[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers

by Morgan Howell

“Yes, sire,” said Nug. He bowed low and departed.

  Yaun was on his second bottle of wine when the doors to the great hall were flung open and Gorm strode in unannounced. Following behind him was the entire company that Yaun had spied upon the road. They entered with strict discipline. The only sounds were tramping feet and the clink of mail and weapons. Once the hall was filled to near overflowing, the noises dwindled to an unnerving silence as the soldiers and priests stood perfectly still.

  The Most Holy Gorm stood in front of this intimidating assemblage. For a while, he remained as still and silent as the throng behind him. Once he assumed that the proper impression had been made, he bowed low to the quaking figure on the dais. “Count Yaun,” said Gorm with just a hint of mockery, “I regret I’m late for your father and brother’s funerals.”

  “I think you’re early instead. I didn’t expect you yet.”

  “You can never predict Lord Bahl. It’s pointless and most unwise.”

  Yaun grew pale and nodded.

  “You’re a count now,” said Gorm loudly. “You need men-at-arms to enforce your commands.”

  “These are my soldiers?” asked Yaun.

  “For a while,” replied Gorm.

  The reply did nothing to lessen Yaun’s uneasiness. “And the priests, too?” he asked.

  “Your people must be shown the true path. These holy men are here to guide them.”

  “I…I don’t deserve such kindness.”

  A sardonic smile formed on the face of the Most Holy One. “Kindness? These men aren’t here out of kindness. They’re here out of necessity. You have obligations.”

  “Obligations?”

  “I hope you haven’t forgotten Lurwic. Are you not Lord Bahl’s servant?”

  “Of course,” said Yaun meekly.

  “Then you will bring an army to Averen. Later, I’ll speak more fully of your lord’s requirements.” Gorm approached Yaun close enough to speak in a low voice. “You’re a count now. These men—soldiers and priests alike—will bend the people to your will. And those that won’t bend, they’ll break. Use them and learn the thrill of power.”

  Gorm made a signal. A soldier stepped forward and raised his arm in salute. “Count Yaun,” he said in a loud voice. “While marching to your manor, we discovered a traitor. This treasonous landholder named you murderer.” The ranks in the hall parted, allowing four soldiers to bring forward a young man and woman.

  Gorm whispered to Yaun. “This one has a fair estate and a fair wife. Didn’t she spurn you once?”

  Yaun was wondering how Gorm had discovered that information when the soldiers halted. The man they brought before Yaun was well dressed, though a bloodstain marred his shirt. He spoke with difficulty through split and swollen lips. “Yaun, we know each other! What’s the cause for this?”

  “It’s Count Yaun now. If you know me, Jon, how could you call me murderer?”

  “I merely remarked that your father’s corpse looked similar to your brother’s. Someone has twisted my meaning.”

  Yaun barely seemed to listen. His attention was on Jon’s wife, Becca. She was a lithe, fair-featured woman with cascades of curly, strawberry hair that reached her waist. Her soft gray eyes were wide with fright. Yaun found her fear so arousing that Gorm had to nudge him to return his attention to her husband.

  “So,” said Yaun, “you think I’m a murderer.” He pointed to a pair of soldiers. “Seize hold of his arms!” He pointed to a third soldier. “Tear open his shirt and expose his belly!” When this was done, Yaun drew his dagger and approached the helpless man. “Do you know how Alaric died?”

  Jon looked puzzled. “Who’s Alaric?”

  Yaun ignored Jon’s question. “Well, they gutted him. Ever wonder how that feels?” He touched Jon’s stomach with the point of the dagger. “Be still, here’s a surprise.” He moved the blade across Jon’s abdomen, making a thin red line. To his disappointment, Jon didn’t cry out. He barely flinched.

  Yaun stood in flustered silence for a moment, before recalling what to say next. “So now you’ve paid me and got a gift in…” Yaun halted as Jon’s flesh turned gray around the cut. Shit! thought Yaun. The blade’s still poisoned!

  Jon gasped and doubled over as his muscles cramped. Falling to the floor, he managed to speak before the poison silenced him. “In this, you treat me like a brother.”

  Becca screamed and ran weeping to her dying husband. She held him as he twisted into something gray and rigid. Kissing his swollen lips, she inhaled his last breath.

  Gorm watched the grief-stricken woman dispassionately. Then he whispered to Yaun, “When you kill a dog, you must see to his bitch as well.”

  A gleam came to Yaun’s eyes. “Seize the woman!”

  Two soldiers struggled to haul Becca away from her husband, succeeding only after she had bloodied their faces with her nails. Her struggles increased Yaun’s excitement, but he didn’t approach Becca until her hands were bound and she grew subdued.

  “So, Becca, you made two mistakes. You spurned a count, and you married a traitor.”

  “You weren’t a count when you tried to kiss me last. Now, you are.” Becca pursed her lips and lifted her chin. Yaun grinned and moved to take the offered kiss. When he drew close, Becca spit in his face.

  Yaun slapped her hard. He drew his dagger, but stopped himself when he saw the triumph in Becca’s eyes. Realizing her ploy, Yaun sheathed his weapon and spoke to the soldiers grasping Becca’s arms. “Lock her in the north tower. The servants can show you where it is. Then bring the key to me.”

  “Yes, sire,” said the soldiers as they moved to obey.

  “And one more thing,” said Yaun, his eyes on Becca. “Before you lock her up, strip her naked.” He found her look of horror and revulsion satisfying. It made him think of the greater satisfactions to come. Yet, as Becca was taken away, she assumed a dignity that diminished his pleasure.

  Yaun regarded the twisted corpse on the floor. “Cut off his head and display it where she can see it from the tower window.”

  Gorm nodded with approval. “Your sternness will be a lesson to your people. It’s good to be feared.”

  Yaun recalled Becca’s look of horror and savored the memory. “Yes,” he said in a distant voice. “It’s very good indeed.”

  The officers’ dinner at the Bridge Inn was subdued. Late in the afternoon, Cronin had briefed his staff on the substance of his and Honus’s discussions. Thus the news was out that the journey to Averen wouldn’t be a homecoming but the beginning of a desperate defense. Though younger soldiers might have been eager for battle, all the men on Cronin’s staff had seen combat in the Eastern Reach and many had fought with him in earlier campaigns. As seasoned veterans, they had few illusions about what lay ahead, and their mood that evening reflected their knowledge. Honus preferred the solemn atmosphere, for it matched his own musings.

  Throughout the meal, Yim and Cara talked together at a far table. Though Honus had long given up trying to perceive Yim’s thoughts, he watched her closely, trying to read her expression as an ordinary man might. She seemed sad, but she often seemed sad. Cara caught Honus gazing at Yim and whispered something to her. Honus quickly averted his eyes. When he glanced again toward Yim, Cara was watching and gave him a knowing look.

  In a low voice, Honus said to Cronin, “I’m beginning to see why you banned your sister from the table.”

  Cronin chuckled. “Does she make you uneasy?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Then ask Cara,” said Cronin. “She misses little. If she were a man, she’d make an excellent adjutant.”

  Honus grunted by way of an answer, which made Cronin grin. “You would na be the first man who fell in love with his slave.”

  “Is that what Cara told you?”

  “She’s na the only one with eyes. It’s been a long time since Cynetha died.”

  “Your sister’s a romantic. It seems to run in the family,” said Honus. “Though it m
ay disappoint you both, I’m giving Yim to the temple.”

  “The temple is na the haven it once was,” said Cronin. “You may na be doing her a favor.”

  “I’m mindful of what you said today, but the temple’s protected by the goddess. How can it not be safe?”

  “I’m a soldier, na a Seer,” said Cronin. “Yet it seems to me that more than men are contending in these struggles. There are two temples in Bremven now, that of Karm and that of the Devourer. I fear even Karm’s sanctuary may be in peril.”

  “That’s all the more reason for me to go there.”

  “So I can na persuade you to linger?”

  “No. I’m resolved to leave tomorrow. I must find a Bearer.”

  “When you do, may Karm send you our way.”

  When the meal was finished, Cronin and his officers stayed to drink more ale. Honus abstained, and departed soon after Yim. When he entered his room, he found Yim already in her bed, wearing her old tunic as a nightgown.

  “Did you have a pleasant time with Cara?”

  “She’s good company, but the future weighs heavily on her. She’s worried about the approaching war.”

  “War’s her brother’s concern. I would’ve hoped a woman’s thoughts would dwell on gentler things.”

  “If Bahl takes Averen, Cara feels a soldier’s lot will be easier than a woman’s.”

  Honus sighed. “I wish such talk hadn’t darkened your day. It would ease my heart if you were content.” Honus prepared for bed and blew out the candle. When he climbed between his sheets, he said, “Come lie beside me.”

  “Why? The room’s warm enough.”

  “Do you think I’d violate my oath?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you sound uneasy?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Can not or will not?”

  “That’s an unfair question. Must I bare my thoughts to you?”

  “When have you ever done that?”

  “What do you want of me?” asked Yim, adding as an afterthought the word “Master.”

  Honus shrank from putting his feelings into words. Instead, he replied, “I’ll pose your own question—what do you want of me?”

  “To be left alone.”

  “I ask but this little thing,” said Honus quietly. Then, he hardened his voice to hide his longing. “It’s my right. Come.”

  Yim let out an exasperated sigh and crawled into Honus’s bed. Once beneath the sheet, she turned her back to him.

  Yaun ascended the tower alone, holding a lantern to light the winding stairs. He had spent a tedious afternoon and evening with Gorm learning the extent of Lord Bahl’s “requirements.” They were likely to impoverish him or—more accurately—his subjects. Yaun pushed all that from his mind, replacing it with exquisite anticipation. He had even drunk less than usual so as not to dull his pleasure. His hand trembled with excitement, and he had difficulty inserting the key into the lock. When he finally succeeded, Yaun kicked open the door. “If you please me,” he said, “I might let you live.”

  There was no reply.

  Yaun swung the lantern around, expecting to find Becca cowering in a corner. The bare stone room had no place to hide, but there was no sign of Becca. Yaun immediately suspected treachery, though he had the only key. He was pondering the mystery of Becca’s disappearance when his eyes fell upon the room’s single window. It lacked glass or bars, but it was so tiny that Yaun couldn’t imagine anyone squeezing through it. He inspected the window with his lantern and found blood on its rough stone edges.

  Peering beyond the opening, Yaun spied the pale form of Becca’s body sprawled on the ground below. He cursed. She had spurned him yet again to join her husband on the Dark Path.

  Yaun descended the tower in a foul mood. Going for some wine, he encountered Gorm. “Done with your sport already?” asked the priest. “I thought such things were best drawn out.”

  “She was already dead,” replied Yaun crossly. “She jumped out the window.”

  Gorm shrugged. “Put bars on it. You’re a count now. There’ll be others.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  WITH FIRST light, there was a knocking on the door. “Honus, are you awake?”

  Honus remained in bed, reluctant to leave it. “I am now, Cara.”

  “Brother said you’re leaving today, and we never had a chance to talk. I mean, we talked, but na really. If I’d known you came here just to rush away again…well…Are you going to open the door?”

  “Let me dress,” replied Honus, rising and pulling on his pants. Yim merely pulled the sheets over her head. Honus opened the door and said, “Couldn’t this have waited?”

  Cara peered around Honus’s shoulder and smiled when she saw Yim’s form under his sheets. “Nay. I know all about good-byes, for Brother has left often enough. If you wait to the last moment, you never say what needs to be said and you end up babbling some pointless thing like ‘until next greeting’ or something like it when the real truth is you do na know if you’ll ever see that person again or…or…” Cara lost her composure and appeared to be on the verge of crying.

  “Come in, Cara,” said Honus in a gentle voice. “There’s still time to say good-bye properly.”

  Yim emerged from under the sheets and shook her head violently at Cara’s quizzical look. Honus caught Cara’s end of the unspoken communication. “To whom,” he asked, “have you come to bid farewell?”

  “Why, to you and Yim both. You’re like a second brother, Honus, one that’s never cross with me. And Yim…well, she’s special. I hope you know that, Honus. I’ll be disappointed if you do na. She’s na a slave, you know. Na really, she’s…”

  “Cara!” exclaimed Yim in an anxious tone.

  “She’s stolen goods,” continued Cara, disregarding Yim’s outburst. “She’s been stolen from herself and paying ten coppers to the thieves who did it does na mean you own her. I would hope you’d know that; you’re na as silly as most men.”

  Honus smiled. “And when did you acquire such an understanding of men? Isn’t Cronin strict with you?”

  “I’ve been living in Bremven, for Karm’s sake! While you’ve been wandering all over who-knows-where, I’ve learned a thing or two. And do na think I’ve been leading a wild life. If we’d had a proper talk you’d know I was really quite respectable, which does na mean I walked around with my eyes shut. After all, one does na have to roll in mud to understand pigs. Na that you’re a pig, Honus. Far from it. You’re so…so special. I hope that Yim…” Cara cut herself short and embraced Honus tightly. “I wish you were na leaving. Everything is…is so…” She started mingling sobs with her words. “…so…Oh, I can na bear to talk about it! Later this morning, I’ll be the general’s brave sister. I will na cry then. Take care of Yim.” She released Honus to embrace Yim. “Take care of Honus,” she whispered, then kissed Yim’s cheek. Cara was still crying as she ran from the room.

  “I’ve never seen her like that,” said Honus.

  “She believes she’s going to her doom,” said Yim, “and she suspects we are likewise.”

  Honus sighed by way of response. “As long as we’re up,” he said, “we should prepare for our departure.”

  True to her word, Cara was clear-eyed and outwardly cheerful as Honus and Yim left the Bridge Inn. She waved and called out “Until next greeting!” as Yim and Honus headed down the road. Cronin waved also. “If you journey to Averen, Honus,” he called, “you know where to find me.” Yim turned to wave as the pack, made heavier by provisions and her extra clothing, settled on her shoulders. Her heart was heavy, and she didn’t speak.

  When the inn was out of sight, Honus broke the silence. “Cara is overly fond of the sound of her voice, but she’s wise beyond her years. She’s also clever and more than a little mischievous. You do realize what she’s done?”

  Yim pretended she did not. “No.”

  “She has sent us on our journey having dressed you as my Bearer.”

  “Your Bearer?�
�

  “Yes,” replied Honus, “and our journey will go easier if you behave like one.”

  “And how can I do that? I’ve never even met a Bearer.”

  “Would you rather be seen as a slave?”

  “No,” replied Yim, “I would not. What must I do, Master?”

  “First, your must never use that word for me. You will address me as Honus. When you speak of me to others, you should call me your Sarf.”

  Yim smiled slightly. “My Sarf. I like the sound of that.”

  “Don’t be overbearing about it. Remember, a Bearer is always a humble master.”

  “Yes, Honus,” said Yim, clearly pleased to answer him by name.

  Though he tried to hide it, a faint smile came to Honus’s lips. “You will be the one,” he continued, “who will ask for food and shelter in Karm’s name. When people say ‘Karmamatus,’ it’s you—not me—they’re addressing, and you must be the one who answers.”

  “What should I say?” asked Yim.

  “Theodus used to say, ‘If you want to sound profound, say little.’ Let that be your guide. When you must speak, be calm and gracious. That’s all that’s necessary.”

  Yim looked at Honus dubiously. “You make it sound simple.”

  “Most people will care little what you say. A Bearer’s concerns are not those of ordinary people. Usually, if you nod and make the Sign of the Balance, that will be sufficient.”

  “Is there anything else I must do?”

  “You must still carry my pack and cook when cooking needs to be done.”

  “That’s easy enough,” said Yim. “May I also study your runes?”

  “No,” said Honus quickly. “The runes are not for your eyes. You’re only pretending to be my Bearer.”

  “I understand, Honus.” Yim smiled again.

  “You must learn to call me that with a solemn face.”

  “Then I’ll need practice, Honus.”

  As Yim walked down the road, she silently thanked Cara again and again. Cara had obviously understood Honus better than she did. It had never occurred to Yim that Honus would actually treat her as a Bearer. She was still amazed that he did. How can he treat me like his beloved Theodus? Yim couldn’t understand it, and Honus’s explanation was unconvincing. He’s never cared before whether our journey was easy or not. He could have made me wear my slave’s tunic. Why didn’t he? Yim pondered that question. Did he take Cara’s assertion that I’m “stolen goods” to heart? Or was Cara right in saying that he cares for me? Is this the proof? Yim hoped it wasn’t, but she couldn’t see Honus’s expression to make a guess. He solemnly preceded her, assuming the traditional position for a Sarf walking with his Bearer.