Resounding silence met his suggestion. The faces surrounding him became suddenly closed and unfriendly.
* * *
Sara caught the left rein first, then half a mile later, the right one. She straightened in the saddle, signaling both with her body and a firm hand on the reins that it was time to stop.
The stallion tossed his head, but flecks of sweat covered his flanks, and his chest heaved. Soon his head was drooping, and he consented to turn around.
He clopped slowly back down the road.
A half mile farther on, he suddenly stopped, ears back. He neighed, lifting his front hooves.
Sara shifted her weight to stay on his back. After searching for a moment, she spotted Rhiain’s yellow coat off to one side in the woods.
“Get off and I’ll take carrre of the horrrse.”
Sara started to slide one leg over the horse’s back, then stopped. “How will you take care of it?”
“I’ll eat it.” Rhiain’s tail lashed back and forth.
The horse pawed the ground, ready to fight.
“Don’t kill it. Let it become accustomed to you,” Sara said—then was surprised at herself. All that mattered was that the horse not be allowed to run back to the Legion. Why did she care if Rhiain ate it?
Was it because warhorses were valuable? It would be convenient to have a horse to ride so Rhiain wasn’t burdened and could fight more effectively.
But Sara had said no before she thought the logic through. She’d said no because it seemed wrong to hurt a creature whose swift gallop had brought her pleasure.
* * *
“Show me your wrist,” the short man demanded. His scowl of suspicion twisted his scars into an ugly mask.
Lance climbed to his feet and fought off another wave of dizziness. In silence he showed them the bone brand on his wrist that declared him an osseon, a first-generation slave.
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Lance. Of Kandrith.”
“I’m Willem,” the scarred man said. Not Chief Fitch then. “You’d better come with us. Fitch can decide what to do with you.”
A tall stick of a man with protruding eyes frowned. “But how do we know he’s not a spy?”
“Minast!” Willem’s son, Jenas, reproved.
Lance thought Minast had been the trampling victim with a cracked skull and an arm broken in three places. He stared at Minast, letting his silence speak volumes, until the other man squirmed.
“It’s not that we don’t appreciate what you did,” Jenas spoke up. “But the Republic has sent spies before. Slaves who supposedly escaped their masters, but were sent to betray us, their families held hostage.”
“Jenas, you talk too much,” Willem warned.
“I just didn’t want him to think us ungrateful,” Jenas said stubbornly. “He saved my life. It’s a miracle any of us are alive.”
“Jenas.”
“It’s true, and you all know it!” The fuzzy-bearded youth hunched his shoulders angrily.
Not wanting to make them more suspicious, Lance didn’t repeat his request to be left behind. Curse Bertramus. Lance couldn’t regret his death—he’d deserved it—but there was no denying he would’ve come in useful just about now to vouch for Lance.
For that matter, he wished Dyl was with them. He could’ve trusted in the wolf shandy’s common sense. If Sara had been captured, Dyl would come fetch him and not attempt to rescue her alone. Rhiain tended to act on impulse and then rely on her formidable fighting skills to get her out of trouble.
Offering a silent prayer to Loma, Lance took a step forward and staggered as the earth spun.
Willem noticed his misstep. “Are you hurt?”
“I have spells of dizziness.”
“Jenas, help him,” Willem commanded.
Eyes wide with awe, Jenas walked over to Lance.
Lance suppressed a sigh. He rested his hand on the youth’s shoulder. “Thanks, lad. I just need to steady myself.”
Willem led the way onto the narrow plankroad across the bog. The waters on either side were a peaty brown with a scum of bright green algae. And the smell...Lance wrinkled his nose.
He was glad to leave the bog behind, but alarm built behind his breastbone when Willem signaled the rebels to leave the stone road and climb the branch of a fallen forest giant. The massive tree trunk lay at an angle to the Republican road.
Lance cursed under his breath—the wood would leave no tracks for Rhiain—but he had no choice but to climb with the others. The bole was the height of Lance’s head and so wide Jenas and he could still walk abreast.
From above, Lance studied the shadowy forest, hoping to spot Rhiain or Sara hanging back, but failed.
As they clambered down off the fallen trunk, Lance contrived to stumble onto one knee and leave a partial handprint in the damp earth.
The rebels spoke little as they passed between the towering treetrunks, either as a precaution against unfriendly ears or from grief and gloom over the lost battle and their fallen comrades. Lance wished he’d been able to heal more of them.
It didn’t occur to him that the men were also silent because of his own presence until close to dark when Willem dropped back to replace Jenas as Lance’s crutch. “Go on, Jenas, you must be tired out by now.”
“I feel fine,” Jenas said in surprise. “I could walk for hours.”
From Willem’s snort he took his son’s words as youthful bravado. Lance knew the truth; his hand on Jenas’s shoulder would have healed him of fatigue as they hiked along. But since Lance wanted to speak to Willem anyhow, he didn’t protest the switch.
“Where’d you say you were from again?” Willem asked abruptly, after they’d walked in silence for a few moments.
“Kandrith.”
“Freedom? I’ve never heard of a town by that name.” Now there was definite suspicion in Willem’s voice.
“It’s not a town. It’s a small country far from here, surrounded by mountains. The Republicans call it Slaveland.” Lance glanced at his guide to see if this jogged his memory, but Willem’s brow remained furrowed. “It was founded by a group of escaped slaves.”
“If it’s so far away, what are you doing out here?” Willem’s thick eyebrows beetled together.
Lance told the truth. “The Kandrith—our leader—sent me to contact Chief Fitch.” Since Willem seemed ignorant of Fitch’s plan, Lance didn’t mention Bertramus. “You are his men, I hope?” Lance asked mildly.
Willem grunted instead of answering, and Lance didn’t press the matter. There was no more conversation until they camped that night.
“No fire,” Willem decreed.
The men grumbled but didn’t argue, hunching their shoulders against a light drizzle.
Lance cleared his throat. “Couldn’t we take shelter in the hollow tree back there?” He pointed to a giant cedar whose heartwood had rotted away, leaving a partly enclosed space as cozy as many a house he’d spent the night in. Bizarrely, the top three-quarters of the tree still flourished.
Coarse laughter greeted his suggestion.
“Not even if I were freezing to death.”
“You first!”
Apparently, he’d said something stupid. Lance looked inquiringly at Jenas.
“It’s an Undying,” the young man explained. “Never go inside an Undying that Hana’s judged, especially if you have even the smallest cut. Blood wakes them.”
Lance blinked, not sure how a tree could wake.
>
“It’s true,” Jenas insisted, mistaking Lance’s expression for disbelief. “My uncle was camping one night and kept hearing tapping, real faint but it kept him awake. Come morning he took an axe to the nearest Undying and cut a window. He found a legionnaire trapped inside, almost dead of thirst. The fool had slept inside three nights before, and by morning the tree had grown over the opening.”
“Did your uncle get him out?” Lance asked, curious.
Jenas blinked. “No. Weren’t you listening? It was a legionnaire. He left him for the Undying to eat.”
A harsh fate, but asking a man to rescue his enemies was a bit much.
“What are the Undying?” Lance asked.
While the rebels shared dried bits of meat and biscuit for an unsatisfying and damp supper, Lance received the tale in bits and pieces.
Centuries ago, Vez in his malice had offered some men immortality. They accepted, but found the gift wasn’t what they’d expected. They died and woke craving blood. Worse, all they drank from died and rose again the next night, also undying.
Whole villages fell to the curse and the undying became a plague across the land. The other gods banded together to stop them. Nir raised an army to dismember them, but Loma had pity on the children and those turned against their will. She transformed them into cedar trees.
The men who’d bargained with Vez for immortality cried out that Vez had tricked them, that they hadn’t known the price. She transformed them, too, but Hana, the God of Justice, decreed they must be punished for their part in the tragedy so their heartwood rotted away.
The Undying sounded a little like Kandrith’s Grandfather trees.
“You’ve convinced me,” Lance said when the tale ended. “I won’t take shelter in any hollow trees.” Fortunately, the rain had stopped.
“Enough tale-telling,” Willem said quietly. The full moon’s silvery light filtered down, illuminating his scarred face. “We need to rest.” He lay down, bundling his plaid around him. Except for the sentries, everyone else followed his example.
Lance took a long time to fall asleep, listening for Sara and Rhiain in every rustling branch or sigh of the wind. More and more he feared that ill had befallen them.
Sara would never willingly spend a night apart from him.
* * *
The putrid, rotting scent of the swamp clogged Rhiain’s nostrils. She swiped at her nose in frustration. She’d spent the last several hours sniffing around both the battlefield and the bog. People had travelled across the plank bridge, but she couldn’t tell if one of them was Lance because the smell of wet, green, decaying vegetation overpowered everything else. Soon the sun would go down.
“This is useless,” Rhiain growled, stalking back to the road.
Sara, who’d been watching her all afternoon with the endless patience of a predator, frowned. “You can’t stop looking. You haven’t found Lance yet.”
“The trrrail’s cold, and I’m hungrrry.” Belly rumbling, she cast one eye on the stallion Sara had adopted. It flattened its ears at her and pawed at the ground. Brainless horse. Didn’t it realize she could break its neck anytime she wanted?
“We have to find Lance,” Sara repeated.
“I know that.” Rhiain strove for patience. Sara’s obstinacy made her want to chew rocks. “In the morrrning we can follow the rrroad and I’ll trrry to pick up a trrrail.”
“No.” Sara jerked the stallion’s head around and rode onto the bridge. The horse’s hooves clattered on the planks.
Almost, almost, Rhiain let them go. Her stomach ached with hunger. But when she found Lance again, it would be embarrassing enough to admit she’d lost his trail; she didn’t want to tell him she’d lost Sara, too.
Not wanting to spend any more time exposed on the bridge than possible, she waited until Sara was three-quarters of the way across then took it at a lope, fastidiously avoiding the muddy bits.
Her head lifted once the road emerged out of the swamp. Her conscience twinged. They ought to be riding parallel to the road, not straight down it, where anyone could happen upon them. On the other hand, her paws itched for a fight. If she brought down another horse, she could eat it.
A cooling breeze moved through the forest, bringing with it the pleasant scent of cedar and—
She stopped and sniffed. Not Lance, but human scent, very fresh. Swinging her head from side to side, she spotted her prey. There.
Tucked back under the glossy dark green leaves of some kind of bush, huddled a youth. He’d drawn his knees up to his chest and held his hand over his mouth to muffle his breath, but his terrified brown eyes met hers before he scrambled out of cover, running headlong.
Instinct took over. Rhiain gave chase. She hardly had time to notice the boy limped badly before her front paws hit his shoulders and knocked him down. He squirmed on the muddy forest floor. She allowed him to turn onto his back before pinning him with one heavy paw on his chest.
“Don’t move,” she growled.
Sometimes hearing her speak made people more frantic, but his mouth dropped open, and he stopped struggling. “You can talk!”
His shaggy white-blond hair fell over his face, obscuring his eyes. He wore a white tunic and a plaid blanket wrapped around his waist and then pinned over one shoulder.
Looking up, Rhiain realized Sara was still trotting down the road. “Sarrra! Come back!”
Sara pulled the horse around in a tight loop. The stallion picked his way through the trees, stopping ten wary feet from Rhiain. Not so brainless then.
“Look what I found.” Rhiain patted the boy with a paw the size of his face.
“That’s not Lance,” Sara said, face blank.
“I know,” Rhiain growled. “But he’s drrressed like the otherrr rrrebels. He might know wherrre to find them.”
The boy shoved at her paw, struggling to get free. “I won’t tell you!”
“Oh, yes, you will.” Rhiain flexed her claws in their sheaths just enough so he’d feel the bite through his clothing. “I can open up your gut with one swipe.”
He shook his head, gaze defiant. “Go ahead and kill me. I won’t betray my brother.”
Rhiain felt a flash of admiration for his bravery, and a spurt of shame at her own behaviour. This boy wasn’t the enemy. “I’m going to get off you now. Don’t rrrun,” she warned him.
Once she’d removed her weight, the boy sat up warily, rubbing his sore chest. He looked longingly at the trees, but didn’t try to escape. “What do you want?”
“To find Lance,” Sara said, as single-minded as an arrow.
“We think he’s with the rrrebels who got ambushed back in the swamp,” Rhiain explained.
“Then they’re not all dead?” His mouth gaped. “I wanted to join the battle, but by the time I got there...” he trailed off.
He’d seen the slaughter and retreated, Rhiain surmised. “Lance is a grrreat healerrr,” she said. “If the rrrebels did not pass you, do you know wherrre they will have taken him?”
His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps. But why should I trust you?”
“We’rrre not yourrr enemeies. Do we look like legionnairrres?” Rhiain asked impatiently.
“You don’t look like anything I’ve ever heard of,” he said.
Despite his frank words, she saw on his face none of the revulsion her body often engendered in others, only curiosity and wariness. And he spoke directly to her, not assuming that Sara was h
er master.
“But her horse is wearing legionnaire gear,” he pointed out.
“The horse belonged to a legionnaire that Rhiain killed,” Sara said.
He shot a wide-eyed glance at the horse. “Does it talk, too?”
Rhiain coughed with laughter, “Hnngh, hnngh, hnngh.”
The boy flushed.
“No,” Sara told him, unamused. “It’s not a shandy.”
“What are shandies?”
“She’s a shandy.” Sara pointed at Rhiain. “Will you take us to your camp?”
He crossed his arms. “Not unless you tell me who you are and what your business is with us.”
A growl rumbled up Rhiain’s throat, but Sara answered simply, “Rhiain is a warrior, Lance is a healer. They’re here to help your rebellion succeed.”
“And yourself? You look Temborian.”
“I am Temborian.”
He turned to Rhiain. “Why do you want to help our rebellion?”
“Because the Rrrepublic is ourrr enemy, too.”
He scratched his thatch of white-blond hair, then came to a decision. “My name’s Edvard. I’ll take you to see my brother.”
“Who’s yourrr brotherrr?” Rhiain asked.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Chief Fitch.”
* * *
Lance was well and truly lost by the time they finally marched into the rebel camp the next day. The thickly overcast sky and the towering firs and cedars made it hard to discern directions.
Lance would have walked right by the archers positioned high on platforms hugging the tree trunks. Willem must have been watching for them, though. He whistled, and the sentries gave an answering birdcall and a wave, allowing them to pass safely into the camp.
Lance sucked in a surprised breath. Though Bertramus had mentioned Fitch’s part-Grasslander heritage, Lance hadn’t expected a hundred barbarians from the plains north of the Republic to be roaming the rebel camp.
Except in some ways it appeared more like two separate camps. The Gotians, easily recognizable in their plaids, were spread out among the forest giants in leantos or hammocks or even up in treehouses. The buckskin-wearing Grasslander contingent had hacked out a clearing. Two dozen round tents with domed roofs hunkered together as if for protection among the stumps. The fallen logs, some two hundred feet long, had been lined up to make a crude corral for the shaggy-maned Grasslander horses.
Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) Page 16
