Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess

by Doranna Durgin

  "What was that?" she whispered to the air—Camolen air.

  "Magic," Carey panted. "Raw magic."

  * * *

  They regrouped at the tailgate of the truck while Carey, using a halter made of old baling twine, pulled Lady around the truck, breaking into sporadic jogging until she finally submitted to the tug and trotted around with him.

  "That's my girl," he said, running a hand down her neck as he stopped them by the tailgate. The horse lowered its head and shook vigorously, and then stretched out her head to sniff the truck.

  "How much . . ." Jaime started, and had to clear her throat. "How much of Jess is left, do you think?"

  Carey shook his head. "I don't know. I keep hoping she's in there, but . . . I just don't know enough about magic. Sometimes it's far too thorough. Have you paid attention to your words?"

  "Our words?" Mark repeated, as an odd look crossed his face. "Not English," he murmured, looking at Jaime. Not English. And the air was filled with the spice of hot rock and vegetation, and the sunlight was somehow whiter—

  "Who cares?" Dayna said dully. "I want to go back home."

  Carey looked at the mare for an overlong time. Finally, still looking at the neck he stroked, he said, "I can't get you there. The stone was only keyed for two spells. If you really want to go home, you're going to have to help me find Arlen."

  "If he's not already dead," Mark said pointedly.

  Carey looked at him then, a sharp glance. "Right," he said. "If he's not already dead."

  Jaime scrubbed her hands over her face. "All right, Carey. We need to find Arlen. But first, we have to do something with—for—Eric. And you need to tell us something about where we are—in relation to where we're trying to get. Where is Arlen's place from here? Where's Calandre, or this Sherra person you've told us you were trying to reach?"

  "And why was Dayna able to play around with magic?" Mark inserted, looking at their friend.

  "I wasn't playing," she muttered darkly. "And you shouldn't have stopped me."

  "I didn't stop you because of him," Carey asserted, just as darkly. "I stopped because of what it might have done to you. You haven't been around for most of our discussions about magic, but just ask Jaime. She knows what can happen if you fool around with it and you don't know what you're doing. That magic could have come right back on you—it could even have killed us all."

  "Oh," Dayna mumbled, her anger dissipating into pale-faced understanding.

  "I don't understand how she was able to manipulate magic in the first place," Jaime frowned, looking at her friend. Dayna, the highly structured? Dayna, the organized and inflexible? Jaime had supposed that magic required great sweeps of imagination and creativity.

  Carey shrugged, his attention wandering back to Lady as she investigated Derrick's body, hesitating at the scent of blood on his shirt. "Arlen could tell you, or even Sherra." He looked from the truck to Eric, and then out at the hard, scrubby land around them. "We need to get away from the open ground, get this truck under cover. I think we should dump this guy and put Eric in the truck—and drive it as far from here as we can get."

  "Headed where?" Jaime asked pointedly. "Look, there's a mileage notebook in the glove box. Why don't you draw us a map or something—anything to give us the lay of the land—and especially which directions we want to avoid." When he seemed about to protest, she added, "We might get separated. We might have to fumble around on our own. I'd rather not do it blind."

  He shrugged, and in a moment he had handed the tough thin hay-twine halter lead to Jaime, while he hunched over her little notebook and sketched them a rough map. "We're just over the border from Anfeald—Arlen's domain; that's the direction the truck is pointed now," he said. "You can't make it very far that way driving, though—there's a steep climb that turns into woods at the top. This whole area isn't heavily populated—the bigger cities are northeast of us. Sherra's Siccawei is behind the truck—pretty much straight south."

  "And in Camolen, in which direction does the sun rise?" Mark asked, his tone so neutral Jaime couldn't tell if he was serious. But Carey took him seriously enough.

  "East," he said. "But I'm not sure what the language translation will have done with directions." So he drew a quick compass on the map and labeled the points.

  Jaime shook her head when she saw that East and West had flip-flopped, and suddenly had to look away from the perverted map. Somehow that simple difference drove home the fact that she wasn't home anymore, and it was almost too much to fathom, never mind handle. After a minute she cleared her throat and said, "Good catch, brother. That could have landed us in trouble fast."

  "Sherra's is past the dry riverbed—I know it's a gorge here, but it bottoms out to the right, there, and I think you can get the truck over it—unless you don't think the truck'll manage over this ground."

  "Drive it till it gets hung up," Jaime shrugged, her moment of overwhelmed disorientation shoved aside for practical matters. "Or goes dry. Though I'm not sure why you're so concerned about the speed. No one knows we're here, and there sure doesn't seem to be anyone around to spot us."

  Carey straightened, frowning. "Think in terms of magic, Jaime. Anyone with any skill at all felt us arrive."

  "Ulp," she said lightly, in pure contrast to the dismay she felt.

  Carey said dryly, "Right," and pointed back to the map. "Sherra's hold is at the edge of a lake in another huge tract of woods. She's got quite a little village sprung up on the other side of the lake, cleared land and everything there. The paths are clear and you won't have any trouble finding it."

  "And Calandre?" Mark asked grimly.

  Carey pointed off to the right of Arlen's direction—between Sherra and Arlen. "Erowah is that way."

  "Great," Jaime muttered.

  "Closer to Arlen than Sherra, but further out," he said. "It's a pretty area, hilly sheep country. The people are good folk, and try to ignore the fact that she's there." He pushed the map toward them. "Got any questions?"

  Jaime looked at the sketchy lines before her, lines that would have meant nothing without the commentary that came with them, and shrugged. "I suppose we can ask, if we lose our way."

  "As long as you're sure you know who you're dealing with," Carey reminded them. He looked toward the old river and sighed, "I'm thirsty enough to suck on river pebbles, on the off chance there might be some water left in them."

  "I wish you hadn't said that," Jaime said ruefully, immediately aware of her own thirst, and the fact that they were standing in the noonday sun. A large carrion bird circling overhead completed the picture nicely.

  "That's the same river where Jess—Lady, I mean—and I fell. I suppose she told you about that."

  "As best she could," Jaime allowed.

  "Let's go," Dayna said abruptly. "I don't want Eric to lie out there any more, and I don't like this place."

  "I'm with you," Mark said. He put a hand on Derrick's ankle, hesitated, and then gave a resolute tug. The stiffening body came reluctantly, leaving a trail of clotting blood behind. As Jaime regarded the dumped body with dismay, Dayna crawled in the truck and did her best to wipe the blood up, warning them off with, "Eric's not lying in this."

  Lady investigated the body with a few impersonal whiffs, and a brief brush of her sensitive muzzle whiskers, then roughly pulled Jaime over to Eric, where she carefully went down the length of his lanky body, nudging, her eyes grown round and anxious. Jaime found her own eyes tearing up again, and gently tugged the lead until Lady followed her back to the truck, where she exchanged a look with Carey. He shrugged, completing the short, silent conversation. How much was Jess, and how much was just wishful thinking on their part?

  "You just want to . . . leave him here?" Jaime asked in a low voice, changing the subject to Derrick and not particularly eager for Dayna to hear. Her glance went up to the bird, where it continued its lazy, spiraling glide in the thermals of the hot riverbed.

  "We can't take the time to bury him," he replied in an
equally discreet voice, his hazel eyes holding the same faint regret that she felt. "We've been here too long already." Then, as Dayna crawled out onto the tailgate, disdainfully dropping a bloodied rag on Derrick's body, he asked, "Ready?"

  She nodded, and looked at Mark, who was already standing by Eric. Carey joined him and, together, carefully, they picked him up. Jaime took Dayna's hand and drew her off the tailgate, trying to make some contact with her tightly withdrawn friend—but Dayna's hand felt cool and distant in hers.

  Carey closed the tailgate with relief plain on his face. "Let's go," he said. "It'll take them a while to figure out the tire tracks, but once they do, the trail'll be too damn clear."

  "You really think they'll be here," Jaime said, climbing in behind the wheel while Carey squeezed in beside the gearshift and Mark filled the other half of the passenger side, Dayna on his lap. No one suggested that there was more room in the back.

  "They'll be here," Carey said with assurance. "At the most, they're half a day away. If they're coming from Arlen's, less that half of that. Put this thing in four-wheel drive and get it moving, Jaime."

  "Right," she muttered. "Wouldn't Chevy just love to base a commercial on this one."

  "Jaime, you're nuts," her brother said, a brief moment of normalcy that did much to bolster her spirits. She glanced out the passenger-side mirror to see that he had a good grip on the halter lead, and that Lady didn't startle too badly when the engine turned over, and then let out the clutch, trying to move at a good pace while watching the rough ground, the direction ahead, and Lady's reaction to their progress. The mare trotted easily beside the vehicle, and soon she concentrated only on the ground before them.

  * * *

  Jaime looked tired, Carey thought, not envying her the difficult job of keeping the truck from grounding out on the rough terrain. The steering wheel jerked with each twist of the front wheels over rock and bump, and he wanted to offer to spell her—but the truth was, not even Mark was as good as she with the manual transmission. Jaime was up to the tricky shifts, and able to downshift from second to first at the same time she slammed them from regular to low four-wheel drive, an intricate dance of clutch and two gearshifts that Carey knew he could never imitate, not with his limited experience.

  But they were making good time. Not better than a mounted party, but certainly faster than if they'd been on foot. Too bad they'd have to abandon the vehicle soon; they'd gone from flat, dusty old riverbed to rocky scrub, and the truck would never make it past the fringes of the woods they now approached.

  The Chevy seemed to stick for a moment, then lurched forward. Jaime frowned as she put it in neutral and wiped her sweaty, dusty face on the once-clean hem of her shirt. "Bladder break," she said, cutting the engine. "I've got to check the left front wheel."

  They disembarked, slowly stretching their assorted cramps and strains. Carey's legs were so stiff from trying to keep them out of Jaime's way that he wasn't sure, at first, that they were going to hold him. Mark dropped Lady's lead and flexed his arm, kneading the bicep, and Dayna headed for the other side of the truck with a taciturn warning that the men had better stay where they were.

  "Oh, damn," Jaime groaned from the forbidden side of the truck, giving the tire a token kick. "Flat as they come," she informed the guys. "Got a big spear of rock stuck in it."

  "Spare's all right, isn't it?" Mark asked, although he looked far from eager at the prospect of changing it.

  "Never mind," Carey said. "The gas is almost gone and we can't go much further than this, anyway. I think we should lay a little false trail with what gas we have left, and go on foot from there."

  "Without changing the tire?" Jaime said, aghast. "We'll ruin the wheel!" But before Carey could say anything, she laughed at herself and said, "Listen to me. As if it matters."

  "We couldn't take the time even if it did matter." As Dayna came around the truck, looking self-conscious, Carey looked at the truck cab and sighed, then nodded to Mark. "Trade places?"

  "Sounds good to me," Mark agreed. "Variety if not relief."

  Dayna scowled. "It's not so great from where I sit, either," she said. "I'll bet Carey's knees are just as bony as Mark's."

  That, at least, was a bit of the real Dayna coming to the fore. Mark gave her a big loud kiss on the forehead on his way by, and Carey pulled her into the truck before she could respond.

  "Okay, Jay," Mark announced as Carey closed the door and reached out for Lady's halter lead. "We're ready to ramble."

  Carey guided Jaime off of the faint road and into rougher territory, where rocks scraped the truck's skid plate with tortured sounds, and the wheel rim slid and screeched its way forward. He was forced to drop Lady's lead, but not surprised when she followed along in their trail of her own volition. Lady minus any aspect of Jess would have done that, and this slow pace was—and had been—no real effort for her. It was forty-five minutes later, as they made their way through increasing brush, mowing down small trees and dragging undergrowth, that the engine gave a couple of sad coughs and sighed into silence.

  "That's that, then," Jaime said, pulling the emergency brake with what looked like the last of her strength. "What now?"

  "Out!" Dayna said emphatically, wiggling around to find the door handle. Rather than endure the bouncing, Carey hastily found it for her, and helped her out with enough force that she gave a small squeak.

  They stretched and groaned while Lady wandered among them, nipping the sweet new growth off of twiggy trees. Finally, Carey said, "There's no point in trying to hide this thing. The trail's far too clear."

  "I thought that was the whole point," Dayna said. "Lay a false trail, right?"

  He grimaced an acknowledgement. "It's hard to break old habits," he said. "But you're right. We'll backtrack along the trail we just made. Do your best not to disturb the ground any more. These guys won't be stupid."

  "Just a minute," Jaime said. "I'm going to look through the truck and make sure there's nothing here we can use." She rooted around in the truck, flipping the seats forward and digging through the accumulation of years. Mark quickly joined her, and a small pile of things grew on the ground.

  "I think you're forgetting something," Dayna said firmly, looking squarely at Carey. "We're not just leaving Eric lying in there like that."

  Carey steeled himself for a battle. "I don't think we have any choice, Dayna. We can take him out of the truck and find a protected place for him, but we don't have the time to—"

  "We do have the time to!" she said heatedly. "He's dead and he can't even be buried on his own world—you can bet he'll be buried on this one! Until he is, I'm not going anywhere!"

  Mark and Jaime abandoned their truck search to listen, and Carey felt frustration well up inside. "You don't seem to think I'm serious about any of this!" he exploded. "You want the truck clean before we put Eric inside. You want a map and a set of the rules before we start out. Can't you understand what I've been trying to tell you since you found me in that hotel? These aren't games! They aren't your TV stories, where you can turn off the set and go to your nice soft bed! We're dealing with a woman who will not hesitate to kill anyone who gets in her way—and who may have already killed one of the most powerful men in Camolen."

  Dayna swallowed visibly, but crossed her arms over her stomach and stared defiantly at him.

  "Damn!" Carey swore, turning away from her, closing his eyes and trying to get a handle on a temper that was just about out of control. When he turned back to her, his eyes were hot and his voice too level. "Listen up. We will find a secluded place for him, and we will cover him with rocks. The moment I see you slacking off, that's it—we're done, even if I have to carry you away from here kicking and screaming. Afterward we'll be marching double time, and we're not going to be able to stop until we reach Sherra's. That's a choice you'll be making for all of us here, if you won't change your mind about this."

  Dayna looked uncertainly at Mark and Jaime, who were visibly alarmed by Carey's frus
trated explosion; they, it was obvious, believed him, and had been infected by his urgency. Then she looked away from all of them, and her face crumpled. "He was my friend," she said through a sob. "No one just let me be . . . me, like Eric did."

  "All right, Dayna," Jaime said softly.

  Mark exhaled a deep breath. "It's not going to be easy. C'mon, Carey, let's get to it. Dayna, find a spot you like and start picking up rocks."

  Dayna didn't hesitate. She walked briskly into the thickening brush while Mark went around to the back of the truck and Jaime gathered the booty from the truck and dropped it into the empty grain sack that had been there as well.

  "It's a good thing I never clean this thing out," she muttered, coming around to help the men as she tied the bag closed with another length of hay twine. "We've got a flashlight, a couple flares, my old jackknife . . . a fishing lure and some almost tangle-free line—"

  "Later, Jay," Mark grunted, trying to handle Eric's stiffened body, his face a stoic mask—or trying to be.

  "I found a place!" Dayna announced from a hundred yards away, jumping so that she momentarily appeared above the brush. "Over here! You got it? I'm going to start on the rocks!"

  "And work gloves," Jaime said with satisfaction, slapping them down on the lowered tailgate. "I'll take 'em first—you want second dibs, Mark?"

  "I'll take them," Carey said, shaking his head when Mark looked at him for the nod to pick up Eric. "You've got another job, Jaime. Maybe the hardest one."

  "What?" she asked blankly.

  "Get on Lady and go," he replied shortly. "We've cut our chances in half—hell, to practically nothing—with this foolishness. You've got to tell Sherra we're here. She'll send someone out to meet us, and if they get to us in time, maybe we'll make it after all."

  "Me?" Jaime said in total shock. "You're the one who knows the spell, Carey. You're the one who knows the territory. And you're the one we can't risk, not if we take this as seriously as you're trying to get us to."