Yim’s time in the box stretched on and on. Squatting became agonizing. The box warmed in the sun and grew stultifying. She felt an urgent need to relieve her bladder, and though she fought the urge, eventually she had no choice. Although she heard noises from the courtyard, the holes in the box’s walls were positioned so she couldn’t view out them. Yim lost all sense of time. It might have been early morning or late afternoon; all she knew was that every moment dragged.
Sometime during that nightmare, Yim heard a woman weeping and the sound of footsteps nearby. Next came the clank of a metal door being shut. More footsteps followed. Yim smelled smoke. Then the screams began. There was no question as to their source or cause. Yim tried to shut them out by covering her ears, but she could still hear them. Moreover, she felt them clawing inside her. They went on and on until Yim feared that she would go mad. Even when the screaming stopped, their terror resounded in Yim’s thoughts.
Eventually, the door to Yim’s cramped prison opened. The sunlight was blinding, although it was late afternoon, and her aching body could barely move. “Get out!” said a voice. “The master will see ye. Afterward, who knows? Mayhap ‘twill be yer turn ta roast.” Yim slowly crawled out, moving as stiffly as an old woman. She smelled of burnt flesh and her own sweat and urine. Soot was smeared on her arms, legs, and tunic. And now I must seduce a stranger .
An armored man gripped Yim’s arm, his gauntlet biting into her flesh as he tugged her toward the keep where the building’s interior reflected the malevolence of its master. Everything was vandalized. Doors and windows were smashed. Broken furniture and shattered glass littered the floor. Being barefoot, Yim had to mind her step, which wasn’t easy in her escort’s iron grip. Besides the destruction, there was the sight and smell of wholesale slaughter. Bloodstains were everywhere, and some victims, or parts of them, still lay about. Armed and dangerous-looking men with mad or vacant eyes roamed the hallways that Yim was hustled through. She was amazed by how many of the men were mutilated, though they seemed oblivious of their injuries. Once again, Yim was glad to be escorted, however roughly.
Beyond a pair of smashed doors was a large hall with a lofty ceiling. A huge fire burned in a great stone fireplace, and the first thing Yim felt was a wave of heat. The odor of blood was especially strong and the floor felt sticky beneath her feet. A series of upright poles flanked the aisle leading to a raised platform. Each pole impaled a man or woman, transforming him or her into a macabre form of banner. Some of them were still alive. Upon the platform three men sat in ornate chairs. The bearded man seated to the right wore the black robes and iron pendant of a priest. To Yim’s surprise, she recognized the gaudily dressed young man seated on the left. He was Yaun, the count’s son who had carried Honus’s pack.
Yim’s gaze quickly shifted to the pale man seated in the center. He was richly dressed in fabrics sewn with gold, and even from across the room, his eyes were compelling. Yim immediately sensed his power. The fortress was a maelstrom of madness and savagery, and he was its center and source. Yim bowed her head low. “Lord Bahl,” she said. “My beloved.”
THIRTY-FOUR
LORD BAHL’S sardonic laughter echoed across the huge hall. “Your beloved? Did I hear that rightly? Come closer, slut, so I might gaze upon you.”
Yim advanced slowly and proudly, as if she were dressed in silken robes and smelling of perfume. It was a tawdry performance, but it seemed to amuse its principal audience. When Yim reached the platform, she kneeled before it and bowed her head.
“Look at me!” commanded Bahl.
Yim faced upward, and Bahl’s eyes bore into hers. She felt their force and resisted it by veiling her thoughts so he might see only what she wished. That was fear and awe. She couldn’t fabricate desire.
“You told men that I possessed you. What prompted you to say that?”
“Because I wished it so,” replied Yim. “Don’t you like possessing lovely things?”
“I think I might enjoy your loveliness better if you were skewered naked on yonder pole,” replied Bahl.
Yim lowered her voice, but kept her eyes raised. “You’re all-powerful, my lord, and can pierce me in any way you wish. But a wooden stake lacks feeling; a different shaft might please you more.”
A hint of a smile crossed Bahl’s lips. “How droll! A silver-tongued tart.”
Yaun leaned toward Lord Bahl. “I know this woman, Your Lordship. A Sarf named Honus owned her as a slave.”
“I remember you, too,” said Yim. She forced a laugh. “You meekly carried Honus’s pack before I took it up. Did he tup you also?”
Yaun flushed red. “This woman’s a whore and a spy!”
Yim returned her gaze to Lord Bahl. “True on both counts, my lord. But I’m your spy.”
“How so?”
“Honus now commands an army, and I know his plans.”
“Why come to me with this?” asked Bahl.
“Because I’m drawn to power. In troubled times, a strong man is a woman’s only refuge. Honus could make Yaun heel like a cur, but you, my lord, will make the whole world heel.”
“That I will,” replied Bahl. “But unfortunately for you, the world’s full of women, and whores are especially easy to come by. So tell me something useful if you wish to live. Be quick.”
“Honus has massed an army about Tor’s Gate. There, he intends to ambush you. His men are skilled with arms, and he believes they can prevail in a tight place that limits the opponent’s numbers.”
The priest spoke for the first time. “This whore seems uncommonly versed in tactics. Perhaps she was instructed on what to say. Best kill her.”
Yaun grinned. “I know of some amusing ways. We could make a show of it.”
As Lord Bahl regarded her, Yim thought she caught a glimmer of interest in his gaze. “I’ll send scouts to test this bitch’s tale,” he said. “If she proves to be my spy, who knows? I might use her as my whore. If she’s false, I’ll make her death a spectacle. Put her in the dungeon until I decide her fate.”
The guard seized Yim with his bruising grip and marched her from the hall. As he led her to the dungeon, he said, “Ye’re a wily bitch. Already, ye’ve lasted longer than most.”
A set of winding stone steps ended at a short hallway with seven oak doors. The only light there came from the guard’s torch. Judging from her long descent down the stairway, the chill of the air, and the dankness of the walls, Yim judged that she was deep underground. When the guard opened the door to her cell, his torch briefly illuminated it. The stone chamber wasn’t long enough for a person to stretch out fully, and it was only half as wide. A leaky wooden bucket served as a toilet. It was nearly full. A second bucket held some water. Some straw had been cast upon the stone floor, quite long ago by the look of it. Then the guard pushed Yim into the chamber and shut the door.
After the guard bolted the door and left with his torch, Yim’s cell was absolutely black. She explored it with senses other than sight. The stone walls were rough, cold, damp, and gritty. She could touch both side walls without fully extending her arms. The air smelled of wet stone, excrement, and unwashed bodies rancid with fear. The only sounds Yim heard were those she made herself. As far as she could tell, she was the only prisoner. Yim groped about until she found the water bucket and drank some of its foul contents.
The chilly stone floor made an uncomfortable bed, and Yim slept only sporadically. She hadn’t eaten since the previous day, so hunger also hampered rest. Although the dungeon was an improvement over squatting in an iron box and never knowing if she was about to be burnt alive, it scarcely felt that way. Any number of terrible fates might be awaiting her, and accomplishing her goal didn’t seem much better. Yim feared that bedding with Lord Bahl would be different from enduring rape only in that she must pretend to enjoy it. She questioned whether she would be up to the task, worrying that when the crucial time came she would be unable to counterfeit desire when all she felt was revulsion.
There were no meals
or human contact, so the continuous darkness quickly rendered time irrelevant. Living in a monotonous void, Yim had no idea whether it was night or day, how long she slept or lay awake, or the length of her confinement. She tried to think of happy things, but every pleasant memory seemed remote, while her fears were fresh and insistent. Yim’s sense of reality began to dissipate until she felt that she had fallen into an abyss that swallowed time and hope.
When the cell door opened, it came as an unexpected shock. A man stood in the dank hallway bearing a torch. A large bucket lay close to his feet, and some sheer cloth was draped over one of his arms. “Strip and wash yerself,” he said. “Then ye’ll see the master.”
Yim obeyed, shedding her tunic while the guard watched. She grabbed the rag that floated in the bucket and used it to scrub her grimy body. Flower petals also floated in the water, so although it was cold, it was pleasantly scented. Although she was embarrassed to wash in the presence of a stranger, Yim forced herself to gaze into his eyes. The desire she found there was empowering.
When her spirit had mingled with Honus’s, Yim had experienced how men viewed women. Yim knew the sight of her nudity thrilled the guard and stirred longing that she might use to her advantage. It was her only power within the nightmare place. To test it, she smiled at the man and slowed her scrubbing to a more sensual pace. After Yim washed thoroughly and brushed the water from her skin with her hands, the man held out the cloth. “This is for ye,” he said in a voice that was warmer than before.
Yim smiled at him and replied in a soft, breathy voice, “Thank you.”
The cloth turned out to be a gown made of sheer material that only partly hid her nudity. In the torchlight it appeared to be a rosy shade. Yim slipped it on. It was long and sleeveless with a slit neck, so it covered her body while also revealing it. Yim turned around so her guard might view her. “How do I look?” she asked, smiling as she did so.
The man grinned sheepishly. “Real pretty.”
Yim held out her arm for the guard to take. “I hope our master agrees.”
As Yim ascended the stairs, practicing doing it gracefully, she recalled Karm’s words: Part of Lord Bahl remains a man . Yim resolved to find that part, focus on it, and play to it. She formed an image in her mind of a man shackled to a demon. I must ignore the monster and find sympathy for the man , she thought. Yim had no illusions that it would be easy, or that all men deserved sympathy. Nevertheless, it seemed a workable strategy, and she was determined to make it succeed.
It wasn’t until Yim entered the hall that she discovered that evening was approaching. In addition to the fading daylight coming from smashed windows, the room was lit by numerous torches and a blazing fire in the massive hearth. The flames illuminated the bodies of men and women impaled on the tall wooden stakes that flanked a long banquet table. At its end, Lord Bahl sat in a thronelike chair. The priest sat to his right, but Yaun was seated elsewhere so that the place to Bahl’s left was empty. Yim was encouraged by that until she noted that a nearby wooden stake was also vacant.
The other seats at the long table were filled by several dozen men who seemed military types. Yim was the only woman in the room, if she didn’t count those on the stakes, and she was very much aware of the men’s gazes as she was marched to the table’s head. When she halted before Lord Bahl, she dropped to her knees and lowered her head. “Master,” she said in a tone that she hoped sounded both submissive and seductive.
“Rise and look at me,” commanded Lord Bahl. When Yim obeyed he gave her a smile, but it was a cold one. “I’ve prepared two places for you at this meal. This stool,” he said, patting it, “and yonder stake.” Bahl gestured to the empty wooden pole. It was a hand’s width in diameter, tall, and bloodstained from its sharp point down to where an iron socket held it upright. Lord Bahl pointed elsewhere. “Look at that blonde.”
Yim obeyed and regarded the nude woman upon a nearby stake. She gazed back with eyes filled with agony.
“That’s Count Yaun’s handiwork,” said Bahl in a breezy manner. “His style’s obscene, but he’s a skilled craftsman. That bitch has endured one night so far, and some have wagered she’ll last another. Do you think you can beat that mark?”
“If it would please Your Lordship, I’d try,” replied Yim in a shaky voice. “But I’d prefer the stool.”
“So you would, but your preference doesn’t count.” Lord Bahl glanced at a man seated near him. “General Var, your report.”
The gray-haired officer rose and bowed differentially. “My lord, I sent a squad of men through Tor’s Gate. They marched its length and returned. They spotted an abandoned encampment, but no troops.”
Bahl’s thin lips formed an icy smile. “That’s a pretty gown. No point in staining it with blood. Take it off.”
The room’s heat and Yim’s terror made her skin wet with sweat, so she nearly had to peel the gown from her body to remove it. When she stood naked and trembling before all the men, Bahl said, “Continue, General.”
“Then I sent six men to scout atop the hills at night. Only one returned. He spied forces holding the high ground along the passageway. They were numerous and skillfully hidden.”
Bahl addressed his general. “Blind those men who saw nothing and use them for sword practice.” Then turned to Yim and patted the stool. “Brazen slut, don’t you dress for dinner?”
The men burst out laughing as Yim quickly put the gown back on. As she sat down, she heard the general say. “Count Yaun, you owe me five golds. You wagered she’d piss herself.”
Yim forced a smile. “General, he made that wager because he thought I’d act like him.”
Even Lord Bahl laughed at that. It encouraged Yim to softly touch his hand, which felt unnaturally cold. “My lord,” she whispered, “when you held my life in your hand, I fully felt your power.”
Bahl said nothing, but he seemed pleased. Yim’s mind was racing as she tried to understand him. He had enjoyed terrifying and humiliating her, but he had laughed when she made fun of Yaun. Perhaps he’s like a man who prides himself in breaking spirited steeds . Yim decided to be arrogant and tart to everyone except Bahl. Toward him she would be submissive, fawning, and fearful. At least the fearful part won’t require acting .
Yim sat upright in her stool to best display her body, a feat her damp, sheer gown made easy. She pretended to enjoy the men’s lustful glances, while frequently gazing at Lord Bahl, as if to say, “I know I’m beautiful, but I’m yours only.” Every time she looked at Bahl, she readily sensed the otherworldly being that possessed him. It was the source of his chill. Sitting close to Bahl in a skimpy gown, Yim was no longer hot, or even warm. As her nipples stiffened from the cold, she noted that the men who stared at them were dressed for winter.
Lord Bahl’s chill extended to his features, which seemed as pale as quartz and as hard. He exuded an air of sinewy strength that left no room for softness. His eyes—so pale that his black pupils denominated them—epitomized both his coldness and his might. Yim was well versed in the arcane power that resided in some eyes, and she saw the forcefulness of his. Bahl’s gaze would be dangerous to confront.
Peering at the other diners, Yim used her powers to view their inner qualities. Most of them were military men. They reminded her of Cronin’s officers, though she perceived that they were far more hardened and ruthless. They were violent, but disciplined. Yim discovered no madness among them, which made her suspect that Lord Bahl had spared them that, finding rational officers more useful. Yim laid bare Count Yaun easily. He was sadistic, vain, and cowardly. The priest was an enigma. His face looked young, but his gray eyes belied that impression. His other qualities were impervious to her perception. Yim quickly glanced away, fearing that he could detect that she was probing him. Later, when she ventured another look, she found his suspicious expression disconcerting.
The meal was brought out. After Lord Bahl was served, the dishes and bottles were placed on the table for the diners to serve themselves. Yim was
ravenous, but she neither filled her plate nor her drinking bowl, but left them empty and gazed at Lord Bahl like a dog begging from its master. Bahl ate awhile before he acknowledged the look. “Eat. Drink,” he said in an indulgent tone.
Yim bowed her head and took food for her plate and wine for her bowl. Her memory of the charred leg caused her to avoid any meat, but fortunately there was some fowl. Her chill and terror made her gulp down the first bowl of wine, but she forced herself to sip from the second. The food and drink were good, an encouraging sign that Lord Bahl hadn’t abandoned all human pleasures. As to whether he would seek pleasure from her, Yim still had no idea.
The meal progressed without Yim coming any closer to achieving her goal. She was afraid to appear too forward, for she realized that Bahl had to feel in control. Since he ate silently, the other diners were silent also. That provided Yim no opportunity for banter, sexual or otherwise. All she could do was try to appear alluring and hope for the best. The meal became a drinking session, and Yim still remained ignorant of her fate. When the drinking wound down, she decided that she must take a risk. Yim caught Bahl’s eye and spoke to him in a tremulous whisper. “My lord, will you return me to the dungeon?”
Then Bahl’s eyes traveled over Yim’s body and took on an almost human look. “No, my little spy,” he said after he finished his inspection. “Tonight you’ll adorn my bed.”
“My lord,” said the priest, “that isn’t wise.”
Yim was surprised by the priest’s tone. Even the general had been obsequious when addressing Lord Bahl, but the priest spoke to him as an equal.
“She’s a slave and a whore,” replied Bahl. “Surely no virgin.”
“So you assume,” said the priest. “I prefer to be certain.” He regarded Yim. “Woman! Look me in the eye!”
[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm Page 25
