[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (21 page)

“When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know. I have no plans. I’ll stay until Karm directs me elsewhere, or you tire of me.”

“I’ll never do that,” said Cara. “We’ll grow old together.” She quickly made the Sign of the Balance. “Karm willing.” Then she bounced up and down like an overanxious child. “But zounds, Yim,
 
please 
tell me 
something!”

While Yim washed, she began an abbreviated account of her adventures since she last saw Cara. She continued it after she changed into her old slave’s tunic, which still served her as a nightgown, and climbed into bed beside her friend. Yim omitted a great deal in an attempt to seem as unremarkable
 as possible. She didn’t speak of visions, raising spirits, the malign presence in the ruined temple, or her encounter with Lila. Since Yim had once used her powers to force truth from Cara, she did speak of doing the same to the Devourer’s priest. However, Yim didn’t describe the aftermath. She related the incident with Gatt as a series of combats in which Honus finally triumphed and won her heart.

For her part, Cara kept mostly silent, except for uttering “Zounds!” at dramatic moments and asking a few pertinent questions. She looked thoughtful throughout the narration, and Yim had little doubt that Cara was weighing everything she said and finding much missing.

Yim awoke alone. Sunlight was streaming through the room’s tiny windows. By its angle Yim saw that she had slept late into the morning. She glanced about for her clothes and for the first time noticed that the room had once been a cottage. Its front door and some of its windows had been sealed up, but their outlines were still visible, and the ancient wooden floor was most worn around the former doorway. The room’s fireplace was hearth-sized and still had pothooks.
 
Cara called this Dar’s room
, thought Yim, suspecting it had been the clan founder’s home. She imagined a long line of women living in the space, ruling a growing clan and adding to the cottage until it became a manor house.

Yim continued looking for her clothes, but could find only her sandals. A short-sleeved gown of finely woven wool lay next to them, making Yim think it was intended for her. The gown wasn’t dark blue, the appropriate shade for a Bearer, but bluish-gray. Thus she donned the garment reluctantly, feeling that it diminished her standing. After Yim dressed, she opened the door and found a young woman waiting outside. The woman bowed immediately. “Good morning, Karmamatus. Clan Mother says I’m to serve you.”

“I have a Sarf for that. Where is he?”

“Waiting for you, Karmamatus. Shall I take you to him?”

“Please. And what happened to my clothes?”

“They’re being washed and mended, Karmamatus.”

Yim was inclined to ask the servant to call her “Yim,” but thought better of it. Cronin seemed to have questioned her sanctity at dinner, and she was currently dressed like an ordinary woman. The servant led Yim to a small room off the kitchen that seemed an informal dining area. Honus was seated but rose immediately when Yim entered. He bowed. “Good morning, Karmamatus.”

Honus’s formality bothered Yim until she gazed at his face. His loving look was stronger than ever. She had missed his closeness in the night, and she felt certain that he had missed her equally. “Did you sleep well, Honus?”

“The mattress was soft.” Honus smiled wryly. “But the company was abundant.” Then his voice turned wistful as he gazed into Yim’s eyes. “Sleeping outdoors had greater charms.”

Yim was about to agree, but said instead, “And greater temptations.”

“Yes,” said Honus, looking away. “Those also.”

“Would Karmamatus like some porridge?” asked the serving woman.

“Yes, please,” said Yim.

When the woman left, Yim spoke to Honus in a low voice. “What did Cronin say to you last night? I’ve seldom seen you in such a state.”

“He didn’t like what you said, so he was disinclined to believe your authority.” Honus paused. “Last night, you said that one can’t fight the Devourer. Before, you were only uncertain it was possible.”

“Perhaps I spoke too strongly,” said Yim. “However, I’ve begun to think that fighting is futile.”

“But you’re not certain?” said Honus, his tone betraying hopefulness.

Yim responded to Honus’s tone rather than his question. “What went on between you?”

“Cronin has a plan. Perhaps you should hear it.”

“It wasn’t talk of strategy that left you devastated.”

“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?”