[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (45 page)

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. Meanwhile, 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.

“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.