Lady did not underestimate them; the Jess within her knew not to. She stood stock still, now, intensely attentive—and Ramble, taking cues, did the same.
Arlen crossed his arms and leaned against the tree. “You people are something else. The sky is falling and you’re trying to kill the one person who can stop it.”
They exchanged a glance among themselves and came on.
Arlen flicked a spellstone out onto the trail, invoking it in mid-air. Garish colors blazed to life, with words and a distorted image of a man and woman exchanging sappy looks.
The agents flinched, stopping short.
Arlen smiled happily. “You certainly seem to know the implications of throwing silly little spells around. We were lucky with that one... imagine what would happen, for instance, if I decided to spell-shave? I really need one, you know.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw and frowned.
“You couldn’t be so stupid,” the woman said.
“Stupid would be to let you get closer. Stupid would be if I was you, coming after me.” Arlen tilted his head, a faintly derisive gesture. “Or has SpellForge got you convinced that things are under control?”
“There’s already a permalight checkspell in place,” the woman said. “Things are under control.”
“Don’t talk to him,” the older man said, disgusted. “Just—”
Arlen overrode him without a glance. “You think so?” he asked the woman. “Because I don’t. Of course, we don’t have to take my enlightened word for it.” He held out his hand; a single stone nestled in the palm. “We can give it a try.”
He tossed the stone at her; she caught it without thinking, displaying the reflexes Lady had feared she would possess. “Don’t worry,” Arlen said. “I can trigger it from here.”
The older man scoffed. “No one can do that.”
“You think not?” Arlen said. “I just did it with the calling-stone. Of course, it’s your life to risk.”
“It’s one of the permalight stones, all right,” the woman said, with a hint of dismay—or disgust. Abruptly, she flung it away; it fell into the woods with a plopping sound no louder than the dripping rain.
Arlen recrossed his arms. “Of course,” he said, “the good thing about being a wizard is that you don’t need spellstones. Sometimes it’s nice to customize things.” He rubbed his jaw again, gave a thoughtful frown...
Lady felt the flicker of magic—and the agents backed away, looking around with alarm... waiting for the woods to spring to life around them.
Arlen calmly rubbed his fingers across his cheeks, leaving them clear of stubble. “Much better,” he said. “Shall we see if we get a reaction to the next one?”
“They told us you would think yourself clever,” the older man said. “Do you know how many people are converging on that little display of magic? Sooner or later, we’ll catch you off-guard.”
“I doubt that,” Arlen said, offering Lady a small, hard smile. Counting on her. “It does amaze me that you’ll keep trying. But right now I want only one thing—to stop the damage. No, two things... to find a way to fix it.”
“Our people can do that without you,” the agent said. “Your interference will only make it harder.”
Arlen snorted gently. “You mean, my intention to reveal the cause to the rest of Camolen. That would be inconvenient for SpellForge, wouldn’t it?” He straightened from his casual slouch against the tree. “You tried to stop me from figuring it out and couldn’t; you’ve tried to stop me from doing something about it and won’t. You killed my friends—and the world will know it. I suggest you go back and warn SpellForge to get ready. Unless you’re truly not interested in going anywhere else at all.” He added, gently, in case they didn’t quite follow, “Ever.”
The bigger man made a snarling noise, inarticulate and frustrated defeat, as he spun on his heel and stalked away. With reluctance, the older man followed... and then the woman, although she looked over her shoulder once or twice while she was at it, showing reluctance of a different nature.
She’d been convinced... and she was afraid.
But not of Arlen. Not anymore.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Thirty-One
The magic hit Dayna like a blow.
Distorted it might be, but she knew that signature when she felt it, even a trickle of it. The signature of a dead man.
In the turmoil of the hold, no one immediately noticed her gasping reaction. She sat in the back of the job room with Suliya while Gifferd inserted himself in a conversation between Natt, Jaime, and a courier named Linton, stabbing a finger at the assignment board beside the mangle-riddled map.
The signature of a—
“These are couriers,” Gifferd said as Dayna remembered to breath, her mind and heart racing. “They don’t have training to work with the public in a crisis situation. Especially not when it comes to appropriating property.”
“And you’re not even a guest here,” Natt said, sending him a withering look for the interruption. “You’re an intruder.”
“I’m right,” Gifferd corrected him, unfazed.
Arlen. Are you really out there?
Natt folded his arms over his soft belly. “Gathering the permalight stones is the only certain way to stop their use.”
“Natt’s right,” Jaime said. “There will always be people who think they’re the exception. That it won’t matter if they use just one little spellstone.”
Do it again, Arlen. I can’t say anything to them unless I’m certain. I just can’t.
Linton crossed his arms, looking tense. “You’re right. But Gifferd’s right, too.”
Gifferd’s mildly annoyed expression spoke volumes to Dayna; the others didn’t seem to notice. “The couriers should have a plan for those who won’t cooperate—that’s all I’m saying.”
“You should know what it takes,” Suliya said under her breath.
Please, Arlen...
“What, then, do you suggest?” Natt asked—but not as if he truly wanted Gifferd to have an answer.
Gifferd hitched a hip over the edge of the desk, a relaxed contrast—here, in what could be considered enemy territory. “First, the couriers move fast today. They should simply spread the word, and assign spellstone drop-off areas. Second wave, the couriers go home to home, checking for chits of surrender. Third wave, send someone with more authority around with the list of those without chits.”
Arlen—!
“And eventually, send someone like you?” Natt asked, accusation in his voice.
But Gifferd only nodded, implacable. “Eventually, yes. But start with spreading the word as widely as possible and making it easy for people to comply with surrender.”
Jaime gave him a skeptical look. “Your colleagues started right off with threats.”
Gifferd shook his head. “Not by my choice. Force is a last resort.”
“Which doesn’t mean you’re not prepared to use it, as Carey can burnin’ well tell you,” Suliya said, louder this time.
Gifferd’s flatly implacable look sent her into retreat. “Ask him,” he said, “how many times I warned him.”
Arlen, I’m not even kidding. If that was you, then—
Oh, never mind. Dayna had never been one for waiting. Distancing herself from the clamor of the job room, she reached gently for the feel of Arlen, keeping the effort to the lowest possible trickle of magic with this effort that hardly used magic at all.
Who?
His response was so strong, so clear, Dayna jerked with surprise. “Arlen!”
Silence fell. Jaime descended upon her, taking her upper arms in a punishing grip—wild-eyed Jaime, and not someone Dayna thought she knew. “What about Arlen?”
“Whoa, Jaime—” Linton said, uncertainty on his long features.
“What about Arlen?”
“I—he—”
Gifferd somehow came between them, an impenetrable barrier. “Maybe if you stop shaking her.”
“Dayna!” Jaime pleaded.
Dayna searched Jaime’s brown eyes in stunned wonder. “He’s alive. I just... I just spoke to him.”
“Magic?” Gifferd turned on Dayna as if he might give her a shake.
The others turned on him all at once—Arlen’s colleagues and friends and his lover, all snapping “Shut up!” before crowding back to Dayna, a tight semi-circle of anxious faces that made her want to run.
“Back off, guys,” she said, gaining strength in her tone. “I felt a spell with his signature and I went looking—”
“Is he okay? Where is he? Where has he been?” Questions tumbled out of Jaime; she looked as though she could barely restrain herself from grabbing Dayna again. “Are you sure? Are you really sure? God, Dayna, if you’re wrong about this, if you make me believe—”
She stopped short, gulping an uncontrollable but silent sob, and spun away from them all to hide her face in her hands. Linton, Natt, even Suliya—all took a step toward her, reaching out and then stopping short in uncertainty.
It was Dayna who rose and gently touched Jaime’s back, talking to the bowed head and its obscuring fall of sienna-brown hair. “I’m sure,” she said gently. “He’s not far from here, and he sounded strong. I should talk to him, don’t you think?”
Jaime nodded most emphatically without lifting her head from her hands, drawing a short laugh from Natt; a glance showed him red-eyed, but with hope in his eyes.
“Okay, then.” Still gentle, Dayna said as reassuringly as possible, “I’ll find out what I can.”
“Ask him—” Natt started, and then the other were all talking at once, suggesting their own questions, hemming her in with noise.
“The magic—” Gifferd said again, overriding them all.
Dayna faced him head on. “We’re whispering,” she said. “It’s barely magic at all. And I know it’s a risk. But if anyone can get Camolen out of this mess—”
“The risk is to huddle here in fear,” Natt agreed. “To not make contact with him.”
When it came to Gifferd, Dayna took nothing for granted—not even whether he’d take her down if he thought it was the only way to stop her. She gave him her narrow-eyed you can try expression.
He didn’t take a step back so much as he shifted his intent, but she nodded. “Let’s do this, then. But I need some space!” She returned to the chair, and before her bottom even hit wood, she went looking. Arlen?
A long moment passed, long enough so fear tightened her chest.
And then there he was. Thought I’d scared you off.
Voices from beyond the grave can do that, she told him, not sparing the sardonic tone.
Arlen, never offended by Dayna’s blunt nature, said only, I know. I’m sorry. I had no choice, and beyond that it’s a long story.
Where are you?
She got a brief image of woods, random mangles, three horses. Lady. Ramble. And an ugly dark gelding.
He said, Not far from Anfeald, but completely blocked from this approach. On my way to the peacekeepers if I can make it. Dayna, you have to pass the word; the corruptions are caused—
SpellForge! Dayna said, talking right over him. The permalight spells!
Ah. Looks like you’ve done fairly well without me.
Hardly. Quickly, she sketched for him their trip to Ohio, their failure with Ramble, their encounter with Gifferd... and the grave condition of his head courier.
After a moment—just long enough to make her anxious—she felt the faint gust of his sigh. Carey’s got a knack for putting results above survival, he said, and she could tell by the faint echo that he’d said it aloud. Oh, Hells, that was a mistake—Lady, no—no changespell! We already talked about this—no, whoa. Whoa!
For another long moment Dayna heard nothing but background static, magic with enough twist to make her queasy. In her physical ear, a voice became insistent. “Dayna, what’s going on? Are you all right?”
She held up a hand to forestall the interruption, just in time for Arlen’s harried return. I’ve only got a moment, I’ve got to deal with Lady—my big mouth... listen, Dayna, you’ve got to take steps to get those light spells under control.
We are.
And you’ve got to send someone to the peacekeepers, in case I don’t make it.
She grimaced, but had to acknowledge the sense of it. We will.
And here’s the big thing. We’ve got to create a shield to protect people from the—what did you call them? Mangles? Yes, good name. I’ve been working on it—
Inverted shields! Dayna blurted without thinking. With the magic on the outside!
You have done well without me, he said, but his inner voice was dry enough to cause her chagrin. I’ve been working on it. Don’t you even try—we can’t have raw magic in play. None. You understand that, right?
She nodded, knowing he’d perceive it.
My difficulty is in making the interior free of magic, he told her. I’ve visited Jaime on your world, but I always had a connection to Camolen. I don’t know what no magic feels like. And until I do—
There was silence between them, but only for a moment. Only long enough for Dayna to consider and discard the ramifications of letting him go deeper, beyond the surface of her thoughts. You want to borrow a memory?
She felt his slow grin.
~~~~~
“I’ll be right back,” Arlen told Dayna, maintaining fine control of the faint magic with all the finesse he could muster, sitting at the base of a tree with the roots framing his feet. He gave the unstable woods an uneasy eye, overwhelmed by events... by changes.
Jaime was still here. Guides, what he’d done to her unskilled mind with his attempts to communicate... and she’d never even known it was him.
And Dayna and Carey and Jess had gone to Ohio with the surviving stallion, and returned full of fire and intent and Dayna’s wild, intuitive skills. Absence of magic. So that’s what it felt like.
And Carey, now barely hanging on.
Lady pawed the ground, dangerously close to his toes, and snorted on him—still on the verge of changing.
He dabbed the raw skin of his cheek, and wondered if he could slice the changespell braids from behind her ear before she battered him away. “Please,” he said. “No. Changing here will kill you, and you’ll be no closer to Carey.”
She shook her head in a snakey threat, flattening her ears.
“You are,” he said, “more opinionated in this form than I remember.”
She pawed the ground. Damp dirt scattered across his worn buttercorn-colored boots.
“Don’t be rude. Do you think this is my fault?” He stood abruptly and she whipped her head up to eye him from above, her nose pulled to a long and prissy expression and very much in his space.
Unimpressed, he waved at her; she shied wildly away as though he might strike her and he was unimpressed by that, too. “Look at me,” he said, pointing at his own face. It still burned from the shave-spell. “Smell it if your eyes aren’t up to the job. That little shaving trick of mine may not have triggered any mangles, but even a little spell like that is hardly reliable.”
Unconvinced but warily responsive, she ran her whiskers over his face, whiffing hot breath on painful skin as she took in the odor of pinprick blood and serum. “One hell of a brush burn, and I’m lucky it’s only that. If you change, you’ll kill us all.”
She backed a step, snorted hard, and pawed at the ground... but this time he felt a difference in her. Not Lady being pushy, but Lady unable to communicate. Bobbing her head at the tree, giving her nose a little flip. Frustrated and resentful.
Realization bloomed. “Talking to Dayna takes hardly any magic at all once the first connection is made—which we did more or less inadvertently. And if you’ll let me finish this conversation, I can finally build us a shield against the mangles.” He cocked his head at her. “Let me talk to Dayna, and then we’ll head for the peacekeepers. You think you can give me a ride?”
She stood quietly, suddenly looking like nothing
more than the average horse—until she sidled up to him, lipping his jacket in a coquettish manner, gently rubbing her brow against his chest. He laughed. “Aren’t you just the charmer. No wonder Carey—oof!”
She did it again, bumping him hard.
“Carey,” he said cautiously—and then warded off another shove. Of course. She still wants to know. “He’s back, along with Dayna and Suliya and a man named Gifferd. I gather there was some kind of fight—”
Up down, up down; her head bobbed fast enough to make her thick black mane fly.
“You know he’s been hurt? A remoblade.”
She knew. This time she stood quite still, watching him intently, waiting for his next words.
He gave her the truth. “The only way to save him is to make it safe to use healing magic. And that means getting to the peacekeepers. So it’s up to you—you can change back to Jess, die in the process, and leave Carey to die after you... or you can get me to the peacekeepers and help save him.”
Even with her equine comprehension, with her limited ability to follow the arguments he’d made, he was sure she understood the gist of his words.
And that meant she had no choice at all.
~~~~~
Jaime hesitated just inside the doorway of the darkened first floor room, her hand still trailing on the ornate metal door latch.
After a moment her eyes adjusted enough to find the cot-sized bed in the back corner, and to convince herself she saw a hint of Carey’s dark blond hair on the pillow. Her voice brimmed with rampaging joy. “Arlen’s alive, Carey.”
The sheets rustled; she opened the door just a little wider, bringing more light to the room and its simple furnishings.
He probably tried to say something, but it came out as a grinding cough. She let herself in to sit by the bed, hesitating to reach out to him and doing it anyway, a simple hand on his shoulder.
They’d almost always been allies, but they’d never been friends.
“Arlen,” he said finally, coming up on his elbow to look at her—keeping his voice low; keeping his words short.
“He’s not far. And he’s worked up a shield against the mangles.” She hunted for the easiest summary. “If you hadn’t come back—you and Dayna and Suliya and even that goon Gifferd—we’d never have managed. Arlen knew what had to be done, but we couldn’t make contact with him without Dayna—and he wouldn’t have been able to complete the shield spell without her.”
The Changespell Saga Page 85