“You’re welcome,” Jaime said quietly, laying a hand along the side of Lady’s face. And then, since no one else had done it, she turned to the newcomer. “Now come over here and stop this horse from bleeding.”
The woman glanced out on the mangle, and then at the perfectly normal ground beneath them... and then at those she had called enemy only short moments before.
She pulled off her jacket.
Lady watched with a wary eye as the woman pressed the material against Ramble’s wound, and Jaime turned to Gifferd.
Thanks to Suliya, he wasn’t quite as twisted as he had been—but he was just as dying, and starting to struggle against it. He caught Jaime’s eye, his gaze flicking out into the unsettled mangle and back.
There was no magic here in the shield, not even healing magic... and no safety outside of it.
There was nothing they could do for him.
“I’m sorry,” Jaime said, surprised to realize how much she meant it.
“Me too,” he said, barely.
Suliya gripped his hand and said fiercely, “I’ll make sure my father knows it was you who saved Arlen.”
Faint as it was, his grin held dark amusement. “All I could ask for,” he said, not much in the way of sound behind his words. His sharply perceptive gaze faded into stillness and Suliya clapped a hand over her mouth with a surprised sob, confusion laced through her features. He’d been her enemy, her father’s tool... and he’d ended up a hero.
And there was nothing Jaime could do.
But there, finally getting up to his knees, still wearing that hat, was Arlen. Someone she wanted in her arms, and badly. Someone she’d never quite believed to be dead even if events and circumstances and even the people around her had hammered her with the fact over and over and over again.
“Arlen,” she said, and he gave her a grin. Somewhat chagrined, a little embarrassed, and a lot more little boy delight than she’d seen in a long time.
At that she couldn’t stop herself. “Arlen!” she said, and launched herself at him with such zeal that they both tumbled back to the ground. There she kissed him with such enthusiasm that Dayna eventually started to clap, her droll tone somehow coming through in the calculated timing of the clap... clap... .clap.
“Shut up!” Jaime said, tearing herself away for just an instant. “I’m not through!”
“She’s not through,” Arlen said with mock irritation.
“But—what happened to your face?” Jaime asked, suddenly aware of his reddened skin. “And where’s your mustache? And where’d you get that hat?”
Arlen propped himself up on his elbows, giving Dayna a sorrowful look. “You distracted her. I’ll remember that.”
“I’ll never be distracted,” Jaime said. She put a hand over the empty spot that had all but hollowed her out—empty no more. “You came back. Every time someone walked through the workroom door, I expected it to be you. Every time I heard a footstep in the hall, I thought it would be you. I knew—”
“And you were right.” He pulled her in for a satisfied kiss.
After a moment, Dayna started clapping again, and when they glared at her, she said, “Ahem. Mangles? Light spells? Peacekeepers?”
“We can’t all reach the peackekeepers now,” Suliya said, still staring at Gifferd. “We’ve lost horses.”
With utmost reluctance, Jaime put a few more inches between Arlen and herself. “You’re right. We need to get Ramble back to the hold—and whoever goes will need a wizard along for the shielding.”
“Look!” Dayna said, pointing at the ground. She moved the shield boundary a few inches, out onto warped ground. Newly within the shield, warped crystals crumbled into the finest dust, a confectioner’s powder of metallic earth. “Reclamation!”
“That’s a start,” Arlen agreed.
Jaime grinned. “That’s hope.”
“I’ll go back to the hold with Ramble,” Suliya said abruptly, and then sent out an annoyed look at their surprise. “Ay! I know it’s not the flashy part of the day. But Arlen’s going to the peacekeepers, right? If I go, then Jaime takes Ramble back to Anfeald. Doesn’t seem too bootin’ right to pull ’em apart again after all this, does it?”
Jaime smiled. “No,” she said, “And thank you.”
But Arlen watched the mangle with a somber eye. “I keep thinking about how it was, when it rolled over us,” he said. “The way it looked... and smelled... and sounded. It was the last thing my Council friends saw.”
“Don’t think of it,” she said fiercely.
He cast her a look of mild surprise. “I’ll always think of it.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lady raised her head from Ramble’s trembling flank, edgy at the lingering stench of the surrounding mangle.
Strong smells meant large predators; the additional scents of Ramble’s blood and Gifferd’s death did nothing to dissuade her instinctive urge to run.
Not when she had life growing with her.
But neither instinct nor fear created her impatience. The people around her did that, with their relief and their sense of accomplishment.
Because all they’d done so far was survive.
Back at Anfeald, Carey still fought to live—waiting for healing spells he wouldn’t get until Camolen’s magic stabilized. Jaime’s permalight surrender program had started the process; Dayna and Arlen’s shields offered safety along the way. But only the peacekeepers had the authority to demand spellstone surrenders... only the peacekeepers could support the new Council to deal with SpellForge.
She snorted loudly, startling the wary FreeCast agent near her hooves—and then pawed the ground, making it clear the snort was no random thing. That her agitation was of significance.
“Right you are,” Arlen said. “We don’t have time to pat ourselves on the back—the peacekeepers need this information. The Council needs it—and they all need access to the new shields. The sooner we get moving, the sooner Camolen can begin recovery. The sooner Carey can begin recovery, eh Lady?”
Lady snorted more gently in response, a sweet rolling snort.
He started to replace his hat on his head, gave it a second look, and sent it winging into the mangled forest, where it caught on a jagged protrusion and swung. “No more of that,” he said. “And this shirt—it goes, at the first opportunity.”
“You cannot imagine our relief,” Dayna told him, checking the cinch on Gifferd’s horse.
Arlen helped Suliya to her feet as he passed by and then stopped before Lady. “Your choice,” he said. “You can go back to Anfeald and see Carey as soon as possible, or you can help us reach the peacekeepers. Frankly, we need you—this is what you do better than anyone here, horse or human. But... you might miss him.”
His meaning was clear enough to a horse with Jess in her mind. In an instant, she pricked her ears toward Anfeald. Carey. Her life had always been about Carey, one way or the other. She could not abandon him now.
And that meant going in the opposite direction. To the peacekeepers.
Because she was the only courier here. The only one who knew the shortest route; the only one with the confidence to take them forward at speed.
She dipped her head at Jaime—her human friend Jaime, a roundly athletic woman with flyaway hair and a few more lines at the edges of her mouth than not so long ago. “Lady,” Jaime said softly. “I’d be honored. But... are you sure?”
Arlen said, “The sooner we reach the peacekeepers—”
Lady dipped her head to Jaime again. Jaime reached out to stroke her arched neck, running her fingers over the spellstones braided into her mane. “I’m supposed to tell you...” she said, and hesitated, but in the end got the words out. “He’s sorry. Whatever happened in Ohio... he’s sorry.”
Lady rubbed her nose along the inside of her front pastern, full of feeling and self-knowledge a horse wasn’t meant to have; struggling with it.
She wondered if that bittersweet pain would hurt a
ny less if horses could cry.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Thirty-Four
Carey never got enough air. His heart raced to make it happen, faltered when nothing helped. Jess, I’m sorry. Jess, I did my best... and we both know it wasn’t enough.
He wouldn’t have said it out loud if he could; he was never alone. Someone always sat by his bedside, sometimes in pairs. Sometimes they cried. Sometimes they murmured comforting things, and sometimes Simney chanced a simple pain relief spell—or other spells, basic things nonetheless risky in Camolen’s twisted environment.
They argued over it when they thought he wasn’t listening, so Simney chanced to murmur fiercely, “I know it might go wrong and kill him! Do you think I’d do it if he weren’t about to—” and then cut off.
As if he didn’t know what she’d meant.
It didn’t matter—they were right. And he wasn’t listening, not really.
Jess, I’m sorry.
Until that hour after endless hours when Kesna sat holding his hand and said brokenly, “It’s all right, Carey. You’ve waited it out longer than any of us thought you could... but the basic spells aren’t enough anymore, and we don’t—we can’t—” She hesitated, and he knew what she meant to say and he knew he was tired and he knew—
He felt his heart race and his breathing hitch... and again...
“Carey!”
He was beyond recognizing voices or knowing just when Kesna had stopped talking and started crying. But this new voice held no sorrow; it came fierce and earnest. “They’ve done it! We’re cleared to work real magic! Arlen and Jaime are coming home!” A hand pressed into his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right, Carey. It’ll take a while, but you’re going to be all right. You have to be—I just promised Jess.”
Jess... one more chance...
~~~~~
Awakening.
A long time coming, and slow.
Vague awareness made way for a sensation of warmth and then soreness. No one hailed the flicker of his eyelids; after a long moment of consideration, Carey turned his head to confirm he was alone in his own bed, in his own bedroom.
An unfamiliar table sat to the side; someone, until recently, had been taking meals here. Cool moisture glinted along the pitcher at his bedside table. The room held the diffuse light—either dawn or twilight. A stubby candle sat on the bed table.
Eventually, he pushed himself up to sit. He didn’t tremble; he didn’t cough. He didn’t bleed. The dull ache remained.
He slid out of bed, finding himself clad in light sleeper bottoms. He gulped a tumbler of water, then half of another, and padded barefoot over old and comfortable rugs to the window.
Outside, the last hint of long shadows confirmed twilight. In the distance, two riders emerged from the woods, skirting the small blot of a mangle and cantering for the hold—one horse moving smoothly, a darker horse behind.
He’d know the collected ease of that buckskin dun anywhere.
The dark bay was another story—stout in body, choppy in motion. After a moment he picked out the lanky frame and uneasy, elbow-flapping style of the bay’s rider, and laughed out loud. Arlen.
Alive, just as Jaime had insisted.
Eventually Carey would learn how and why. For now it was enough to know it was true. Arlen was alive, and he’d come back—and Jaime and Lady rode at his side.
His stomach tightened in a frisson of unexpected emotion. Lady. He hadn’t been sure he’d live to take this chance—or that she’d be here if he did. He needed to grab some pants, throw on a shirt, test his legs on a slow trip down the stairs to greet her—
But something kept him at the window. As the shadows disappeared into true twilight, he stood straight-armed against the sill, swaying just enough to remind him it had been a close thing after all. And in the twilight, a lone horse cantered out again, stripped of her gear, scrubbed clean of her sweat and saddle marks. Moving with graceful leisure and carrying herself just as beautifully as under the guidance of Jaime’s expert riding.
His fingers tightened on the stone sill, struck by her beauty.
But she was leaving.
She came to a light stop, raising her finely molded head to look over her shoulder. Not at the door to the barn from which she’d come, but higher. Here. To this window.
For a moment, he stopped breathing, thinking—hoping—she might turn around.
She gave a little flip of her head and cantered on.
But he’d gotten the message. It was his place, this time, to go to her.
Awakening.
For Dun Lady’s Jess, a long time coming. For Carey... just in time.
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lady grazed alone.
Ramble had a stabled spot of honor as his crippling wound healed, and from Jaime’s daily reports, he did well with the confinement—newly mannered and newly adored by Suliya.
Suliya, who kept her own counsel about her father’s new travails as he faced the consequences of the SpellForge activity. And Suliya who’d turned down her family’s urgent pleas to return home, who now took riding lessons without argument, and who still cried over a man who’d had so much integrity he’d died for the man he’d once been ordered to kill.
Pleased as she was for Suliya, Lady snorted in all the right places to make clear that the young woman nonetheless had no chance of riding her again. And Jaime only laughed and said, “Good for you.”
After that, on occasion, Lady changed to Jess when Jaime came to visit the pasture.
The first time, she was startled at the changes in her body—her exquisitely tender breasts, her propensity for the hiccups, and her odd wish for potatoes fried in hot spices. Jaime, too, must have noticed something, for after that someone left a daily offering of light grains near the open pasture gate.
But Jaime didn’t mention the changes and neither did Jess. They talked about Jaime’s decision to move to Camolen permanently, and her plans to bring Sabre and start a new school here in Anfeald. They talked about Camolen’s excruciatingly slow recovery—even with stable magic, the services infrastructure remained down and the landscape ravaged. Jaime brushed the snarled tangles out of Jess’s dun and black hair, expressing mild sorrow at its wild-horse raggedness.
Lady spent considerable time staring at the bedroom window that had once been hers. As Jess when she looked to that window, she hurt beyond words.
She did not often become Jess.
And she knew from Jaime that Carey had healed well, worked hard, and spent as least as much time as she staring right back out that window.
But there was a rightness in her time here. Enjoying her gallops, her dozing, the pleasure of a good roll, the increasing awareness of new life within her. She accepted food but no one’s touch; she kept her manners but made her own rules.
And finally, he came.
With the insects buzzing a summer morning symphony in the rolling, horse-dotted fields, he walked the long path to this far pasture and paused by the open gate—a soft blanket tucked over his arm, an apple bulging out of one hip pocket, and uncharacteristic uncertainty shadowing his eyes.
In his free hand he held not a bridle, but a bitless sidepull.
He, who had never ridden Lady once she’d been Jess. Never talked about it. Never faced the physical reality of who she was.
She came to the gate and dropped her head for the sidepull. And then she moved next to the old tree stump by the gate, used by years of riders for just this reason. Carey stood on the tree stump for a long moment, facing her sturdy dun back with its thick black stripe—the one he’d traced so often down her human spine.
Patience.
The very patience he’d given her in her early training, in her struggles with balance and the restraint of her natural exuberance and acceptance of rules, she now gave back to him. Sweeping her long tail at the flies, flicking an ear at the squeaky twitter of bird, she waited.
Finally, his weight settled onto her
back, as gently as ever.
How she’d missed it!
After a moment he offered her the faint lift of seat that once meant move off and now meant he was ready if she was.
She took him out into the woods, letting him ease into the new relationship—of supporting her when she needed it, of pointing things out instead of commanding and ordering. In truth, it was all he’d ever done once she’d come into her own; all he’d ever needed to do.
He had somehow forgotten that along the way. Now it seemed that he remembered.
They returned home at a passage, an airy floating trot that Jaime had taught her and Carey had never felt, and he laughed out loud when she offered it. She stopped at the gate, a perfect square halt, neck arched and high, reins loose on her neck. He hesitated, much as he had when mounting—a reluctance of a different nature. He rested a hand on her mane, and bent to lay his face along her neck.
When he finally slid off, she swung her head around for removal of the sidepull. He scratched the itchy spots behind her ears just like he always had, running a wistful hand along her spellstones.
Not many of them left.
She gave a good shake, the summer breeze cool on her back where he’d been sitting, and eased into the pasture, realizing that the rest of the hold had limited their activities to the nearer pastures. No one came near.
Carey lifted the blanket and settled it over her withers, a soft fold of material that came to her elbows. And then, astonishingly, he sat before her.
“I almost didn’t have a chance to say this.” He hesitated, struggling with the words even now, his face full of the death he’d touched. “I almost died, not having you, and it was worse than the dying itself. I had to think about that. A lot.”
She bobbed her head. She knew.
“Once,” he said, “you came and sat at my feet, newly human and still willing to give yourself up to me.”
She stood stock still, hoping too hard to move.
Carey scrubbed his hands over lean features and through his hair, leaving it entirely mussed. “It’s taken me far too long to understand—it’s got to go both ways. And I’ve done things my way for too long to change overnight. But I’d like the chance to try.”
The Changespell Saga Page 87