[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (24 page)

Cronin called out in a jocular tone. “Arms Master, a private word with our clan mother before you cut her throat.” Cronin’s attempt at humor fell flat. It was too close to what he feared, and he regretted his words. After the arms master left, Cara came over to her brother. “I’ve reconsidered my plan,” Cronin said. “Perhaps it’d be wiser to leave some men behind.”

“I want to hold nothing back,” said Cara.

“Bahl’s not our only foe. The black priests have stirred our neighbors. If they know our hall’s defended only by women…”

“Brother, this is my decision.”

“So ‘tis, but I can spare those men who’d slow the march—some of the older archers to man the wall, and those with lame legs, but strong arms. I’ll fight better knowing you have some defenders.” He attempted a smile. “You can na kill all our foes yourself.”

“Nay,” replied Cara. “For that, I’d need another fortnight of drill. You’re right. A small garrison is a wise precaution.”

“Then I’ll see to it,” said Cronin.

With that business done, they stood in the courtyard, not as general and clan mother, but as brother and sister. Both were aware that their positions would restrain their final farewells, and the present moment might be the last to speak their hearts. Yet there was so much to say that they found it difficult to say anything. Cara simply stared at her brother, as if trying to memorize every detail of his face. Cronin spoke first, his voice thickened by his feelings. “We’ve said goodbyes oft enough before, and I’ve always returned.”

“Aye, ‘tis true.”

“If I do na this time …”

“You will! You must!”

“But if I do na, trust your judgment, Cara. You’re wise beyond your years, and you’ve a noble heart. Mother would be proud.”

For once, Cara was speechless, and it made her brother feel awkward. They gazed lovingly at each other until Cronin finally said, “Well, I must be off to confer with Honus about the campaign.”

Cara watched him go. Then, wiping the tears from her eyes, she went to find the arms master and resume sword practice.

There was an art to swaying another to one’s will, and long practice made Daijen adept at it. He didn’t gaze into someone’s eyes and force him or her to do his bidding. Although that tactic usually worked, the victim seldom performed satisfactorily. Daijen’s method was subtler and more effective. He used his powers to discover weaknesses and employ them to spur the subject toward whatever action he desired. Gatt had fallen under Daijen’s power because of his self-righteousness, anger, and lack of purpose. Rodric possessed different flaws, but they would make him no less useful.

Thus Daijen was pleased, but not surprised, when Rodric sought him out at the inn. He was sitting in the common room when the steward entered with an agitated expression on his face. Daijen noted that Rodric was wearing the dagger he had given him, which seemed a promising sign. The steward rushed over to him and whispered, “You were right!”

Daijen put on a concerned expression and replied in an equally low voice. “Shall we talk in my room?’

Rodric nodded and followed Daijen there. It was a small, inelegant space with rough plastered walls, a single unglazed window, and an earthen floor strewn with reeds. A bed and a chamber pot were its sole furnishings. The men sat on the bed and Rodric started talking in a burst of words. “Already she’s been honored! Garlanded for the feast like a clan mother or her heir!”

“I presume you’re speaking of Yim.”

“Aye. And like you said, she’s convinced everyone that she’s a Bearer.”

“Who would doubt her with that Sarf in tow,” said Daijen. He shook his head sadly. “She’s clever. Moreover, she’s practiced this mischief before.”

“Where?”

“I know of an instance among the Dolbanes,” said Daijen. “She arrived at a holding as a paragon of piety and peace, befriending all and winning their trust. And when they were all beguiled, she loosed her confederates. The home was looted and the family slaughtered.”

“But this place is na isolated holding,” said Rodric.

Daijen gazed into the steward’s eyes and nudged his thoughts in the direction he desired by enflaming Rodric’s resentment while deepening his fear. “Nay,” he said, “your clan hall is a far greater prize, and one with strangers camped about it.”

Alarm spread over the steward’s face. “I warned Clan Mother of this!”

“But she did na listen, I suppose,” remarked Daijen. He sighed dramatically. “Young headstrong women are oft blind to peril.” Then he added in a casual tone, “When she was feeding those beggars the other day, was that Yim with her?”

“Aye, ‘twas. Clan Mother ignores me while Yim worms her way in ever deeper. Already, she sleeps in the clan mother’s chamber.”

“Mark my words. Soon Yim will have it to herself,” said Daijen. “Your clan mother has been ensnared, just like that Sarf. There’s little hope for her.”

“You said little, but you did na say none.”

“You can na counsel your chieftain from folly, for Yim’s hold is too strong,” said Daijen. “Yet Yim has gained her share of enemies. If they could reach her, the impostor would meet with justice.” He shrugged. “But Yim’s safe within your hall.”

“These enemies,” said Rodric. “Is their grievance solely against Yim?”

“Aye, only her.”

“So they would na harm anyone else?”

“All they want is justice and to save others from Yim’s schemes.”

Rodric pondered the matter for a moment. “There’s a hidden way into the hall.”

“And you would show them its secret?”

“Nay, but I’d admit them so they might find whom they seek.”

“The Urkzimdi are fortunate to have you as their steward, and when Yim’s spell is broken, your clan mother will know this also.”

“Then let’s do this soon,” said Rodric.

“I think Yim will grow less wary when the troops move out. That will be the time to strike.”

Honus spent the day with Cronin and his staff, talking strategy and logistics. He had fought alongside the general before, so the role was a familiar one. Only he had faced Bahl in battle and every man was intent on what he said. It was grim talk; yet Honus saw hope in Cronin’s plan, and he spent his time refining its details. It was late afternoon when the meeting finished and Honus went to find Yim.

Cara found him instead. “Honus, a word with you.”

“Yes, Clan Mother. What do you wish?”

“Zounds, Honus, call me Cara. And what I wish is a private talk with you. Come.” She led Honus to a dusty room beneath the eaves that was filled with chests and ancient furniture. The only open space was before a dormer and the two stood there. Its window offered a commanding view of the village and the fields beyond, which were currently filled with refugees. Cara gazed briefly at the scene, then hugged Honus tightly. “Oh, Honus! Take care of Brother. This time I’m really frightened for him.”

“I would do that without your asking,” replied Honus. “Now I’ll be doubly vigilant.”

“That’s a nice turn of phrase. Quite elegant for you, Honus. I know you’re saying that to make me feel better, and I guess it does. But do we have a chance, Honus? Tell me if there’s any hope at all.”

“Some. We’re not marching to certain death. If the invasion’s going to be stopped, Tor’s Gate is the place to do it.”

Cara sighed. “So Brother says. If you agree, then I’m sure he’s right. But it feels so horrible being left behind to wait and hope. And I know Yim will be miserable with you away, but zounds, she’s miserable with you here! If love makes you that unhappy, I’d rather forget all about it.”

“Yim’s different from other women,” said Honus. “Karm has plans for her.”

“I know,” said Cara. “Zounds! Some plans! She told me about being the Chosen way back when we first met. I did na understand it then, and I do na understand it now.”

“Some things are beyond our understanding.”

“That’s for sure!”

Honus grasped Cara’s hand. “Protect her while I’m away. Yim has a destiny, and I believe her fate may overshadow all we do.”

Cara regarded Honus’s face. She always had the talent to see beneath his tattoos, and Honus had no doubt that she perceived the depth of his love. “I swear by Karm I’ll watch over Yim,” said Cara, making the Sign of the Balance. “She’ll be like my sister.”

“Then my heart shall rest easier.”

Cara’s gaze shifted to the field beyond the village. Another ragged band was traveling toward it. “More refugees! How will they ever make it through the winter? How will we?”

“I think our troubles will end before then,” replied Honus. “Either for good or ill.”

*   *   *

The meal in the banquet hall was subdued, and only the high table was occupied. Yim only vaguely remembered eating. If there was conversation, she didn’t notice. Nor did she catch the way Rodric glared at her. Her attention was focused solely on Honus, who sat on the other side of Cara. All she could think about was that he’d soon be leaving. Moreover, she had an ominous feeling about their separation. She could foresee only loneliness.
 
I’ve been lonely nearly all my life 
, she thought.
 
I can get used to it again 
. Yet having tasted love, she feared that wasn’t true.

Never had the urge to forsake Karm been so strong. She yearned to go away with Honus and consummate her desire. The idea was deliciously exciting.
 
We could go far from here, the Northern Reach or the Cloud Mountains 
. Yim knew that all she needed to do was tell Honus they must depart.
 
He’ll obey. He’s my Sarf 
. Yim wondered if Honus would see such a departure as Karm’s will or recognize it as the product of desire. That question led to others: Could she hide from the goddess? Could she keep the truth from Honus? How would he regard her if he learned it?
 
If only I could decipher the words on his back!
 
It seemed a cruel irony that the answers could be so close and yet remain unknowable.

The meal concluded when Cara rose. She and the others left, but Yim and Honus lingered behind. “I should get my chain mail and extra clothes from the pack,” said Honus.

“Of course,” said Yim. “But who will bear your burden? Theodus said you never should.”

“A soldier will carry my pack until I return.”

“I’m jealous of him.” Yim smiled wistfully. “At first, I hated that pack. I hated you.”

“I gave you cause.”

“That time I ran away, a woman nearly made me into sausage.”

“And that improved your opinion of me?”

“A little bit. But it wasn’t until…” Yim grew silent.

“Until what?”

“Until later when I … Oh, Honus, it’s best you go with Cronin, but I can’t bear the thought of it!”

Each rushed into the other’s arms, where they embraced tightly and desperately. They stayed that way a long while, neither speaking, as if only touch could express their feelings. Then Yim whispered. “I can’t kiss you because I won’t be able to stop.”

“That would make for an awkward march,” said Honus.

Despite her sadness, Yim smiled at the thought of them marching off with locked lips to face Lord Bahl.

TWENTY
-
SIX

IT MIGHT
have been dusk; Hendric couldn’t tell. To his eyes, the days had grown darker until they blended with the nights. On those increasingly rare occasions when he was capable of thought, he wondered if he was marching on the Dark Path. It wasn’t the lack of light that gave him that impression; it was his distance from life. He had stopped tasting food, longing for his family, or feeling pain. His severed fingers made his right hand useless, but he noticed only because it forced him to grip his sword with his left. That made killing more difficult, but he managed.

The horrific things that Hendric did no longer troubled him. He was detached from those he slaughtered. Men, women, and children had no more hold on him than the weeds he had plucked from his field in his former life. Their voices didn’t reach him, and their suffering washed over him without leaving a trace. Hendric had become an empty
 vessel that only Bahl could fill, and the only brew he poured was hate.

As the world became darker to Hendric, Lord Bahl seemed to grow brighter. It wasn’t truly light that Hendric sensed, for the radiance was invisible. However, he felt it as he used to feel the sun’s heat on a cloudy day. He had no word for the brightness, but power or divinity came close. With each death, it grew stronger.

Mountains loomed ahead. They were marching into a place called Averen, though the name no longer possessed meaning for Hendric. He was aware of only one thing: The end was drawing near. He didn’t know what would end—the war, his life, the world, or perhaps all three. But with what vestige of desire that Hendric still possessed, he wanted the end to come. And come soon.

The activity was hectic on the last day before the troops departed. Yim saw nothing of Honus after breakfast. Having given him over to the campaign, she spent the day helping pack provisions and joined Honus only during the final dinner. This was not held in the hall, but outside with all the troops. It resembled a feast in that sheep were roasted over fire pits and the ale wasn’t watered, but the mood was somber. A table was brought out for the clan mother and the ranking guests, and they ate with the troops surrounding them.