[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (2 page)

Daijen hurried in the door. “I’m here secretly,” he said. “I want to see the head priest.”

“He’s at his meat in the order hall, More Holy One. Would you care to join him?”

“Are you deaf?” snapped Daijen. “I said this is a secret visit. I want a private meeting.”

The elderly priest bowed. “I’ll take you to his chambers and inform him that you’re there.”

“Tell him to come at once.”

“As you wish, More Holy One.” The walls of the entrance hall were paneled with gold reliefs, and the priest walked over to one that depicted a battle. He pressed one of the shields in the relief and twisted it. The panel swung inward to reveal a narrow stairway. “This goes directly to the
 head priest’s chambers,” he said. Then, taking a candle from a wall sconce, he led the way.

The head priest’s chambers were gaudy and lavish, with furnishings that seemed more for display than comfort. Daijen eyed the carved, gilded chairs and decided to stand. He didn’t stand long before the head priest rushed in, his fleshy face red from exertion. He bowed low toward Daijen. “Welcome, More Holy One. How may I serve you?”

“Are you aware that the Devourer is displeased?”

The head priest paled. “How can that be? We’ve reaped many souls for our master. Karm’s temple is destroyed.”

“Our god is never sated,” replied Daijen.

“We’ve remained diligent,” said the head priest in a nervous voice. “Throughout Vinden, we’ve stirred the folk. Karm’s servants are hunted people.”

“Nevertheless, someone in Bremven has cheated our master of its due.”

“Who? When?”

“That’s what I’m here to learn.”

“We’ll assist you in every way possible. You need only tell me your requirements.”

“Secrecy, first of all. Who met me at the door?”

“That would be Grune.”

“Sacrifice him,” said Daijen. “Immediately.”

The head priest bowed low. “It will be done, More Holy One.”

“This is the last time you’ll see me. I require gold and clothes in the Averen style that would befit a common merchant. I’ll be staying at the Blue Mountain Inn under the name of Rangar. Find someone to serve as messenger, someone who can’t be traced to here. I need to know about every Sarf, Seer, and Bearer who was in Bremven, however briefly, after the fall of Karm’s temple.”

The head priest bowed again. “All this will be accomplished, More Holy One. May I do anything else? Perhaps you’d like refreshment.”

“I’ll have meat and wine. Red wine. Bring it yourself along with Grune’s head.”

Daijen watched the color leave the head priest’s face.
 
Living in Bremven has made him soft 
, he thought.
 
He wouldn’t last long in Lord Bahl’s court 
.

Three days after Daijen’s arrival, winds from the north eased the heat in Bremven. By then, he had received a promising lead and ventured out to pursue it. Standing near a merchant’s lavish home, he observed a young woman leave. Dressed as a house slave, she was carrying a large bundle toward the docks. Daijen followed at a distance, but as the woman neared a trading vessel he hurried to catch her. When she turned at the sound of his rapid footsteps, Daijen called to her in an Averen accent. “Mistress? Mistress, could you help me?”

As soon as the woman’s eyes met his, Daijen sensed that she was attracted to him. He was a handsome man, and his pale gray eyes would have been appealing even without their supernatural powers. Daijen smiled and watched the woman blush. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” said Daijen in a timid voice. “You look like you’re from my homeland and… and I do na know where to turn. I was hoping you might help me.”

“How?”

“My name’s Rangar, Mistress. I came to join my older brother. He served in Karm’s temple and …” Daijen’s voice choked off, and his eyes filled with tears.

“Your brother’s dead, isn’t he?” asked the woman in a gentle voice.

Daijen let out a sob. “Aye, Mistress.”

“Call me Gurdy. I’m no one’s mistress, just a house slave.”

“I see na slave, only a kindly face.” Daijen wiped his eyes and gazed at Gurdy with a look of hope and trust. “I’m a
 stranger here, and the place is thick with the Devourer’s followers.”

“How can I help you?” asked Gurdy, clearly eager to be of some service.

“I seek to work for someone who still respects the Balance.”

Gurdy beamed. “You’re in luck! My master still honors Karm. He’s a cloth merchant, the richest one in Bremven. He always needs men for his caravans. His name’s Commodus.”

“But would he dare hire someone with ties to Karm’s temple?”

“My master’s unafraid of the black-robed ones. Until just recently, a Sarf lived with us. My own mistress became his Bearer.”

“It’s a comfort to know na everyone’s forsaken the goddess. But how could a woman become a Bearer after the temple had fallen?”

“I’ve no idea,” replied Gurdy. “I didn’t understand it then, and I don’t now. I’ve no idea why Yim would even want to be a Bearer. She gave up a lot.”

“Yim?”

“That was my mistress’s name. Actually, she was my mistress for only a day. She was a slave before then. When she became my master’s ward, I was to attend her. She left the very first night, and when she came back with Honus, she was a Bearer. I don’t know how it happened, it just did.”

“Who’s Honus?”

“Her Sarf. He became her Sarf when she became a Bearer.” Gurdy sighed. “Then it was back to being a house slave for me. Yim gave up her lovely room and slept in humble quarters, though she and Honus dined with the master.”

“Your tale seems proof that Karm has na forsaken Bremven.” Daijen gazed affectionately at Gurdy, then lowered his voice to a more intimate tone. “As does your kindness.”

Gurdy flushed. “It’s nothing.”

“It means everything to me,” said Daijen. “Can I carry your bundle? It looks heavy.”

“I can manage. The boat’s right ahead.”

As Daijen watched Gurdy rush off to deliver her package, he was satisfied that he had learned everything of use from her. Nevertheless, he didn’t depart. Daijen disliked leaving loose ends.

When Gurdy returned to the wharf, she was pleased to find her new acquaintance waiting. “Would you say Commodus is an understanding man?” he asked.

“He’s very kind.”

“Then surely he will na begrudge you a little rest. It’s pleasant on the riverbank.” The man Gurdy knew as Rangar held out a small golden-brown pastry. “I’ve a berry tart. Will you share it with me?”

Gurdy needed no persuasion. She followed Rangar away from the busy wharf to a quiet stretch of river and a sun-warmed stone on its shore. There she removed her sandals and dangled her feet in the clear flowing water. Her companion did likewise and handed her the tart. Its sweetness complemented Gurdy’s mood. “Oh Rangar, this is so good! You must taste it!”

Rangar didn’t look at the tart. Instead, he gazed lovingly into her eyes as he touched a finger to the corner of her mouth and drew it away bearing a drop of berry juice. Delicately and slowly, he licked his fingertip. In a soulful voice he said, “It’s luscious.”

Gurdy felt she was in a romantic tale. She was no longer plain, or even a slave. Everything faded compared to the enchanting eyes that fixed on hers. She bit into the tart, smearing her lips with red sweetness. “Would you like another taste?”

Rangar’s hand gently brushed Gurdy’s cheek, then traveled to caress the back of her neck. With exquisite slowness,
 his lips moved toward hers. Gurdy was transfixed with anticipation. She felt the warmth of his breath, then the softness of his lips. Then a stab of pain broke the spell. “Ow!” she cried.

Rangar’s gaze seemed to follow something in the sky. “A hornet!” he said. “Did it sting you?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Gurdy, touching the back of her neck.

“It must have been drawn by the tart. Are you all right?” “I think so, but it hurts.”

Rangar bent over to wave his hand in the water. For an instant, Gurdy thought she saw something shiny fall from his fingertips and tumble into the depths. Then Rangar withdrew his wet hand to rub her neck. His touch was not only cool and soothing but also tender, and Gurdy became convinced that her eyes had been tricked.
 
I saw only a reflection 
, she thought. “Oh Rangar, that feels good.”

“I’m glad,” he replied. “But you should get out of the sun.”

“Maybe I should. I feel a little woozy.”

Rangar stood and helped Gurdy rise. “I’d walk you back to your master’s house, but perhaps we should na be seen together.”

“Why?” asked Gurdy, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

“Your master may na hire me if he knows I care for you. It’d be better if people think we’re strangers when we meet again.”

“I’ll keep your secret,” said Gurdy. She touched Rangar’s cheek as she moved closer to him, berry juice still coloring her pursed lips.

Rangar bent down to fasten his sandals. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” replied Gurdy with a sigh. “We’ll meet again tomorrow.” She put on her sandals.

While Rangar remained on the riverbank, Gurdy headed
 back to her master’s house. There she kept her delicious secret as she worked the rest of the day polishing the huge dining hall table. It seemed to her that the day had turned hot, and the heat made her dizzy. She went to bed without eating dinner and lay upon her straw-filled mattress, drenched in sweat. When she fell into a fitful sleep, heat entered her dream.

Gurdy stood alone on a featureless plain where the sun beat down from an empty sky. It was oppressively hot. “Come into the shade,” said a voice. Gurdy turned and saw Rangar standing in a patch of shadow. Neither had been there before. As Gurdy walked toward him, she realized that she was naked and the heat didn’t radiate from the sun, but from Rangar’s eyes. She stepped into the shade, and it turned cold. Rangar’s mouth was smeared with red.
 
Berry juice 
, Gurdy thought. She moved to kiss it away.

THREE

THE FOLLOWING
morning found Commodus in his counting room. He stared listlessly out the window, for the news of Gurdy’s death had made him melancholy. Jev, his steward, had been terse in reporting her demise, remarking that Gurdy “looked ill” last evening and her mattress was soaked with sweat when they found her. With dry eyes, Jev had supposed she died of a fever and let the matter rest.

Commodus couldn’t let it rest so easily. He mourned the young woman, not because he cared for her especially, but because it seemed that nobody did. The more Commodus thought of Gurdy’s lonely death, the more he thought of
 Yim’s sentiments on slavery. She had wanted him to free Gurdy. Despite his respect for Yim, he had scoffed at the idea and said Gu
rdy was happy, with all her need
s met. Upon recalling his arguments, Commodus felt they rang hollow. The silken robe that Gurdy would wear upon her funeral pyre had cost him more than she did.

A knock interrupted his musings. “Yes,” said Commodus.

Jev’s voice came from behind the door. “Sire, a young trader wishes to speak with you.”

“I told you I’d see no one.”

“It’s about gold brocade, sire. He wants to order two dozen bolts.”

“Did you say two 
dozen?”

“Yes, sire. Two dozen.”

Commodus opened the door. “Do you know him?”

“No, sire,” replied Jev. “He says his name is Rangar and that he comes from Averen.”

“They don’t wear such finery in Averen,” said Commodus with puzzlement. “Still, two dozen bolts. I guess I’ll see him.”

Jev ushered in a stranger carrying a parchment-wrapped bundle and then departed. Commodus met his visitor suspiciously, for he didn’t like the man’s eyes. “My steward says you’re interested in gold brocade.”

“Yes,” replied the man. “My name’s Rangar, sire, and I’m new to Bremven. I’d like to commission a pattern. The client will provide the gold.”

“That’s not the common practice,” said Commodus, glancing at the bundle. “I think your client’s overtrusting.” When he looked up and saw that Rangar was regarding him with a piercing gaze, he grew angry and glanced away. “I know that look! And I can defeat it!”

“I needed assurance that you’re honest.”

“That’s one use for that trick, but only one.”

“Please, sire. I beg your pardon. I’ve been cheated so often, I probe thoughts out of caution. You possess the same ability, otherwise you wouldn’t have detected me.”

“If you had asked around, you’d know my reputation.”

“I did, sire. And forsooth, it sounded too good to be true. I’ve even heard tell that you sheltered a Bearer and her Sarf when most now lack the courage to honor the goddess.”

Commodus looked at Rangar sharply. “Who told you that?”

“A slave girl. She babbled on and on about it.”

“You’ve questioned one of my slaves?”

“Of course not. I merely asked directions. She volunteered the rest.”

“Well, you shouldn’t listen to a slave girl’s prattle. I sheltered no one.” Commodus glanced at his visitor, saw that he wasn’t deceived, and quickly changed the subject. Pointing to the parchment-covered bundle, he asked, “Is that a sample of the pattern?”