[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (3 page)

“Yes,” replied Rangar as he unfolded its wrapping.

Commodus frowned when he saw the elaborately embroidered black cloth it contained. “This is for vestments worn by the Devourer’s priests.”

“So? They’ll pay well.”

“I detest the Black Temple. I’ll not garb its priests.”

“I’ve no love for the Devourer either. But profit and religion are separate spheres.”

“Perhaps to you. I feel differently. Find another source for your brocade.”

“At least give me the benefit of your expertise. I worry that I’ve been cheated again. Could you tell me if the gold thread in this sample is full weight? It’s supposed to be three grains an ell.”

“You shouldn’t be dealing in brocades if you can’t tell that,” said Commodus. Nevertheless, he decided to oblige the man in order to get rid of him more quickly. Taking the sample, he ran his fingers over the cloth to feel its gold thread. Suddenly, Commodus jerked back his hand. “Someone left a pin in it.” He sucked the dot of blood from his finger, then
 smiled. “They stuck you, too. The thread’s too soft to be full weight.”

Rangar looked dejected. “Just as I feared.”

“If I were you, son, I wouldn’t deal with the Black Temple. You can lose more than money there. Now, since we’ve no further business, I wish to be alone.” Commodus turned to face the window and was glad to hear Rangar leave. The man had left a foul impression, and Commodus was certain that he had been interested in something other than brocade.
 
The Black Temple draws scoundrels like shit draws flies, and Bremven’s the worse for it 
, he thought.
 
Yim was wise to leave when she did 
. He rubbed his fingertip, which was still sore where the pin had pricked it. As he did, the room seemed to grow warmer.

Jev entered a little while later. “That was a waste of time,” said Commodus. “I’ll see no one else today. Send up a boy to fan me. This heat’s making me woozy.”

The summer’s warmth made for quick funerals, and Daijen returned to the counting room only two days after his first visit. “I’m so sorry to hear of your father’s demise,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Dommus. “It was a shock. A sudden fever took him.”

“Summer can bring evil vapors,” said Daijen. “It’s most tragic. I only met him once, but your father impressed me as an honest and principled man. I felt honored to do business with him. He did mention my order? It was a large one.”

“No,” said Dommus. “He didn’t speak of it. Or of you, for that matter. What’s your name again?”

“Rangar. Perhaps he didn’t mention me because we hadn’t sealed our bargain. I had to speak to my client first.”

“Well, I know nothing about it. What does this business concern?”

Daijen unwrapped a parchment-covered bundle to reveal
 a piece of black brocade, richly woven with gold. “Twenty-four bolts, and that’s only the first order.”

Dommus’s face lit up with excitement. “Two dozen bolts!” He glanced at Daijen, who met his eyes with a piercing stare. Unlike his father, Dommus was easily ensnared. His expression quickly took on the trusting look of one who recognizes a fellow soul. Upon seeing it, Daijen smiled as one worldly man does to another.

Dommus returned the smile. “This is fine work,” he said, reaching out to touch the brocade.

Daijen stayed his hand and plucked a needle from the stitching. “I’m sorry, some careless fool left this in the cloth. I wouldn’t want you pricked.”

Dommus fingered the work appreciatively. “Expensive stuff,” he said. “Why go through me? It’s more common to deal directly with the weavers.”

“I’m seldom in Bremven,” replied Daijen. “I need someone to insure the quality. That concerns my client more than price.”

“And your client’s the Black Temple?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“I’m a merchant,” said Dommus. “Gold is gold.”

“So religion presents no difficulties?”

“The only problem I have with religion concerns an overstock of dark blue cloth. With Karm’s temple destroyed, I can’t give it away.”

“Yes, it’s worth your life to go about in blue,” said Daijen with an air of sympathy. “Beatings and worse. You’d think the emperor would stop such persecutions.”

“Morvus is under Lord Bahl’s thumb,” replied Dommus.

“He’ll do nothing.”

“Then why not dye the blue cloth black and sell it for priests’ robes?”

Dommus grinned. “I like that idea.” He fingered the gold cloth again. “Two dozen bolts you say?”

“In the first order,” replied Daijen. “Just name your price. They’ll pay it.”

Dommus grinned more broadly. “Would you like some wine while we work out our arrangement?”

“As long as it’s chilled.”

Dommus was into his second goblet before all the particulars were put into writing. By then, he looked quite pleased with himself. Daijen was equally satisfied. “I’m like you, Dommus,” he said. “I might sell to the Black Temple, but to me they’re merely customers. Religion doesn’t interest me, but I’m sorry I missed meeting Yim.”

“Yim?”

“Yes, the woman Bearer. Your father spoke of her.”

“Oh yes,
 
Karmamatus,”
 
said Dommus. “Well, she might be Karm’s beloved, but did Father also tell you she was a slave?”

“No,” said Daijen feigning surprise. “This sounds like a strange tale.”

“You’ll never hear one stranger,” said Dommus in a confidential tone.

Daijen leaned forward, looking intrigued. “How does one go from slave to Bearer?”

“Well, she came with this Sarf…”

“Honus?”

“Yes, Honus,” said Dommus. “He freed her and more or less dumped her here. Father took her in as a favor. Not that I minded. As we used to say—she was as pretty as the goddess. Only eighteen winters. Long, walnut hair. Big, dark eyes. She filled out a silk robe quite nicely.”

Daijen gave Dommus an earthy look. “Someone worth tupping?”

Dommus grinned back. “I’ll say,” he said. “Not that I got any. Though, I might have if it weren’t for Honus.”

“He interfered?”

“Not in the way you might think. He dumped her because
 he planned vengeance on the Black Temple. Somehow, Yim found out. I think she forced it from Father, though I can’t imagine how. Anyway, she rushed out that very night.”

“And?”

“She stopped Honus. Good thing for us she did. Otherwise, you and I would lack some lucrative clients. If any man could wipe out the black priests, it’s Honus. He has quite a reputation.”

“He must have been furious with her.”

“Quite the opposite,” said Dommus. “Afterward, he worshipped her, and I mean literally.”

“So she became his Bearer?” said Daijen. “In one night? I thought it took years to become one.”

Dommus shrugged. “I guess not. Honus certainly believed she was holy. Father did, too. It got tiresome.”

“I can imagine,” said Daijen. “Bearers are a stiff-necked lot, and their Sarfs are even worse. How’d you get rid of them?”

“They left on their own accord. Just five days ago.”

“For where?” asked Daijen casually.

“Averen,” replied Dommus. “Something to do with Lord Bahl.”

“Bahl?”

“That’s what Father said. It worried him.”

“I’d think it might,” said Daijen. “What did they hope to accomplish?”

“Beats me,” said Dommus. “All I know is that it was a waste of a fine-looking woman. She was tuppable, Rangar.
 
Very 
tuppable.”

Daijen left Dommus’s company confident that he had solved his puzzle. Everything he had learned fitted with his informants’ reports and his vision at Karm’s temple.
 
Yim’s the one who enraged my master 
. Daijen was certain of it. There were no other possibilities. Furthermore, Dommus
 had not only confirmed the enemy’s identity; he had said where she was headed.

As Daijen returned to his lodgings, he didn’t reflect on the irony that the blood Yim had denied the Devourer would have been spilled in the Black Temple. As far as his master was concerned, blood was blood. As long as it wasn’t Daijen’s own, it didn’t matter to him either. At the moment, he was particularly pleased with himself, for it had taken just seven days to ferret out Yim. Now that Daijen knew she was his target, he turned his thoughts to her annihilation.

FOUR

IT WAS
growing dark, but not quickly enough. There was nowhere for Yim to hide. Though the brush was dense and tangled, it was only waist-high, and a recent flood had stripped its leaves. It wouldn’t screen her from sight. Moreover, her tracks stood out on the muddy ground. Yim’s only chance was to outrun her pursuer. She slipped the pack from her shoulders, wishing she had abandoned it earlier. She opened its flap and took out the knife.
 
A puny weapon against a sword 
. Then Yim turned her attention to her sandal. Its strap had come loose and examination showed that it had broken.
 
No time to fix it 
. Already, Yim heard boots crunching on loose stone.

Yim removed her sandals and resumed running. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the man who had been tracking her. He sheathed his sword and ran also. Yim followed a streambed because it offered the easiest path, its
 banks having been swept clear of brush by floodwaters. Without the heavy pack, Yim outpaced her pursuer, and it seemed she would escape. She ran until she was winded.

Pausing to catch her breath, Yim listened for the swordsman she had seen only twice. Five men had attacked them on the road, and Honus had taken on all five while she darted for safety. The man pursuing her had been lying in wait. If Yim had run to the opposite side of the lane, she would have fallen into his trap. Instead, he had been forced to reveal himself and chase after her. That was the only reason she still lived.

As Yim listened for sounds of pursuit, she noted her surroundings for the first time and saw that she had entered a valley. Its sides weren’t enclosed by sloping ridges, but by low walls of vertical stone. They weren’t near, but Yim could see that they drew closer upstream.
 
I’m in a funnel 
, she thought. Yim was considering pushing her way through the dead brush and attempting to scale those walls when she heard her pursuer slogging through the water. Yim panicked and resumed sprinting along the stream bank. Before long, the walls closed in, and she was running inside a ravine with no choice but to continue deeper into it. Either by chance or design, she had become game herded into a trap. Nevertheless, flight seemed her only hope.

The surrounding walls were vertical and composed of thin layers of brittle slate, piled horizontally like knife blades. Yim looked for a place to climb, but saw none. The farther she ran, the higher the walls rose until they towered high above her head. Soon the darkening sky was only a ribbon hemmed by stone. There was no vegetation, only mud and rock. In some places, the stream flowed in a thin sheet over a nearly level slate floor. Elsewhere, jumbled slabs of fallen rock littered the way. Nowhere was there a place to hide. A layer of damp silt coated everything, making the footing treacherous and leaving clear impressions of Yim’s footprints.

The ravine followed a twisting course, and every turn seemed to present a new obstacle. After clambering over a pile of loose slate, Yim rounded a corner to find a small waterfall barring her way. Water cascaded over a steep slope that was twice Yim’s height. She waded through shallow water to climb it. Close to the ravine wall, the pool was only ankle-deep and no water spilled down the barrier. Yim gripped the knife with her teeth to free both hands to climb the damp slate. She made slow progress, for the holds were precarious and the rock was slippery.

Yim had nearly reached the top when she slipped and bounced against rock all the way down. The blows knocked the breath from her, and the knife tumbled into the silty pool below. Yim was cut and scraped by her fall, but she landed on her feet. Ignoring her injuries, she dropped to her hands and knees to grope for the knife in the cloudy water. Yim was still in that position when she heard a sword being drawn from its sheath.

Turning around, Yim spied a man advancing up the ravine. He was only twenty paces away. Flight was impossible. Yim sat down in the shallow pool as her pursuer approached. Supported by her arms, she inclined her torso as if shrinking from her nemesis. He was a young man with a hefty, work-hardened body. Garbed like a farmer, he wielded his stubby sword more like a pruning hook than a weapon. Yim tried to catch his eye, but he carefully avoided her gaze. “Why are you hunting me?” she called out. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

“We know of yer sorcerous ways,” the man said as he advanced. “Ye’ll not steal 
our 
children.”

“I serve the Goddess of Compassion,” said Yim. “I’d never harm a child. Look me in the eye and see truth.”

The man resolutely stared toward Yim’s feet. “I’ve heard of that trick. Ye cannot bewitch me.”

Yim’s eyes fixed on the advancing blade, which seemed a rusty heirloom. It shook in the man’s trembling grasp. Her
 pursuer halted just a step away, and Yim’s gaze shifted to his face. His eyes avoided hers, but she could tell that he was nearly as frightened as she was. “You don’t have to kill me.”