The Changespell Saga

by Doranna Durgin

  “Did nothing,” he said, the wry tone somehow coming through in his altered voice and interrupted words.

  Jaime shook her head. “You’re the one who holds everyone together. The nexus. I don’t know that we’d ever come together with solutions if you weren’t there to charge off with them.” She wrinkled her nose. “Even if we’re usually just heading into trouble.”

  He snorted, then brought the back of his hand across his mouth; blood looked black in the low light.

  Jaime offered him an already stained damp cloth from the bowl beside the bed, trying to stay matter-of-fact. “We need to finish collecting all the permalight stones. Arlen is heading for the peacekeepers—so are we, in case he doesn’t make it. There are SpellForge goons after him, and they think SpellForge has everything under control.”

  Carey made a muted noise, its derisive nature clear enough.

  “I think SpellForge has its collective heads up its collective butts,” Jaime agreed. “So Dayna has Arlen’s new shield spell, though she’s worried about invoking it without trickling in raw magic, which would pretty much be the end of us.” She glanced at him. “Your job is to hang in until we get things stabilized enough that Healer Simney can use some serious magic.”

  Sooner or later, Simney had said, his lungs will give out. And so will his body.

  Simney didn’t use terms like falling blood pressure or spiking heart rate. Then again, she didn’t have to. The grey of Carey’s face, even in this poor light... the blue of his lips. They told enough of the story.

  Now he took a few quick stuttering breaths and said all at once, “Tell Jess I’m sorry.”

  Tell her yourself would have been the standard reaction, but Carey wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t needed to know she would do it. Jaime shrugged, gripped by the sudden sadness of the moment. “It won’t hurt her to hear it twice. But... just get better, okay? We... need you.”

  He grinned, real humor, and said, “Bet that hurt.”

  She scowled at him. “Get better so I can hit you.”

  “Good,” he said, settling back down on the bed like a collapsing feather pillow. “Now I know... you’re ready to go kick... some SpellForge butt.”

  “You watched too much television at my place,” she told him, but he was right.

  She was ready.

  ~~~~~

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Keeping Arlen balanced behind her withers turned into more of a challenge than Lady had expected. His seat bones were sharp, his legs were long, and his balance...

  Nonexistent.

  He wound his fingers in her mane, letting her choose the trail and the pace. She offered a sloppy little jog, something he could sit but which kept them moving; she slipped into an easy canter only on the sections of trail she knew to be smooth.

  Ramble followed just behind her, and Grunt trailed behind them both—loaded up and wearing his halter, but on his own since the first time he’d lagged and jerked Arlen right off Lady’s back.

  Arlen fell the second time after he’d inadvertently cued her to canter and she’d done it. Now she did her best to ignore his sloppy accidental signals.

  Exhausting, trying to shove herself back under Arlen when his balance wavered. Numbing, to carry someone who didn’t speak with his body. And at the same time...

  Exhilarating, to be the one in charge.

  No gentle acquiescence to the bit, no soft response to someone else’s choices... human choices, and Lady now understood that human choices would always put human needs above equine needs.

  Perhaps that was just the natural order of things. Lady—on her own—put equine needs first; as Jess she tried to balance them. Lady under saddle and under halter had always given over her choices to humans. To Carey.

  It stunned her that she could even think of doing otherwise. It made her want to buck and squeal and leap, too full of freedom to keep it inside. I am myself. Horse or human.

  But she didn’t buck or squeal or leap. She kept Arlen on her back, she dodged mangles in the trail, she picked her way through off-trail detours, and she headed for the peacekeeper’s hold. By choice.

  Because to do otherwise meant Carey’s death, and the desire to make her own decisions had nothing to do with her feelings of loyalty as Lady and the almost unbearable worry from her sublimated Jess self.

  Horse scent tingled in the breeze as they approached the trail fork from Anfeald hold; she lifted her head, hunting the source as it mingled with the stench of a mangle in process at the edge of the trail. Jaime? Dayna? And—?

  Ramble called out challenge, a great deep cry punctuated by huffing grunts. Several horses answered, and Lady’s ears pricked to Jaime’s faint and anxious call. “Arlen?”

  Jaime!

  Lady picked up speed; Arlen clamped long legs hard to her sides. She broke into a startled canter, a choppy gait full of the contradictions within.

  “O-oh no,” Arlen said, his teeth clicking as he bounced; he yanked on her mane. “Whoa!”

  With the trail juncture in sight and full of milling horses, she caught finally wind of others. On foot, in the woods around them... closing in.

  Too close.

  “Whoa!” Arlen cried, still unaware, clenching her barrel and hauling on her mane.

  Too close. Here!

  A figure emerged from camouflage in a rustle of leaves and dull brush at her feet, wielding a long blade. At Arlen. Who was crying whoa and whoa! And bouncing and with no idea at all—

  Quite abruptly Lady did just as she’d been told. Whoa! She tucked her butt and dropped her head and Arlen flew neatly over her withers, rolling onward and out of reach. The long blade flashed down to score her shoulder and she kicked out wildly as it descended again.

  Ramble screamed challenge and knocked her aside, knocked her down—

  She leaped wildly as she fell—trying to avoid Arlen’s sprawling figure, trying to avoid the mangle in progress, well aware that more agents converged upon them...

  Armed men and women, ready to turn their hunt into a kill.

  ~~~~~

  “Arlen!” Jaime screamed, her cry of greeting turning to one of horror as the woods disgorged brown-clad agents—only a handful, but how many did it take to kill a man gone head-over-heels off his horse?

  Lady herself hit the ground hard just behind him, legs splayed and thrashing as she fought to right herself. Ramble screamed again, this time with pain, and then the man he’d engaged screamed as well—but only for an instant.

  “Burnin’ poot!” Suliya cried.

  Jaime didn’t waste breath on curses; she jammed startling heels into her mount’s sides and charged across the trail to Arlen. Gifferd’s horse surged forward to block her way, shoving her gelding aside with such force that the horse almost went down; Jaime gave rein, clutching mane and urging the horse forward forward forward to keep its feet as Gifferd surged ahead into the melee. A dark brown packhorse trotted by with choppy, anxious steps.

  “Close up!” Dayna shouted behind her. “We can use the shield—!”

  Closing up was just was Jaime had in mind—but now she hesitated, confused by the action. Lady struggled back to her feet, blood splashed on her buckskin dun coat, black mane and tail flying; she spotted an agent heading for Arlen and lunged for him. Ramble struggled to rise, one hamstrung leg giving way beneath him. Gifferd jammed his horse between Arlen and yet another attacker, and would have flung himself off to join the fray if he hadn’t suddenly staggered in the saddle, his eyes gone wide and surprised.

  But he’d given Arlen the time to get to his knees, to find Jaime and Dayna and Suliya and shout, “The shield! Get over here!”

  “Close up!” Dayna repeated, running her horse into the back of Jaime’s.

  “But the shield lets people through—” Jaime said, bewildered, still trying to understand how many SpellForge agents they faced, even as someone new charged up behind Arlen—

  No. They’d have to get through Lady first. The last man hadn’t.

/>   Jaime drove her horse up to Gifferd’s mount, aware he was trying to say something and couldn’t, that he didn’t look right; she kicked free of the stirrups and flipped out of the saddle to land on her feet, already running to Ramble. The stallion who’d been there at the start of it all, and now couldn’t even rise...

  She snatched his flaxen mane and pulled. Hard. “Up, up, up,” she cried, giving him a counterbalance for his useless leg. Up he came, stumbling forward, stopping only when she threw her arms around his neck and told him “whoa, whoa,” in the calmest voice she could muster.

  “Close up!” Dayna cried in the background, kicking Suliya into action. Jaime whirled to find Lady holding off another agent who would have come up on Arlen’s back—lightning fast front leg strikes from a perfect warhorse levade, ears flat, head snaking threats... the woman crouched before her, slinging a long blade.

  Front leg strikes. Jaime blinked, realizing this was a Lady she didn’t know. Aggressive, not defensive. Feral and dangerous. Lady’s hoof hit the woman’s shoulder with a crack; the blade hit the ground. And Lady reached out and took that broken shoulder in fierce teeth to shake the screaming woman off her feet, flinging her away to face the remaining agent.

  The man hesitated, gauging the distance to Arlen... calculating whether he could reach Arlen before Lady reached him.

  Jaime knew the answer. So did Lady, who snaked her neck down and trembled with readiness.

  The man took an abrupt step backward.

  To Jaime’s astonishment, Lady leapt for him.

  “Lady, no!” she cried, lunging forward as if there was anything she could do to stop the mare.

  Lady whirled, as fast—faster—than anything Jaime had ever seen. Poised for action, resenting interference. Appalled at her sudden fear—fear of Lady—Jaime somehow knew not to order the mare around, not to tell her no again.

  “Please,” Jaime said, forcing herself to take a step forward. “Please don’t, Lady. You’ve won. Killing him now would... Lady, it would turn you into something else. You won’t ever be the same—Please.” She gulped for air. “Lady, we need you... who you are now—”

  Her nostrils flared to their utmost and ears still half-flattened, Lady gave Jaime a hard stare... a long stare. And, finally, she shifted out of her fighting stance—and she did it with such deliberation that Jaime realized it wasn’t acquiescence in the least.

  It was decision.

  She found herself shaking in the aftermath—and knowing the respite wouldn’t last long.

  Lady joined Ramble beside Gifferd’s horse; Arlen crawled to his feet on the other side. Safe. Jaime still didn’t dare to believe it; her voice cracked when she called out to Dayna. “We’re all here!”

  “Grunt?” Arlen called back, evoking a moment of utter, baffled silence that even the forest seemed to respect—until Arlen said impatiently, “My horse! Does someone have my horse?”

  “I have a packhorse,” Suliya called back from the other side of their huddle.

  “That’s Grunt,” Arlen said with relief. “Here we go, then—”

  The magic flared and stuttered, so strained that even Jaime felt something amiss; Ramble staggered into her, squeezing her against Gifferd’s horse. She pushed the bay’s shoulder and then yanked her hand away, finding it covered in blood.

  Startled, she jerked back—and found Gifferd slumping in the saddle above her, his face pale and his expression exquisitely wry. She opened her mouth to say something—but nothing came out. Nothing at all.

  And then Arlen said, “Good job!” and she glanced up to find them ensconced in a stable shield—a bubble with a shifting, oily sheen.

  The three remaining agents hesitated, looking to one another for information... coming up empty. But still... bracing themselves for another attack.

  Of course you don’t know what it is. It was Arlen’s magic in test flight and working just as it should.

  At least, as far as Jaime could tell.

  “Ay!” said Suliya from the other side of the crowded horses. “Ay!” And she suddenly popped up from under the belly of the packhorse, quickly soothing Gifferd’s bay as it shifted away and pinned Jaime more firmly against Ramble. She stroked his neck, soothing the injured horse.

  Suliya put hands on hips, cocking her head at the agents. “Time to get bootin’, you think?”

  “Suliya?” A stocky woman stepped forward, a long, curving knife pointing low. Lady snorted at her; Jaime took it for displeased recognition. “Suliya? Do you know how hard your father’s been looking for you?”

  “I’ve been away.” Suliya smiled slightly, bouncing on her toes just a little. “Now I’m back. And I’m telling you to go away. Unless you want to harm the daughter the SpellForge head chair has been hunting so hard?”

  One of the men gestured roughly at the clump of bodies in the bubble—uncertain. And... frightened. A big man, a capable man... full of muscle and strength. Frightened. “But SpellForge can’t stop the mangles until we stop everyone who’s interfering with their efforts.”

  Arlen snorted. “You pliable idiots! Was I interfering when your people accosted me so far back up the road, before I even understood what SpellForge had done?”

  “You planned to interfere,” the man said stolidly.

  Suliya crossed her arms. “My father’s had plenty of time to fix the mangles, and he hasn’t done it. Well, it’s our turn now. And did I mention how my father will react if you hurt me? Go away!”

  “I can burnin’ well tell you how he’ll react if we fail!”

  Jaime put a hand on the bay’s rump, moving where they could see her. “Anfeald couriers are already spreading the word about the permalight spells. SpellForge doesn’t have any secrets anymore.”

  Gifferd spat blood between the horses and pushed himself upright on the horse. “I wouldn’t be here if SpellForge was running us true,” he said, barely loud enough to be heard. The short knife hilt in his chest quivered with every movement he made, every word he formed. “My partner died for their lies. You will, too.”

  “Gifferd,” said the man flatly, the threat inherent. “I thought that was you. If you weren’t already dead—”

  “Shut up!” Suliya cried, so fiercely that Jaime made an instinctive movement to grab her arm, but couldn’t break free from the crush of horses—from Ramble, who trembled and drooped and might just fall on her.

  Gifferd laughed shortly. “Whatever happens to me, I dealt true,” he said. “I didn’t close my eyes to SpellForge lies just because I was afraid of the head chair.”

  Lady snorted in alarm and Jaime stiffened, hunting for ambush—for someone creeping along the edge of the mangle to come through a shield that was meant only to keep magic out.

  But the woman agent’s eyes widened. “Mangle!” she said, turning on them with fury. “You didn’t need to—we haven’t—”

  “I didn’t,” Arlen said, trepidation filling his voice. “Hold fast, people! Stay inside the shield!”

  Jaime jerked around to see it coming, a tidal wave of movement through the woods; she clutched Gifferd’s leg and felt his hand on hers, gripping it tight, and the mangle rolled up on them and over—

  exploding trees and screaming rocks and twisted birds and the smell—

  She closed her eyes and covered her head and screamed, unheard even to her own ears; Gifferd’s hand squeezed down on hers—not in comfort so much as the same reason she squeezed back, just not to be alone—

  Ramble staggered and went down; Gifferd’s horse jostled Jaime to her knees, breaking her connection with Gifferd. If the horses panic—she crawled blindly to Ramble’s side, using his bulk for protection—cracking her eyes open once but only for an instant, unable to bear the turmoil of warping reality and so caught up in the horror that here meant everywhere and now meant forever.

  Except eventually it stopped.

  Almost.

  Little roiling mangles remained active in the main body of the destruction around them. Jaime had run out of s
cream; she shivered beside Ramble, her face pressed against his golden coat; when he groaned she felt it through her cheek. Stop it, she told herself when she realized her teeth were chattering.

  They didn’t.

  She looked anyway.

  She found they’d all gone down, all but the horses—although Lady, too, was on her knees. Dayna’s horse was gone; the others stood crouched and quivering at the edge of the shield, ready to explode into flight at the first excuse.

  Gifferd lay twisted on the ground at Ramble’s head, the knife jutting. Suliya, her wet cheeks marked with fear, crawled toward him. Arlen raised his head, still wearing his ridiculous floppy hat; he’d thrown himself over Dayna.

  As if it would have done any good had the shield failed.

  And there, behind Jaime, the woman agent lifted her head. She’d dropped her weapon along the way, but she’d somehow made it into the bubble of safety before the mangle rolled over.

  Lady’s ears flattened; she heaved herself to all fours and the woman, as dazed as any of them, still knew well enough to be alarmed.

  “Lady, no,” Suliya said, her voice full of impatience; she held Gifferd’s hand, and glanced at Lady in a peremptory way. If anything, Lady’s ears flattened further, her nostrils flared.

  “Don’t speak to her like that,” Jaime said sharply. “I don’t know what happened in Ohio, but she’s not the same person she was—not as Jess or Lady.”

  Dayna said nothing... but she said it loudly. Dayna knows. So did Suliya, to judge by her dismay.

  Jaime felt that same dismay—and a weary fury. “She may not think the same way we do, but she doesn’t have to. Give her the courtesy you’d give any one of us.”

  Lady’s ears swiveled up. She ignored the woman for Jaime—snuffling her face, running her whiskers along Jaime’s skin and in the end, lipping at her hair, her expression soft.