“Where’s that other bloke?” asked one of the men. “The one with the bandage.”
Yim quickly pulled the cloth from her head before another man answered. “I don’t know. He was just here.”
“Maybe the stench drove him off. ‘tis enough ta gag ya.”
“It never bothered ye afore.”
“Nay, but tonight I smell it. Tonight I feel different.”
“Aye, me, too,” said another voice. “That lad had the right idea. I’ll na go back either.”
“But Lord Bahl ”
“Tup Lord Bahl.”
There was a spell of silence, and Yim had to resist the urge to lift her head and see what was going on. Then she heard a laugh that had a hysteric edge. “Tup Lord Bahl. Aye, tup him. Tup him!”
“Hush! Ye dare na say that!”
“Why na?” said another voice, “I say tup Bahl, too. I’m weary of his shit. Are na ye weary also?”
“Aye, but ”
“Then walk away. Walk away with me. Spitting lasses on poles! What kind of thing is that? I’ll be his dog na more!”
Yim heard yet another voice. It was filled with dismay. “What have we done? Oh Karm, what have we done?” Then she heard quiet sobbing.
Other peasant soldiers began to sob, and the sobbing spread. In the encampments, more men were awakening, and each wakening spurred additional ones. Soon it seemed to Yim that remorse was like a wind passing over the field, shaking each individual. The night grew noisy with lamentation. While grief was the dominant emotion, there were others also. Mingled with the men who wept were those who cursed or prayed or bellowed with rage.
When Yim lifted her head to peer around, the peasant army appeared transformed. No longer governed by a single will, it was falling into chaos. More and more men milled about. They seemed confused, as if suddenly wakened from moons of stupor. Their numbers swelled rapidly until Yim was in the midst of an agitated mob.
Yim hid her hair beneath the bandage and stood up. She was frightened and wary, for she feared that those who had been deepest under Lord Bahl’s spell were still filled with hate and might never get free of it. Sure enough, she saw deadly frays break out as some men turned on their fellows. Furthermore, she knew that Bahl had soldiers who fought for him willingly and would remain loyal. It seemed likely that he would loose them on all deserting peasants. Before he did, she must get away.
As Yim began to flee, the chaos increased. By then, it seemed that no man was unaffected. The encampments scattered like overturned ant nests. Tattered soldiers were everywhere. Most wandered aimlessly in the dark, and many were dangerous. One huge fellow walked about swinging a gore-covered ax at anyone in his erratic path. Having just killed a man, he turned in Yim’s direction. She darted from him and ran into someone else.
The startled man cursed and swung at Yim. She ducked, but the blow grazed her head and pulled the bandage from it. The man stared at Yim’s long hair and beardless face. Then he grinned. “You’re a lass!” Before Yim could get away, he grabbed her arm. “‘tis been a long time since I had a lass.” He was reaching for her waistband when another man pushed him aside. Yim thought that she had been rescued until the second man grabbed her loose trousers and yanked them below her knees.
The skirt of Yim’s shift tumbled down to cover her legs, and this seemed to briefly confuse her attacker. Before he could react, the first man grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away. The two began to fight. As they rolled on the ground and pummeled one another, Yim tried to run away, only to be tripped by Yaun’s trousers. As she fell, she saw one of the fighting men draw a dagger. Then someone was attempting to tug off her pants. He was having difficulty because his right hand was mutilated. Yim tried to kick him, but the fabric about her ankles prevented it.
“Be still!” shouted the man. “Ye can’t run with these about yer feet.”
Yim let the man pull off the trousers. When she was free of them, he took off his battered helm, placed it on her head, and pulled her upright. Then he grabbed her arm and tugged her into the milling mob just as the fight ended with one man’s death. The victor stood up and scanned the mob, bloody dagger in hand. The third man, still gripping Yim firmly, hurried her into the milling crowd. Yim didn’t resist, although she was uncertain if he was her savior or her next attacker.
After dragging Yim farther, the man gazed about and then released her. “I guess we lost him,” he said.
“Thank you,” Yim said.
“I deserve no thanks,” replied her rescuer. “I be a wicked man.”
“Then why did you help me?”
“I’ve done terrible, terrible things.” The man’s eyes welled with tears. “I just want to to ” He began to weep.
Yim gazed into those tearful eyes and saw what the man had done under Lord Bahl’s sway. She also saw his anguish and remorse. It made Yim recall her vision of tortured men doing horrific deeds. Then she fully understood the depths of Bahl’s iniquity. The man before her was as much a victim as the folk he had slain. Her heart went out to him, as it had to the wretched priest. Though Yim no longer felt that she was a Bearer or had any power or authority to do so, she touched the man’s forehead and said, “I know what you did, and I forgive you.”
The man looked at Yim first with surprise, then with reverence. It was reflected in his voice as he asked, “What be ye doing here?”
“Fleeing Lord Bahl.”
“I’ve a mind to flee myself.” He shook his head sadly. “Strange I never thought of it afore.”
Yim’s glimpse into the man’s eyes had convinced her that she could trust him. “Then come with me. We’ll flee together.”
“Aye. I will.”
“I’d be glad for your company,” said Yim. “I’m I’m Mirien.”
“I be Hendric. I had a farm and family afore my count made me soldier. Mayhap I still do.”
“Was your count named Yaun?”
“Aye, curse him.”
“His deeds have done that. Now he’s dead.”
Hendric smiled for the first time. “That lightens my heart. Come, Mirien, I’ll find ye some pants. They’ll draw less notice than yer shift.”
The two made their way among the seething mass of men, pausing only when Hendric stripped a corpse of its ragged pants. Yim managed to slip them on under the cover of her cloak. The darkness and the general confusion helped her do so without being noticed.
Even with Yim disguised, they were in constant peril, for violence sprang up without warning. Sometimes it was hard to make any progress without jostling someone or being jostled. Once, when Yim accidentally touched a man, he whirled with a blade in his hand and murder in his eyes. When Hendric killed him with his sword, no one paid attention. Everywhere, men were slain without apparent reason. The danger diminished only as the mob thinned out farther from the stronghold.
Eventually Yim and Hendric entered the ravaged countryside where the other deserters went separate ways. They seemed intent only on escape, and Yim relaxed. She discarded her scavenged pants, which had been too loose and long. Unencumbered by them, Yim walked more easily. She and Hendric fled until the sky began to lighten in the east. With the approach of daylight, Yim grew anxious again. “I think we’d better hide somewhere,” she said. “Who knows what the day will bring.”
Honus watched the sky lighten from atop a hill overlooking Tor’s Gate. “General,” said the officer beside him, “do you think Bahl will advance today?”
His mind elsewhere, Honus didn’t reply.
“We’ve held position two days already, sir.”
“What?” said Honus.
“The men, sir. They’ve held their ground for two days and three nights.”
“I don’t know Bahl’s plans, only his habits,” said Honus. “He’s due to move out, and when he does, this is the only route he can take. We stay in position.”
“What if we didn’t kill all his scouts? Even if we did, won’t he wonder why none returned?”
“Bahl
will advance, even if he knows we’re here,” said Honus. “He’s careless of his soldiers’ lives. He won’t stay an assault for their sake.”
“But we’ll lack the advantage of surprise.”
“True, and it’ll make a hard fight even harder,” said Honus. “But would you rather go home and wait for Bahl there?”
“No, sir.” The younger man was silent for a while before he asked, “Any news of your Bearer?”
Honus turned and glared at the man. “What does she have to do with anything?”
“Nothing, sir,” replied the officer, shrinking from his commander’s wrath. “Just making conversation.”
“You’re not here to talk. Go check the lines.”
As Honus watched the man hurry off, his thoughts returned to Yim. Why did she leave? The question had been gnawing at him for two days, and he still had no answer. Her departure didn’t seem forced; there were no signs of a struggle or the presence of strange footprints. It seemed that she had simply walked away. Honus’s responsibilities prevented him from tracking her, so all he could do was ponder the significance of what she had taken and what she had left behind.
The neat pile of Bearer’s clothes had unsettling implications, but the scrap of cloth disturbed Honus more. He clearly recalled the day Yim had come by it. It’s from the wedding gown that crazy woman gave her. Yim was angry that morning, and later she ran away . Honus feared the scrap was a sign that he had angered Yim again. How? She said she loved me. She said I must father her child . Nevertheless, Yim had deserted him without a word. Honus feared that she had a change of heart, and left the scrap as a token.
Although Honus’s conclusion made sense, he didn’t believe it. Sometimes, he thought he rejected the notion only because he couldn’t face the truth. Other times, he questioned his assumptions and wondered if he had missed some vital clue. Honus speculated on why Cronin’s helm and cloak were missing. He wondered what Yim was doing, what she was wearing, and where she was headed. She was never far from his thoughts, even as he prepared for a bloody battle. With each passing day, he feared that Yim was farther from him and grew more despondent.
THIRTY-SEVEN
HANDS GRIPPED Lord Bahl and pulled him upright in his bed. He opened his eyes and beheld the Most Holy Gorm. Then the priest slapped him hard across his sweaty face. The blow came as a shock, but it paled compared to the specter of the priest’s rage. Bahl had never seen Gorm in such a state, and it provoked a novel emotion—fear.
“Fool! You idiotic fool!” shouted Gorm, slapping him again. This time, Bahl tasted blood. “Where is she?”
“Who?”
“The bitch who stole your powers.”
“No one did that.”
“Pah! Don’t you feel the change? Are you not weak and empty?”
With a surge of panic, Bahl realized it was true. “But she was a whore. No virgin.”
“Then explain your transformation. You were nearly a god, but now you’re just another mortal. You’re only Lord Bahl’s cast-off clothes. As of this morning, the true Lord Bahl resides in a womb. Where is it?”
“But this can’t be! Yaun tupped her first!”
Gorm slapped Bahl again. “Don’t argue with me! You forget who I am. As for Yaun, he’s a cinder in his own fireplace. The girl. Where is she?”
“Why ask me? Your magic bones should reveal her whereabouts. They should have warned you before this happened.”
“Their auguries have been muddled as of late.”
“Then why blame me for this disaster?”
“Because it was you who tupped a virgin. Couldn’t you tell the difference?”
“I’ve never tupped one before. How was I to know?”
Lord Bahl flinched as Gorm grabbed him, but the priest didn’t strike him again. Instead, he gave a weary sigh. “We came so close. Not that it matters now. Get dressed and assemble the Iron Guard. Only them; your peasant troops are worthless. The Guard must find the girl and find her quickly.”
“Are you sure she’s fled?”
“She’s fled. This was no happenstance.”
“But who could have plotted such a thing? Only we know the secret.”
“When we find the girl, we’ll learn the answer. Now hurry.”
Sunrise found Yim and Hendric in the burnt ruins of a hut. The blackened walls enclosed a collapsed roof, and the two hid beneath it. The small, cramped space between the charred rafters and shingles and the dirt floor was too low for them to sit upright. Yim lay close to her fellow fugitive and tried to rest, but it was difficult. There was something rotting in the debris and its stench was nauseating. Furthermore, Yim was not only cold, but thirsty, and the ashy air exacerbated the dryness in her throat.
“Hendric,” Yim said, “since all the wells seem to be poisoned, do you know of a stream we could reach when the sun goes down?”
“I recall nothing of my march through here. It be only a horrid dream to me.”
Yim sighed. “Well, we don’t dare look for water by daylight.”
“Why? Be dying of thirst any better than dying by the sword?”
“They won’t slay me if I’m caught,” said Yim. “At least, not right away. My fate will be far worse.”
Hendric’s voice reflected his sympathy. “Beed ye one of the count’s women?”
“Yes.”
“Then ye be lucky to be alive.”
“I guess I am,” replied Yim without conviction.
“If we escape, what will ye do?” asked Hendric. “Go home?”
“I have no home.”
“I do, but I don’t know where it lies. It be like I walked here with my eyes shut.”
“A pass through the mountains lies close to here,” said Yim. “It’s called Tor’s Gate. An army waits there to fight Lord Bahl. If you throw down your arms and show you’re peaceful, I think they’ll help you find your way.”
“We’ll go together.”
Yim imagined facing Honus, and the thought was unbearable. I’ve been defiled! Her love for him was as strong as ever, but her shame was equally strong. Although she had debased herself for worthy motives, she felt that didn’t alter the result. “I can’t,” said Yim. “My path takes me elsewhere.”
“But ye said ye have no home.”
“I must find one. Someplace far away.”
“I’d like to help ye if I can.”
“You can’t. No one can.”
“Not even Karm?”
“Especially her.”
The Iron Guard was aware of the change even before it assembled in the keep’s main hall. Most of its soldiers came from families that had served the Iron Palace for generations. Thus they had heard tales of similar events. When the peasant troops had begun to desert en masse, rumor spread that the Devourer had forsaken their lord. Some of the oldest guards had been around when the same thing happened to the previous Lord Bahl. They warned their younger comrades that lean years lay ahead. The lord they served was no longer invincible, and the flood of plunder would dwindle to a trickle.
As General Var stood at the forefront of the Guard, he was in a black mood. This time was supposed to be different , he thought. This campaign was to end with the Rising . Instead of becoming general to the world’s master, he would end his days serving a provincial lord. What heightened Var’s rancor was the knowledge that—if the tales were true—he might have prevented the disaster. It was said that a woman always brought down the lord of Bahland. If that was true, then the agent of Bahl’s downfall had knocked on the general’s door last night. I should have escorted her back to Yaun! If Var had known what the girl intended to do, he would have strangled her on the spot. But it was too late for that, and he would have to live with the consequences.
When Lord Bahl entered the hall, he was visibly changed. His skin had assumed a more rosy shade. He had lost his confident stride; instead, he walked like a man with a hangover. Lord Bahl’s eyes were different also. General Var puzzled over the change until he realized that Bahl’s
irises were more visible. They were gray. Overall, his lord looked diminished beside the angry priest who accompanied him.
There were many stories about the Most Holy Gorm. Var’s grandfather had sworn that the priest hadn’t aged within his lifetime. The general had once doubted that tale, but experience had proved it true. The years flowed over the man without leaving a mark. A priest named Gorm had served the first Lord Bahl in Luvein, and many believed that he was the same man who had just entered the hall. General Var was among their number.
It was the Most Holy Gorm, not Lord Bahl, who addressed the Iron Guard. His voice boomed out, echoing throughout the hall. “Know all of you that Lord Bahl has sired an heir and that the Devourer’s grace has passed to this unborn child.” He paused as murmurs spread among the assembled men. Then he silenced them with a frown. “The girl who bears this child is now a fugitive, and we shall not leave this place without her. Lord Bahl charges you with finding her. Be aware that the realm’s future depends on your success.
“The girl you seek is about eighteen winters in age. She’s comely, with dark eyes and walnut-colored hair. The man who brings her to us will be richly rewarded. Anyone who harms her will suffer such a fate that he’ll come to crave death.
“Nothing is more important than finding this girl. General Var, organize a search and begin it at once. Keep me and Lord Bahl informed of its progress.”
With that, the Most Holy Gorm left the room with Bahl at his heels. General Var watched them depart without any doubt where the true power lay. The previous night he had quaked before Lord Bahl, but that man had become an empty husk. It was the Devourer that I truly feared , Var thought. Now its power resides in the priest. And in that cursed girl! The general turned to lead his men in the hunt for her.
The noonday sun shone on the charred roof, turning the space beneath it into an oven. Yim’s throat was so dry that it hurt to breathe. Yet she welcomed the heat; it kept her chill at bay. When she had summoned spirits from the Dark Path, she had experienced similar coldness. But while the thing inside her was from the Sunless Way, it was no one’s departed soul. Thus its chill was familiar, but also different. Yim didn’t merely feel cold; she had become its essence. Her chill was a state of being, rather than a mere sensation.
[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm Page 27
