gelding. Her head knocked Carey out of the saddle and he grabbed it on the way down, using her to control his fall. He landed on his feet, lurching for the door and slamming it aside to leave nothing before them but an empty road. The black wasted no time, bounding forward like a racer at the start while Arlen clutched his mane and fumbled for the reins, an insignificant passenger on the back of power and fear.
“Carey!” Jaime shouted, extending her hand, sticking her foot out while she pulled hard at Lady’s mane to keep her seat. Carey grabbed her hand and used the foot for a step, settling down on Lady’s loins.
“Go,” he shouted, as sharp fire raked across Lady’s thigh, an arrow skimming through her flesh. She bolted forward, trying to adjust to the extra weight and floundering awkwardly while missiles flew around them and two pairs of legs both tried to steady her and urge her on. Then she caught her stride, and the shouts fell away behind them along with the arrows.
The black should have been too far ahead to catch, but he loomed suddenly in her vision, and Jaime’s hands quivered their uncertainty through to the bit as the three men blocking their way became clear. With great effort Lady abandoned her speed, and when Carey slid off to the side of her rump, she stopped short, confused. He stood beside her, his feet planted wide and his hands out straight in front of him, holding an acrid smell that suddenly exploded.
Lady exploded, too, rearing and coming out of it ready to bolt; Jaime caught her with a rein that doubled her back in a tight circle, a circle she rabbited around while Carey stood steadily, his arms jerking up in synchronization with his noise. Then he ran for the gelding, who stood trembling and riveted, refusing to move even after Carey was up and kicking. Jaime released the rein and Lady shot out in front of them, waking the gelding and leading him away from bedlam at her top speed.
After a moment Jaime steadied her to a more deliberate pace, and the gelding drew aside them. Carey motioned for Jaime to follow and took the gelding off the road, guiding them first through plowed garden land and then into sparse woods, where they hit a path Lady knew. She followed its contours with confidence, losing some of her alarm and running now for Carey and Jaime, and running because she could and her spirit swelled when she was asked to do so, even when it was along a path meant for an even trot, even as her muscles took the fire from her lungs and held it into themselves. In front of her, the gelding floundered, unfamiliar with the path and burdened by two. Jaime shouted ahead and Carey only shook his head, moving as close to the edge of the path as he could get, and yelling back over his shoulder, “Run, Lady!”
Her ears flicked up and Lady took the lead in the failing daylight, guiding them over deadfalls, splashing shallow creek water high with her passage, settling into a steady pace—her sense of self-preservation lost to her courage. When she topped the shallow rise and found two men with shiny blades blocking the way to the tiny clearing in the rock-walled basin beyond, Lady never faltered, but charged by them, ignoring Jaime’s cry and thundering down between rock formations to the hollow, where she fought with Jaime over stopping.
People rushed at them; Lady vaguely recognized Dayna and Mark and ignored their fuss and holler of greeting, the way they bumped her as Jaime slid off her back to embrace them, her own stumble as she suddenly felt her lameness. She struggled to make sense of this wrongness in her front leg; it mixed with anger at being hampered and she tried to jerk the reins away from Jaime, utterly unappeased by the soothing noises everyone suddenly made at her.
“Down, Lady,” Carey said, one of her Words but not one she was willing to obey, not now, and she thrashed at the end of the reins—finding in the mindless struggle a relief from the stresses that had driven her there, too full of the run to react any other way. Dra
gging Jaime with her, she careened off one of the jutting rock formations, landing wrong on the leg that suddenly betrayed her, taking her down with its failure.
Instantly, Carey was on her, sitting on her neck up close to her head; so encumbered, she was helpless to rise. She flailed angrily about, her legs scrabbling for purchase they couldn’t find. Carey stayed with her, murmuring desperate pleas until at last she needed breath and lay still, her lungs heaving, her body momentarily stilled, and her brain reaching for that small numb corner that lured her with its understanding of things human.
~~~~~
“By all the Hells,” Carey said wearily, kneeling on Lady’s neck. “Horses can be so stupid sometimes.”
“It’s just the same spirit that got her here,” Jaime snapped. She rubbed the stinging on her thigh and looked down, astonished, when her hand smeared across warm slickness. That last man with his sword, she realized in amazement, and had a brief disagreement with her body about fainting when she saw the surgically neat edges of the shallow wound—and just as quickly decided it was a hundred times better than Willand’s way.
“Back off!” Mark yelled suddenly, staring up at one of the schist outcrops that surrounded them. “Be patient, why don’t you? We’re not going anywhere!” The audacity of the demand either struck a chord or was simply confusing; the blond head that had crept up to survey them withdrew, but Mark stepped back next to one of the hollow’s few trees to stand watch, leaving the refugees to Dayna. “They showed up right after you left, Carey. They’ve been harassing us ever since—figured we were up to something, I guess.”
“They can see most of this hollow from up there,” Carey told him, rubbing his face against the fabric of his sleeve, clearing the sweat that dripped despite the chill of advancing darkness. As one, they looked around the level-floored basin, a refuge that had suddenly become a stage. Except for the few trees that had somehow found a roothold in the rocky ground, there was no cover, and the vertical rock walls, though varied in length and filled with insignificant nooks and crannies, offered no quiet escapes. Carey nodded at the indented finger of space behind him, a niche that might have been a cave if the angled overhang of rock hadn’t found ground so quickly. “Most of this hollow, that is, except for this back corner, where I am. To see this, they have to come out on that point, where they’re just as vulnerable as we are.” In unspoken accord, Jaime, Arlen, and Dayna moved in behind him, out of sight, cautious of Lady’s apparent acquiescence. Arlen sat down on the rocky ground with a sudden thump, looking as dazed and half-crazed as the mare.
The Changespell Saga Page 27