[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers (20 page)

As Yim was borne down the path, she reflected how goatherders similarly carried injured animals. She wavered between believing Honus bore her solely out of practicality and supposing he had tender motives. Her brief glimpse into his spirit hinted at the latter, but she didn’t wish to dwell on it.
His emotions were contradictory,
Yim told herself.
It’s impossible to know how he feels. He certainly doesn’t.
She was sure of only one thing: Whatever Honus’s feelings were, they would complicate her life.

TWENTY-TWO

E
XCEPT FOR
moaning whenever her wounded leg was jostled, Yim was silent as Honus carried her. Still, her body spoke to him. He sensed her exhaustion by the way she slumped over his back. The crusted blood on her cuts and scrapes, the hotness of her swollen thigh, and the rope burns on her ankles told of her pain. Honus tried to carry her as gently as possible, though he was still shaky from his own ordeal. He approved of Yim’s stoicism, so he respected her silence and didn’t ask why she had lied to him.

Honus’s own body bore evidence of Yim’s deception. His wrists had marks left by bonds. Unless a headless man had bound him, Yim’s version of events was false. Honus decided to discover what really had happened before confronting Yim. Until then, he would let her rest.

When Honus reached the campsite, he waded into the river and set Yim upon one of the ruined bridge’s stone piers. It was broad enough to lie upon and low enough for her to dangle her leg in the water. “You can rest here,” he said. “Bathe your leg. It’ll ease the pain and swelling. While you do that, I’ll try to find some food.”

Yim only nodded and lowered her leg into the river.

Honus returned to the ford and discovered Yim’s severed bonds. He also found fresh wood chips close to the stump of a sapling. Trimmed-off branches littered the ground. The evidence indicated that Yim had cut down the sapling and fashioned a spear from it.

When Honus had gleaned all he could from the area around the ford, he walked to the castle. The shattered skull at the gatehouse presented a deeper mystery. Honus picked up a piece of the skull. His hands were unable to detect the remnants of the spell, but the runes on the bone bespoke magic. The broken edges of the shard were un-weathered, causing Honus to surmise that the skull had been shattered recently. He suspected that the act might be related to the previous night’s events. The latter thought made him uneasy, as did all magic. He felt that the handiwork on the skull was something unnatural and inclined toward evil.

A patch of weeds close to the broken skull had been trampled, and Honus discovered Yim’s footprints there. It suggested that the skull and Yim were somehow connected. Honus entered the ruined gatehouse and spied the cut cord dangling in the doorway. He examined it. The cord was identical to one he found threaded through a shard of the skull.
Whoever cut down that skull probably also smashed it.
Recalling that Yim had the knife when she found him, Honus thought she was the likely one. Still, he couldn’t imagine why she would do such a thing.

Honus entered the courtyard seeking answers to his growing list of questions. He found more severed cords dangling in empty doorways, but no more skulls. He entered the keep, which stank of the boiling caldron. The fetid smell evoked Honus’s terrifying dream of imprisonment in a lightless void. He tried to push the memory from his mind, but it lingered on the edges of his thoughts as he entered the circular hall.

The dusty floor was marked by a maze of footprints. Honus followed a trail made by Yim’s bare feet to a shattered spear fashioned from a sapling. Nearby lay a bronze sword. Honus regarded the remnants of the spear, amazed that Yim would fight a swordsman with such a feeble weapon. His astonishment increased when he examined the sword. Its blade felt slightly sticky. Honus sniffed the bronze and lightly touched his tongue to it. The numbness on his tongue confirmed his suspicion that the blade was poisoned with a paralyzing venom.
There’s no way she could have prevailed against this weapon.
He recalled a wound on Yim’s foot that might have been a sword cut. Then he spied severed bonds and a long brass needle lying on the floor. These clues suggested a seemingly impossible scenario: After her escape, Yim had cut her bonds, made a spear, and returned to the castle. There, she fought the black-robed man and was defeated.
He tortured her here. Yet somehow she escaped and overcame him.

Honus turned to the headless corpse for clues to solve the puzzle. One look at its neck confirmed that the beheading was not his handiwork. From experience, Honus knew that when a man was decapitated, his heart still beat briefly afterward. Yet, the floor around the corpse was not sprayed with blood, indicating that the man was dead when his head was severed. In an effort to determine how the man had been killed, Honus searched his strange, unnatural body for wounds. He found none, which increased his puzzlement. He assumed that the missing head told how the man had died and suspected that was why Yim destroyed it.
Was this man slain by magic? Yim’s magic? Or did others slay him and free her?

Though the second possibility seemed more likely, Honus had found only three sets of footprints in the dust—his, the slain man’s, and Yim’s. Honus’s prints told a simple story: He had entered the hall, fallen after he had freed Yim, and had been dragged to where Yim found him. The other prints formed complex trackways that could be read in many ways. The only thing the tracks showed clearly was that Yim had been busy while Honus was unconscious.

The smell of the hall and the unsettling memory it evoked soon drove Honus out into the courtyard. There he pondered whether he should confront Yim with what he had found. Honus doubted she would reveal what had happened. Despite her wound, she had gone to great lengths to conceal the truth from him. He recalled her hysterics when he revived and thought them uncharacteristic.
What’s her true character? What did she do here?
The evidence pointed to a brave and selfless deed. Nevertheless, a chill came to Honus when he speculated that she might have overcome their foe using arcane means. His feelings toward Yim were already muddled, and these discoveries only made him more unsettled.
What should I do with her?
Her apparent bravery impressed him. Her deceit worried him. Her presumption that he could be easily fooled made him angry. The possibility that she possessed hidden powers disturbed him. For all that, she seemed fragile at times and in need of protection.

Perplexed, Honus keenly felt the loss of Theodus.
He would have known what to do.
Honus wished he possessed the calm certainty of his former master. Honus believed that Karm favored justice and kindness, but that was little guidance when the choices grew hard and consequences became unclear. At such times “Karm’s will” was an abstraction that Honus could not easily grasp. He supposed that even Theodus’s death was Karm’s will. If the goddess was capable of such an inexplicable thing, he despaired of ever understanding what she wanted. Yet that was precisely what he must do until he found a Bearer. He felt inadequate for the task.

Honus decided that he might as well try to catch fish while he mulled over his predicament. He returned to the ford and removed his sandals and leggings in preparation to enter the water. That was when he noticed a faint red stain on his leg. Honus recognized it as a rune immediately.
Whatever that man was doing to Yim, he did to me!
He found that idea profoundly disturbing, for it meant that he had been under a spell. Moreover, Honus knew that a spell could only be overcome by another. As to who could have worked the second spell, Yim was the only candidate. Honus became convinced that she was other than what she seemed.

How could such a woman become enslaved?
Honus could think of only one answer—Karm’s will. That reasoning quickly led him back to Theodus’s admonition that it was Karm’s will that Honus never carry his own burden. It seemed to Honus that the goddess had ordered events so Yim would become his slave.
Didn’t Yim say as much? “This is what my visions did to me!” Those were her words.
This conclusion provided Honus some guidance. He reasoned that if Karm had made him Yim’s master, then he should remain her master.
At least until we reach Bremven.
There, he could seek counsel from those who understood the divine will better than him. Until then, Honus decided it would be wisest not to alter their relationship. He would keep his conclusions to himself and let Yim think that he had been deceived.

Late in the morning, Honus returned to the campsite carrying three fish. Seeing Yim asleep on the ledge, he found it hard to imagine she possessed disturbing powers. She looked only like a ragged, injured girl, and his heart softened toward her. He knew firsthand how hard a mistress Karm could be. He didn’t awaken Yim, but gathered firewood and made a fire. While Yim slept, he attempted to cook the fish by skewering them with sticks and holding them over the flames. When they seemed done, he waded over to Yim and woke her.

“I cooked a meal,” he said, presenting her a charred fish.

Yim looked surprised. “I didn’t think you could cook.” She took a bite of the burnt fish. “And now I know you can’t. You should have waked me.”

“You looked like you needed sleep.”

Yim swung her feet into the river. “I’ll come to shore. You needn’t stand in the river while I eat.”

Honus slipped an arm under her legs. “I’ll carry you,” he said. Yim looked surprised, but didn’t protest when he lifted her above the water and took her to the shore. “How’s your leg?” he asked, after he set her down.

“The water helped. It feels better.”

Honus picked up a skewered fish that was even more charred than Yim’s. It made a dry crunch when he bit into it. He smiled wryly. “There was a reason why Theodus always cooked.”

“As you said, he was a wise man.”

Despite the quality of Honus’s cooking, Yim ate ravenously. When Honus gave her the remaining fish, she devoured that also. After Yim finished the second fish, she limped to the river, took a long drink, and washed the charcoal from her face and hands. Then she returned to where Honus sat. It was past noon, and now that she had eaten, there was nothing to do. Yim noticed Honus watching her with a curiosity that made her feel awkward.

“Master.”

“Yes?”

“About last night…”

“What about it?”

“Did you think I’d run off?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you searched for me?”

“No.”

“No?” said Yim in a puzzled tone.

“I thought it’d serve you right to blunder about in the dark. I intended to get a good night’s rest and track you by daylight. It’s difficult to hide a trail at night, so I figured it’d be easy work.”

“But you came for me in the night.”

“I did,” said Honus, still gazing intently at Yim. “I woke up and thought I saw you. Then I noticed that the woman before me wore a white robe, not a slave’s tunic. Before I could speak, she said, ‘Yim is in the castle.’ That was all she said, but I knew immediately where the castle lay and that I must go there. I grabbed my sword, and when I turned around, the woman was gone.” When Yim didn’t respond, Honus asked, “Do you think it was a vision of Karm?”

“How would I know?”

“You said you had visions. You said they ruined your life.”

“You’d hardly call them visions. The goddess never spoke to me. I saw insignificant things—the birth of a goat or when the snow would melt. When I bragged about them, people made fun. Their teasing got under my skin. That’s why I left with the peddler.”

“Do you mean your father?”

“Yes. My father, the peddler. If I hadn’t said I had visions, I’d still be safe at home instead of captured and enslaved.”

“Then maybe it was a dream, but a lucky one for you,” said Honus, his eyes fixed on Yim. “After all, why would Karm care about a slave?”

“You’re right,” said Yim. “Why would she? It must have been a dream.” She rose and limped toward the river. “I’m going to bathe my leg.”

“I’ll carry you to the pier.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Yim waded into the water, soaking half her tunic in the process. Honus watched without comment as she struggled to lift herself onto the stone pier. It seemed plain to him that she was avoiding further conversation.
I need not understand her,
Honus told himself.
She seems no threat. All she need do is carry my pack
. Despite it being midday, he found some shade and tried to rest. His nighttime ordeal had left him drained, and soon he drifted toward sleep. His last thoughts were of the enigma who sat on the pier, bathing her wounded leg.

TWENTY-THREE

Y
AUN WASN’T
given to introspection, and as he rode to his father’s manor, he didn’t ponder why he was so bitter. His thoughts dwelt only on how he had been wronged. His enmity toward his father and elder brother deepened as his journey progressed. By the time he crossed Falsten’s borders, it had become pure hatred. Then his hot rage chilled, and like a newly forged sword plunged into water, it grew hard and keen. Yaun turned cold and ruthless—the perfect instrument for Bahl’s designs.

Dusk had fallen when Yaun reached the familiar hedgerows of his father’s estate and stopped there to prepare for his homecoming. First, he tied his horse securely to a tree. Then he slashed his shirt. Next, he cut his horse and daubed his shirt in the blood. After removing his bandages, he donned the shirt again. As he waited for the blood to dry, Yaun invented a tale of his adventures. It loosely conformed to the facts, but omitted his cowardice during the battle, the trip to Durkin, and any mention of Honus. Naturally, his meeting with Lord Bahl would remain secret. Yaun’s only pure fabrication would be an account of an attack by bandits in which he received his wound in a valiant fight and captured his new steed. Satisfied with those fictions, Yaun remounted his horse and rode to the manor.

The manor house sat on a hill surrounded by neat fields. It was large and made of stone, a relic from days when neighboring Luvein was peaceful and prosperous. That prosperity had benefited the count who built the house, just as Luvein’s ruin had impoverished his descendants. Although the manor had suffered generations of neglect, in the fading light it still seemed fair. Its three towers looked majestic against the darkening sky, and the windows glowed brightly whether the glass was missing or not.