Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess (32 page)

"You're forgetting the threshold spell," Dayna reminded him pointedly.

"The stone that keeps magic from acting on me will probably do the trick—it's a handy little stone. And if it doesn't," he smiled, a trifle too airily for her comfort, and she knew what was coming next—"that's where you come in. That spell has an on-off switch—you've seen it work. Surely you can figure out how to flip the switch."

She wondered if he would have spoken so offhandedly about on-off switches if he hadn't spent time on her own world. "Right," she said sourly.
Dayna, the unwilling wizard
. The thing was, he was right. She had absorbed at least that much.

He shrugged. "The details plan themselves after that. We sneak into the stable, saddle up the horses I've already got picked out, and ride out."

"The gate," Mark reminded him.

"I don't think we'll have any problem," Carey asserted. "I doubt the guard's been alerted to stop people who are going
out
, especially since Sherra thinks I'll be safely tucked away in that room. Otherwise, well . . . we'll have to handle it." He picked up Sherra's tumbler and sipped the cool water, pensive but apparently satisfied—much more satisfied than Dayna herself, as she stared at the strong lines of Carey's lean face and his deep-set eyes, less shadowed than usual in this airy eating hall.

"And then we ride for—how long? A day?"

"Day and a half, probably."

"A day and a half, until we reach some nice little spot that you think is a good defensible camp for us to wait in while you zap into Arlen's place and snatch up Arlen and Jaime."

His gaze moved back to her, a certain amount of amusement held therein. "Dayna, relax. I know just where the nice little spot is—and Calandre's people just aren't familiar with the area. It'll be a safe place to get our breath and decide our next move.
That's
going to depend on how much trouble Sherra's forces have stirred up—they'll probably be in the area soon after I get into the hold. We may even be able to count on them for help."

"
May
," Dayna snorted skeptically. As Carey briefly rolled his eyes in frustration, she said, "Don't give me that look—being aware of details is my strength, Chiara said so."

"Children," Mark murmured reprovingly, a comment so out of character that it did indeed shut them both up. Then Carey shrugged.

"We'll make most of it up as we go along, I'm afraid, Dayna. There's nothing I can do about that—except maybe get some more sleep so I'll be ready for whatever comes our way." He stood up, and nodded to Gacy when the other came to attention. "At least she stuck me in a room with a good bed," he added wryly, and strode to meet Gacy, his shoulders set with such determination that they would have clearly given him away, had Sherra been there to see.

It must be broken
, Jaime decided, not for the first time, as her fingers hovered above the bridge of her nose. She'd been breathing through her mouth for the past three days, barely able to eat the rough rations she was given because of her tender mouth and lips. But for all their disregard for her injuries, the wizard woman and her two cohorts had not offered to hurt her any more, either. At first Jaime had hoped the woman, Willand, would provide sympathetic support, given the way she'd stopped the beating at the cabin, but she soon realized the woman's motives had had nothing to do with
her
. Everything the woman did centered around whether it would improve her status in Calandre's eyes, and she had offered Jaime no favors, no conversation, and no hope. Jaime did her best to keep her end of any conversation to nods and one-word responses, trying hard to conceal that she came from Marion, Ohio. She had the feeling that information would give her much more attention than she wanted.

The travelers had broken camp extra early this morning, and Jaime had gathered that they expected to make Arlen's place by late afternoon. She squinted as they broke out of a thick stretch of woods and into hot bright sunlight, and then, warned only by the shift of Willand's weight, she grabbed the scant security of the saddle cantle just as their horse shifted into a canter. Jaime had never ridden double before this trip—at least not in the back seat—and she'd discovered it was an entirely different experience, one that often left her mounted only by determination. Willand never bothered to tell her before a gait transition, or when the changeable terrain presented them with dips or fallen trees. Since her pride wouldn't allow her to clutch Willand's waist, Jaime had only the back of the saddle to cling to, and it wasn't always enough.

The prolonged canter took them first by well-tended vegetable gardens, and then a small group of livestock pens, while a craggy hill jutted up in the background and looked over it all. Not until they were slowing down in front of the abrupt hill did Jaime see the straight, man-made lines of Arlen's hold, a structure that melded with the rock that supported it and was clearly inside the hill as much as it was on top of it. Behind the hill, the landscape was a green panorama of similar miniature mountains thrusting up through tended pasturelands.

"Off," Willand said shortly, even as she stopped the horse. "And don't be stupid enough to run. You won't get far."

Jaime slid right off the horse's rump, preferring it to the clumsy process of trying to dismount without bumping into Willand. Don't be stupid enough to run, indeed, she sniffed internally, and indulged in an uncharacteristic daydream of a shrieking Willand on her runaway horse. As long as she was this close to Arlen, Jaime certainly wasn't going to run without trying to take him along. Especially not while Whiskers—whose real name she refused to remember—was still mounted.

Willand conferred briefly with her companions while Jaime tried for a nonchalant attitude, then dismounted to leave her horse with the men and take Jaime's arm in a peremptory grip, steering her toward a dark spot at the base of the hill that turned out to be a cavelike doorway. Once they entered, Jaime managed to shake her off, and Willand accepted the change by not acknowledging it. The rough walls of the entrance corridor soon turned smooth, and coolness enclosed them along with heavy stone. Willand led her briskly up a brief, single flight of steps, then down a hallway, and then up a series of short flights that wound around themselves, with hallways branching off at each turn.

At the top of the steps was an unshuttered window, and Jaime got a glimpse of the gardens as they hurried by. This hall was short and ended in a guarded door. Willand took her to the only other room off that hall, striding through the doorway with only the barest of pauses to knock.

"Ah, you've returned. What have you discovered?" The question came from a woman who was not facing them and did not bother to turn around. She was of unimposing stature, a reed-thin woman whose robe fell unimpeded by curves of any sort. Her dark hair, thick and curly to the point of frizziness, was tied back at the base of her neck with a thong that looked like it was losing its battle. Jaime was singularly unimpressed and had to remind herself that this was a woman who had the whole of Camolen swaying with the breeze of her whims.

"Nothing on the spell," Willand admitted without hesitation. "A few scribbled pages that looked like checkspell material, but I'm not sure it's worth much. I did bring back something else you might find useful."

At that Calandre turned, still holding the small book she'd been consulting, revealing herself to be a woman of about Jaime's age, and someone whose carriage was totally at odds with the cheerfully asymmetrical room. Her eyebrows, fine and set above angular features, rose at the sight of Jaime, and she said, "Yes?"

"One of Arlen's couriers. She was on a run to Theo's, stumbled right into us. When we saw she was on one of Carey's duns, I thought she might be of some use in persuading Arlen."

"It looks like someone has already done some persuading," Calandre said dryly, eyeing Jaime's face.

"She tried to run," Willand said simply.

Calandre set the book down and carefully marked her place before closing it. Jaime eyed her warily as the woman approached in a stalk that was all the more intimidating because it was obviously uncalculated. "What's your name?" she asked abruptly.

"Jaime," Jaime said in her best I'm-not-impressed voice, still trying to figure out the best strategy for staying alive.

"Well, Jaime, did you learn anything?"

"Only that I should have kicked Whiskers' balls up to his throat before I ran," Jaime said perversely, knowing better. But Calandre seemed amused rather than annoyed, and Jaime gathered that she simply wasn't worth the effort of anger.

"So," she said. "You were one of the ones who got away. And now you're back again, finally to be of some use to us."

Jaime suddenly realized that Arlen certainly wouldn't have been the only person caught in Calandre's attack. "What happened to the others?" she asked warily.

"You mean the ones who had the courage to stay and fight? They died, of course. Very unfortunate; we really could have used the leverage you're going to give us before this—in fact, we've been looking for someone like you."

"I wasn't here when you attacked," Jaime said in a low voice, stinging over the implications in Calandre's comment, as false as they were.

"Whatever," Calandre replied, obviously not believing her and not caring, either. "Let's not waste any more time."

"Do you want her cleaned up before Arlen sees her?" Willand asked.

Calandre eyed Jaime's face and shook her head decisively. "A little dried blood will make our threat more immediate."

Jaime scowled; she'd tried to wash her face off in a stream the day before—though she had the feeling several of the cuts had opened again, and it was true she'd had another nosebleed.

"Try to maintain that expression, if you can," Calandre said lightly. "It will certainly have a good effect on Arlen." Her face, all angles and hollow cheeks, held amusement, and Jaime closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reminding herself that this was unlike any situation she'd ever been in, and that it was as real and as serious as anything she'd ever done. It was
real
, and she was no longer Jaime Cabot, accomplished equestrian with her own sort of following, but Jaime Cabot, prisoner of some crazed wizard woman. A
powerful
crazed wizard woman.

"Come along," Willand said in irritation, and Jaime opened her eyes to discover that Calandre had already gone out into the hall. She gave Willand a haughty look—she dared that much—and preceded her out of the room.

She'd wondered if there would be another disorienting trek through the innards of the stone structure, but Calandre was merely waiting for them at the guarded door. The guard stared curiously at Jaime, but looked quickly away when Calandre glanced at him. She pushed open the door and swept into the room, calling Arlen's name with the air of a long-awaited guest.

The room within was considerably more homey than the workroom, well-lit by the afternoon sun streaming in the window. Although the furnishings were simple and well-used, they had the look of comfortable things that had been cherished. There were faded but still thick rugs on the floor, books scattered about with bookmarks trailing out of them, and one chair that seemed entirely devoted to working embroidery, the accoutrements of which were spread out on the arms of the chair and the worn leather stool in front of it. A flash of movement caught her eye, and Jaime caught the tip of a cat's white tail as it disappeared under the embroidery chair.

"Still hiding from us?" Calandre asked, and Jaime thought she was talking to the cat until she saw that the woman was looking into a second room, her arms folded in front of her in a mannerism that only pressed the dark material against the boniness of her hips and collarbones. "Well, no matter. I've brought a visitor I think will interest you. You might even feel like talking."

"I doubt that." Arlen's voice was low and without strength, but still managed a matter-of-fact defiance. Calandre beckoned to Jaime, and she reluctantly moved up to stand in the doorway.

Arlen looked at her without recognition, and with the beginnings of a frown. Desperation led Jaime to offer, "I'm riding for Sherra now. Carey brought me there, and loaned me Lady."

Arlen's expression shifted rapidly through a maze of emotions and slid into deadpan even as Calandre lashed out and slapped Jaime resoundingly across the cheek. Jaime gasped as the blow rekindled all the sharp pains in her nose, and couldn't help the few tears that followed, fatigue and pain and fright bundled up into two trails of salt water.

Calandre said coldly, "When I want to hear from you, it'll be screams of pain to make this annoying old wizard talk. Until then, keep your helpful little comments to yourself."

Willand offered tentatively, "At least we've confirmed it, Carey
is
back. So they really do have something to build the checkspell on."

Calandre seemed to relax out of her anger. "True enough, little Willand. It seems you brought me back more than you thought. I'll have to remember to question her before she's beyond speech. Unless, of course," she added, turning to Arlen with brows upraised, "you want to skip the torture and give me the spell now?"

Jaime stared at the man, knowing her life hinged on what he might say next, this man who had never met her and could not possibly care about her. He stared back, appraising her, warm brown eyes beneath disheveled long hair and gaunt, unshaven cheeks that were at obvious odds with the mustache that had been cultivated above a slight overbite. Despite Calandre's words, he was certainly not old, or even past his mid-forties. She wondered if she really saw the tiny nod or only imagined it, and if that was really recognition of a sort in his gaze.

"Come now, Arlen," Calandre said with a definite trace of irritation. "You're already losing, bit by bit—you've even lost the outer room, and you're stuck in your own bathroom." For the first time, Jaime realized it was a wooden toilet that Arlen perched on with such aplomb, and that there was a washbasin next to him, and that the brown thing peeking out into her field of view was a fancy wooden tub. "What next, you'll be stuck only on the toilet? Or perhaps you'll try to convert the spell to a personal shield. Very risky in your condition. And of course by then, your courier will be . . ." she glanced at Jaime, "a very unhappy woman."