[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (27 page)

“There’s a roofless hut by the lake …”

“I know it.”

“Have the men gather there after dark. When the moon sets, a door will open. How many will meet me?”

“Three. All good men. Sober and levelheaded.”

“And they’ll na harm Clan Mother?” asked Rodric.

“Never. They’re her true friends.”

“You’ve set my heart at ease. I should go now. Tomorrow will be a better day.”

Daijen took Rodric’s hand. “Aye, indeed.”

After the steward departed, Daijen paced about his room cursing him. “Dawdling prig,” he muttered, “but there’s no help for it. I can only hope that Thromec’s done his part.”
 Daijen waited awhile before he hung a scrap of red cloth from his dagger belt and went out for what appeared to be a leisurely stroll. He ambled about the refugees’ encampment with the aimless manner of a man taking the air before he headed to a copse of trees beyond the farthest field. There, sheltered from view, Daijen waited. It was a while before a man arrived. Sharp-faced with a wispy beard and a wiry frame, he moved with nervous energy. His clothes were ragged, but his boots looked new. The toes of them had been cut off to fit his long feet. He grinned when he saw Daijen. “I saw the cloth. So ‘tis tonight?”

“Aye, be in the roofless hut when the moon sets.”

“‘tis just past the first quarter. ‘twill set late.”

“That works to your advantage,” said Daijen. “Everyone will be asleep. A man will arrive to show you in. Ask him where to find her. You know what to do next.”

“Aye, slay the dark-haired one first, the one who waved from the wall.”

“That’s most important. Then kill the other, open the manor’s gates, and…” Daijen smiled. “…enjoy yourselves.”

The man grinned. “We know how to do that.”

Daijen opened a bundle that contained three sheathed daggers. “Use these tonight.”

The man picked up one and drew the weapon to examine it. Its blade was painted with a brown substance.

“Handle that carefully,” said Daijen. “Nick yourself, and you’ll die painfully.”

The man slid the dagger back into its scabbard. “And ye want her head?”

“It’s worth three gold coins to the man who brings it.” Then Daijen added, as if he had read the man’s thoughts, “The others know that, too.”

The wiry man grinned. “Mayhap, but they’re na quick like me.” He placed the dagger with the others, rolled up
 the bundle, and put it under his arm. “I’ll see ye in the morning, so have yer gold ready.” With that, the man hurried off.

Thromec arrived a short while later. “So it’s tonight? I’d hoped for more time.”

“She’s fleeing tomorrow morning. I just found out this afternoon. How many have gathered in the wood?”

“Several dozen when I was there this morning. ‘tis likely more have come since then.”

“Fighters or peasants?” asked Daijen.

“Peasants,” replied the priest. “But there are some likely lads among them, and all are inflamed. If they find that Bearer, they’ll hack her to bits along with anyone who stands in their way. To their eyes, she’s to blame for everything.”

“Then you’ve done well, and the Most Holy One will learn of it.”

The priest bowed to Daijen. “Our lord has graced me with the power to make it so. Never has it been so easy to bend men to my will.”

“Our might increases as the Rising approaches. Soon we’ll triumph. Tonight’s work will bring that day closer.”

“So when should we attack?”

“Wait until the moon sets, then surround the hall. Slay anyone who flees it. If my men succeed within the hall, they’ll open its gates, and one will have Yim’s head. Give them time to do their work. Attack only if you believe things have gone awry.”

“One way or another, Yim will perish,” said Thromec, “even if all within the hall must die to assure her death.”

By late afternoon, Yim’s head and stomach had settled enough for Cara to teach her something about riding. Cara ordered her gelding to be saddled, along with a mare for Yim, and directed that the steeds be brought to the courtyard. The enclosure lacked the space for proper riding, but Cara hoped to acquaint Yim with its basics.

When the horses arrived, Yim proved every bit a novice. She mounted clumsily after falling a half-dozen times. Neither did she know how to sit nor how to use the reins and her feet to guide the horse. However, one thing surprised Cara: Yim had an instant rapport with her mount. Cara had never seen anything like it. The mare, instead of rebelling against Yim’s inept handling, seemed to forgive it.
 
‘tis almost as if she wants Yim to ride her 
, thought Cara, amazed by the pair of them. It made her optimistic about the next day’s journey.

Before Yim went to dinner, she filled a pack with everything that she had carried on her journey with Honus, adding Cara’s things and provisions also. At the evening meal, both women hid their growing excitement. Only Rodric and the horse master’s wife knew of their plans, and Cara wanted it kept that way. After eating, the two women retired to bed early.

Rodric stayed up and watched the moon from a dormer window. It moved toward the horizon with maddening slowness, and while it did, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. All afternoon, he had engaged in an internal debate over whether he should warn Cara about Yim. He had nearly done so, only to change his mind at the last instant. As the moon dipped toward the mountains, Rodric began to regret his silence. Then the fear and resentment that Daijen had stirred within him overwhelmed any second thoughts.
 
What would have been the use of speaking?
 
he asked himself.
 
Cara’s headstrong, and Yim holds her in her palm. Clan Mother has been bewitched, and only Yim’s removal will break the spell 
.

When the moon sank from view, Rodric steeled himself for what he must do and headed for the secret entrance. The hall was deathly quiet; the only ones awake beside him were the archers who manned the outer wall, and there were only four of them. Rodric made his way through hallways to the kitchen and then to the pantry. There, he lit a torch and descended
 into the lower rooms. He passed through these and climbed down the shaft to reach the oak door sealing the passageway to the secret entrance. Then he slipped the door’s bolt and entered the dank tunnel.

The tunnel was longer than Rodric remembered, and he was dismayed to find that water had seeped into its lower portion. It was a relief to finally reach its end. There, he stood in knee-deep water in a shaft twice his height. On one side of the shaft was the complex wooden mechanism that allowed the hatch to be opened from above. Opening it from below was easier: all Rodric had to do was pull a lever. He did so, and a large stone pivoted in the ceiling to reveal a patch of night sky. The shadowy shapes of three men emerged from the opening to descend the iron rungs set in the shaft’s side. The first to splash into the water was a wiry-looking fellow. The two that followed him were shorter and bulkier. All three men were bearded and ragged, and none bore a look that Rodric would characterize as either “sober” or “levelheaded.” Rodric pushed the lever, and the secret entrance closed.

“Greetings, friend,” said the wiry man. “So where’s the dark-haired sorceress?”

“I’ll take you to her,” replied Rodric.

“Oh, nay,” replied the man. “‘Twould na be wise. Ye might be seen with us. Best ye say the way, and we’ll part company.”

Rodric saw the wisdom in that and gave the men detailed directions to Cara’s room. After they repeated them to his satisfaction, he showed them the lever for opening the hatch. “When you leave with the woman, you must close it from above. I’ll show you how to do that.”

The wiry man grinned in a disturbing way. “Save yer trouble.”

Rodric felt a sharp pain in his thigh. He looked down and saw that the man had pricked him with a dagger. Though the wound was a tiny one, its pain was excruciating. Rodric felt as if a gigantic hornet had stung him and pumped him full of
 venom. He opened his mouth to scream, but his lungs wouldn’t work. What followed was far worse than pain. Rodric needed to gasp for air, but it was impossible. As he suffocated, his silent agony amused the men, and they laughed as if his desperate contortions were entertainment for their behalf. One took the torch from his hand. Its flame was the last thing Rodric saw as the world darkened to black. When the steward toppled into the stagnant water, he was dead before he made a splash.

After the men ceased chuckling, the wiry one pulled the lever to open the hatch. Then he turned to one of his companions. “Get a big rock and smash those wooden works so the hatch can na be shut.”

The man departed on his errand and called down a short while later. “Stand back and I’ll toss it down.” His accomplices retreated into the tunnel, and after they did, a large rock struck Rodric’s floating corpse. The man who threw it descended the rungs and studied the mechanism that closed and opened the hatch. “I’ve figured where to whack it.” He groped in the water until he found the rock and lifted it up. It was a heavy, jagged lump of granite that quickly reduced the carefully made apparatus to splinters. Part of the oaken framework toppled against the hatch, jamming it open. The man grinned. “The ‘secret way’ is na so secret now.”

The three men advanced up the tunnel. When they came to the open oak door, they pulled the pins from its hinges. Then they carried the door halfway into the tunnel, dropped it, and threw the pins into the murky water. With that done, they advanced into the sleeping hall to obtain the head that was worth so much gold.

TWENTY
-
NINE

YIM FELT
a searing pain in her shoulder. Her eyes flew open, and she saw a blade lodged there. Whoever grasped it was only a black form in the dark bedchamber. A second blade plunged deep into her bowels. Yim was in agony, but she hadn’t the breath to cry out. A third blade bit into her thigh. This assailant stabbed her leg and thigh over and over again in a frenzy of blows.

Yet Yim suffered all of this in silence, with Cara snoring beside her. Unable to speak, Yim tried to wake her friend before she was murdered, too, though Yim was already faint from the lack of air and racked by all-consuming pain. Expending her remaining strength, she managed to shake Cara, who merely moaned and rolled over. Everything went black. Yim felt, but couldn’t see, someone place a palm against her chin. The palm pushed her head back, arching her neck. The last thing Yim felt was a blade sawing through her throat.

Then she woke. The room was dark and still, illuminated only by dim starlight coming from the windows. Cara was sleeping peacefully beside her. “Cara! Wake up!”

Cara moaned sleepily.

“Cara, someone’s coming!”

Cara stirred only a little. “Who?” she asked in a tired voice.

Instead of replying, Yim crawled over her friend’s prone body to reach the sword that hung from the bedpost. She drew the weapon from its scabbard, and still kneeling on the mattress, turned to face the door.

“Watch that blade!” said Cara. “You’re like to slice my head off! What’s going on?”

“I had a dream …”

“What? Put away that sword. Zounds, you’ve left your senses. A dream indeed!”

“It seemed a vision of my murder.” Before Yim could say more, she heard footsteps in the hallway and hushed.

Cara obviously had heard them, too, for she whispered, “Quick! Give me the sword!” Yim did so. Cara leapt out of bed and raised the weapon into the attack position. An instant later, the door quietly opened and the figures of three men stepped into the room. It was too dark to see more than their shadowy shapes and the pale metal of their drawn daggers.

Cara didn’t hesitate. She swung at the foremost man, the tallest of the three, and her sword struck muscle and bone. The man’s head assumed an odd angle as his blood sprayed over Cara. He made a gurgling sound and toppled forward as she pulled her blade free and stepped back.

Yim saw the man’s dagger clatter across the floor, and lacking any means to protect herself, she lunged for it. When she grasped its hilt, she looked up. Two more attackers remained. Apparently, they hadn’t expected any resistance, for they stood frozen for a moment, but only a moment. Then both rushed at Cara with blades raised high. Still on her hands and knees, Yim swung wildly at the closest one. She was in no position to deliver a lethal blow, but she was desperate to defend Cara, and wounding one of her opponents seemed her best hope.

Yim’s blade merely grazed the man’s shin, but the tiny wound stopped him cold. His dagger fell to the floor as he stood wavering on his feet. Yim’s attention shifted to Cara, who was swinging her sword to keep her opponent at bay. The man dodged the strokes until he noticed Yim. As soon as he did, he lunged at her. Cara swung and struck the base of his spine. The man’s legs buckled, and he tumbled to the
 floor. As soon as he hit, he used his hands to drag himself toward Yim. Despite his grievous wound, he moved quickly and was nearly within striking distance when Cara splattered his brains.

Then there was silence in the dark room. Yim rose to her feet. Cara stood motionless, the tip of her sword touching the floor, as if the weapon had suddenly become too heavy to hold. Then she began to tremble. Blood flowed from two of the corpses, forming ever-widening pools. They looked black in the dim light.