[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm Page 16

  “He spoke of what will happen if that strategy fails. If Bahl comes here, I know what will ensue. I’ve witnessed it firsthand.”

  Yim sighed. “He made you recall Theodus’s death ” She gazed at Honus and saw his eyes begin to glisten. Then her voice became soft and sad. “ and imagine mine.”

  Honus nodded.

  “Then I’ll speak with Cronin about his plan and judge its wisdom.”

  Meanwhile, Cara strode through the fields surrounding the hall and village. Rodric, the clan steward, was at her side and two burly serving men followed close behind. Cara spotted what seemed to be a clump of rags amid the barley and headed in its direction.

  “They’re new this morning,” she said to Rodric. As they approached, some of the rags rose and assumed human form. The oldest appeared to be a girl of not more than sixteen winters. Her brownish blond hair was as wild as windblown weeds. She was unshod, her clothes were tattered, and a babe suckled at her breast. A younger boy and girl, equally disheveled, clung to her. Two even younger children dozed at their feet. The girl with the babe regarded Cara with a stare that was nearly vacant except for fear.

  “You can na abide among my crops,” Cara said, taking care to keep her voice gentle. “Come, I’ll take you to a better place.”

  The girl didn’t move, which meant the others didn’t move.

  “You’re safe now,” said Cara. “Na one will harm you. Have you any food?”

  At the word “food,” the girl’s eyes displayed some understanding, and she shook her head.

  Cara turned to one of the serving men. “Thamus, a loaf.” The man handed Cara a small round loaf of brown bread, and she broke off three pieces and handed them to the refugees before looking at the sleeping children. “Are they your kin?”

  “Aye,” said the oldest girl, her mouth stuffed with bread.

  “Wake them, and I’ll feed them, too. And when you’re resettled, I’ll give you more.”

  The girl knelt and shook the children awake. The youngest seemed only four winters. Her bare feet were so cracked and bleeding that Cara couldn’t imagine how she made the journey. “Goden. Hommy. This lady has food fer ye.”

  Cara gave them bread, then spoke to the eldest girl. “What’s your name, dear?”

  “Gertha.”

  “Well, Gertha, did any men come with you?” Gertha shook her head. “All slain,” she said in a haunted, empty voice. “By whom?” “Dolbanes.”

  Cara looked at Rodric. “So now there’s feuding in the east.” Then she turned again to the girl. “Gertha, there’s no feuding here. Anyone who fights is sent away. Anyone who slays is put to death. This is my law, and I see that it’s enforced with no exceptions. Understand?”

  The girl nodded.

  Cara looked at the younger children. “Do you understand?”

  They nodded also.

  “‘tis a hard law, but ‘twill keep you safe. So no talk of vengeance. Now come with me, and we’ll get you settled.”

  The ragged group picked up meager bundles that contained what few possessions they had, and followed Cara to a field where the ground had been packed hard by many feet. Cara tried to hide her discouragement as she gazed about. Want and desperation were all around her, and the newest arrivals were proving the neediest. She found a vacant spot of bare earth, handed out the remnants of the loaf, then said, “You can stay here. Gertha, see that tree? There’s a barrel with drinking water there. Do you have bowls?”

  Gertha shook her head.

  “Well, you can get one there, but you’ll have to share it among yourselves. I have servants by the tree. We’re stretched thin, but you can turn to them for aid. This evening, they’ll have porridge.” Cara sighed. “I must go help others now. Are you all right?”

  The girl nodded, but Cara doubted it. Nevertheless, she strode away to find other new arrivals. When Cara glanced back, the girl was still standing, looking lost as the other children clung to her as to a tree in a storm.

  “Clan Mother,” said Rodric, “this can na go on! More and more arrive each day. They trample our fields and eat our stores. You must be stern, and look first to your own.”

  “So what do you counsel?” asked Cara. “Send those children into the wild? Or should I be more merciful and drown them in the lake? Who knows when we’ll stand before Karm and have our deeds weighed on her scales? Soon, most like. So think upon her judgment before you act.”

  “It’s that girl who’s swayed you from your duty.”

  “What girl?”

  “The girl who claims to be a Bearer.”

  “Yim is a Bearer, and I’ll na hear you say otherwise. As to where my duty lies, I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Rodric fell silent. When Cara received word that there was a family in the field between the manor and the lake, she headed in that direction. The steward and the two serving men followed, so neither Cara nor they saw the rider who came down the northern road. Otherwise, they probably would have noted his arrival, for few were traveling unless need drove them. The man’s horse was heavily laden, but he didn’t have the look of a refugee, for his hard but handsome face showed no signs of privation. He appeared to be in his late middle age, and his cold gray eyes bore the satisfied look of one who had found what he was seeking.

  TWENTY-TWO

  DAIJEN WAS gladdened by the wretchedness about him as he made his way to the village. The Devourer benefited only from violent deaths, and the huddled refugees were like a field of ripened grain ready for scything. Daijen was pleased that some fool was feeding them. Starvation was too peaceful an end, one that cheated his master of anguished souls.

  Since the village was tiny, Daijen had little difficulty finding its single inn, even though it lacked a sign. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of it, for it seemed little more than an overgrown hut. A few crude rooms at most , he thought, and a place for peasants to swill . He dismounted and entered the open door.

  Inside the dark common room, he found an elderly man wiping a grimy tabletop with a rag that looked scarcely cleaner. “Good sir,” said Daijen, putting on an Averen accent, “would you fetch the innkeep?”

  The man rose from his task. “I’m him. What do you want?”

  “A place to stay.”

  “So ‘tis a room you’re wanting?” The innkeeper smirked. “You and five dozen others. Well, we’re three to a bed and full up at that. Our clan mother will let you sleep in a field. If you want a roof, you better have brought a tent with you.”

  “I know these are hard times,” said Daijen. He dipped his hand into a purse that dangled from his belt. Afterward, he touched the table. When he did, his fingers made a metallic snap and left a gold coin behind.

  The innkeeper’s gaze went to the coin, although he said nothing.

  “I have goods with me,” continued Daijen. Another snap . “Goods I’d be foolish to leave in the open, or even in a tent.” Snap .

  Daijen never glanced at the three coins on the table. Instead, he regarded the innkeeper’s face. When the man finally lifted his eyes from the gold on the sticky tabletop, they were met by Daijen’s gaze. Daijen smiled. “In troubled times, a wise man looks out for himself. You strike me as wise. If so, I’ll have a room all for myself, and each of these coins will have a companion.”

  “Six golds for a room?” said the old man, his voice shaky from the thought of it.

  “I think that’s fair. Do na you?”

  “Aye, ‘tis fair, sir.”

  “Call me Rangar,” said Daijen, placing three more coins on the table. “I’m just a peddler.”

  The innkeeper quickly scooped the coins from sight. “And what’s worth peddling when everything’s so stirred up?”

  “Daggers.” Daijen smiled. “There are times when a good blade is worth your life, and I think those times are drawing nigh. Do you own one?”

  “Nay, just a kitchen knife.”

  “One moment,” said Daijen. “Perhaps we can do some further business.” He left the inn and
returned bearing two large leather saddlebags. By the way he carried them, they were obviously heavy. He laid them on the table, opened one, and withdrew a sheathed dagger. “This shall be yours if you assist me.”

  The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

  “Watch over my goods when I’m out, steer buyers my way, and apprise me about the local manor. It’s there I’ll most likely find my buyers.”

  The innkeeper drew the weapon from its sheath to admire its gleaming blade. “I’ll do everything I can.”

  “Good. Then this day has brought good fortune to us both. Before you go and clear a room for me, I have a question. ‘tis my custom to gift some worthy person with a blade. It gains goodwill and helps display my wares. Whom would you suggest?”

  “That’s easy. Our clan mother, Lady Cara.”

  “A woman? Nay.”

  “Then her brother, Cronin.”

  “General Cronin?” Daijen shook his head.

  “Rodric, then. He’s clan steward, and used to run the manor afore Lady Cara returned.”

  So he’s tumbled down a notch , thought Daijen. “Rodric sounds a perfect choice.”

  “My wife’s nephew serves in the manor,” said the innkeeper. “‘Twould be easy to give him a message for the steward.”

  “Your cunning gladdens me,” said Daijen. “It bodes well for my endeavor.”

  “I’m glad to be of use, Rangar,” replied the innkeeper as he felt the weight of the gold in his palm. “Very glad indeed.”

  Cara returned from her rounds among the refugees in a disheartened state. She directed Rodric to make an inventory of their stores, and then she went to speak to the cook about reducing the portions for all meals. She decided that feasting Yim and Honus’s arrival would be too extravagant, but she did request a honey cake for the evening meal. That done, she returned to her room to change from her gown, which had been muddied while tramping the fields. There she found Yim seated on her bed.

  “Why, Yim, what are you doing here? I thought you’d be out and about.”

  “I’m waiting for my clothes.”

  “What’s wrong with that gown? ‘tis better than what you were wearing. Those clothes were filthy. Karm knows when you washed them last.”

  “I hadn’t taken them off since ” Yim’s expression took on a distant look that intrigued Cara. “ the day of Gatt’s funeral pyre.”

  “That was half a moon ago. You mean you’ve been living in them all that time?”

  “We traveled hard, and I lost my other outfit in the river.”

  “Well, I’ll have another set made for you if I can get the proper shade of dye.”

  “Don’t bother, Cara.”

  “Why? Is something going to happen? You have visions. What has Karm told you?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “But you know something. I’m certain of it.”

  “I think the end is drawing near.”

  Cara’s face grew pale. “What end?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, it certainly has na made you cheerful.” Cara walked over to the head of the bed. A sword belt and sheathed sword hung there. Cara drew the weapon from its scabbard and assumed a fighting stance. “If the end’s coming, I’m ready for it.”

  “Cara! When did you learn to use a sword?”

  “I’ve yet to learn all the strokes and parries, but I will na go down without a fight.” As Yim watched, Cara began attacking an imaginary opponent, slicing and thrusting while punctuating each move by shouting “ha!” or “die!” She was grinning when she finally sheathed the weapon.

  “Cara, it doesn’t feel good to actually kill a man.”

  “How would you know?” Then Cara’s eyes widened. “Zounds! You slew someone! When? Where? Why did na you tell me last night?”

  “I wanted some sleep. Remember?”

  “Well, you’re rested now. So tell me all about it.”

  After Yim related how she had stabbed her pursuer in the ravine, Cara looked puzzled. “He was going to kill you! Why feel sorry that he died?”

  “I keep thinking there might have been another way.”

  “Yim, there was na other way, so stop torturing yourself. We’re na always given a choice, and the day’s coming when either our foes will live or us. You should talk with Brother and hear his plan.”

  “I’ve already told Honus that I would, and I will.”

  “Oh thank Karm!” said Cara. “Yim, I do na want to kill. I just want to live.”

  After Daijen was settled in his room, he decided to take a stroll. A survey of the hall, village, and lake further confirmed that the place was the one his master had shown him. At the moment, Daijen had no idea if Yim was there. It was possible that she had not yet arrived. Perhaps she’s already passed through , he thought, hoping that wasn’t the case. I must find out without arousing notice . He was well aware that Averen communities were places where everyone minded their neighbor’s business. That was one reason why he had overpaid so extravagantly for his room; the innkeeper would keep mum about his good fortune for fear of provoking ill will.

  Once Daijen determined Yim’s whereabouts, he would have a second challenge: He needed to recruit assassins. The More Holy One hadn’t reached his advanced age by performing his own dirty work. Even the most careful plans could encounter unanticipated twists. When things went wrong, Daijen always insured that others paid the price, not him. Cronin’s practice of slaying priests had left Daijen short of resources, but the presence of refugees offered a solution. All I need is a few desperate men . Experience had taught him they were easiest to bend to his will. Each day that they’re hungry will make them more pliable .

  Though the task at hand didn’t seem particularly difficult, the stakes involved made Daijen anxious. He needed only to glance at his body to realize the price of failure. He had yet to recover from the shock of aging thirty years in an instant. Although he looked less than half his true age, he still mourned his youthful form. Daijen blamed Yim for his reversal, and each time he felt an ache in his joints or a pretty girl ignored him, hatred flared within him. Accordingly, he prepared carefully for Yim’s demise. The men he recruited would carry blades dipped in a special poison; one that not only guaranteed death but also insured that it would be excruciating.

  Despite his venomous thoughts, Daijen seemed benign as he strolled leisurely about the field. Whenever he paused among the ragged men who had been driven from their homes, he appeared genuinely distressed by their circumstances. Sometimes, he was even moved to give them a few coins. If anyone noted that only the bigger and hardier men benefited from his generosity, they didn’t remark on it.

  When Cara saw Daijen, she was making her afternoon round among the refugees. She paid him no mind. There were so many strangers about that another one was easily overlooked, especially someone who didn’t seem wanting. Moreover, Cara’s attention was on Yim. Cara was intrigued by her friend’s manner with the children. No one knew she was a Bearer, for she was still dressed in the blue-gray gown. Nonetheless, Yim possessed a quality that calmed even the most troubled child. Cara watched her, trying to decide whether it was the compassion in Yim’s voice, the gentleness of her touch, the tenderness in her gaze, all three, or something else that had such a soothing effect. Whatever it was, Cara was glad to have Yim with her.

  Daijen paid even less attention to the two women than they did to him. Focused on his particular needs, they held no interest for him. Since Cara wasn’t dressed as clan mother, he assumed that she and her companion were merely servants on some errand. His only impression was of the shortness of Yim’s hair, which Cara had trimmed to an equal length earlier that afternoon. Still, wishing to project a docile air, he smiled blandly at them before turning away.

  As Daijen was returning to the inn, a man caught his eye. At first, there seemed nothing remarkable about him. He was as ragged as the others, though perhaps a little better fed. Then Daijen glanced toward the man’s eyes, and felt a wave of relief
approaching exultation. From that moment onward, he was certain his enterprise would succeed.

  By the time the evening meal was served in the banquet hall, Yim was dressed as a Bearer again in her clean and newly mended clothes. The same small, select company sat at the high table; the rest of the household ate less formally elsewhere. The fare was unchanged also, with the exception of the honey cake. When Yim was seated, Cronin sat beside her and bowed his head low. “Karmamatus, I must apologize for my ill manner last night.”

  “I think you spoke honestly. I appreciate that.”

  “But I was overly ardent and did na explain my reasoning.”

  “You had no need. You command your troops. I have no sway over them.”

  “You have sway over Honus. In the past, Theodus lent him to our side. I have hope that you might do the same.”

  “You mean send him away on your campaign?”

  “Aye, as Theodus did. ‘Twould be but only for a little while.”

  The suggestion came as a shock, though Yim felt that she should have anticipated it. Of course I’d stay here . Nevertheless, even the idea of a separation was upsetting. Yim wondered if Cronin could see it in her face. Trying to make her voice sound casual, she replied. “I’d be pleased to hear your plans.”

  Cronin smiled. “Then we’ll speak after dinner.”

  Yim tried to return his smile, but a sense of dread froze her lips.

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE ROOM was small, plain, and tucked under the eaves, so its ceiling sloped. It was furnished with shelves full of scrolls and a single table, which was currently covered with maps. Cronin used his rush candle to light oil lamps above the table. When there was sufficient illumination, he turned to Yim. “I have a temper,” he said, “and I regret what I said last night. I’m a soldier with rough soldier’s ways.”

  “But a good heart,” said Yim. “Meeting you and Cara changed my life.”

  “I hope ‘twas for the better.” Cronin gave Yim a smile, but it was an uneasy one. “Are you sure you do na want Honus here?”

  “This is between you and me. Please speak frankly.”

  “Then tell me this before I talk of tactics and battles: Will I be wasting my time? Last night you said I fight a god and victory’s impossible.”