Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess (38 page)

"Finder," Arlen said. He caught Dayna's eye. The small woman was sitting cross-legged in front of Mark, looking fragile and uncertain, but when she finally nodded, there was determination in her face. Arlen waited for Carey to join them and start a conversation that was far too loud and unnatural—
here we all are, out in the open, not up to anything at all
—but one that easily created a rustle of notice up on the point. Then he closed his eyes, holding one hand out palm up; moments later he opened them again, just as a gentle greenish light bloomed into existence. With the other hand he touched Jess on the shoulder, and the light left him to hover several yards in front of her.

"Oh, the auto club'd love this one," Mark said, interrupting an inane conversation on horse-training ethics that he'd obviously not been following in the first place.

"Right," Jaime teased gently. "No more men refusing to admit they're lost."

Mark grinned. "Good riding, Jess," he said, dropping a hand on Dayna's shoulder. Dayna opened her eyes and shrugged; but in her eyes was a dawning of wonder at what she'd been able to do. The rustle of the guard was conspicuously gone. Carey strode over to the saddled grey to hold him while Jess mounted, an unnecessary gesture she allowed him without completely understanding. When she was settled, he closed his hand around hers on the reins.

"Come back to me, Jess," he said. "Be careful enough that you can come back to me."

"Damn straight," she said positively, pointed the horse at the rock-walled corridor, and startled him with her heels.

Their departure rated zero for form; the grey flung his head up and lit out in a stiff, angry canter turned gallop, topping the final rise at high speed and encountering nothing more than the angry shouts of belated discovery. Crouched over the whipping salt and pepper mane, her arms following the exaggerated motion of the grey's effort, Jess suddenly wondered about the consequences of her escape to those in the hollow. A ringing gunshot followed her thoughts, barely heard above the hoofbeats of her run; she abruptly sat back, pulled the grey up, turned him back the way they'd come and then halted, sitting in indecision, wanting to go back and ride down the man who was threatening her own but not daring to do it.

The grey pranced in angry impatience, throwing in a borderline buck. She ran a hand down his tense neck and quietly turned him away from the hollow again, still reluctant but in the end willing to do as she'd been asked. If she went back to help them and failed, their one chance would have been wasted for nothing. When the grey relaxed enough to lower his head and snort in frustrated acceptance of his situation, she again asked him for a canter.

She knew these trails. She'd been on them as soon as she was old enough to pony lead along with her mother, following Carey on short, quiet trips while she learned her first lessons, her first Words. And though the little finder glow moved along beside her in a mute, frustrated attempt to get her to turn right, she ignored the first two opportunities, going on instead to a main intersection further ahead. There, she had five different paths to choose from, and she was able to pick the one that most closely matched the glow's indication.

Carey had said there would be people trying to stop her, so she wasn't surprised when the grey, during one of their breathers, pricked his ears and sent out an almost inaudible greeting, his neck stretched high and his body quivering with the forced exhalation of his call. She startled him out of the next, inevitably louder effort by jumping off his back and hauling him back around, swapping ends so she could run him back in behind the best cover she could find, a barely adequate combination of brush and tree. She clamped her hand over his nose, and had only just noticed that the glow was still out in the middle of the trail when the increasing noise of multiple hoofbeats made a change of position impossible; a dozen cantering riders plowed right by it, swallowing it in their midst and then spitting it out again in the dust of their passage. They never even glanced her way; Jess had only enough time to see they were battle worn, sporting blood and bandages and a trophy stringer of armbands. The trophy colors, she realized, were from Sherra's people. She stared after the group and wondered if the woman with the calm voice and pleasant hands had fallen to Calandre's people already.

It was only a moment's dilemma, another tug at her desire to go back and help her friends. Then she led the grey onto the trail and mounted, and the glow moved out before her, encouraging her onward. Two more furtive dashes into the woods kept her clear of similar self-involved fighters, but it was during a lull, a quiet canter along a relatively uncomplicated section of travel, that she encountered her first real opposition.

The woman seemed to come from the trees, landing on the trail in front of Jess and startling her so there was no time for thought, only the instinctive effort to stop before she ran the challenger over. And while Jess' eyes were still wide with surprise, the woman had a bow raised and aimed at her.

"What's your business here?" she asked—calmly, but it was clearly a demand.

Jess merely stared, caught in a tangle of thoughts, trying to judge which side this woman was on.

"Snappy comebacks will get you nowhere," the woman said with a humorless smile. "Off the horse then. Whatever you want, you're not cleared for this area, and you'll get no further." Then, when Jess still hesitated, the leftover smile vanished. "Do it now, or die. You don't seem particularly well-suited to this game, girl, so quit trying to play it."

"But I can't tell who you're with!" Jess blurted.

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" the woman responded, looking not at all strained as she continued to hold the bowstring taut, her humorless smile back. "Get off the horse. Maybe I'll give you a few answers."

Run
, Jess thought, but realized she had little chance of surviving any sudden move. Slowly, she dismounted, feeling awkward under the scrutiny of this woman. "I need to see Sherra," she offered, standing beside the grey. "If you're an enemy, try to kill me. If you are not, let me go on. My friends need help."

The woman grunted. "Plenty of people need help." She lowered the bow with this apparent declaration of alliance. "I'm not here to kill you, but that doesn't mean you can go on. You'll be coming with me, to a place where you'll be out of the way until we're ready to deal with you."

Jess tossed her head with an impatient snort. "I have to talk to—"

"Listen," the woman said impatiently. "There are a score of others just like you, and you all need to see Sherra
now
. Everybody thinks their problems are worse than anybody else's, and if you all got through to the main position, the important work would never get done. You're not going to see her, and you're not going to ride off on your own. So walk that hell-fried creature in front of me—unless you want to end up like
that
fellow."

She nodded at the woods beside her, and for the first time Jess noticed the limp-looking pair of raggedly shod feet poking out of the undergrowth. She looked back at the woman's bow, where an arrow still rested loosely against string and stave, and the sentry gave a short laugh. "He was on the other side, as it happens, but I'm in no mood to fool around with you, so don't push it. And just so you know—you go further than this without escort and you'll be shot without warning by the next sentry. That finder isn't going to get you anywhere but the hells."

Momentarily out of alternatives, Jess tilted her head in the human laying-back-of-ears and walked in front of the woman, taking the newly worn path through the woods with the grey beside her, and the finder glow futilely trying to catch her attention from the other side of the grey. She could wait where she was told and hope someone would listen to her, or she could break away and try to reach Sherra—or she could return to Carey.

She didn't think she would make it to Sherra—none of them had counted on heavy security around the wizard. And she didn't have the feeling anyone was going to listen to her.
Carey
.

They quickly reached an area where the trees thinned a little, leaving room for a narrow and shallow river. All the underbrush was trampled down, and the air was thick with the spicy smell of crushed vegetation. There was only one other horse, being watered by a tall, thin man at the river; a disgruntled looking group, men all, were more or less sitting around a fire and its large hanging cook pot of something that smelled good. Jess' stomach growled, telling her the peach had not been enough, although she was far too angry to put food in her stomach.

"Go get yourself something to eat, then. Someone'll take your horse—can't have you getting ideas about making a run for it—and listen to your story. You may even make it to Sherra."

Jess' fingers tightened around the reins. She could not let them have the horse, not let them take away her chance to get back to Carey if she failed here. "I can't wait for someone else to listen.
You
listen. I am here from Carey and Arlen, and I need to get help for them."

"What, you think I came into this world yesterday? Arlen's hold is under siege and he's trapped inside. Now tie your horse, and eat or not as you please, but quit wasting my time." She turned to go.

"No," Jess insisted, "Arlen is free of the hold. Carey and I got him out. He said to tell you I am Dun Lady's Jess, and you would believe me."

"Dun Lady's Jess," the woman repeated blankly, as the others stirred with interest at the fuss Jess was creating.

"His horse. I—"

But the woman had slapped her forehead in an exaggerated gesture and said, "Heavens abandon me, I've snagged a crazy." Then she pointed, a distinctly commanding gesture, at the fire. "Get over there. And give me those reins—and
shut up
." This last as Jess opened her mouth in protest, and then came an outstretched hand, ready for the reins.

Jess stared at the woman, caught in indecision, her head lifted as she again laid back her mental ears—a sign that would have kept the woman from crowding had she been familiar with it. But she wasn't, and she did crowd Jess, and Jess' vacillation lost out to deeply ingrained reaction. Her leg flashed a fierce kick that sent the woman tumbling, astonished and unable to take the weight on her leg when she tried to rise. Jess was already mounting, pulling herself up with an arm that erupted in pain, charging through the low-ceilinged path with her body held tight against the horse. There were shouts behind her, and a brief flurry of cheers from the other captives. Jess rode hard, retracing her path back to the rock hollow, until she nearly ran up on the heels of a rough looking pair on the wrong side; then she dropped back into caution and a slow jog, taking the first turning she could.

And that was when the man caught up with her.

As soon as Carey heard the enemy's angry shout, he knew Jess was out and away, and he started for their protected corner, hauling Dayna along with him while Mark and Jaime quickly followed. It was only heartbeats before an arrow struck at the edge of the pocket, and then Carey saw the man where he was bellying up on the point of rock which gave him access to the otherwise protected area. He pulled the awkward bulk of the automatic from the top of his boot and used its last bullet, a miss that nonetheless scared—no, terrified—the man into backing off.

"He's not likely to come back after that," Mark said with satisfaction.

"No, but he's not going to leave, either," Carey said. "And now there's someone else on Calandre's side who's seen the gun and is alive to tell about it."

"It was still a good choice," Jaime said firmly. "Mark wouldn't have gotten to his bow before that guy had a chance to take good aim on us. Anyway, he wasn't close enough to really see anything—"

"And neither were those first men Dayna chased away," Mark said. "They'll just think it was some kind of loud spell."

"A very loud spell," Dayna added, putting a finger inside her ear to pop it.

"And one which I would like to see," Arlen said.

As one, they realized he was not privy to all the secrets Carey had warned them to keep from this world. And suddenly things were awkward, and Carey, looking at the gun in his hand, pulled up his tunic to shove the thing in his pants, neatly covering it again until he could find some place to stash it. "I'm sorry," he said, sincere at the surprised look on Arlen's face. "There are things no one here should know about. And they won't, not if I can help it. We've got enough trouble with people like Calandre without giving her more to work with."

"Well," Arlen said into the awkwardness, "that's certainly true enough. I'll just have to accept your judgement on this one, Carey."

Carey nodded gratefully but the incident had given him something to think about. While they would all certainly do their best to remain alive and free, he knew it was likely that their guard already had reinforcements looking for him, and that it was indeed possible this ragged little group would be killed before Jess came back with help—if she managed to come back with help at all. He had to make sure the guns would not be found.

For what seemed like hours, he scoured their small retreat, and finally found a place he deemed secure. On his belly, inched into the very back of the low overhang behind the spring, he found a crevice in which to tuck the guns. The one without bullets was of no use to them anymore, and he left it there. When he crawled out, covered with moss and streaked with slimy mud, he said to Dayna, "Whatever happens, Calandre can't get her hands on these—she can't even know they exist—and that means we can't risk using them against her. If anything happens to me, I want you to take the other guns to the back of this cave and shove them down the crack in the rock there. You'll fit most easily. After you, it's up to Jaime, and then Mark, though it'll be a squeeze."

"Gotcha," Mark mumbled unhappily, as reluctant as any of them to admit that things might come to the point where the chore was left to him.

Jaime shushed them suddenly, rudely enough to prickle sibling rivalry, and Mark opened his mouth for what would probably have been an equally rude response. But Arlen came up beside Jaime and looked, as she did, up at the unchanging point of rock which could hold the only threat to them, and Mark subsided into quiet attention.