Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (34 page)

The third guard scored her side. Snarling, she turned on him—

—and her front paw slipped in the pool of blood, sliding out from under her. She threw herself into a roll, briefly exposing her vulnerable belly. The third guard gripped his pommel in both hands and plunged down—

—only to sag in sudden surprise as Fitch’s thrust took him through the heart. Fitch grinned down at her as she rolled to her feet. “Next time watch your footing.”

Rhiain’s fur fluffed in embarrassment. She—

Danger. Her hind claws dug into wood. She leaped over Drencis’s body and smashed into the fourth guard, who hadn’t retreated after all, but edged around the wall and sneaked up on Fitch’s unprotected left. She tore out the guard’s throat with her teeth.

The rich, meaty taste of blood made her mouth water. She spat to clear it.

“Well.” For a moment, Fitch appeared shaken, but he shrugged it off. “I have what I came for. Let’s go.”

He and Rhiain walked boldly through the temple halls and out the front door. Fitch stood on the step and raised his fist in victory, displaying the ruby ring.

At his signal, the Grasslander barbarians rode into Dunbridge, howling and rattling their sabers. People and chickens scrambled out of the way.

“You keep that rabble out of my temple.”

Rhiain turned her head, surprised to see the old priestess had hobbled out to join them. “Tell them they can have the gold and welcome, but if they enter the temple my goddess will curse them with infertility.”

Rhiain marveled at her fearlessness, but supposed it came with being old and close to death.

Fitch nodded respectfully, but humour glinted in his eyes. “I shall let it be known, but Grasslanders honour Mek and scorn all other gods and goddesses.”

A quiver of outrage. “So you’ll stand by and let barbarians enslave my children?”

Children? Rhiain remembered the voices she’d heard earlier and saw little faces peeping over the windows of the second temple. Was it a school?

She bared her teeth. “I will guarrrd the childrrren.”

Fitch didn’t object when she took up a position on the second temple’s steps, nor did he participate in looting anything beyond the chest of gold Drencis had brought to bribe the temple with, but...

Rhiain felt troubled, watching the Grasslanders run amok in the town, chasing women and chickens. The chained men being chivvied into place looked more like prisoners than freed slaves. She wished Lance were here to set things straight. Fitch was a great warrior, but he lost interest after the battle ended.

Not that the village put up much fight. Only the newest recruit, Breslin, was seriously injured, falling to a hoe to the head. Rhiain felt bad when the Grasslanders left him to either win his battle with Mek or die, but she lacked the hands to get him up onto her back. The only other casualty died in a quarrel over a pearl necklace between two Grasslanders.

More and more, Rhiain wondered what the purpose of this raid had been. To tweak the Republican’s nose? For a chest of gold? To take revenge on Drencis for crippling Edvard?

Or had it just been for the ring of kingship?

* * *

Lance tipped his head back and studied the tall fir. It listed alarmingly to one side, having suffered wind damage in a summer storm. After a moment, he shook his head. “It won’t work.”

Disappointment sharpened Edvard’s voice. “Why not? It’s heavy enough to crush my legs, and we can control the direction it falls by chopping. Willem says it’s just a tree, not one of the Undying.”

Lance doubted they could aim its fall with enough accuracy to ensure crushing only Edvard’s legs and not his skull, but Lance didn’t argue the point. “And once the tree is down, how do we lift it off you?” It might not be an Undying, but it still weighed several tons.

Edvard stopped with his mouth open.

“He’s rrright,” Rhiain said anxiously. “Even I could not budge it.”

A few days ago, Lance would’ve patted Edvard’s shoulder, but the gesture seemed too patronizing now. The news that Fitch had “avenged” Edvard’s crippling had hit him hard. He’d accused his brother of “stealing” his vengeance, and then not said another word. Fitch had retaliated by calling Edvard a child, but a child would’ve raged or pouted. Lance saw a man’s tightly controlled anger in Edvard now. No longer a boy.

“We’ll think of a better way,” Lance promised.

Edvard nodded, lips pressed together.

“Perrrhaps he could jump from a height?” Rhiain suggested. “Like Sarrra did?”

Rhiain hadn’t seen Sara’s fall from the roof, but, of course, she would’ve heard the tale.

“Jumping from one of the tree platforms might work,” Lance said. Though it would still be dangerous. If Edvard hit head first, Lance might not be able to save him.

“I can’t climb,” Edvard said flatly.

And the only natural cliff Lance could think of was the bridge at Tolium.

Lance sighed heavily. “There’s no choice then. It’ll have to be the sledge.” A repeat of the very torture Edvard had endured when receiving his injuries. The thought of it sickened Lance.

Edvard’s face paled, but he spoke with a man’s firmness. “If that’s what it takes to walk again, then I’ll do it.”

Now they just needed to find someone willing to swing the sledge. Rhiain couldn’t do it. Lance needed to be ready to heal any misplaced blows. Willem refused, aghast, when Lance asked him.

“I’ll do it,” Fitch volunteered.

Lance drew him aside. “Find someone else. Edvard doesn’t need a memory of you hurting him.” Goddess knew he’d regretted swinging the axe during Sara’s execution.

Fitch stared at him, incredulous. “Edvard needs someone with a strong back and keen aim. He needs someone he can trust—his kin. You do your part, priest, and let me do mine.”

The “priest” gibe pricked Lance on the raw. Because he was still angry with Loma and hadn’t prayed to her about Edvard’s legs. He had some qualms about using Her magic to heal self-inflicted damage, but he’d healed Sara after she boiled her hands, and a man who’d attempted suicide. The Goddess had lent Her grace to heal them; why not Edvard?

Whereas She claimed to be unable to help Lance. Though he had served Her faithfully for many years, he was going to lose either the woman he loved or his unborn son. Didn’t he deserve mercy, too? Pushing away the bitter thought, Lance left Fitch and went to speak to Edvard. “Do you want me to find someone else to swing the sledge?”

Edvard shook his head, a white fringe of hair hanging down over his eyes. His lips were thin. “Having Fitch do it will be fitting. He’s always thought being crippled was just punishment for losing the ring.”

Appalling
. And yet, knowing Fitch, Lance couldn’t be surprised. He tried to hide his anger, relaxing his fists and saying only, “If you’re sure, then we might as well proceed now.”

Lance bound Edvard’s ankles to separate stakes. He knelt beside Edvard and marked with daubs of mud on bare skin the places where the bones needed to be broken. Five in all.
Goddess
—

Cutting the involuntary prayer short, Lance turned to instruct Fitch. “Hit the spots I’ve marked exactly—the less blows this takes the better. Do the knee last, and above all, stop if I tell you to stop.”

Fitch nodded. If he felt nervous about maiming his brother, it showed only as impatience.

Next Lance spoke to Edvard. “Channel the pain into screaming—” He ignored Fitch’s sneer of disgust. “If you try to stifle the pain, you’ll thrash more. Willem, Spring Colt, hold down his upper body. Everybody ready?”

“You’re the one holding us up,” Fitch muttered.

Lance ignored him, not moving away until Edvard nodded. His skin had bleached pale, but his expression was set and determined. His bravery swelled Lance’s throat to painful fullness.

Unexpectedly, Rhiain darted forward and licked Edvard’s cheek. “It will be overrr soon. Lance will heal you.”

Lance moved back.

Fitch lifted the heavy sledge. Swung it down.

Skin split, blood splashing out. Edvard screamed, high and keening, face contorted. Willem and Spring Colt flattened themselves, holding him still. The sledge struck again. Then again. White bone jutted through torn skin. Lance tried to shut out the screaming and judge if Fitch was hitting the marks, but blood obscured the muddy smears.

The fourth blow shattered Edvard’s kneecap. Edvard’s upper body convulsed, trying to throw off Willem and Spring Colt, then mercifully he passed out, suddenly limp. “Enough!” Lance shouted.

Fitch raised the sledge again, but Rhiain shouldered him aside. And growled.

Lance didn’t have time to think about her change of attitude. He laid his hands on Edvard’s skinny chest—and felt the heart within stutter with shock and pain.

He opened his mouth to pray, but Loma answered without being asked, heat pouring out of him in a healing torrent. A humming note vibrated through his blood and bone, and the fresh scent of rain and wildflowers wrapped around him.

It felt so pleasurable Lance almost jerked away. Confused anger still tumbled in his chest; he didn’t want this sense of closeness and connection to Loma right now.

But healing was an intimate partnership. Through Her, not only could he sense Edvard’s shattered bones mending and straightening, blood vessels linking up, but he could feel both the Goddess’s bright-as-the-sun power and Her compassion, no,
love
, for Edvard.

Edvard opened dazed eyes dazed. “Is it working?”

“I think so. Keep still.”
Almost
done
. The deep work finished, Edvard’s lacerated skin raveled back together.

Fitch stopped pacing to peer over Lance’s shoulder. “That part still looks crooked,” he criticized.

Edvard tensed. Rhiain flattened her ears.

“Have patience. Wait and see,” Lance counseled them. If need be, they could rebreak the leg, though he was reluctant to suggest causing such pain again.

Timeless moments later the Goddess stepped back, releasing Lance. She tried to be gentle, but Lance still staggered, weak as a new foal. He took a deep breath, smelling evergreen and damp earth, then pushed himself to his feet, locking his knees so Fitch wouldn’t see how much the healing had drained him.

Hope and fear wracked Edvard’s face. Wordlessly, he climbed to his feet.

Edvard stood for a moment, eyes narrowed in concentration, then took a step forward. Then another. After five paces, he pivoted, delight lighting his expression like a torch. “It worked! I’m not limping!” He bounced up onto his toes, then broke into a run.

Lance smiled, joy and satisfaction welling in his chest, as Edvard touched a cedar then sprinted back toward them. Fitch whooped and pounded his brother on the back. “You can walk!”

He
could
always
walk
.
He’s
just
not
crippled
anymore
.

Edvard smiled from ear to ear. “Rhiain? Did you see? I can walk without limping!”

“I see,” Rhiain purred. She butted her giant head against his chest, and he affectionately rubbed the top of her head. “You werrre verrry brrrave. I couldn’t have stayed so still.”

“We’ll feast tonight to celebrate,” Fitch said, his arm slung across his brother’s shoulders. “Tomorrow we’ll start your training with the sword. You’ll have some ground to make up, of course, but as I remember you showed talent. It’s in your blood. The next battle we’ll fight together, side by side.”

Edvard blinked, looking overwhelmed, but replied with caution. “I’d like to fight by your side, brother, but not with a sword.” He glanced at Rhiain, then ducked his head shyly. “Now that I’m not crippled anymore, I want to become a shandy. Like you.”

In the resounding silence that followed, Lance resisted the urge to smack his palm to his forehead. He should have seen this coming. Everyone spoke at once:

“Wait,” Lance started to say.

“A cat shandy?” Rhiain asked hopefully.

Fitch’s response drowned them both out. “You want to
what
? No! I forbid it!”

Edvard stubbornly shook his head. “It’s my decision.”

Fitch slapped him across the face. “You have the blood of kings. I won’t let you waste yourself by becoming a beast.”

Lance tensed, ready to intervene if Rhiain lost her temper, but instead she flattened her ears and hunched her shoulders as if Fitch had slapped her.

Edvard wiped blood from his lip. “You can’t tell me what to do.” He took a deep breath. “Loma—”

Lance pushed between the two brothers. “Wait.”

“You stay out of this,” Fitch snarled.

“Enough!” Lance yelled. He addressed Edvard. “I just healed you. You owe me the courtesy of listening.”

Edvard pressed his lips together, then nodded. “I’ll listen, but I won’t change my mind.”

Lance bit his tongue on a rude retort and tried to reason with Edvard. “I think you’d make a fine shandy,
but
it’s too soon to be making such a serious decision.”

“Because I’m too young?” Edvard thrust out his chin.

“No, because you’ve only just been healed. Turning shandy is for a lifetime. Waiting a few days won’t make much difference. You owe it to yourself to think it through.” He lowered his voice. “You owe it to Rhiain. It will devastate her if you change into a shandy and then change your mind. Again.”

Edvard looked stricken at the reminder. “I wouldn’t—”

“You’d never intentionally hurt her. I know. Now,” Lance took a deep breath, “I want your promise that you won’t sacrifice your humanity until you’ve spent a month as you are— healed. Spar with your brother. Think about whether you want to give up your hands forever.”

He thought he’d have to remind Edvard of the debt he owed, but after a moment the young man’s shoulders slumped. “You have my word. I’ll postpone the sacrifice—but I won’t change my mind.”

Lance had to be satisfied with that.

* * *

“Rhiain, hold a moment, I need to speak to you.” Fitch walked toward her with confident strides.

“Arrre you surrre you wish to speak to a beast?” Rhiain asked bitterly, but she waited among the shady tree trunks on the outskirts of camp until he caught up with her.