Soul of Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (39 page)

A roar of agreement.

“I’m outraged and angry,” Fitch repeated. “But I’m not
surprised. Why? Because Temboria has always treated Gotia as a second-class
province, and its equitains as lesser than their nobles. You know this. You’ve
seen it yourselves, in a hundred different ways...”

Movement at the back of the crowd attracted Rhiain’s attention,
but it was only a drunken man stumbling away to piss against a tree. She ghosted
forward on silent pads, watching Fitch. He looked so impassioned and handsome
and fierce, she quivered.

“I’m proud to be Gotian! We have a glorius history. Before the
Republicans stole our pride, we were warriors to be reckoned with, and we can be
again!”

The crowd rumbled approval.

“That’s a crock of shit!” A broad-chested man with a large
blond mustache pushed his way to the forefront of the crowd. “You can sing about
the glories of Gotia until your throat’s raw and it won’t change anything. Gotia
can’t stand against the Republic’s Legions, and everyone here knows it!”

Silence.

Fitch opened his mouth, but the other man drowned him out.

“It’s your fault they burned us out! If you hadn’t talked
Breslin into taking part in your doomed rebellion, he’d still be alive and
Tolium unsacked.”

“Is that what you think?” Fitch asked coldly.

“Yes! I think we should truss
you
up and set you on Nir’s doorstep as a present.”

“And do you think Nir would thank you for doing so? Reward you
with gold?” Fitch’s voice dripped contempt. “Would he rebuild the city?”

The man faltered. “He’d leave us alone.”

“You would’ve sold yourself to him. You’d be his spy, and
become quite rich reporting your neighbour’s offenses.” Fitch sneered.

The crowd began to frown at the other man, as if he’d already
betrayed them.

He protested. “I’d never—”

Another man shoved him. “No, you wouldn’t, because if you say a
word to anyone, I’ll burn you out.”

Agreement from the crowd.

Fitch resumed his speech. “My grandfather was Chief Deglas.
Gotia had many strong chiefs, so strong the Republic had to resort to trickery
to defeat us. We fell because the Republicans played one chief against another,
promising one tribe aid against a rival, and then turning on them and enslaving
them all...”

The heckler was elbowed to the back of the crowd. After a
moment, he slunk away. Rhiain tailed after him. Here was a potential
traitor!

He headed straight for the bridge. He could just be returning
to his home in Tolium, or he could intend to tell tales to the Legion encamped
at Tolium’s other gate. She couldn’t take the chance.

Abandoning stealth, she leaped out in front of him, blocking
the road. “Go back,” she rumbled.

He was running before she finished speaking.

Joy at the hunt shot through her, and she had to stifle her
urge to pounce. She settled for chasing him a mile into the forest, until he was
red-faced and gasping and more than likely lost, before she faded back. She felt
confident he wouldn’t return to Tolium by nightfall.

When she returned, Fitch had the crowd in the palm of his hand.
They roared approval and shook their fists at his every utterance.

“The ring of kingship crafted by Diwo, the Goddess of Luck, has
been returned to us! We cannot lose! Will you answer its call and bring Gotia
back to the glory it deserves?”

“Yes!” howled the crowd.

Satisfaction filled Rhiain’s belly like thick cream. She
purred, almost wishing the legionnaire’s commander could’ve been here to see
what he’d wrought by sacking Tolium. Instead of crushing the rebellion’s base,
he’d doubled its numbers. Why, he’d all but done Fitch’s work for him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“You’ve done the rebels’ work for them. What, in Nir’s
name, were you thinking?” Primus Ambrosius Pallax paced the smoky, torchlit
interior of the tent while Nir lounged on a couch. Despite his relaxed pose,
Sara noticed that Nir’s neck muscles tensed every time Pallax started lecturing
him again.

“This will flush the rebels out of hiding,” Nir said stiffly.
“It will force them to think defensively.”

“None of that changes the fact that you burned my city!”

“They harboured traitors!” Nir thundered back, coming to his
feet. He loomed almost a foot taller than Ambrosius Pallax, but was cadaverously
thin while the Primus had a powerful, heavy chest and hairy arms. Both men had
gray in their hair, but the Primus was a decade younger, at forty.

The Primus didn’t budge an inch, yelling, “You’ve turned the
whole countryside against us!”

“We crushed Gotia beneath our sandal once, and we can do it
again! They need to be reminded who their masters are!”

The two men glared at each other toe-to-toe for a long moment,
wills clashing. Sara wondered if they would draw weapons.

Primus Pallax took in a deep breath. “It’s been over two
months, old friend, and the insect is still uncrushed. I’ve been hearing
rumours—”

“That the God of War favours the rebel chief? Lies,” Nir
snarled.

The Primus continued as if there hadn’t been an interruption,
“—that a racha beast was spotted during the raid on the governor’s villa.”

Taken aback, Nir frowned. “The Fourth Legion legate reported
one. And so?”

“When I fought the Slavelanders, they had a number of hunting
wolves and one racha trained to fight for them. The coincidence troubles me, as
neither place is near the deserts of Qi.”

“A mystery,” Nir agreed. He sat back down and gestured to Sara.
“Have some wine, Ambrosius.”

Sara glided forward and offered the carafe. Would Nir notice
her healed jaw?

Primus Pallax’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
“That’s—that’s—What’s she doing here?”

Sara was surprised Sylvanus hadn’t told him. When he’d come to
her defense, she’d thought his House loyalty had outweighed his shame at his
sister’s enslavement.

Nir pinched her buttock. “Do you like my new coeurelle?”

Primus Pallax’s mouth compressed. “I prefer my women with
longer hair.” He stared at her taut belly. She was six-and-a-half months along
now and visibly pregnant. “Is the child yours?” he asked Nir.

“No,” Nir said coldly. “Wine?”

Primus Pallax nodded.

Sara poured them both goblets of red wine. She hoped she’d be
allowed to leave, but Nir waved a hand. “Feed me some grapes.”

Obediently, Sara picked up a blue bowl of fruit and knelt. Her
weight was distributed too far forward for the maneuver to be graceful, but she
didn’t spill. She pressed a purple grape to his lips. After only three, Nir
grabbed her wrist and pulled her astride him on the couch.

He squeezed her breasts, his penis hardening against her thigh.
Cold chills ran over Sara’s skin. More than distaste—revulsion. The meal she’d
snatched after Lance healed her jaw wanted to crawl back up her throat.

She couldn’t let Nir catch emotion on her face. Once he knew he
could affect her, he’d never leave her alone. He’d pick and pick at her until
she cracked wide open. Screamed. Fought.

And then he’d laugh as he raped her anyway.

For the first time since losing her soul, Sara prayed.
Loma’s
mercy
,
please
don’t
let
him
notice
.

“Cold, Sarathena?” Nir mocked, running a fingernail up her
gooseflesh-covered arm. His gray eyes searched for any sign of weakness.

Sara blanked her face and lied. “Yes.”

“Nir’s sword!” Primus Pallax swore. “Play with your toys
later.”

Sara had forgotten his presence. Usually when Nir started to
molest her, the other officers would call for their own slave girls and debauch
them all together, but Primus Pallax’s face burned red with anger.

His nostrils flared as if he smelled something bad. “If this is
how you protect the realm, then it’s no wonder that boy-general is beating you!”
His voice was scathing.

Nir snarled and shoved Sara off his lap. She barely managed to
break her fall. Anxiety tightened her chest. Had Nir seen her instinctive
move?

No, he was too angry, facing off with the Primus. “You forget
who I am. I’m Nir’s high priest!” He towered over the shorter man.

“No.
You
forget who
I
am, and whose Legions these are.” Primus Pallax
flung out a beefy arm.

“They are all followers of Nir.”

“But they are my legionnaires first, just as that was
my
city you burned. Mine, not yours.”

A spasm of rage crossed Nir’s face. His hand sought the hilt of
his sword.

Primus Pallax’s voice became frigid. “You dare lay your hand on
your weapon in the presence of your Primus?”

Movement at the flap of the tent made Sara suddenly aware of
the honour guard standing outside, ten legionnaires who could be inside in an
instant. Ten men who wouldn’t hesitate to kill Nir. Sara held her breath.

Nir bared his teeth, but lifted his hand and held it palm
up.

“We’re old friends, you and I,” Primus Pallax said after a
moment. “Because we are, I’m going to give you the opportunity to take a walk
and clear your head.” His voice was biting. “When you come back, we’ll discuss
how to deal with this rebellion.”

Nir’s mouth thinned, but he inclined his head. He pushed his
way out of the tent, almost knocking over one of the crimson-cloaked guards.

Pallax faced Sara. “He’ll be back soon. Quickly, whose babe do
you carry? Is it my son’s? Say it is, and I’ll free you.”

For a heartbeat Sara considered lying for the second time
today, but reason intruded. He lacked the power to free her. She was Nir’s
slave, not his. “I don’t know who the father is. Claudius is one of two possible
fathers.”

He stared at her, then cursed. “If you’d sworn the babe was
Claudius’s, I would’ve doubted you.”

Sara didn’t know what to say. In the silence that fell the baby
shifted; a soft grunt escaped her lips as his foot dug into her ribs.

Primus Pallax watched the movement in her abdomen with
fascination. “The child seems strong.”

“Yes, he is,” Sara said.

“He?” A raised eyebrow.

“The Goddess of Mercy says the baby is a boy.”

“May I?” He laid a hand on her taut belly without waiting for
her permission. Wonder relaxed his expression as the baby kicked again under his
fingers.

Just then Nir ducked through the tent flaps. The Primus
withdrew his hand, but not soon enough. “What are you doing?” Nir demanded. If
he’d walked off any of his anger, it had been in vain. A thunderous scowl pulled
down his eyebrows.

“Has she told you whose child she carries?”

Nir shrugged. “She named several possible men.”

“Do you remember who they were?”

Nir’s gaze burned a hole in her stomach. “Oh, yes. Lance and
Claudius. I took special note.”

A twinge of unease ran through Sara as she understood: he’d
made an effort to remember the names in case he ever ran across the men. If he
knew Lance was here, in camp, he’d slaughter him on the spot, dedicant or
no.

Her reasoning for letting Lance come with her seemed suspect.
She’d done it for the comfort he brought her, but it was dangerously unwise.

“Why does it matter to you who the twotch spread her legs for?”
Nir took a swig from his goblet.

“It matters because one of them was my son, Claudius.”

Nir spit out a mouthful of wine. “Your son—” He broke off and
stared at Sara. “You lay on your back for Claudius Pallax?”

“No.”

Nir started to relax. Primus Pallax tensed, and Sara realized
she’d focused on the wrong part of the question.

“He raped me standing up,” Sara clarified. She thought back.
“Well, he was standing. I was bent over Vez’s altar.” That had happened just
after she gifted her soul, and her memories were distant and fuzzy.

“Are you accusing my son—” Primus Pallax choked, though there
was no food in his mouth.

“Have any others, beyond those two, fornicated with you?” Nir
asked harshly, gripping his sword. “Standing, sitting or upside down?”

“Only you.”

Primus Pallax interrupted. “I claim her child as my
progeny.”

A seed of hope budded in her heart. Pallax couldn’t set her
free, but, under the God of War’s rules, if a follower of Nir impregnated
another follower’s slave he could ask for her slavechain to be passed to him. It
was considered rude to refuse, disrupting the brotherhood of warriors with petty
jealousy.

Pallax would treat her gently. She still believed a harsh
master would gain her more magic in a shorter period of time, but Qiph magic
wouldn’t do her any good if Nir beat her and the baby to death.

Nir’s fists clenched. “You don’t know if Claudius is the father
or even if she’s telling the truth—”

“Claudius himself told me he had her,” Pallax interrupted.

“—and Claudius isn’t here. You’re not the father.”

Primus Pallax stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You would
fight me on this, old friend? Deny me? You know how much I long for an
heir.”

Nir bared his teeth. “She’s
my
slave!”

“She’s Lady Sarathena Remillus, and you know it.”

Nir shook his head. “No. I won’t give her up. She’s mine. A
grandfather has no rights.”

Primus Pallax bowed his head, and when he looked up again
Sara’s skin chilled at the defeat written on his face. “Very well. I would not
deny you your prize. But—I wish to see the babe when it is born.”

Sara felt puzzled. In her experience newborn babies didn’t much
resemble either their mothers or fathers.

“The child is yours,” Nir promised.

“No!” Sara tried to bleed the emotion from her voice, but her
pulse beat so fast it was difficult. “The babe is not yours to give. The child
will be freeborn. My slave contract states I go free on the day I’m no longer
pregnant.”

“She’s lying,” Nir said. “Who ever heard of such a ridiculous
contract, paying for a preganant slave girl who would go free in a few
months?”

“There’s a copy filed with the Temple of Hana,” Sara said.

Neither man looked at her. “If a priest of Hana testified, I
would, of course, have to honour such a contract,” Pallax said carefully.

“Of course,” Nir said smoothly. “But, I assure you, no contract
was filed.”

Sara fell silent. Had Primus Pallax promised to help her? His
words had sounded honourable, but Nir looked too pleased for that to be so. She
was missing some nuance. Her stomach tightened with sudden anxiety. What if
Pallax had just promised to ignore her slave contract in return for custody of
his purported grandchild?

Why
,
that
bastard
!

She opened her mouth to demand that Pallax swear to help her,
then closed it. Even if her suspicions were correct, she had two-and-a-half
months to fix this. In the meantime Primus Pallax’s presence in camp might spare
her a beating or worse.
Be
happy
with
what
you
can
get
.

She refocused on the two men and discovered their conversation
had reverted to the rebellion.

“—conventional tactics aren’t working,” Primus Pallax said.

“Which is why I sacked Tolium,” Nir said quickly.

“I don’t want my Legions tied up here any longer,” Pallax said
coldly. “I have other fish to fry.”

Nir snorted. “You just want revenge on the Slavelanders for
defeating you. Gotia is much more important to the Republic, and you know
it.”

“They didn’t defeat me,” Pallax said coldly. “We negotiated a
brief peace while I seized the Primacy. But I do not deny I intend to break
their mountain stronghold as soon as the year is up. Which means it’s time to
end this.”

“I’ve been trying to do just that, but their chief refuses to
close forces,” Nir growled.

“He will with me,” Pallax promised grimly. “I’ve sent out a
dozen messengers to post a proclamation. Either he meets us on the field of
battle within five days or the next time the wind rises, I burn his forest
hidey-hole to the ground.”

* * *

Wettar woke Sara in the dark and hustled her toward
Nir’s tent. “He’s calling for Cassia. You got rid of her, so
you
can tell him she’s gone.” Then, under his breath,
“And if he kills you, good riddance.”

He shoved her through the tent flap. Sara stumbled, but
recovered her balance before falling.

She’d expected Nir to be throwing things again, but he
reclined, naked, on the bed. He held a flask to his lips, swallowing and
swallowing until she thought he might drown himself. Wine trickled down his
cheek, and she saw that his stubble had come in two shades whiter than his hair,
ageing his appearance.

“Faithless God, why have you deserted me? And now,” he panted
with rage, “Pallax has relegated me to the cavalry, while he takes personal
command.” He threw the empty flask.

It landed at her feet with a sodden thump.

His eyes focused on her, malevolence shining in his gray eyes.
“You.” Drunkenly, he climbed to his feet. “You tried to cozen Pallax into giving
you his protection. You want to change masters. Faithless twotch.”

“I didn’t cozen him.” Perhaps she should have. Changing masters
sounded like a very good idea just now, Qiph magic or not.

“Don’t make excuses.” Nir raised his hand to slap her.

And she moved to the side, dodging the blow.

She
stepped
aside
,
avoiding
pain
.