Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (8 page)

Sara’s breath caught, hard. She hadn’t known Marcus well, but he’d been a solid commander. Felicia had liked him. It had been Sara’s insistence that had brought them here. It was her fault—

The Qiph youth, Marcus’s killer, made an amazing leap onto the temple slab just as the top cable parted. The three other Qiph clinging to the top rope fell backward. Two instantly tumbled over the falls. The older man clung to the end of the rope for a few seconds, but the pull of the water was too much. He went over, eyes bulging with horror.

“Nabeel!” screamed the youth, reaching out helplessly.

Sara felt sick. It had happened so suddenly. Marcus was dead—

“Go!” Lance shouted. “Or he’ll have died for nothing!”

Sara’s eyes refocused, and she saw that the Qiph youth had regained his feet. He still had his sword, and he was staring at her, the grief in his eyes driven out by the need for revenge. Marcus had cut the rope, Lance was surely a greater danger, but instinctively, Sara knew she was his focus, his prey.

Sara turned and began to run. The little bridge shuddered with every step, making her stumble. She managed to catch herself on the rail, but involuntarily looked down andsaw the dizzying drop, the furious river, no longer exciting, but mighty and terrible—

Sara wrenched her gaze away and took four careful steps toward shore, still twenty feet distant. The other outriders were already waiting there, hands held out, yelling at her to hurry, not daring to step on the bridge themselves for fear it would collapse under the weight.

And then the bridge dipped suddenly lower. Fingers of water rushed over the planks in front of Sara’s feet. She gasped and grasped the rail harder, afraid of being swept away.

There were now three people on the plank bridge. The Qiph youth stalked toward her and Lance with a naked sword in his hand.

* * *

“Get off the bridge!” Lance yelled. “You’ll kill us all!”

He didn’t really expect the Qiph boy to understand him and was speaking only out of anger at the wasted deaths he’d just seen; four men going over the falls.

“Move away and you will be safe,” the Qiph boy shouted from where he balanced eight feet away. “We seek only the Defiled.”

Rage filled Lance. As if he would calmly step aside and let them kill Sara. He didn’t know why the Qiph wanted her dead—if they even had the right woman—and he didn’t care. Sara might be a useless noblewoman, might be trying to seduce him for information, but she wasn’t evil—Lance had seen evil as a boy and knew what it looked like. He didn’t know what the boy meant by Defiled, but it made him furious.

And just how are you planning on stopping him?
his back brain asked.
This isn’t a fistfight you can win with intimidation and brute strength. He has a sword, one he’s probably trained with since he was five, and all you have is a belt knife.

“Here.” Instead of going to safety, Sara took three steps back and thrust something at Lance’s left hand. He took it without taking his eyes off the Qiph boy and was momentarily dumbfounded to realize she’d given him her pearl necklace again. Did she want him to bribe the boy? The Qiph looked like he was steeling himself to rush them—a crazy thing to do on the swaying bridge. He might easily misstep and be swept away without Lance having to do anything.

Ah. That was what she meant him to do. Clever. His big fingers easily broke the necklace’s cord. Large white pearls the width of his thumb fell and scattered over the planking. Most rolled off, of course, but a dozen were still in motion when the Qiph boy raised his sword and charged.

It all happened in an instant. The boy’s face was contorted by anger into something demonic, his mouth open wide, screaming something incomprehensible. One step and the distance between Lance and the sharp point of the sword had shrunk by half. Lance brought his arm up, instinctively trying to sweep it aside—a move that would have resulted in his arm being cut off at the elbow except that the boy’s second step brought his foot down on a pearl.

He slipped and fell against the left-hand rail. The wood cracked and broke under his weight. Both came crashing down. The boy’s sword left his hand and flashed over the falls. Lance was certain the boy would follow, but one of his feet hooked over the upriver edge of the bridge, keeping him in place, while his head and arms flailed in the water. The shield on his back made him look like a turtle.

Without a sword, the boy was no threat.

Swearing, Lance took a step forward, grabbed two handfuls of striped fabric and heaved the boy, dripping, back onto the bridge. From the choked sounds he made, he’d swallowed half the falls.

Lance was about to pound the boy on the back when Sara pulled on his arm. “Look!” She pointed at something beyond the temple.

At first, Lance couldn’t make out anything in the dizzying rush of water, and then he saw it too. Three more Qiph were crossing the sole remaining rope, legs wrapped around it, pulling themselves hand over hand. They had to be almost drowning themselves.

We seek only the Defiled.

They had the sound of fanatics, whipped up by the priest still on shore until they cared nothing for their own lives. Chilled, Lance turned back to Sara. “They want to kill you,” he shouted.

Sara’s face was pale, but she neither panicked nor wasted time protesting. She nodded, and together they waded into the water still overflowing the bridge, moving as fast as they dared. Lance fisted one hand in the fabric at the back of her dress to steady her if she stumbled. The cold water frothed over their feet, pulling, always pulling. With one guardrail broken, the slightest shift in balance could see them both going over the falls so Lance didn’t allow himself to make mistakes, taking small careful steps.

On the shore, the outriders yelled encouragement and stretched their hands out to Sara and him. The sandy-haired one with the mustache had even thought far enough ahead to grab a stick to extend his reach. Two outriders with crossbows had scrambled a little distance upriver to allow them to take a shot without endangering Sara.

They’d almost reached land, and Lance’s toes were numb inside his sandals, when the renewed wallowing of the bridge alerted him. Lance spun around in time to see the boy he’d saved coming after them again.

He didn’t retreat until two crossbow bolts studded his shield. Madman.

Sara made it to shore. Felicia enveloped her in a shawl, and Felicia and Julen hustled Sara toward the carriages.

Lance disembarked onto blessed, firm ground. He landed right in the middle of an argument.

“I’m telling you, we can hold them at the bridge,” a young hothead was saying. “They have to cross one at a time—”

“Hold them for what, boy?” the older mustached man asked. “There ain’t no reinforcements coming. In a few hours, dark will fall, then what’re you going to do? Holding the bridge ain’t our job. Killing raiding Qiph scum ain’t neither. We have one job, and that’s bringing Lady Sarathena safe to the border of Slaveland. So what we’re going to do is outrun them. Their horses are on the other side of the river.”

The younger man set his jaw. “I don’t think Primus Remillus would want us to leave Qiph bandits running—”

“And have you spoken to Primus Remillus?” The older man brought his face very close to the younger one’s.

The youth shook his head.

“Neither have I, but I was there when he gave the captain our orders. What he said was that if his daughter came to any harm he’d see every man of us hung by the neck. Seems clear enough to me what he’d want us to be doing.” The mustached outrider gave one last glare, then growled, “Get the carriages going. The boy here can cover the bridge until we’re ready.”

The chain of command clear again, the outriders fell to. Two of them chivvied Lance toward the second carriage.

“Why in Nir’s name did you save that Qiph?” one of the outriders demanded, his face hot. “You should have kicked him over the falls.”

Lance scowled back. “He’s just a boy.”

“He’s an enemy,” the outrider said flatly.

Lance refused to apologize—Kandrith and Qi were not enemies—but his conscience bit at him. He’d put Sara in more danger by increasing the number of their attackers by one. He wore the Brown, it was true. Killing wasn’t his job, it was the outriders’, that was also true.

If the Qiph boy killed any of their number…

Any
more
of their number. Lance winced, remembering Captain Marcus suddenly. The outriders had a reason to be out for blood.

Sara was already inside their carriage with Felicia. She ordered Julen back to his own carriage, but refused to shut the door until Lance climbed on board. Her insistence warmed Lance, though he knew it shouldn’t.
She wants to know about magic
, Felicia had said.

The outrider slammed the door behind Lance with excessive force. Before Lance could sit down, the carriage lurched into motion, the coachman whipping the poor horses down the road. The very steep road.

On the forward-facing seat, Lance had to brace his legs to keep from falling into Sara’s lap. “Idiot,” he said. “Not you,” he told Sara when her perfect eyebrows drew together in offense. “The coachman. The Qiph aren’t the danger—he is.”

Fortunately, the coachman seemed to realize this. The brake went on, slowing their mad descent somewhat.

Lance tried to peer out the window to see what was up ahead, but caught only a swirl of legs and horses as the outriders thundered down the road in front of them. Rocks flew from hooves.

The road switchbacked. They heard the coachman shouting, “Whoa! Whoa!” desperately to the horses. Lance felt the carriage start to lean and threw his considerable weight to the left side.

The carriage teetered for a moment—then bumped back down onto all four wheels. Lance found himself kneeling at Sara’s feet, his hands braced on her shapely thighs. A spark of awareness jumped between them—

Lance regained his seat while they careened down the next leg of the switchback. “Be ready to switch your weight at the next turn,” Lance told her.

Sara nodded. She looked with concern at Felicia where she huddled against the seat, her eyes closed. Sara squeezed her slave’s shoulder.

The shaking of the carriage rattled Lance’s teeth and jolted through his bones. It was like being pummeled by invisible fists. And here came another bloody corner. If one of the carriage horses stumbled on the loose gravel, the whole carriage would be doomed.

“Raht-wee!” voices screamed suddenly outside. Lance looked out the window and saw six Qiph run screaming at the already half-maddened horses. They’d gotten ahead by ignoring the switchbacks and running down the steep hillside, causing a small landslide as they went. Swords flashed in the sunlight. One Qiph—the boy?—fell down the last third of the slope and hit his head on a boulder, but the rest miraculously stayed on their feet and attacked the outriders. He saw one Qiph duck beneath a sword-blow and neatly pull the legionnaire off his horse. Another Qiph vanished under rearing hooves.

Lance saw a third Qiph jump onto Julen’s carriage and wrench open the door. They were definitely looking for Sara.

Their own carriage slewed sideways then tipped up onto one wheel; all was confusion, shouting, the scream of horses in pain, the clash of swords. Lance threw himself against the opposite wall. Sara moved to join him. The carriage shuddered.

The horses made it around the turn. The carriage didn’t. The outside wheels plunged over the edge of the road into nothingness. There was a loud snap, and the carriage box fell off the wheels and tumbled down the steep riverbank.

Felicia screamed in Sara’s ear as the carriage crashed down onto its side.

Both girls were flung on top of Lance. Felicia’s knee pushed into Sara’s side, and Sara tried to remove her own hand from Lance’s neck as the carriage whumped and shuddered and slid down the steep riverbank. The wooden frame
skreeked
so horribly Sara feared they would shake to pieces. Then they experienced one more awful jolt as the carriage went over a three-foot drop, splashed down and, at last, fell still.

If the drop had been any farther, their bodies would have smashed against the insides of the carriage and broken like eggs. Groaning and bruised, Sara sat up and realized she was lying on top of Lance, all but straddling him. She scrambled to one side and inadvertently stood on his calf, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

“We’re in the river,” Lance said urgently. “We have to get out.”

For a moment his words didn’t register, then cold water began to pour through the broken boards. Within seconds, the river water covered her ankles.

She looked to Felicia—and saw her lying on the bottom of the carriage, eyes closed. Blood flowed from a cut above her eye.

The carriage lay on its side, the door—praise Diwo, Goddess of Luck—the ceiling instead of the floor. Lance pushed on the warped wood while Sara tried to rouse her maid. Felicia seemed dazed; her eyes kept closing despite the growing pool of water.

Wood creaked. Lance added his shoulder to the force he was exerting on the door, and it thumped open. She’d never have opened it by herself, Sara realized. She doubted a slighter man like Julen could have either.

“Hurry,” Lance said.

“Felicia first,” Sara said fiercely. “She’s hurt.”

Lance didn’t argue. He scooped up Felicia, and Sara realized he’d never had any intention of saving Sara first.
To him, Felicia was just as important.
The realization disconcerted her, but she wanted Felicia out first so Sara shoved the feeling aside and helped push her maid up.

Fortunately, Felicia recovered enough to help climb the last few feet out the door. By then the water had reached Sara’s knees. Despite its predominantly wooden frame the carriage was sinking fast.

As soon as Felicia was clear, Lance put his arms around Sara’s waist. “Your turn.” He boosted her up and out in one smooth motion.

Sara scrambled on top on her knees—and saw the falls. Was overwhelmed by them. Even in the peril of the moment, she got lost for a second, staring.

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, but 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.