Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess (29 page)

It was hard to understand his dismissal, when two couriers had already been badly hurt, and when it seemed like a solution was obvious. Jaime tried to remind herself of the way her beginning students were blithely unaware of some of the riding theories that were so clear to her. With an inward
hmmph
at her self-admonishment, she lifted Lady into a trot, posting in an automatic rhythm that her body knew too well to bother involving her brain. It occurred to her that this job was one she might well be doing for some time, depending on how things went for Camolen.

Two hours by her watch—useless for anything in these elongated days except to mark the length of her journeys—out of the stronghold, and verging on the first in a series of grassy knolls with bedrock too close to the surface to allow trees, Jaime's guide veered from the moderately well-used trail she was on, and Lady followed, until a small cabin materialized in front of the background of trees and the guide disappeared like a burst soap bubble. Perched at the top of the hill, it had an abandoned look to it. This was a new route, one Morley had grumbled and assigned to her anyway, and Jaime didn't feel particularly welcomed by the dwelling's starkness. A log cabin should be homey and inviting, not foreboding.

She stopped Lady in the trampled grass before the cabin and dismounted, replacing the bridle with a halter so Lady could pick at the grass, and hobbling her as well. This was the boring part of the run, this waiting for the recipients to digest her messages and frame some sort of reply. Sometimes it even meant sitting around and waiting for the magic user's return, for all that they knew she would be coming. This one hadn't shown his face yet, which meant he was probably out on some wizardly errand.

She went to the door to knock anyway, dropping the bridle by the side of the entrance—but as she raised her hand, the door swung away. The man who greeted her smiled in a way that made her want to step back, and said, "Play time."

Play time?
She did take that step, and was about to identify herself when his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, jerking her inside before she could even think to resist. She stumbled, caught herself, and found herself staring into the open, filmy eyes of the dead man on the floor. As she gaped at the gruesome, slashing wounds that had killed him, someone else grabbed her by the shoulders and literally picked her up off her feet, slamming her against the wall. Air whooped out of her lungs as she hit the wall again, and then again, rag-doll limp. Her vision greyed; she gasped for breath and blinked her tearing eyes back into focus, discovering a whiskered face shoved up close to her own. It was an unpleasant, leering face, and she flinched from what she saw there.

"Surprise," he said. "You guys are easier to catch all the time."

She wanted to say something daring, something to show she wasn't terrified. Instead she found herself mute, capable only of the whimper that trickled past her throat.

"The message?" the man asked, tightening his hold, hitching her a few more inches up the wall, moving a few inches closer.

"Saddlebags," Jaime finally managed to whisper, after hesitation earned his fingers digging deeply into the muscles of her arms. He looked away long enough to nod at someone she hadn't yet seen, and she took the opportunity to get some impression of the place, something more than the door, the dead man, and the wall behind her back. She discovered that the dwelling was completely trashed, and that a woman was sifting through the contents of a cluttered table, frowning in an unsatisfied way.

"For your sake," the man said, letting her slide down a little so her feet took most of her weight again, "I hope we find a copy of the spell in those saddlebags. Not all these stupid little pet wizards can have it memorized already."

"I don't know what's in the message," Jaime ventured, knowing the spell
wasn't
. She tried not to think of the consequences, although the dead man gave her a pretty good idea. Then again, death was probably the easiest of what was waiting for her. No Amnesty International on Camolen.

"It's not here!" a matter-of-fact voice called from the front yard. "D'you know of any other stable that runs duns besides Arlen's?"

"Lots of duns to be had," grumbled the whiskered man, dragging Jaime over to the door in such an absent way she knew immediately that he counted her as no possible threat at all. In the doorway he paused and added, "but not that quality."

The man who'd greeted her was standing by Lady's head; did that mean there were only the three of them? As if that made a difference. "Looks a lot like that mare we found in Arlen's barn—you know, the one that dumb shit Gandy run to death."

Whiskers stared at Lady, his eyes narrowing as he nodded slightly. "She does at that. I think maybe we'll bring this one with us. Calandre might find some use in her."

The other man snickered unpleasantly. "Yeah, like maybe Arlen'll be more cooperative if he doesn't want to see you hurt, courier."

Jaime opened her mouth to say that Arlen didn't even know her, but realized she was hardly likely to be believed. She wanted to spit at the man, and fought the unfamiliar desire to rake her work-shortened nails across his face. Instead she looked at the ground and took a slow, deep breath, guessing that subservient cooperation was the most likely to leave her unbrutalized.

The woman came out of the house, stuffing a sheaf of papers into the leather container that looked like nothing more than an executive briefcase; neither it nor her expression fit well with her pert-nosed features and soft blonde hair. "I'm through here," she said brusquely. "It was a waste of effort. The man had nothing."

"One less wizard on their side," Whiskers said reasonably. "Gerrant, go get the horses." Gerrant looked up from the hobbles he'd just taken off, hesitant, and Whiskers' grip on Jaime's arm tightened with his irritation. "Go
on
—she's not going anywhere."

A grumble and a shrug, and Gerrant left to do as he was told, heading for the woods behind the cabin. Lady stood uncertainly, knowing she was free and that there was tension in the air, and Jaime suddenly realized that Lady was the only one who could tell Sherra what had happened here. A haltered horse galloping back to the stable would cause a fuss much sooner than the slow realization that the newest courier had taken longer than her run required. So much for subservient cooperation.

A quick glance at Whiskers confirmed his distraction; satisfied that Gerrant was seeing to the horses, he'd turned his attention to the woman and was watching her set up some kind of spell at the cabin's door.

Jaime took a deep breath and tore loose from his grasp, scooping up the bridle, sprinting for Lady. In the back of her mind she hoped to mount and make a run for it, but the sight of Jaime and her angry pursuit sent Lady jigging away. Just as the man's grasp plucked at her shirt, Jaime swung the bridle reins in a big circle that ended resoundingly against the tense muscles bunching in Lady's rump, and the mare bolted. If only she ran to the closeness of Sherra's and didn't head instead to Arlen's—

A rough tackle slammed Jaime to the dirt, crushed by Whiskers' weight on top of her. He trapped her between his knees, jerked her around to face him, and hit her hard. Pain shot through her head as it bounced off hard ground, and through her face as he hit her again and again and—

"Stop it." The voice was cold and derisive and held aloof disdain. The onslaught faltered; Jaime gulped for air and choked on blood, spitting and gasping, as the woman's voice continued, "That's enough. She's not in any shape to run again and Calandre will want something to work with. You'd better leave it for her."

Immediately the man got off her, unable to resist one last jab with his booted toe. "I hope you like riding double, sweetheart. We're going to know one another very well before this trip is over."

"She'll ride with me," the woman said, her voice more distant as she moved away. "Together we'll hardly add up to the weight your horse will carry with you alone. Now get her to her feet. Gerrant's coming."

He shrugged, and leaned down to haul Jaime up in an almost offhand way. But he held on to her, and this time she was almost glad for the support. She swiped feebly at the blood running freely from her lips and nose and waited, stupidly dazed, as Gerrant emerged from the woods with three horses in tow. She was so focused on the epicenter of pain in her nose that Whiskers had to shake her arm when it came her turn to mount behind the woman. Zombielike, she did as she was told and was soon riding away from Sherra's at a trot that jarred her pains with every step.

Carey patted the sweaty black neck before him and urged the horse up the short but exceptionally steep bank they faced. Denied the chance to help Arlen or Jess, he'd taken up his job with a vengeance, riding every day and sometimes twice a day. It hadn't taken too many such days to wear him down, and that's the way he wanted to keep it. While he was caught up in the aches and cramps of his body, in watching the trails for Calandre's threats and avoiding the pitfalls of rough travel, he actually managed to provide distraction from the
can'ts
that loomed so large in his life.

One of those
can'ts
he'd discovered early on, as he was saddling Lady for his first run. He was tightening the girth in easy stages when he realized he couldn't just mount up and ride as if she was only his mare Lady. Having given Jess the respect she was due, as a woman, he couldn't fall back to that easy partnership they'd had, in which he was master. He couldn't pretend he'd never kissed her—or that she hadn't kissed him back. Honest in everything, Jess had made no attempt to hide the confusion—and the passions—he created in her.

So in the end it was a good thing Jaime was riding for Sherra, for he doubted Lady would have responded well to a completely new rider, not with the turmoil she'd been through. Even if he'd never managed to tell Jaime so . . . he thought she knew anyway.

The black stumbled and Carey gave himself a mental kick.
You're not supposed to be thinking about this.
Frustrated, he turned his attention vigorously back to the run, turning the horse toward another bank in this rough shortcut with a, "Hup! Hup!" of encouragement. The black strained upward, Carey's body gave a groan of effort, and he returned to work with the grim satisfaction of its distraction.

When he finally reached Sherra's stronghold, Carey rode into a courtyard of commotion. His first impulse was to ignore it and return to the stable, but then he saw what was causing the disturbance.

Lady ran loose in the courtyard, saddle on her back and halter on her head, evading all attempts to capture her. At the moment the job was being tackled by several young children and a few of the household workers, none of whom had the skill or nerve to bluff Lady out.

Carey closed his eyes and dredged up the composure he would need to deal with an upset Lady, and then dismounted, leaving his own tired mount to stand quietly where it was left. "Lady," he said loudly, and all heads turned to look at him, including hers. She took one step toward him and then hesitated, allowing him to move up by her shoulder, where he stood as she craned her head around and sniffed him with the quick shallow breaths that meant she was taking in his scent. Then, reassured, she allowed him to quietly reach out and grasp the halter.

"What happened here?" he demanded, too tired for tact, too concerned to even try. "Where's Jaime?"

"The horse came back without her!" one of the children declared as the others nodded.

One of the adults shook his head helplessly and said, "The children came for help when the horse ran in, and now you know as much about it as any of us."

Where had Jaime ridden today? Carey made a quick inspection of Lady and her tack, and found only that the message was missing. He pointed at the oldest child, a girl nearly into adolescence, and gestured her over. "She'll go with you to the stable now, as long as you keep a good grip on that halter. One of you others can take my horse. Move it now," he added a little too harshly as they hesitated, and they scurried to obey. "And tell Morley to meet me in the main room."

Inside the house, he sat at one of the long, empty tables, his mind blank as his eyes idly watched a young man sweep up the residue of the last meal. All his urgency ran into a wall of helplessness that was built of his fatigue and frustration, and his inability to do the things his inner self had been railing at him to at least
try
. He had the sinking feeling that Jaime would be one more friend he was unable to help.

It was Mark who stumbled across him while he waited for Morley, knowing he needed to—somehow—garner Sherra's attention as well, to get her blessing on their reaction to Lady's ominous appearance. Jaime's brother. Just the person he wanted to deal with right now.

No, that wasn't fair. Carey lifted a hand in greeting as Mark sat across from him, laying an unstrung bow across the table next to a quiver of practice arrows.

"You look beat," Mark said, sounding fairly cheerful himself. "But I think I'm finally starting to get the hang of things around here. If I can only get that glowspell down . . . but hey, no need to worry about defense with me around. As long as we're attacked by big oval targets with painted weak spots, we got no problem at all."

Carey snorted, unable to resist the good-natured humor. But he shook his head in the end and murmured, "We
do
have a problem, though," as he stretched the arm that had been hurt in the wild run that had started this whole chain of events, and which still stiffened up faster and more thoroughly than the rest of his body. "Damn, we've got a problem."

It was still a barely audible murmur, but Mark heard it, and heard the unspoken magnitude of concern as well. "What?" he asked, just short of demand.

"Lady's come back without Jaime," Carey said. "I'm waiting for Morley—he'll be able to tell us her route today. And then, someone's going to have to come up with a Ninth Level reason to keep me from riding out after her."

Mark said, slowly and carefully, "It doesn't have to mean anything dire. She's been dumped before, no matter how much she tries to make me forget it."