Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (33 page)

Sara eyed the swaying platform uneasily. “Are you sure you can hold our weight?”

“Yes,” Lance said.

He didn’t appear strained, and standing here risked discovery. She stepped on, clutching at the rail. The platform swung back and forth, making her very aware of the long fall below.

Lance immediately began to use the two ropes to lower them. “Wish I’d wrapped my hands,” he hissed.

Above them, the overseer yelled for assistance.

They were only ten feet down the cliff face. Sara tried to remember how high the cliffs at the Gate had been. One hundred feet? One hundred and fifty?

“We have to go faster,” Sara said.

Lance shook his head, while methodically lowering them hand over hand. “Any faster and the rope will burn through my fingers.”

The thought of plummeting down and smashing into the ground below chilled Sara, but already she could hear other voices at the top. She added her hands to the rope, helping so that Lance could lower them faster. Fifteen feet, twenty—

The platform shuddered to a stop.

Sara tipped her head back and saw three pairs of hands hauling back on the ropes. A jerk and the platform moved up a few inches. “What do we do?” Sara yelled.

“Nothing,” Lance said grimly.

The platform rose another foot. Sara gasped and clung to the rail as one end tilted precariously.

“Keep it even or she’ll fall off,” Lance called angrily.

After a few more jolts, the platform rose more smoothly. Frustration simmered inside Sara: to have come so close and yet failed. After this, they would be guarded more heavily. There would be no travel to the Republic until General Pallax conquered Kandrith. By then it would be too late.

“Do you hear something?” Lance asked suddenly.

Sara could hear the rope creaking, the wind bumping the platform against the cliff and sending down tiny showers of dirt, far away screams and sounds of battle, the rough breathing of the men hauling them up, a strange rhythmic flapping, and—Sara’s heart sank—General Pallax’s voice. He was waiting for them at the top. What would she do, if he killed Lance on the spot?

Lance gave a low laugh. “I don’t believe it. Goddess bless Cadwallader. He saw it.”

“What?” Sara asked, confused. They were only twelve feet from the top now.

Lance grabbed her hand and pulled her down to a sitting position on the edge of the platform. Their legs dangled over that horrific drop. In the dark, it seemed infinite.

“Get back from there,” General Pallax shouted down. “I already gave you my word I wouldn’t kill him.”

Lance ignored him. “Dulcima’s here,” he said.

Before Sara could ask who Dulcima was, her eyes picked out the black shape of a horse against the dark gray sky—a horse with two huge
wings
attached to its shoulders. The shandy had large liquid eyes, a gracefully arched neck and a mane like black silk. “What a beauty,” Sara said involuntarily.

Dulcima underflew the hoist, and Lance scrambled onto her back as she passed. Sara hesitated a moment too long.

Above, General Pallax swore. “Faster!”

The platform lurched upwards, the winch groaning. Only eight feet from the top now. Sara searched desperately for Lance and the shandy, finally picking them out against the cliff face. Dulcima had circled around and was flying back, her great wings sweeping back and forth.

But the winch was winning the race. Six feet from the top now. Sara edged farther away from the arms reaching for her, her weight balancing on the edge of the seat—

Arrows hissed through the air. Sara caught sight of Lance’s anguished face as Dulcima swerved away.

A hand caught her shoulder.

Sara slipped out from under it by throwing herself flat on her stomach. But the platform was still rising; they would have her in another minute. She swung her legs over the side and clung to one of the guardrail posts.

Where was Lance?

Fingers clutched at her hair. “I’ve got her!” a legionnaire called.

Sara let go of the post with one hand to claw at him. “Are you sure you’ve got me?” she panted. “Maybe I’m the one who has you!” She simultaneously grabbed his wrist and slid all the way over the edge so that most of her weight hung from the legionnaire’s arm.

The shock of it jerked him forward. In panic, he released his grip on her hair. She dropped down so that she was hanging by one hand from the platform guardrail.

“Lance!” The strain on her arm was murderous; her fingers started to slip.

“Hold on!” he called. She heard his voice from below, but couldn’t twist her head around enough to see. “Wait!”

Sandals landed on the platform. A legionnaire dropped to all fours, reaching for her. A grimace of determination shaped his face. She was out of time—

Sara let go.

Falling—

The wind rushed by her ears; her stomach felt weightless. She flailed her arms, trying to catch hold of something that wasn’t there—

Her stomach slammed into a shelf of warm muscle as Dulcima swooped under her. Sara screamed as she started to slide off, her legs dangling over air, but Lance clamped down on her wrist with brutal strength. “I’ve got you.”

Their eyes locked, and she knew he wouldn’t let go.

Except there was no saddle for him to hold onto. For a horrid moment she thought her weight was going to pull him to his death—and then Dulcima brought her wings in closer and tipped sideways.

Lance used the movement to pull her up and into a sitting position on the winged horse’s back.

“How are you?” Lance asked.

“Fine,” Sara said, but her body shuddered.
You’re safe. You’re not falling anymore.

His arms closed around her with desperate strength. “You should have waited until I had hold of you,” he said roughly. “That was a bloody stupid thing to do.”

Sara stiffened. “I didn’t have much choice.”

“You could have—” Lance cursed as an arrow whizzed by. “Hang on!” he yelled as Dulcima folded her wings in and dove.

Sara clung to Lance’s waist as if she could meld them together. A flight of arrows whistled past over their heads.

The refetti squirmed in her pocket. “Stay there,” she said firmly, patting him. It was a miracle he hadn’t fallen out when she dropped off the platform.

Dulcima flinched suddenly as an arrow punched into her back haunch. She neighed in pain.

“Easy,” Lance said. He reached back, then grimaced in frustration. “Can you pull it out, Sara? Otherwise, the flesh will heal around the arrow.”

Sara twisted around and, holding tight to Lance’s belt with one hand, leaned back and grasped the arrow. She ripped it free with one quick pull, wincing at the gout of blood, but Lance called forth the Goddess. The wound healed in front of her eyes.

Below, she heard General Pallax yell, “Hold your fire! Idiots! That’s a flying horse!” The wind ripped away his words so that she only caught fragments. “…one of a kind…breeding…cavalry.”

Yes, Nir, the God of War, would be very interested in flying horses. “Can we circle back around?” Sara asked Lance. “I don’t think they’ll shoot Dulcima, and I need to talk to General Pallax.”

“I don’t know.” Lance looked doubtful, but Dulcima made her own decision. She banked right so quickly she left Sara’s stomach behind.

“I guess I can always heal her again,” Lance muttered.

Sara felt a sudden pang—if she was wrong, Lance could heal her or Dulcima, but not himself—but by then it was too late. The clifftop was back in sight and arrow range.

“General!” she called.

Even in the dim light, the general’s plumed helmet was unmistakable. He looked up.

“If I bring you your son, will you swear to stop waging war on Kandrith?”

Asking him like this, in front of a dozen other legionnaires, put him in a bad position politically, but General Pallax must have been sure of his men’s loyalty because he yelled back, “If he’s alive and whole, yes. You have my word as a Pallax.”

Sara suspected that he thought the war would be won before she could possibly return, but it was the best she could hope for.

Dulcima wheeled and flew away. Once they were out of arrow range, Sara faced forward. Only to be met with Lance’s angry visage. Apparently, their argument had only been delayed.

* * *

“Now why don’t you explain what you thought you were doing, hanging from the platform like that? I told you to
wait
,” Lance growled. The sight of Sara dangling from the winch platform had almost given him heart failure.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Sara said, “A legionnaire grabbed me and—”

Lance didn’t let her finish. “And how would being captured be worse than killing yourself on the rocks below? At that height you wouldn’t just break your back, your body would be splattered all over the ground and your brain with it. I would’ve had
no chance
of healing you.”

Sara was quiet for a moment, and he thought he was getting through to her, but then her chin lifted. “It was a risk I chose to take.”

He wanted to shake her. “You take too many risks! It’s not like this is the first time. Two days ago you threw yourself onto someone’s sword—”

“To save your life!” Sara got angry in turn.

“I didn’t ask you to!”

Dulcima neighed and gave a small buck in annoyance. Lance tried to throttle back his temper, but he was still gnashing his teeth, when Sara spoke again.

“Just what was I supposed to do? Stand by and watch General Pallax kill you?”

Yes
, Lance wanted to yell. Not that he wanted to be dead, he just… “You take too many risks,” he repeated.

“Shall I go back to being a useless noblewoman then? The kind that you despise?” Her expression was cold.

Lance was taken aback. He hadn’t meant that.

“For the last six years,” she continued, “my father hemmed me in with guilt and did everything he could to obliterate my streak of wildness. To tame me into being a dutiful daughter.”

She was comparing him to her father? Lance winced.

“I have no desire to please him anymore. Should I change myself back to please you?
Can
you be pleased? Weren’t you the one who told me I wasn’t too passionate?” Even quieter and with deadly aim. “I thought you liked me as I am.”

Ah, she was killing him. Lance’s throat ached. He wished he were sitting behind her so that he might put his arms around her. “I do like you,” he said clumsily. Instinct warned him that she wouldn’t believe him if he told her he loved her now. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Sara. You scared me, and I lost my temper.”

Still she kept silent. An apology wasn’t enough. He’d hurt her with his thoughtless words.

“Ever since Wenda was whipped and almost died, I’ve been a little…overprotective, especially of women,” Lance confessed. “Wenda’s, ah, given me grief about it before. She usually threatens to hit me over the head if I don’t stop. If I backslide later on, just rap me on the head.”

Did she smile slightly at that? It was hard to tell in the dimness. Lance twisted around enough that he could stroke his thumb down her cheek.

“No one has the right to ask you to change yourself,” he said softly. Her father had put conditions on his love—or rather, the fake semblance of his love. Lance would not do the same. Sara’s recklessness was as much a part of her as her blue eyes. Loving her meant accepting both.

At last her stiffness eased, and they both faced forward again.

* * *

Wind streamed by with every sweep of Dulcima’s wings, riffling Sara’s hair. As dawn broke, the sky turned pink and orange and gold. They seemed to be flying straight into glory. Sara tipped her head back and laughed, almost giddy with exhilaration.

“Enjoying yourself?” Lance asked.

His voice sounded mild, but Sara tensed, half-expecting him to berate her again.

“Don’t,” Lance said, but it sounded like a plea, not an order. “I meant what I said. Be as wild as you want. As long as I’m there to keep you safe,” he added under his breath.

Sara relaxed. The wildness in her soul sang out. She felt as if this was what she’d been made for.

“I love this,” she said throatily. Flying on Dulcima was better than standing on top of Vaga Falls, better than riding on Dyl’s back. Better than anything, really—except making love with Lance.

“Not afraid of heights then?”

“No. What about you?” Sara belatedly noticed a certain tension in Lance’s body.

“The view is spectacular,” Lance said wryly. “Flying through the dark was…less pleasant. I won’t relax until I have my own feet back under me.”

Heights made him uncomfortable, yet he hadn’t hesitated to climb onto the swaying platform attached to the winch or to jump onto Dulcima’s moving back. Why, exactly, did Cadwallader think Wenda would make a better Kandrith than Lance? Sara didn’t understand.

“I’m sure Dulcima won’t let us fall, will you guh—” Sara stopped herself on the edge of the calling the shandy “girl” as she would a favored mare.

Dulcima snorted in reply.

Sara tore her gaze from the sunset and looked down at the rolling land two hundred feet below. To her surprise, Dulcima still flew over the Red Mountains.

Sara raised her voice. “Dulcima, I’m Lady—” No. No more claiming her father’s name. Even Sarathena sounded pretentious. “I’m Sara. My deepest thanks for your timely rescue. May I ask where you’re taking us?”

Dulcima twisted her great head around, but didn’t speak.

Sara tried again. “We need to go to the Republic to rescue the next Kandrith.”

Dulcima neighed.

Lance covered Sara’s hand with his own. “I don’t think she can talk. Dulcima isn’t exactly a shandy. She gave her Lifegift to be Kandrith’s Need.”

“You’ve mentioned Lifegifts before, but I don’t really understand what they are,” Sara admitted. “Why is it called a gift instead of a sacrifice?”

“A sacrifice gives something up and receives something back from the Goddess. A gift asks nothing for oneself in return,” Lance said. “Dulcima has been appearing to Kandriths for almost fifty years. In between Needs, I don’t think she’s really alive. She’s like the Guardian at the Gate or the Red Saints.”

Sara tried to puzzle that out. She remembered the giant fist that had started to squeeze her, but his reference to saints confused her. “Do you mean the mountains?” When they’d first reached them, he’d claimed they’d risen up out of nowhere. Sara made the leap. “Were the mountains once people?”

“Yes. We were on Saint Davvyd, and Saint Anna is below us now.”

Just the thought of someone turning themselves into a mountain of inert rock made her queasy. Maybe General Pallax would have a tougher time than she’d thought if the Kandrithans were willing to do that.

But most Kandrithans weren’t saints. Most didn’t even wear the Brown; they were like her, unwilling to sacrifice unless someone they loved was threatened. That’s why they needed a Kandrith.

“The power of a Lifegift depends on how long the giver has to live. Most elders with the inclination turn themselves into fruit or olive trees. Not everyone can make a mountain or even something as beautiful as Loma’s fountain. And only a Kandrith, who already has the power of multiple sacrifices, has a Lifegift capable of killing a blue devil.”

“As your father did.”

To Sara’s surprise, Lance shook his head. “No. He took a wound to the stomach and was only able to banish it.”

Sara got a sinking feeling. “Banish it where?”

“Back to its master, I suppose.”

So long as it wasn’t back inside her. Sara shuddered. “You said blue devils were servants of a Dark God, but which one?” Mek was the God of Death, and Sara thought she might have heard of a God—or was it Goddess?—of Night.

“I don’t know. The tales don’t say.”

Sara stewed a moment. “What do the tales say then?”

Lance paused before speaking. “They say that the gods are not equally powerful. Their standing among themselves waxes and wanes with the numbers of their followers, how much prayer they receive and how much sacrifice. When the Goddess first took mercy on the slaves and accepted their sacrifices, Her brothers and sisters scoffed because She gave back almost every bit as much power as She was given, only transformed into gifts such as my ability to heal.

“But as the number of Her worshippers grew, one of Her brothers became jealous of Her burgeoning power. To compete, He offers His acolytes great power seemingly for free, but there is a hidden price, a horrible one.”

“What?” Sara asked. Lance had given up his good health; what would
he
consider too steep a price?

“Their souls,” Lance said. “Bit by bit, they unknowingly sacrifice their souls. They sacrifice laughter and grief and love, all that makes them human. At the very last, when all that’s left is animal pain and pleasure, some sacrifice their bodies, too and become blue devils.”

Sara shivered, and they fell silent.

A short time later, Dulcima folded her wings back and began to descend. It soon became obvious she meant to land in a high meadow close to the cliffs, but still inside Kandrith’s border.

Sara swallowed a protest, not wanting to seem ungrateful. She’d hoped that Dulcima would fly them all the way to Temborium. If they had to go by carriage, the war would be over by the time they reached the capital.

Dulcima hit the meadow at a run and thundered through amarasave blossoms for several bodylengths, before backing with her wings and coming to a stop.

Lance dismounted, then helped Sara down, his hands lingering for a moment at her waist.

Sara stroked the mare’s black neck. “Our thanks.”

Dulcima bobbed her head, but instead of flying off or vanishing, she bent her neck and started cropping flowers.

Uncertainly, Sara looked at Lance.

“I think she means to take us farther,” Lance said. “All the way to Wenda. Perhaps she needs to rest.”

Dulcima neighed in seeming agreement.

It felt wrong to rest when a battle raged elsewhere. Sara caught herself pacing.

Lance was reclining in the grass, munching flowers. He held up an arm as she went by and pulled her down to sit by him. “Dulcima will let us know when it’s time to go.”

The refetti squirmed in her pocket. Sara took him out and set him down. The grass was still dewy, but the sun was beginning to give off some heat. She tried an amarasave blossom more out of curiosity than hunger. It tasted faintly sweet.

Lance had a couple of purple petals stuck in his close-cropped beard. The sight struck her as funny. Lance was just so big and masculine. His hand dwarfed the tiny blossoms, delicacy contrasting with strength.

A sudden wave of awareness made it difficult for Sara to swallow. She found herself noticing small details about Lance: the way his beard and mustache framed his lips, the scar on his left thumb, the way his shaggy hair curled slightly at the back…

“Sara.”

She looked up and was caught by his eyes, the deep brown of rich soil, the pupils black and expanded.