Unclasping the silver chain, Carey strung the new spellstone and replaced the collection around his neck, looking at Arlen in utter confidence. “No one’s going to outrun me.”
“Let’s pretend that they do,” Arlen said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “That’s what this crystal is for. I’m not sure just what effect it’ll have—”
Carey looked at him in surprise. “You want me to fool around with an untested spell? I’ll rely on my horses, I think.”
“Did you hear nothing of what I have said?” Arlen’s anger flashed just bright enough to remind Carey who and what his employer was. “You’ll be carrying information too crucial to lose! Everything I know of this new spell is in my head, Carey—except for the manuscript you’ll be taking to Sherra. In that is everything I know about the new dimensions, and all my explorations into a checkspell. If anyone—and I mean anyone, from the lowest road pirate to the Precinct Guard—tries to take it from you, you invoke that crystal. It will take you to the only place you can’t be reached.”
Years of working with the wizard as friend and courier alerted Carey to the words that were not said. “Where?” he asked warily, then didn’t give Arlen a chance to answer. “To one of those other worlds. You’re sending me to a place that might not even know magic—how the hell am I supposed to get back?”
“It’s a two-fold spell,” Arlen said steadily. “It’s tied to this world; it’ll bring you back when you invoke it again, and reverse any of the results.”
“What about the recall? Why don’t I just use that in the first place?”
“No! If you’re too close to them, and you’re running from someone with magic, they’ll tap in and follow you right back here.” Arlen sighed at Carey’s frustration. “Normally that’s not a problem—not with the shielded receiving room in the stable. But we can’t take a chance. There we’d be—the manuscript and me, in the same hold with whoever’s threatening us both. They’d get it all, and that would leave Sherra with no chance of formulating a checkspell in time to stop the trouble that would inevitably follow.”
Carey frowned as the importance of this run—and its dangers—sank in past his protests. “All right, Arlen,” he said slowly. “I understand.” In the silence that followed, he put a hand to his chest, and felt the small lump of crystals. The run to Sherra’s was long, a twisting route through thick woods and a deep river gully. Plenty of spots for an ambush.
“I see that you do,” Arlen said in relief. “I’m sorry, Carey. I wouldn’t choose to put you in this danger, but I need someone I can trust absolutely.”
Carey raised his head, a sharp motion that was the preamble of defensiveness for his couriers. Arlen forestalled him with a raised hand. “You’re the only one who I know will invoke that new crystal,” he specified. Even though it may take you into even worse danger, unspoken words they both knew.
“I’ll take Lady,” Carey said, a non-sequitur that spoke of his capitulation, and a claim of Arlen’s trust.
“Not the Dun?” Arlen, too, retreated to unspoken words.
Carey shook his head. “The Dun’s quick—but her daughter swaps ends so fast it’s a wonder she doesn’t turn us both inside out.”
“Get her ready, then,” Arlen said. “I’ll be down to see you off.”
~~~~~
Lady dropped her weight to her haunches, sliding in the loose dirt of the steep slope where her Carey had guided her. Friction skinned the hide off her hocks as Carey leaned back in the saddle, his hands a lifeline to her mouth in a balance of freedom and support—all the encouragement he could give her. But Lady needed no more encouragement, for Carey was scared. She felt it in the tension of his legs, heard it in his voice. She knew it from the desperate ploy that had sent them down the dangerous slope in the first place.
To the side flashed a sudden falling tangle of arms and legs, hooves and soft yielding flesh, driving her a step closer to equine panic; she lurched to escape from the new threat.
“Easy, Lady,” Carey panted as his legs closed against her sides, giving her reassurance and guidance. She took heart and as they gained the bottom of the steep hill she gathered herself and bounded over the intermingled bodies of man and horse. She landed hard, felt Carey take up the reins and lean forward in the saddle. “Go, Lady,” he whispered, and her ears flicked back to scoop up his words. She forgot about the tree-dodging chase in the forest, where they’d lost one pursuer to a thick trunk. She forgot about the mad scramble through the knee-high creek; even the dangerous slope disappeared from memory in the depth of her concentration. It was only the here and now, the run, the grunt of exhalation forced from her lungs at every stride she took. Foam dripped from the sides of her mouth and the reins lathered against her dun neck and still Carey whispered in her ear, guiding her as though he knew she lived only in her inner world of effort with no care for what her eyes might see. Then the ground under her hooves turned hard and pebbly, and when Carey asked her for a hard left, she suddenly knew where they were and what he would ask of her next. With rock to her left and only a narrow rim of a path beneath her, she listened to the caress of his legs, the shift of his weight, and pivoted in a rollback that sent her chest and head over empty air, high above the dry river bed they’d paralleled.
“Good job, braveheart.” Carey wooed her, his voice harsh in a dry throat. In seconds they met one of their pursuers, and Lady, following the pattern of endless drills, put her nose to the inside of the path and shouldered aside the other horse. Then another—bay flesh that dropped aside with an equine scream of fear—and the path was clear, clear until the narrow foothold widened, to where another man stood his ground on a flaming chestnut horse. He dropped his reins, one arm cocked behind, the other clutching a strained, curving stick.
There was a sudden odd thump just behind her ears and Carey’s body shifted wildly, sliding from the saddle, skewing Lady’s balance. Her head yanked far to her left with a brutal jerk on the rein, and her body followed. Fear drove her flailing legs but there was no longer any ground beneath them, and they hurtled toward the death waiting in the hard rocky river bed.
And then the world stopped around them.
Arrested in mid-air, they were snatched by another force altogether, one that held Lady in a smothering grip and would not yield to her mental thrashing. She no longer felt Carey’s failing grip on her black mane, nor his legs slipping off her sweat-darkened sides. Instead, her mind twisted; her body knotted up, disappeared, reformed, and at last abandoned her along with Carey and her senses.
~~~~~
Early spring in the park, and not near warm enough by Dayna’s standards. She forged ahead of Eric, who’d been distracted by a small, busy flock of kinglets in the underbrush. When he showed no sign of losing interest, she stopped, put her hands on narrow hips, and called back to him, “Coming? I thought you wanted to get those bluebird boxes checked out.”
He uncoiled his lanky body from his crouch, looking at her with the perpetually bemused look he wore. “They’ll still be there in another fifteen minutes,” he said mildly, pulling at the yellow armband that labeled him a park volunteer. Dayna merely ran a hand through her short, wedged sandy hair and waited for him. “You didn’t have to come,” he said when he caught up. “If you had other things to do today, you should have done them. You know you don’t enjoy this stuff if you have something else on your mind. I do.”
“Have something else on your mind?” she responded, distraction so she wouldn’t have to admit he was right.
Eric didn’t miss a beat. “Know that you don’t enjoy. Anyway, you’re here now. You might as well appreciate it.”
She looked up the significant distance between their heights and made a distinct effort to forget about the laundry piled on her bed, the bills waiting on her desk, the—no, forget it. “Okay,” she said.
“Saw a weasel here last month,” he commented. “You should have heard the chipmunks cursing him out!”
“Give me an example of a chip
munk curse,” she challenged him.
“Greedy cheeks!”
“Nut-waster!” Dayna said. “Fox-bait!”
“Good one,” Eric applauded. The bright, sharp chirp of the creature in question greeted them from the trees bordering the meadow they approached; a jay echoed with its own harsh warning, and the woods rustled with the movement of small creatures.
“Oops,” Dayna said. “I guess we got a little loud.”
Eric shook his head, curiosity lighting his features. “Uh-uh. They’re leaving the meadow, not running from us.” He lengthened his steps and Dayna was forced to a jog. They reached the edge of the meadow together and stopped, listening, watching. The meadow was still in the calm of spring, with short green spikes of grass just reaching through the dead thatch of winter. Three pole-mounted bluebird houses dotted the expanse, which remained as still as the slight breeze allowed. Dayna caught Eric’s eye and shrugged.
He lifted one shoulder in reply and left the path to walk the perimeter of the clearing. Dayna fell in behind with a sigh, but he didn’t go far before stopping short. “Holy shit,” he breathed, and stared into the woods.
“What, what?” Dayna asked impatiently, and bumped him with her hip so she could see through the small gap in the brush.
Her jaw dropped—seriously, literally dropped—at the sight of dusky limbs and a tangle of leather equipment. After a moment the details sorted themselves out in her mind and she was able to discern that the limbs belonged to a young woman; the leather was a saddle and its accoutrements. And although her mind raced, it could provide no plausible reason a young woman would be lying in the woods clothed only in a saddle. “Yeah,” she said finally. “Holy shit.”
At the words, the young woman stirred. With a groan she shook her face free of the oddly colored, ragged hair that had covered it; she opened her eyes and reacted with a strange, frightened huff that came from deep within her chest. She pulled herself awkwardly forward, out from beneath the saddle and the lather encrusted blanket, and Eric moved forward to help her.
She saw them for the first time. Her dark eyes widened with fright and her nostrils flared; she lurched to her feet and tried to run, but only got a few steps before she tripped, falling with a grunt.
Eric froze, dismayed, and Dayna tugged his arm. “Let me,” she whispered. “There’s no telling what she’s been through.”
Wordlessly, he moved back and crouched down, halving his height. Dayna took a step and said, “It’s all right. We’ll help you.”
The young woman scrabbled backwards, paying more attention to her own clumsiness than to either Dayna or Eric. She looked down at herself and whimpered, and her eyes were huge and terrified. She thrashed to her feet again, just long enough to run headlong into a tree, after which she fell in a tangle of long limbs and curled around herself, trembling too hard to try again.
Dayna exchanged a dismayed glance with Eric; he shook his head. “Maybe she’s on something,” he said. “I’ll go get help.”
“No!” Dayna said emphatically. “I’m afraid she might hurt herself, and I can’t handle her alone. Wait until we get her calmed down a little, okay?”
He looked at the still quivering huddle of woman and nodded reluctantly. Then he slipped off his loose lightweight jacket and said, “See if you can’t get her covered up. She must be cold.”
Dayna took the jacket and pushed her way through the twiggy brush between the meadow and the woods. The woman didn’t react to her, and Dayna glanced back uncertainly; Eric nodded encouragement.
Another step, no reaction. Dayna quietly made her way closer, then went down on her knees and spoke quietly. “I want to help you,” she said, but although those dark eyes were open, they didn’t seem to see her. Hesitantly, Dayna stretched out her hand.
“Be careful,” Eric whispered.
Dayna nodded without taking her eyes from the withdrawn creature before her. Her unsteady hand brushed the naked shoulder without reaction. “I want to help you,” she repeated softly. She stroked the coarsely textured hair, smoothed it in a cautious petting motion. “See, it’s all right now.” Was it her imagination, or had the trembling abated almost imperceptibly? “Take it easy, now.”
The woman stiffened, and Dayna froze, no less flighty than she. “Easy,” Dayna repeated experimentally. “Take it easy.” To her astonishment, the woman, still huddled in on herself, shifted her weight to lean against Dayna, pressing close.
“Oh, good, Dayna!” Eric rustled in the brush behind her.
“Stay where you are,” Dayna warned, her inflection still patterned to sooth. She smoothed back the odd hair and petted and consoled the woman, using the magic word easy liberally while she took stock of what they’d had found. Long-limbed and muscled like an athlete, the woman was bruised and scratched, both Achilles tendons scraped raw and bloody. Her body bore no signs of abuse, but she was clammy with dried sweat and exuded an odd musky odor of effort.
Eric rustled behind them again, and Dayna bit her tongue on admonition when the woman didn’t react—and when Eric seemed content, from the noises of it, to examine the saddle. “I don’t get this,” he said, a frown in his voice. “This blanket’s soaking wet—smells like horse. Weird. I don’t see any hoof prints.... Maybe there’s something in the saddlebags....”
Dayna didn’t answer. She kept up her soothing patter of reassuring nonsense and thought, perhaps, that the woman who leaned against her no longer quivered quite as much, was possibly even beginning to relax.
After an excessively long pause, Eric reported, “Not much in here. A hammer, couple of nails, a horseshoe...it doesn’t...” he trailed off into pensive silence, then picked up his thought. “These things don’t look right. Like if I went into a store after them, they wouldn’t look like this.”
Dayna smiled tightly. “That’s useful,” she said, keeping her voice low. Her charge was definitely relaxing, unbothered by the conversation. “Isn’t there anything that might tell us who she is?”
“Well, there’s a packet of papers, but it’s sealed.”
“Open it,” Dayna suggested.
Eric hesitated, then said, “I don’t think I can do it without tearing them up. Besides, it looks pretty official, and it’s got someone’s name on it.”
“What’s the name?” Dayna said, rolling her eyes. She had no patience for dragging answers out of Eric, a process imposed on her any time he was in deep thought.
After another hesitation, he said, “I don’t know. It’s in a strange script. I suppose it might not be a name at all.” After more rustling during which she supposed he replaced the packet, he sighed heavily. “This just doesn’t make any sense. How is she?”
“Better, I think. Maybe good enough so you can leave us, go get some help.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he told her.
Uh-oh. “Eric, this isn’t one of your orphaned bunnies to take home and raise,” she said sharply. “Something’s happened to this woman, and it ought to be reported.”
He crawled up beside her and looked into the woman’s face. The large dark eyes were only half open, and they noted him without alarm or any apparent care for her nudity in his presence. He took his jacket from where it lay next to Dayna and carefully offered it to her.
Her eyes did open all the way, then, and she drew back from Dayna, only enough to support herself independently. She cocked her head and leaned forward and sniffed the jacket.
Another incredulous glance flashed between Dayna and Eric. “Weird,” he whispered, as she drew back again, cocked her head the other way, and brought the other side of her face up to the material. Apparently satisfied, she gave a small huff and sat awkwardly back on her haunches. She took no notice of her completely exposed breasts, but Eric pinked slightly on his high, tightly drawn cheekbones and slowly settled the jacket over her shoulders. She made no move to thread her arms into the sleeves and after a moment, Dayna took her unresisting hand and guided it into the garment. Eric, on her other s
ide, did the same, then fastened the zipper for her. It was an exercise in slow motion that seemed to bother the woman less than it bothered the two of them. She ducked her head down to rub her nose on the inside of her wrist and regarded them patiently, waiting for whatever they might choose to do next.
“Dayna...if we call the police, what’s going to happen to her?”
“She’ll get help,” Dayna answered promptly.
“What, they’ll put her in some state hospital? Lose her in the system?”
“And what do you propose to do, take care of her for the rest of her life? She obviously can’t take care of herself.”
“You don’t know that. I think she deserves a chance to get over whatever shock she’s had. Putting her into an impersonal system won’t give her that chance,” Eric said, a familiar stubborn note creeping into his voice.
“So you just want to walk her out of here, stuff her into your car, and take her home for a few days.” Dayna said, sarcasm on high.
He was taken aback only for a moment. “I want to help her, Dayna. Don’t you?”
Dayna gave an exasperated sigh. “And if we take her home and three days later we discover the police have been looking for her, and that her family’s frantic, and that we’ve done more harm than good?”
Eric rubbed his nose and said frankly, “I know there’s a good chance this isn’t the right thing to do. But I think it’s about even with the chance that taking her to some authority is exactly the wrong thing to do.”
Dayna said nothing, lost in the surprise that he was anywhere near practical.
“How about this,” Eric suggested. “Twenty-four hours of TLC. If she doesn’t straighten out by then, well...” He shrugged. “I guess we can call the police.”
“Right,” Dayna grumbled. “And explain to them why we didn’t call earlier.”
“Dayna—”
“All right,” she interrupted him, looking at the trusting woman before her. There was something about the quality of that trust, especially in contrast with her earlier extreme fear, that made her feel just as Eric did—made her want to take the poor creature home and give her tea and a soft blanket to curl up with. Her mind replaced the tea and blanket with harsh sterile sheets and hospital food, and she knew she’d lost completely. “We’ll take her to my place, not yours.”
The Changespell Saga Page 2
