Lance smiled in delight. “They’re all coming?”
“Every last one, except the Qiph slave,” Fitch confirmed grimly. “That Relena woman convinced them any who stayed behind would be punished.”
“Good.”
“Good? It’s going to take forever to move them, and they’re going to eat up all my supplies. That grain was supposed to feed us for a season.” He kicked a stone.
“Oh, really?” Lance folded his arms. “If the Republicans haven’t sent for more Legions yet, they will after this. You won’t be around next season to eat that grain—unless you change tactics.”
Fitch glared at him.
“It’s time to stop leading a doomed rebellion and found a nation.” Lance leaned closer. “Nations need people.”
“I need warriors, not old men and girls.”
Lance rolled his eyes. “Rhiain’s a girl, and she’s a warrior.”
“Rhiain is a racha,” Fitch said slowly, as if he were explaining to someone stupid.
Lance shrugged. “A racha who was once a girl. Speaking of Rhiain, has she returned? I’m worried about her.”
Fitch snorted. “Worry about her foes. She’s death on four feet.”
Only as long as there are no crossbowmen. Seeing Edvard’s anxious expression, Lance kept the words back. “She should be back by now. You need to send out searchers.”
Fitch shrugged. “She’ll either return on her own, or we’ll know she’s feasting in Nir’s halls tonight.”
Lance fumed. “If you won’t order men to search, then Edvard and I will go alone.”
Fitch shot his hand out, and he grabbed Edvard by the shoulder. “My brother isn’t going anywhere. And neither are you. You’re going to be too busy.” He waved a hand at the slaves. “You’re the one who wants to save them all, so you can take responsibility for them. Get them moving. We leave in a quarter hour.”
“They’ll never be ready. You can’t just abandon them.”
Fitch bared his teeth. “Any who can keep up are welcome. The rest are deadweight.” He ducked past Lance.
Lance hurried after him, vaguely aware of Sara and Edvard following at his heels. “They’ll be slaughtered.”
“In all likelihood,” Fitch agreed. “But that falls on you. You’re the one who encouraged them to put their masters to trial and kill them.” He clapped Lance on the shoulder with false cheer.
“Wait. In half an hour’s time—” Lance bargained desperately.
“They still won’t be ready,” Fitch finished. “It’s time to leave. I can feel it like a heaviness gathering in the air. Every moment we linger increases the chances of the Legion descending on us. A leader needs to know when it’s time to strike, and when it’s time to retreat.”
A leader needs to take responsibility for his people.
“Willem! Raven Claw! Cold Frost!” He bellowed, and his lieutenants gathered. “We’re moving out. Retreat to the woods with your warbands and find your way back separately. Willem, are the grain wagons ready?”
“Yes, but this heavily loaded we won’t be able to take them off the road without risking a broken axle.”
Wagons were slow. “Let me bring the women and children with the wagons.”
Willem shook his head. “They’ll be too noticeable. We’ll have trouble enough getting the wagons through Tolium without being arrested.”
“Well?” Fitch asked mockingly. “Still want to stay behind and save these wretches?”
Lance’s chin lifted. “Yes.” He couldn’t abandon Relena and the others.
Surprise and some other, uglier, emotion crossed Fitch’s face. “I’ve changed my mind. You’ll come with us. I can’t risk legionnaires torturing the location of our camp from you.”
Bastard. Lance started to sweat. When was he going to learn not to butt heads with Fitch?
To his surprise Willem stepped forward, his face solemn. “I’ll kill him myself if we’re caught, I so swear.” He held his fist to his chest.
Lance grabbed Sara’s elbow before she could reach for her knife, and shook his head warningly. She subsided.
Fitch looked displeased, but nodded his head, accepting Willem’s sworn word.
Fitch mounted his horse. In very little time, the rebels streamed out the gate and began to melt into the forest.
Lance looked around at the remaining slaves, who were now trusting him to save them, and felt overwhelmed. What had he done? He wasn’t a leader. How was he going to pull this off?
“What’s Edvard doing?” Sara asked, pointing.
Lance saw that Edvard’s horse was lagging farther and farther behind. Was the beast lame? But while he watched, the boy turned his horse onto a different path. “He’s going to search for Rhiain.”
The boy’s chances of success weren’t high, but at least he was trying. Lance just had to do the same.
Lance offered a quick prayer to Loma for Rhiain’s and Edvard’s safety, then approached Willem. The older man shook his head when Lance asked if some of the wagon drivers could be spared as guides, to lead the slaves through the wood.
“No, I picked the drivers specifically because they can pass as Temborians. It’s one thing for a Gotian to drive a wagon full of hay as we did on the journey here. Free Gotians might own a small plot of land, but never harvest this much grain. The riches belong to the Republicans.”
“Can you draw a map then?”
Willem shook his head again. “The forest is vast. And if you send the slaves on their own they’ll get lost. They’ll wander around and either die, or beg to be rechained when they stumble back out.”
“Then it’ll have to be the road,” Lance said grimly. “What are the most dangerous places? Can we parallel the road and skirt around them?”
Willem shook his head again. “We must go through Tolium to cross the river. Even in small groups, this many osseoes cannot hope to go unnoticed. Some, like you, bear the brand on a place covered by clothing or are old enough to claim their forty-year service is paid, but the city guards will catch the others. Once the tale of the raid on the governor’s estate gets out, the guards will search every stranger to pass through town.”
Lance found himself smiling. “Then it’s a simple matter of removing their slave brands.”
“Cutting them off? It’s been tried, but it leaves a distinctive scar,” Willem said.
Lance kept smiling, waiting for the older man to work it out.
“Lance’s healing doesn’t leave scars,” Sara said.
Willem stared at him with his mouth open. “If the Republicans ever find out you can do that, they’ll kill you.”
“Oh, I intend to give them many more reasons than that to want my head.” Feeling cheerful, Lance clapped him on the back and went to see Relena to set things in motion. The journey through Tolium would be harrowing and he was worried about Rhiain and Edvard, but he finally felt as if he were doing what Wenda had asked him to do: making a difference to the rebellion.
* * *
Rhiain panted, her coat wet with sweat. She was playing hide-and-seek again, weaving in and out of the trees, but this time she was the prey, and she didn’t like it.
Seven legionnaires pursued her. She’d injured one, but a second had charged her with a spear before she could finish him off.
As the crossbow bolt was still in her backside, each stride scraped the tip against bone. She fought the instinct to bite at the mad
dening spot.
She needed to rest, but her dappled yellow coat stood out in this forest of red-browns and greens. The tall cedars shut out the sunlight, leaving little undergrowth to hide in. Instead of grass, a mixture of fragrant brown and green needles carpeted the ground.
Her pawsteps dragged, and her chest heaved. She couldn’t go on; time to make a stand. But then she spied a hollow tree trunk. The heartwood had rotted out from the middle of one of the giant red cedars. Unnaturally, the tree itself still clung to life, clawing its way up to the sky, the very highest branches bearing needles.
The arrow in her haunch grated again as she spurred herself to make one last effort. If she could just reach the hollow before the legionnaires closed in...But as she came closer, she slowed in dismay. The cedar was a true giant, fifteen feet in diameter, and the hollow was open on one full third. Four of her could have sheltered inside.
It was too big to hide her.
But she had no other choice. She could hear the legionnaires’ voices now.
“Where’d it go?”
“It can’t have gotten far. It’s limping.”
“Spread out, and keep your spears ready!”
Rhiain tucked herself into the inner curve of the hollow tree in the deepest shadow. Dank, cold air sank into her fur, and she wrinkled her nose at the sweet odor of rot.
Footsteps. Rhiain coiled her muscles to pounce, but then her ears registered a familiar dragging noise that accompanied each step. She sniffed. Was it—?
Edvard ducked into the tree hollow. He held a finger to his lips, signaling silence.
Hope sprang in Rhiain’s heart. If Edvard was here, then surely Fitch or Lance was close by!
She strained her senses, but only heard the legionnaires tramp back and forth as they searched methodically. “Where’s Fitch?” she breathed.
Edvard stiffened. “I’m alone. I was worried about you.”
She brushed his shoulder. His concern warmed her, but she wasn’t sure how much help he could be. She didn’t want to hurt his pride, though. “What should we do?”
He frowned, his brown eyes dark with worry. “You’re too big. They’ll see you.” His voice was the merest thread of a whisper. The legionnaires were uncomfortably close now.
Rhiain rumbled low in her throat. Did he think she was an idiot?
Then Edvard’s face brightened. He pointed up. “Can you climb?” he mouthed.
Rhiain looked up doubtfully. The hollow space inside the tree extended up farther than the exterior opening. She couldn’t see how far; it was too dark. The thick cedar trunk should bear her weight, but her muscles already trembled with fatigue.
If she stayed here in the open the legionnaires would find them. Edvard would get himself killed, and then what would she say to Fitch? She had to try.
She’d climbed trees as a cub. She’d just run at them and scampered up like a squirrel, hooking her claws in the bark.
Gritting her teeth, she broke into a stumbling run, the arrow wound breaking her stride. Ten feet granted her little momentum, but she flung herself up at the tree trunk anyway.
She clung there a few feet off the ground, all her weight hanging from her claws.
“Higher,” Edvard urged from right underneath her.
If she fell on his head, it would be his own fault. Rhiain unhooked her right forepaw and left hindpaw and reached higher. Her limbs shook. This wasn’t working. She had to let go—
“I heard something!” a legionnaire called, poking his spear inside the hollow trunk.
Edvard shrank back. “Don’t hurt me!” His voice shrilled, sounding younger than his age.
“What are you doing in here, boy?”
“Hiding from the monster.” His voice quavered. “Please, save me.”
Monster. Rhiain flinched, first indignant, then hurt. Edvard didn’t really think she was a monster, did he? She’d thought he was her friend, the first same-age friend she’d ever had.
But she’d thought Gaius Mendicus liked her, and he’d only been trying to get her to let her guard down. She didn’t always understand how people thought, what made them lie. Had Edvard lied to her, or was he lying now to the legionnaire? She couldn’t tell.
“The big cat?” the legionnaire asked eagerly. “You’ve seen it?”
The third claw on her left pad broke. Her toe smarted. The smell of blood blended with tree sap. She dug in harder, trying desperately to hang on a little longer. If she started to fall, she resolved to jump on the legionnaire’s head.
“Yes. I thought she was going to eat me. She chased me. Back over there.” Edvard pointed west.
Oh! He was lying to the legionnaire. And he’d said “she” not “it.” He never forgot the way other people did.
“Nir’s sword,” the legionnaire swore. “It’s doubled back on us. Men! This way!” He charged off.
“Just a little longer,” Edvard breathed.
Easy for him to say. She was in agony. Rhiain counted in her head. One. Muscles trembling. Two. How much longer? Three. A whimper built in her throat. Four.
Then suddenly it got easier. Her claws dug in further, anchoring her weight so she could relax slightly.
Long moments later, Edvard called up. “They’re gone. You can come down now.”
Rhiain chuffed in relief. Finally. She angled her upper body so she’d land on her feet, then retracted her claws and began to jump—
Only her claws snagged, and she remained stuck to the tree trunk like a fly caught in a web.
She pulled again, one paw at a time, but the wood resisted her almost as if the tree had grown a layer of new wood over her claws.
“Rhiain?” Edvard sounded nervous.
She pulled harder, lunging backward. Two more claws snapped, and the sudden shift in weight tore her loose from the tree. She twisted as she dropped to the ground, but landed awkwardly. Her hind leg collapsed, and she fell on her side, driving the arrow deeper into her flesh.
A yowl of pain escaped her.
* * *
The last thing Lance did before leaving the villa was place ewers of water by the stoic nursemaid, the crying tot, the Qiph slave and the mostly elderly free servants who’d chosen to stay behind. They were chained to an iron stake in the inner courtyard.
The nursemaid thanked him. The little girl watched him with wide blue eyes. The ribbon had fallen from her brown curls and dust filmed her green silk dress. Lance wondered if his and Sara’s child would have blue eyes like Sara, or brown eyes like his own.
He smiled at her, but she shrank away. As well she might, poor thing. Pity pierced him, along with guilt for his own part in the death of her family. Executed in front of her eyes. Lance winced at the thought. He opened his mouth, but what could he say? Pointless to try to explain to a child that her father and aunt and uncles had brought their deaths upon them.
He nodded to the nursemaid, then left.
By the time he jogged out the gate, the first wagon was already rumbling down the stone road toward Tolium.
Blood began to drip from his nose again. Lance wiped it away impatiently and stared down the road in the opposite direction, searching for any sign of Rhiain or Edvard. Nothing. A heavy feeling of foreboding settled on his chest. Conflicting duties pulled at him. Rhiain was a friend as well as a fellow Kandrithan, and because of her age he felt responsible for her. He wanted to go after her, but not only did he have a responsibility to the freed slaves but he doubted Wil
lem would let him wander off into the woods.
And then there was Sara. She wouldn’t let him go alone either. He was surprised she was still seated on the back of the second wagon, where he’d arranged for her to ride in case her nausea returned.
His gaze met hers, and despite everything, Lance caught himself smiling, overcome by a wave of joy so intense it was almost painful. She carried his child.
But on the heels of that joy chased anxiety. An almost frantic desire to keep her and the baby safe burned in his veins. He told himself the rebels’ precarious situation caused his fear, but part of him knew better. The black thing that lurked at the back of his mind grew and spread its wings.
If he looked at the black thing straight on, he would know. But he didn’t want to. Not yet. He clung to the feeling of joy, but it seemed the harder he tried to grasp it, the more it melted away from him.
“Lance.” Relena gestured imperiously, and he went to her side gladly. “How do you want to do this?” she asked. “I have some mercia, but not enough for everyone. Who should we start with?”
For the remainder of the day he busied himself with the mammoth and grisly task of cutting off slave brands and healing the raw skin. Some refused, but once they’d seen he could do it, most adults willingly endured the pain to shed the symbol of oppression. As a result he checked on Sara only for brief periods to make sure she was well.
And Sara, his usually faithful shadow, kept her distance.
* * *
Sara sat statue-still on the hard wagon bed for hours, blind and deaf to both the passing grainfields and the conversation stuttering around her. Her skin perspired in the hot sun, attracting insects, but deep in thought, she didn’t brush them away.
It took her most of the afternoon to pin down what was bothering her about her pregnancy: the timing.
She’d most likely become pregnant either in the meadow with Lance or from Claudius’s rape, on the day before or the day that she gifted her soul to kill the blue devil. Four months ago.
One month ago, after she’d stepped off the Hall roof, Wenda had looked at her with her soulsight and espied a very small new soul “the size of a mustard seed.” But the baby had already been growing in her womb for three months by then.
Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) Page 24