“I need another torch,” replied Honus.
“Yer not ”
Honus’s blade cut him short. Thirteen slain , he thought. He took the dead man’s broadsword and began hacking his corpse, while still holding the torch up high. “The Sarf!” he shouted hoarsely. “I got him! I got him!” As the two closest guards came running, Honus dropped the torch and snuffed its flame with his foot. Then he turned and surprised the two oncoming men. Seven sword strokes and it was over.
Fifteen . Honus charged into the sleeping men, interrupting dreams and lives. Some of the soldiers, exhausted from a long day of pulling the wagon, sat up sleepy and confused to be caught by Honus’s blade. Other soldiers, energized by terror, bolted up with sword in hand. The darkness added to their confusion, and one killed a fellow soldier before Honus relieved him of his head. Within the chaos, only Honus was prepared and focused, a deadly acrobat performing a well-practiced routine. With each stroke, he felt closer to Yim and more convinced that he manifested the divine wrath tattooed on his face.
Honus lost count of how many he had slain, but not his grasp of tactics. When the alert and armored guards rushed in from their posts, Honus retreated into the moonless night, satisfied that he had wreaked sufficient havoc. He easily lost his pursuers, found his horse, and rode off to sleep.
Yim had felt each death during Honus’s raid as a jolt of malign joy. It was tiring to fight off an inner foe that grew stronger after each successive jolt, and Yim felt barely rested when Captain Thak shook her awake in the morning. He had exchanged his officer’s armor for that of a common Guardsman. His expression was hard and angry. “Sit up!” he barked.
Yim sat up, and the captain unlocked the manacles that restrained her wrists. Then he tossed something on her lap. “Put this on.” It was a Guardsman’s armor, consisting of a long-sleeved chain-mail tunic that was reinforced on the shoulders and chest with steel plates. Made for a large man, it gave Yim a boxy shape when she donned it. Afterward, the captain bound Yim’s wrists behind her back. Next he drew his dagger and roughly trimmed the length of her shift so it extended just below her knees. That was the same length as a Guardsman’s cloak. Finally, the captain unlocked her ankles. “I’ll help you out of the wagon,” he said. “Thanks to your friend, you’ll walk to the Iron Palace.”
Yim gazed about the encampment. Eleven bodies lay in a row. General Var was handing out small glass vials of brown liquid to the soldiers. “Paint this on your sword and let it dry before you sheath it,” he told the men. “Nick yourself, and you’re dead.”
While the general gave out poison, the captain tied a leather noose around Yim’s neck, apparently intending to use it as a leash. He placed a Guardsman’s helm upon her head, covered the armor with a Guardsman’s cloak, and grabbed the dangling end of the leather noose. “Now, my lady, you’re dressed for your little stroll.”
Finar called from the wagon. “What about me, sir?”
“You’ll slow us down. I left the water skin in the wagon.” He walked over to one of the dead soldiers, took his dagger, and gave it to Finar. “Use this if you want to end it quick,” he said. “Otherwise, there’s plenty of fresh meat if you can stomach it.”
General Var walked over and regarded Yim. “Well, she looks less like a woman, but not much like a soldier.”
“She’ll walk in the center,” said Thak. “Out of view.”
“Keep a tight rein on her,” replied the general. Then he took the leather strap from the captain’s hand and pulled it upward until Yim was forced to stand on tiptoe. “Don’t think you’re winning,” he told her. “There’s no escape. You’ll either walk to the Iron Palace or I’ll kill you myself.”
FORTY-SIX
YIM TROD over the prairie hemmed so tightly by soldiers that all she saw was their bulky, armored bodies and the grass beneath her bare feet. They were already cut and bleeding, but she didn’t complain, for she sensed the men’s grim mood. Honus’s relentless assaults had gripped their imaginations. When Yim gazed into the men’s eyes, she saw fear. It had nothing to do with numbers; there were fourteen of them against one Sarf. Moreover, their blades were poisoned. Nevertheless, the previous night’s slaughter has sapped the soldiers’ morale, and they saw their foe as something more than a man.
The soldiers’ mood did little to encourage Yim. Desperate men were dangerous and reckless. She was late into her pregnancy, and they were pushing her hard. The pace was determined by the men’s anxiety rather than her ability to sustain it. Her heavy disguise made walking all the more strenuous. Whenever she lagged a bit, Captain Thak tugged on her leash.
Finally, Yim could stand it no longer. She let out such an ear-piercing shriek that even Thak stopped dead in his tracks. Yim screwed up her face in pain, moaned, and shrieked again. “I must lie down,” she said in an agonized voice. “Who knows about birthing babies?”
The question had the desired effect. The men looked at one another helplessly. Thak let go of the leash, and Yim lay on the ground. She curled on her side, gasping and moaning like a woman undergoing labor. She had witnessed enough births to make her imitation perfect, though she doubted any of the men had the experience to appreciate her artistry.
General Var stomped in frustration. “You’re not due for another moon!”
“I know. It’s too early,” said Yim between gasps. “I might be mis carrying or having false labor.” Then Yim continued her performance, and the men backed away to give her air. Captain Thak untied her hands, and she grasped her belly and moaned. When Yim decided that she had made her point, she gradually relaxed. Even when she lay absolutely still, the men let her rest. Yim imagined that each one was thinking of what Gorm and Bahl would do if they brought a dead infant to the Iron Palace. Not wanting to push her advantage too far, she gave a deep sigh after a while and said. “I think it was false labor. I feel better now.”
The march resumed soon afterward. Yim’s hands were bound again, but the men set a gentler pace and Thak went easy on the leash. Nevertheless, by the day’s end, Yim was walking in a state of nearly senseless exhaustion. When the march halted for the night, she was fed, and then her ankles were securely tied. Yim lay upon the ground and quickly fell asleep.
The jolt that came whenever someone died woke Yim. She listened but heard nothing. Honus is at work , she thought. She assumed that he had killed a sentry. For a long while there was only silence, then Yim heard swords ringing in the dark. “The blades are poisoned!” she shouted.
Someone struck her hard in the face before slapping a hand over her mouth. “Get me something to gag her with,” she heard the captain yell. Soon he pushed a foul-tasting rag into her mouth and bound it in place with another strip of cloth. While that was going on, Yim listened for some sound of Honus. The fight had ended shortly after she had shouted, and the clang of swords was replaced with the quiet rustle of men running through grass in a deadly game of tag. One runner sped toward the soldiers, all of whom were awake. They stood in a circle around her, blades drawn and facing outward.
Yim caught a flash of movement against the sky and heard the soft whistling of a sword spinning through the air. A man gave a startled cry that rose in pitch as he tumbled to the ground writhing in pain as the sword blade’s poison took effect. Yim heard the whistling sound again. Two men fell this time. It was gruesome to watch them expire, though part of Yim relished their agony with obscene delight. Afterward, the night grew quiet.
Knowing that she faced a long, hard march in the morning, Yim tried to sleep, but her heart was pounding. All her turmoil resurfaced, no more resolved than it was when exhaustion had clouded her thoughts. Mingled with her opposing emotions and coloring them like a vile tint was blood lust. It repelled her as always, but it gave her insight into Lord Bahl and his master. The need for death is so strong , she thought. This is what will grip my son .
Yim had no idea how long she lay awake, encircled by anxious men who pointed poisoned steel at the night. When sleep finally came to her,
it was deep, and she didn’t wake until the sun had cleared the horizon. Yim was surprised that the soldiers hadn’t roused her, for they customarily rose at first light. Curious, she struggled into a sitting position and peered about.
Five corpses lay nearby. Three of them were twisted into grotesque shapes with matching expressions that told of agonized deaths. Yim was surprised to see only seven men in camp. She glanced about and noted that Captain Thak was missing. So was one of his men. When General Var saw that Yim was awake, he said, “The bitch is up. Feed her.”
When a soldier came over and removed Yim’s gag, she said in a hoarse voice, “Can I have some water, please.”
Var grinned. “Mouth a little dry? I’ve half a mind to cut out your tongue. Another peep like last night, and I will.”
Yim looked at him and saw he wasn’t bluffing. “I’ll behave.”
The general scowled and looked away.
A soldier fed Yim a meal of bread and water. Afterward, he untied her ankles and escorted her to where she relieved herself, then led her back to the other soldiers. From what she overheard, they were waiting for the captain’s return. It was midmorning before Yim spotted him striding toward camp. He appeared to be kicking something as he walked. The tall grass prevented her from seeing what it was until he arrived. Then, with one last forceful kick, he sent what remained of a head sailing into the pile of corpses. It had been so mangled that Yim couldn’t tell if it was tattooed.
“Anyone else want to desert?” asked the captain, staring at each man in turn except for the general. “By the Eater, I’m worse than any Sarf! Put a helm on the bitch and move out.”
Yim marched at the end of Captain Thak’s leash in the center of a square of men. The general strode behind her, and the six remaining soldiers formed two flanks of three. Yim walked with a sense of dread. Instinct told her it would end that day, but she had no idea what that ending would be. The day grew hot as the sun rose higher, and marching quickly became a wearing grind. The helm felt like a little sweaty cage. It muffled her hearing as exhaustion dulled it. Thus she heard the hoofbeats only an instant before the attack. There were three rapid sounds, and then Yim saw the rear of a galloping horse. Honus was leaning far over in the saddle, a sword extended. As he righted himself and sped away, two men fell to the ground in convulsions.
“Curse the sneaky bastard,” said a soldier. “He’s using a dead man’s poisoned sword!”
“I warned of this,” said Captain Thak.
“Shut up!” said General Var. “Have the men re-form the flanks.” Then he muttered to Yim, “Don’t gloat, bitch. Remember my promise.”
The march resumed as soon as a soldier hid his two dead comrades’ poisoned swords. The sun scorched everyone until even the men dragged. Yim stumbled ever more frequently. One time, the helm fell from her head. No one replaced it when she recovered, much to her relief. As the soldiers advanced, the plain’s undulations became more pronounced. Low hills alternated with low valleys in monotonous repetition that wore Yim down even further.
Yim and her captors had just descended a hill and were heading to the next one when Honus appeared on its summit. The soldiers halted and gazed at him. Yim gazed at him also. The rage needled on his face no longer seemed a mask. Like the soldiers, there was trepidation in Yim’s eyes, but there was also love.
Honus walked down the hill with an easy stride. “Captain Thak,” he called out. “Finar wishes you to know that water skin you left him was empty. We talked a bit. I offered to return for him, but he declined. A good soldier to the end.” Honus shook his head mournfully. “He made two last requests. That I end it quick for him and that I return your gift.” Upon the word “gift,” Honus’s hand flashed with dazzling speed. Yim heard a wet-sounding thump, and the captain released her leash. He stood quivering for a moment before he fell in a twisting motion to lie faceup. A dagger’s hilt protruded from his mouth.
Then all the men, except the general, charged Honus. He met their assault with his own, one that seemed a fluid dance. The soldiers looked ponderous in comparison. They swung at empty air while Honus darted in and out, employing his blade with deadly precision. None of his motions appeared wasted, not even those that didn’t slay. Each stroke was followed by another in choreography that always climaxed with a killing thrust. Yim watched, having never seen Honus move so quickly or with such assurance. He was death personified, beautiful and appalling at once.
The four Guardsmen became three, then two, and then one. As Honus fought the remaining soldier, Yim felt a sharp and heavy blow to her kidney. General Var had stabbed her with all his might, and though the chain mail that Yim wore stopped the blade, it didn’t blunt the force of the blow. Yim crumpled to her knees, her eyes clinched tight from pain. Perhaps the general thought he had mortally wounded her or perhaps he was distracted, for she remained in that position for a long moment before he seized her hair. Yim felt a hand tug her tresses back and down so that her exposed neck arched upward. She opened her eyes and saw a dagger moving toward her throat.
Then the hand upon the dagger halted and the hilt slipped from its grasp. General Var’s head tumbled to the ground. A fountain of blood showered Yim as her hair was released. Then Honus knelt before her.
FORTY-SEVEN
YIM GAZED at Honus through blood and tears. Never did he look so lovely or so terrible. She was stunned speechless. She didn’t know what to say, what to tell, or even what she thought. Her hands were tied, so she couldn’t embrace him. All she could do was weep.
Honus seemed equally confused, as if recovering from a spell. Rage briefly lingered in his face. Then it softened and his eyes became tender and sad. “Oh, Yim,” he said softly.
“What has happened to you?”
“I obeyed Karm’s will, and now I’m with child.”
Honus gazed down at her bulging belly, as if noticing it for the first time.
“Will you untie me?” asked Yim, feeling that Honus needed prompting.
Without a word, Honus removed Yim’s cloak, cut her bonds, and pulled the armored tunic from her. Yim remained kneeling, for the general’s blow still pained her terribly. Honus seemed astonished by her appearance. He didn’t know , she thought.
Honus cut a bit of cloth from a soldier’s cloak, wetted it using a water skin, and knelt to wash General Var’s blood from Yim’s face. Then he kissed her with almost timid delicacy. “Nothing matters except you’re safe,” he whispered. “Throughout the cold moons of winter I dreamt of this moment.”
The touch of Honus’s lips evoked memories of joy, something that Yim had believed was gone forever. When he kissed her again, she responded passionately. Starved for his love, Yim communicated her hunger, and Honus’s kisses became less delicate and more fervent. They embraced as pent-up desire blossomed and overwhelmed them. For a while, their world consisted only of each other, and they were oblivious of the dead surrounding them.
It was Yim who broke off the embrace to rise unsteadily to her feet. “Let’s leave this place. I want to get far from the sight of slaughter.”
“Yes, Karmamatus.”
“Honus, please don’t call me that. It’s no longer fitting.”
“Why?”
“I’ll speak of it later. Right now, I just want to get away from here.”
“All right, Yim. I’ll get my horse. Do you think you can ride?”
“Cara taught me a little about it,” replied Yim, “but I’ll need help getting into the saddle.”
Honus walked off to get his horse. When he was out of view, Yim relieved herself in the tall grass and was startled to see blood in her urine. She decided not to mention it. Then she climbed over the low hill so that the corpses were no longer in view. There, she eagerly waited for Honus’s return. It had taken only a few kisses to convince her that she loved him as much as ever. She was certain that Honus felt the same way, although she bore another man’s child. Of course, he doesn’t yet know who fathered it , Yim thought. She suspected even that
would make no difference to him.
Yim craved a measure of peace, a time to be with her beloved after so much suffering and horror. “Is that too much to ask?” Yim said aloud. “Can’t I be happy for a little while?” Yim wavered over what to do, then surrendered to desire. She knew it wasn’t prudent or fair to Honus, but she couldn’t help herself. “Just one day,” she promised, all the while knowing that it would make doing what was necessary even harder.
When Honus returned with the horse, he had already adjusted the stirrups for Yim. He helped her climb into the saddle before taking water skins and provisions from his slain foes. After he placed those things in his saddlebags, he grasped the reins to lead the horse. “Aren’t you going to ride?” asked Yim.
“That saddle won’t fit three,” replied Honus, gazing at Yim’s rounded belly. “So, where shall we go?”
“Someplace peaceful. Someplace where we can be alone.”
“With Bahl’s men dead, half the reach would qualify. But I know of a river not too far from here. This time of year, it might even have some water in it.”
“Oh Karm bless you!” said Yim. “How I’d love a bath.”
Honus looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “And I’d be honored to bathe you.”
Yim felt her face flush with excitement. “What’s your horse’s name?” she asked quickly.
“Vengeance.”
“What a horrid name.” Yim stroked the animal’s neck. “That’s not your real name, is it?”
The stallion neighed.
“He says it’s Neeg,” said Yim, wavering the vowel sound. “It’s the same as his sire’s.”
“His former owner neglected to tell me that,” said Honus. “Guardsmen are a closemouthed lot. But when did you learn to speak to animals?”
“I didn’t. I’ve only picked up a few words. But I spent the winter with a bear.”
[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm Page 34