[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (6 page)

“Karm sees your generosity,” said the Sarf, “and I’m grateful for the food. However, I don’t touch wine.”

“Still, it needn’t go to waste,” said Daijen. He took up the jug, and in a loud voice, addressed the crowded room. “I have good South Vinden wine here! Who will join me in a toast to the goddess? Come friends, lift a cup with me to Karm in hopes that the Balance will be restored.”

Daijen’s proposal was met by uneasy silence. A few men seemed inclined to drink until they glanced about the room. In the end, there were no comers. Daijen sighed and set the jug down on the table. The Sarf looked up at him and said in a low voice, “That wasn’t a wise move. You should watch your back tonight.”

“Is there no faith left in Bremven?” asked Daijen. “Have all its citizens turned cowardly?”

“I fear both are true,” said the Sarf. “Come, stranger, your generosity exceeds my appetite. Would you care to join me?”

“I ordered enough for your Bearer, too,” replied Daijen. “I wouldn’t presume to eat his share.”

“I have no Bearer,” said the Sarf in a cold voice.

“Then I’d be honored to dine with a righteous man.”

Daijen sat down and appraised the blue-clad stranger across the table. He was muscular and tall, with the dark coloring typical of the region. The Sarf looked young, perhaps not yet twenty, but he had an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. The Seer who had tattooed his face must have foreseen that trait, for the lines he needled there gave the impression of inflexible sternness. Daijen briefly peered into the Sarf’s dark eyes and was relieved to note they possessed only ordinary perception. Daijen smiled as he made his eyes friendly and reverent. “My name is Rangar, Karmamatus. As you can see, I’m a visitor to Bremven.”

“I’m Gatt,” said the Sarf.

Gatt was clearly glad for a hearty meal, and Daijen let him eat without interruption. Daijen only nibbled at his dinner as he concentrated on reading the man before him. Like Gatt, he didn’t touch the wine, for he needed all his wits. The Sarf was undoubtedly aware that some possessed the power to see other’s thoughts and sway them, so Daijen took care to hide his ability. He perceived that Gatt was an angry man who was quick to judge and judged harshly. Recruiting him would be a dangerous game where a misstep would result in a deadly foe. Thus Daijen bided his time, and when Gatt’s eating slowed, he politely asked, “Was your Bearer slain at the temple?”

Gatt’s voice took on a contemptuous tone. “He was no martyr.”

“Some illness or an accident perhaps?”

“The coward who was my Bearer still lives,” said Gatt, “though only because I couldn’t swim to catch him. He turned his back on Karm and fled.”

“Fled what?”

“We traveled among people who had turned from the goddess. He had no stomach for persecution.”

“What could he fear with you by his side?”

Gatt stared at Daijen menacingly. “Are you questioning my ability?”

“No,” replied Daijen quickly, “just marveling at the depths of your Bearer’s cowardice. Yet should he die for it?”

“Why not?” asked Gatt. “He called himself holy. I would have laid down my life for him without a moment’s hesitation. He betrayed Karm and me and all he stood for. If he would not follow a righteous path, how can we ask common folk to do so?”

“I see your point,” said Daijen. “When so many have died for their faith, why should one live for abandoning it?”

The Sarf gazed at Daijen, seeming pleased by his vindication. “Bremven has become a nest of vipers,” he said. “It’s no place for me.”

Daijen kept his eyes locked on Gatt’s as he spoke. “You’re a man of action,” he said in a quiet voice.

Upon hearing those words, Gatt grew restless and agitated. “Yes!” he said. “By the goddess, I am!”

“Of course you are. It’s your role in life, the one for which you’ve trained over many years.”

“But I’m a Sarf. Without a Bearer, how can I serve Karm?”

“I’ve no doubt the goddess will send you some holy task. She’s too wise to waste one such as you.”

“I pray you’re right.”

Daijen rose and bowed. “This has been the first pleasant meal I’ve eaten in Bremven, Karmamatus. You’ve restored my hope for the future.”

Gatt rose also. “Let me walk you to your inn. I suspect your piety has riled a cur or two, and they grow braver in the dark.”

“You honor me,” replied Daijen, and he bowed again.

The two men walked through the shadowy streets, pausing only when Daijen gave the untouched wine to a poor woman. When they reached the modest inn where Daijen was staying, Daijen bowed once more. “Karmamatus, it would be an honor if you dined with me tomorrow. I know of an inn that’s famous for its spiced duck.”

Gatt returned Daijen’s bow, though he didn’t bend as low. “It’d be good to sup with a virtuous man.”

“Then shall we meet in the Golden Drake at, say, one bell before sundown? It’s in the Averen quarter on the Street of Feathers.”

“I’ll see you there,” said Gatt, who then strode away and vanished into the darkness.

Daijen visited the Golden Drake the following morning to arrange his dinner with Gatt. While taking care not to appear overly lavish, Daijen ordered ample portions, for he suspected the Sarf had not eaten much of late. Extending hospitality to Karm’s servants was no longer fashionable in Bremven. It could even be dangerous. Daijen looked forward to the day when it would be a capital offense.

At the appointed time, Daijen was seated at a corner table in the inn’s common room. He rose and bowed when Gatt entered. The other diners grew quiet as the Sarf strode across the room, but after he was seated, the talk resumed. While the two men exchanged courtesies, a waiter brought out a large whole duck. It had been slowly roasted until its spiced skin was brown and crunchy. Gatt breathed in its aroma and smiled, causing his host to smile also. While the Sarf sated his hunger, Daijen conversed sparingly about trivial matters. Only when the fowl was reduced to bones did he speak to his true purpose. “Karmamatus,” he said, “would you make me your Bearer?”

Gatt’s face immediately reddened beneath his tattoos. “Such talk is blasphemous!”

Daijen shrank back. “You mistake my meaning, Karmamatus.”

“Then what is it?”

“I asked the question because today I heard of a Sarf who named his own Bearer.”

“Impossible!”

“Do you know of a Sarf named Honus?”

“He’s Theodus’s Sarf,” said Gatt. “We’re not acquainted, but I’ve seen him at the temple. It was years ago. What about him?”

“I’ve just dealt with a cloth merchant—Dommus is his name—who sheltered Honus when he came to Bremven recently. Honus’s Bearer had been slain, but he brought a slave with him, a woman named Yim.”

“Sarfs don’t own slaves,” said Gatt.

“Honus did.” Daijen gave his companion a knowing look. “Dommus said she was quite a beauty.”

“Are you implying that Honus kept her for pleasure?”

“If he did, it wouldn’t make so strange a tale,” replied Daijen. “Comely women have their wiles, and men—even pious ones—are their natural prey. What’s unnatural is that Honus made Yim his Bearer.”

“No Sarf has that authority!”

“Honus acted like he did,” replied Daijen. “The whole household witnessed it.” “How could he dare?”

“Dommus was convinced that Yim had bewitched him,” said Daijen. “Some people have that power. They do it with their eyes.”

“Only weaklings fall for such tricks,” said Gatt. “Honus is renown for his strength.”

“A man can be mighty in some ways and weak in others. Perhaps Yim didn’t use enchantments. She might have merely seduced Honus to lead him astray.”

“But why would he name her his Bearer?” asked Gatt.

“Because she made him do it. That’s what Dommus said.”

Gatt looked perplexed. “Why?”

“What better way for her to seal her conquest?” said Daijen, gazing into the Sarf’s eyes. “Some women are leeches. They slither up a man’s pants and suck his goodness away.”

Gatt’s face flushed beneath its tattoos. “So Honus now calls his slut holy?” He slammed his fist on the table. “That profanes Karm!”

“Yes,” said Daijen. “Even as we speak, the bawd parades about the countryside …” His voice became mesmerizing. “…demanding charity and respect in the name of our goddess. Yet people aren’t fools. Honus may cow them into calling Yim ‘Karmamatus,’ but they know a whore when they see one.”

Gatt shook his head. “I used to admire Honus.”

“Doubtlessly because he was an admirable man,” said Daijen. “This Yim has poisoned him. She would have been kinder to cut his throat.”

“He’d be better off dead.”

“But would that be justice?” asked Daijen. “After all, he’s bewitched.”

“It’s Yim’s throat that needs cutting.”

“That 
would be a worthy deed!” exclaimed Daijen, as if surprised by the notion. “It would surely honor Karm.”

“Yet the whore’s left Bremven,” said Gatt. “She could be anywhere.”

“Yim might not be so hard to find,” said Daijen. “She told Dommus that they were going to Averen to visit Lord Bahl. There’s only one road they could take.”

“Bahl? This slut’s more sinister than you think.”

“What do you mean?” asked Daijen.

“Can’t you see? She’s delivering Honus to his enemies. How could he be so blind?”

“Then perhaps Dommus was right when he said Yim worked a spell.”

“Such a spell would be no trick of the eyes,” stated Gatt, “but some fouler sorcery. This sounds like the work of the enemy.”

“Do you think Yim worships the Devourer?”

“It would explain a lot. Honus was a righteous man. His ruin would please the dark priests’ god.”

“I see your point,” said Daijen. “That makes his disgrace all the more tragic.”

“So many have fallen,” mused Gatt. “But to fall with such dishonor …”

“Yet Honus might rise again, if he were free from Yim’s sorcery.” Daijen fixed his eyes on Gatt’s and spoke in a quiet, compelling tone. “His salvation could be your holy task.”

Gatt grew excited. “Yes! I’m sure of it!”

“It’ll be no easy undertaking,” said Daijen. “If Honus is under a spell, you’ll only release him by destroying Yim. He’ll try to protect her.”

“I’m undaunted,” said Gatt. “Karm feeds my strength. I cannot fail.”

“You may have to kill Honus in order to slay Yim.”

“His death would free his soul,” said Gatt, “and it’s his soul that matters.”

“I’m in the presence of a brave and just man.” Daijen bowed his head. “I’m honored to know you, Karmamatus. Though I lack the courage and prowess for such a crusade, I possess two things that will aid your quest—a horse, so you may overtake Yim, and this.” He took a small glass vial from his shirt.

Gatt picked up the vial. “What’s this?”

“Paint this potion on your blade to assure success.”

“Only a coward poisons his sword.”

“This is no coward’s quick-acting venom. It won’t save your life in combat. Yet with this, you need only wound the witch to assure her destruction.” Daijen gazed at Gatt and used his full powers to bend him to his will. “You’re fighting against sorcery, so you’ll need a potent weapon. Don’t
 let a warrior’s pride interfere with your duty to the goddess. A holy end sanctions all means.”

Gatt wavered but a moment before he took the vial. “You’re right, my friend. I must be humble and perform Karm’s will.”

SEVEN

YIM HAD
set a hasty pace upon departing Bremven, and she and Honus had been on the road only four days when they reached the Bridge Inn. Built on the Vinden side of the span to Luvein, the inn sat at a once busy crossroads. Even after Luvein’s devastation, it remained a major stop on the road to Averen, the last accommodation before entering rugged territory. Recalling her previous reception at the inn, Yim had chosen not to seek hospitality there. Instead, she and Honus camped in the woods, as they had every night since fleeing Bremven.

Over the past three days of travel, the villages along the route had given way to scattered peasant holdings. The farther westward Yim and Honus journeyed, the wilder the surrounding countryside became. Traffic dwindled, and the imperial highway began to show signs of neglect. Its paving stones were often crumbled or heaved by frosts to trip the unwary traveler. It seemed proof of the emperor’s waning authority.

Yim’s pace was spurred by the sense of menace that had driven her from the city and dogged her on the road. It made her wary, and she avoided people whenever possible. She didn’t explain her fears to Honus, for she couldn’t explain
 them to herself. All she knew was that whatever troubled her thoughts seemed as threatening as the hostility she met upon the road. Yim worried that the malevolence she encountered in the ruined temple was still seeking to destroy her. She felt it was watching her, filled with deadly rage. She suspected that Honus was aware of her apprehension, although he didn’t presume to speak of it.

As Yim trudged along, bent beneath the heavy pack, she gazed at Honus striding in front of her and felt somewhat reassured. His movements reminded her of a cat’s—easy, yet alert. Honus seem prepared to pounce at any instant. She had witnessed his dazzling quickness when they were last attacked. One assailant lay cleaved in two even before Yim darted from the road.