Changespell Legacy

by Doranna Durgin

  "Damned wizards," Dayna muttered, only confirming the thought.

  Suliya raised an eyebrow at Jess, who ignored it to eye Dayna warily and say, "What—"

  "They don't believe me," Dayna said, not even giving Jess the chance to finish asking the question. "I thought maybe to my face they'd at least be more polite about it, but they don't believe me. They think that spot in the woods is the result of some sort of spell, and they intend to figure out what it was, and who cast it. Idiots."

  Jess tried to understand what was wrong with that way of thinking. "And you think . . . what you felt . . ."

  "It's a reaction, not a result," Dayna snapped, then closed her eyes, took a visibly deep breath, and said, "I felt the raw magic sweep through here; I know it wasn't directed. But there was no backlash, so the energy had to go somewhere. If whatever happened in the woods reacted to that magic, it may well have sucked it up. Voila , no backlash, because there's no loose energy whipping around."

  "So that would mean there was no one out there casting spells at the Council," Suliya said. "But that doesn't make sense. Where does the disturbed area come from? Do you think it's coincidence that the entire Council was wiped out?"

  "I think," Dayna said, narrowing her eyes in a particularly dangerous-looking expression, "that the Council could have been attacked one way as well as the other, if the person behind the magic knew what the reaction would be. I think ," and she added dark weight to her tone, enough so Suliya winced, "that the new Council won't be able to figure out who did what if they aren't starting at the right place."

  "But you're the only one here who knows the feel of raw magic so well," Jess said. "Why—"

  "Don't ask that one, Jess," Dayna interrupted. "The answer isn't something I should say out loud."

  Silence fell between them, with Suliya looking like she might want to offer commiseration but too uncertain to follow through, and Jess thinking about what Dayna had said. Finally, looking at the jacket in Dayna's hand, Jess asked, "Do you still want to come with us as far as the . . . spot?"

  "Are you kidding?" Dayna snorted. "I'm coming with you, period."

  "Ay, what ?" Suliya said, as though it had been startled out of her, but Jess only nodded.

  Dayna glanced at Suliya, but her reply was reasonably mild in tone in spite of her obvious agitation.

  "They've made it clear they're not interested in my help here. What's the point of staying? If I'm at Anfeald, Carey will find some way to make me useful. Cesna is still in shock, from what I hear; I can at least take over her duties. And we'll be together."

  Together . . . Jaime and Dayna. The two outsiders. And Jess and Carey, who had always taken Dayna seriously. Jess understood that much unspoken, even as she knew Dayna made herself trouble to leave here unbidden.

  "It's so stupid," Dayna said, jamming her arms into the coat sleeves. "No one knows what happened, and they're not going to figure it out as long as they keep ignoring what I've told them."

  Jess tilted her head, an inquisitive equine gesture indicating something that didn't make sense. "But . . ." she said, waiting for Dayna's attention, for the look in her eye that meant she was truly listening, "Ramble was there. He knows."

  Understanding turned to impatience. "He can hardly tell us, can he?"

  Suliya stiffened, raising her head—a movement that had nothing at all to do with the conversation, and one to which Jess felt an immediate start of alarm; no horse reacted so without something to be alarmed about. "Ay!" she said. "The horses!"

  Jess whirled to the window, puzzled, but Dayna understood immediately, snarling, " Garvin! " and making the name into a curse.

  In an instant Jess understood why, recognizing the departing hindquarters of the gelding she'd ridden from Anfeald. While Suliya stood in astonishment, mouth open, Jess bounded from the window sill, stuffed her bare feet into her padded winter riding boots without tightening the side laces, and bolted out to the barn without her coat.

  There she found Suliya's horse also missing from its stall and the palomino—the only remaining mount—snorting with interest at her sudden arrival; Garvin looked up from the wheelbarrow he had just positioned in front of an empty stall. Human words escaped her; Jess let her body language speak for her, tall and offended, chin lifted to lay back her phantom equine ears and her glare dark and steady upon him.

  "Be of some use," he said, ignoring the belated arrival of both Dayna and Suliya behind him. "There are stalls to clean."

  "You had no right—" Suliya started, crowding close behind Jess, close enough to make Jess shift her weight, one leg aching to kick behind as would any tense, crowded mare—until Dayna pulled Suliya back, hissing words with an undertone of warning.

  "We are not yours to order," Jess said. "The horses were not yours to assign."

  He shrugged; his heavy features, starting to sag with age, offered no apology. He looked—and Jess was not sure, but the sight of his expression made her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare, a mix of human and equine responses— pleased with himself. "We're in emergency conditions," he said. "I'm serving my hold.

  And I outrank you, so I suggest you do as you're told and keep your complaints to yourself."

  Suliya moved up beside Jess, more carefully this time; Jess felt the difference in her, that they were standing together, not simply making way for Suliya—who now said in the coolest of tones, "We're not the ones you have to answer to. Carey is expecting those horses back today. He's expecting us back today, and back at work. Since you're inclined to throw rank around, I'm sure you realize the influence Carey has within both the courier barns and the Council. Or had you intended for this to be the last job you ever worked?" A different Suliya, one apparently used to playing games of rank and influence, and one Jess was grateful to have beside her.

  "Carey," Dayna added, much menace in her voice, "isn't the only one with a louder voice than Garvin's.

  Courier shortage or not, none of the holds can afford to retain a man who makes a bad situation worse."

  "Get off," Garvin scoffed, not looking quite so smug as he had a moment ago but not convinced, either.

  "I'm getting results; I'm getting the messages out. You can be useful here as well as anywhere, whether it's cleaning stalls or running messages. If you really want to get back to Anfeald, then you ," he gestured impolitely at Jess, "can play at being a horse and carry your friend home."

  Jess went cold-angry, her eyes widened and head lifted. Play at being a horse?

  Suliya's hand landed gently on her shoulder, enough of a surprise to distract Jess; Suliya raised her other hand, cutting off Dayna's hot response to Garvin. When Suliya spoke, her voice remained calm and cool, but with a cutting edge. "Your mistake," she said, "is that like most small people who have overstepped their authority, you think you can intimidate us out of recognizing it, or anger us enough so we respond personally instead of intellectually. But I've been watching my father run planning meetings for SpellForge since I was old enough to sit on a booster pillow without sliding off."

  Behind them, Dayna made a noise; to Jess, still seethingly speechless, her response meant nothing.

  But Garvin hesitated, appreciably taken aback. "This has nothing to do with SpellForge—"

  "No," Suliya said. "It doesn't. But the experience allows me to recognize when a career is ending, right on the spot. I've seen it often enough. And I'm very, very good at weighing clout. And, ay, you know what? You don't have any ."

  "I'm serving my hold," Garvin said again, although this time the words held less aggression and even a hint of worry. "The horses won't be back until the end of the day. You can weigh clout all you want; I've done my job."

  "You've done far more than that," Suliya said. She glanced at Jess and, with the first signs of hesitation, gestured at the end of the barn.

  She wanted to talk in private. Fine by Jess, who had no desire to be next to this man and who was thoroughly irritated with her own inability to understand the undercurrents of th
e conversation, not to mention with things human in general. She gave the man a warning glance; he wouldn't meet her eye, but he looked far from cowed. He looked like a man quite certain he could figure out a way to make himself look right.

  When they reached the end of the barn—not all that far—Jess kept her voice to a mutter that didn't mask her anger. "I want to kick him from here to—" But she stopped, took a deep breath, and found solace in Dayna's sympathetic expression. "Against the rules. Even human ones. So I won't."

  "That doesn't mean you can't feel like it," Dayna said. " I feel like making his nose hairs grow down to his chin."

  "Can you?" Jess said, somehow instantly comforted at this image.

  Dayna shrugged. "Sure. Lots of hair growth spells floating around. But . . . rules and all. I won't."

  Suliya's mood had gone from cool to grim. "Sorry if I overstepped," she said. "I just thought . . . he was so insufferably—"

  "Is it true?" Dayna asked her. "About sitting in on SpellForge meetings?"

  Uncomfortably, Suliya said, "Yes. But I don't want people to know it. And I don't want to answer questions about why I'm here . Besides, the important thing right now is that he's right . We can change his attitude, but we can't change the fact that we're stuck here without horses. Even if you—" She looked at Jess, hesitated, and said, "Even if you agreed to change to a horse, you can't carry two of us over that terrain. And we don't even know if there's another saddle here."

  "The palomino's . . ." Jess said, but with doubt in her voice. Her horse-self was an athletic creature, sturdy in size and build and well sprung in the ribs. The tall, rangy stallion had a leaner build and sharper withers and probably wore a saddle that would pinch her back even without a rider's weight in it.

  "The palomino," Dayna repeated. "We could take him. That would make two horses."

  "He belongs to Trent," Jess said.

  Suliya glanced over her shoulder at the erstwhile head courier for Second Siccawei. "Let Garvin deal with that."

  Jess shook her head, short and sharp. "He belongs to Trent. We will not take him without asking."

  Suliya said, "But—" and Dayna stopped her.

  "Jess makes the call on that one," she said. "I can talk to Trent. The question is, can you ride Lady without a saddle if they don't have one here?" Then she stopped, her expression going wry. "Or maybe I should try that, because I'm not sure I can handle that stud under saddle."

  "He will be easier, following me," Jess said, shivering as the cold bit through her sweater. She looked at the younger courier, trying to keep her misgivings from her face. "Only Carey and Jaime," she started, and then stopped, hunting for words that could express the depth of her misgivings without insulting Suliya.

  Suliya didn't give her the chance. "Don't worry," she said, but too glibly to be of any real comfort. "We won't have any trouble. And we both know the way."

  "I'm going to go find Trent," Dayna said. "I'll leave you two to settle things with our good friend Garvin."

  She peeled off her coat and gave it to Jess. "It won't really fit, but it'll help. I'll bring your coat and saddlebags when I come back out."

  Jess took the coat gratefully, although the stretch of it across her shoulders was a laughable thing. As Dayna dashed out the barn and back to the log-walled hold, Jess strode down the aisle, Suliya on her heels. She stopped before Garvin, finding sullen defiance stamped in every heavy feature of his face, his thick, greying brows dominating with their frown. He said, "Don't think you can make trouble for me—"

  "You have made your own trouble," Jess said, no longer interested in him, but only in getting on the road. In returning to Carey, the solid and dependable part of a world fracturing around her. "We need the gear for the palomino, and I need to see your extra bridles. A sidepull, if you have it."

  "This isn't a training facility—we've got a couple of extra bridles, but no sidepulls. And that palomino's not going anywhere—"

  "That's our concern," Suliya said, but Jess said nothing, just looked at the man. After a long moment, he cursed and flung himself gracelessly down the aisle toward the tack room.

  Jess didn't care. She'd already put the man behind her, and Anfeald ahead of her.

  Chapter 8

  Lady smelled the death long before they reached it.

  Smelled it and tasted it and felt the fear of it trickle through her withers and stiffen her back. Not death precisely . . . a wrongness with death twisted in. She tensed, jigging along the path with her neck raising, very little of the Jess-self present. A better understanding of speech, without the conceptual ability to process its complexity. A memory of her goals— return to Carey. An awareness of her alter-life, and an ability to return to it when she was ready. But for now . . . she was Lady. A smart, honest horse, straightforward in thought and action and just as wary of wrongness as any other horse, just as concerned. Just as needy for her rider's support.

  Suliya, feeling Lady's gaits shorten, clamped down on the reins, tightening her thighs around Lady's barrel. Lady knew better, she knew she wasn't trapped by those reins, by the unpleasant pressure on her tongue from this thick, unfamiliar bit . . . but anxiety tumbled in on top of wary tension. Ramble, his deep gold color hidden beneath a lighter winter coat, pale mane and tail floating in pampered thickness, tread close on her heels—crowding her, scenting her . . . occasionally snaking his neck as if to herd her, just as often nickering an invitation to admire his magnificence. Too preoccupied with Lady's presence to care about the inexperienced rider clinging to his saddle, and not yet caring about the wrongness they approached.

  A small covey of wood grouse burst into flight from the path-side brush; already anxious, Lady startled—not nearly as much as she wanted to, ever aware of her bareback rider. Still the bit jerked in her mouth— run from it—legs clamped around her barrel— run from it—and her rider's fearful stiffness pervaded Lady— run from it! She didn't. Legs spraddled, head flung high . . . she didn't.

  Bolting was against Carey's Rules.

  After a long moment, Suliya began to breathe again, probably never supposing that Lady could tell she wasn't, and that her failure to do so frightened Lady as much as anything. Her head still flung up against the pull of the reins, Lady nevertheless relaxed a fraction.

  Dayna said dryly, "Maybe we should walk the rest of the way to the damaged area."

  "She knows better," Suliya said, frustration pushing the breathless tension in her voice.

  "I've never," Dayna said, dismounting the palomino with a little stagger, "seen anyone pull on her mouth like that before. I don't mean the staying on part, I mean before it. And after. Don't think Jess won't remember when she changes back. Hell, that's why I'm not riding her in the first place."

  "She—" Suliya said, and stopped; after a moment, the discomfort of the bit eased, and Lady, reassured by Dayna's matter-of-fact behavior, lowered her head to huff a breath at the bush where the grouse had been.

  "They're gone," Dayna said, and gave her a pat on the neck. Suliya threw a leg over Lady's rump and slid down to land beside her, and Lady lowered her head far enough to give a relieved, mane-flapping shake.

  But she didn't relax completely. Not with the wrongness ahead, and Dayna leading the palomino toward it.

  Then Dayna, too, stopped short. "Burning hells," she said, her voice full of intricate human feeling.

  Surprise and fear and awe; Lady recognized them all, and her ears flicked forward and back in independent succession, listening to Dayna, listening for danger.

  "What is it?" Suliya flipped the reins over Lady's head, giving them an absent tug before Lady had a chance to step out politely on her own, not noticing Lady's offended hard, round chin. Oh, yes, she would remember.

  "It's outside the null wards," Dayna said. "It got through the null wards!" She stopped short, the palomino snorting wariness behind her shoulder.

  "Maybe they missed a spot," Suliya said, coming up beside Dayna and the stud and at the last minute thinking to
put herself between them, creating plenty of personal space for both horses. Lady, too, snorted at the ground before them, bringing her head up in an attempt to focus on it, to make sense of it; the offensive and alarming smell was stronger than ever.

  "Not they ," Dayna said pointedly. "I was one of two wizards who set these wards. I know damn well we had this area contained. There's no way—"

  But she stopped short, and after a moment said more quietly, "I guess there is a way, whatever it is. The damage either cropped up outside the original area, or it came right through the ward. I could probably tell, if I got close enough—"

  "No!" Suliya said, and Lady backed up at the volume of it, too unsettled by sights she literally couldn't comprehend and smells that meant danger to any animal on hooves.

  Dayna laughed with no amusement whatsoever. "No kidding. It's not worth the risk, not when the Council wizards will see it tomorrow anyway. I say let's give this whole . . . meltdown . . . a very wide detour. The horses don't want anything to do with it, and I don't want to be on either of them when they're acting this way."

  Suliya glanced at Lady's bare back, giving it a rueful pat. "Not bareback on this one. She's . . . more sensitive than other horses I've ridden."

  "She warned you," Dayna said, most practical as she turned the palomino around, hunting the woods for something to stand on just so she could reach the stirrup. "Carey's a head courier with the reputation for the best training stable in Camolen, and Jaime rides the highest levels of competition at home. You might be good—it's not like I know enough to really tell—but you're not that good."

  Suliya said nothing . . . but Lady knew resistant body language when she saw it.

  Arlen, bedecked in a faded orange knit sweater that made him wince even though his jackets obscured it from the public eye, his hair shorn close to the nape of his neck and the short thickness of it absurdly refusing to lie flat at a forehead cowlick he'd forgotten he had, tucked his new luggage—bulging saddlebags—under his knees and tried to keep those knees from straying into the seat space of the tired-looking man opposite him.