[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers (16 page)

“Rise,” said Lord Bahl in a low voice that seemed to Yaun both sweet and harsh, like strong drink. It was as equally intoxicating. Upon hearing that single word, Yaun craved to hear more. “So you’re the count’s son who became squire to a hireling soldier, then servant boy to a Sarf. They found you drunk in Durkin with shit on your sleeves. Can you sink any lower?”

Yaun felt a surge of shame.

“At least the duke paid Alaric,” said Lord Bahl. “What did you get? Nothing! The same wages the Sarf paid. Nothing! The same as your inheritance. Nothing! I see a pattern here.”

Lord Bahl produced a dagger. “I believe this is yours.” He turned it in his hand, examining it. “The blade’s good.” He ran his finger along its edge. “Sharp. Do you poison it?”

“No, Lord.”

“I find it a useful practice. Yet then, one must decide which venom to employ. There are so many choices—slow and painful…paralyzing…quick…subtle. If you were to poison this blade, which one would you choose? I think the coward’s choice—quick.”

Bahl waved a hand and the two guards seized Yaun’s arms. The priest stepped forward, tore open Yaun’s shirt, and pulled it down behind his shoulders to expose his chest and stomach. Bahl grasped the dagger by its hilt. “Do you know how Alaric died?”

Yaun shook his head.

“Of course you wouldn’t. You were hiding, weren’t you? Well, they gutted him. He died tangled in his own intestines.” Bahl’s lips formed a mirthless grin. “Do you wonder how that felt?” The point of the dagger poked Yaun’s belly. “Be very still now. I have a surprise.”

Yaun screamed in pain and fear as the blade moved across his abdomen, parting flesh. Then he fainted. He was revived by an icy hand that forced him to look at his wound. There was a bloody line across his belly, but no entrails spilled from it. The hand released him. “Get up!” commanded Bahl.

Yaun rose shakily to his feet. His cut was painful, but superficial. Blood only trickled from it into his urine-soaked trousers.

“You’ve partly repaid your debt to me,” said Lord Bahl in his hypnotic voice, “and received a gift in return—your life. Moreover, a wound can be a valuable reminder. Hence-forward, your flesh will tear more easily there, but if you’re obedient, you needn’t worry.”

Yaun felt a wave of gratitude, followed by the urge to please Lord Bahl and so rise in his estimation.

“Reflect on what you’ve become,” continued Bahl. “How did you end up alone, groping through sewage for coins? Was that what you desired? Was that what you deserved? Think. Who did this to you? How should they be repaid?”

Bahl’s words made Yaun recall his brother’s good fortune, his father’s disappointment, and Honus’s scorn. The idea grew that these others were to blame for his woes. Resentment flared into hatred as the thought took hold.
They’re responsible! Nothing was my fault! They brought this on me!

Lord Bahl smiled as if he had read Yaun’s thoughts. “I’ve heard of your brother, so righteous and thin-blooded. I’m told he looks down upon your manly appetites. When he’s count, will you still sit at the high table? Will you even be seated in the hall? Perhaps you’ll be lucky, and he’ll toss you scraps as he does to his dogs, but only if you’re meek and beg like them.

“Perhaps you could pray to Karm and beg scraps from her also. You should have kissed that arrogant Sarf’s ass while you carried his pack. That was a missed opportunity.”

As Yaun listened, each word was a lash driving him to further frenzy.

“Durkin smolders as I speak and none of its folk live. Eastward lies Falsten, your father’s county. The Empire is crumbling while I grow mightier. What aid will Falsten receive if I turn on it? It’s time to choose sides. I could be harsh or merciful. I might make a treaty and spare Falsten. With which count should I parley? Your father? Your brother? Or you?”

“Me, Lord! Please! Let it be me!”

Bahl held out Yaun’s dagger. “Then take what you deserve! The Devourer blesses those who seize their due. Apply your anger! Use this weapon to clear your path.” Bahl handed Yaun the dagger and a small vial of liquid. “With this on your blade, the smallest prick will be deadly. When you’re count, you’ll need a priest. Most Holy Gorm will attend you.”

The black-robed priest bowed to Yaun. “Sire, already I perceive the Devourer’s power within you. It will be mighty when I see you next, for hate feeds strength.”

“Expect His Most Holy in a moon,” said Lord Bahl. “All things must be accomplished by then. He will tell you what troops I’ll require in satisfaction of our pact.”

Lord Bahl held out a hand for Yaun to kiss. When Yaun did so, the fingers’ otherworldly coldness stung his lips. Upon receiving that obeisance, Bahl turned and wordlessly left the room. Yaun shivered and was glad for the fire.

“You shall come to cherish that scar,” said Gorm. “It will remind you of the day that made you a count. There’s a horse waiting for you, but first some servants will tend your wound. Perhaps you would like them to bring ale.”

“Yes, Most Holy,” said Yaun, his voice reflecting a newfound assurance. “Ale would be good.”

From a window, Lord Bahl and Most Holy Gorm watched Yaun gallop off. “What a worm,” said the priest.

“That worm will grow into a viper,” said Bahl. “When a fool blames others for his faults, he finds much to avenge. Already Yaun seethes with hatred.”

“Yet, he’s a coward.”

“Give him power, and his cowardice will make him all the more cruel,” replied Bahl. “Nurture that cruelty, Gorm, but mind how you stir the people. This must be different from Lurwic. Discord will work against our purposes. I want Count Yaun to raise an army. A mob won’t do.”

“The Devourer is ever hungry, Lord. Restraint will diminish your power.”

“I just sacrificed Durkin.”

“A thousand souls at most,” said the priest. “A pittance.”

“Sometimes even a god must fast. Rile Yaun’s subjects, but direct their rancor outward. The Rising will come when we have sufficient blades. Then, even Bremven will feel their edges.”

Gorm grinned. “A bounty of souls for the Devourer.”

“Yes. Karvakken a hundred times over.”

NINETEEN

Y
IM WOKE
in the dim light of early dawn to find Honus asleep with Tabsha. Yim lay motionless awhile, but aches from a day spent stooping prevented further rest. Furthermore, the hovel oppressed her. Its closeness, its smell, and most of all, its atmosphere of despair soon drove her to rise. She quietly crawled out the doorway into the chill, dewy morning and paced about to warm herself.

Her labors, along with those of Honus and Tabsha, stretched before her—a patch of upturned dirt. It seemed insignificant. For two days, they had buried roots and beans in that ground, and in the upcoming day, they would finish the job.
Burying all that food in hopes of a harvest. Is it an act of faith or futility?
She thought of the hungry time ahead and doubted Tabsha would reap her crop. It was a dismal thought, and her future seemed equally bleak.

Who will ever take joyous memories of me to the Dark Path?
Yim could think of no one. Her mother had died at her birth and she couldn’t remember her father’s face. All she recalled were his beatings. The Wise Woman who had raised her had not been unkind, but she had been distant. Yim couldn’t envision that cold woman mourning her parting. As for her, she had no treasured moment, no instance of bliss to sustain her.
All my life has been for duty, and this is where obedience has led.

Yim had not cried when she had been captured. Chained in the filthy slave pen, she had been stoic. She had fought tears at every occasion and usually won. But the horror of her latest vision made her fear that Karm had forsaken her. As Yim stood alone in the dank morning, her sorrow burst forth and overwhelmed her. She cried for the loss of hope. She cried for herself. She cried for Tabsha and the ruined land about her. In her despair, she became oblivious of everything. Her sobs racked her until she had to gasp for breath.

Then Yim became aware of another presence and turned to see Honus standing outside the hovel. She had no idea how long he had been watching. The expression beneath his tattoos was inscrutable to her tear-blurred eyes. Yim looked away and struggled to stifle her sobs. She gazed in Honus’s direction only after mastering her emotions. By then, he was gone.

Yim walked over to the hovel and called into it with a low voice. “Master, should I gather some breakfast?”

“Take Tabsha with you,” said Honus, “and show her where you found the tubers.”

Yim heard Tabsha make a sleepy sigh, and she assumed that Honus was waking her. Soon Tabsha emerged carrying an empty basket. She stretched to ease her stiffness, saying, “Plantin’ be ’ard work.”

“It is,” agreed Yim. As she led Tabsha to the swampy spot, she asked, “Don’t you collect wild foods?”

“Mah mam be afeared o’ the woods, so I larned little from ’er,” replied Tabsha. “Toff larned me ’bout settin’ snares, but wolves usually empty them. There be some berries in summer. Apples in fall, though they be ’ard an’ bitter.”

“Well, I can show you faerie arrow and fox sword. Both have tubers even this time of year.”

“Tha’ would be good. Spring be always ’ard.”

Tabsha fell silent while Yim pondered how to help her survive. Those thoughts led to an obvious question, and Yim gave voice to it. “Why do you live alone? Don’t you have any family?”

“Nay.”

“Then, why not leave and live elsewhere?”

Tabsha seemed surprised by Yim’s suggestion, as if it were absurd. “Mah ’usband and mah childs be buried ’ere.”

They reached the wet ground where the faerie arrows grew and worked to fill most of the basket before wading out into deeper water for fox sword. Those plants were harder to uproot, and they took only a few of their thick, branching tubers. Afterward, Yim tried to find every edible plant she could and show them to Tabsha. She located only a few after much searching.

When Yim and Tabsha returned, they found signs that Honus had been watering the new plantings. Before they entered the hovel to cook, he emerged from the woods carrying the two buckets filled with water.

“Master,” said Yim, “can I have some water for cooking?”

Honus brought over a bucket. While Tabsha started a fire, Yim filled the clay cooking pot with fox sword tubers and water, then returned the bucket to Honus. After joining Tabsha in the hovel, she heard him empty the bucket and trudge off to the stream for more water.

“Do ’e always work so ’ard?” asked Tabsha.

“I don’t know,” replied Yim. “He’s owned me for only a few days.”

Tabsha nodded, but made no further conversation. Yim filled the silence with talk of practical matters. “Fox sword tubers have to be boiled until the water turns brown before you can eat them. And never drink the cooking water, it’ll pucker your mouth.” As Yim cooked, she continued to instruct Tabsha on the storage and preparation of the various plants they had collected. Tabsha listened mutely, as one unaccustomed to talking. Her demeanor discouraged more personal conversation and Yim lapsed into silence upon finishing her instruction. She spoke again only when she heard Honus outside. “I can watch this, if you want to start planting.”

Tabsha rose quickly, obviously eager to exchange Yim’s company for Honus’s. Yim felt more at ease after Tabsha left. Despite her sympathy for Toff’s widow, she yearned to leave the dispirited woman and her dismal home.

When the pot finally boiled, Yim stirred the tubers to leach out their astringent juice. When the cooking water turned brown, she used a pair of sticks to place the tubers on a slab of wood that served as Tabsha’s only plate. Then she took the meal outside. Honus was away getting more water, so Yim helped Tabsha plant until he arrived. When he did, the two stopped work to eat with him.

“Master, we should finish by noon,” said Yim.

Her statement elicited the desired response. “Tabsha,” said Honus. “I must resume my journey once the planting’s done.”

Tabsha nodded without betraying any emotion.

Yim took Tabsha’s indifferent response as evidence that she had withdrawn into her shell. That impression made Yim all the more eager to depart. “Will we leave today, Master?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Honus.

After the meal, they resumed work. By early afternoon, the crops were planted and watered. Honus put on his sword and told Yim to get the pack. Then he bowed to Tabsha. “Mother, we must take our leave.”

“Thank ya, sire,” said Tabsha.

“I’m guided by Karm. If I’ve helped you, it’s her doing. If I haven’t, it’s my failing. May her peace be upon you.” As Honus bowed again to Tabsha, Yim shouldered the pack. “Come, Yim,” said Honus, as he strode away. Yim hurried to keep apace. When she reached the road, she looked back. Tabsha had vanished like a ghost, leaving only the empty field to recall her.

As Yim and Honus walked down the road, Honus looked tired and his gait betrayed the soreness of his muscles. They didn’t speak. Yim felt uncomfortable, for after their stay with Tabsha, Honus seemed more baffling.

The Wise Woman had taught Yim several arcane arts. The technique Yim used to call up Mirien’s spirit was only one of them. Like Honus, Yim could discern thoughts by gazing into a person’s eyes, and she also knew how to shield herself against such an inspection. Both these skills sometimes occurred naturally in people, though to a lesser degree. Thus Yim once had thought that she could probe Honus without arousing his suspicion. She had abandoned the idea.
He suspects too much already,
she thought, regretting her outburst about her visions. That indiscretion made it all the more important to appear ordinary.

Forgoing use of her uncommon powers forced Yim to fall back on observation and conversation to understand Honus. Honus frustrated these, for while he was sometimes talkative, he was always guarded. Yim, accustomed to easy insight into people, keenly felt her uncertainty.

Honus’s visit with Tabsha particularly perplexed Yim. She could ascribe a wide range of motives for it, from base to noble.
He might have sought her out for carnal reasons, believing her to be still young and beautiful…or, perhaps, he helped her at Karm’s direction…or to spite me…or to atone for something…or to honor Toff’s devotion.
Yim liked the last idea best, but she had no inkling if it was closest to the truth.