“You may find the mouthful harder to chew than you think, old man,” Fitch sneered. “Gotia will not suffer rule by foreigners.”
“I’ll allow you and your rebels to withdraw to your forest or the Grasslands with your lives in return for your oath to stop fomenting rebellion,” Primus Pallax offered.
Rhiain flexed her claw, hackles rising. A growl rumbled through Edvard’s body. Neither of the two war leaders glanced at them, gazes locked.
“Unacceptable,” Fitch said, thrusting his jaw forward. “Gotia is my homeland—”
“And is it these Grasslanders’ homeland, too?” Pallax asked sarcastically.
“I have promised them riches and plunder. I do not go back on my word.” Fitch’s expression hardened.
“From what I’ve heard, they’ve plundered plenty already. House Jarkonus’s stolen dowry ought to keep them in luxury for years. I’d say you’ve made good on your promise.” Primus Pallax narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “A solution occurs to me. You don’t want Gotia to be ruled by foreigners. Right now I’m short a governor for the province.” A sour smile. “Since you killed the last two, nobody in Temborium wants the title. I need someone strong to hold Gotia, and someone who understands the Grasslanders.” Pause. “The God of War clearly favours you.”
Fitch tensed. “What are you offering?”
“Governorship over this province. You’ll have to marry Garius’s daughter, of course. House Jarkonus owns extensive property all across Gotia. His lands will become your lands, inherited by your sons or parceled out to your followers as you prefer...”
Edvard nudged her shoulder, eyes worried.
Rhiain waited for the jealousy she’d felt at the Temple of Beauty to flare up, but it never came. She leaned back against Edvard’s warm flank, considering. Once the thought of Fitch marrying would have distressed her, but now...She’d finally accepted that Fitch would never be a shandy. It was as he’d said: Gotia needed a leader, and they wouldn’t follow a shandy. So it was only natural he take a human wife.
“And what do you want in return?” Fitch asked.
Pallax studied him shrewdly. “As I said, someone to keep the Grasslanders from raiding. But mostly peace. I have other irons in the fire. Frankly, I don’t want to waste time putting down a rebellion here.”
Rhiain’s heart stuttered. By other irons did he mean a planned invasion of Kandrith?
“You’ll have to pay tax, of course. And the other Republican lords will keep their property—or receive full price for it.”
“I left Lord Garius’s villa broken and his fields smoking. With what shall I pay this tax?”
Primus Pallax shrugged. “That’s your responsibility. You’ll have land—farm it.”
“I’m no farmer! I’m a warrior.”
Primus Pallax raised an eyebrow.
“Ah,” Fitch said, “of course.” He chuckled.
Rhiain’s ears flattened. She didn’t understand, but from the way Edvard’s claws had sunk two inches into the the ground, she had the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the joke.
“In that case, I accept,” Fitch said.
“Lord Fitch of House...?”
“Deglas.”
There were more details to be hammered out, including reparations to the residents of the burned Tolium, but in essence the deal had been struck. An hour later, the two men clasped hands and elbows.
Primus Pallax returned to his honour guard and gave the order for the Legions to withdraw.
As soon as they were out of earshot Rhiain asked, “How will you pay the tax?”
Fitch playfully flicked her nose. “Don’t worry. Soon I’ll have others to plow my fields and reap my grain for me.” He hailed Raven Claw and Cold Frost, his boyhood friends, and initiated a jubilant round of backslaps. One of them produced a flask of wine, and Fitch started discussing plans to move into Lord Garius’s estate.
Rhiain sought out Edvard where he stood a little apart. “Have you told him? Or does he know?” To her eye, Edvard’s identity was obvious, but in the heat of the battle, Fitch had just accepted the presence of a second shandy without questioning who it was.
“Not yet,” Edvard said tersely.
Rhiain sympathized with his desire to wait and not spoil the victory with a quarrel. Together they watched Fitch clasp Spring Colt’s arm. “You’ll be well-rewarded for following me.”
Spring Colt smiled blindingly. “But not with land. I am no farmer.”
Fitch elbowed him. “Neither am I!” The two roared with laughter, as if already drunk.
“Can you explain the joke to me?” Rhiain asked Edvard. “I don’t understand it.”
“That’s because it’s not funny.” Edvard growled.
“What do you mean?” she asked, nudging his shoulder.
“It’s the God of Warrr’s code. Warrriors don’t till fields. It’s beneath them,” he sneered. “Warrriors rrraid other villages and capturrre prisonerrrs and make them till the fields for them.”
Rhiain was still puzzled. Fitch was going to raid a village? She nipped Edvard in frustration. “Tell me.”
“Slaves, Rhiain. He’s going to chain up all the slaves Lance frrreed and make them laborrr forrr him.”
“He wouldn’t!” Rhiain protested.
“Ask him,” Edvard growled, a lower reverberation than her own. “I’m going to warrrn Rrrelena and the others.” He loped into the trees.
Rhiain didn’t follow. She wouldn’t believe it until she heard Fitch say it with her own ears.
Willem was trying to catch Fitch’s attention, probably to report on casualties. Fitch ignored him in favour of celebrating with his Grasslander friends.
Rhiain didn’t have the patience to wait. She pushed her way into their circle. “Is it trrrue that you intend to re-enslave those we frrreed?”
“Yes. A rather neat solution, isn’t it?” His smile lit his face, and a lock of golden hair fell boyishly about his face, but this time Rhiain didn’t soften.
Her hackles rose. “You can’t do this. They’re Gotians, too.”
“Pah. Western Gotians, from other tribes, not true Gotians,” Fitch corrected her.
“It makes no differrrence,” Rhiain insisted.
Fitch scowled in annoyance. “I would’ve expected this from Loma’s priest, but I thought you were a warrior, Rhiain. We fought and bled, we’ve earned land and comforts.”
“Land, yes. But not slaves to worrrk it forrr you.”
Fitch’s expression chilled. “Don’t think you can dictate to me, Rhiain.” Standing, he drew his sword.
She bared her teeth, her blood leaping in response to his aggression, but she didn’t attack. Rhiain had sparred with Fitch. She knew how quick he was—but she was quicker. She held back because, despite everything, she didn’t want to hurt him. She retreated another step, her heart sore. “Don’t do this.”
“Rhiain’s right,” Willem said unexpectedly. His brown eyes looked sad in his homely, scarred face. “They may be from the western tribes, but they fought for you.”
“Badly!” Fitch objected.
“I had my doubts when you assigned them to me, but they trained hard. They fought and died for you, for the freedom you promised them.”
“I never promised them anything,” Fitch denied. “The priest might have, but not I.”
“You can’t treat them this way,” Willem said. “It’s dishonourable.”
Fitch backhanded Willem, sending him sprawling against a tree. He stood over the shorter man. “Are you defying me?”
A long hesitation. Rhiain thought Willem would give in. He bowed his head, then sat up and looked Fitch in the eye. “I gave you my allegiance because your grandfather Deglas was a great chief and because of your prowess in battle. As a warrior you have no equal, bu
t I’ve come to realize being a great warrior doesn’t make one a great chief. A chief works for his people’s good, not to gain power and riches for himself.”
Fitch’s face tightened with fury. “If you wish to challenge me for leadership, stand up and draw your sword, old man. I’ll make mincemeat out of you.”
Willem was competent with a sword, but he was a better bowman. And a better leader. Rhiain wondered why she hadn’t seen it before. Lance had. Lance had never liked Fitch, but she’d been blinded by his good looks and dazzling smile. Shame curdled her stomach as she remembered how she’d soaked up his flattery.
“I said, draw your sword!” Fitch struck Willem with the flat of the blade.
Growling, Rhiain jumped in front of Willem. “No!”
Behind her, Willem stood. “Rhiain...”
“Change to a shandy,” she urged him. “If Edvard can do it, so can you.”
Fitch’s brows pinched together in puzzlement, and then fury reddened his face. “Edvard? The other shandy was my brother? How dare he? I’ll kill him before I let him sully our name.”
Rhiain ignored his ranting, concentrating on Willem. “You’ve heard Lance’s stories. It’s easy,” she encouraged. “Just pray to Loma.”
For a moment Willem hesitated on the cusp—and then he shook his head. Tears stood out in his eyes. “It won’t work.”
“Yes, it will!” Rhiain interrupted.
“It’s not enough,” Willem said. “The Primus’s agreement is with Fitch. Even if I managed to kill him, the Legions would be on us like fleas on a hound.”
“But...” There had to be something they could do.
“Tell Glenys I’m sorry,” Willem said. “Tell her I have to do this, for her and for Jenas, for what Jenas died for.”
His son was dead? Rhiain’s ears flattened.
Willem raised his voice to address Fitch. “You can have your governorship and your fancy villa and become one of them, but you won’t take the forest. Eastern Gotia will be free.”
“You think to negotiate with me?” Fitch laughed. “Or do you think your precious ‘Undying’ will protect you? Pallax is right, this whole place needs to burn down.”
“The forest has sheltered me my whole life, it’s time for me to protect it,” Willem said calmly. His face lifted to the sky. “Loma! I gift you my life.”
What was he doing? Dread soured Rhiain’s throat like bitter wine. A Lifegift wasn’t necessary to become a shandy, only a sacrifice—
The voice of the Goddess reverberated through the air: I accept your gift.
Willem’s body dropped to the ground, boneless.
Dead.
Fitch made a questioning sound. His hand reached out to his lieutenant. There might have been regret in his eyes. “Willem?”
But before he could touch the body, it seemed to collapse, no melt. In seconds a puddle had formed, quickly growing into a rill and then a small stream. The water tickled Rhiain’s feet, and she jumped back with a yelp.
She ended up on the opposite bank from Fitch. He and his Grasslanders watched the stream grow from the southern side while a growing audience of Gotians, including the freed slaves, gathered on the north side. Edvard came and stood shoulder to shoulder with her. She leaned into his warmth.
Before their eyes, the stream widened into a river, boiling and frothing. And then it began to sink, carving a channel in the soft earth, creating stream banks that would normally be formed over years in mere minutes.
Fitch ordered Spring Colt and another of his Grasslanders to ride in either direction and see how far the river extended.
“What’s happening?” Relena asked, coming to stand by Rhiain. Her voice sounded raspy.
Rhiain waited for her to finish coughing. “It’s Willem’s Lifegift.” She related what had happened. “He said to tell his wife he did it so Jenas wouldn’t die in vain, so that Gotians would be frrree.
“I’ll tell her,” Relena said. “No. We’ll tell the story to all our children. It will become part of Gotia’s history,” she promised. “I thought Willem was the same as Fitch, but he sacrificed himself for us. Willem the Archer.”
“No,” Rhiain corrected her. “Saint Willem.”
Edvard broke the silence. “Rrrelena, will you heal Rhiain? She needs to crrross soon, if she’s to rrreturn to her home.”
She could go home now, Rhiain realized with a shock. The rebellion no longer needed her, and Fitch never had.
“Of course.” Relena laid her hand on Rhiain’s shoulder and Rhiain’s battle scratches and cuts immediately healed. A sense of warmth lingered even after Relena removed her hands.
“You Wear the Brown now?” Rhiain asked curiously. “The Goddess heals through you?”
“Yes.” Relena smiled, and the peace and wonder on her broad face made Rhiain envious. Until Relena coughed again.
Rhiain winced at the nasty, hacking sound. She couldn’t imagine choosing such a terrible sacrifice when Lance already Wore the Brown. Unless—She turned to Edvard. “But does that mean you didn’t frrree Lance? Is he still in the Legion camp?” She tried not to sound accusing.
“I rrrescued him and Sarrra,” Edvard said proudly. “He healed as many wounded as he could before he had to go deliverrr Sarrra’s baby.”
The baby had come already? The last time Rhiain had seen Sara she hadn’t even looked pregnant.
Just then Spring Colt rode back up to Fitch, his shaggy spotted horse lathered with sweat. Rhian’s enhanced hearing picked out his words from across the river. “It go all the way to Tolium and join with river there. Waters rising. They burst bank and sweep bridge away. Pallax be trapped between two rivers.”
The news made Rhiain’s heart soar. The other rider hadn’t returned yet, but she would bet the newly created river went east all the way to the mountains.
Which was good news, except...”Wherrre arrre Lance and Sarrra?” Rhiain asked Edvard. “What side of the rrriver are they on?”
Edvard tilted his head. “I think they’rrre on the otherrr side, but we should check.”
They said hasty goodbyes to Relena, then loped along the river bank, keeping well back from the still crumbling edge.
“I left Sarrra in a hollow log,” Edvard said. “They’rrre prrrobably still therrre.”
A few moments later, Edvard slowed and sniffed the air. “The log should be just acrrross therrre.”
Rhiain looked down at the river Willem’s Lifegift had created, a rushing torrent some six feet down and still carving deeper into the soil.
She needed to cross soon before it became impossible, but a terrible pang went through her at the thought of parting from Edvard. “I’d betterrr go.” She bumped her shoulder against Edvard’s in a friendly way. “Maybe you can visit me one day.”
Because she hated goodbyes, she didn’t wait for a reply. She bounded down the bank in three leaps, moving fast because the earth kept sliding beneath her feet. She paused for a moment at the water’s edge, ears flattened with distaste at the prospect of immersing herself.
The river ran strong and swift, already ten feet across. It frothed against her paws as it eroded the soil.
Screwing up her courage, Rhiain plunged into the cold, cold water. The current swept her downstream. What scant experience she’d gained swimming rivers told her not to fight the current, but to angle across it and trust to her strength to keep her head out of the water.
“Rhiain!” Edvard raced along the river’s edge beside her then jumped in with a tremendous splash.
A wave swamped Rhiain’s head. She bobbed back up hissing and sputtering. “What arrre you doing?” she growled at Edvard as they swam side by side. “Go back.”
“No. I’m coming with you.”
The river swept them around another turn, and Rhiain lost the breath to
argue. Paddling with all her strength, she reached the far shore. Edvard heaved himself out of the water beside her. They huddled together in sheer misery, rousing only enough to clean the water from their fur.
“Arrre you going to join yourrr brrrother?” she finally found the energy to ask, between licks.
“No.” Edvard’s deep growl kept her from asking any more questions.
Before she’d managed to dry even a third of her pelt, her hindquarters began to slip into the still-widening river.
Rhiain heaved herself to her feet and picked her way carefully along the water’s edge, searching for a way up the now ten-foot-high bank.
No easy way presented itself, and they were forced to launch themselves upward in a mad scramble. Rhiain pushed Edvard from below when his hind paw slipped. He returned the favour, closing his teeth in her scruff and hauling her up the last two feet by main strength when her own toeholds gave way.
Rhiain was grateful for his presence, but puzzled. “Wherrre will you go?” she asked timidly.
“I want to go with you.” Edvard ducked his head, and his mane fell over his eyes, obscuring them.
Her heartbeat thumped along a little faster. “Forrr a visit?”
“No.” Edvard drew a furrow in the dirt with a single talon. “Grrrowing up in the Grrrasslands, Fitch and I werrre always told Gotia was ourrr trrrue home. But the forrrest is just a place to me. No betterrr or worrrse than anywherrre else. I don’t have a trrrue home.”
“Oh.” Rhiain didn’t know what to say. “You’ll like Kandrrrith. Therrre arrre lots of woods and fields to hunt in, though the trees arrren’t as tall. And people know about shandies and arrren’t so afrrraid.”
“I’m looking forwarrrd to seeing Kandrrrith,” Edvard said politely. “But...I want to go wherrreverrr you go. That’s why I became a shandy. Not just to be a fighterrr, but so that I could be with you.”
Rhiain quivered, torn between astonishment and excitement. “You want to courrrt me and be my mate?”
Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) Page 46