“No I won’t. I’ve heard they were docile.”
“There’s something to be said for ignorance,” said Gorm. “Their lives at the Iron Palace were contented.”
“But short.”
“No shorter than yours shall be.”
“I understand what’s within me,” said Yim, “and I don’t mean the child. I’ve faced your master at Karvakken Pass and within the ruins of Karm’s temple. It’s an abomination. I didn’t surrender then, and I won’t now.”
Gorm regarded Yim with astonishment. “So, it was you! You’re the foe who entered the temple! You’re the one who enraged my master!”
Yim saw no advantage in denying it. “Yes, I stopped a second massacre, one that would have slain all the priests in the Black Temple. It seems your god’ doesn’t care who dies. The thing you call master’ is ravenous and evil. You’re a fool to worship it.”
“You’re a greater fool to worship Karm,” replied Gorm. “See how she’s abandoned you.”
“My story’s not yet finished. Don’t pretend you know its end.”
“But I do,” replied Gorm. “The mothers always die.”
“Despite your grandiose plans, your story will end likewise, for the Devourer craves death. It’s only a being formed from the memories of slaughter. It’ll turn on you. It has no loyalty.”
“Neither does fire. It burns the careless, but that’s no reason to forgo cooked food and warmth. The Devourer is a well of power, and I’ve learned how to harness it.”
“If you believe that, you’re deluded,” replied Yim. “It’s you who has been harnessed.”
“You’re a mere girl,” said Gorm. “And a helpless one at that. You’re bound, shackled, and under guard. You’ll say anything in desperation.”
“Even the truth!”
“I’ve heard little of that from you.” Without warning, Gorm slapped Yim savagely across her face, leaving the mark of his hand and a trickle of blood flowing from her lip. He smiled, seeming pleased for the first time. “In the Iron Palace, you’ll learn to speak more honestly. I look forward to that.”
Gorm left the tent, and Yim was alone awhile before General Var entered. By then, the camp had turned noisy. The general smiled when he saw the blood on Yim’s lip and the mark on her cheek. “So, you and the Most Holy One had a little chat. By the Devourer, I’d like to do what he did!”
“What? Inquire about my health?”
Var clenched his teeth. “I wish I’d strangled you that night.”
“Well, do it now,” said Yim. “Be my guest.”
Var scowled. “I’m sorely tempted, but I’d rather live. Besides, I so look forward to the suckling.” He grinned at Yim’s confusion. “Haven’t heard of it? Well, I witnessed the last suckling when my lord was but a lad. You’ll see your son only twice—when you birth him and when you suckle him.”
“You obviously know nothing about nursing.”
“Oh, your son won’t suck from your tits. He’ll have a wet nurse for that. You’ll provide a more substantial meal. They’ll lock you away until he’s a strapping lad. Then there’ll be a ceremony atop the highest tower where the Most Holy One opens your neck and the boy drinks.”
“My blood?” said Yim in horror, recalling what she had done to the rabbit.
“Every drop until you’re white as snow. A most invigorating meal. It transforms him.” General Var smiled maliciously. “I may not strike you, but it pleases me to tell you that. It’ll give you something to contemplate during your imprisonment.”
Yim gazed into the general’s eyes and saw both his pleasure and that he had told the truth.
After General Var departed, Finar was led back into Yim’s tent. When the flap was briefly opened, Yim saw that the soldiers were striking camp. She didn’t ask her attendant what was going on, because she knew he wouldn’t talk. His loyalties lay elsewhere, and she was certain that he had been ordered to keep silent. Instead, she asked him to wipe her face, not bothering to tell him that he was cleaning blood from it.
As Yim waited for the next stage of her journey to begin, she contemplated her conversations with the Most Holy One and the general. Gorm had confirmed what she had already suspected—that he was the power behind Lord Bahl. Most of what he had told her was interesting, but not particularly useful. However, there was one thing that intrigued Yim: It was the possibility that the creation of Lord Bahl could never be repeated. It seemed to her that after the first Bahl had lost his power, Gorm would have produced a replacement if he had been able. Instead, he stuck by Lord Bahl’s weakened son and nurtured his descendants until the line produced a Bahl whose power equaled that of the original. Perhaps the Devourer can leave the Dark Path only once , thought Yim. It was merely speculation, but it would explain her treatment. I’m bearing something irreplaceable .
Additionally, Yim had learned the name of what the Old Ones had feared so much—the Rising—and had come to understand its nature. It threatened to transform the world into a nightmare realm ruled by cruelty and death. Yim couldn’t imagine why Gorm would work to achieve such a thing. Who would want to live forever in such a place? Madness seemed the only explanation. But Gorm’s madness was a thoughtful and patient one, and despite racking her brain, Yim saw no way to prevent his scheme’s fruition.
From what Gorm had said and from Var’s taunting, Yim saw how her death would fit into the process. Upon conception, the Devourer had entered her child and her, and apparently it would remain in both of them even after the child was born. That’s why the second Lord Bahl’s power was diminished , thought Yim. That’s why my son must consume my blood: It will make the Devourer whole again . It would be a gruesome way to die. Moreover, it meant that the Devourer would leave her only upon her death. Until then, she would never be free of evil.
What Yim had learned only served to heighten her despair. She saw no way to use the information. Gorm had been right: She was helpless. Regardless of her bold words, she feared that Gorm had also been right when he said Karm had abandoned her. Yim felt her suffering had bought the world a bit more time before darkness fell, but it would fall nonetheless.
Captain Thak entered the tent and unlocked the shackles about Yim’s ankles. “Up, my lady. Your transport has arrived.”
Yim left the tent, enjoying standing upright for the first time in days. As she gazed about the dismantled encampment, she saw Gorm gallop off. Yim suspected that he wouldn’t return. Then two soldiers grabbed her upper arms and led her toward a wagon. It seemed an ordinarily supply wagon—one light enough to be drawn by two horses—with a wooden frame added to support a tentlike canvas covering. When they reached the vehicle, one of Yim’s escorts climbed into its rear and lifted Yim inside.
As the second soldier climbed into the wagon, Yim looked about. A mattress took up most of the wagon’s interior. Yim noted a shallow chamber pot, a water skin, and a few blankets in addition to the mattress. She also spied manacles and chains fastened to the wagon’s sides. “Sit on yer bed, my lady,” said one of the soldiers.
Yin sat down, and the soldiers locked her ankles in iron manacles that were cushioned with velvet. Afterward, they untied her wrists and placed them in manacles also. When they were done, they hoisted Finar up before departing. Yim lay upon the mattress in a spread-eagle position. The chains allowed her some mobility, and she immediately tested its limits. She could sit up, but not stand. She could move her legs a degree, but not enough so her knees could touch. Her hands were so restrained that she was unable to touch any part of her body. Thus she would remain dependent on Finar for all her personal needs.
Yim flopped back on the mattress. It was stuffed with feathers and extremely soft. She suspected that was more to prevent self-injury than to provide comfort. “Well, Finar, this is our new home,” said Yim in mock cheeriness. “I wonder how long we’ll dwell here.”
Out of habit, Finar turned his head toward the sound of Yim’s voice as if he could regard her with his eyeless sockets. Then he sh
rugged.
FORTY-FIVE
LOVE, WRATH, and faith combined in Honus to produce a single will. Not a bent blade of grass, a footprint, or a clump of horse dung escaped his notice. Everything instructed him, and he followed the wagon’s trail with certainty, which was not to say that he followed it swiftly. Honus knew all the maps of the region and had trekked over much of it. Thus he knew where best to strike. Bahland lay to the west, just north of Averen. The Iron Palace overlooked a bay on the faraway seacoast. The rolling plain that lay ahead was still called the Western Reach, though it no longer belonged to the Empire. The region was a lonely place, for generations of war had stripped it of folk. Honus planned to trail the soldiers at a distance until the empty sea of grass lulled them into complacency. Then he would fall upon them.
On the beginning of his journey, Honus stopped at several farmsteads for provisions. He didn’t request charity in Karm’s name, although he felt it was for her service. Instead, he demanded what he needed in the certainty that no one would dare refuse. He was loath to do so, and it felt like stealing to him. Though his actions were driven by necessity, they still troubled him afterward.
Thoughts of Yim troubled Honus far more. He was certain that he would find her, but he had no idea what he would find. Hendric had told him that he saw no hurts, but he also had said that Yim walked as though pained and that she had an unnatural chill. The chill particularly worried Honus, for it might be a sign of some spell. Yim’s behavior added to his concerns. It seemed that she was fleeing from more than Lord Bahl. Honus feared for Yim, and all the apprehensions that had tormented him throughout the winter were sharpened by the prospect of seeing her again. It was a testament to his discipline that he was able to push them from his thoughts and focus on his goal.
Honus’s examination of the soldiers’ trail allowed him to determine the pace and manner of their advance. It was hard to ascertain the exact number of marching men, but he saw signs of three horsemen with the party. They didn’t serve as scouts, but rode alongside the foot soldiers and the wagon. That allowed Honus to trail the wagon fairly closely, keeping just beyond eyesight and matching his pace to that of the marchers. Honus shadowed the men for five days before he decided they were sufficiently isolated. Then he made the first move.
The moon was in its first quarter when Honus tethered his mount at dusk and followed the soldiers’ trail by moonlight. He spotted their encampment as the moon neared the horizon. Using stealth perfected by long practice, he made his way toward it. The ground undulated gently and Honus halted on one of the low rises to observe the camp. He made a careful count of those in it. Thirty-four enemies were visible. There was a small tent that probably sheltered an officer or two. The common soldiers slept on the ground surrounding the wagon under the watch of three sentries. The horses were tethered nearby in a lush patch of grass. Another sentry watched over them. Honus could see no sign of Yim. He sank into the high grass and waited for the moon to set.
When the sky was lit only by starlight, Honus advanced toward the sentry that guarded the horses. What little noise he made blended with the rustle of the night breeze. The man appeared relaxed, lulled by the quiet of the empty landscape. His head dipped occasionally as sleep nearly overcame him. He didn’t see the blade that severed his throat. A hand covered his mouth, so he died silently as Honus eased him to the ground.
After donning the dead man’s helm and cloak, Honus walked over to the horses. He stroked each beast and fed it a treat before quickly and mercifully slaying it. He regretted the killings, but they were essential. Without the animals, the soldiers could move no faster than they could march and no horseman could summon aid.
Honus retreated to watch the encampment for signs that his handiwork had been discovered. When all remained quiet, he crept toward the sleeping men. The sentries there were no more alert than the one who had guarded the horses, and Honus was able to join the sleepers. Wrapped in the slain Guardsman’s cloak, he lay upon the ground and blended with the slumbering soldiers. Whenever the guards were looking the other way, Honus used his dagger to cut a sleeping man’s throat. He took six lives that way before a guard noticed a pool of blood about one man. Honus didn’t wait to find out what would happen next. He leapt up, drawing his sword as he did, and decapitated the surprised sentry. Honus grabbed the falling sentry’s sword, plunged it into a soldier who had just wakened, and dashed off into the night.
As Honus hurried to where he had left his steed, he could hear the noises of confusion arising from the camp. Nine slain , he thought. Honus was well aware that he was still outnumbered by at least twenty-five to one and the enemy had been alerted to his presence. Next time, they would be waiting for him. When Honus reached his horse, he rode off into the night, knowing that his enemies could only pursue him on foot.
Honus waited until midmorning before he returned to the enemy campsite. It was deserted, as he had expected, but he was surprised to find the wagon missing. Its trail showed that soldiers pulled it. Honus found it a puzzling choice, but one that played to his advantage. It would slow the soldiers’ advance and tire them as well. Honus assumed that Yim was in the wagon, and he feared that she might be hurt. The whole matter baffled and worried him.
By studying the encampment awhile, Honus learned what had happened in his absence. He found the corpses of nine men. They were laid out in a neat row. That seemed to be the sole dignity afforded them and a sign of a hasty departure. By studying the trail left by the soldiers, he noted that a pair of men had diverged from the rest. By the length of their strides, Honus surmised they were a pair of runners, gone ahead to get reinforcements. They must be unaware that I have a horse , Honus thought. He rode off to intercept them.
Honus took a circuitous route in order to bypass the marching soldiers, for he wished his horse to remain a secret. After riding ahead a fair distance, he had to find the runners’ trail before he could track them. As he feared, they had split up to make pursuit more difficult. It indicated that they suspected only a single enemy had attacked them. It took Honus a while to find the men, and he offered each a chance to save his life by talking. Both chose to fight, but neither was a match for a Sarf. Honus pulled up turf to hide the bodies so that vultures wouldn’t betray the runners’ fates. Then he rode off to prepare for more combat.
On the night of Honus’s first attack, Yim had known when the first soldier died. The malign spirit inside her exulted like a hungry dog that was fed a scrap. Its pleasure was unseemly and foul, but so intense that it woke Yim. Instinctively, she understood what had happened, and she fought against any feeling of delight. Afterward, she lay awake in the quiet dark, sensing when each man died. Only the last two deaths were accompanied by sounds—the first by a wet crunch like a cabbage being split and the second by a moan.
Afterward, Yim heard the din of confused voices as sleeping men awoke to discover that death had visited them. Chained inside the wagon, Yim could see nothing and was forced to form her impressions of events from snatches of talk. There was a great deal of cursing. Then she heard Captain Thak bellowing orders, and General Var shouted orders also, but only to the captain. Torches were lit. Discoveries were made. Yim knew about the dead soldiers, but she didn’t know about the slain horses until Thak let out a string of obscenities in response to the report. Peppered throughout all Yim heard was a word that gripped her attention—“Sarf.”
“The Sarf’s back, plague his blue hide!” cursed one man.
“Aye, ‘tis that cold-blooded prick for sure,” said another. “Did ye see what he did to poor Fatar?”
Yim had no doubt that the Sarf was Honus. It seemed that he had been plaguing Bahl’s men for moons. The idea that he had found her aroused a range of contradictory emotions. Honus’s persistence showed devotion that stirred Yim’s love. It also brought her hope. Yet she was fearful that he would die for her sake. She had prayed to Karm that Honus would forget her and find happiness elsewhere. Obviously, the goddess had ignored her plea. Meanwh
ile, panic warred with love and hope, for Yim dreaded a reunion. She doubted that Honus knew she was pregnant with Lord Bahl’s child. How will he take the news? The last time we spoke, I said he was to be the father . Yim also worried that Honus might have misunderstood the meaning of the token she had left behind. It was easy to imagine his resentment over her desertion.
But most of all, Yim despaired over what she had become. She felt that she was no longer the woman whom Honus loved, but someone befouled—a host to something vile and evil. Yim was terrified over what it might cause her to do if she let down her guard for only an instant. Additionally, Honus was a deadly man. His deeds, however nobly intentioned, fed the evil thing inside her.
Hope, despair, love, shame, and terror fought within Yim, and she could no more resolve the conflict than she could save herself. Chained and helpless, she was unable to act. All she could do was wait, and waiting was agony.
Yim saw Finar stir. “My Sarf’s come to save me.”
As usual, Finar didn’t reply.
“I know your loyalty lies with Lord Bahl,” Yim said, “although it was he, not I, who had your eyes plucked. While you serve me grudgingly, you still serve me, and I’m grateful. When my Sarf returns, I’ll have him spare you.”
“Ye know not the Iron Guard, my lady. They’ll fight to the last man. So ‘tis no good to spare me, a blind man is a waste. Don’t speak of mercy. My life’s saved only by yer Sarf’s death.”
The day passed. When the moon set, Honus moved like a shadow in the dark and just as quietly. There were more guards that night, and fear kept every man alert. They bore torches made from dry, twisted grass. Honus halted outside the circle of the light cast by one and watched it slowly burn down. When the flame neared the sentry’s hand, he picked up a fresh torch to light it. Then Honus attacked, striking at the narrow spot between the Guardsman’s helm and his chain mail. He seized the dead man’s torch as it fell.
Dressed like the man he had just slain, Honus held the torch aloft to keep his face in shadow. The helm also helped hide his tattoos as he approached another guard. “What are ye doing away from yer post?” asked the man in a hoarse voice.
[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm Page 33