Lady swung her haunches toward Willand, straddled the ground, and emptied her bladder, pretending not to notice Willand’s cry of dismay. The rock Willand bounced off her side was small price for success.
Jaime was here. Carey was awake. Things would happen. Deep inside, Jess was stirring, the depths of her thoughts tugging at Lady. Spellstone. She was helpless here as Lady, and equally unable to help. Spellstone...
It was beyond her.
~~~
The look on Willand’s face—
Jaime clamped a hand over her mouth and put her face against the tree, desperately trying to avoid hysterical giggles. It’s just nerves—muffled snort—so stop it.
After a moment, she peered over the tree to discover Carey leaning over his own leg, examining his leg beneath the torn pants. While he was at it, he snagged the arrow.
Carey and Lady knew she was there, Dayton and Shammel were as far away as they were likely to get... and Willand was distracted by traces of Dayna’s raw magic, an advantage which Jaime could lose at any time.
Jaime dug out her pocketknife. Her priority had to be Willand—but if she freed Lady, the mare would do her best to keep Ernie and Shammel from interfering. She spanned the miniature crossbow and inserted a dart-enhanced bolt, tugging the quiver around so she could easily snatch a second bolt.
And then she went. She ducked under the high point of the tree trunk and walked right out into the clearing. There was no point in skulking; there was no cover. Willand would spot her as soon as she glanced up—and if the raw magic didn’t stop her, she’d start lobbing spells.
So Jaime just walked, the handbow hanging next to her leg, her head high. Carey caught her eye, exchanging a quick, grim look. He didn’t seem capable of getting up to join her, and she hadn’t expected it. She just walked on.
Willand glanced up, and her expression of surprise changed quickly to a genuine laugh. “My heavens,” she called, “are you all going to come after me? You’re going to make this easier than I expected.”
“Don’t count on it,” Jaime said, the knife in her hand as she tracked sideways, moving for Lady’s head. The distance between them abruptly struck her as insurmountable.
“Ernie, Shammel,” Willand called, raising her voice very little. “Get out here.”
They immediately appeared in the doorway of the rough little cabin—and, just as quickly, headed for Jaime.
“No, you idiots,” Willand said. “She’s got a handbow. Go to the other two.”
They had no trouble reaching Lady and Carey before Jaime made it to Lady’s halter ropes—and their unspoken threats were clear enough.
Jaime looked at Carey, caught his eye; he nodded at her.
That, too, was clear enough. Do it. Take out Willand if you can.
“Think again,” Willand said. She’d come to her feet, her notes set aside, her arm still cradled. “I don’t even need magic. Once your friends start screaming, you’ll stop.”
“You don’t have magic right now,” Jaime said, surprised at the calm in her own voice. “Dayna’s seen to that. That mage lure isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?” There. Finally close enough for a sure hit. “Did you know Sherra worked up an antidote? If it’s not diluted and administered with healers standing by, it’s deadly.” She raised the handbow. “I wouldn’t have come without it.”
If Willand was concerned, it didn’t show. At least, not until she murmured the first words of a spell and grimaced in pain—and nothing but a feeble wind stirred the dirt between them. Her expression hardened; her glance flicked to Carey. She spoke through gritted teeth. “Dayton, he’s all yours.”
~~~
Lady danced around the tree, tugging at the halter—bumping into Shammel and hardly feeling the weighted quirt he brought down on her shoulder. “Get back, bitch!”
No, of far more importance was the tension that filled the air, the abrupt grin on Ernie’s face, the way Carey seemed to gather himself, the knife that suddenly hovered between Carey and Ernie.
Another mutter from Shammel; another blow. Blood trickled down Lady’s shoulder and still she danced, jerkjerkjerk against the halter ropes, a little grunt and squeal of anger; she struck the tree with a slash of her front hoof, gouging bark.
These halters would never hold Jess, Jess with her clever human hands, Jess with her short silly face and no whiskers, Jess who would slip right out of the halters. Spellstone! Lady snorted an equine expletive. Spellstone!
~~~
“No!” Jaime cried, wincing at the sound of Shammel’s quirt on horseflesh. “Ernie, I’ll kill Willand!”
“If you could, you would have done it already,” Willand said, looking pointedly at the tremble of the crossbow.
Jaime glared at it, willing it to steady. Shoot her, shoot her, shoot her!
But she didn’t.
This woman had tortured her, had proven her strength and her power. And she stood before Jaime with scorn on her face, still radiating that power.
Jaime had none. She was frightened and weak, and had never killed anything in her life. Mark had killed—her sweet and gentle brother—and still suffered the nightmares from it. Was it worth it to trade one nightmare for the other?
Yes! railed a voice deep inside her. Shoot her!
“You don’t have the nerve, Jaime. I could have told you that.” Willand shook her head, a derisive motion. “I, on the other hand, do.” And she nodded to Ernie.
Instantly, Carey’s leg shot out, nailing Ernie just behind the knee. Even as he fell, Ernie aimed himself and his knife for Carey.
“Carey!” Jaime screamed, an echo of Lady’s anguished equine cry. The dun fought the ropes so hard Jaime thought her neck would break, while Shammel whipped her and Carey—
Carey batted at the knife and twisted oddly, grunting with effort. Ernie landed on top of him, and the Lady’s fury obliterated the sounds of their conflict.
~~~
Lady flung herself against the ropes, straining her back and haunches, digging her feet in—churning up dirt and moss and making Shammel leap back. Her thoughts came in panting gulps, as much of an effort as her breathing. Careyknife and stopErnie and spellstonespellstonespellstone!
She saw nothing but her rage, a blur of tree and taut rope and falling lash—until she finally sagged, all her weight against the ropes, her neck stretched, her body admitting defeat. She hung there, horse and rope and tree, and Shammel, grinning in victory, stepped close with the whip.
Thinking spellstone didn’t work. Raging against the ropes didn’t work.
Lady’s sight went tunnel-vision narrow. Jess, she whispered deep inside herself. Not spellstone. What she wanted was Jess.
Right now!
Lady exploded back into motion, startling Shammel and coming down hard on his foot; he staggered back with a howl of pain. Jess! Jess with the long dun hair, black stripe of bangs and centerline. Jess of the long, lean legs and tall standing body. Jess, without whiskers, without tail, without delicately swiveling ears. Jess.
And suddenly her head was free, and her hair whipped in her face, and her sweat and blood trickled down bare flanks—and she turned on Shammel, attacking with a cry of very human triumph.
~~~
Jess’s voice rang through the clearing, her human voice of human outrage and victory mixed into an equally human battle cry.
“Jess,” Jaime murmured, a word full of satisfaction.
Jess, launching herself at Shammel. She knocked him flat, landing with all her weight in her knees; he made an agonized sound and writhed beneath her. She flung his whip away and bounded up, turning immediately to Carey—motionless under Ernie. Her grief at the sight instantly converted to murderous wrath, and she fixed her dark fury on Willand.
But instead of alarm, Willand gave a cry of relief and joy—a triumphant sound that mean only one thing.
She had her magic back.
And she was looking at Jess.
“Don’t you touch her!” Jaime cried, watch
ing the triumph turn to menacing concentration, as Willand’s perfect lips started to murmur a spell.
“Or what?” Willand said, those lips turning up in a sneer. And she made a simple gesture, stirring a sharp wind around Jaime’s face—sharp enough to tug at her short hair and sting her eyes. With it came a strike of pain, racing down her legs like lightning to the ground.
Just like before—pain flickered down her arms—just like before—
Jaime cried out in fear, flinching away.
Naked, beyond rational thought, moving with innate graceful power, Jess launched herself at Willand. Willand muttered and flicked her fingers—and Jess fell, tumbling only until she got her feet under her again. Singleminded, unstoppable, she aimed herself at Willand again.
And fell, rolling with a cry of pain as Willand gestured at her again—and again—
No more.
Jaime’s heart had had enough, even if her brain stood numb and her eyes blinked futilely against tears of wind and pain and fear. She couldn’t aim... but she knew where Willand was, all right, and how to make sure she didn’t miss.
She charged, carrying her own personal windstorm of suffering right along with her, her head ducked and her hand reaching, reaching—contact!
Dayna was right—penetrating contact right through the physical shields!
Jaime snared Willand’s arm, jerked the woman in close and the pistol bow up into her side.
She pulled the trigger.
Willand jerked back with a small, astonished cry as the bolt tore into her flesh. She looked at Jaime in utter befuddlement, and her hands fumbling ineffectively at the feathered end of the quarrel.
She twitched, grunted oddly... with a sudden hoarse and gutteral cry, she arched backward, spasming, teetering—
Dead before she hit the ground, with blood at her nose and ears and mouth and dark splotchy bruises blossoming on her skin.
The windstorm died.
~~~~~
Ander rode his horse hard and far too quickly for the narrow bit of traversable trail he’d found.
The outlaws’ hold sat far above them and a mile behind them. The gorge stretched beside them, a narrow, rock-filled river winding distantly below.
Ander wasn’t at all certain he would find a way to get through it—or to do it in time. His stomach clenched on the thought, knowing Jenci, too, was on his way to Willand, and that Jaime and Carey—and Jess, dammit, Jess—would likely suffer under his hand.
If Willand hadn’t gotten them already.
His horse stumbled and slid a few feet, knocking Ander hard against jutting rock. His head rang so hard that he rode with blind instinct, leaving undisciplined thoughts to land where they might.
Jess. She might think she’d chosen Carey, but that didn’t stop Ander from feeling the way he did, from loving the way she moved, the pure, clean expression on her face and the way her hair fell out the back of that odd black cap of hers—the way she could boil an issue or question down to its most basic elements. Yes, she’d say, or no, or damn straight.
Ander blinked as his vision cleared, clutching the horse’s mane as it faced a plunge down sheer, crumbly slope. Then he had his balance back, and the horse was listening again, and they were a team.
They’d have to stay that way. Because what if Strovan was wrong about Jenci’s ability to work travel magic? What if Willand already has them? What if I’m too late?
Ander rode.
~~~~~
Jess lay awkwardly on the ground, realizing the pain was over. Understanding that she was human, the change made and complete.
On her own.
She pushed herself up as Jaime staggered back from Willand, dropping the pistol bow. Jaime looked at her hands and then wiped them down fiercely the front of her tunic, turning away from the wizard’s body.
She was crying, Jess realized vaguely, struggling with the purity of the Lady-emotions that clung to her. Slowly, she rose to her feet, and no magic stopped her this time.
She straightened into the pain of the whip stripes—across her back, across her shoulder and onto her arm. Shammel. Where—?
There he was—crawling toward the cabin and the horses secured back there, his movements jerky and furtive, his foot crushed. He’d have to be stopped... but he wasn’t her priority.
Jaime, staring blankly at Willand, wasn’t her priority.
Carey.
Ernie still lay flopped on top of Carey—and his shirt made an odd, rust-stained little peak over his back. The knife lay on the ground beside them both.
Not in Carey.
Jess ran to the stump with a glad little cry that stirred Jaime out of her blank-eyed stupor. She tugged at Ernie, heedless of the fiery welts pulling at her back—grabbing an arm and unceremoniously dumping him in the dirt.
And there was Carey, looking rumpled and flat and blinking wuzzily at her. “Jess,” he said, wonder in his voice. “You’re Jess.”
Jess nodded, finding no words... too relieved to care. She dropped down and gently touched his shoulder.
He scrounged up a grin—and it had a particularly cocky nature, a grin that reminded Jess of the Carey she’s known long before she’d ever been human.
“Burn Calandre’s composting spell,” he said. “I win.”
“Yes,” Jess said, not at all sure what he was talking about, but so glad to see that grin that it didn’t matter.
“That being said, give me a hand.” Carey got one elbow beneath him. “I’m not quite ready to go anywhere—ow!—but sitting is better than lying here like an Ohio roadkill.”
“You look like a roadkill,” Jaime observed, her voice not quite as starchy as her words. She joined them, crouching to help him sit. Her hair stuck out at all angles, with bits of leaf sticking entwined; without thinking, Jess reached up to pluck a particularly big piece.
Jaime gave her a rueful grin, and cast a meaningful glance back at Willand. “I’ll have to live with myself,” she said, “but somehow I think living with something I did will be a lot easier than living with something I was unable to do.”
“You stood up to her. Even when she had magic, you stood up to her.”
“Yes,” Jaime said in quiet satisfaction. “Where are your clothes?”
“I don’t know,” Jess said. “Somewhere.”
“Someone better stop him,” Carey said, pointing as Shammel went out of sight around the cabin.
“He still has to get on the horse,” Jess said, and gave Carey a bright and wicked smile. “I stepped on his foot. Hard.”
“I’ll get him,” Jaime said. “Or I’ll get the horses, anyway. If he thinks he can crawl all the way to the nearest town, he’s welcome to try.” She ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging a twig or two, and headed for the back of the cabin.
“Clothes might be good, Jess,” Carey said. “I’m in no shape to see you without them.”
But Jess had turned to Ernie, wondering if he might be yet alive; she rolled him over and discovered why he was not: the fletching of the handbow bolt stuck out of his torso. “The bolt Jaime used to warn you?”
“Yes. He’s not using that shirt, Jess, and there’s not all that much blood on it. Put it on, hmm?”
She eyed it distastefully. It closed down the front with fancy carved toggles, so she wouldn’t have to pull it over Ernie’s head. And it was a fine material, finer even than her own tunic.
But it would smell like Ernie.
She slanted Carey a skeptical look. He nodded, confirming it; he really wanted her covered. “No breasts,” she grumbled, starting in at the top toggle. It was one of the first lessons she’d learned in Ohio, but she’d never truly understood.
By the time she’d wrestled the shirt free from Ernie and shrugged it on, Jaime had returned with the horses, leaving behind the barely audible string of Shammel’s curses. She passed by the tree where Lady had stood, retrieving the halters and lead ropes.
“Ah, good,” she said, dumping the tangle beside Jess. “That shi
rt will do for now. I’m going to tie these two by the fallen tree, and go after mine—she’s not far.”
“I doubt we’ll ever see my gelding again,” Carey said ruefully.
Jaime shrugged as she headed for the fallen tree. “We might find him on the trail on the way out,” she said. “And we do need to get back to the others—this day’s not over yet.”
Carey groaned; it was a dramatic noise, but Jess, watching him, knew he’d had a bad fall, and knew he’d been beaten, and knew all the determination in the world wouldn’t do him any good if he was hurt inside. She sat next to him, lining her legs up so they traveled the length of his, touching.
He understood her unspoken concerns. He understood her much better than she’d thought. “Jaime’s right. We’ve got to move out.”
“We can find your spellstones,” Jess said sensibly. “You’ve got a hold recall spell on them.”
His brows rose a notch. “Good point. But I can’t go back to Anfeald without knowing about Dayna and Katrie... and even Ander.”
“No,” she said, understanding him, too.
He rested a hand on her bare thigh and said nothing, looking at the spot where his warm hand met her flesh, still gleaming with sweat and dusted with dirt; then he looked at her, a quirky little smile on his face. “You triggered the spellstone. You’re Jess again, and you did it all on your own.”
“I got mad,” Jess said. “I had to help you. There was no not-doing it.”
“No, Braveheart, I suppose not.” Carey rested his hand on her thigh, offering a gentle squeeze. “Not for you.”
~~~~~
Jaime found them sitting together when she returned with her horse, leaving the mare just on the other side of the fallen tree—a startlingly intimate moment, and her throat tightened up a little at the sight of it.
She suddenly realized how deeply she wished Arlen was there—how she wanted him to tuck his arm over her shoulder and pull her in tight with that careless confidence of his, and how much she worried whether he’d ever be able to do so again.
But she didn’t have time to mourn such things, and Carey and Jess had run out of time for their moment together. She cleared her throat. “Jess needs clothes. And first aid. I’ll check the cabin.” She frowned, coming alongside them now. “Although Willand probably just spelled herself whole when she needed to.”
The Changespell Saga Page 58
