Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (40 page)

The blue devil turned to another victim. “The Qiph are very proud of their braids, I hear. Cut yours off.”

Woodenly, Esam started hacking at his hair with the muddy blade of his sword.

“I don’t know what to do,” Wenda whispered.

His silence his own answer, Lance let the Goddess’s healing warmth flow through his arm into Wenda, mending her eye, but not restoring her sight. That much he could do—

“Stop!”
Stone grated as Vez’s mouth moved.
“He has brought my Sister here again, a desecration.”

“What!” the blue devil bellowed. Wind rushed past Lance’s face. “What have you done? You’ve spoiled my offering.”

Force slapped Lance away from both Marcus and Wenda, rolling him over to a wall.

* * *

The movement of Vez’s stone mouth had thrown Sara off her feet. She was scrambling back up when her father attacked Lance.
Goddess of Mercy, help your servant, Lance.
Praying was all she could do, chained as she was. She hated being helpless.

“And you,” her father’s voice swirled around Sara’s ear like an icy breeze, “I mustn’t forget that you’re the one who brought Loma’s priest here. I need to preserve your blood, but you can feed Vez in other ways… Guess who I found wandering out in the hall?”

The door opened and in stumbled a filthy, naked, unshaven wretch of a man. He was moaning in fear, “No, no, no…”

“I believe your old suitor has something he’d like to give you, Sarathena.” A lewd chuckle.

Suitor? Sara looked more closely. The man’s eyes were blue, and his hair could once have been curly. He was skinnier than she remembered, but his lips were still as red as a girl’s. “Claude?”

Claude’s eyes were glassy and unfocussed. His hands were wrapped around his erect manhood, and he mumbled something about needing a woman. His gaze lit on her.

Jazoria, Sara realized with rising fear. Claude was half mad with the drug. He didn’t really see her at all, just a female body. Her father had brought Claude there to rape her.

* * *

Lance felt as if a giant, invisible hand had pinned him to the floor. He couldn’t even kick his legs. And then, as he lay helpless, the blue devil went to work on him.

Once, when Lance was helping in the forge, he’d dropped a piece of red-hot iron on his foot. Though the metal had only touched him for a moment, it had seared through his leather sandals and burned a hole in his flesh. His father had seized him under the arms and plunged his foot into the cooling trough, but the pain had only been starting. His flesh had throbbed for hours.

This felt like huge, red-hot pincers were squeezing his chest. His skin burned and flaked, then the rib bones beneath charred away. His jaws locked on a scream of agony.

He should be dead.

The thought took a long time to take hold. But it was followed by another one.
This isn’t real
.

His eyes felt like they were boiling in their sockets, but they still saw. When he looked down, his chest was unmarked.

The blue devil couldn’t just kill Lance—no, no. It meant to torture him until his heart burst.

Writhing, burning, Lance told himself that it was only pain, and he was good at enduring. He’d had practice enough. All he had to do was hold on until—

Until what? Until Wenda saved him?

He rolled his eyes to the left and watched as Marcus swiped clumsily with his sword near Wenda’s face. She raised her stump, fending him off with her own power. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you hurt me,” she wept.

The blue devil snarled. “See if you can stop this!”

Marcus began hacking at his ear.

Wenda couldn’t save Lance. Wenda couldn’t save anyone. The knowledge brought despair, and the pain grew in ascendance. Burning, scorching, blazing…

“Still alive?” the blue devil asked hatefully. Wind brushed his face. “Your pain is giving my God quite a feast, but I’m ready to finish it.”

Knives scored Lance’s flesh, cutting like a thousand whips. His skin peeled from his bones. He couldn’t move, couldn’t escape it.

It’s not real
.

But it felt real. And then the knives pierced his skull, causing an explosion of white-hot agony. Lance lost his hold on reality. His thoughts escaped his tenuous grasp, and he broke. He began to scream.

* * *

Despite her awkward position, Sara twisted around until she was facing Claude. His gaze fixed on her breasts. Just like old times.

She waited until he took a step nearer and then rammed her knee up into his groin.

Unfortunately, it didn’t have the effect she’d hoped for. She’d seen a guard do it once to a sanguon fighting to protect his wife, and the sanguon had collapsed in agony—allowing the guard to kick him in the stomach and then the kidneys. Claude, however, just glared at her. He seemed to recognize her for the first time. “Sarathena! Do you know how much that’s going to hurt once the jazoria wears off?”

“Leave me alone and Lance will heal you,” Sara promised swiftly.

Claude laughed. “Not a chance. Your friend’s a dead man, and I’ve waited too long to get under your skirts.” He leaned in closer. “I’m going to hammer you.”

Sara kicked him in the knee. While Claude cursed, she stole a quick look at Lance. He still lived, though he was obviously suffering badly.

Air slapped her cheek. Her father made a sound of exasperation. “She’s chained down, and you’re still having trouble. What kind of man are you? You, go help him.” The last was said in the tone of command.

The Qiph warrior stopped chopping off his braids and moved stiffly toward her.

She tried to kick him, too, but the Qiph dodged her foot. Then his hands were on her knees, holding them.

“Turn her over,” Claude said thickly.

She kept struggling, but soon found herself half-kneeling, bent over the stone mouth, her face inches from the razor-teeth. She reached back with her free hand and clawed at the Qiph’s face.

She felt blood flow under her nails and was about to try for his eyes, when he gasped out, “Sorry.”

She’d forgotten. He was being forced to do this by her father. It was Claude she should be clawing.

Claude yanked up her skirt and ran a hand up her bare thigh. Instinctively, she clamped her legs tightly together.

Claude swore. “Help me spread them. Wider.”

She kept fighting, but they were too strong. Soon she was open and exposed. Tears started in her eyes.

And then Lance began to scream—Lance, who barely swore when he broke a bone, who could walk for hours in the grip of a fever without a word of complaint. It was a sound of unrelenting agony, and Sara’s body flashed cold. She could hear death in that scream.

She was going to be raped. It would hurt—Claude would enjoy it—but she would survive, just as she would’ve survived their marriage bed if they’d wed.

Lance was
dying
.

The knowledge pierced her like lightning.

She was chained and helpless, but the wildness inside Sara surged. Wenda didn’t seem to be able to save her brother, so it was up to Sara. She would kill the blue devil herself.

Claude pressed his erection against her bare buttocks. “Feel that, Sara? Feel how big I am? I’m going to plow you till you bleed—”

Sara grabbed his arm and pulled it down on Vez’s mouth. Claude screamed as the razor-sharp teeth sliced open his forearm from elbow to wrist. He stumbled away, crying and swearing. The Qiph kept holding her, but did nothing to help Claude.

Sara closed her eyes, pushing back the wildness that would have had her batter herself for nothing trying to break an iron chain. She needed to think.

She could do nothing physically. She would have to use magic to defeat the blue devil, to kill her father. She needed to make a sacrifice, but of what?

Screaming, Claude beat at her back and head. Sara ignored him. Her mind was miles away, full of frustrating riddles. Question: How do you kill a blue devil? Answer: You don’t. He kills you. Ha, ha, ha.

Try again. Solve the riddle. Question: How do you kill a blue devil? Answer: You die.

No!
the stubborn part of her insisted. Blue devils gave up their bodies and souls to become immortal. Dying wouldn’t help Lance.

* * *

Steel bands constricted around Lance’s ribcage, choking off his scream. He couldn’t breathe—

He was having another asthma attack.

For a moment the sheer unfairness of having an episode now, when he was already suffering and dying, roiled through Lance’s mind. But. But he had chosen this sacrifice. His ill health fed the Goddess.

If he had to die, he would rather it be by Her hand.

And that knowledge gave him strength. Lance concentrated on his lungs, on breathing first one breath and then another. He accepted the pain, gifting it to the Goddess.

* * *

Lance had stopped screaming. She could see him lying on the ground, not moving. Dead?

No. She refused to let it happen.

Sara stopped trying to think her way through the problem and let instinct guide her. For so long she’d fought her feelings for Lance because she’d thought passion and emotion weakened her. But passion didn’t have to be selfish and destructive. If there was love, it could be the opposite.

Question: How do you kill a blue devil?

Answer: You give it your soul.

Lance sucked in a huge breath, both his asthma and his vision clearing as the pain suddenly vanished. Wenda had bested the blue devil. He staggered to his feet, cataloguing everyone for injuries.

Marcus’s face was bloody, but he was conscious and capable of standing. Wenda was smiling. Sara—

Lance roared, strength rushing back into his limbs. In four strides, he reached Sara and tore Claudius off of her body. He drove his fist into the lordling’s face; Claudius fell back on the floor, howling and clutching a broken nose. He was naked and still erect—curse Madam Lust to everlasting fire.

Esam stood there, his half-shorn braids and stunned expression making him look even younger. “The Defiler—he—it—made me—” He dropped to his knees and vomited.

“Wenda,” Lance snapped. “This man is General Pallax’s son. He’s your key to stopping the invasion. Get him out of my sight, before I break his neck.”

“I’ve got him,” Esam croaked. He wiped his mouth and dragged Claudius away.

Lance turned back to Sara.

She was still chained to the golden mouth, her skirts bunched up at her waist. She was staring at the opposite wall in apparent shock. “Sara.” His voice broke. “Are you hurt? Let me…”

Her head turned toward him, but her gaze was as remote as a stranger’s.

His heart bled.

“Sara, I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder so I can heal you.” He slowly reached out and was relieved when she didn’t flinch at his touch.

Her wrist was cut again, and he could see blood trickling down her leg. She was hurt…inside.
Goddess, please, I need your help
. Loma’s healing warmth filled him, then brimmed over and spilled into Sara.

The bleeding stopped. Unfortunately, the wounds to her mind were not so easily healed. When he gently pulled her skirts back down, she stood as docile as a doll. He wanted to comfort her, but he feared her damaged mind would interpret it as another assault.

Lance cleared his throat. “Sara…please say something.” It was dangerous to hold emotion back too long. Better by far if she cried and raged now…

“What should I say?”

Her voice was flat, but Lance felt relief at getting a response. He opened his mouth to tell her to cry if she wanted, but his sister plucked at his sleeve.

“Lance.” Tears streamed down Wenda’s cheeks. “Marcus is hurt. You have to help him.”

For the first time, Lance felt impatient at being asked to do the Goddess’s work. He tamped the feeling down. “Of course.” He turned to Marcus. “What—” The question died on his lips.

Marcus’s face was mutilated and bleeding. Both of his ears and his nose had been cut off, one cheek flapped open and one eye was as ruined as Wenda’s had been.

“What are you waiting for? Heal him,” Wenda demanded.

“Not yet,” Lance said firmly. “We need to find the pieces he cut off or his skin will heal over as it is.”

Wenda swallowed hard. “Oh.”

“I’ll be right back, Sara, and then—then we’ll get that manacle off you.”

She didn’t respond. Why should she? It was a stupid thing to say.

Wenda was blind and Marcus not much better so most of the grisly hands-and-knees search fell to Lance. In the end he found only Marcus’s nose and one ear.

“It’s enough,” Marcus said. “I’ve been a legionnaire my whole life; a lost ear is better than a lost leg.”

“As you wish.” Lance put his hands on the other man’s bloody face and called the Goddess while Wenda hovered. “So how did you do it?” he asked his sister, in a weak effort to distract her. “How did you kill the blue devil?”

Wenda’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think I did. I was trying to break its hold on Marcus, but I wasn’t doing very well. Then…it just stopped. I thought perhaps you…?”

Lance shook his head, then remembered his sister couldn’t see him. He fell back on the deliberate way he’d been forced to speak to his father. “No, it wasn’t me. Truth is, I was pretty close to death when it vanished. Marcus?”

Wenda’s Protector laughed. “You’re joking, right? Look at me!”

“Actually, you look fine now, except for the ear,” Lance said, removing his hands. “But I take your point.” He looked speculatively at Esam. Had the Qiph somehow gotten a second devil in his carved box?

But no. Esam had been under control of the blue devil, holding Sara down while—

Lance shut off that thought. He liked the Qiph and didn’t want to have to kill him. Worse thoughts crowded in. He licked suddenly dry lips. “We are sure it’s dead—aren’t we?”

Unexpectedly, Sara answered him. “Yes. The blue devil is dead.”

* * *

“Sara, where are you?” the woman, Wenda, turned her head back and forth. “Why can’t I see your soul?”

“My soul is gone,” Sara told her. The knowledge did not upset her. It was a simple fact. Her eyes were blue, her hair was brown, she had no soul.

Wenda gasped.

Lance’s face turned pale. “What do you mean, your soul is gone?” His voice rose.

“I no longer have a soul,” Sara repeated herself.

“What happened to it?” Wenda asked.

“I gave it up to kill the blue devil.”

“No.” Lance shook his head. “No. You can’t have.”

“I don’t understand,” another man said. He had only one ear. “How can giving up her soul kill the powerful being that attacked us?”

“It was the answer to the riddle,” Sara told him when no one else spoke. She hadn’t fully understood why at the time, but it made perfect sense now. “The blue devil sacrificed its body and soul to live forever. When I gave it my soul, its sacrifice became invalid, and it died.”

“What?” the earless man said.

“Gave it as a gift?” Wenda asked. “Not as a sacrifice?”

“Yes.”

“Well, at least that explains why she’s not a blue devil,” Wenda said.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Lance said to Sara.

Sara didn’t know if he was right or not. She didn’t see why it mattered one way or another.

“If she hadn’t, we’d all be dead,” Wenda said. She put her arms around Lance, but he drew away.

“Maybe I can heal her.” He reached for Sara.

She stood passively while he put his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Goddess, please.”

Sara waited, but nothing happened.

Lance turned and walked away. He laid his head against the wall.

* * *

When Lance regained his composure, he rejoined the others. They were arguing about how to free Sara—the key had been lost—and getting nowhere.

Sara listened, saying nothing. Wenda, Marcus and Esam talked over and around Sara as if she were a lump of rock. Unable to stand it, Lance interrupted Marcus’s speculation on where they might find blacksmith tools. “Sara, what do you think we should do?”

The others fell silent.

“You could leave me here,” Sara said, as if it were obvious.

Wenda flushed—the thought had obviously occurred to her.

“Never,” Lance swore vehemently.

“Then use a sword.” Sara’s expression was completely unperturbed, as if what she was suggesting was easy. Lance wished he could take it as a sign of faith in him, rather than indifference.

“Who has the sharpest blade? Marcus?” Lance asked.

Marcus handed Lance his sword.

Lance tested the edge. An axe would have been better for shearing bone, but this would have to do.

“Perhaps it’s best this way,” Wenda said softly.

Best? Lance realized suddenly his sister thought he meant to kill Sara, to cut her throat like a wounded deer. Anger kindled inside him. Not trusting himself to speak, he raised the sword, then moved it down in a swift cut, severing Sara’s forearm just above the manacle.

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.