Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (4 page)

The woman turned even redder, then lifted her chin. “That may be, but does that excuse her from work for the rest of her life?”

Lance tilted his head, eyes narrowed. “Have you tried asking her? She may not offer to help, but I assure you she is not useless. Sara, Iorweth is busy with the baby. Please hard-boil some eggs for us to eat.”

Sara rose to her feet, filled a pot with water from the basin and hung it over the fireplace. She placed four eggs inside then waited for Lance to tell her she’d done well or give her another task. The words didn’t matter as much as his voice. Other men might have voices as deep, but she would recognize Lance’s voice among a thousand others.

Instead he sat at the table and conversed with the woman and the man. He didn’t speak to Sara or look her in the eye.

Sara remembered a time when he had looked at her constantly, and she in turn had watched his face for hours, learning the exact shade of brown of his eyes, memorizing the shape of his lips framed by his close-cropped beard and mustache. Sometimes it almost seemed as if the way his face moved had meaning, if only she could puzzle it out.

The water in the pot began to first seethe, then boil. After four hundred and fourteen heartbeats, Lance spoke to her. “Sara, please take the eggs out.” He barely glanced at her.

Hard-boiled eggs were a frequent noon meal. She’d seen Lance remove the pot from the fire and drain the eggs many times; she knew how he did it.

Sara reached into the boiling water. The skin on her hand turned red and a thousand individual pain messages screamed up her nerves as she closed her hand around the hard oval of an egg. The feeling grew even stronger when she took out the second egg. By the third one, her fingers barely obeyed her command to move.

“What’s she doing?” the woman asked, her voice rising in both volume and octave. She sat up, and the baby wailed.

Sara put her hand in the boiling water for the fourth time.

“Vez’s Malice! Her hands!” the other man exclaimed.

She almost dropped the egg, but forced her curled fingers to put it down gently. Even though her hand was no longer in the boiling water, it continued to hurt just as much. Interesting.

Lance strode to her side, white showing around his irises. “Sara! What did you do?” He grabbed her hands, intensifying the pain for a heartbeat before the Goddess’s healing poured into her flesh.

Sara watched the process reverse itself, the red and pain bleeding away into cool health before she answered his question. “I took out the eggs.”

He flinched. “Sara, don’t do that again. You must take care not to do yourself harm.”

The woman shook her head, clutching her crying baby. “She’s crazed.”

Sara ignored her and soaked up Lance’s words and attention.

She’d known this would happen if she put her hand in the boiling water. He kept talking, but after a moment she realized he wasn’t paying her the kind of attention she’d anticipated. His voice was loud, and his eyebrows had drawn together into a line. And then he slowed down and wiped a hand across his eyes. “Just don’t do that again, Sara. Don’t hurt yourself. Do you understand?”

“No.”

He let out a long breath. “What part don’t you understand?”

“I am not hurt now. You healed me.”

He pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Yes, I did. I Wear the Brown, which means I represent Loma, the Goddess of Mercy. Healing people is my responsibility, but it’s better for someone not to get hurt in the first place.”

She considered his words. She still didn’t really understand.

The woman and the man were arguing while the baby sucked her thumb. “We can’t have her in the house with Meghan. What if she burns it down?” the woman asked.

“She won’t—”

“You don’t know that!”

The man put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You said it yourself, all she does is sit. Just leave her alone and everything will be well.”

The woman’s voice increased to a shout. “It’s my house!”

Lance winced.

The man dropped his hand. “No, my dear, you can’t have it both ways. You wanted a father for your child, and you roped me into being one. I am your husband and Meghan’s father. It is our house, or I will stand before the Listener and tell her you’ve repudiated me.”

The woman’s eyes grew wet. “No. I didn’t mean—it is our house. Julen, please don’t go. I—I love you.”

Lance took Sara’s elbow and pulled her from the house so she didn’t hear what Julen said, but when she glanced in the window, their lips were locked tight together, the baby encircled between their arms.

* * *

Wexford didn’t have a gaol so the prisoner was confined to the same wooden granary that had once held Julen. Lance found Rhiain pacing outside it. Her golden eyes brightened when she saw him. “Lance!”

He braced himself as she affectionately rubbed her head against his side. His stomach only twinged a little.

“How arrre you feeling?” she purred.

“Much better. Well enough to hit the road, in fact.” He forced a smile. It was only partly a lie.

Rhiain tilted her great maned head. “But it’s late afterrrnoon.”

He let the smile drop. “Let’s just say, we’ve overstayed our welcome.” He resisted the urge to glance at Sara where she stood calmly at his side. He was angry with Iorweth for picking on Sara, but to his shame he couldn’t say she was wrong to be worried. Sara was unpredictable. If someone carelessly asked her to “quiet the baby,” he didn’t know what she’d do.

He took a deep breath. “Would you rather wait until morning?” Since they were both travelling to the Hall it made sense to travel together.

“No.” Rhiain shook her head vigorously. “The soonerrr he’s off my hands, the betterrr.”

In that case, he wondered why she hadn’t already moved on with her mysterious prisoner. Through the villagers, Lance had learned that the man was a Republican legionnaire, but no one seemed to know more than that.

“How did you end up responsible for the prisoner? Who is he?”

“Wenda trrraded Generrral Pallax’s son back to him for a one-year peace.”

Lance winced in dismay. Only one year of peace? Of course, Wenda’s bargaining position hadn’t been strong.

“When the Generrral left with his Legion, she rrreturned all the legionnairrres we’d capturrred, too, except one. Gaius Mendicus. He’s—”

“The man who climbed the Red Saints,” Lance finished. His mouth flattened in dismay.

The Red Saints were the men and women who’d given their Lifegift to become a ring of mountains enclosing Kandrith and creating a safe haven for escaped slaves. The cliffs facing outward at the Republic of Temboria were two hundred feet high and impassable except through the heavily guarded Gate. Or had been impassable until the so-clever General Pallax had Gaius scale the cliffs and lower ropes; then had his engineers build a winch to secretly bring in his Legion. Very few men would even attempt such a climb.

Which made Gaius Mendicus a very dangerous man. “Why isn’t he in prison?” Lance asked.

“The Kandrrrith hoped Gaius would settle and live out his life herrre. She said he could go whereverrr he wanted as long as he did not leave Kandrrrith, but the Listenerrr judged his prrromise to be a lie. So Wenda asked me to trrravel with him.”

“Let me guess,” Lance said grimly. “After a few weeks of sulking and trying to escape, this Gaius became friendlier. You thought he was adapting to life here and let your guard down—and then he speared you.”

“Yes,” she rumbled, head hanging down. “He said he was making a walking stick. He must have sharrrpened it while I slept and harrrdened the tip in the firrre.”

Her obvious shame puzzled him. He would’ve expected Rhiain to be angry at this legionnaire, but instead she appeared beaten down as if— Lance had a sudden memory of how Rhiain had mooned over the sickeningly handsome Julen. Goddess, Rhiain hadn’t fixed on this Gaius as her next infatuation, had she?

Yes, of course, she had. A young, fit man, foreign and exotic, who suddenly turned on the charm... And that explained why she’d waited around for Lance to heal; she didn’t trust herself not to be duped again.

Lance squeezed her furry shoulder. “You weren’t wrong to hope he was growing to like his prison. All it means is he’s a devious bastard.” He patted her once more, then said briskly, “Give me half an hour to gather some supplies and then we’ll move out.”

* * *

“We’re travelling with
her
?” Gaius Mendicus balked at the sight of Sara. “The crazy woman?”

For her part, Sara stared straight through him.

Lance furrowed his brow. “What’s he talking about? How does he know her?”

Rhiain avoided his gaze. “Afterrr you healed me, I followed his trrrail, but he cirrrcled arrround and arrrived back at yourrr campsite beforrre I caught up with him.”

A jolt went through Lance. “Did he hurt Sara?”

Rhiain gave a coughing laugh. “Not as much as she hurrrt him.”

Lance listened in disbelief as Rhiain described finding the legionnaire pinned to a log.

Gaius Mendicus’s face flushed red. “She’ll regret not coming with me once General Pallax overruns your pitiful country. Do you think I’m the only man in the Republic capable of scaling the cliffs?”

Kandrith’s existence, a tiny nation surrounded on all sides by the Republic of Temboria, had grown even more precarious. It made Lance sick to think about it, but right now he was more interested in what had happened while he lay unconscious. “Rhiain, keep him quiet, will you?” he asked absently. He cupped Sara’s jaw, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Sara, why did you pin his hands to the log?”

She serenely returned his gaze. “To keep him from forcing me to leave.”

Astonishment loosened Lance’s jaw. He would’ve expected her to blindly follow Gaius’s orders the way she did his own. “Why didn’t you just go with him?”

“My place is with you,” Sara said.

He tried to temper the hope swelling his heart, but couldn’t prevent his pulse from pounding in his ears. “Why?” he breathed. “Why do you want to stay with me?”

“Because...”

Because
I
love
you
.

He willed her to say it.

Sara took her time, thinking. The answer was obviously difficult for her. “Because you are Lance.”

Lance didn’t know how to take her answer. “And?” he prompted. He expected her to say, “And you told me to listen only to you,” or parrot back some other order he’d once given her. Disappointment lodged in his throat like stale bread.

“You are Lance,” Sara repeated, as if he hadn’t understood the first time. “The other one is just a man.”

Lance’s heartbeat sped up, but he feared he’d misunderstood. He’d noticed, of course, that Sara rarely bothered to remember people’s names. Did the fact that she used his mean anything other than he’d travelled with her longer?

Cautiously, Lance said, “We’re both men. My name is Lance, his name is Gaius.” He waited, but Sara said nothing—because he’d forgotten to ask a question. “We’re both men. What is the difference between us?”

Sara tilted her head to one side.

Lance braced himself for disappointment.
She’ll
say
that
you’re
taller
,
or
that
you
have
brown
eyes
.

But Sara confounded him. “When you’re there, I am more real.”

Chapter Four

Head hung in misery, Rhiain almost ran into Lance when
he suddenly stopped. She lifted her head and saw the cool, white fog of the Mist
Labyrinth playing hide-and-seek in the trees ahead. On the other side lay the
Hall.

All day she’d longed for the journey to end, but now dread
coiled in her stomach at the prospect of standing before the Kandrith and
explaining her failure.

Wenda would assign someone else to guard Gaius—no,
the
legionnaire
, Rhiain refused to call him by name—or
lock him up in gaol. See how he liked that! He ought to have been
grateful
for her escort, which allowed him to roam all
of Kandrith. Instead he’d attacked her from behind with a spear. A growl rose in
her throat. He’d aimed for her heart. If she hadn’t turned just then—

She’d foolishly thought they were friends. Unlike most
Kandrithan farm boys, he’d been interested in hunting and had preferred sharing
stories around the campfire to huddling indoors at night. She’d even started to
dream that he might one day decide to become a shandy himself, but the ugly
truth was he saw her as nothing but an animal. Something to be slain.

And, Goddess, it hurt.

“How are we going to keep our prisoner with us in the
Labyrinth?” Lance asked her.

Rhiain felt a surge of guilt at the sight of his pale, sweaty
face. When he’d washed up at the stream this morning, she’d seen the puffy red
scratches she’d left on his arm. She’d offered to carry him, but he’d refused,
citing the need for her to guard their prisoner.

Rhiain glanced at G—the legionnaire—and coughed out a laugh.
“Let him rrrun. He won’t find the way out.” There was no secret pattern to the
Mist Labyrinth, no set of turns to memorize. The mist was alive, a Lifegift from
some forgotten saint. If you came with a calm heart, the path would open before
you. If you came with evil intentions, you would become terribly lost and never
reach the Hall.

“Is that what you want?” Lance asked softly. “For him to be
lost forever?”

Oh. If the mist identified the legionnaire as an enemy, it
would try to separate him from their party. Permanently. Was that what she
wanted? For him to die? Part of her did crave revenge, but the only permanent
damage Gaius had done was to her feelings. There were Kandrithans who saw her
only as a beast, and she didn’t go around trying to kill them.

Besides, Wenda had given her responsibility for his welfare.
“He needs a leash,” Rhiain said.

“I’m out of belts,” Lance said dryly. He untied the
legionnaire’s hands.

The legionnaire chafed his wrists, his gaze hard and suspicious
as Lance handed him one end of the rope. “Wrap this around your wrist. Don’t let
go if you value your life.” Lance wrapped the other end around his own hand and
took a step toward the woods.

The legionnaire balked, backing up a step. “What’s in there?
Another monster?”

Another, because he thought
she
was
a monster.

“No monsters, but there is death,” Lance told him.

The legionnaire looked unconvinced.

Rhiain made things simple for him. “If you trrry to rrrun, I’ll
eat your entrrrails.”

The legionnaire glared at her, but she could smell the
fear-sweat on him. Humiliation burned in her gut. As if she would eat a person!
In two months he’d learned not the smallest thing about her.

“Stay close.” Lance tugged on the rope, then walked into the
wall of mist.

Sara followed them fearlessly. Rhiain lagged behind,
half-hoping the labyrinth would separate them. But then what if she arrived at
the Hall first, without her charge? She sped up.

She kept her eyes fastened on Sara’s skirt, paying no attention
to the wandering, myriad turns they took through the forest.

Unlike a natural forest, no wild animals inhabited the
Labyrinth. No birds, mice or even insects crawled here. The trees were always
barren and leafless and yet never rotted. The mist never dispersed, and the
strongest sunlight barely filtered through the branches. And then there were the
bones. An entire Legion had died in here once.

The bones were obvious to her, but after a few minutes the
legionnaire frowned and asked, “What’s that?” He kicked aside a layer of
decaying brown leaves, then bent down and picked up a rusty helmet, uncovering a
skull. He stared at it, jaw working.

Rhiain’s muscles coiled, ready to tackle him if he ran.

“Come,” Lance said gently. “This isn’t a good place to
linger.”

The legionnaire’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t bolt. Except
for the sound of his harsh breathing it was so quiet Rhiain found herself
treading on soft paws for fear of breaking the spectral hush.

They walked for miles.

Once Rhiain thought she caught a glimpse of the Hall through
some high branches, but she bumped into the legionnaire, and when she looked
again the mist had thickened.

A little later Lance paused to wipe his brow with his sleeve.
Rhiain eyed him dubiously. Was his fever rising again?

“This is ridiculous,” the legionniare said, suddenly stopping.
“We’re going in circles. The wood can’t be this big.”

Rhiain realized he was right. It had already taken twice as
long as her other trips through the labyrinth.

“I may be to blame.” Rue tinged Lance’s smile. “I’m anxious
about presenting Sara to my sister.”

At first Rhiain had thought Lance’s refusal to give up on Sara
romantic, but now it seemed terrible and tragic. He shouldn’t have to see her
like this. Empty.

“Would you like to lead?” Lance asked Rhiain.

She shook her muzzle. “I would farrre no betterrr.” And they
both knew the legionnaire was the true problem.

Sighing, Lance tugged on the rope again. “Standing still won’t
get us out of here.”

After a pause, the legionnaire started walking again.

Was it her imagination or did the mist seem thicker, denser?
Pressing close. Dewing her fur.

Then Lance stumbled into a tree. The sudden sharp tug on the
leash caused the legionnaire to fall to his knees. He scrambled up holding the
lower half of a jawbone. He stared at the lone tooth clinging to it, then flung
it away. With a cry of horror, he broke into a run.

The rope whipped through Lance’s hands. “Stay with him,” Lance
shouted. He grabbed Sara’s wrist.

Rhiain followed the sound of cracking branches, the legionnaire
as noisy as a wild boar. But sounds were deceptive in the fog, and she caught
only frustrating glimpses of his sandals or cape.

When the crashing stopped so did she, panting, and only then
did she smell blood. He was hurt. Keeping her gaze down, she sniffed out his
trail.

She found him kneeling on the wet leaves, his face covered with
his hands. All the arrogance had been scared out of him.

“Gaius? Arrre you injurrred?” She nudged him with her nose.

He lifted his hands, revealing myriad scratches. The corner of
his eye bled. “The wood hates me,” he said hollowly. “It tried to blind me.”

Poor little man. The deep resentment and anger she’d harbored
all day fell away. She struck him a calculated blow with her paw. His eyes
rolled back in his head, and he slumped, unconscious.

She closed her teeth carefully around a mouthful of his tunic
and was dragging him through the trees when Lance and Sara appeared. She chuffed
in surprise.

Lance answered her unspoken question. “No one is calmer than
Sara. I should have let her lead from the beginning. Here.” He boosted Gaius
facedown over her back, careful to touch only cloth and not heal him back to
consciousness. “Sara, please lead the way.”

Within five minutes the Labyrinth relented.

* * *

Drifts and swirls of fog parted, revealing the Hall. For
all Lance’s anxiety, his heart lifted as they approached the old bandit hideout
wedged into a notch in the hillside. Home. Well, as much of a home as One who
Wore the Brown could or should have. He had rooms here, even if he seldom
occupied them.

The burly guard standing at the top of the six steps leading up
to the door hailed him in a deep voice. “Lance! It’s good to see you.”

Lance recognized Bors. Lance’s father had inherited the guard
along with the Hall. Bors had taken the time to teach Lance how to use a
quarterstaff when he was a stripling. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said
honestly.

“Rhiain, you look well.” Bors tactfully didn’t mention her
still-unconscious rider, instead peering at Sara, who trailed a step behind.
“And who’s this lovely lady?” The smirk on his face turned to consternation.
“That’s not—? Where are your brains, boy?”

Apprehension made Lance’s stomach kick. He forced calm into his
voice. “Wenda will understand.” Lance would
make
her
understand. And his sister owed Sara.

Lance groped for Sara’s hand—not for comfort, but to ensure she
didn’t wander off.

Sympathy tinged Bors’s face. “Wenda—that is, the Kandrith—isn’t
home right now.”

Rhiain visibly brightened, shrugging off her rider.

Yesterday, after Sara’s remarkable statement, Lance had been
eager to bring Sara before Wenda so his sister could use her soulsight to
examine Sara for a new soul. Now, after hours of silence, his insides dissolved
with relief at the delay.

If he’d read the signs wrong and it was too early for her soul
to have returned, his hopes would be crushed. Maybe it was better to wait—

“Your mother’s here, though,” Bors added.

Weariness rolled over him, and his arm throbbed. Lance sighed.
“I don’t suppose you could just let us go to my rooms? I’d like to wash up
before I talk to her.”

“I’ve strict orders to notify her as soon as you arrive,” Bors
said apologetically.

And no one in his or her right mind crossed Lance’s mother.

“Truth be told, your mother’s all but running the realm.”

Lance’s heart sank. “I thought Wenda intended to take Marcus as
her Protector.”

“She did.”

“Then why—?”

Bors hesitated. “Marcus sees his role a mite differently than
your mum. He doesn’t want anything to do with the stewardship end of things.
He’s happy to leave that to your mum—which drives her mad. Instead, he stands by
Wenda’s side all day, Protecting her. Like a bodyguard.”

Lance relaxed. He liked the idea of his little sister having
more protection. Perfunctorily, he bent down and laid a hand on Gaius’s
shoulder, healing him. He felt the Goddess’s warm hands over his own, but Her
full presence wasn’t needed for such minor wounds.

“Your mum says Kandriths don’t need bodyguards—they’re deadly
enough on their own—but, if you ask me, Wenda’s still adjusting to losing her
sight. She could use a little help right now.”

Lance hated thinking about how Wenda had sacrificed her
eyesight and her hand to no purpose since the gifts she’d gained in return
hadn’t been enough to defeat the blue devil.

Sara had done that.

Lance straightened as Gaius groaned and stirred. The
legionnaire deserved the headache still remaining. “Bors, can you find a place
for Rhiain and her prisoner while I speak with my mother?”

Bors nodded, and Lance moved down the polished
wood-turned-to-stone hallway. Sara followed at his heels. Lance paused just
outside the throne room; he could hear voices inside. “Sara, wait out here for a
moment. It’ll be best if I see Mother alone first.”

Deep breath and in.

A petitioner stood before his mother. He had thinning brown
hair and plump cheeks, and the quality of his clothing—a yellow tunic and dark
green trousers—suggested that he might be a merchant. Which made his topic all
the more surprising.

“Chief Fitch has proven he can beat the Republic’s Legions, but
even the bravest warrior cannot win without resources. We are on the cusp. One
decisive battle and the people of Gotia will rise up to join him. You are
Gotia’s natural ally. Join with us,” he urged.

Lance’s mother shook her head. “I wish your rebellion the
best—”

“That’s not enough!” The merchant’s face flushed with
frustration. “It’s vital that you commit troops.”

“—but there is little Kandrith can do to help,” she
finished.

The merchant drew himself up. “Enough. I demand to speak to
someone with actual authority.”

Anger flashed in his mother’s eyes, but she kept her voice
even. “As you wish. You may wait and speak with the Kandrith, but I doubt
she’ll
have a different answer.”

Furious, the fat man stormed out.

Lance stepped out of the man’s way, and his mother saw him.
“Lance!” Jumping up, she hurried towards him.

Though she wore a red vest, signifying Heart’s Blood, it
disoriented Lance to see her without her formal red Protector robes.

“Mother.” In the two months since he’d seen her last, he’d
tried to imagine what he might say to her.
Am
I
still
charged
with
treason
? seemed a little facetious, even cruel. And
he flinched away from the other, deeper question,
Am
I
forgiven
? For healing Sara after her execution and
for haring off to the Republic to save Wenda. Did accomplishing the rescue wipe
out the fact that he’d broken the law to do it?

A spasm erased his mother’s smile. Perhaps in reaction to his
own wariness, she stopped short of an embrace. “Welcome home,” she said briskly.
“We expected you weeks ago.”

“The journey took longer than I’d hoped,” Lance offered.

She studied his sweaty face. “Sit down before you fall down.
What is it this time?”

“Just some scratches. They’re infected.” He didn’t mention the
almost-gone tumour. “It will pass.” He changed the subject. “Bors said Wenda was
away. Is anything wrong? Has there been another incursion?”

“No. So far this General Pallax is holding to the one-year
peace. Either that, or he’s been too busy taking control of the Republic to get
around to us. No, Wenda just wanted to show around, or perhaps show off, that
Republican legionnaire who followed her home.”