[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm Page 6

  “Rub him down good,” said the man to Tarvus, “he’s been ridden hard.”

  “Yes, Father,” said Tarvus. “I’ll move Tammor from his stall and stable Karmamatus’s horse there.”

  “That’s fine, son,” said the man. He watched Tarvus lead the horse away before turning to Gatt. “Sarfs are my boy’s heroes,” he said, “so this is quite a thrill for him. I hope you’ll explain your lot’s not all adventure and fighting.”

  “The path of righteousness demands sacrifice and suffering,” said Gatt. “Few are fit for such a life.”

  “That’s what I tell him,” said the farmer. “I say he should be thankful that the Seers bypassed our farm.”

  “You’re correct to say so,” said Gatt. “A childhood in the temple is no easy one.”

  “Boys! Full of dreams,” said the man, shaking his head. “My name is Garvus, Karmamatus. Would you join me in some ale while we wait for dinner?”

  “I don’t drink ale,” replied Gatt, “but I’d be glad for some tea.”

  Garvus led Gatt inside, where he introduced his wife, who brewed the Sarf some tea. Gatt drank it standing, for he ached from the day’s riding. When Garvus finished his ale, he felt less intimidated by Gatt and ventured to question him. “Your horse is a fine animal, yet you pushed him hard.”

  “I had need to do so. My task is urgent.”

  “Urgent enough to risk a valuable steed? If you don’t ease up, he could go lame.”

  “Is a horse worth more than a man?” replied Gatt.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I am trying to save one being led to his doom. I must catch up with him before he’s destroyed.”

  “With all respect, Karmamatus, you won’t do that on a lame horse. Is the man a captive?”

  “No,” replied Gatt. “Just beguiled by a woman.”

  Garvus grinned, and was about to jest before he caught the Sarf’s hard gaze and thought better of it. “Are they traveling afoot?”

  “Yes. And the woman’s burdened also. They left eight days ago for Averen.”

  “Do they know of your pursuit?”

  “No.”

  “Then you can ease up on your horse and still catch them easily,” said Garvus. “A steady pace and a long day’s ride will eat up the distance.”

  “I pray you’re right. It’s my holy task to free this man.”

  “Then how can you fail?” said Garvus. “Karm will aid you.”

  Garvus refilled Gatt’s tea bowl and poured some more ale for himself. After Tarvus returned from the stables accompanied by three farm servants, Garvus’s wife brought out the evening meal. All sat down for dinner with the Sarf at the place of honor. While they ate, Gatt spoke of his travels. Mindful of Garvus’s request, he emphasized the hardness of his life. The stories didn’t affect Tarvus as his father had hoped, for the boy’s admiration of the Sarf seemed to grow with each new tale of tribulation. Gatt found himself enjoying the boy’s adulation. After dinner, when the Sarf excused himself to look at his horse, he was not displeased when Tarvus followed him.

  Although Gatt knew little about grooming horses, he sensed the animal had been well tended. He turned toward Tarvus and smiled. “Karm sees the care you have shown my steed,” he said. “When I ride forth tomorrow, take pride that you’ve aided my quest.”

  Tarvus beamed at Gatt’s words. “Zounds! A quest?”

  “Yes,” said Gatt, standing tall despite his aches. “It’s a perilous undertaking.”

  “Will you tell me about it?”

  “I fear your father wouldn’t approve,” said Gatt. “He said you think a Sarf’s life is all adventure and glory.”

  “Please,” begged Tarvus. “This farm’s so dull. Great deeds may not be my fate, but can’t I hear of them?”

  Gatt smiled indulgently. “I’ll speak about it if you keep this from your father.”

  “I will,” said Tarvus. “I swear.”

  “I’m off to slay a sorceress who has captured a virtuous man. He’s a Sarf, like myself.”

  “She captured a Sarf? How could she do that?”

  “With foul enchantments and other wiles you’re too young to know about,” replied Gatt.

  “Aren’t you afraid she’ll do the same to you?”

  “I’ll kill her before she has the chance, though I may have to fight the Sarf to do so.”

  Tarvus’s eyes widened. “Fight another Sarf!”

  “He’s under her spell. Until the evil one is slain, she’ll control him.”

  “Oh Holy Karm!” said Tarvus. “If I had to face a Sarf, I’d shake like grain in a hailstorm.”

  “Grab a straw and toss it in the air,” directed Gatt.

  Tarvus stooped to pick up one. Then he threw it. Gatt moved so quickly that the boy couldn’t follow his movements. All he saw was the flash of a sword slicing through air and the straw fluttering down, split lengthwise. “Zounds!” said Tarvus as he rushed over to pick up the two pieces.

  Gatt sheathed his sword. “I serve Karm’s will, so I shall prevail.”

  “And kill the other Sarf?”

  “Kill him? I intend to save him.”

  “But won’t he try to kill you?”

  “Most certainly,” replied Gatt, “but I’ll endeavor to spare his life. At the very least, I’ll save his soul, for when a man dies, his spirit’s released from sorcery.”

  Tarvus gazed at the Sarf, speechless with admiration. Gatt caught the boy’s look and felt whole for the first time since his Bearer had deserted him. Joy surged within Gatt, eclipsing his pain and restoring his sense of worth. Once again, he was traveling a holy path.

  That night, when Gatt was drifting toward sleep, he saw a misty landscape as viewed from above. From the breadth and vividness of the scene, he knew he wasn’t dreaming. Instead, he was being shown the world from a divine perspective. Gatt first saw Bremven and then the road he had taken from the city. Swooping above the highway, he passed over the house where he was resting and continued onward. He viewed an ancient stone bridge that spanned the Yorvern and the sprawling inn built on its nearest shore. Then he followed the road as it hugged the riverbank. He continued onward until he spied two vague figures camping by the river and felt a wave of hatred that arose from an otherworldly source. It was bitter and implacable. Although Gatt had always believed that Karm was stern, the virulence of the enmity startled him. Without seeing the figures distinctly or hearing a single word, he understood that one was Yim. He concluded the other must be Honus.

  Then Gatt rose higher until he had a commanding view of the surrounding countryside. He peered over mountains, valleys, rivers, and forests. Upon viewing them, Gatt knew the terrain as intimately as if he had spent his entire life tramping over it. Afterward, the scene dissolved into mist, and Gatt sat up shivering from cold. He was convinced that he had experienced his first vision, for he had foreseen the route that lay ahead and learned where his quarry was resting. The Sarf had the impulse to saddle his horse and ride off into the night to catch Yim. He suppressed the urge, knowing that she was beyond the reach of a single night’s journey. Moreover, with the certainty of foresight, Gatt knew that he would find Yim, just as he knew what he must do when he did. Gatt had been hesitant to paint his blade with poison, but the vision assured him that he had done the proper thing. Rangar was right , he thought. The whore’s death must be certain. On no account should one whom Karm so thoroughly despises be suffered to live .

  Yim and Honus sat at their campsite and gazed at the moonlit river. Clouds of pale insects flew over the water like animate mist. Occasionally, a fish leapt up to catch one. Honus poked the campfire and its flame grew brighter. “Do you really think that I’m gentle,” he asked, “or did you merely say that to humor the boy?”

  “You’re a killer,” replied Yim. “If the Balance is to be maintained, you must be gentle also.”

  Honus smiled and shook his head. “Spoken like a Bearer.”

  “Are you teasing me?”

&nbs
p; “No,” said Honus, “I’m not.” He poked the fire again. “I’m still amazed at what you did for that boy.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” replied Yim. “I merely looked into his eyes and saw what disturbed him. You have the same ability. You could have done likewise.”

  “Yet there lies the difference between us,” said Honus. “It never occurred to me.”

  They lapsed into an easy silence and watched the river awhile. There was a small island midstream, and it drew Yim’s attention. “That little isle reminds me of Cara’s secret place,” she said.

  “What secret place?”

  “Cara found a way to sneak out of the Bridge Inn,” replied Yim. “She would swim out to an island in the river. She took me there on our second day. It was a peaceful spot.”

  Honus smiled. “That sounds like something Cara would do. I take it Cronin had no idea.”

  “None at all. She spied on you and him while you talked on the bridge.”

  The smile left Honus’s face. “I remember that day. We spoke of grim things.”

  “Cara knew,” said Yim. “She thinks Lord Bahl will overrun Averen.”

  “Cronin’s certain that he’ll try,” replied Honus.

  Yim felt a sudden chill as if it were daytime and a cloud had obscured the sun. She glanced upward, but saw only a starry sky. Still, the impression remained, and she sensed a malign presence. Yim shivered, convinced that she was both fleeing danger and running toward it. She wanted to confess to Honus that she was afraid and didn’t know where to turn, but she held her tongue. As a Sarf, he knows exactly where to turn , Yim thought, feeling the full weight of her circumstances. It’s wherever I tell him .

  NINE

  WHEN GATT departed on his quest at dawn, he was invigorated by the conviction that Karm had blessed him with a vision. It seemed the most certain sign yet that he was traveling the true path. His horse also seemed imbued with divine purpose, for it sped down the highway as if it knew the importance of its master’s mission. Gatt passed the Bridge Inn before noon. The sight of it spurred him onward.

  Yim moved down the road far more slowly. She was tired after a poor night’s sleep. Furthermore, half-remembered dreams troubled her. One was particularly disturbing. It featured Honus lying in an empty clearing. His face was gray beneath its tattoos and his eyes stared skyward without blinking.

  “Yim, do you wish to rest?”

  “No. I must keep moving,” replied Yim. Then she sighed. “Yes. I need to rest.”

  Honus halted and Yim slipped the pack from her shoulders. The two walked to the riverbank and sat upon a boulder at the water’s edge. The sky was clear, and the river sparkled with its light. Closer to the mountains, the Yorvern moved more swiftly. It surged against the small rocky islands that dotted its course, leaving trails of foam behind each obstacle. Yim slipped off her sandals to dangle her feet in the cold water. “This feels good,” she said. “You were walking in front of me. How did you know I was weary?”

  “By the sound of your footsteps.”

  Yim regarded Honus and smiled. “What other secrets have you discerned?”

  “Very few. You remain a mystery.” “I doubt that.”

  “I know you were born in the Cloud Mountains and that your father was a peddler. The rest is shadow until I bought you in Durkin.”

  “My father wasn’t a peddler. He herded goats and gave me up when I was very young. My childhood was much like yours. I was raised to serve the goddess. As I told you, I’m the Chosen.”

  “But I don’t know what that means,” replied Honus.

  “On that night in the temple when I lowered my guard and you peered into my eyes, I thought you understood.”

  “I couldn’t grasp what I saw,” said Honus. “I experienced only holiness.”

  “I’m not holy,” replied Yim. “I’m merely dutiful. I’m like a Sarf—a tool in Karm’s hands.”

  Honus said nothing, but he looked unconvinced.

  “Do you truly wish to hear my life’s story?” asked Yim. “Well, I’ll tell you. My childhood was dreary. A Wise Woman trained me in arts she claimed would be useful. She was a cold woman. Stern, but not cruel. I lived with her until a Seer in the guise of a peddler escorted me south. That was four moons ago. We were ambushed on the road. He was slain and I was enslaved. The rest you know.”

  “And as the Chosen, Karmamatus, what must you do?”

  Yim was so struck by the humility in Honus’s voice that she felt the urge to tell him everything. But she suppressed that impulse and said, “Whatever Karm ordains.”

  Gatt’s physical prowess made his second day of riding easier. He adjusted to the rhythm of his steed’s motion until man and animal moved as one. Gatt was no longer saddle sore, and those who observed the Sarf on the galloping horse thought him a seasoned rider. The road he traveled conformed to the one he had seen in his vision. He was on the portion that threaded between rocky hills and the Yorvern River when a young boy stepped from a roadside hut. As the Sarf galloped toward him, the lad waved and shouted, “Honus!”

  Gatt immediately reined his mount, and the horse halted just a few paces from the boy. Once the rider was motionless, the lad could see the Sarf’s tattooed face more clearly. “You’re not Honus.”

  “No,” replied Gatt. “I’m a friend of his. Have you seen him?”

  The boy smiled. “He stayed with us two nights ago.”

  Gatt made himself smile also. “I’m pleased to hear that. Then I should find him soon.”

  The boy nodded.

  “And was Yim with him?”

  “Oh yes! She ”

  Gatt spurred his horse and galloped off.

  Foel stared at the retreating figure and then completed what he had started to say. “She gave me my voice back.”

  * * *

  As Yim trudged onward, she keenly felt the weight of the pack, which contained Honus’s heavy chain-mail shirt in addition to provisions, camping gear, and extra clothes for both of them. It was a warm day, and Yim’s shirt was soaked with sweat where her burden pressed against her back and shoulders. Yim, trying not to think about the long trek ahead, felt in need of diversion. “Honus,” she said. “We haven’t seen another traveler all morning. Forget custom, and walk beside me.”

  Honus complied, but he looked uncomfortable about it.

  “Now,” said Yim, “let’s talk about cheerful things.”

  “The weather’s fair,” said Honus.

  Yim regard him with half a smile. “It seems that Sarfs aren’t instructed in the art of conversation.”

  “Do you deem me unskilled?”

  “Unpracticed.”

  “It shall be pleasant to see Cara again,” said Honus.

  Yim grinned. “ That’s more like it. Yes it will be. Is Cronin’s manor grand?”

  “I wouldn’t use that word for it,” replied Honus. “I think ‘homey’ suits better. And it’s Cara’s manor, not her brother’s.”

  “Her manor? When we met her at the inn, she seemed under Cronin’s thumb.”

  “He’s protective, for the times require it. Moreover, he’s a general and must act like one. But within his clan, both lands and leadership pass from mother to daughter. In Averen, Cara’s a chieftain and Cronin’s merely a high-ranking soldier.”

  Yim smiled. “Averen folk sound sensible.”

  “Other clans have other customs. With them, it’s the men who rule.”

  “Then why is Cara’s clan different?”

  “Because it was founded by Dar Beard Chin, a woman who bought land with a tree of gold.”

  Yim laughed. “She had a beard? Are you sure Dar was a woman?”

  “I believe the beard was a tattoo.”

  “This sounds like a fine tale.”

  “Cara tells it best.” Honus smiled. “Her version is certainly the longest.”

  “She’s as generous with her words as you are frugal. So where did Dar get her tattoo? Was she a Sarf?”

  “No. As to the rest, y
ou’ll have to ask Cara. All I remember is Dar founded Clan Urkzimdi, Cara’s clan.”

  “Cara never hinted that she led a clan.”

  “There’s more to Cara than she lets on,” said Honus. He fixed his gaze on Yim. “That could be said of others.”

  Honus’s look flustered Yim, and she wished that she possessed Cara’s insight on matters of the heart. She certainly understood Honus better than I did , she thought, recalling how Cara had first told her of Honus’s love. Yim had dismissed the idea.But Cara was right . She hoped that Cara could tell her what to do about it.

  By late afternoon, Gatt found the remains of Yim and Honus’s campfire. It was exactly where he expected it to be, providing final proof that he had received a vision. Examining the ashes, he saw that his quarry had been there that morning. Gatt studied Yim’s footprints and concluded she walked laden with a pack. That means she’s still masquerading as a Bearer . Gatt smiled. That pack will slow her down and also tire her . He had no doubt his horse could catch up with the impostor before day’s end.

  Again, Gatt saw Karm’s hand in events, for he would reach his quarry at the perfect moment. Wearied from a day of traveling, Yim would be an easy target. Gatt knew that exhaustion dulled wariness. If I’m subtle, she won’t anticipate my attack. And when she’s dead, there’ll be no need to fight Honus . Gatt envisioned the Sarf freed from his sorcerous bounds and returned to righteousness. He exulted at the prospect.

  High hills hid the setting sun, so the road was shadowed while daylight lingered in the sky. Yim trod wearily down the road, refusing to halt before dusk. Exhausted, she was largely oblivious of her surroundings. Then Honus’s pace altered and alerted her that something had changed. Sensing tension in his movements, she asked, “What is it, Honus?”

  “Don’t you hear it?”

  Yim listened and detected the faint sound of hoofbeats mingling with the noise of the turbulent river. “Someone’s coming,” she said.

  “Someone in a hurry.”

  Honus and Yim stepped to the roadside to observe whoever raced down the highway. The road twisted with the river, and for a long while the only hint of the approaching rider was the staccato hoofbeats of his mount. When a blueclad and blue-faced horseman finally rounded the bend in the road he was quite close. “A Sarf!” said Yim. He was the second Sarf that she had ever seen, and despite knowing that he served Karm, she felt the same apprehension as when she first saw Honus.