Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess

by Doranna Durgin

  Jess moved carefully away from her cover and toward the two women, trying hard to acquire a sneak that was not in her body's vocabulary. She still felt their magic, not as intense but still active, and she heard Arlen's shout carry up from the hollow, a cry of alarm that sounded very much like Carey's name. She crept toward her goal, a difficult, silent stalk that struggled against both her equine run from danger and an angry mare's desire to trample the ones who threatened her own. She was closing in on them, gathering herself for a rush, when a new feel of magic flooded the air, and Jess dropped to the ground as both women whirled to look behind her, at the spot where Gacy stood.

  "Shield, Willand!" Calandre snapped, and yet a third taste of magic washed the air as the faint sparkling expanded from Calandre's body to wall the point and the hollow—with Jess included.

  "Too late," Gacy said, making no attempt to get any closer. "I just called Sherra—she'll be here any minute."

  "Any minute will be too late for Carey," Calandre said mockingly, a comment that grabbed at Jess' ears and held them hostage. "And there's nothing to keep me here when I feel them coming, is there?" She looked back down into the hollow. "Meanwhile, you still have a chance to save this man, Arlen."

  Save Carey. Avenge Jaime. The thoughts crowded Jess' common sense, urging her to action; she twitched with the impatience of it, and suddenly Calandre was focusing on her.

  "What is this?" she asked, frowning, flipping a stray bit of magic at Jess that slid past without touching her. "She's protected!"

  "That's the one that got away," the man said, straightening unwillingly from his observer's slouch. "I'll take care of her."

  Jess rose to a crouch, a coiled, ready spring. She tried to center her thoughts, to make them sensible, to stop the heat of anger; in failure, she exploded into motion, a sprint with such speed it took the man completely by surprise and barely left Willand time to realize it was she who was under attack, and not her mistress. Jess slammed the blonde woman down against the roots of a tree, and the shield instantly dissolved. Dazed, Willand tried to claw her way right up Jess, and Jess grabbed her, using Willand's own momentum to hurl her into Calandre. Next to her, a stone exploded, showering her with fragments.

  A larger rock blew up in front of her, and Jess ducked behind her own arms, but only until the air was clear enough for her to dive through; she landed on Calandre's thin frame and fastened both hands around the woman's neck, so close to that angular countenance that the wild disarray of Calandre's dark crinkly hair mixed with Jess' coarse dun strands. A small sharp-edged rock bounced off her shoulder and her injured wrist screamed at the effort, but those were distant pains, not to be heeded.

  "Let Carey go," Jess hissed at Calandre, staring into black eyes and flexing her hands over a neck so thin-skinned she could feel the rings of cartilage there. Calandre's fingers tore at Jess' wrists, then clawed at her face, her concentration too shattered to engender magical assault—though there was magic flowing all around them, uncontrolled magic, dangerous magic.

  "I can't stop the spell if you're choking me," Calandre gasped hoarsely. Then, in the blink of hesitation she'd created, she snatched at Jess' oversized tunic, ripping the chain of spellstones away. She smiled, a ghastly expression on a face turning dark, and though her words were choked, they were still deadly. "I can't stop the spell anyway, pathetic child. Join Carey in death!" And she turned the wild magic at Jess.

  Jess gasped at the onslaught, unprepared for the way it called to the Lady in her. She reeled between the divided comprehensions of two different creatures, vaguely aware that Calandre was prying her hands away, that Willand was screaming and tugging at her shoulders, that Carey was dying and the woman responsible was about to get away.

  And something within her hardened, and what she could not do for her own sake, she found she could do out of fury and passion for another. I am Jess, she told herself, the thought choking through the chaos inside her. Squeezing her eyes closed against the confusing input, she thought hard about the form of her clever human hands, the things they could feel and the strength they held. Base animal instinct, kill or be killed, joined with outrage and centered in on retribution; Jess lost track of what was happening around her, focusing only on keeping herself where she was, who she was.

  Then, suddenly, she felt there was no ground beneath her knees, no Calandre between them. Her hands were empty—but they were still hands—and the breeze on her face meant she was moving. Only then did she feel the grip under her arms and her knees, and realized she was being carried, by whom and to where unknown. Her eyes snapped open and she jerked against the hands that held her, nearly wrenching herself free.

  "Deep-fried hells, woman, I almost dropped you!" snapped a voice in her ear as the hands grappled to reestablish their hold.

  "Where—" she started, twisting again, but this time only to look about herself. It was a strange perspective, but she managed to recognize the path into the hollow. "Put me down!"

  "I don't think so," he said, as she tilted her head to look back at him, a view of an unfamiliar, upside-down face. "We've been told to carry you down here and that's what we're going to do—you can do as you please once you're out of our care."

  She did not fight them; as confused as she was about just what had happened and was happening, she sensed no harm in these two, and this was where she wanted to go anyway. She endured the undignified journey with impatience, until they gained the hollow and gently tipped her up to her feet, making sure she was steady before they actually released her.

  She gave them not another thought, but stumbled hastily to the back pocket of the hollow where everyone else was congregated, and where she somehow knew Carey must be. Mark limped out from the huddle activity and caught her shoulders, spinning her around with her momentum, putting her back to the congregation. "Jess . . ." he said, warning and regret, not even letting her turn to look for Carey.

  "Let me go to him," she said, words that wavered between a demand and a request for reassurance.

  "They don't know if they can save him," he told her, brutal truth. "They've got specialized healers here, and they got the process stopped, but there was a lot of damage done."

  This was nonsense to Jess, who had never seen Calandre's spell in process. The extra people, she assumed, were Sherra's, and that they were trying to help was enough to know for now—never mind when they arrived, or how long they'd been here. She tugged away from Mark, and pushed through the people gathered in the rocky niche where she and Arlen had shared a meal only that morning. "Carey," she said breathlessly, looking for him, searching a crowded scene of strangers and friends. She was surprised to see Calandre, alive, lying on a horse blanket and looking like little more than a fragile collection of limbs. Her gaze skipped from the defeated wizard to Jaime's sudden realization that she was there, to Arlen's bent, concerned visage to—"Oh," she said, a small sound with no force behind it.

  Step by slow step she walked to the spot where Carey lay, Sherra at his head and a stranger by his feet, both deep in concentration. Magic was flowing strongly throughout the hollow, small, myriad voices of controlled and gentle force, but it grew more concentrated as she went to Carey, kneeling next to him in a peculiar, slow motion fashion that kept what she saw from being quite as real.

  Livid bruises etched pathways in Carey's skin, and his body twitched and trembled in odd jerky motions; blood trickled from his mouth and nose, and filled the whites of his eyes. She did not think he could see, but she leaned over him anyway, and her hair fell forward to brush across his chin.

  "Jess?" he said, barely intelligible, more hopeful than educated in the guess.

  "Yes," she whispered, her hand hovering above his at his side, but afraid to touch him, afraid that she would hurt him more.

  "Good Job, Jess," he said, words that faded in and out, jerking along with his body. "Good Job."

  Jess sat back on her heels, eyes closed, head bowed, fully aware of all the things he was trying to cram int
o the two Words that were so familiar to the both of them. A touch on her shoulder drew her gaze upward, into Arlen's.

  "Come, Jess," he said. "Let these two do their work."

  Slowly she got to her feet, following him away with more than one backward glance. And when they had reached the picket line, she found that she, too, had been followed, that Jaime, Dayna—still clutching the saddlebags—and Mark were hesitating at a polite distance, waiting for an invitation. Arlen lifted his head, only half a nod, but all that it took.

  "Someone please tell me what is happening. Has happened," she stumbled, and then gave up and demanded, "Tell me!" looking at Arlen, and then around at the bustle that had filled the hollow in the few moments—it had been only a few moments, hadn't it?—since she'd confronted Calandre on the point. She looked at her hands, which still had the feel of Calandre's throat beneath them, and gave Arlen a frown that conveyed all her disorientation and confusion.

  "I'm not sure any one person has all the details figured out yet," Arlen said, "but I'll try. Help arrived while you were dealing with Calandre. A significant amount of help, actually. They pulled you off of Calandre and brought her down here with Carey, where the mage-medics have been working on both of them."

  "Why?" Jess said bluntly. "Why stop me? Why heal her?"

  Arlen shook his head. "Because that is who we are," he said. "Just because she has not earned such mercy doesn't mean we won't give it to her. She'll receive all the punishment she's earned, but death is not part of that judgement."

  Jess looked at her bare feet. "You think I was wrong."

  Arlen laughed right out loud, a short sound with genuine humor. "Jess! You were fighting for your life—our lives! You destroyed Willand's shield, you kept Calandre so busy she couldn't launch her wizard war when Sherra answered Gacy's call. No one is suggesting you made the wrong choice."

  "Killing was right for her," Jess murmured, mostly meant to be heard, raising her head the same way Lady would have fought an unnecessary tug on the halter. "She teaches people to be cruel."

  "She won't have the opportunity any longer," Arlen said with satisfaction. "The mage-medics have stopped the swelling in her throat that threatened her life, but they seem to think there's been serious damage to her voice, damage they have neither the time nor inclination to fix right now. She won't be teaching anyone—and she'll never be permitted to work magic again."

  "And Willand?" Jess asked, looking at Jaime. Jaime steadily met her gaze, but neither Mark nor Dayna reacted. They didn't know yet.

  "Willand will be presented to the Council, which will pass judgement on her." He looked at Jaime. "We might need witnesses."

  "I'm sure you'll find them ready when the time comes," Jaime said, neatly ending further conversation on the subject.

  Jess said, not to be denied, "Tell me what has happened to Carey. Why is he so sick?"

  "Because breaking my bones wasn't enough entertainment for her," Mark said bitterly, a tone Jess was not used to hearing in his voice. She looked at him, her eyes widening, but found no obvious injuries—although he had been limping. He gave her a halfhearted grin and said, "Arlen stuck me back together as soon as Sherra's people pulled you off Calandre."

  "Bones are the easiest," Arlen said. "Although as Mark would readily tell you, he has some healing left to do on his own. There wasn't time to do a thorough job."

  "I'm not complaining," Mark said.

  "Carey," Jess insisted.

  Silence greeted her request, until Jaime said, "Calandre used a spell on him, Jess, an awful spell."

  "She said she couldn't stop it," Jess recalled in alarm, then looked at Mark. "But you said it was stopped—"

  "She lied," Arlen said flatly. "Any wizard as skilled as Calandre knows how to stop what she's started. She was just trying to upset you, so she could get away from you."

  "But if the spell is stopped, why isn't Carey all right?" Why was he lying between two wizards, fighting for his life?

  Arlen shook his head, weariness and sorrow suddenly settling in his eyes. "The spell did a lot of damage. It's a race to see if they can patch him together before it kills him. Frankly, Jess, I'm surprised he's still alive. I think you need to be prepared—"

  "No!" Jess said, surprising even herself with her vehemence. She suddenly realized how much she still depended on Carey; he was the one link that tied together her different lives, the person who had loved her before and come to love her after. Without him as her focus, she wasn't sure she could handle the upheaval of yet another new life—here in Camolen—without his steady and familiar hand to guide her.

  Life as a horse, at least, was something she knew, and something she did well. Something she could continue to do well even without Carey. Dun Lady's Jess would eventually grow accustomed to a new rider, but she thought that Jess the woman would always feel the same sharp grief she felt right now, looking at the pain in Arlen's face.

  "Arlen," she blurted, "if Carey dies I want you to change me back to Lady."

  "What?" Mark said, as Dayna's lips thinned and Jaime just stared at her.

  "I wouldn't want that on my conscience, Jess," Arlen told her gently. "I know how much Carey means to you—no, I take that back. I only know what a good courier team you made, and . . . what I saw of you together last night. I've also seen how courageous you are. You can do this, Jess. No matter what happens to Carey."

  Jaime's reaction had built into anger. "I can't believe I heard you say that," she told Jess. "You are your own woman, Jess, and don't need Carey to hold your hand in order to make it through life."

  "But I want him to hold my hand," Jess said, flaring into her own anger at the resistance; up went her head again. "I have always been Lady, and Lady never hurt like this! I want Arlen to change me back if Carey dies."

  Arlen reached into the pocket of his tunic and withdrew the broken chain of Carey's spellstones. "I can't do that for you, Jess. Or, rather, I won't. There are enough heavy things on my shoulders right now. But I can put a spell on the stone that used to hold the world-travel spell. It should do the trick for you—but it won't work if you have any doubts about changing back. Magic requires a certain sincerity of belief and intent."

  "Arlen, no!" Jaime said angrily, before Jess could accept the offer. "You can't give her the means to carry out a decision based in grief!"

  "It's her choice, Jaime," Arlen said flatly. "And it won't work unless even the deepest part of her wants it to."

  "Please do that," Jess said. "Put the spell in the stone. I can make it work." Do it now, before you change your mind.

  Arlen suddenly looked as tired as he had the evening before, when he'd passed out beside a raging dun mare. "No interruptions, please," he cautioned.

  "No problem," Jaime said, her anger still blazing. "I'm not going to stay here and watch you do this to her."

  Dayna added coldly, "I'm learning more about magic all the time," and followed Jaime away. Mark looked between Arlen and Jess and shrugged, not happy, not passing judgement.

  "There are a lot of people who'd miss you, Jess," he said. "And no way for you to tell anyone if you wanted to come out again."

  Jess looked at the cluster of people that hid the wounded from her. "I know," she said sadly. In the silence that fell after her acknowledgement, Arlen slid one of the stones off the chain and cradled it in his palm. Jess felt a brief surge of magic, and then he held it out to her. That easy? After a blink of hesitation, she took it, feeling the leftover warmth of Arlen's hand as though it were that hand she held and not the stone. She had not expected it to be so comforting to hold the thing, but now she had it and would keep it with her. She thought she could scavenge some leather thong from one of the saddle ties and, with a last look at Arlen, she went to do so.

  * * *

  Jess braced her back against the saddle and the little bay called Fahrvegnügen halted, giving her a perfect view of Arlen's hold—a spot that had taken almost an hour to reach at a reasonable pace, unlike the run of the
evening before. The area was not secured yet, and the air was full of magic, muffled by distance. There were physical skirmishes as well, as Sherra's forces ferreted out the last of Calandre's people, fighters who were unaware of their leader's defeat. The fighting meant the area wasn't a safe one, but Jess felt far removed from their struggles and unthreatened by them.

  She was standing in the same place where Carey had shot three men, scaring her other self into the hottest version of Lady. Hot and ready to run, never mind that her knee was no longer whole. She looked down at her encased wrist—for it was a minor injury in the eyes of the overtaxed mage-medics, and something that could be tended later—and suddenly wondered what would happen to Lady if she changed back with the injury. She still remembered the anger and panic she'd felt at that disability, but it had been at the end of an exhilarating and frightening run. Maybe she would be able to handle it better now.

  On impulse she dismounted and flipped the reins over Fahrvegnügen's head, feeling the sudden urge of a good run in her legs, here by the pastures in which she'd so often gamboled. With Fahrvegnügen's reins clutched unnoticed in her hand and the horse's hoofbeats filling the void where her own should have been, Jess ran. Her bare feet pounded against the hard dirt road, feeling out ground that was so familiar she raised her head and half closed her eyes, drinking in the wind of her run and exulting in the way it whipped through her thick dun . . . mane. Gulping breath, strong flexing muscles, nostrils wide to the wind—this is what she'd been bred to do.

  Jess and the mildly confused bay mare flashed through the gate of the fall pasture, which ranged out into the rolling hills behind Arlen's hold, encompassing a creek and a small stand of trees; the dirt path beneath her feet turned to the prickle of newly cut hay, evidence of everyday life going on despite Calandre. She had the pasture to herself, and she ran to the trees without slowing, ignoring the growing ache of muscles that had been overused the day before. This was her pasture, her life—her world.