Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series)

by Luiken, Nicole

  Blood spurted everywhere, including—curse it!—into the stone mouth. Fortunately, the Dark God didn’t wake. It had lost two priests in quick succession and must be hurting. Sara watched the whole procedure calmly, neither flinching nor screaming.

  “God of Death,” Marcus swore. The hardened legionnaire looked sickened as Lance handed him back his sword.

  “You did the right thing,” Wenda said. “What kind of life could Sara have had like that?”

  Still not speaking to his sister, Lance pulled Sara’s severed hand out of the shackle, then rejoined it to her wrist. “Goddess,” he prayed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marcus bend to whisper in Wenda’s ear.

  Loma answered his prayer. The two pieces of flesh melted together into an arm once more. Lance kept his fingers around Sara’s wrist. “Let’s go.” He pulled her toward the door. The others followed, Marcus leading Wenda. Esam carried the bound devil-box and helped chivvy Claudius along with a dagger.

  Marcus paused to hack off the Primus’s head. The face was acid-splashed, but still recognizable. He wrapped it in a spare shirt, taken from one of the dead guards. “In case General Pallax needs some convincing.”

  Lance nodded in approval. That was exactly how a Protector had to think.

  “Who is General Pallax?” Wenda asked, while the men took the opportunity to garb themselves better. Lance had seen quite enough of Marcus’s hairy ass. One of the guards had pants that fit Lance, though he had to keep his sliced shirt.

  “Ambrosius Pallax is Temboria’s greatest general,” Marcus said. “It’s said he has the favor of Nir.” He listed some of the man’s accomplishments. “When Primus Vidor died, everyone expected either him or Lord Favonius to become the next Primus.”

  Lance interrupted. “He’s the general that Primus Remillus sent to invade Kandrith.” He explained how a single legionnaire had scaled the cliffs—Wenda, he saw, took careful note of Gaius Mendicus’s name—and General Pallax’s promise to stop the invasion if his son was returned to him. Intact.

  “Will he keep his word?”

  “I think so. But use a Listener to make sure.”

  “Once he sees that Primus Remillus is dead, he’ll rush his Legion to the capital to try to seize control,” Marcus predicted. “Kandrith will be a lower priority.”

  “We have a long journey home,” Wenda said as they retraced their way down the tunnel. “We need a plan.”

  “No,” Lance said roughly. He was still angry at her. “All we have to do is get you outside. Dulcima will find you. Kandrith’s Need, remember?”

  At Lance’s request, Sara led them through Madam Lust’s silent villa, everyone still abed. It struck Lance as strange that Ottavio hadn’t raised a cry, but perhaps the steward had discovered his mistress dead on the same night his master had been poisoned and decided to flee for his life, Republican justice being the misnomer it was. At any rate, no one stood on duty at the front doors. All they had to do was unbar them.

  Outside the stars shone, a sprinkle of cold diamonds. They and the moon provided enough light to see the courtyard.

  Within moments Lance heard flapping wings. Dulcima landed daintily five steps away from Wenda. She dipped her great head to the new Kandrith.

  “Oh,” Wenda said on a note of wonder. “Your soul is so bright!”

  “Claudius in front,” Marcus decided. “Then me and Wenda…” He broke off, not saying the obvious, that Dulcima’s broad back barely had room for three.

  “I’ll walk out,” Lance said. “Unless— What do you intend to do about the Pact?” Wenda had no child. “Do you want me to stay here?” His muscles tensed.

  “No,” Wenda said fiercely. “I’m not giving up my brother or my future children to years in this cesspit.”

  Lance lost some of his anger toward her. After all, Wenda didn’t know Sara. She didn’t know what Sara meant to Lance.

  “I’ve been talking to Marcus about Gotia,” Wenda continued. “He says the people in the northern part of the province want to revolt, but have lost their magic. I’m going to ask for volunteers to travel there and spread the tale of how the Red Saints formed Kandrith.”

  When she said volunteer, did she mean him? “Give General Pallax too much trouble on his home front to bother us. Good idea,” Lance said, but made no promises. “I’ll see you in a few weeks then.” They embraced.

  “I don’t like leaving you here,” Wenda said fretfully.

  “You need the general’s son and your Protector. And I need time to see that Sara’s…taken care of.”

  “Of course,” Wenda said. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Well, then, we’d best be off. We have a war to stop.”

  “Lord Claudius, let me give you a boost,” Marcus said—too politely.

  Claudius backed away. “I’m not getting up on that!” His voice was far too loud, and then he compounded his error by trying to run away.

  Marcus could no doubt have handled him, but Lance allowed himself the pleasure. He snagged Claudius’s arm as he passed and pulled him right in to an uppercut to the jaw. Thump, the lordling was down on the pavement. Lance hulked over him and smiled, baring his teeth. “Sara, why don’t you come over here and give your rapist a kick?” Even though the lordling wasn’t the cause of Sara’s affliction, Lance still wanted to kill him.

  Sara wandered over. In the moonlight she looked achingly beautiful and serene. She should have been angry.

  “Go ahead, kick him,” Lance invited.

  Dutifully, Sara kicked Claudius in the knee.

  He squeaked.

  “Harder,” Lance said.

  Sara kicked Claudius harder. He made another high-pitched noise.

  “Try to get his testicles,” Lance suggested.

  Claudius curled protectively around himself. “Stop her!” he appealed to the others. “The jazoria made me do it!”

  “Madam Lust fed Marcus jazoria too. But he hasn’t raped anyone,” Wenda said coldly. “You deserve a lot more than a few kicks. Go ahead, Sara.”

  Sara kicked Claudius in the chest, making him grunt.

  Wenda sighed. “Enough. We need to go.”

  “One more,” Lance said.

  A dispassionate expression on her face, Sara wound her foot back. She feinted toward Claudius’s face, and, when he raised his hands protectively, caught him in the testicles.

  “Feel better?” Lance asked Sara. He did. Though not as good as breaking Claudius’s neck would have felt.

  Sara seemed to consider. “My foot hurts.”

  Lance’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Let me fix that.” He laid his hands on her shoulders. While he healed her small hurt, Marcus, Wenda and Claudius mounted Dulcima—Claudius still moaning and looking very uncomfortable astride. Lance lifted his hand in farewell.

  “You’ll be careful?” Wenda asked anxiously. “If you’re not home in a month, I’ll send someone to look for you.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Lance promised her.

  Dulcima galloped forward, then launched herself into the air, flapping her wings vigorously. Lance watched until the black horse disappeared against the dark sky.

  “I, too, must say farewell,” Esam said. “There are Qiph merchants in the city who will help me return to my homeland.”

  “You can find your way?”

  “My father traded horses here once when I was a boy. I will be fine.” Esam hesitated. “Your sister believes you’re going to leave Sara here, but you are not?”

  “No. I won’t leave her.” Ever.

  Esam nodded as if this were expected. “I do not understand the magic of your people. Will you be able to heal her, in time?”

  “I don’t know,” Lance admitted. “But I do know I’m not going to give up after failing one time.” Or even ten times. There had to be a solution out there, a sacrifice he could make. He turned a speculative look on Esam. “What of your people’s magic?” The Qiph, after all, had the power to turn Esam into a refetti.

  Esam unders
tood the unasked question. “I also do not know.” He looked to Sara, who was standing as quietly and patiently as a statue. “I would have drowned in the river if not for her—and I do not forget that you healed my broken arm. I will ask the Pathfinders. If they know a way to get her back her soul, I will send word.”

  “Thank you.” Lance had to clear his throat to get the words out. “I would appreciate that.”

  “It is little enough.” Esam bowed first to Sara and then to Lance as they parted ways. “I will pray to the Holy Ones for you. Both of you. I think in many ways your journey will be harder than hers,” he said to Lance.

  Lance very much feared Esam was right.

  * * *

  “Why did you do it?” he asked Sara hours later, when the two of them had stopped to rest underneath a haystack in a field outside the city. It had been his decision to take a break; he had a feeling that without him, Sara would either have never moved from the courtyard or walked until she fell down. Without a soul, she didn’t seem to notice bodily discomforts. “Why did you give up your soul? Kandrith isn’t even your country.”

  To his surprise, she answered, speaking for the first time in hours. “I did it to save your life.”

  “My life?” Lance struggled to understand. “Why? Because I wear the Brown?”

  “Because Sara-who-had-a-soul loved you.”

  Her words rocked him on his heels.

  She. Loved. Him. Not gratitude for his healing prowess, not mere affection or lust, love.

  Humbled by the magnitude of her gift, speechless, Lance kissed her forehead. She remained passive in his embrace, but he ignored that and spoke to the Sara who’d had a soul, who’d once lived inside her—and would again if he had anything to say about it. “I love you too. I should have told you that in the meadow. Earlier. I should have shown you how much I loved you.”

  Sara said nothing.

  He turned her gently so that he could look into her eyes. “I know you don’t understand right now, Sara, but will you remember what I said for later? You are loved. You are important to me. And you must promise to stay alive for my sake, until I can make you well again. Can you promise me that?” he asked anxiously.

  Sara was silent, her expression blank. Had he asked too much of her? But then she lifted her blue-eyed gaze to his. “Yes. I will stay alive. For you.”

  Here Ends Book One

  About the Author

  Nicole Luiken wrote her first book at age thirteen and has never looked back. Her novels have won the Golden Eagle Children’s Choice Award and the Gold-Medal Moonbeam, and have been nominated for several more. Although mostly known for her YA paranormal novels, Nicole has a soft spot for fantasy and romance. She lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her family. It is physically impossible for her to stop writing for more than three days in a row. Visit her website at www.nicoleluiken.com and join her Facebook fan page.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4268-9347-6

  Copyright © 2012 by Nicole Luiken Humphrey

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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