The Iron Palace (49 page)

“How grandiose are your delusions and how arrogant,” said Yim. “The goddess has thwarted you before, and she’ll do so again.”

“What do you expect from your defiance? My respect? My annoyance?”

“I expect nothing from you. I’m merely stating the truth.”

“You sound pathetic with your false bravado. But I didn’t come to bandy words. Now listen to me: I’ve brought two men to make a cast of your face. If you cooperate, your remaining time will be easy. If you don’t, I’ll subdue you with potions, and after the cast is made, I’ll have you tortured with venomed needles.”

“I’ll behave,” said Yim.

“See that you do.”

Gorm opened the door and ushered in two men who weren’t dressed as priests. The younger of the pair had a good-sized wooden box that was slung from his shoulder by a leather strap. As he set it on the floor, Gorm addressed
the older man. “Ring the bell if she causes you the slightest trouble.”

“I shall, Most Holy One.”

“I want it made of gold. The More Holy One will provide all you need. This mask will become a keepsake, so its interior should be a perfect likeness. But the exterior features mustn’t resemble hers. Make the eyes closed and the expression peaceful. A half smile would be a fitting touch.”

“We shall, Most Holy One. Will it require straps? And should we make allowance for a gag?”

“Neither will be necessary, for she’ll be rendered unable to speak or move.”

Gorm cast Yim a wry smile. “So now you’ve learned you’ll be under the power of a potion. But also know this: Although you’ll be completely helpless, you’ll be fully aware and feel everything.”

With those words, Gorm left the chamber. Yim glimpsed Tymec beyond the door. He seemed about to return when Gorm pulled him aside and began talking in a low voice. Before Yim could make out anything he said, Gorm shut the door. Yim turned her attention to the two strangers. One was mixing water and white powder in a bowl. The other approached her bearing a small jar. “My lady, we’ll be taking an impression of your face by covering it with plaster. ’Tis like mud that hardens quickly. While it does, you mustn’t move. You’ll breathe through straws in your nostrils. This grease will prevent the plaster from sticking to your eyebrows, lashes, or skin.”

Soon, Yim’s grease-coated face was encrusted by a thick layer of plaster, which grew warmer the longer it was in place. The men tapped the covering occasionally to monitor its hardening. As she waited for it to be removed, she heard one man say, “Get the gold right away; this must be done in two days.”

“Two days for such a work!”

“Aye, and the Most Holy One expects perfection.”

“By the circle, we’ll get not a wink of sleep.”

“That’s for sure. We have only till two bells afore sundown of the second day, not a moment more.”

As Yim listened, she felt certain that she had just learned when she would die.

Honus’s first step in rescuing Yim was to sleep. If his reckless endeavor had any chance of success, it would require flawless execution, and he knew a rested body and mind would be essential. Having a goal allowed him to focus on achieving it. Thus, to save Yim, he willed himself to forget her awhile and doze.

After Honus woke in the afternoon, he decided to take his first gamble. The only way into the Iron Palace seemed through its gate, so he needed to observe the traffic passing through it. Simply exiting the crevice in daylight was risky, and from then on, the risks would escalate. To improve his odds, Honus made some preparations. First, he took a piece of hardbread and crushed it into powder with a stone. Then he meticulously picked out specks of fat from a sausage until he collected a sizable lump. He mixed the fat with the powered hardbread to make a paste, adding pinches of dirt and a few drops of his blood until it approximated the color of flesh. Then he smeared it on his face to hide his tattoos. Honus had no way of telling if the paste covered his dark-blue markings or whether he had applied it well. The best he could hope was that he wouldn’t be recognized as a Sarf; being a stranger in Bahland was perilous enough.

Next, Honus adjusted the straps on his scabbard and his sword belt so he could wear his sword on his back. That way, his cloak would hide it better, although he’d have to shed it to reach the hilt. Honus was well aware that drawing his blade outside the palace would be a last resort and the first act in a final stand.

Having made those preparations, Honus ate the mangled sausage, grabbed a water skin, and made a quick exit
from his hiding place. He headed away from the palace, taking advantage of what cover could be had, and traced a circuitous route toward the palace gate. He was unable to approach it closely, for the grounds surrounding the palace were kept clear of any growth that might hide an enemy. Nevertheless, he was able to observe the comings and goings on the road from a clump of weeds.

Honus noted numerous motley batches of young men who were marched by soldiers toward the palace. He assumed they were fresh conscripts. Other human traffic was more sporadic, but it moved in both directions. Honus spotted squads of foot soldiers, cavalry troops, many black-robed priests, and all sorts of common folk. He also saw a great deal of wagon traffic. The influx of recruits indicated that the huge palace was a garrison. That meant it was probably as populous as a city and possessed all a city’s needs for food, fuel, and fodder.

Most of the wagons on the road were returning from the palace empty. That seemed to mark a pattern of morning deliveries. Honus recalled his and Yim’s trip to Bremven with Hamin the wool trader. Hamin had parked his wagon in a camp that catered to wagoners who were forced to wait for the city gate to open. It made Honus think that there might be a similar place nearby.

Honus saw no point in looking for the wagoners’ campground until late at night. The waning moon wouldn’t rise until early in the morning, providing ample time for his search. When dusk came, Honus moved his sword back to its customary position, and wiped the paste from his face. A blue face would be harder to see at night, as would the way a sword on the hip changed the drape of a cloak.

It was long after sunset when Honus followed the road toward the town. He found the wagon camp easily. All that remained of its campfires were a few dull embers, and there was no sound of anyone stirring. Honus skirted the camp’s perimeter until he saw a wagon to his liking. It was piled
high with hay. He crept toward the wagon, only to discover that its driver was asleep on his load. Honus continued looking, but after reviewing his other options, he returned to his original choice. He crept over to the hay wagon, climbed up its low wooden side, and rolled over its top rail, all the while hoping the wagoner wasn’t a light sleeper. The weight of his body partly wedged him between the wagon’s side and the pile of loose hay. In the quiet night, the rustling of the hay seemed loud to his ears.

Honus froze, listening for sounds from the man above. The wagoner stirred a bit, then settled down. Honus was by no means hidden, but he took his time worming into the hay, moving only sporadically and in short bursts. Eventually, he was out of sight. Then, as slowly as he had done the burrowing, Honus pushed his hand through the hay to grasp his sword hilt.

When that was done, Honus meditated so he would be calm enough to sleep. In the morning, the wagon’s movements would serve to wake him. When the hay was unloaded, he would rise from it, sword in hand. What would happen next would depend on what he encountered. Honus assumed that he would emerge in a stable, but he had no idea where in the palace it would be or whom he would face. If he survived his arrival, his only plan was to try to enter the main building, head for the upper floors, and see what developed. He hadn’t a clue as to what to expect, but it seemed likely that once he drew his sword he’d never sheath it again.

Y
IM WOKE
with a start, just as she had done ever since she had become a prisoner. This time, something more alarming than a nightmare occupied her thoughts.
Do I have one or two days left to live?
Yim had lost her sense of time because she had no way to mark its passing. The windowless room never changed. Her meals followed no schedule, for Tymec fed her only when she asked. Furthermore, she slept erratically, and the young priest never left the room. After his conversation with Gorm, he avoided eye contact and seldom answered her questions. Nevertheless, Yim attempted to speak with him. “How long have I been here?”

Tymec silently gazed elsewhere.

Yim recalled how she had once forced Commodus to tell the truth and had even been able to probe Gorm’s thoughts briefly. She thought she could easily do the same with Tymec.
But I’ll have to look him in the eyes
. Yim thought of a ploy that might work. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and shy. “I know I’m doomed. I was wondering … well … hoping that … Oh, Tymec, will you tup me?”

That got his attention. Tymec glanced at Yim, and in that instant, she pounced. The priest’s eyes widened when he realized that he couldn’t look away.

“When’s the suckling?”

“I don’t know.”

Yim knew he was telling the truth. “When did those men come?”

“Yesterday morn.”

Yim assumed that meant she would die tomorrow evening. In her desperation, she decided to test the full extent of her power. Instead of simply extracting information from Tymec, she would try to force him to do her bidding. Yim summoned all her will and directed it at the priest held captive by her gaze. “Unchain me.”

“I can’t. I don’t have the key.”

In full control of Tymec’s mind, Yim no longer doubted anything he said. “Then go get it.”

“I can’t. I’m locked in the room with you.”

Certain that Tymec would have attempted to get the key if he had been able, Yim tried to think of what else he might do to help her.
I could have him ring the bell. That would get the door opened, but it might also summon Gorm
. She rejected the idea. Then she thought of her comb with its neigin seeds.
They would make me immune to Gorm’s potion
. Yim envisioned herself popping up just before the ritual began and pulling off her golden mask to expose Gorm’s duplicity to Froan.

“Come here,” said Yim. Tymec obeyed. “Feel my hair in the back. You’ll find a small comb. Take it out.” Yim lifted her head, and Tymec did as he was told. When he had the comb in his hand, Yim spoke again. “Pull off those little seeds and put them in my mouth.” Tymec pried the seeds off with his nails and pushed them—one by one—past Yim’s lips. There were three in all. Yim cracked them between her teeth and her mouth filled with a bitter taste.
It’s done
, she thought.

Tymec still leaned over the bed, totally in her power. Yim pondered if there was anything else she should force him to do, but she couldn’t think of anything. Then she remembered the comb. “Put it back in my hair.” After Tymec did that, she said, “Forget this happened and especially forget that I asked you to tup me.”

Tymec sprang back like a small animal released from a
snare. As he retreated to a corner of the room, his gaze looked vacant. Yim hoped the effect was only temporary. The bitter taste in her mouth grew more intense. “Could I have a sip of wine?” she asked.

Tymec walked over to the table and filled the golden goblet. When he brought it over to her, Yim tried to see if the empty look had departed from his eyes. She couldn’t tell, because he kept his face turned away.

The wagon ride to the Iron Palace was fraught with delays, but from his hiding place Honus didn’t know their causes. After the better part of the morning, the sound made by the wagon’s wheels altered as they began to roll over smooth stone paving. That seemed to indicate they had passed through the palace gate. Soon the wagon halted, and Honus heard a voice call out. “Where to?”

“Holy ones’ stable, middle bay. Give this to the tithe master.”

“That’s only two tallies!”

“New lord, new tithes. Complain to him.”

“I’ve a mind to.”

“Ha!”

The wagon began moving again. Then it halted. Honus heard the driver climb down, muttering. Next, he heard the squeal of rusty hinges. Soon afterward, the wagon moved forward a short distance and halted once more. This time, it remained still. Honus heard the driver climb down again. Honus prepared to spring from his hiding place, but before he did, he waited and listened. After a while, it seemed to him that someone other than the driver would unload the hay.

Instead of bursting from his hiding place, Honus emerged as quietly as possible. He quickly glanced around to get his bearings. As he had expected, he was in a stable. It was large, but smaller than one of a cavalry regiment. There were also
people working at tending horses and cleaning stalls.
Soon one will come to unload this hay
, thought Honus. He silently dropped to the floor and scurried from the wagon to crouch behind a small pile of hay. It didn’t offer much concealment, but because it was close to the open door, it provided a view of the palace courtyard.

The courtyard was spacious, despite the fact that a huge iron-covered building occupied much of it. Honus assumed the structure was Lord Bahl’s residence and the likely site of Yim’s imprisonment. That made it his objective. He estimated that the building was at least a hundred paces from his position. The open space between the stable and Bahl’s iron residence was paved with black stone. It was also alive with activity: Soldiers drilled. Common folk moved about, some purposely and some looking lost. Wagoners made deliveries. Flocks of sheep and a herd of cattle were driven by peasants. A man and a woman were being impaled on stakes as a crowd watched. Oil-smeared men pushed handcarts filled with buckets and ropes. Many men and women in black livery hurried to and fro. The abundant priests moved at a statelier pace.

Honus pondered how he could get his tattooed face past so many eyes without provoking an alarm. While he was thinking, he heard someone coming. Honus retreated into an empty stall. As he heard the sound of hay being forked and thrown, he peered from the stall. There was a door close by. It was open, revealing a room where tack was stored. Along with saddles, bridles, and such, Honus saw something of use. He darted into the room.