Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series)

by Luiken, Nicole

  Sound battered her ears. Mist filled the air, a chill kiss on her skin. A towering wall of water stood before her, only twenty feet away, rushing over the cliff above and smashing down. Sara suddenly understood why Mek, the God of Death, claimed his dead here. Nothing could possibly go over those falls and survive. She couldn’t see so much as a splinter from the Favonius deathboat.

  She suddenly felt better about the practice of cremating the bodies upstream. Perhaps it was more convenient, but otherwise a bustling town would have stood on this site set to rob the broken skeletons of jewelry to pay Mek’s fee and make money off of the mourners.

  She hoped the falls remained as they were, wild and beautiful. Even the small, lonely temple seemed fitting now—after all, one passed through Mek’s portals alone in the end.

  Lance clambered out beside her. The carriage rocked with his additional weight. Felicia clutched the doorframe tight.

  “Can you swim?” Lance yelled.

  Felicia shook her head. Terror lurked in her eyes.

  “Sara, what about you?”

  Sara hesitated. In truth, she could swim like a fish, but Aunt Evina had told her to never confess to such an unladylike skill, to drown first. The last had been an exaggeration, but not by much. Claude would have been appalled and known her for a hoyden.

  Felicia’s bleeding had slowed, but she still looked pale. Sara couldn’t risk Felicia’s life over a lie. “I’ll be fine.”

  Lance looked doubtful. “Wait here. I’ll come back for you after I take Felicia to shore.”

  Sara didn’t bother to argue. Lance jumped into the water and held his hands up for Felicia.

  Felicia didn’t move, frozen to the spot.

  Ruthlessly, Sara pushed her maid into the water. Felicia squeaked, but Lance caught her easily. Felicia clung to his back, eyes tight shut, as Lance floundered toward shore.

  The carriage continued to sink. An eddy caught it and gave the carriage a corkscrewing motion on top of its back and forth wallowing.

  Sara was just about to jump in when the fierce battle on the hillside caught her eye.

  It looked, at least to her inexperienced eye, as if her outriders were winning, their true mettle as legionnaires showing. The Qiph attacked individually; the legionnaires fought side by side, and their shieldwall and breastplates turned most of the Qiph’s wild strokes.

  Felicia had reached the bank and collapsed on it. Lance was already wading back into the river.

  What if one of the Qiph got past the outriders and down to the beach? Would they know Felicia from Sara? But then Felicia waved her hand, and Sara saw that Julen’s carriage had come around the last hairpin turn and slowed to a stop about thirty feet beyond. Felicia would have some protection.

  The carriage listed suddenly to one side, spilling Sara into the river. Unprepared, she cried out and choked as the water closed over her head.

  Strong fingers grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the surface.

  “Are you all right?” Lance asked, over the thunder of the falls. He looked almost concerned.

  Sara nodded and clung to him while she coughed up the water she’d breathed in. She couldn’t touch bottom, but the water only came up to Lance’s chin.

  “I’ve got you.” Lance cradled her against his chest and pushed through the water toward shore.

  “I really can swim,” she told him, but didn’t try to break free. The water molded their clothes to their bodies, so that they might as well have been touching skin to skin. A flush heated her body.

  Something large tumbling over the falls diverted her attention. “What was that?” Another deathboat? No, this was too small. A log?

  For a moment the force of the water above kept the object pinned under the falls—then it shot back to the surface closer to them. It began to sink, but just before it was sucked out of sight, Sara saw a hand.

  “Did you see that?” Without waiting for an answer, Sara released Lance, then struck out toward the body.

  An instant later, Lance followed.

  It was folly, and she knew it. No one could survive such a fall, especially here in Mek’s place, but she had to be sure. If it was one of the legionnaires, he had died to protect her. She owed him.

  Lance drew several feet in front of her, his powerful body cutting through the water. Of course, his trousers were less of a hindrance than her clingy dress.

  Lance reached the spot where they’d last seen the body and dived.

  But the river would have moved the body even as it sank. Sara hung back, ceaselessly sweeping her arms in order to hold her place in the churning water. She kept her head above the surface, but the spray from the falls filmed her face and smeared her vision.

  She tried to wipe water from her eyes, to see, but it was no good. She had to look away from the falls—just in time to see the roiling water shoot something dark up to the surface a few feet away.

  Sara swam three strokes and grabbed for it. Her fingers closed around a sandaled foot. The heavy weight tried to drag her down. “I’ve got him!” she yelled.

  They were so close to the falls her ears were full of thunder, but somehow Lance understood. He swam to her side and heaved the body upwards.

  It was one of her legionnaires, not a Qiph; she could tell by the armor. Lance came up with his belt knife and sliced the man free of his breast plate.

  He had to be dead, but she found the waterlogged head and lifted it above the water anyway. Frowning, she recognized Marcus’s clean-shaven face. This body had just gone over the falls; Marcus had fallen much earlier in the fighting.

  “Is he dead?” she shouted.

  Lance didn’t reply. He was treading water, his lips moving. She thought he might be praying.

  She peered around anxiously. The current was carrying them away from the falls now, but they had left the quieter side eddies and were being drawn into the rushing center of the river. “Look!” she yelled.

  Lance ignored her. His mouth moved, but he wasn’t talking to her. Still praying.

  Not a bad idea—Bas, God of Miracles, watch over us—but couldn’t he pray faster? “We have to swim to shore,” Sara shouted.

  Getting them ashore must not have been challenge enough for the God of Miracles, because just then He performed another one. Marcus coughed. Spewed water. Vomited.

  He was alive.

  Sara’s spurt of thankfulness was short-lived as Marcus thrashed in the water. His hand hit Lance’s mouth. Then Marcus grabbed Sara’s neck, and they both went under.

  Taken by surprise, Sara lost her breath. She struggled, but Marcus pushed down on both her shoulders, trying to keep his own head above water. She couldn’t breathe.

  Then suddenly, the weight vanished, and Sara popped back up to the surface, gasping.

  Lance had an arm across Marcus’s chest from behind and had subdued him. “Sara, swim to shore. I’ll tow him.”

  Sara didn’t even consider it. Lance was strong, but so was the current. “You pull, I’ll keep his head above water.”

  Lance looked like he wanted to argue, but decided to save his breath. They were almost in the middle of the river now, at least twenty-five feet from shore, and floating downstream.

  Marcus’s eyes were open and bewildered.

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” Sara told him.

  He looked uncomprehending. In the next moment, he was sick again, and Sara had all she could do to keep both their heads above water. She kicked for all her worth, but her legs began to tire.

  When the fit passed, Marcus’s eyes closed, and he slid into unconsciousness. Sara was just as glad as it made him easier to handle. She was grimly aware that Lance was doing the brunt of the work, angling toward shore. Her arms and legs felt leaden and cold.

  Then Diwo, Goddess of Luck, added Her help. A bit of yellow-painted wood drifted by, broken planking from the deathboat. It caught Sara’s eye because a refetti was perched on it. Its red fur was wet, making its body look long and its tail whip-like, b
ut its ears perked up and its whiskers twitched, sniffing the air.

  She reached out and snagged the wood. “Sorry, fellow, I need this more than you.” She tipped off the refetti and placed the planking under Marcus’s head. The creature scolded indignantly, but started swimming on its own.

  The distance to shore narrowed slowly. Fifteen feet, then ten.

  Lance became aware of her laboring. “I can take him from here.”

  Sara shook her head and kept struggling. River currents could be treacherous—that was how Felicia had almost drowned when they were girls. If the wrong one caught them, Lance would need her help.

  Then Lance was standing. He hauled Marcus onto the shore. Sara put her own trembling legs down on sand and, with immense effort, started to climb out of the water. She looked back at the falls, still visible half a league away, and saw the refetti.

  The cursed animal was in trouble, its little, black nose barely above water. Guilt stabbed Sara; she’d taken its raft. Without thinking, she plunged back into the current and grabbed it by the tail. Claws pricked her hand as it climbed her arm to safety.

  “Ungrateful beast,” Sara murmured and wearily struck for shore again, only to discover the current had grown stronger. Her legs produced only a feeble flutter.

  Suddenly Lance was there, back in the water. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to shore. She collapsed on the muddy bank, feeling like she’d never move again, only dimly aware of Lance shouting at her.

  “Are you insane? What did you do that for? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  “Refetti,” Sara mumbled. She sat up and removed the creature from her shoulder. “It was drowning.”

  Lance swore again. His voice sounded gritty. “You almost died. Do you understand that? Over an animal!” He knelt beside her, his hands on her shoulders, his face stormy.

  Sara’s eyes widened in wonder. He’d been worried about her. She put her hand on his bearded cheek. Their eyes met…and then he was kissing her.

  She’d never liked kisses. Even under the influence of jazoria she hadn’t enjoyed Claude’s tongue pushing down her throat, his mouth mashing her lips.

  But when Lance’s mouth moved over hers, she opened to him as naturally as a flower seeking the sun. He tasted, not of sour wine, but of something hot and male. Lured by his flavor, she touched her tongue to his and was rewarded by the silken brush of his mustache and a deeper, hotter kiss.

  Their clothes were soaked through from the river, but his big body generated warmth. The wildness inside her, having been given free rein at the bridge for the first time in years, now seized control entirely.

  Her hand curled around the strong column of his neck, pulling him down to her, even as she strained upward, eager to get closer to the incredible heat he gave off. She pressed her breasts against the hard muscles of his chest, and the only thought in her head was more. More kisses, more heat, more Lance.

  She was far gone down the path of passion when he pulled away.

  She whimpered at the loss of contact and tried to pull him back down, but he resisted. “I have to check on Marcus,” he said, his breathing ragged. “Stay here,” he jabbed with a finger, “and don’t move!”

  Within moments she began to feel cold in her wet gown, the breeze raising goosebumps. Suddenly aware that she was lying on the ground, she sat up and brushed away the sand clinging to her hair and clothing. Felicia would be appalled if she could see Sara.

  Her movements stilled. Shame made her writhe; anyone could have come along and seen her and Lance all but coupling. What had she been thinking? No, she’d stopped thinking the moment Lance’s mouth touched hers.

  And that scared her more than a dozen Qiph attackers.

  Sara’s insides felt hollow. She was in danger of losing her head over Lance, the same way she’d been wildly infatuated with Julen as a girl. She made herself remember how stupid she’d been at fifteen, how she’d deafened herself when anyone tried to tell her that Julen’s rank wasn’t equal to hers, how she’d convinced herself that Julen’s flirtation was some grand, passionate love, how she’d sneaked into his rooms and thrown herself in his arms—only to find another lady naked in his bed.

  Even then she hadn’t been truly chastened. Not until she’d led her family into disaster.

  She could not go back to being that wild, selfish girl. Just the thought of being so out of control terrified her.

  She had to nip this infatuation in the bud right now. No more flirtation, no more touching. As a seductress she was a failure anyway—when Lance kissed her she didn’t remember her own name, much less her complicated plan to pry information from him. Time to swallow her pride and leave the spying to Julen.

  * * *

  What in Loma’s name had just happened? Lance asked himself. Had he really just kissed a noblewoman? Had, in fact, just come within a hair of bedding one?

  Unsettled, Lance checked on Marcus. The legionnaire’s breathing sounded regular, but his skin felt too cool and he was still unconscious. He needed to be warmed up. Lance hoisted the tall, lanky man in his arms with a grunt and started walking back to Sara.

  No, not Sara. Lady Sarathena Remillus. And that was the problem right there, because Lance couldn’t think of her that way anymore. It had started on the bridge. Lance had felt a sense of connection to her when they’d stood together and looked down at the falls, and the feeling had grown when she’d helped him save first Felicia, then Marcus.

  The truth slapped him in the face: no shallow noblewoman would have done what Sara had, endangering herself to save a legionnaire, much less a refetti.

  He’d been furious with her for risking her life over a worthless rodent, but the instant she touched him all his anger had evaporated. Converted into desire.

  And that kiss. Goddess, that kiss. His body still hummed from it. She’d clung to him as if she needed him more than food or air. In Kandrith, Lance was welcomed everywhere, because he wore the Brown. Being desired as a man struck a chord of answering need in him so deep he hadn’t even been aware of it.

  What had she done to him? He was still trying to figure it out, when he lowered Marcus to the ground a few feet away from Sara.

  “Is he alive?” she asked.

  Her hair straggled over her shoulders, and mud stained her wet dress, but she still managed to look haughty. The passionate woman he’d kissed could have been a figment of his imagination and that shortened his temper.

  “Yes. He’s just exhausted. He’ll be fine once I build a fire.”

  He reached for a bit of kindling near her, and she drew back. His eyebrows rose.

  “You can’t touch me again,” she said starkly.

  “No?” Her words put his back up. “And why is that? You’ve been flirting with me since the moment we met.”

  “It would be…inappropriate.” The stain of pink on her cheeks conflicted with the haughty lift of her chin.

  “Why? Because you’re a noblewoman and I’m a former slave?” he asked. The Goddess knew it ought to be reason enough for him to keep away from her.

  Something flickered in her eyes. “Yes. I must marry well, and my reputation will be ruined if it’s learned that I—that we—” She fumbled.

  “That I dared lay my hands on you?” Genuine anger pulsed in his veins. “Just tell them I ravished you.”

  Her brows drew together. “I would still be ruined.”

  “Then I suppose you’d best hope I keep my mouth shut.” His disappointment in her made him cruel.

  * * *

  Shivers racked Sara; a fire seemed like an excellent idea. Lance didn’t seem to be in as bad a case, though his clothes were still wet and clung to his form. She marveled again at how big his shoulders were and soberly realized only that giant strength had saved her and Marcus from drowning.

  “What are you staring at?” Lance asked irritably. “Watching to see if I use magic?”

  Sara’s heart jolted. “Can you?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

  He s
norted and, in answer, removed flint and steel from his beltpurse. Sara swallowed back disappointment.

  Apparently, she hadn’t been as subtle as she’d hoped this morning. He knew she sought knowledge of slave magic. He would be on guard against her after this. She’d failed in so many ways. For her father’s sake, for her brother’s, she prayed that Julen’s efforts bore more fruit.

  She shivered again as the spark finally caught among the wood splinters. Lance fed the flame with bits of kindling, and soon it gave off a soft little glow. Sara hitched herself nearer, trying not to look pathetic, but she must have failed because Lance made an exasperated sound, then removed his vest and laid it over her shoulders.

  She huddled under it, breathing in the smell of leather and Lance himself.

  Lance sneezed, the sound unexpectedly loud.

  Moments later a relieved voice hailed them, “Lady Sarathena? Bas’s Miracles, you’re alive.”

  A rescue party had found them.

  * * *

  An argument roused Sara from her lethargy as she sat in front of a roaring fire wrapped in a blanket.

  “I need to report to Lady Sarathena,” a man said. It was the mustached outrider to whom command of the outriders had fallen. If they had been on official legionnaire business, the man would probably have been a decurion.

  Felicia stood in his way, looking fierce. “It can wait until morning. Can’t you see she’s half dead?”

  Sara spoke up, mildly, “I’m not half dead. At most I’m three-eighths dead and probably more like a quarter.” Nobody laughed at her mathematical joke. Of course not—they’d lost three men in the attack and another, plus the coachman, had been badly wounded. “What is it?” Sara asked gently.

  “My lady, we need to report the Qiph attack to the nearest garrison,” the decurion said.

  “Yes, of course,” Sara nodded. “I wouldn’t have expected the Qiph to raid so far from their home.”

  “Respectfully, my lady, this was no raid,” the decurion said grimly.

  She tilted her head, silently asking him to explain.

  “I’ve fought the Qiph before,” the decurion said simply. “I had a posting in southern Elysinia. The Qiph like to sweep down out of nowhere at dawn when the sun’s in a man’s eyes and surprise him. They grab all the plunder they can and ride off again. It’s not about conquering territory to them, it’s treasure and glory—something they can brag about around the campfire. That’s what happens on a raid. These Qiph should have retreated as soon as they lost the element of surprise. Instead, even outnumbered, they fought to the death.”