Morgan Howell Candle in the Storm

ONE

SUMMER’S HEAThad settled on Bremven, and the air was stultifying. When the sun rose high in the clear sky, the guards at the city’s gate retreated into the shade beneath its archway. From there, they checked all who entered. One unlucky soldier stood in the sun to warn his comrades if a Sarf approached. Sweltering in his armor, he gazed down the length of the bridge, looking for any man with a tattooed face. Sarfs were deadly, and after the destruction of Karm’s temple, the guards had cause to be wary of the goddess’s servants. Only six days earlier, a Sarf had slain an entire squad when they tried to bar his entry. Thus, despite the heat, fear kept the soldier alert.

A diverse throng crossed the bridge leading to the empire’s capital. There were merchants driving wagons, farmers with their oxcarts, the rich on horseback, and the poor afoot. Nowhere was a blue face that signaled trouble. Then one horseman stood out in the crowd. He rode a magnificent black steed. His robe was a similar shade, marking him as a priest of the Devourer. All his kind were officially welcome.

While the priest posed no threat, the soldier couldn’t take his gaze from him. The dark rider looked young, barely into his twenties, and he had the sandy hair and gray eyes of someone from Averen. The deep tan of his clean-shaven face set off those pale eyes, and even from a distance they drew the soldier’s attention. The guard had the disturbing impression that those gray orbs didn’t belong in a young face. The priest seemed aware of the man’s scrutiny, for he formed his lips into a cold smile and made the sign of the circle with a casual twist of his wrist. The soldier respectfully bowed his head, relieved for a reason to look away. The black-robed man entered the city and disappeared into its crowded streets.

As he rode through his birthplace, the More Holy Daijen noted many changes. The respect the guard had shown him was but the first. When he had fled Bremven eighty years ago, followers of the Devourer were in disrepute.Now everyone bows , he thought.It marks how we’ve risen in the world . Through ruthlessness and cunning, Daijen had risen similarly within the cult. He was the More Holy One, second only to the Most Holy Gorm in gifts and powers. Reflecting upon his rise, Daijen was tempted to visit the squalid alley where he had grown up. He thought how amazed his former neighbors would be to see him young and strong while age had withered them. Daijen quickly dismissed the idea.There’d be no point. Everyone I knew is likely dead .

Daijen’s eyes lifted from the ancient street and the stone buildings that flanked it until they gazed on the Temple Mount. Karm’s temple crowned its heights with stonework cunningly blended with the mountain’s natural form. Daijen smiled when he thought how the centuries-old edifice stood empty. The Most Holy Gorm, undoubtedly informed by sorcery, had told him of the massacre there. All who resided within the sanctuary had been slain—the Seers who divined the goddess’s will; those training to be Bearers, the holy persons who spread Karm’s word; and the young men who trained to be Sarfs, the deadly servants and protectors of Bearers. The temple’s destruction hadn’t eradicated the worship of the goddess, but it had been a fatal blow. Bearers and Sarfs still roamed the countryside, but they were like worker bees whose hive had been destroyed. They had nowhere to return, and when they perished, they would not be replaced.

Daijen directed his horse toward Karm’s temple, eager to visit the site of his cult’s triumph. As the road neared his destination, Daijen paused to view the city and appreciate how the Devourer’s temple dominated it. Lord Bahl—the cult’s patron—had spared no expense, and the massive black stone temple with its seven pointed spires was an impressive sight. Yet Daijen imagined the day when that structure would be dwarfed by another one that stabbed the sky from atop the mount he was ascending. He envisioned a forest of black spires supplanting Karm’s ruined sanctuary and long lines of prisoners being led up the road for sacrifice. It was a stirring vision and one that Daijen was dedicated to realize.

The recent triumph, however glorious, was not the reason for the More Holy One’s visit. A far more serious matter had caused him to ride far and fast. Soon after the massacre, an enemy had thwarted the Devourer within Karm’s temple. The nature of the deed and its perpetrator were a mystery. The only certain thing was that Daijen must discover and destroy that enemy. The assignment was a perilous one. Ever suspicious, Daijen assumed that was why the Most Holy One had chosen him for the task. The Devourer was a harsh god that punished failure, and Daijen feared his true age would swiftly overtake him if he was unsuccessful. It was a fate he’d do anything to avoid.

Daijen entered Karm’s temple, a place he hadn’t seen since he was a teenager. He was mildly surprised that he remembered it after so many decades and was pleased to find its outer courtyard stained with blood. It was evident that many had been slain there and their bodies dragged deeper into the temple. Daijen followed a reddish brown trail across the courtyard, through a building with a huge shattered basin, across a second courtyard, and into a huge building with irregularly spaced stone columns carved to resemble trees. He passed through that building and arrived at the remains of a pyre in a central garden.

Blackened bones were piled waist-high, and gray ash tainted the surrounding landscape. The multitude of violent deaths had weakened the boundary between the living world and the Dark Path, allowing Daijen to feel strongly the Devourer’s presence. The trees were gone from the ruined garden, and the remaining plantings were succumbing to a malign influence. Nettles, toadstools, and thorny vines were everywhere, choking generations of careful nurture. The garden was becoming harsh and hurtful. It reminded Daijen of Karvakken Pass, another place where the barrier that restrained his master had been worn thin by slaughter.

This site is conducive to sorcery, thought Daijen.Here I can learn what has disturbed my master . Daijen knew he could do nothing without taking the necessary precautions, and he’d need help with that. Contacting the Devourer was always perilous; doing so without a sacrifice was suicidal.A slave will do. I’ll have those at the Black Temple get me one .

Since he could do nothing more at present, Daijen headed back. He was walking through the dim interior of the colonnaded building when he heard a tapping sound. Daijen stopped and listened, but the noise ceased. He waited for it to return, and soon his patience was rewarded. When the tapping resumed, Daijen traced the sounds to their source—a ragged old man. He was standing on a rickety ladder to chip tiles from a huge mosaic depicting Karm standing on a mountaintop. Much of the lower portion of the artwork had been marred. Although the tiles that formed the white robe of the goddess were untouched, as were the more drably shaded tiles, most of the other colors had been removed. When Daijen entered the room, the man was at work chipping a blue tile from the sky. His only tools were a battered knife and a rock.

“You’re a cheeky thief,” Daijen said in a loud voice.

Startled, the man nearly lost his balance. He dropped his rock and climbed down the ladder to point his knife at Daijen with trembling hands. “Stay back, or I’ll cut you! These are mine.”

Daijen flashed an easy smile. “Do you think I care what you do here? I’ve no love for Karm.”

The man eyed Daijen’s robe. “I guess not,” he said. “Then what brings you?”

“Curiosity,” replied Daijen. “Why so nervous? You must have a parade of gawkers.”

“You’re wrong there. It’s lonely work. Everyone’s afraid of this place.”

“And you’re not?”

“It makes me uneasy,” admitted the old man, “and I have dreams, bad ones.” “But you still come.”

“The tiles fetch a few coppers, and there’s not much work for the likes of me.” Daijen’s amiable manner reassured the old man. He picked up his rock and ascended the ladder to resume his pounding.

Daijen watched awhile before asking in a friendly tone, “Has anyone else come here?”

“Only a Bearer, and that was many days ago.”

“What did he say about your enterprise?”

“She,” corrected the man. “The Bearer was just a girl.”

“A girl? That’s unusual. I trust her Sarf was a man.”

“Don’t know. She was alone.”

“No Sarf? Lucky for you, old man.”

“I wouldn’t have been scared of her, even if she had one.”

Daijen smiled. “I see I’m in the presence of a brave man.” He sauntered over to the ladder and suddenly kicked it. The ladder toppled and the man fell with it, striking the floor with a heavy thud. Daijen leaned over the man, who lay moaning in pain, and grinned. “Still feeling brave?”

The old man hadn’t lost his knife, and he stabbed at Daijen. When the blade touched the priest’s flesh, a brilliant blue-white flash illuminated the room. Daijen’s assailant fell back, stunned into unconsciousness by the priest’s spell against iron weapons. His knife, which glowed eerily, fell from his nerveless hand. Daijen’s grin broadened as he hoisted his victim upon his shoulders and carried him to the pyre. He laid the old man on the ashy ground, took a bronze dagger from the folds of his black robe, and slit the man’s throat. Blood flowed, forming a puddle. Daijen tore some fabric from the dead man’s tattered robe, dipped it in the blood, and used it as a crude brush to paint a large circle on the dirt. He took special care to insure that there were no gaps in the design. Only when he was completely satisfied that the circle was unbroken did he step into it. He sat down in a cross-legged position, closed his eyes, and began to trance.

It was impossible to summon the Devourer without feeling fear. Daijen had no illusions that his master cared for him. The Devourer thrived on slaughter, and the priest knew that his death would satisfy it as well as any other’s. Still, the Devourer needed earthly servants, and he rewarded them with unnatural powers. The knowledge that he was needed and the protection afforded by the bloody circle gave Daijen the nerve to continue.

Within Daijen’s mind formed a nightmare image of a black sun. It radiated cold instead of warmth and needed life to fuel its frigid fire. The black void was also a conscious being, and when it became aware of Daijen, it turned its thoughts toward him. Malice and insatiable hunger invaded the priest’s consciousness as he asked what disturbed his master.

The Devourer answered in an inarticulate way with vague dreamlike images that formed in Daijen’s mind. Daijen saw Karm’s temple at night. It was hazy and dim, as if viewed from above through a fog. In its center was the faint form of a lone man. He sat on a rock near the edge of a pool. Daijen couldn’t discern his face or clothing, for the Devourer distinguished individuals in ways it was unable to communicate. However, Daijen could perceive the man’s emotions. He was steeling himself to slay a multitude. Daijen felt his master’s eager anticipation of the imminent bloodshed.

Then a woman entered the temple. Unlike the man, her feelings were hidden from Daijen, but he sensed the enemy guided her. The Devourer sent horrific visions to shatter her sanity. Somehow, she resisted them. She found the man and caused him to abandon his plans. Daijen experienced a surge of frustration and rage as his master communicated the depths of its enmity. It was all directed toward the woman. At any cost, she must be identified, found, and destroyed.

The priest emerged from his trance to find the blood around him boiling. His hands trembled and his head throbbed. He slumped down as he tried to collect his thoughts. His vision had presented a disjointed and nebulous puzzle, but one that was urgent to solve. He dared not disappoint his master.

Daijen began to piece together what he had learned.Clearly, the woman was one of Karm’s servants, for she was guided by the enemy . Knowing this, Daijen regretted that he hadn’t obtained a description of the Bearer from the old man before killing him.Perhaps she’s not the one I seek, but it’s likely. The man could have been her Sarf . Daijen saw logic in this, for Sarfs were lethal and only a Bearer possessed the authority to stop one. It all made sense, and Daijen was encouraged by how far his deductions had taken him. If they were correct, he’d soon find his quarry. As the More Holy One, Daijen commanded all the resources of the Black Temple. A female Bearer would be conspicuous, and Bremven was full of the Devourer’s spies.

TWO

DAIJEN WAITEDuntil dark before he went to the Black Temple. The huge building was a windowless basalt hulk with unadorned walls that sloped inward. There was no subtlety or grace to it, only mass and knife-sharp spires. Beside it, the emperor’s palace seemed delicate and frail. The temple’s massive iron doors were shut for the night, and Daijen had to pound on them with the pommel of his dagger before someone opened them. The wrinkled-faced priest at the door scowled until he saw the emblem of Daijen’s rank, an elaborate silver chain that suspended a ring-shaped pendant made of iron. Then he turned obsequious and bowed low. “Welcome, welcome. We’re honored, More Holy One.”

Daijen hurried in the door. “I’m here secretly,” he said. “I want to see the head priest.”

“He’s at his meat in the order hall, More Holy One. Would you care to join him?”

“Are you deaf?” snapped Daijen. “I said this is a secret visit. I want a private meeting.”

The elderly priest bowed. “I’ll take you to his chambers and inform him that you’re there.”

“Tell him to come at once.”

“As you wish, More Holy One.” The walls of the entrance hall were paneled with gold reliefs, and the priest walked over to one that depicted a battle. He pressed one of the shields in the relief and twisted it. The panel swung inward to reveal a narrow stairway. “This goes directly to the head priest’s chambers,” he said. Then, taking a candle from a wall sconce, he led the way.

The head priest’s chambers were gaudy and lavish, with furnishings that seemed more for display than comfort. Daijen eyed the carved, gilded chairs and decided to stand. He didn’t stand long before the head priest rushed in, his fleshy face red from exertion. He bowed low toward Daijen. “Welcome, More Holy One. How may I serve you?”

“Are you aware that the Devourer is displeased?”

The head priest paled. “How can that be? We’ve reaped many souls for our master. Karm’s temple is destroyed.”

“Our god is never sated,” replied Daijen.

“We’ve remained diligent,” said the head priest in a nervous voice. “Throughout Vinden, we’ve stirred the folk. Karm’s servants are hunted people.”

“Nevertheless, someone in Bremven has cheated our master of its due.”

“Who? When?”

“That’s what I’m here to learn.”

“We’ll assist you in every way possible. You need only tell me your requirements.”

“Secrecy, first of all. Who met me at the door?”

“That would be Grune.”

“Sacrifice him,” said Daijen. “Immediately.”

The head priest bowed low. “It will be done, More Holy One.”

“This is the last time you’ll see me. I require gold and clothes in the Averen style that would befit a common merchant. I’ll be staying at the Blue Mountain Inn under the name of Rangar. Find someone to serve as messenger, someone who can’t be traced to here. I need to know about every Sarf, Seer, and Bearer who was in Bremven, however briefly, after the fall of Karm’s temple.”

The head priest bowed again. “All this will be accomplished, More Holy One. May I do anything else? Perhaps you’d like refreshment.”

“I’ll have meat and wine. Red wine. Bring it yourself along with Grune’s head.”

Daijen watched the color leave the head priest’s face.Living in Bremven has made him soft , he thought.He wouldn’t last long in Lord Bahl’s court .

Three days after Daijen’s arrival, winds from the north eased the heat in Bremven. By then, he had received a promising lead and ventured out to pursue it. Standing near a merchant’s lavish home, he observed a young woman leave. Dressed as a house slave, she was carrying a large bundle toward the docks. Daijen followed at a distance, but as the woman neared a trading vessel he hurried to catch her. When she turned at the sound of his rapid footsteps, Daijen called to her in an Averen accent. “Mistress? Mistress, could you help me?”

As soon as the woman’s eyes met his, Daijen sensed that she was attracted to him. He was a handsome man, and his pale gray eyes would have been appealing even without their supernatural powers. Daijen smiled and watched the woman blush. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” said Daijen in a timid voice. “You look like you’re from my homeland and… and I do na know where to turn. I was hoping you might help me.”

“How?”

“My name’s Rangar, Mistress. I came to join my older brother. He served in Karm’s temple and …” Daijen’s voice choked off, and his eyes filled with tears.

“Your brother’s dead, isn’t he?” asked the woman in a gentle voice.

Daijen let out a sob. “Aye, Mistress.”

“Call me Gurdy. I’m no one’s mistress, just a house slave.”

“I see na slave, only a kindly face.” Daijen wiped his eyes and gazed at Gurdy with a look of hope and trust. “I’m a stranger here, and the place is thick with the Devourer’s followers.”

“How can I help you?” asked Gurdy, clearly eager to be of some service.

“I seek to work for someone who still respects the Balance.”

Gurdy beamed. “You’re in luck! My master still honors Karm. He’s a cloth merchant, the richest one in Bremven. He always needs men for his caravans. His name’s Commodus.”

“But would he dare hire someone with ties to Karm’s temple?”

“My master’s unafraid of the black-robed ones. Until just recently, a Sarf lived with us. My own mistress became his Bearer.”

“It’s a comfort to know na everyone’s forsaken the goddess. But how could a woman become a Bearer after the temple had fallen?”

“I’ve no idea,” replied Gurdy. “I didn’t understand it then, and I don’t now. I’ve no idea why Yim would even want to be a Bearer. She gave up a lot.”

“Yim?”

“That was my mistress’s name. Actually, she was my mistress for only a day. She was a slave before then. When she became my master’s ward, I was to attend her. She left the very first night, and when she came back with Honus, she was a Bearer. I don’t know how it happened, it just did.”

“Who’s Honus?”

“Her Sarf. He became her Sarf when she became a Bearer.” Gurdy sighed. “Then it was back to being a house slave for me. Yim gave up her lovely room and slept in humble quarters, though she and Honus dined with the master.”

“Your tale seems proof that Karm has na forsaken Bremven.” Daijen gazed affectionately at Gurdy, then lowered his voice to a more intimate tone. “As does your kindness.”

Gurdy flushed. “It’s nothing.”

“It means everything to me,” said Daijen. “Can I carry your bundle? It looks heavy.”

“I can manage. The boat’s right ahead.”

As Daijen watched Gurdy rush off to deliver her package, he was satisfied that he had learned everything of use from her. Nevertheless, he didn’t depart. Daijen disliked leaving loose ends.

When Gurdy returned to the wharf, she was pleased to find her new acquaintance waiting. “Would you say Commodus is an understanding man?” he asked.

“He’s very kind.”

“Then surely he will na begrudge you a little rest. It’s pleasant on the riverbank.” The man Gurdy knew as Rangar held out a small golden-brown pastry. “I’ve a berry tart. Will you share it with me?”

Gurdy needed no persuasion. She followed Rangar away from the busy wharf to a quiet stretch of river and a sun-warmed stone on its shore. There she removed her sandals and dangled her feet in the clear flowing water. Her companion did likewise and handed her the tart. Its sweetness complemented Gurdy’s mood. “Oh Rangar, this is so good! You must taste it!”

Rangar didn’t look at the tart. Instead, he gazed lovingly into her eyes as he touched a finger to the corner of her mouth and drew it away bearing a drop of berry juice. Delicately and slowly, he licked his fingertip. In a soulful voice he said, “It’s luscious.”

Gurdy felt she was in a romantic tale. She was no longer plain, or even a slave. Everything faded compared to the enchanting eyes that fixed on hers. She bit into the tart, smearing her lips with red sweetness. “Would you like another taste?”

Rangar’s hand gently brushed Gurdy’s cheek, then traveled to caress the back of her neck. With exquisite slowness, his lips moved toward hers. Gurdy was transfixed with anticipation. She felt the warmth of his breath, then the softness of his lips. Then a stab of pain broke the spell. “Ow!” she cried.

Rangar’s gaze seemed to follow something in the sky. “A hornet!” he said. “Did it sting you?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Gurdy, touching the back of her neck.

“It must have been drawn by the tart. Are you all right?” “I think so, but it hurts.”

Rangar bent over to wave his hand in the water. For an instant, Gurdy thought she saw something shiny fall from his fingertips and tumble into the depths. Then Rangar withdrew his wet hand to rub her neck. His touch was not only cool and soothing but also tender, and Gurdy became convinced that her eyes had been tricked.I saw only a reflection , she thought. “Oh Rangar, that feels good.”

“I’m glad,” he replied. “But you should get out of the sun.”

“Maybe I should. I feel a little woozy.”

Rangar stood and helped Gurdy rise. “I’d walk you back to your master’s house, but perhaps we should na be seen together.”

“Why?” asked Gurdy, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

“Your master may na hire me if he knows I care for you. It’d be better if people think we’re strangers when we meet again.”

“I’ll keep your secret,” said Gurdy. She touched Rangar’s cheek as she moved closer to him, berry juice still coloring her pursed lips.

Rangar bent down to fasten his sandals. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes,” replied Gurdy with a sigh. “We’ll meet again tomorrow.” She put on her sandals.

While Rangar remained on the riverbank, Gurdy headed back to her master’s house. There she kept her delicious secret as she worked the rest of the day polishing the huge dining hall table. It seemed to her that the day had turned hot, and the heat made her dizzy. She went to bed without eating dinner and lay upon her straw-filled mattress, drenched in sweat. When she fell into a fitful sleep, heat entered her dream.

Gurdy stood alone on a featureless plain where the sun beat down from an empty sky. It was oppressively hot. “Come into the shade,” said a voice. Gurdy turned and saw Rangar standing in a patch of shadow. Neither had been there before. As Gurdy walked toward him, she realized that she was naked and the heat didn’t radiate from the sun, but from Rangar’s eyes. She stepped into the shade, and it turned cold. Rangar’s mouth was smeared with red.Berry juice , Gurdy thought. She moved to kiss it away.

THREE

THE FOLLOWINGmorning found Commodus in his counting room. He stared listlessly out the window, for the news of Gurdy’s death had made him melancholy. Jev, his steward, had been terse in reporting her demise, remarking that Gurdy “looked ill” last evening and her mattress was soaked with sweat when they found her. With dry eyes, Jev had supposed she died of a fever and let the matter rest.

Commodus couldn’t let it rest so easily. He mourned the young woman, not because he cared for her especially, but because it seemed that nobody did. The more Commodus thought of Gurdy’s lonely death, the more he thought of Yim’s sentiments on slavery. She had wanted him to free Gurdy. Despite his respect for Yim, he had scoffed at the idea and said Gurdy was happy, with all her needs met. Upon recalling his arguments, Commodus felt they rang hollow. The silken robe that Gurdy would wear upon her funeral pyre had cost him more than she did.

A knock interrupted his musings. “Yes,” said Commodus.

Jev’s voice came from behind the door. “Sire, a young trader wishes to speak with you.”

“I told you I’d see no one.”

“It’s about gold brocade, sire. He wants to order two dozen bolts.”

“Did you say twodozen?”

“Yes, sire. Two dozen.”

Commodus opened the door. “Do you know him?”

“No, sire,” replied Jev. “He says his name is Rangar and that he comes from Averen.”

“They don’t wear such finery in Averen,” said Commodus with puzzlement. “Still, two dozen bolts. I guess I’ll see him.”

Jev ushered in a stranger carrying a parchment-wrapped bundle and then departed. Commodus met his visitor suspiciously, for he didn’t like the man’s eyes. “My steward says you’re interested in gold brocade.”

“Yes,” replied the man. “My name’s Rangar, sire, and I’m new to Bremven. I’d like to commission a pattern. The client will provide the gold.”

“That’s not the common practice,” said Commodus, glancing at the bundle. “I think your client’s overtrusting.” When he looked up and saw that Rangar was regarding him with a piercing gaze, he grew angry and glanced away. “I know that look! And I can defeat it!”

“I needed assurance that you’re honest.”

“That’s one use for that trick, but only one.”

“Please, sire. I beg your pardon. I’ve been cheated so often, I probe thoughts out of caution. You possess the same ability, otherwise you wouldn’t have detected me.”

“If you had asked around, you’d know my reputation.”

“I did, sire. And forsooth, it sounded too good to be true. I’ve even heard tell that you sheltered a Bearer and her Sarf when most now lack the courage to honor the goddess.”

Commodus looked at Rangar sharply. “Who told you that?”

“A slave girl. She babbled on and on about it.”

“You’ve questioned one of my slaves?”

“Of course not. I merely asked directions. She volunteered the rest.”

“Well, you shouldn’t listen to a slave girl’s prattle. I sheltered no one.” Commodus glanced at his visitor, saw that he wasn’t deceived, and quickly changed the subject. Pointing to the parchment-covered bundle, he asked, “Is that a sample of the pattern?”

“Yes,” replied Rangar as he unfolded its wrapping.

Commodus frowned when he saw the elaborately embroidered black cloth it contained. “This is for vestments worn by the Devourer’s priests.”

“So? They’ll pay well.”

“I detest the Black Temple. I’ll not garb its priests.”

“I’ve no love for the Devourer either. But profit and religion are separate spheres.”

“Perhaps to you. I feel differently. Find another source for your brocade.”

“At least give me the benefit of your expertise. I worry that I’ve been cheated again. Could you tell me if the gold thread in this sample is full weight? It’s supposed to be three grains an ell.”

“You shouldn’t be dealing in brocades if you can’t tell that,” said Commodus. Nevertheless, he decided to oblige the man in order to get rid of him more quickly. Taking the sample, he ran his fingers over the cloth to feel its gold thread. Suddenly, Commodus jerked back his hand. “Someone left a pin in it.” He sucked the dot of blood from his finger, then smiled. “They stuck you, too. The thread’s too soft to be full weight.”

Rangar looked dejected. “Just as I feared.”

“If I were you, son, I wouldn’t deal with the Black Temple. You can lose more than money there. Now, since we’ve no further business, I wish to be alone.” Commodus turned to face the window and was glad to hear Rangar leave. The man had left a foul impression, and Commodus was certain that he had been interested in something other than brocade.The Black Temple draws scoundrels like shit draws flies, and Bremven’s the worse for it , he thought.Yim was wise to leave when she did . He rubbed his fingertip, which was still sore where the pin had pricked it. As he did, the room seemed to grow warmer.

Jev entered a little while later. “That was a waste of time,” said Commodus. “I’ll see no one else today. Send up a boy to fan me. This heat’s making me woozy.”

The summer’s warmth made for quick funerals, and Daijen returned to the counting room only two days after his first visit. “I’m so sorry to hear of your father’s demise,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Dommus. “It was a shock. A sudden fever took him.”

“Summer can bring evil vapors,” said Daijen. “It’s most tragic. I only met him once, but your father impressed me as an honest and principled man. I felt honored to do business with him. He did mention my order? It was a large one.”

“No,” said Dommus. “He didn’t speak of it. Or of you, for that matter. What’s your name again?”

“Rangar. Perhaps he didn’t mention me because we hadn’t sealed our bargain. I had to speak to my client first.”

“Well, I know nothing about it. What does this business concern?”

Daijen unwrapped a parchment-covered bundle to reveal a piece of black brocade, richly woven with gold. “Twenty-four bolts, and that’s only the first order.”

Dommus’s face lit up with excitement. “Two dozen bolts!” He glanced at Daijen, who met his eyes with a piercing stare. Unlike his father, Dommus was easily ensnared. His expression quickly took on the trusting look of one who recognizes a fellow soul. Upon seeing it, Daijen smiled as one worldly man does to another.

Dommus returned the smile. “This is fine work,” he said, reaching out to touch the brocade.

Daijen stayed his hand and plucked a needle from the stitching. “I’m sorry, some careless fool left this in the cloth. I wouldn’t want you pricked.”

Dommus fingered the work appreciatively. “Expensive stuff,” he said. “Why go through me? It’s more common to deal directly with the weavers.”

“I’m seldom in Bremven,” replied Daijen. “I need someone to insure the quality. That concerns my client more than price.”

“And your client’s the Black Temple?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“I’m a merchant,” said Dommus. “Gold is gold.”

“So religion presents no difficulties?”

“The only problem I have with religion concerns an overstock of dark blue cloth. With Karm’s temple destroyed, I can’t give it away.”

“Yes, it’s worth your life to go about in blue,” said Daijen with an air of sympathy. “Beatings and worse. You’d think the emperor would stop such persecutions.”

“Morvus is under Lord Bahl’s thumb,” replied Dommus.

“He’ll do nothing.”

“Then why not dye the blue cloth black and sell it for priests’ robes?”

Dommus grinned. “I like that idea.” He fingered the gold cloth again. “Two dozen bolts you say?”

“In the first order,” replied Daijen. “Just name your price. They’ll pay it.”

Dommus grinned more broadly. “Would you like some wine while we work out our arrangement?”

“As long as it’s chilled.”

Dommus was into his second goblet before all the particulars were put into writing. By then, he looked quite pleased with himself. Daijen was equally satisfied. “I’m like you, Dommus,” he said. “I might sell to the Black Temple, but to me they’re merely customers. Religion doesn’t interest me, but I’m sorry I missed meeting Yim.”

“Yim?”

“Yes, the woman Bearer. Your father spoke of her.”

“Oh yes,Karmamatus,” said Dommus. “Well, she might be Karm’s beloved, but did Father also tell you she was a slave?”

“No,” said Daijen feigning surprise. “This sounds like a strange tale.”

“You’ll never hear one stranger,” said Dommus in a confidential tone.

Daijen leaned forward, looking intrigued. “How does one go from slave to Bearer?”

“Well, she came with this Sarf…”

“Honus?”

“Yes, Honus,” said Dommus. “He freed her and more or less dumped her here. Father took her in as a favor. Not that I minded. As we used to say—she was as pretty as the goddess. Only eighteen winters. Long, walnut hair. Big, dark eyes. She filled out a silk robe quite nicely.”

Daijen gave Dommus an earthy look. “Someone worth tupping?”

Dommus grinned back. “I’ll say,” he said. “Not that I got any. Though, I might have if it weren’t for Honus.”

“He interfered?”

“Not in the way you might think. He dumped her because he planned vengeance on the Black Temple. Somehow, Yim found out. I think she forced it from Father, though I can’t imagine how. Anyway, she rushed out that very night.”

“And?”

“She stopped Honus. Good thing for us she did. Otherwise, you and I would lack some lucrative clients. If any man could wipe out the black priests, it’s Honus. He has quite a reputation.”

“He must have been furious with her.”

“Quite the opposite,” said Dommus. “Afterward, he worshipped her, and I mean literally.”

“So she became his Bearer?” said Daijen. “In one night? I thought it took years to become one.”

Dommus shrugged. “I guess not. Honus certainly believed she was holy. Father did, too. It got tiresome.”

“I can imagine,” said Daijen. “Bearers are a stiff-necked lot, and their Sarfs are even worse. How’d you get rid of them?”

“They left on their own accord. Just five days ago.”

“For where?” asked Daijen casually.

“Averen,” replied Dommus. “Something to do with Lord Bahl.”

“Bahl?”

“That’s what Father said. It worried him.”

“I’d think it might,” said Daijen. “What did they hope to accomplish?”

“Beats me,” said Dommus. “All I know is that it was a waste of a fine-looking woman. She was tuppable, Rangar.Very tuppable.”

Daijen left Dommus’s company confident that he had solved his puzzle. Everything he had learned fitted with his informants’ reports and his vision at Karm’s temple.Yim’s the one who enraged my master . Daijen was certain of it. There were no other possibilities. Furthermore, Dommus had not only confirmed the enemy’s identity; he had said where she was headed.

As Daijen returned to his lodgings, he didn’t reflect on the irony that the blood Yim had denied the Devourer would have been spilled in the Black Temple. As far as his master was concerned, blood was blood. As long as it wasn’t Daijen’s own, it didn’t matter to him either. At the moment, he was particularly pleased with himself, for it had taken just seven days to ferret out Yim. Now that Daijen knew she was his target, he turned his thoughts to her annihilation.

FOUR

IT WASgrowing dark, but not quickly enough. There was nowhere for Yim to hide. Though the brush was dense and tangled, it was only waist-high, and a recent flood had stripped its leaves. It wouldn’t screen her from sight. Moreover, her tracks stood out on the muddy ground. Yim’s only chance was to outrun her pursuer. She slipped the pack from her shoulders, wishing she had abandoned it earlier. She opened its flap and took out the knife.A puny weapon against a sword . Then Yim turned her attention to her sandal. Its strap had come loose and examination showed that it had broken.No time to fix it . Already, Yim heard boots crunching on loose stone.

Yim removed her sandals and resumed running. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the man who had been tracking her. He sheathed his sword and ran also. Yim followed a streambed because it offered the easiest path, its banks having been swept clear of brush by floodwaters. Without the heavy pack, Yim outpaced her pursuer, and it seemed she would escape. She ran until she was winded.

Pausing to catch her breath, Yim listened for the swordsman she had seen only twice. Five men had attacked them on the road, and Honus had taken on all five while she darted for safety. The man pursuing her had been lying in wait. If Yim had run to the opposite side of the lane, she would have fallen into his trap. Instead, he had been forced to reveal himself and chase after her. That was the only reason she still lived.

As Yim listened for sounds of pursuit, she noted her surroundings for the first time and saw that she had entered a valley. Its sides weren’t enclosed by sloping ridges, but by low walls of vertical stone. They weren’t near, but Yim could see that they drew closer upstream.I’m in a funnel , she thought. Yim was considering pushing her way through the dead brush and attempting to scale those walls when she heard her pursuer slogging through the water. Yim panicked and resumed sprinting along the stream bank. Before long, the walls closed in, and she was running inside a ravine with no choice but to continue deeper into it. Either by chance or design, she had become game herded into a trap. Nevertheless, flight seemed her only hope.

The surrounding walls were vertical and composed of thin layers of brittle slate, piled horizontally like knife blades. Yim looked for a place to climb, but saw none. The farther she ran, the higher the walls rose until they towered high above her head. Soon the darkening sky was only a ribbon hemmed by stone. There was no vegetation, only mud and rock. In some places, the stream flowed in a thin sheet over a nearly level slate floor. Elsewhere, jumbled slabs of fallen rock littered the way. Nowhere was there a place to hide. A layer of damp silt coated everything, making the footing treacherous and leaving clear impressions of Yim’s footprints.

The ravine followed a twisting course, and every turn seemed to present a new obstacle. After clambering over a pile of loose slate, Yim rounded a corner to find a small waterfall barring her way. Water cascaded over a steep slope that was twice Yim’s height. She waded through shallow water to climb it. Close to the ravine wall, the pool was only ankle-deep and no water spilled down the barrier. Yim gripped the knife with her teeth to free both hands to climb the damp slate. She made slow progress, for the holds were precarious and the rock was slippery.

Yim had nearly reached the top when she slipped and bounced against rock all the way down. The blows knocked the breath from her, and the knife tumbled into the silty pool below. Yim was cut and scraped by her fall, but she landed on her feet. Ignoring her injuries, she dropped to her hands and knees to grope for the knife in the cloudy water. Yim was still in that position when she heard a sword being drawn from its sheath.

Turning around, Yim spied a man advancing up the ravine. He was only twenty paces away. Flight was impossible. Yim sat down in the shallow pool as her pursuer approached. Supported by her arms, she inclined her torso as if shrinking from her nemesis. He was a young man with a hefty, work-hardened body. Garbed like a farmer, he wielded his stubby sword more like a pruning hook than a weapon. Yim tried to catch his eye, but he carefully avoided her gaze. “Why are you hunting me?” she called out. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

“We know of yer sorcerous ways,” the man said as he advanced. “Ye’ll not stealour children.”

“I serve the Goddess of Compassion,” said Yim. “I’d never harm a child. Look me in the eye and see truth.”

The man resolutely stared toward Yim’s feet. “I’ve heard of that trick. Ye cannot bewitch me.”

Yim’s eyes fixed on the advancing blade, which seemed a rusty heirloom. It shook in the man’s trembling grasp. Her pursuer halted just a step away, and Yim’s gaze shifted to his face. His eyes avoided hers, but she could tell that he was nearly as frightened as she was. “You don’t have to kill me.”

“I must. There’s no other way.”

Yim began to sniffle softly, then lifted her left hand from the muddy water. She moved it slowly, so as not to alarm the man, and began to unbutton her shirt. Yim couldn’t tell whether her tears or her undressing perplexed her attacker more, but in either case he was transfixed. She opened her shirt to expose her breasts. The young man’s gaze went to them. “If you’re resolved to slay me, pierce me through the heart,” said Yim, her voice vulnerable and frightened. “I’ll show you where to strike.”

Yim delicately grasped the sword’s tip and guided it between her breasts, pulling the swordsman toward her. The blade was such a short one, he was drawn quite close. All this happened with such dreamlike slowness that it had an air of unreality. Then Yim suddenly pushed the blade aside and leaned forward as her right hand flashed upward from the muddy water.

Yim guided the knife as Honus had taught her—under the breastbone and into the heart. Yim’s attacker jerked from the blow and his sword swung upward to cut her chin. Then the weapon splashed into the pool. Yim felt the man’s heart pulsing at the end of her blade. Hot blood spurted over her hand. Yim’s assailant met her gaze only as he died. As their eyes locked for an instant, the man’s expression became astonished. Then he collapsed.

Yim lay in the silty water immobilized by shock and the weight of the man atop her. He did not yet seem a corpse. His body was warm and smelled of sweat and hay. Yim wondered who had poisoned his mind and if the children that he feared would be stolen were his. She felt like a murderer, not a victor, and it was awhile before she pushed the inert body off hers. Her knife was still lodged in the man’s chest. When Yim bent over to extract the blade, she looked at her assailant’s young, still face. She found no malice frozen on its features, only awe.

As Yim closed the dead man’s eyelids, her hand began to tremble. Whatever relief she felt at her escape was overwhelmed by trauma. She began to sob. Weeping, Yim washed the blood from her shirt, dragged the body from the pool, and made the Sign of the Balance over it. Then she slumped to the ravine’s damp floor and continued sobbing until it grew dark.

When Yim finally departed, the way back seemed longer than she remembered. It was too dark to search for the pack and her sandals by the time she emerged from the ravine. It would be hard even to find the road. As Yim made her way in the gloom, the face of the man she had killed lingered in her thoughts. His final moment haunted her.What did he see? Over and over, she wondered if his death could have been avoided.

Yim nearly screamed when a dark figure stepped from the shadows, but she didn’t draw her knife.

“Yim,” said Honus, “are you all right? Someone was following you.”

“He’s dead,” replied Yim, struggling not to sob again. “I killed him.”

Honus rushed to her. Yim knew his impulse was to embrace her, just as she knew he would stifle it. Instead, he touched her bloody chin. “You’ve been wounded. I should tend it.”

“You can’t. I left the pack behind, and I don’t know where it is.”

“I do,” replied Honus. “I found it and your sandals, too. I’m sorry I failed you.”

“How did you fail me?”

“I didn’t see your attacker.”

“You were fighting five at once!”

“If you were slain, what good would it have done to fight the five? I’m your Sarf, and I didn’t protect you.”

“Enough, Honus. I’m alive. And the five you fought?”

“All dead.”

“So much killing,” said Yim in a mournful tone. “Two attacks in two days.”

“The black priests have been busy. Folk are stirred against us.”

“The man I …” Yim paused to regain her composure. “He said something about stealing children. How could anyone believe such lies?” Yim let out a long sigh that sounded like breathy sobbing. “Five days on the road, and I’m already at my limit!”

“A Bearer’s path is often hard,” said Honus, his tone tender and concerned.

“But it’s supposed to be a holy one,” replied Yim. “Honus, I just killed a man. What’s holy about that? I tricked him, and I’m ashamed to say how.”

“Karmamatus…”

“Don’t call me that!” said Yim, her voice shrill. “I’m unworthy of the name.”

Honus seemed about to disagree, but he bowed his head instead. The two walked silently awhile before Yim spoke. “I’m sorry, Honus. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“After what you’ve been through, it’s natural to be on edge,” said Honus. “The pack’s close by. Soon you’ll have dry clothes, and I’ll find a campsite when the moon rises. You’ll feel better after some food and rest.”

“I doubt it. I can’t forget that man’s face. When I stabbed him …” Yim’s voice trailed off and she shuddered.

“Time will ease the memory.”

“You say that because you’re a Sarf.”

“And used to killing?” replied Honus. “How could it be otherwise? Yet I still remember the first man I slew.”

Yim fell silent again as she followed Honus back to the pack. Yim opened it and removed some dry clothes. After she changed, she sat beside Honus on a rock and waited for the moon to rise.

“Honus, did Theodus ever kill anyone?”

“No.”

“Then I want no more lessons with the knife. I should trust Karm to protect me.”

“Karm didn’t protect Theodus.”

“Would a knife have saved him?”

“A knife saved you.”

“All the same, I won’t kill again.”

“Yim, you must protect yourself. Things were different when Theodus was my Bearer.”

“That was less than three moons ago,” retorted Yim.

“The last time Theodus and I were in Vinden, we were welcome everywhere. But that was three winters ago.”

“Then things have certainly changed,” said Yim. “Still, it seems wrong for a Bearer to kill.”

“The goddess metes out death. As do I in your service.”

“So, why should I shrink from doing my part?”

“I didn’t say that,” replied Honus.

“Tonight, my presence drew six men from their homes. Now they’re dead and their blood’s on my hands, whether I wielded a blade or not.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself,” said Honus. “I know you wish harm to no one. All I hope is that you’ll do what’s necessary.”

Honus’s choice of words startled Yim, for Karm had told her to do “what’s necessary” in her last vision. It had been ambiguous guidance then, and it remained so.Did it mean I should kill? wondered Yim. Her thoughts were interrupted when Honus gently grasped her hand, “Please, Yim,” he whispered. “Protect yourself. Don’t lose your life to spare a foe.”

“Is that Karm’s will or yours?”

“I see no conflict. One need not die because they’re not good.”

“There may come a time when that won’t be true,” said Yim. “If so, will you be guided by the goddess or your feelings?”

“Though I love you…”

“You promised not to speak of that.”

“You asked about my feelings,” said Honus, as he meekly released her hand.

Yim sighed. “Oh Honus, how can this work? I can’t return your love. I feel I’m tormenting you.”

“If I can serve and protect you, I’m content.”

“Still…”

“My fate’s Karm’s doing, not yours.”

When the moon rose and there was light to find the way, Honus led Yim away from the stream and into a nearby forest. There, he selected a campsite that was both hidden from the road and easy to defend. While Yim hung out her wet clothes, he gathered firewood.

As Yim waited for Honus to return, she was discouraged. The sense of purpose that she had felt upon leaving Bremven had been quickly worn down by hardships on the road, and she was uncertain whether she was following the goddess’s path. The incident in the ravine seemed confirmation that she wasn’t. The dead man’s face continued to haunt her, causing her to question her judgment.

Last winter, when Yim had departed her distant highland home, her goal had seemed simple: She was to have a child, and by doing so, help overcome evil. She had been groomed for that task ever since early childhood when Karm had appeared to her and said that she was “the Chosen.” The Wise Woman who became her guardian stated Karm would guide Yim to the father. Instead, she had been ambushed, enslaved, and sold to Honus. Everything that happened afterward, from gaining her freedom to becoming Honus’s master, seemed as much happenstance as the goddess’s doing.

I felt differently on the night I became Honus’s Bearer, thought Yim. Then she had felt cupped in Karm’s hands. By assuming the role of Honus’s late Bearer, Yim believed that she had finally determined the proper course of action. Resuming Theodus’s search for the source of evil gave Yim a destination, and upon her journey, she might find the man who was to father her child. After all, Karm had told her to follow Theodus’s footsteps. However, recent events made that decision seem imprudent, and Yim wondered if even becoming a Bearer had been a mistake.

Sitting alone in the dark forest, Yim felt abandoned by Karm. Throughout Yim’s life, the goddess seemed the mother she had never known and provided love when her guardian offered none. Yet ever since Yim had left the highlands, she felt that the goddess had grown remote, appearing rarely and behaving cryptically.

The more Yim thought, the more her misgivings grew. The vision directing her to follow the footsteps of Honus’s late Bearer could be interpreted in more than one way.Perhaps I’m supposed to retrace his journey, not resume his quest . Like most of her visions, its guidance was ambiguous. Others made even less sense. Twice Karm had appeared to Yim covered in blood. Those apparitions were as ominous as they were puzzling. Yim tried to imagine what Honus would think of such bizarre visions.If he knew what I saw, would he think I was holy or crazy?

Though Honus seemed unshaken by Yim’s uncertainty, she often felt like a charlatan.He knows I’m the Chosen, but I’ve never told him what that means. Instead, I play his Bearer because I need him . Until Karm revealed who would father Yim’s child, Honus’s protection seemed essential.And what does he get in return? Nothing, not even the truth .

Honus returned with a load of wood. Even in the dim light, he moved noiselessly through the undergrowth. Soon he had lit a fire. Its small circle of light made the surrounding forest seem all the darker. Honus took out his healing kit, and set a pot of water to boil. “When the water’s ready,” he said, “I’ll tend your wound.”

Yim touched the cut on her chin. “Is it bad?”

Honus peered at it in the firelight. “No, but you’ll have a scar.”

Yim smiled wryly. “I’m catching up with your collection.”

“I’m keeping apace with you,” replied Honus.

For the first time, Yim noticed that Honus’s shirtsleeve was torn and blood-soaked. She gasped. “Honus! Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“I didn’t wish to trouble you. Besides, it’s not deep.” He rolled up his right sleeve to reveal a bloody gash on his forearm.

When the water boiled, Honus poured some into a wooden bowl and added powder from a vial in his healing kit. After cleaning the blood from Yim’s face, he wetted a cloth with the solution in the bowl. “This will sting,” he said.

“I remember,” replied Yim. She winced as the solution foamed inside her cut. Glimpsing the concern in Honus’s eyes, she tried to hide her pain. She took a deep breath and said, “I’m glad that’s over.”

Honus cleaned the gash on his arm with the same solution, then asked, “Would you stitch my wound closed? I’d rather not do it left-handed.”

“I’ll try,” said Yim, “but I’ve never done the like before.”

“It’s not hard, and I’m certain your dainty fingers will do finer work than Theodus’s thick ones ever managed.”

“Before you malign his stitching, you should compare it to mine,” said Yim. “As a girl, I was more adept with goats than needlework.”

“Then pretend I’m a goat.”

Honus took out a curved needle and a strand of gut from his kit and dipped them in the cleansing solution. He declined Yim’s suggestion to prepare a brew for his pain, stating he wanted to stay alert. When Yim nervously sewed his wound, he was absolutely stoic. He guided her stitching calmly, tensing only slightly each time the needle pierced his flesh. The only evidence of his pain was the deep breath he took when Yim was done. Honus gazed at his stitches and smiled. “You underestimate your skill.”

“I’m glad you’re so easily pleased,” Yim replied. “The woman who raised me would’ve made me tear out the seam and restitch it.”

Honus winced. “Let’s talk of food, instead,” he said quickly. “Perhaps this would be a good night to have that cheese we were saving.”

“To celebrate our new scars?’

“To celebrate we’re both alive.”

FIVE

FAR NORTHof Yim and Honus, Hendric stood in a long line for his ration of porridge. The army had halted its advance only when night fell, and he was hungry, footsore, and distraught. The peasant soldier had been on the march for five days, and each step had taken him farther from his pregnant wife and young family. Hendric had joined the army to prevent their slaughter, but that would neither plant the crop nor harvest it, and he feared that those he loved would starve in his absence.

Hendric’s newly issued sword hung by his side. He hated it. It felt ponderous dangling from his hip, and every time it knocked against his legs it reminded him of his forced servitude. He hated everyone who had taken him from home and family, starting with Count Yaun, who made a treaty with Lord Bahl and emptied his realm of men to fulfill it. Hendric despised the black-robed priests who stirred up men to fight against folk they had never seen. It had been Hendric’s neighbors who enforced the count’s decree by threatening anyone who refused to go. Hendric could no longer stand the sight of them, so he ate with strangers.

Hendric was able to move freely within the mass of men because it was more of a mob than an army. It had no units or officers. The only real soldiers were Lord Bahl’s troops, the Iron Guard. They were the armored men who kept order through ruthless brutality. The peasants quickly learned that disobeying their commands or lagging behind could have deadly consequences and safety lay solely in obedience.

As Hendric waited dutifully—if sullenly—for his meager meal, someone tapped his shoulder and spoke. “Hey there. Ye one of them Falsten lads?”

Hendric turned and beheld a ragged man who appeared to be a peasant, despite his well-worn leather armor and battered metal helm. The man was smiling in a manic way that matched the unsettling look in his eyes. “Aye,” replied Hendric tersely, hoping to keep the conversation short.

“Ye have that green look ta ye. So I says ta meself, ‘Slasher’—that’s what I call meself now—Slasher. ‘Slasher,’ I says, ’ye need ta show that lad the way of things, him being green and all.’” Slasher bowed. “So at yer service.”

“I don’t need yer service.”

“I know ye think so. I hail from Lurwic and was same as ye. Took ye from yer people did they?”

“Aye.”

“Well, they killed all mine, but said they’d spare those that would soldier. So I joined. I wasn’t happy ’bout it. I wasn’t Slasher then. I was like ye.”

“I want to stay like me.”

“Ye mean miserable and low? Mayhap ’tis so, but ye’ll have no choice when you meet our lord.”

“Ye mean Lord Bahl?’

Slasher flashed a wide grin. “Aye, and lordly he is. He’ll make ye glad ye’re here. ’twill feel good ta slay.”

“Never.”

“Oh ho! Sure, ye say that now. I did meself afore my first battle. And what a battle ’twas!” The gleam in Slasher’s eyes became more pronounced, and his face began to twitch. “Oh, what we did there! Aye, ’twas a piece of work! Ye wait. Just wait. Bahl will stir yer blood, and that stirring feels wondrous good. Then ye’ll care not what ye do. ’tis so … so… well, ye’ll see fer yerself soon enough.”

“Mayhap.”

“Oh, there’s no mayhap ’bout it. But ye see … What’s yer name?”

“Hendric.”

“But ye see, Hendric, after a bit, that feeling—’tis a good feeling, mind ye—that feeling stays with ye, and ye ferget things. Some things, they be good ta ferget. No use pining, I say. But ye may ferget ta take care of yerself. So be like me and get a helm and armor from some dead bloke who don’t need it. Do it while ye still have the sense ta do it.”

“I thank ye for yer advice,” replied Hendric, hoping the man would shut up.

“And beware of those with the look.”

“The look?”

“’tis hard ta miss. A gleam in the eye, like the fighting wasn’t ended. Stay clear of them that have it. They’ll slay ye quick just fer nothing.”

“Well, thanks again for that.” Hendric faced the other way, but Slasher just tapped his shoulder again.

“A Falsten lad, huh? Yer count’s a piece of work. What’s his name?”

“Count Yaun.”

“Well, he sure likes the lasses. That was some beauty he had last night.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, I was near his tent. Does he always make them scream like that? ’Tweren’t from pleasure.That’s fer certain!”

“I’ve heard tales in camp,” replied Hendric, his face darkening. “The count be more pig than man, and a cruel one at that.”

Slasher grinned in his disturbing way. “By and by, all shall die.”

Hendric regarded his unwanted companion and envied his carefree madness. He wondered if Slasher was right about Lord Bahl and hoped that he was. His life had become something he’d gladly forget.

The dim light was reminiscent of dusk on a foggy evening. In its pale illumination, Honus was hard to see. He stood alone and motionless on a barren, rocky hillside that overlooked a dry streambed. He was naked, and Yim realized it was not the man she saw, but his spirit. Though cold mist filled the air, the stony landscape was as dry as ancient bones. Yim cried out. “Honus!” He didn’t reply, but turned to gaze at her. Even though he was distant, Yim could feel his longing as if it were hers. Then the mist thickened, and Honus’s form grew ever fainter until it vanished altogether.

Yim woke with a start to find Honus asleep beside her. She touched his hand. It was warm. Thus reassured, she tried to go back to sleep. The hard ground and a vague sense of dread made it difficult. When the night sky turned the deep blue of predawn, Yim still lay open-eyed beneath the cloak she shared with Honus. She nestled against him, for the rhythm of his breathing was calming.

The world slowly came alive. Birds began to call, and when the sun’s first rays turned the treetops golden, Honus stirred. “I’m sorry I overslept,” he said. He rose to light the fire.

Yim rose also. “You needed rest,” she replied. “Your wound kept you up most the night.”

“Did I disturb you?”

“No, other things did.”

“Thoughts of the man you slew?”

“More than that. I shouldn’t be your Bearer. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“To ‘bear’ means to carry burdens,” said Honus. “Uncertainty is one of them. Theodus taught me that.”

“But Theodus trained for years at the temple. What right have I to guide anyone?”

“Training doesn’t make a Bearer,” replied Honus. “Bearers are chosen by the Seers. You were chosen by Karm herself.”

“Not to be a Bearer.”

“A Bearer is simply a holy person.”

“I feel adrift, not holy.”

“On the night we returned from the temple, you said you wanted to assume Theodus’s quest.”

“I did,” said Yim. “Only now I’m not so sure. I’m not sure of anything.”

“Do you imagine Theodus always had a sense of purpose?” asked Honus. “Sometimes we wandered aimlessly for moons. I don’t need to be guided. My role is to obey. If you choose to go fishing, I’ll gather worms.”

“Will you also bait my hook?”

“At your command, I’ll skewer legions of worms. Only please don’t ask me to cook your catch.”

“One needs no visions to see the folly in that,” said Yim.

“It’s good to see you smile.”

Yim’s smile disappeared. “That doesn’t solve my problem.”

“When Theodus sought guidance,” said Honus, “he studied my runes.”

That idea had never occurred to Yim. She recalled that Honus had said his runes told portents that only his Bearer should read.If I’m truly his Bearer, then they’re meant for me. In her current state of mind, Yim was hesitant to find out if that was true. “Perhaps I’ll look at them,” she said. “But not now.”

Instead, Yim cooked some porridge. After breakfast she resumed their journey to Averen. Yet the runes remained on her mind. She had seen them only twice: on her first night with Honus and when he was under the dark man’s spell. On both occasions, she had merely glimpsed the markings, and she wondered what a careful examination would reveal. By midmorning, Yim surrendered to her curiosity. She spoke to Honus, who was walking in front of her, which was the customary position for a Sarf. “Find a quiet place away from the road. I wish to study your runes.”

For the past day and a half, the road they followed had hugged the banks of the Yorvern River. Away from the winding river, the land was hilly. Peasants tilled the low areas, but the high places were forested. Honus veered toward a thickly wooded slope and began to climb it. Yim followed. Soon all she could see were tree trunks rising into foliage that dimmed the sunlight and tinted it green. Honus halted by a massive, moss-covered oak that stood near the hill’s summit. “Karmamatus, is this spot suitable?”

It seemed a fitting place to delve into secrets, and Yim said so. Honus removed his shirt and sat cross-legged on the ground. Yim knelt behind him with an air of gravity, for it felt like a momentous occasion. The long-hidden runes seemed mysterious, and Yim was aware that Honus believed the tattoos on his back transcribed his fate.And Theodus’s fate , thought Yim.Perhaps mine also .

The skin of Honus’s back was far paler than that of his neck and forearms, for he always kept it covered. The small blue letters had been needled there during his childhood, and they had stretched and smeared as he grew. About his broad shoulders they were as blurred as watercolors left in the rain. Three scars slashed the inscriptions, one making a long, jagged trail near his spine.

The runes were oddly formed, but similar to the letters Yim knew. The words they spelled were a different matter. The language was so archaic as to seem foreign. A few words were familiar, and Yim could pick out a phrase or two, but nothing made enough sense to provide guidance. She thought that “Ha sendt Daijen” might mean “He sends Daijen.”But what’s a “Daijen”? The question was unanswerable. Once again, Yim felt inadequate.

“Honus, the runes say …”

“Don’t speak of them!” cried Honus. “I mustn’t know what’s written there.”

Yim hushed and continued to stare at the marks. Recalling that Honus had said Theodus used to touch his runes, she did the same, although it felt like playacting. As Yim brushed her fingers over the cryptic words, she noted a few names. She found “Theodus” among the misty runes near Honus’s shoulders. Strangely, it was written only once. As on her first night with Honus, she spied her own name toward the middle of his back. She also found it written several other places. In the last instance, it marked the base of his spine. It unsettled Yim to realize that her name had been tattooed there before she was born and the Seer who had done it had most likely been slain in the temple massacre.

Though the runes offered no guidance, they spoke to Yim nonetheless. They seemed proof that her life wasn’t truly hers. She recalled Honus’s words.“How can I be free if Karm wrote my fate upon my back?” Yim sensed that her life’s course had been preordained likewise and then inscribed in words she couldn’t decipher. All they seemed to foretell was that much lay in store for her. Yim brushed her fingers over Honus’s tattoos a while longer to give the impression that she was studying them. Then she pronounced, “The runes are vague about our course.”

SIX

DAIJEN FOUNDthe inn at dusk. It was a humble place in a poor section of the city. He entered it and found the dingy common room packed with customers. They were a loud bunch, for the ale was cheap. He scanned the dimly lit room and spotted the Sarf exactly where his informant had said he would be. The Sarf sat alone, nursing a mug of tea. Despite the crowd, everyone kept their distance from him.

Daijen caught the innkeeper’s elbow as he bustled by with some empty mugs. “My good man,” he said amiably, “I wish to order a feast.”

The innkeeper regarded Daijen as if he were drunk. “A feast? You’ve come to the wrong place.”

Daijen held his closed hand near the man’s face and briefly lifted his fingers to reveal a gold coin in his palm. Having gained the innkeeper’s attention, he said, “Send out for it if you must, just be quick about it. I want roast lamb with all the trimmings and a jug of good red wine, something from the slopes of South Vinden. Buy enough for two. Will this coin cover the cost?”

The innkeeper grinned. “It’ll do.”

“I want the meal taken to the Sarf.”

“The Sarf?”

“Yes,” replied Daijen. “I’ll be dining with him.”

“You know him?”

“Not yet.”

“Then take my advice and remain a stranger. There are women here who’d fancy a good meal and know how to show their appreciation.”

Daijen assumed an indignant expression. “I’ve no interest in whores!”

The innkeeper shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I warn you, that Sarf’s touchy. Most likely dangerous, too. A Sarf killed a squad of soldiers when he entered the city.” The man gave Daijen a knowing look. “Some say it was him who did it.”

Daijen shot the innkeeper an impatient look. “Do you want this coin or not?”

“Aye,” said the man as he took it. “I’ll send my boy up the street for what you want.”

“Tell him to hurry.”

Daijen moved to a dark corner of the room and waited for the food to arrive. When the boy returned, the innkeeper took the meat, wine, and other dishes to the Sarf. After he left, the Sarf suspiciously scanned the room. When his eyes met Daijen’s, Daijen bowed deeply and then approached. When he stood before the Sarf, he bowed again. “Karmamatus, please allow me to honor Karm with this meal.”

“Karm sees your generosity,” said the Sarf, “and I’m grateful for the food. However, I don’t touch wine.”

“Still, it needn’t go to waste,” said Daijen. He took up the jug, and in a loud voice, addressed the crowded room. “I have good South Vinden wine here! Who will join me in a toast to the goddess? Come friends, lift a cup with me to Karm in hopes that the Balance will be restored.”

Daijen’s proposal was met by uneasy silence. A few men seemed inclined to drink until they glanced about the room. In the end, there were no comers. Daijen sighed and set the jug down on the table. The Sarf looked up at him and said in a low voice, “That wasn’t a wise move. You should watch your back tonight.”

“Is there no faith left in Bremven?” asked Daijen. “Have all its citizens turned cowardly?”

“I fear both are true,” said the Sarf. “Come, stranger, your generosity exceeds my appetite. Would you care to join me?”

“I ordered enough for your Bearer, too,” replied Daijen. “I wouldn’t presume to eat his share.”

“I have no Bearer,” said the Sarf in a cold voice.

“Then I’d be honored to dine with a righteous man.”

Daijen sat down and appraised the blue-clad stranger across the table. He was muscular and tall, with the dark coloring typical of the region. The Sarf looked young, perhaps not yet twenty, but he had an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance. The Seer who had tattooed his face must have foreseen that trait, for the lines he needled there gave the impression of inflexible sternness. Daijen briefly peered into the Sarf’s dark eyes and was relieved to note they possessed only ordinary perception. Daijen smiled as he made his eyes friendly and reverent. “My name is Rangar, Karmamatus. As you can see, I’m a visitor to Bremven.”

“I’m Gatt,” said the Sarf.

Gatt was clearly glad for a hearty meal, and Daijen let him eat without interruption. Daijen only nibbled at his dinner as he concentrated on reading the man before him. Like Gatt, he didn’t touch the wine, for he needed all his wits. The Sarf was undoubtedly aware that some possessed the power to see other’s thoughts and sway them, so Daijen took care to hide his ability. He perceived that Gatt was an angry man who was quick to judge and judged harshly. Recruiting him would be a dangerous game where a misstep would result in a deadly foe. Thus Daijen bided his time, and when Gatt’s eating slowed, he politely asked, “Was your Bearer slain at the temple?”

Gatt’s voice took on a contemptuous tone. “He was no martyr.”

“Some illness or an accident perhaps?”

“The coward who was my Bearer still lives,” said Gatt, “though only because I couldn’t swim to catch him. He turned his back on Karm and fled.”

“Fled what?”

“We traveled among people who had turned from the goddess. He had no stomach for persecution.”

“What could he fear with you by his side?”

Gatt stared at Daijen menacingly. “Are you questioning my ability?”

“No,” replied Daijen quickly, “just marveling at the depths of your Bearer’s cowardice. Yet should he die for it?”

“Why not?” asked Gatt. “He called himself holy. I would have laid down my life for him without a moment’s hesitation. He betrayed Karm and me and all he stood for. If he would not follow a righteous path, how can we ask common folk to do so?”

“I see your point,” said Daijen. “When so many have died for their faith, why should one live for abandoning it?”

The Sarf gazed at Daijen, seeming pleased by his vindication. “Bremven has become a nest of vipers,” he said. “It’s no place for me.”

Daijen kept his eyes locked on Gatt’s as he spoke. “You’re a man of action,” he said in a quiet voice.

Upon hearing those words, Gatt grew restless and agitated. “Yes!” he said. “By the goddess, I am!”

“Of course you are. It’s your role in life, the one for which you’ve trained over many years.”

“But I’m a Sarf. Without a Bearer, how can I serve Karm?”

“I’ve no doubt the goddess will send you some holy task. She’s too wise to waste one such as you.”

“I pray you’re right.”

Daijen rose and bowed. “This has been the first pleasant meal I’ve eaten in Bremven, Karmamatus. You’ve restored my hope for the future.”

Gatt rose also. “Let me walk you to your inn. I suspect your piety has riled a cur or two, and they grow braver in the dark.”

“You honor me,” replied Daijen, and he bowed again.

The two men walked through the shadowy streets, pausing only when Daijen gave the untouched wine to a poor woman. When they reached the modest inn where Daijen was staying, Daijen bowed once more. “Karmamatus, it would be an honor if you dined with me tomorrow. I know of an inn that’s famous for its spiced duck.”

Gatt returned Daijen’s bow, though he didn’t bend as low. “It’d be good to sup with a virtuous man.”

“Then shall we meet in the Golden Drake at, say, one bell before sundown? It’s in the Averen quarter on the Street of Feathers.”

“I’ll see you there,” said Gatt, who then strode away and vanished into the darkness.

Daijen visited the Golden Drake the following morning to arrange his dinner with Gatt. While taking care not to appear overly lavish, Daijen ordered ample portions, for he suspected the Sarf had not eaten much of late. Extending hospitality to Karm’s servants was no longer fashionable in Bremven. It could even be dangerous. Daijen looked forward to the day when it would be a capital offense.

At the appointed time, Daijen was seated at a corner table in the inn’s common room. He rose and bowed when Gatt entered. The other diners grew quiet as the Sarf strode across the room, but after he was seated, the talk resumed. While the two men exchanged courtesies, a waiter brought out a large whole duck. It had been slowly roasted until its spiced skin was brown and crunchy. Gatt breathed in its aroma and smiled, causing his host to smile also. While the Sarf sated his hunger, Daijen conversed sparingly about trivial matters. Only when the fowl was reduced to bones did he speak to his true purpose. “Karmamatus,” he said, “would you make me your Bearer?”

Gatt’s face immediately reddened beneath his tattoos. “Such talk is blasphemous!”

Daijen shrank back. “You mistake my meaning, Karmamatus.”

“Then what is it?”

“I asked the question because today I heard of a Sarf who named his own Bearer.”

“Impossible!”

“Do you know of a Sarf named Honus?”

“He’s Theodus’s Sarf,” said Gatt. “We’re not acquainted, but I’ve seen him at the temple. It was years ago. What about him?”

“I’ve just dealt with a cloth merchant—Dommus is his name—who sheltered Honus when he came to Bremven recently. Honus’s Bearer had been slain, but he brought a slave with him, a woman named Yim.”

“Sarfs don’t own slaves,” said Gatt.

“Honus did.” Daijen gave his companion a knowing look. “Dommus said she was quite a beauty.”

“Are you implying that Honus kept her for pleasure?”

“If he did, it wouldn’t make so strange a tale,” replied Daijen. “Comely women have their wiles, and men—even pious ones—are their natural prey. What’s unnatural is that Honus made Yim his Bearer.”

“No Sarf has that authority!”

“Honus acted like he did,” replied Daijen. “The whole household witnessed it.” “How could he dare?”

“Dommus was convinced that Yim had bewitched him,” said Daijen. “Some people have that power. They do it with their eyes.”

“Only weaklings fall for such tricks,” said Gatt. “Honus is renown for his strength.”

“A man can be mighty in some ways and weak in others. Perhaps Yim didn’t use enchantments. She might have merely seduced Honus to lead him astray.”

“But why would he name her his Bearer?” asked Gatt.

“Because she made him do it. That’s what Dommus said.”

Gatt looked perplexed. “Why?”

“What better way for her to seal her conquest?” said Daijen, gazing into the Sarf’s eyes. “Some women are leeches. They slither up a man’s pants and suck his goodness away.”

Gatt’s face flushed beneath its tattoos. “So Honus now calls his slut holy?” He slammed his fist on the table. “That profanes Karm!”

“Yes,” said Daijen. “Even as we speak, the bawd parades about the countryside …” His voice became mesmerizing. “…demanding charity and respect in the name of our goddess. Yet people aren’t fools. Honus may cow them into calling Yim ‘Karmamatus,’ but they know a whore when they see one.”

Gatt shook his head. “I used to admire Honus.”

“Doubtlessly because he was an admirable man,” said Daijen. “This Yim has poisoned him. She would have been kinder to cut his throat.”

“He’d be better off dead.”

“But would that be justice?” asked Daijen. “After all, he’s bewitched.”

“It’s Yim’s throat that needs cutting.”

“Thatwould be a worthy deed!” exclaimed Daijen, as if surprised by the notion. “It would surely honor Karm.”

“Yet the whore’s left Bremven,” said Gatt. “She could be anywhere.”

“Yim might not be so hard to find,” said Daijen. “She told Dommus that they were going to Averen to visit Lord Bahl. There’s only one road they could take.”

“Bahl? This slut’s more sinister than you think.”

“What do you mean?” asked Daijen.

“Can’t you see? She’s delivering Honus to his enemies. How could he be so blind?”

“Then perhaps Dommus was right when he said Yim worked a spell.”

“Such a spell would be no trick of the eyes,” stated Gatt, “but some fouler sorcery. This sounds like the work of the enemy.”

“Do you think Yim worships the Devourer?”

“It would explain a lot. Honus was a righteous man. His ruin would please the dark priests’ god.”

“I see your point,” said Daijen. “That makes his disgrace all the more tragic.”

“So many have fallen,” mused Gatt. “But to fall with such dishonor …”

“Yet Honus might rise again, if he were free from Yim’s sorcery.” Daijen fixed his eyes on Gatt’s and spoke in a quiet, compelling tone. “His salvation could be your holy task.”

Gatt grew excited. “Yes! I’m sure of it!”

“It’ll be no easy undertaking,” said Daijen. “If Honus is under a spell, you’ll only release him by destroying Yim. He’ll try to protect her.”

“I’m undaunted,” said Gatt. “Karm feeds my strength. I cannot fail.”

“You may have to kill Honus in order to slay Yim.”

“His death would free his soul,” said Gatt, “and it’s his soul that matters.”

“I’m in the presence of a brave and just man.” Daijen bowed his head. “I’m honored to know you, Karmamatus. Though I lack the courage and prowess for such a crusade, I possess two things that will aid your quest—a horse, so you may overtake Yim, and this.” He took a small glass vial from his shirt.

Gatt picked up the vial. “What’s this?”

“Paint this potion on your blade to assure success.”

“Only a coward poisons his sword.”

“This is no coward’s quick-acting venom. It won’t save your life in combat. Yet with this, you need only wound the witch to assure her destruction.” Daijen gazed at Gatt and used his full powers to bend him to his will. “You’re fighting against sorcery, so you’ll need a potent weapon. Don’t let a warrior’s pride interfere with your duty to the goddess. A holy end sanctions all means.”

Gatt wavered but a moment before he took the vial. “You’re right, my friend. I must be humble and perform Karm’s will.”

SEVEN

YIM HADset a hasty pace upon departing Bremven, and she and Honus had been on the road only four days when they reached the Bridge Inn. Built on the Vinden side of the span to Luvein, the inn sat at a once busy crossroads. Even after Luvein’s devastation, it remained a major stop on the road to Averen, the last accommodation before entering rugged territory. Recalling her previous reception at the inn, Yim had chosen not to seek hospitality there. Instead, she and Honus camped in the woods, as they had every night since fleeing Bremven.

Over the past three days of travel, the villages along the route had given way to scattered peasant holdings. The farther westward Yim and Honus journeyed, the wilder the surrounding countryside became. Traffic dwindled, and the imperial highway began to show signs of neglect. Its paving stones were often crumbled or heaved by frosts to trip the unwary traveler. It seemed proof of the emperor’s waning authority.

Yim’s pace was spurred by the sense of menace that had driven her from the city and dogged her on the road. It made her wary, and she avoided people whenever possible. She didn’t explain her fears to Honus, for she couldn’t explain them to herself. All she knew was that whatever troubled her thoughts seemed as threatening as the hostility she met upon the road. Yim worried that the malevolence she encountered in the ruined temple was still seeking to destroy her. She felt it was watching her, filled with deadly rage. She suspected that Honus was aware of her apprehension, although he didn’t presume to speak of it.

As Yim trudged along, bent beneath the heavy pack, she gazed at Honus striding in front of her and felt somewhat reassured. His movements reminded her of a cat’s—easy, yet alert. Honus seem prepared to pounce at any instant. She had witnessed his dazzling quickness when they were last attacked. One assailant lay cleaved in two even before Yim darted from the road.

A moon ago he was my master, mused Yim.Now I’m his . Yet as Honus’s slave, Yim had never served him willingly, whereas ever since the night in the ruined temple, Honus served her utterly. His devotion went beyond the reverence and duty that a Sarf owed his Bearer; Honus was bound to Yim by something that baffled her. It was love. Yim found Honus’s feelings perplexing and inexplicable. She couldn’t understand why they had arisen. Having never experienced desire, Yim found its passion a mystery.

Yim suspected that the Wise Woman had reared her to be incapable of the emotion. As the Chosen, Yim was to bear the child of whatever man the goddess decreed. Since love might impede that duty, it was a weakness to be avoided. Yim wondered if Honus’s love might prove a weakness. It worried her, for she feared that the time was approaching when she would need all his strength.

After Yim had attempted to read Honus’s runes, she resumed her journey. Throughout the remainder of the day the landscape continued to change. The hills rose higher and pressed ever closer to the riverbank until there were no places to farm. By late afternoon, the only dwellings they spied hugged the Yorvern’s banks. Honus said they were the homes of river folk who made their living by fishing and plying the waterway with cargoes. The houses were so close to the road that Yim couldn’t avoid their occupants. To her relief, everyone she encountered was respectful.

After passing a hut where the family paused in its activity to bow, Yim said, “I think the black priests haven’t come this way.”

“Or perhaps none here have believed their lies,” replied Honus. “The river is a chancy road and it teaches folk to heed their instincts.”

When sunset neared, Yim decided to seek hospitality for the first time since departing Bremven. Spying a wooden hut perched on the riverbank, she approached it. Like all river dwellings, it sat atop stone pilings to keep it dry during spring floods. A series of large rocks led from the road to the elevated doorway. They rested on dry ground, but Yim saw how they would serve as stepping-stones in wetter times.

Outside the hut, a middle-aged woman was gathering small fish that had been strung on lines above a smoky fire. When she saw Yim leave the road, she stopped what she was doing and bowed. Yim returned her bow and spoke. “Greetings, Mother. We request food and shelter in respect for the goddess.”

The woman bowed again. “Ye would honor our house, Karmamatus.”

“Please call me Yim, Mother. My Sarf is Honus.”

Honus bowed politely.

“Then ye should call me Maryen,” said the woman, her suncreased face emphasizing her smile. “We get few visitors. ’twill be a treat to hear news.”

“Little I could say would be called a treat,” replied Yim. “Troubles are abroad. You should be glad they’re distant.”

“Do you have the means to repair leather?” asked Honus. “My mistress’s sandals want a strap.”

Maryen looked down at Yim’s dusty bare feet. “Gracious! Ye must be footsore. Come in and rest yerself.”

“First let me help you finish your task,” replied Yim, stepping up to the fire. The fish, which were no longer than Yim’s forefinger, had been gutted and strung on cords that threaded through a gill and out the mouth. She imitated Maryen, who slid the smoked fish down their cords until they dropped into a basket. When all the fish were gathered in the basket, the two women went to the river to wash the blackened fish oil from their hands before entering the hut. Honus followed them inside.

The hut’s interior consisted of a single room with a ladder leading to a loft above. Its wooden walls were darkened by age and smoke from the hearth. They were mostly covered by clothes, dried herbs, and boating gear that hung from pegs, giving the walls a cluttered look that extended to the rest of the room. It was filled with all sorts of items. There were baskets containing roots, smoked fish, grain, and other edibles lining one wall. A sizable stack of firewood was piled against another. Beside it was a cupboard crammed with crocks, kettles, and wooden plates and bowls. A jumbled pile of bedding and laundry lay close to the ladder. Oars leaned against the walls, and other boating gear was scattered about the floor where it mingled with a collection of stools of varying sizes. A large oaken table covered with a fishing net dominated the room’s center.

A young, sandy-haired boy sat at the table mending the net. He looked up when Yim entered, bowed his head, and made an inarticulate noise.

“That’s my youngest, Foel,” said Maryen. “He hears fine, but he has na spoken since he was six winters. Foel, dear, this lady’s sandal wants mending. Go get yer tools.”

When the boy scampered up the ladder leading to the loft, Yim turned to his mother. “Did he suffer some mishap?”

“Aye,” said Maryen, confirming Yim’s intuition. “A wreck upon the river with his father and sister. Only Foel was saved, and he’s never been the same. Yet he’s a good lad and my comfort when his brothers are away.”

When Foel returned, Yim took her sandal from the pack and handed it to him. He set to work while Maryen brewed herb tea. Before she could serve it, her son had repaired the sandal and handed it to Yim. Yim smiled and bowed. She ran her finger along the mended strap. Foel had tapered the splice so that it would feel smooth against her foot.

“This is skillful work, Foel,” said Yim. “Each step I take will be easier because of you.”

Foel smiled shyly and made a pleasant noise in his throat.

Maryen handed wooden bowls of the herbal brew to Yim and Honus. When Honus received his, he took care to smile, for he had noticed that Foel regarded him fearfully. Yim noticed also. “Those marks on my Sarf’s face make him look fierce,” she said to the boy. “But if you’re clever, you’ll look beneath them and see a gentle man.”

Foel peered at Honus and relaxed. Then he glanced at Yim. When their eyes met, Yim said, “No, they don’t wash off,” as if replying to a spoken question.

Dinner was a stew of smoked fish and roots accompanied by more tea. Yim ate with relish and complimented Maryen on her cooking. Afterward, she gave a brief description of the temple’s destruction.

Maryen shook her head. “I heard that news, but did na believe it. Too many wild tales fly about seeking fools’ ears.”

“I wish it were only a tale,” said Yim, “but I saw it with my own eyes.”

“What will ye do now?” asked Maryen.

“I’m still seeking Karm’s guidance,” replied Yim. “At the present, we’re headed for Averen. There we’ll visit General Cronin. He’s a good man, and his sister’s a friend of mine.”

“I’m glad ye have a place among friends,” said Maryen.

“As we have tonight,” said Yim with a smile. She turned her gaze to Foel, who had been listening to her account. In a gentle voice she said, “The river must look lovely by moonlight. Will you show it to me?”

Maryen started to speak, but she was cut short by a grunt from Foel, who nodded yes to Yim.

“Will you hold my hand?” asked Yim. “I don’t know the way.”

Foel rose and led Yim from the hut. Maryen turned to Honus in amazement. “He’s afraid of the river! He will na go near it!”

Yim held Foel’s hand even after they sat down on the riverbank. The moonlight sparkled on the Yorvern like cold fire. “It’s pretty,” Yim said. Then she shifted her gaze from the river to Foel. The boy briefly fidgeted under her scrutiny, for he was unable to look away. Then he calmed.

“Your house lies between two roads,” Yim said in a soothing voice. “One is dry and the other is wet, yet both are the same—on neither road can you know what lies ahead. Karm speaks to me, yet I can’t foresee the future. So how could a little boy?” Yim paused, and when she spoke again, it was with the gravity of perfect certainty. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Foel’s eyes welled with tears and his mouth began to quiver. “But… But I saw it,” he said in a rusty whisper. “I saw the snag and could na speak.”

Yim embraced Foel as he began to weep. “Your father saw it, too, and couldn’t avoid it. Don’t blame yourself.”

Yim held Foel until his tears were dry. Then she returned with him to the hut. Honus and Maryen were still sitting at the table. Maryen grew concerned when she saw that her son had been weeping, but Foel ran to embrace her. Then in a voice faint from disuse, he cried out, “Momma!”

EIGHT

ON THEmorning that Yim and Honus bid farewell to Maryen and Foel, Gatt departed from Bremven astride Daijen’s huge black horse. Despite his bravery, he felt uneasy. Gatt was unfamiliar with horses, and he sensed that he wasn’t entirely in control. The steed was powerful and sometimes ignored Gatt’s handling of its reins. Bounced about by his mount’s jarring gallop, the Sarf was soon saddle sore. Despite his discomfort, Gatt never considered riding at a slower pace. He accepted his unease and pain as the price of swiftness. If he had any hope of catching Yim, speed was essential.

Gatt was far from Bremven when dusk forced him to look for shelter. He passed several modest cottages before stopping at a prosperous-looking farm. Dismounting his lathered horse, he led it up the path to the residence. A man who appeared to be the farm’s owner stepped out from a doorway to watch his approach. After traveling on his own for over three moons, Gatt had developed a knack for discerning which households still adhered to the goddess. Nevertheless, he adopted a demeanor that combined both humility and intimidation when he asked for charity. Placing his hand on his sword hilt, he bowed toward the man. “I serve Karm, Father. Do you honor her?”

The man returned Gatt’s bow. “How may I help you, Karmamatus?”

“I require food and shelter for myself and my horse.”

“I’d be honored to provide both.”

“Karm sees your generosity.”

“Tarvus,” the man shouted, “come and take the Sarf’s horse to the stables.”

A boy about twelve winters old emerged from the house and regarded Gatt with undisguised excitement. He bowed very low. “Karmamatus, this is an honor,” he said before taking the horse’s reins. Gatt smiled slightly and inclined his head.

“Rub him down good,” said the man to Tarvus, “he’s been ridden hard.”

“Yes, Father,” said Tarvus. “I’ll move Tammor from his stall and stable Karmamatus’s horse there.”

“That’s fine, son,” said the man. He watched Tarvus lead the horse away before turning to Gatt. “Sarfs are my boy’s heroes,” he said, “so this is quite a thrill for him. I hope you’ll explain your lot’s not all adventure and fighting.”

“The path of righteousness demands sacrifice and suffering,” said Gatt. “Few are fit for such a life.”

“That’s what I tell him,” said the farmer. “I say he should be thankful that the Seers bypassed our farm.”

“You’re correct to say so,” said Gatt. “A childhood in the temple is no easy one.”

“Boys! Full of dreams,” said the man, shaking his head. “My name is Garvus, Karmamatus. Would you join me in some ale while we wait for dinner?”

“I don’t drink ale,” replied Gatt, “but I’d be glad for some tea.”

Garvus led Gatt inside, where he introduced his wife, who brewed the Sarf some tea. Gatt drank it standing, for he ached from the day’s riding. When Garvus finished his ale, he felt less intimidated by Gatt and ventured to question him. “Your horse is a fine animal, yet you pushed him hard.”

“I had need to do so. My task is urgent.”

“Urgent enough to risk a valuable steed? If you don’t ease up, he could go lame.”

“Is a horse worth more than a man?” replied Gatt.

“I don’t understand.”

“I am trying to save one being led to his doom. I must catch up with him before he’s destroyed.”

“With all respect, Karmamatus, you won’t do that on a lame horse. Is the man a captive?”

“No,” replied Gatt. “Just beguiled by a woman.”

Garvus grinned, and was about to jest before he caught the Sarf’s hard gaze and thought better of it. “Are they traveling afoot?”

“Yes. And the woman’s burdened also. They left eight days ago for Averen.”

“Do they know of your pursuit?”

“No.”

“Then you can ease up on your horse and still catch them easily,” said Garvus. “A steady pace and a long day’s ride will eat up the distance.”

“I pray you’re right. It’s my holy task to free this man.”

“Then how can you fail?” said Garvus. “Karm will aid you.”

Garvus refilled Gatt’s tea bowl and poured some more ale for himself. After Tarvus returned from the stables accompanied by three farm servants, Garvus’s wife brought out the evening meal. All sat down for dinner with the Sarf at the place of honor. While they ate, Gatt spoke of his travels. Mindful of Garvus’s request, he emphasized the hardness of his life. The stories didn’t affect Tarvus as his father had hoped, for the boy’s admiration of the Sarf seemed to grow with each new tale of tribulation. Gatt found himself enjoying the boy’s adulation. After dinner, when the Sarf excused himself to look at his horse, he was not displeased when Tarvus followed him.

Although Gatt knew little about grooming horses, he sensed the animal had been well tended. He turned toward Tarvus and smiled. “Karm sees the care you have shown my steed,” he said. “When I ride forth tomorrow, take pride that you’ve aided my quest.”

Tarvus beamed at Gatt’s words. “Zounds! A quest?”

“Yes,” said Gatt, standing tall despite his aches. “It’s a perilous undertaking.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“I fear your father wouldn’t approve,” said Gatt. “He said you think a Sarf’s life is all adventure and glory.”

“Please,” begged Tarvus. “This farm’s so dull. Great deeds may not be my fate, but can’t I hear of them?”

Gatt smiled indulgently. “I’ll speak about it if you keep this from your father.”

“I will,” said Tarvus. “I swear.”

“I’m off to slay a sorceress who has captured a virtuous man. He’s a Sarf, like myself.”

“She captured a Sarf? How could she do that?”

“With foul enchantments and other wiles you’re too young to know about,” replied Gatt.

“Aren’t you afraid she’ll do the same to you?”

“I’ll kill her before she has the chance, though I may have to fight the Sarf to do so.”

Tarvus’s eyes widened. “Fight another Sarf!”

“He’s under her spell. Until the evil one is slain, she’ll control him.”

“Oh Holy Karm!” said Tarvus. “If I had to face a Sarf, I’d shake like grain in a hailstorm.”

“Grab a straw and toss it in the air,” directed Gatt.

Tarvus stooped to pick up one. Then he threw it. Gatt moved so quickly that the boy couldn’t follow his movements. All he saw was the flash of a sword slicing through air and the straw fluttering down, split lengthwise. “Zounds!” said Tarvus as he rushed over to pick up the two pieces.

Gatt sheathed his sword. “I serve Karm’s will, so I shall prevail.”

“And kill the other Sarf?”

“Kill him? I intend to save him.”

“But won’t he try to kill you?”

“Most certainly,” replied Gatt, “but I’ll endeavor to spare his life. At the very least, I’ll save his soul, for when a man dies, his spirit’s released from sorcery.”

Tarvus gazed at the Sarf, speechless with admiration. Gatt caught the boy’s look and felt whole for the first time since his Bearer had deserted him. Joy surged within Gatt, eclipsing his pain and restoring his sense of worth. Once again, he was traveling a holy path.

That night, when Gatt was drifting toward sleep, he saw a misty landscape as viewed from above. From the breadth and vividness of the scene, he knew he wasn’t dreaming. Instead, he was being shown the world from a divine perspective. Gatt first saw Bremven and then the road he had taken from the city. Swooping above the highway, he passed over the house where he was resting and continued onward. He viewed an ancient stone bridge that spanned the Yorvern and the sprawling inn built on its nearest shore. Then he followed the road as it hugged the riverbank. He continued onward until he spied two vague figures camping by the river and felt a wave of hatred that arose from an otherworldly source. It was bitter and implacable. Although Gatt had always believed that Karm was stern, the virulence of the enmity startled him. Without seeing the figures distinctly or hearing a single word, he understood that one was Yim. He concluded the other must be Honus.

Then Gatt rose higher until he had a commanding view of the surrounding countryside. He peered over mountains, valleys, rivers, and forests. Upon viewing them, Gatt knew the terrain as intimately as if he had spent his entire life tramping over it. Afterward, the scene dissolved into mist, and Gatt sat up shivering from cold. He was convinced that he had experienced his first vision, for he had foreseen the route that lay ahead and learned where his quarry was resting. The Sarf had the impulse to saddle his horse and ride off into the night to catch Yim. He suppressed the urge, knowing that she was beyond the reach of a single night’s journey. Moreover, with the certainty of foresight, Gatt knew that he would find Yim, just as he knew what he must do when he did. Gatt had been hesitant to paint his blade with poison, but the vision assured him that he had done the proper thing.Rangar was right , he thought.The whore’s death must be certain. On no account should one whom Karm so thoroughly despises be suffered to live .

Yim and Honus sat at their campsite and gazed at the moonlit river. Clouds of pale insects flew over the water like animate mist. Occasionally, a fish leapt up to catch one. Honus poked the campfire and its flame grew brighter. “Do you really think that I’m gentle,” he asked, “or did you merely say that to humor the boy?”

“You’re a killer,” replied Yim. “If the Balance is to be maintained, you must be gentle also.”

Honus smiled and shook his head. “Spoken like a Bearer.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“No,” said Honus, “I’m not.” He poked the fire again. “I’m still amazed at what you did for that boy.”

“You shouldn’t be,” replied Yim. “I merely looked into his eyes and saw what disturbed him. You have the same ability. You could have done likewise.”

“Yet there lies the difference between us,” said Honus. “It never occurred to me.”

They lapsed into an easy silence and watched the river awhile. There was a small island midstream, and it drew Yim’s attention. “That little isle reminds me of Cara’s secret place,” she said.

“What secret place?”

“Cara found a way to sneak out of the Bridge Inn,” replied Yim. “She would swim out to an island in the river. She took me there on our second day. It was a peaceful spot.”

Honus smiled. “That sounds like something Cara would do. I take it Cronin had no idea.”

“None at all. She spied on you and him while you talked on the bridge.”

The smile left Honus’s face. “I remember that day. We spoke of grim things.”

“Cara knew,” said Yim. “She thinks Lord Bahl will overrun Averen.”

“Cronin’s certain that he’ll try,” replied Honus.

Yim felt a sudden chill as if it were daytime and a cloud had obscured the sun. She glanced upward, but saw only a starry sky. Still, the impression remained, and she sensed a malign presence. Yim shivered, convinced that she was both fleeing danger and running toward it. She wanted to confess to Honus that she was afraid and didn’t know where to turn, but she held her tongue.As a Sarf, he knows exactly where to turn , Yim thought, feeling the full weight of her circumstances.It’s wherever I tell him .

NINE

WHENGATTdeparted on his quest at dawn, he was invigorated by the conviction that Karm had blessed him with a vision. It seemed the most certain sign yet that he was traveling the true path. His horse also seemed imbued with divine purpose, for it sped down the highway as if it knew the importance of its master’s mission. Gatt passed the Bridge Inn before noon. The sight of it spurred him onward.

Yim moved down the road far more slowly. She was tired after a poor night’s sleep. Furthermore, half-remembered dreams troubled her. One was particularly disturbing. It featured Honus lying in an empty clearing. His face was gray beneath its tattoos and his eyes stared skyward without blinking.

“Yim, do you wish to rest?”

“No. I must keep moving,” replied Yim. Then she sighed. “Yes. I need to rest.”

Honus halted and Yim slipped the pack from her shoulders. The two walked to the riverbank and sat upon a boulder at the water’s edge. The sky was clear, and the river sparkled with its light. Closer to the mountains, the Yorvern moved more swiftly. It surged against the small rocky islands that dotted its course, leaving trails of foam behind each obstacle. Yim slipped off her sandals to dangle her feet in the cold water. “This feels good,” she said. “You were walking in front of me. How did you know I was weary?”

“By the sound of your footsteps.”

Yim regarded Honus and smiled. “What other secrets have you discerned?”

“Very few. You remain a mystery.” “I doubt that.”

“I know you were born in the Cloud Mountains and that your father was a peddler. The rest is shadow until I bought you in Durkin.”

“My father wasn’t a peddler. He herded goats and gave me up when I was very young. My childhood was much like yours. I was raised to serve the goddess. As I told you, I’m the Chosen.”

“But I don’t know what that means,” replied Honus.

“On that night in the temple when I lowered my guard and you peered into my eyes, I thought you understood.”

“I couldn’t grasp what I saw,” said Honus. “I experienced only holiness.”

“I’m not holy,” replied Yim. “I’m merely dutiful. I’m like a Sarf—a tool in Karm’s hands.”

Honus said nothing, but he looked unconvinced.

“Do you truly wish to hear my life’s story?” asked Yim. “Well, I’ll tell you. My childhood was dreary. A Wise Woman trained me in arts she claimed would be useful. She was a cold woman. Stern, but not cruel. I lived with her until a Seer in the guise of a peddler escorted me south. That was four moons ago. We were ambushed on the road. He was slain and I was enslaved. The rest you know.”

“And as the Chosen, Karmamatus, what must you do?”

Yim was so struck by the humility in Honus’s voice that she felt the urge to tell him everything. But she suppressed that impulse and said, “Whatever Karm ordains.”

Gatt’s physical prowess made his second day of riding easier. He adjusted to the rhythm of his steed’s motion until man and animal moved as one. Gatt was no longer saddle sore, and those who observed the Sarf on the galloping horse thought him a seasoned rider. The road he traveled conformed to the one he had seen in his vision. He was on the portion that threaded between rocky hills and the Yorvern River when a young boy stepped from a roadside hut. As the Sarf galloped toward him, the lad waved and shouted, “Honus!”

Gatt immediately reined his mount, and the horse halted just a few paces from the boy. Once the rider was motionless, the lad could see the Sarf’s tattooed face more clearly. “You’re not Honus.”

“No,” replied Gatt. “I’m a friend of his. Have you seen him?”

The boy smiled. “He stayed with us two nights ago.”

Gatt made himself smile also. “I’m pleased to hear that. Then I should find him soon.”

The boy nodded.

“And was Yim with him?”

“Oh yes! She …”

Gatt spurred his horse and galloped off.

Foel stared at the retreating figure and then completed what he had started to say. “She gave me my voice back.”

*   *   *

As Yim trudged onward, she keenly felt the weight of the pack, which contained Honus’s heavy chain-mail shirt in addition to provisions, camping gear, and extra clothes for both of them. It was a warm day, and Yim’s shirt was soaked with sweat where her burden pressed against her back and shoulders. Yim, trying not to think about the long trek ahead, felt in need of diversion. “Honus,” she said. “We haven’t seen another traveler all morning. Forget custom, and walk beside me.”

Honus complied, but he looked uncomfortable about it.

“Now,” said Yim, “let’s talk about cheerful things.”

“The weather’s fair,” said Honus.

Yim regard him with half a smile. “It seems that Sarfs aren’t instructed in the art of conversation.”

“Do you deem me unskilled?”

“Unpracticed.”

“It shall be pleasant to see Cara again,” said Honus.

Yim grinned. “That’smore like it. Yes it will be. Is Cronin’s manor grand?”

“I wouldn’t use that word for it,” replied Honus. “I think ‘homey’ suits better. And it’s Cara’s manor, not her brother’s.”

“Hermanor? When we met her at the inn, she seemed under Cronin’s thumb.”

“He’s protective, for the times require it. Moreover, he’s a general and must act like one. But within his clan, both lands and leadership pass from mother to daughter. In Averen, Cara’s a chieftain and Cronin’s merely a high-ranking soldier.”

Yim smiled. “Averen folk sound sensible.”

“Other clans have other customs. With them, it’s the men who rule.”

“Then why is Cara’s clan different?”

“Because it was founded by Dar Beard Chin, a woman who bought land with a tree of gold.”

Yim laughed. “She had abeard? Are you sure Dar was a woman?”

“I believe the beard was a tattoo.”

“This sounds like a fine tale.”

“Cara tells it best.” Honus smiled. “Her version is certainly the longest.”

“She’s as generous with her words as you are frugal. So where did Dar get her tattoo? Was she a Sarf?”

“No. As to the rest, you’ll have to ask Cara. All I remember is Dar founded Clan Urkzimdi, Cara’s clan.”

“Cara never hinted that she led a clan.”

“There’s more to Cara than she lets on,” said Honus. He fixed his gaze on Yim. “That could be said of others.”

Honus’s look flustered Yim, and she wished that she possessed Cara’s insight on matters of the heart.She certainly understood Honus better than I did , she thought, recalling how Cara had first told her of Honus’s love. Yim had dismissed the idea.But Cara was right . She hoped that Cara could tell her what to do about it.

By late afternoon, Gatt found the remains of Yim and Honus’s campfire. It was exactly where he expected it to be, providing final proof that he had received a vision. Examining the ashes, he saw that his quarry had been there that morning. Gatt studied Yim’s footprints and concluded she walked laden with a pack.That means she’s still masquerading as a Bearer . Gatt smiled.That pack will slow her down and also tire her . He had no doubt his horse could catch up with the impostor before day’s end.

Again, Gatt saw Karm’s hand in events, for he would reach his quarry at the perfect moment. Wearied from a day of traveling, Yim would be an easy target. Gatt knew that exhaustion dulled wariness.If I’m subtle, she won’t anticipate my attack. And when she’s dead, there’ll be no need to fight Honus . Gatt envisioned the Sarf freed from his sorcerous bounds and returned to righteousness. He exulted at the prospect.

High hills hid the setting sun, so the road was shadowed while daylight lingered in the sky. Yim trod wearily down the road, refusing to halt before dusk. Exhausted, she was largely oblivious of her surroundings. Then Honus’s pace altered and alerted her that something had changed. Sensing tension in his movements, she asked, “What is it, Honus?”

“Don’t you hear it?”

Yim listened and detected the faint sound of hoofbeats mingling with the noise of the turbulent river. “Someone’s coming,” she said.

“Someone in a hurry.”

Honus and Yim stepped to the roadside to observe whoever raced down the highway. The road twisted with the river, and for a long while the only hint of the approaching rider was the staccato hoofbeats of his mount. When a blueclad and blue-faced horseman finally rounded the bend in the road he was quite close. “A Sarf!” said Yim. He was the second Sarf that she had ever seen, and despite knowing that he served Karm, she felt the same apprehension as when she first saw Honus.

The Sarf reined his horse to a stop and dismounted before bowing to Yim. “Greetings, Karmamatus.”

Yim returned his bow. “Greetings. I’m Yim.”

“Honus, do you remember me?” asked the Sarf.

“You were to be Daven’s Sarf when I was last at temple. How fares he?”

“Fallen. I’m Gatt.”

“What sends you to us, Gatt?” asked Yim. Gatt ambled toward Yim with an easy manner, smiling more broadly than seemed natural for a Sarf. “Karm sent me.”

Yim was about to reply when both Gatt and Honus burst into action. Their bodies seemed to blur, and the air about them flashed as blades sped through it. There was a metallic clang, and for an instant, Yim saw two crossed swords. The edge of Gatt’s blade was aimed toward her neck. Honus’s sword blocked its path. Then the blades blurred again as the two men began fighting. Yim stood transfixed by shock until Honus shouted, “Flee, Yim!” Then he turned all his attention to his foe.

Yim retreated a distance, but she didn’t run away. She was terrified and confused by what was happening; yet the battle in progress was an engrossing sight. She had seen Honus fight before, but never against such an opponent. Both attacked and parried with dazzling swiftness and mingled their blows with feats of acrobatic skill. The fight had the grace of a vicious dance and the energy of a cyclone. There were no taunts or curses, no words of any kind; both men fought in silent concentration, fully engaged in a deadly game of lightning moves. They were so intent on their contest that neither man’s face bore any expression other than the one tattooed upon it: Honus seemed wrathful. Gatt appeared stern and harsh. Yim dared not speak for fear of distracting Honus and causing his death.

The combat dragged on, and after a while, Yim perceived a pattern. Both opponents were evenly matched, but they seemed to have different objectives. Yim saw that Gatt was fighting to reach her while Honus was struggling to bar his way. As soon as she saw that, Yim shed the pack and darted off, for she realized that her presence endangered Honus. As she sped down the road, the clash of swords continued briefly, then stopped. Yim spun around to see what had happened. Gatt was bounding after her, his blade raised to strike. Honus was in pursuit.

Yim knew she couldn’t outrun the Sarf. She dashed for the river, and without further thought, jumped in. As she passed through emptiness, she felt a gentle tug on her flowing hair. Then she hit the water. Yim gritted her teeth, fearing she might strike a hidden rock. Instead, cold shocked the breath from her as she plunged beneath the river’s turbulent surface. The current gripped her like a huge, icy hand intent on holding her from breath and life. Yim struggled against it, impeded by her sandals and waterlogged garments. She broke through the frothing surface and gasped for air. The Sarf was standing on the bank, his sword still extended. A clump of Yim’s severed hair floated down to vanish in the surging current. Then Honus arrived, and the two Sarfs resumed their fight. As the river swept her away, Yim watched their contest. Then a watery curtain obscured the scene as she sank into the depths.

The Yorvern had saved Yim from the Sarf, but it threatened to drown her. She had learned to swim in a highland lake; a raging river was far different. Its current fought her every movement, rushing her downstream and clawing at her clothing. She was at its mercy until she kicked off her sandals and shed her garments. The latter was difficult, but once she was free of them she could move unencumbered and the current had less to grip. Yim swam toward a tiny island, but the river swept her past it. She aimed for another and missed it also.

A boulder loomed downstream. Yim fought toward it. This time, she reached her target only to be slammed against it. It was a bruising collision, and then Yim had to claw at the rock to prevent being pulled from it. Her refuge was wet and slippery; moreover, she was numbed by cold. Climbing onto the rock was a struggle that she almost lost. Twice, she slipped back into the foaming water before reaching safety.

Naked, scraped, and shivering, Yim huddled upon the rock while her fate was being decided. The river had carried her far enough downstream that Honus and Gatt were hidden from view. From the sound of ringing steel Yim knew that their fight continued. The swords made lethal music with an irregular cadence, and as long as Yim could hear it she knew the opponents lived. Thus she both longed for its end and dreaded it, for silence would most likely signal death.If Honus dies, I will, too .

The sky darkened, and still the swords rang. The trees on the shore blurred into inky shadows that blended with the hills behind them. Suddenly, the only sounds Yim heard were watery ones. The quiet was ominous, and she strained to hear any hint of the battle’s outcome. For a long while, Yim heard nothing. Then hoofbeats broke the stillness. As they faded away, Yim slumped her head and wept.

TEN

AVOICE called from the dark. “Yim!”

Its faintness conjured up images of Honus lying mortally wounded. “Honus?” Yim shouted. “Honus, are you all right?”

After a period of agonizing silence, Yim heard the voice again. This time it was louder. “Yim, where are you?”

“Over here!” she shouted. “On a rock in the river!”

Another spell of silence was broken at last by Honus’s voice. It sounded closer. “Yim, where are you?”

“Here! Are you all right?”

“I’m unscathed,” called Honus from the shore. “Gatt has fled.”

Yim peered at the bank, but the moon had yet to rise, and the shore was only a formless patch of shadow. She wondered if Honus could see her nakedness. Honus called out again. “Can you swim to shore?”

“Bring my cloak first!”

“I will.”

While Yim waited on the rock, she steeled herself for another swim. The dark river seemed a gray void with mist flowing over it. Already chilled, Yim dreaded plunging in. Then she heard Honus. “I have it, Yim.”

Yim jumped and the river seized her. This time, she swam obliquely toward the shore, rather than opposing the current. The frigid water swept her around one bend and then toward a second one with a gravel beach. Yim swam toward the beach. Nearing it, she could make out Honus’s dark form against the gray. The cold turned her limbs leaden as she struggled to reach the shore.

Yim made it. By the time she staggered onto the gravel, she was too cold and exhausted to care that she was nude. Honus rushed forward and covered her with the cloak. Then he wrapped his arms around her trembling torso, pressing his hot cheek again her frigid one. He said nothing, but the ferventness of his embrace betrayed his feelings.

As always, Yim felt uncomfortable when Honus showed affection. Yet this time she didn’t stop him.He saved my life , she thought.At least, I owe him this . Eventually, Honus sensed Yim’s awkwardness and released her. “Why did that man attack us?” asked Yim.

“I can only guess,” replied Honus.

“Didn’t he say anything?”

“No more than what you heard.”

“But how did you know he’d attack?”

“His manner was wrong,” replied Honus. “His bow to you wasn’t low, and he spoke to me without your permission. A Sarf would never show such disrespect to a Bearer.”

“So he wasn’t a Sarf?”

“Oh, Gatt’s a Sarf. No question of that. But I doubt he believes you’re a Bearer.”

“Maybe I’m not,” said Yim. “Not really.”

“You are by all that’s holy.”

“How could he know that?”

“Whether he could or not, he had no cause to slay you.”

“But that’s what he meant to do,” said Yim. Then, in a quiet voice, she added, “This isn’t over, is it?”

“No,” said Honus. “But before you come to harm, he’ll have to slay me first.”

Yim returned to the pack and put on dry clothes. When the moon rose, she shouldered her burden. There was no question of resting anytime soon. Honus advised getting far from the road by a route that couldn’t be followed on horseback. That meant climbing the hills at night. Having lost her sandals, Yim would have to do it barefoot. She felt discouraged by the prospect.

At first, Honus followed the road. When he reached a particularly steep and rocky slope, he left the highway and began to climb, saying, “Follow close behind and place your feet where I do.”

Yim did her best, fearing that Gatt was as adept at tracking as Honus. If that were true, then his skills would be formidable. She remembered Honus saying that it was difficult to hide a trail at night, so she was particularly mindful of where she placed her feet. Nevertheless, as time wore on, Yim’s exhaustion and the dark worked against her. Whenever possible, Honus walked on stony ground that would leave no footprints. This practice left Yim footsore, despite having trekked through Luvein unshod.

Yim was panting by the time the ground became less steep. Though trees hid the path ahead, Yim assumed they had reached a ridgeline and the way would be easier. “Thank Karm for a level path at last!” she said.

“Your gratitude is premature,” said Honus. “An easy path is a likely path. We dare not take it.”

“Honus, I don’t think I can go much farther.”

“Perhaps I should carry the pack awhile.”

As soon as Honus made the suggestion, Yim saw why it went against tradition. Honus was her sole protection. Encumbered by a pack or even wearied after bearing one, he would be less effective. “No,” said Yim. “But we must rest soon. Pick our way with that in mind.” She didn’t say that she doubted that they would evade the Sarf for long.Whatever way we take , thought Yim,must end with someone’s death .

Leading the way, Honus headed down the western side of the ridge. He didn’t go far, but the route he took was much more difficult than the one he used to reach the ridge’s crest. The final leg involved descending a stretch of nearly vertical rock wall. There, Yim relented and let Honus bear the pack. Even climbing down without it, she nearly fell. They camped without the benefit of a fire beneath an overhanging ledge near the top of the cliff. There wasn’t enough room to lie down and Yim slept sitting up, leaning against Honus.

Dawn came all too soon. Yim rubbed her eyes wearily, for throughout her short sleep she had kept waking, certain that Gatt was sneaking up on them. Each time she woke, Yim would listen anxiously until fatigue overcame her fear and she dozed off. Honus also stirred with the light. He had been awake every time Yim had been, and she wondered if he had slept at all.

Yim opened the pack and searched for something that could be eaten without cooking. She came up with a leaf-wrapped package of smoked fish that Maryen had given them. She and Honus shared the fish in silence. As Yim ate, she surveyed the countryside. The ledge on which they sat was high up on the ridge’s slope. Viewed in daylight, their perch seemed precarious, and Yim grew dizzy when she peered at the drop below.

The ledge afforded a good view, and from its vantage point Yim saw that they had entered the highlands. To the north, she glimpsed a portion of the Yorvern River and Luvein beyond it. Trees hid the road and a nearby ridge hid the rest of the river. That ridge, like the one they were on, snaked southward, rising gradually before joining a small mountain. To the west were higher mountains, their peaks rising like waves on a choppy lake. They faded off in the distance without seeming to end. Yim pointed to them. “Is that Averen?”

“It is.”

“I assume we won’t use the road to get there.”

“Our path is yours to choose,” replied Honus.

“But the easiest route to Cara’s won’t be the safest.”

“I think not.”

“Then we’ll go another way,” said Yim. “Can you get us through the mountains?”

“Yes.”

“Then find the path that’s most likely to lose our pursuer.”

When Yim and Honus finished eating, they climbed the cliff and continued their journey. Honus led, walking in a meticulous way to prevent leaving a trail. He avoided soft ground and took care not to snap sticks, tread on plants, or dislodge stones. He also chose the least likely route. That usually meant selecting the hardest one. Although daylight made it easier for Yim to mimic Honus, she lacked his long-honed skill. Moreover, fatigue and the heavy pack made her clumsy. Every time she made a misstep and crushed a plant or left a footprint, she envisioned Gatt discovering her error and hurrying after them.

Noon found Yim and Honus on the mountain they had viewed in the morning. Because its slopes were forested, they seldom had a commanding view. It usually seemed that they were walking in a wood where the stony ground tilted sharply. Yet every once in a while they encountered a stretch of bare limestone and looked out from a lofty viewpoint. Then Yim saw that the country ahead consisted of a series of mountainous ridges, their forms softened by trees. Only the most distant peaks were bare at their tops. Honus pointed into the hazy distance. “That valley belongs to Cara’s clan.”

Try as she might, Yim couldn’t distinguish the place Honus was pointing out. “Is it far?” she asked.

“If we were taking the direct path, I’d say a five-day journey.”

“But you plan to climb every mountain on the way.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Honus, “but there’ll be hard walking.”

Yim sighed. “I thought as much.” She glanced at Honus and caught an expression of tender concern before he could hide it. She forced a smile. “We’ll have such grand tales when we greet Cara and Cronin.”

By afternoon, Honus and Yim had circumvented the mountaintop and begun the descent down its southern side. Honus seemed familiar with the terrain, for he never hesitated when choosing the route. Halfway down to the valley below, they traversed an immense field of bare rock. Yim had the impression that a giant had carved soil and trees from the mountainside as one might slice into the breast of a roasted fowl to expose a slab of white meat. Honus chose a route that crossed the center of the incline. The slope was steep, but the stone was rough and provided sure footing. They had nearly crossed the open expanse and reached a wooded slope when Yim made a disconcerting discovery.

“Honus! I’m leaving a trail!”

Honus turned and immediately spotted a line of small bloody spots on the pale rock. “How long have your feet been bleeding?”

“I don’t know,” replied Yim. “They’ve been sore awhile.”

“This is my fault!” said Honus, his voice bitter.

“Oh, so it was you who lost my sandals. I thought I kicked them off in the river.”

“I should have chosen a softer path.”

“Then we would have left prints of a different kind. Honus, there’s such a thing as fate. If it’s Karm’s will, we’ll escape.”

“Your right, Karmamatus. I should have more faith.”

“But let’s try not to leave a trail. The goddess doesn’t favor fools.”

Honus grinned. “That was Theodus’s favorite saying.”

The field of barren rock afforded a good view of the valley between the mountain and the next peak. A narrow river meandered through its center. It was so shallow that its bottom was clearly visible. Honus pointed to it. “When we reach the valley, that river will be our pathway. There we’ll needn’t worry about leaving footprints.”

When Honus started off again, Yim detected a change in his tactics. He set a more rapid pace, avoided stony ground, and chose an easy route down to the valley. As a consequence, they soon reached the valley floor and then the river. Unlike the Yorvern, it had a lazy current and was never more than knee-deep. Honus removed his sandals, entered the water, and began to wade downstream. Yim followed. The cool water and sandy riverbed felt good to her sore feet. They progressed westward for a way until they had a good view of the mountainside and the expanse of bare rock that they had traversed only a short while before. Then Honus left the river and sat amid a clump of bushes.

Yim joined him. “Why are we stopping?”

“If Gatt’s on our trail, we’ll see him when he crosses that open place above.”

“Do you think he’s following us?”

“I’m certain he’s trying. I need to know if he’s succeeding.”

Yim gazed apprehensively at the mountainside. “I don’t see him.”

“We had a long head start. Rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Yim stared at the mountainside briefly before lying down. Soon she slept.

Yim felt Honus’s hand gently shake her shoulder. She opened her eyes. It was dusk. “Look at the mountainside,” said Honus.

The field of bare rock appeared gray in the failing light. At first, Yim saw nothing. Then a dark speck caught her eye. It resembled a spider scrambling across a rock. Her heart sank. “Gatt!”

“We’ll wait until he enters the forest,” said Honus. “Then we’ll head downstream. We’ll be safe, Yim. Even a Sarf can’t follow a trail at night.”

“Yes. We’ll be safe,” said Yim in the desperate hope that uttering those words would make them true.

ELEVEN

YIM ANDHonus waded downstream as quickly as they could. There was no need to proceed cautiously; the current would erase any trace of their passage. They progressed this way until the moon rose. Then Honus began looking for side streams. When he found one that seemed suitable, he began to walk up it. Yim followed, trying her best to leave no trail. After a while, the ground began to rise. Soon they were climbing the slope of another mountain and Honus abandoned the stream as a path. “There’s no point in trying to hide our trail from here on,” said Honus. “Our best hope is that Gatt won’t spot where we left the river.”

The two climbed awhile longer, then stopped for the night at a pile of boulders at the base of a cliff. Yim and Honus nestled between two massive blocks of stone and had their first meal since morning. It was what Honus called “battle porridge,” uncooked grain and water. After they ate their gritty meal, they slept huddled together.

The next morning they rose at first light, and Honus led the way up the mountain and down into the adjacent valley. It was heavily wooded. When Honus encountered a wide brook, it became their pathway. Yim had no idea if it headed toward Cara’s lands. By that point, she didn’t care, for she was far more concerned with escaping Gatt. When they camped that night, dining again on battle porridge, she prayed that they had succeeded.

When the sun rose, Yim and Honus moved onward without pausing to eat. Throughout the morning they continued wading in the brook, which gradually widened and deepened until the water often reached Yim’s calves. As the brook increased in size, the mountain to the north that formed one of the valley’s walls diminished in height until it was no more that a chain of low hills. Around noon, the hills ended at the conjunction of the brook and a river. “Is that the river from the first valley?” asked Yim.

“Yes,” said Honus, “and beyond this point it heads for the Yorvern. We’ll leave it to turn west and slightly northward.” He gave Yim a concerned look. “The way will be rugged.”

“That’s not a problem,” replied Yim. “My feet are better.”

The land between the two waterways ended in a narrow point that appeared to have been scoured by recent floods. Most of its vegetation had been swept away and only a few scruffy bushes remained. Those grew amid piles of boulders and tangled driftwood. As Yim and Honus neared the point, a blue-faced man rose from the debris. Honus whipped out his sword. “Run, Yim!”

“Where?”

“Back to the campsite. I’ll fight him off and join you there.”

“Honus …”

“Run! Run now!”

Yim saw Gatt splashing through the shallow water and felt a wave of panic. She dashed off. By the time she reached the bank, she heard the clang of swords and turned to see the two Sarfs fighting in knee-deep water. It seemed to her that both fought with less grace and more ferocity than before. Honus gripped his sword hilt with both hands and hewed at Gatt as if he were trying to fell a tree. Gatt attacked with equal energy. The savage desperation of the struggle made it unbearable to watch. Yim turned her eyes from the sight and fled along the bank, heedless of the trail she made.All our care was pointless , she thought, wondering how Gatt had found them. She considered abandoning the pack, but it contained all their food, clothes, and essential gear.Speed won’t save me. Only Honus’s sword will do that .

When Yim realized the futility of flight, she slowed to a walk. She didn’t even know if she could find the campsite again or where to go if Honus didn’t join her. Nevertheless, she continued walking, for she was too anxious to remain still. Yim was considering returning to see how the fight had turned out when she heard the sound of someone running through the woods. Yim halted and waited to learn her fate. It felt like she waited for a long time. At last, someone came into view. It was Honus. As he rushed toward her, Yim noticed that his left hand was bloody.

“You’re wounded!”

“Just a nick,” said Honus. He reached Yim but didn’t halt or even slow his pace. “Follow me. Hurry!”

Yim sped after him. Though she feared that she already knew the answer, she asked anyway. “What of Gatt?”

“He retreated.”

So it’s not over, thought Yim. Honus’s reckless pace and brusque manner were out of character, and it worried her. Moreover, he exercised none of his customary care as he moved among the trees and climbed a rise close to the brook. When he reached a clearing, he halted. “Take off the pack.”

Yim slipped it off, and Honus opened it to rummage through its contents. He removed his chain-mail shirt and set it on the ground. At first, Yim thought that he planned to don it in preparation for another battle, but then Honus also removed all his clothing from the pack.

“Honus, what are you doing?”

“Making the pack lighter.” Honus grabbed a small stick and squatted over a bare patch of ground. “Come. I must show you this.”

As Yim watched, Honus sketched shapes in the dirt. It took a moment for her to realize that the shapes were mountains and he was drawing a map. She was about to ask him why when she glanced at his left hand again. It hung limply and had taken on a grayish hue. Yim peered into Honus’s eyes. “You’re dying.” There was no uncertainty in her voice, only grief and fear.

“My wound is poisoned,” replied Honus. “I have but little time.”

“So that’s why Gatt retreated,” said Yim. “To wait for you to die.”

“I don’t think he’ll come after you until he’s certain I’m dead. That delay and this map will be my last services to you. I pray to Karm they’ll provide you safety.”

“Honus, I can’t…”

“You must try, Karmamatus!Please , you must!”

Yim gazed into Honus’s moist eyes and saw that he didn’t fear his death, only hers. “Of course I will,” she said for Honus’s benefit. “Tell me what to do.”

Using his crude map, Honus showed Yim a route to Cara’s. It involved backtracking to deceive Gatt. “Proceed slowly, so you leave no trail,” Honus said. “Stealth may save you, but not speed. You can’t outrun a Sarf any more than you can outfight him.” He grasped Yim’s hand with his right one. Its grip was weak and the fingers were cold. “Fly, Karmamatus. I’ll die in peace if I know you’re heading for safety.”

Yim softly stroked Honus’s cheek. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she kissed him. Yim had never kissed anyone before, and when her lips pressed Honus’s, she felt uncertain what to do next. For a long, awkward moment, she remained virtually still. Then she pulled back. Honus gazed at her sadly, as if he were already missing her. Yim’s vision blurred with tears. “Thank you, Honus.”

“Go. Don’t waste time.”

Yim shouldered the pack. It was much lighter. Before she headed off, she turned to bid farewell. Honus was shuffling his feet to rub away the map. She wanted to say something that would put his soul at ease but realized words were incapable of such a feat. In the end, all she uttered was “Goodbye.”

Yim made her way to the brook with meticulous care in order to leave no sign of her passage. When she reached the water, she waded into it and began to dash upstream. Counting on the current to wash away her tracks, she ran as fast as possible. Honus had advised her to stay in the water only a brief while, since it was an obvious way to avoid making a trail. “The trick,” he had said, “is not to let him know where you left the water. Then climb the southern mountain. Leave no trace for Gatt to follow. When you reach the next valley, head east, not west.”

Recalling Honus’s instructions made Yim think of him dying alone. The image tore at her heart.I can’t go back to him , she thought.He wants me safe . Yim tried to remember the route that she must take to Cara’s. Yet when she attempted to envision Honus’s map, her memory of it was confused. She remembered shapes scribed in the dirt, but already she couldn’t recall their number or exact position. Her most distinct recollection was that of Honus’s hand trembling as he drew the shapes.He was dying, and all he thought about was me .

Yim started when she heard a twig snap. She peered anxiously about, expecting Gatt to appear. Then she looked down and realized that she had snapped the twig.You’re not paying attention! Yim looked behind her and saw the impressions of her bare feet on the damp ground, clear evidence that her mind had been wandering. She wondered how many other traces had she left.Did I always run where the current will wash away my prints? Was my choice of route too obvious? Can I really outwit Gatt? Honus didn’t .

Yim decided that flight was pointless. Gatt would find her; it was only a matter of time. Having reached that conclusion, Yim pondered what to do with what time remained.I should be with Honus, not running away . She resolved to return to Honus’s side. Somehow, it didn’t feel like giving up.It’s my fate to be with him. Wasn’t my name tattooed on his back?

Yim reversed her course. It was a relief to walk without worrying where she stepped and to be concerned only with moving quickly. Yim had but one goal—to reach Honus before he died. She knew that he’d be distraught when she returned, but she’d say that it was Karm’s will that they die together. If need be, she would lie and tell him that his runes had foretold it.

TWELVE

GETTING BACKto Honus took longer than Yim expected. When she did, she found him lying on a mossy patch of ground, his hands clasped and resting on his chest. He was gazing at the sky, and his face was gray beneath its tattoos.

“Honus?” Even as Yim spoke, she knew he wouldn’t answer. Yim had envisioned holding Honus as he passed from life, but she had arrived too late. Nevertheless, she rushed over to cradle his body, sobbing as she did. She wept for Honus. She wept for herself. Yim cried until she was drained of tears, but not of sorrow.

Yim’s sole consolation was that Honus had died still hoping that she would live. “That hope died with you,” Yim said as she closed Honus’s eyes. It seemed a cruel trick that even in death he didn’t look peaceful. The marks needled on his face prevented that impression. “Where’s the implacable wrath that the Seer foresaw? You were so seldom angry.” Yim smiled sadly. “Even though I vexed you often enough.”

Yim studied Honus’s lifeless face. “The rage I see is merely artistry, a trick of line and shadow.” She wished she could wash the expression away, as she had the dark man’s magic runes. Yim recalled that night in the sorcerer’s castle. On that occasion, Honus had been equally still, for his spirit had left his body.But that was due to magic, not death .

Death was an entirely different matter, the ultimate separation. Sitting alone with Honus’s corpse, Yim felt torn from much of her life and was surprised to realize how thoroughly Honus had become part of her existence. She had known him for only a few moons and had disliked him in the beginning. Yet she found herself incapable of imagining a future without him. Then she reminded herself that she had no future without Honus; Gatt would see to that.

At that moment, Yim had an idea born from extremity. It came in the form of a question:Could I recall Honus’s spirit and restore it to his body? The question was absurd, and the answer was surely no. Though she had brought forth Mirien’s and Hommy’s spirits from the Dark Path, their visits had been only temporary. Resurrecting the dead was far different; Yim had never heard of anyone doing such a thing. Certainly, the Wise Woman had never taught her the skill or even spoken of it. Yet once Yim had the notion, it gripped her imagination. Though snatching a man from death seemed impossible, desperation drove Yim to try.

Yim sat on her heels before Honus’s body and began the meditations for summoning a spirit. She was only partway through them when she realized that they would be insufficient. The souls she had recalled from the Dark Path always returned to it.Hommy wasn’t restored to life after I called her forth , thought Yim.Something more than summoning must be necessary .

Yim ceased meditating and pondered what that something might be. She hadn’t a clue. The more she considered the question, the more she suspected that the answer wouldn’t be found in the living world. Yim knew that the dead slowly forgot their lives.That’s why Honus tranced, to experience their discarded memories . Yim wondered if those lost memories bound spirits to the Sunless Way.But why would missing memories do that? Yim would have to visit the Dark Path in hope of finding out. To do that, she needed to trance.

Although Yim had witnessed Honus trancing countless times, she had never done it herself. It wasn’t a skill that the Wise Woman had taught her, and she had no idea how to go about it.It can’t be too hard , she thought,Honus learned it as a child . Yet Yim knew that arts like trancing involved more than techniques that could be learned. At their core, they were gifts bestowed by Karm. Regardless, Yim imitated Honus and assumed a cross-legged position. Then she closed her eyes and searched for the Dark Path.

Nothing happened, for the living world distracted Yim. She smelled the mossy earth, heard the rustle of leaves, and felt the breeze that moved them. When she tried to make her mind blank, thoughts of Gatt intruded. Concentration became impossible. Yim saw her failure as evidence that her goal was presumption at best and more likely an affront to the goddess.Karm has always cupped me in her hands. I should submit to her will . Yim resolved to accept her fate and stopped trying to trance.

Resigned to die, Yim remained motionless in the clearing, with her eyes closed. The world grew quiet. Then, with the suddenness of a fall, it transformed. Yim saw the change through closed eyes. The landscape about her was silent and bereft of life, its empty hills stripped of vegetation and even soil. All that remained was the earth’s rocky skeleton. The stone landscape was wrapped in twilight and fog, although there was no sun to set and the frigid air was bone dry. The only thing that moved was mist. Wisps of it slowly flowed over the rocks, alternately hiding and revealing them. Despite the swirling fog, Yim felt no wind. In fact, she felt nothing other than numbing cold.

Without moving her head, Yim gazed down at her body. She was nude and slightly transparent. Her bones were visible as faint shadows beneath her pale skin. She glimpsed her organs also and noted that her heart wasn’t beating. For a panicked moment, she thought that she was dead, perhaps decapitated by Gatt in a sudden attack. Then she became aware that her body was sitting upright in the clearing, alive but disconnected from her.

In the dimly lit mist, Honus was hard to spot. When Yim finally saw him, his nude form seemed composed of fog. He stood alone and motionless on a barren hillside. Yim cried Honus’s name, but it was only a soundless thought. Honus looked in her direction, but didn’t seem to see her. Nevertheless, she suddenly felt his longing.

Yim also sensed Honus right before her. It wasn’t his entire being, only a part of it.A memory , she thought,one he’s already discarded . Yim didn’t move, but she felt that she was reaching toward the memory. In the realm of the dead, the thought of movement was its equivalent. Yim touched the memory, and it became hers. It was the pulse of a heart. Yim touched another and possessed it. It was the urge to breathe.Could the first things a soul forgets concern how to live? With the certainty of insight, Yim knew it was true. Then she proceeded carefully, aware that every memory was vital to Honus. She found the pangs of hunger. The scent of grass. The warmth of sunlight. The tickle of an impending sneeze.

As Yim followed the trail of memories, the closer she drew to Honus, the more complex and vivid they became. Honus seemed oblivious of her, while he became her entire focus. Their spirits touched, and in that instant, Yim was tugged into Honus by the pull of his remembrances. The distinction between them dissolved, so that Yim was both herself and Honus, and she relived his life. She was in Karm’s temple, a lonely little boy who was yearning for his mother. He gazed up at the mosaic depicting the goddess, which seemed immense to his young eyes.My mommy’s gone , he thought.Only you love me now .

Memory followed memory, each as real as the actual moment until Yim gazed at herself through Honus’s eyes. She was sitting outside Hamin’s wagon, warming herself by a campfire as she brushed dried mud from her feet. Then she was seized by an emotion that she had never experienced before—a feeling beyond her imagination. It felt like joy, but it was far more than that. Its power and depth were overwhelming. It was tender yet forceful, sublime yet primal, reverent yet giddy all at once. Until that instant, love had only been a word. Suddenly it was a reality, and Yim experienced its fullness.

The whole of Honus’s being washed over and through Yim as she learned his deepest secrets. She felt his longing, his doubt, his pain, and his loneliness as if they were her own. She held his wife as she died in his arms. She endured the horror of battle. She yearned for Honus’s absent parents. She adored Theodus and mourned him. She raged. She wept. She made love. She slew.

The final memory was the most powerful. Honus was in the moonlit garden of the ruined temple. Yim viewed her face as Honus had seen it when she let down her guard and unveiled her inner self to him. As Honus probed her, he was torn between longing for her and his duty to the goddess. Then gazing into her eyes, the two reconciled, and he felt washed in holiness. That moment defined Honus. And permeating it, like the clear note of a distant song, was love. Love for her.

Then, embracing the entirety of Honus’s soul, Yim returned to the living world. It nearly spent all her strength just to open her eyelids. She stared with astonishment at the clearing, for it seemed too bright and green. Then she forced herself to breathe. The air, rich with the scent of life, felt like thick broth and was as difficult to inhale. Yim smelled dirt, herbs, sweat, and myriad other essences, some fragrant, some pungent.

Then Yim regarded Honus. He remained gray and still, but intuition told her what to do. She pressed her lips against Honus’s cold mouth and breathed out. As Yim exhaled, she felt warmth return to him as it departed from her. Life drained from her body, until every part was icy cold. Yim didn’t care, even as the world turned black before her open eyes.

Gatt was unsure how long the poison on his blade would take to kill a man. All he knew was that it took a while and he had no wish to fight Honus again. On their first combat, he had possessed the advantage, for Honus had seen the venom painted on Gatt’s blade. That caused him to adopt conservative tactics. Nevertheless, Honus had successfully shielded Yim, and she had escaped Karm’s justice.

On their second encounter, Honus had fought more aggressively, and Gatt had received several wounds. Although he was loath to admit it even to himself, only Rangar’s poison had saved him.Honus knew he was doomed when I cut his hand , thought Gatt.That’s why he broke off the fight—to run to his whore . Gatt shook his head sadly.Even as he was dying, he remained Yim’s slave . It seemed an ignoble end for a once-worthy man.

Gatt genuinely regretted slaying Honus. Yim would be another matter. As Gatt dressed his wounds, he blamed Yim for them, not Honus. None of his hurts were mortal, though the gash on his left shoulder required stitches, which Gatt sewed stoically. The cut on his nose was the most minor, but also the most irritating, for it wouldn’t stop bleeding. As Gatt continued to wipe blood away, he imagined hacking off Yim’s nose. That led to thoughts of inflicting slow death by many small slices.She deserves nothing less . But after Gatt meditated, he was calm and decided it was Karm’s role to punish Yim. He was merely a Sarf. His sole duty was to send Yim to judgment. He resolved to do it mercifully and soon.

When the sun was low, Gatt judged sufficient time had passed, and he began to look for Honus’s trail. It was easy to find and easy to follow; so easy that he was able to jog along it. He expected that Yim would have long deserted Honus, but his body would be the starting point for tracking her. With good fortune, he would find the sorceress before nightfall. If not, he doubted it would take more than a day.

After running a while, Gatt was surprised to hear sobbing in the woods. He halted and listened. The sound was deep and low, making him think that Yim had cried herself hoarse. It had never occurred to him that the slut might have feelings for Honus. Then he reconsidered the notion.She’s weeping because she knows she’s doomed .

Gatt hurried onward, determined to finish it. He burst into a clearing and found two blue-clad figures there, one prone and the other slumped and weeping. The sight confounded him, for the ashen-faced figure on the ground was Yim, not Honus. Then Honus looked up and leapt to his feet. His sword was out even before he was erect. The blade flashed about him, a haze of lethal metal, and his face was terrible to behold.

By Morgan Howell

THESHADOWEDPATH

A Woman Worth Ten Coppers

Candle in the Storm

THEQUEEN OF THEORCSTRILOGY

King’s Property

Clan Daughter

Royal Destiny

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THIRTEEN

FLOATING ALONEin frigid darkness, Yim felt warm raindrops on her face. The sensation of them striking her cheeks and flowing over her skin drew Yim toward their source, the living world. She opened her eyes and saw Honus bent over her. His face was lit by firelight and the warm rain was his falling tears.

For a long moment, all Yim could do was stare at Honus as she relived his passion and devotion. At last, she understood his love and it sparked the same feeling in her. All her discoveries served as kindling for the flame. With the suddenness of a lightning strike, love blossomed and consumed her. Then the mere sight of Honus evoked a surge of joy. He seemed transformed, but Yim knew he hadn’t changed. She had. Yim reached up with both hands to touch his face, and the feel of him made her heady with excitement. Stroking Honus’s face only heightened Yim’s desire, and she pulled him toward her until their lips met.

This time, Yim knew exactly what to do. Instructed by Honus’s memories, she pushed her tongue past his parted lips to explore his mouth and relish the warm, wet intimacy of kissing. For an instant, Honus seemed totally surprised, but he quickly responded. Then it felt to Yim that they were two waves colliding, such was the force in their meeting. It shook her like a thunderclap. They embraced, clutching each other as if they could somehow merge into one. Yim’s whole existence became Honus. He intoxicated her. He was both lovable and loving. She savored the sight of him, his touch, his smell, his taste, and his every sound from his breathing to the pulse of his pounding heart.So this is love , Yim thought. She was certain that it was Karm’s gift.

In her weakened state, Yim’s passion quickly spent her. Kissing and embracing left her in a state of exhausted bliss. Soon all she desired was to sleep with Honus’s arms wrapped around her. Honus seemed to understand, for he pulled his cloak over both of them and held her. Yim sighed like a weary child, murmured “Honus,” and closed her eyes. Her last sensation was of Honus nuzzling his face into her hair as he repeated her name. His voice was so soft and tender it sounded as if he were praying. It sent shivers down her spine.

Daijen had maintained his guise as Rangar, but after Gatt had departed from Bremven, he lived luxuriously. He moved to the Palace District, where he rented a suite of rooms close to the Black Temple. As the More Holy One, he commanded the obedience of the temple’s priests, who provided him with gold for his purse and virgins for his bed. Daijen had visited the temple only once after his first night in the city. That was to sacrifice a child so he could safely commune with his god. From the session he had learned that events were progressing well. On that particular night, Gatt was within a day’s ride of reaching Yim and Honus. Daijen had also learned that Lord Bahl’s army was in the Western Reach and marching south toward Averen. Already, priests were sowing discord throughout the mountainous province. Soon Lord Bahl would arrive and reap its harvest.

Daijen expected the matter with Yim to soon be concluded.Probably this evening , he thought. Although he was enjoying his stay in the capital, Daijen was eager to rejoin Lord Bahl. An air of expectation had preceded the current year’s invasions. The End Times were drawing near, and all the Black Temple was abuzz with talk of the Rising. Better than any priest, Daijen knew the rumors were more than idle hope. A tide of blood would soon wash away the old world. Then the Devourer would burst from its mortal vessel and stride among the living to rule and raise the faithful to glory. Daijen counted himself high among the faithful, and he wanted to be present on that momentous day. If the slaughter in Averen progressed as hoped, it could happen there.

That stirring prospect had lent savor to the evening’s sumptuous repast, as did the beauty of his young companion. After Daijen had entered his second century, his taste had turned to ever younger girls. The current night’s morsel had barely entered womanhood. Throughout dinner, the More Holy One had thoroughly enjoyed her growing apprehension as the evening’s consummation drew near. The little darling had barely touched her food, though she downed three goblets of wine while Daijen stuffed himself. Thus she staggered as she reluctantly followed him into his bedroom.

Daijen lit several candles, closed the door, then sat on the bed. The girl remained standing, her eyes averted. “Look at me!” barked Daijen. The girl obeyed. Daijen gazed into her dark eyes and was excited by her look of fear. He found terror an excellent aphrodisiac.

“Undress for me,” he commanded.

The girl’s face reddened, but she remained as motionless as a fawn before a tiger.

“Now!”

The girl bent down to take off her sandals, which she did as slowly as possible.

When she was barefoot, Daijen smiled and said, “Now remove your dress.”

The dress had a bodice with a long row of buttons in the front. The girl’s hand rose to the topmost one, then froze as she began to whimper.

“You heard me,” said Daijen in a low, menacing tone. “You know what happens if I’m displeased.”

The girl’s hand began to tremble, but she started unfastening the buttons. She worked at them slowly. Daijen didn’t mind, for it drew out her humiliation. She had undone seven buttons when a gust of cold wind sprang up within the closed room and extinguished all the candles. Before Daijen could react, an icy wave slapped his body and passed through it. The force of its blow knocked his breath away and left him in excruciating pain. He gasped for air as he collapsed to the floor. Every part of him ached. His skin stung, all his muscles cramped at once, and every joint throbbed. As Daijen lay feebly writhing on the floor, the door opened, and light from the outer room spilled over him. The girl stood doorknob in hand, staring at him with terror and disbelief.

“Come here,” said Daijen. His voice sounded unnatural to his ears. The girl hesitated for only a moment before she bolted, leaving her sandals behind as she fled. For a while, Daijen lay crumpled on the floor as his pain subsided to a deep ache. He became aware that not only had his voice changed; his hands were altered also. The veins stood out, the knuckles were enlarged, and the skin was no longer tight and smooth. The mere sight of them sent a chill to the pit of his stomach.

Daijen rose slowly, for his joints were stiff and painful. There were no mirrors in his rented rooms, but there was one in the inn’s hallway. He headed for it, filled with trepidation. As he approached the sheet of polished bronze, he didn’t recognize the reflection at first. For over eighty years, Daijen had appeared as a man in his twenties. Thus the face in the mirror looked ancient to him, though it was that of a man in late middle age. Daijen regarded every wrinkle with horror. He had jowls beneath his chin and bags under his eyes. His hair had thinned and receded, and white strands mingled with the tan ones. An objective observer would have called the mirrored face “hard,” yet not unhandsome. But Daijen was accustomed to fresh-faced youth. He was sickened and humiliated by the sight.

With that glance, Daijen knew that his scheme with the Sarf had failed.This is my punishment , he thought. Henceforth his flesh would bear the mark of his master’s displeasure. It would serve as a reminder and a warning.I must never fail again . He had been clever, but cleverness and overconfidence had undone him. Since mercy was alien to the Devourer, the fact that Daijen still lived was proof that he remained charged to kill Yim. Daijen turned all his thought and energy toward that task. His ruthless god demanded nothing less.

Yim woke with a start and sat upright. “Gatt!” She peered wildly about the clearing. In the predawn light, every shadow appeared menacing.

“Rest easy,” said Honus, his voice still soft with sleep. “He’s slain.”

Yim calmed and lay down again, but she was wide awake. The events of yesterday seemed like a vivid dream and possessed a dream’s air of unreality.Did I really kiss Honus? It seemed a brazen act, but Yim felt certain that she had done it, for she wanted to do it again. As Honus pulled his cloak back over her, she turned so she was face-to-face with him. Honus’s closeness was both thrilling and distracting, but Yim felt that she should first learn if he recalled her actions. “Yesterday’s all confused,” she said in a tone that she hoped conveyed puzzlement. “What happened?”

“Your confusion can’t be greater than mine. I recall dying, and …” Honus shook his head. “That makes no sense. But then I was alive, and you were beside me, so pale and cold I feared you’d traded your life for mine.”

“Don’t be silly. How could I do such a thing?”

“But I died. I’m certain of it. And …” Honus’s voice took on a tone of awe. “I remember now. I felt a presence and… Did you…”

“What? Snatch you from the Dark Path?” Yim forced herself to laugh. “You only dreamt that. When I returned, you were out of your head.”

“I don’t recall you coming back. Only my death.”

“You would have died for real if I hadn’t sucked that poison from your wound.”

“But why did you return? You promised you’d flee.”

“Since when do Bearers obey their Sarfs? Lucky for you I came to my senses. But that poison sickened me and I swooned.”

“And then I awoke. That is, if I indeed dreamt my death.”

“Of course you did. Now tell me about Gatt.”

“Gatt arrived just after sunset.” Honus smiled grimly. “He was surprised to see me.”

“So you fought him yet again?”

“I’d hardly call it a fight. I was a man possessed, and it was over with one blow. Then I made a fire. Afterward, you revived.”

“I recall what happened next.” Yim grinned. “You must have thought I was out of my head. Well, I wasn’t.” Then she gave Honus a lingering kiss.

Sunrise found Yim and Honus still locked in an embrace. For Yim, her feelings had the wonder of being new and unexpected. As her memories from the Dark Path began to fade, she grew less certain how to behave. She looked to Honus for guidance, and he responded with the patience of a man realizing his greatest hope and savoring each moment. They kissed and touched, nothing more. Yim so thoroughly enjoyed herself that only the pangs of an empty stomach caused her to leave Honus’s arms. He went to gather firewood while she searched for herbs to lend flavor to their first meal since the evening before last. As Yim was returning to the clearing, she found Gatt’s body in the thicket where Honus had dragged it. The Sarf had been pierced in the heart.

Either due to haste or anger, Honus hadn’t closed Gatt’s eyes. Thus Yim’s nemesis stared at her as might a spirit on the Dark Path. If she ignored its tattoos, the face before her bore the same expression as the man she had killed—a look of astonishment. It caused Yim to wonder if the similarity was more than coincidence, and she was tempted to trance to find out.

Yim yielded to the temptation. Having successfully tranced the previous day, Yim thought she could easily repeat the feat. She sat cross-legged on the ground close to Gatt’s corpse, closed her eyes, and meditated to clear her mind. Without the fear of an imminent attack, the feat was quickly accomplished. However, unlike before, nothing happened. Yim remained in the living world. After a while, she gave up and returned to the clearing. There, Honus had a fire going.

Yim mixed grain and water in the small brass pot, added the herbs she had gathered, and set the pot on the fire. While she stirred the porridge, she kept thinking of the dead Sarf in the thicket. “Honus,” she said at last. “If we were to give Gatt honorable rites, what needs be done?”

“His body would be burnt at sundown. It would have to be cleansed first. His runes remain holy secrets, so only a Bearer can do it. After the fire is lit, I would break his sword and place it with him. Then you would beg Karm to judge him mercifully.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do, for I don’t believe he was truly wicked.”

“I’m not fit to judge such matters, Karmamatus.”

“Yet you don’t agree.”

“The matter lies too close to my heart, and I lack your goodness. I’m only your Sarf.”

“You’re more than that,” replied Yim in a voice that was low and shy. “You’re my beloved, Honus.”

“I’ve longed to hear those words.”

“How could I not love you? You saved my life.”

Honus reached out and grasped her hand. He seemed about to say something, but he smiled instead and kissed her cheek.

*   *   *

Gazing at Yim, Honus knew she had spoken sincerely about her love. He was overjoyed, but also puzzled. He had saved Yim before, and she had failed to become enamored.Why was yesterday different? Honus had no clear idea. He was disinclined to ponder the matter, especially since the puzzle paled compared with a far deeper mystery.

Honus had experience with poisoned wounds, for the enemy often used venomed blades. He’d seen many men die from them. There was no cure; sucking the wound did nothing. Moreover, Honus clearly remembered dying. It had taken long enough. The slowly spreading paralysis accompanied by a bone-deep chill left a vivid impression. He recalled staring skyward, unable to blink, and then suddenly being on the Dark Path. Having tranced countless times, he found the place quite familiar.

What happened afterward was less distinct. He recalled a presence that seemed to unite with him.Could it have been Yim? He had no way of telling, but Yim had saved him before and denied it. Then he was back in his body, with the chill and paralysis gone.And Yim was slumped beside me, cold and pale as a corpse . The memory of that moment tugged at his heart, and he glanced at Yim to reassure himself. She was crouching by the fire and stirring the porridge. Yim was dirty and unkempt, with a large lock of her hair cropped short, but she looked beautiful to him. He was reminded of the mosaic in the temple sanctuary; its image of Karm was no lovelier. Moreover, Yim filled him with the same awe that the mosaic did. And despite Yim’s words to the contrary, he felt certain that she had delivered him from death.

The preparations for Gatt’s last rites extended well into the morning. Honus carried the dead Sarf’s body to the brook and left Yim alone while she cleansed it. As Yim undressed Gatt, she was saddened to see how young he was. She washed the blood from his chest, then turned him over to wash his back. The runes tattooed there formed a short inscription; they didn’t even reach the Sarf’s shoulder blades.It seems they foretold a short life , thought Yim. The language was the same archaic one transcribed on Honus’s back, and Yim found its text equally unenlightening. Nevertheless, she studied what was written there, looking for some clue to Gatt’s actions. One word caught her eye, for it was unique and she had also seen it on Honus’s back. The word was “Daijen.” It formed half of the final inscription: “Bewarr Daijen.”

Does that mean “Beware Daijen”? Is Daijen someone’s name?Yim recalled thinking that a line among Honus’s tattoos had spelled out “He sends Daijen.” She resolved to look at the runes again to verify her memory.

Yim spoke to the dead man. “Was it Daijen who poisoned your mind? If so, how sad you had no Bearer to warn you.” Then she recalled that a Bearer wouldn’t speak of the portents on a Sarf’s back and realized the warning wasn’t meant for Gatt. As Yim stared at the words needled on the corpse, a chilling notion came to her.This warning is meant for me!

FOURTEEN

YIM REMAINEDby the brook after Honus carried Gatt’s body away. The suddenness and the intensity of her feelings had disoriented her, and she needed some quiet time to steady herself. Yim thought bathing in cold water would help. Before she did, she plucked fragrant herbs to use in scrubbing the dirt from her skin so she would be sweetly scented when Honus saw her next. Then Yim shed her clothes and washed them. After she wrung them out and hung them in the sun to dry, Yim turned to washing herself. Bearing a handful of violets, woodruff, and wild lavender, she waded to a place where the water ran clear and deep.

Previously, concern that Honus might view her bathing had always made Yim wash hastily. In her new frame of mind, she thought differently about the prospect. The idea of him seeing her nude was deliciously exciting, and she took her time bathing. As Yim brushed the wet herbs over her skin, she imagined their leaves and blossoms were Honus’s fingertips. Cupping her breasts, she recalled the night in Luvein when Honus had touched her there. On that occasion, she had felt only passive and apprehensive. That moment seemed from a different life. As Yim imitated the way Honus had gently kneaded her nipples, she felt a warm, pleasant sensation spread from between her thighs.

When her spirit had joined with Honus’s, Yim had relived his memories of passion. It made her crave to experience its ecstasies firsthand.It’ll be so easy , Yim thought, as her hands roved over her body.He wants me as much as I want him . All she needed to do was express her willingness and Honus would make love to her. The mere thought of it made her tingle all over.

Yet as soon as Yim envisioned consummating her desire, a contrary thought arose:I can’t! I’m the Chosen . She couldn’t perform her sacred duty if she wasn’t a virgin. There was no middle ground; she could either fulfill her love or her destiny. Torn between the two, Yim found she couldn’t forsake Karm. She had revered the goddess since childhood, and she had loved Honus for less than a day. Nonetheless, the strength of her new feelings made the choice a wrenching one. Yim hurriedly dressed in her wet clothes, as if to dampen desire. It remained as strong as ever, but instead of being exhilarating, it became torment. Love transformed into a gnawing hunger with no prospect of satisfaction.

Yim slumped on a rock, chilled by her damp clothes. Her physical discomfort mirrored her anguish as joy hardened into sorrow. For a while, she sought to convince herself that Karm had chosen Honus to father her child.That’s why she helped me save him . Despite wanting to believe that, Yim sensed it wasn’t true.If I were meant to bear Honus’s child, we would’ve conceived one long ago . The Wise Woman had been adamant that the goddess would reveal the father, so Karm’s silence seemed proof that Yim had yet to meet him. She probably never would if she made love to Honus.

When Yim pondered her dilemma further, she felt that surrendering to desire would not only betray Karm but also Honus. As a Sarf, his life was dedicated to the goddess. Yim recalled Cara’s words:“You need only climb into Honus’s bed to thwart Karm.” Yim couldn’t imagine Honus opposing the goddess. To cause him to do so in ignorance would be deceptive and supremely selfish.

I must reveal to Honus what it means to be the Chosen, Yim thought.There’s no other way . She felt the truth would shatter their happiness, and that thought dispirited her. She recalled with irony how she had thought of love as Karm’s gift. It had become Karm’s curse instead, a poison—first sweet, then bitter—that burnt without hope of relief. Yim wished that she didn’t love Honus, yet couldn’t bear the thought of being apart from him. She wondered if her feelings were a trial, a punishment, or the means to some end she couldn’t imagine.

Yim remained on the rock a while longer, but her thoughts were caged beasts that ran in circles. She loved both Honus and Karm, and she could have one only by denying the other. Finally wearied of thinking, Yim waded across the brook to find Honus and bare her heart to him.

*   *   *

In the center of the clearing was a huge pile of branches and dry brush. Gatt lay atop it, looking peaceful in death. Honus was nowhere to be found. Yim waited for him and the passing time compounded her unhappiness. Honus didn’t return until midafternoon. He carried three pheasants and was grinning broadly before he caught Yim’s anguished look. His smile vanished. “Yim, what’s the matter?”

“Honus, I must tell you something.” Yim saw the concern in Honus’s face and felt that he had never looked more beautiful. Words deserted her for a moment, and she simply stared at him, filled with longing. Honus waited patiently until she regained her composure. “Honus, you know that I’m the Chosen.”

“Yes.”

“You believe that’s something holy. Well, it’s not. Karm gave me a task. If I accomplish it, some good will be achieved. My worth lies solely in that. I’m only the vessel, not the wine.”

“Karmamatus …”

“Please Honus, let me finish. I’ve kept so much from you.” Yim felt her throat constrict, and she struggled not to cry. “I … I regret that. I was sworn to secrecy, but now … now that things have changed between us and… Oh Honus! I need your strength more than ever.”

Honus bowed. “You have it, Karmamatus. Be assured of that.”

“I’m supposed to bear a child. Karm will reveal who’s to be the father. She hasn’t done so yet. Until she does, I may tup with no man.” Yim noted the surprise on Honus’s face. “Yes, I lied to you. I’m a virgin and must remain one.”

“And last night… this morning …”

“Mistakes.”

“I see.”

“I’ve never loved a man before. I didn’t foresee the path love takes. Yet now that I do, I must think only of my duty.”

“If your duty is to bear a child, why take on Theodus’s quest?”

“Karm told me to follow his footsteps. For a while I thought they’d lead to the man who’s to father my child, but now I’m not sure. My visions seldom make sense. I can’t even read your runes. You should leave me. I’m unfit to guide you.”

“I’m your Sarf. You needn’t guide me.”

“But we shouldn’t be together!”

“Because you must remain untouched? Yim, one can love chastely. I’m proof of that.”

Yim smiled wanly. “Now I understand your torment.”

Honus gently enfolded Yim in his arms. “It can be hard, but there are good times, too.”

Yim wavered, then returned Honus’s embrace. “I worry I’ll be weak.”

“You’ve never been that, Karmamatus.” Honus kissed Yim’s forehead. “And Theodus taught me one thing well: Real love is never weakness.”

Deep within the Black Temple was a room that few priests knew about and fewer still had ever entered. It was built deep underground so that daylight never reached its walls of dusky basalt. When the room’s iron door was shut and the lamp extinguished, the darkness there was absolute. The rough walls leaned inward; otherwise the chamber was featureless except for a circle carved into the stone floor to form a shallow trough.

Daijen entered the room, throwing back the deep hood that hid his newly aged face. A single oil lamp burned, filling the chill air with pungent smoke. Its pale light revealed a small boy dressed in a slave’s tunic who lay shivering on the floor. His wrists were tied, as were his ankles. He stared at the More Holy One in terror, his rapid breath visible in the room’s otherworldly coldness.

The surroundings were new to Daijen, but the ritual he must perform was familiar to him. He drew a dagger from his robe and made quick work of the sacrifice, holding his victim’s throat over the trough so the blood flowed into it. When a crimson circle marked the floor, the More Holy One stepped inside its protection. There he knelt and sent his thoughts to the Dark Path to invoke his master. The Devourer overlooked the entire world, and none could hide from its malice. Soon Daijen would know where to find Yim.

The sun’s last rays filled the clearing with rosy light when Honus touched Gatt’s pyre with a burning branch. Flames rapidly spread from the spot. Before they engulfed the dead Sarf, Honus drove the point of Gatt’s sword deep into the ground. He placed his sandaled foot against the middle of the blade, which he had cleansed of poison, and grasped the hilt. Then pulling with both hands and pushing with his foot, he bent the blade until it snapped. Honus placed the broken sword on Gatt’s chest, then stepped back from the pyre’s growing heat. “Now the Bearer speaks to Karm,” he said.

“What should I say?”

“Whatever comes to you.”

Yim gazed at the dark shape within the swirling flames awhile before she spoke. “His name was Gatt. He was a Sarf. He tried to kill me. That’s all I know about him. I hope you’ll show him mercy in your judgment because …” Yim paused a long moment, gathering her thoughts. “Because he was probably unable to see how deeds play out. Was he guided by your will? You can tell, but I think it was less easy for him. It can be hard to discern the proper path. Very hard. I know, for in this I’m like Gatt. So please show him mercy if he was wrong, just as I hope that you’ll show me mercy.”

Honus looked at Yim, wanting to contradict her and say that she was unlike Gatt. But when he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, he knew her words were heartfelt, and so he held his tongue.

It was nighttime when Daijen finally staggered from the subterranean chamber. His hood hid his face from prying eyes as he rushed from the temple. Thus no priest observed his drawn expression and speculated on what had caused it. Daijen wandered the dark streets awhile, scarcely conscious of where he was. He felt like a sailor cast ashore by a raging storm, but instead of wind and waves, otherworldly forces had battered him while he cowered within the ring of blood. The ordeal had seemed like it could end only with his destruction; yet somehow he had survived. Something had struggled with his master within the dark room, and the contest had nearly shattered Daijen’s sanity. The invisible forces were so powerful that they affected his mind like physical blows. Each assault from either side was agony, a clap of pervasive pain that left him reeling and nauseous.

When the combat finally subsided, Daijen felt profoundly disturbed. He had always regarded the Devourer as all-powerful—the world’s inevitable overlord. Yet within that dark chamber he had just experienced his master’s power being challenged. After the massacre at Karm’s temple, he hadn’t believed such a thing was possible. To him, Karm was a deity for weaklings, one that bestowed only worthless gifts. None of her followers could cheat death, practice sorcery, or enflame men’s minds. Yet some power had stymied his master, and Daijen felt certain that it was the goddess.

Pondering on the import of what had happened, Daijen wondered if Karm was as impotent as he had supposed. It seemed possible that the goddess had been merely biding her time and hiding her power until the proper moment to strike. If that were so, then she had just revealed her hand for the sake of a woman.This Yim is far more than an irritant , he thought.She must somehow threaten my master . Daijen couldn’t imagine how a mortal could do that, but he didn’t doubt his conclusion. It made Yim’s destruction all the more urgent.

Daijen turned his thoughts to that end. He had learned little of use within the room, for whatever guidance his master had for him had been muddled and obscured. The Devourer’s hatred for Yim was vividly apparent, but the vision of her whereabouts had been reduced to jumbled fragments. Daijen recalled mountains as glimpsed through a nighttime fog. He assumed they were in Averen, for that was where Yim had been headed. The other images that formed in his mind had dissolved as quickly as smoke in wind. One scene kept arising and vanishing with such frequency that bits of it stuck in Daijen’s memory. Mountains. Buildings. He thought one building might have been walled. The other structures were smaller and clustered about it. And something large and bright lay nearby.A lake perhaps . Daijen thought the scene showed either Yim’s hiding place or her destination.

It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all he had. Daijen headed for the taverns in the Averen quarter. As he walked, he devised his story. It would be about a vision, a gift from the goddess. He would recount the disjointed images he had seen and say they hinted where he might find his long-lost child. A daughter named Yim.With patience, I’ll find someone who’ll know of the place I seek . Already, Daijen envisioned himself astride a new steed and riding forth to regain his master’s favor.

FIFTEEN

IT WAStradition to feast after a Sarf’s final ceremony in order to celebrate his deeds. Honus saw the meal of roast pheasant as honoring the form—but not the substance—of that custom. He felt there was nothing to celebrate and couldn’t bring himself to forgive Gatt, even if Yim did. He knew it was a fault in him, but that knowledge didn’t sway his heart. Honus only pecked at his food, his appetite spoiled by discontent. Ill will toward Gatt wasn’t its source: That morning he had felt blessed, and that blessing had been withdrawn.

Honus was angry, but he was unsure where to direct his anger. Certainly not at Yim. She gazed at him with such love and sadness that it was painful to look into her eyes. She who had so handily deceived him had become unable to hide her feelings. They were raw, and Yim seemed tortured by them. Every time she glanced at his face, she acted like a bird stealing grain from a cat—stealthy and hesitant, yet driven by need. Her obvious torment was both pathetic and endearing. Honus wondered how he might soothe her misery but doubted it was possible.

Did Karm do this to her? Is this some trial? And who’s being tested? Yim or I?Honus believed that Karm was the goddess of compassion; yet to inflict such an ordeal seemed cruel.But when has Karm ever smoothed my way? Honus recalled being taken from his parents, his rigid training, the pain of the tattoo needle, the hard road he traveled with Theodus, and his beloved Bearer’s gruesome death.And now this! Nevertheless, Honus couldn’t rage against the goddess. She was the well of holiness, the same holiness that drew him to Yim.

Honus wondered if he should be angry with himself. If he had caused Yim to love him, then he had also caused her torment. It pained him to think that, but the more he considered the notion, the truer it seemed. But if Yim was a victim of his love, he was also. Despite himself, Honus reached out to grasp Yim’s hand, which was greasy from eating pheasant. She didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry, Yim.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she replied.

“Spoken by one who forgives her assassin.”

“He wasn’t my assassin. He didn’t kill me.” Yim squeezed Honus’s hand. “Thanks to you.”

“Still, I regret the pain love brings you.”

“That pain is Karm’s gift,” replied Yim, her voice laced with irony. “Most of her gifts are accompanied by pain. You know that yourself. Many times I’ve seen you trance and return stricken by another’s forgotten grief. Yet you still do it.”

“I trance to seek happy memories, not sorrowful ones.”

“Then you endure the bitter for the sake of the sweet.” Yim smiled. “Your touch gladdens me, though it stirs my yearning.”

Honus sighed and released Yim’s hand.

“Honus, I’ll learn to live with this. I must.”

In the Western Reach, the burning village lit the night. The peasant soldiers had finished their slaughter and withdrawn, leaving the Iron Guard to systematically loot and burn. Wearing a dead man’s helm and breastplate, Hendric sat close to a campfire and stared at his hand. The encampment was crowded, and the darkness was filled with the sounds of men pushed to extremity. Some cried in pain, while others laughed with a raucousness that bordered on hysteria. A few, still caught up in the battle frenzy, cursed and roared incoherently. Somewhere, a woman screamed. But Hendric shut out the din, fully engaged by the puzzle at the end of his wrist.

When did I lose those fingers?he wondered. He had no recollection of the event. They had been there in the morning, and by night they were gone. The little finger on his sword hand was entirely missing and only parts of the next three fingers remained. The bloody stumps were painful, and it was pain that first alerted Hendric that something had happened to him. He assumed that the fingers had been severed in the assault, but when and how were mysteries to him.

Hendric had been in five battles so far, but he recalled none of them coherently. His recollections seemed like half-remembered dreams suffused with manic glee. Once he had been a tenderhearted man, a peasant who hated butchering his chickens. Nevertheless, Slasher had been right; Hendric had come to relish killing. When Bahl stirred his troops for battle, Hendric was swept up in exultant frenzy. Then nothing mattered except the task at hand. During those times, Hendric was capable of anything, and it was easy to disregard the loss of a few fingers.

The peasant never understood how Lord Bahl incited him. It seemed to be more than the power of words. He seldom recalled what was said; only that Bahl’s speech stirred him like music that echoed in his mind for ever-longer periods. While it did, Hendric was transported to an energetic form of oblivion that expunged his longing, misery, and fear. Afterward, he was always exhausted and bloody. Moreover, sickening images would haunt his waking thoughts and disturb his sleep. Hendric feared they were memories of things he had done. Regardless, he had come to crave those frantic spells as a drunkard craves ale. Though the aftermath was hard, forgetfulness was bliss.

The army had been on the march for days, leaving a swath of destruction and slaughter in its wake. Lord Bahl rode at its head, accompanied by the priest, the Most Holy Gorm, and Hendric’s own lord, Count Yaun. The peasant despised the count who had taken him from everyone he loved, but he felt differently about Lord Bahl. He feared his cruelty, but he also held him in awe. Lord Bahl seemed more than a man, and thus immune to men’s judgment. And with each new round of slaughter, his power over Hendric and the other men grew.

Already, there were men among the troops who were never free from Lord Bahl’s spell. They were always eager to kill and dangerous to be around. As the march progressed, their numbers increased, despite losses within the army. When Hendric reflected on it, the battle frenzy lingered ever longer in him also. Existence blurred. He had only a vague idea of where he was, other than far from home. He knew that they were headed for Averen, but he didn’t know when they’d get there. Hendric hoped it would be soon, for one thing Lord Bahl had said stuck in his mind: In Averen, misery would be washed from his soul in a bath of blood.

Yim slept wrapped in her cloak, apart from Honus. When she arose the next morning, she scattered Gatt’s ashes before resuming her journey to Cara’s. They were far enough from the highway that it seemed pointless to return to it, and since Honus knew the country from his travels with Theodus, he proposed another route. “Westward lie the lands of Clan Dolbane,” he said. “There we’ll find farmsteads and roads.”

“And will we be welcome?”

“Theodus and I were in the past,” replied Honus. “I don’t know how we’ll fare now.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” said Yim, hoping that when she reached Cara’s lands she wouldn’t find folk turned against her.

Honus led the way to where he had fought with Gatt and then headed west. For most of the morning, the land they traveled was wooded and wild. The rocky terrain was rugged, and though they walked within valleys, they usually hiked uphill. Until the midsummer sun rose high, the air had a crispness to it. They found a narrow pathway just before noon, and Yim was glad for some sign that people lived about. A short while later, they encountered a field on a sunny mountainside. At its edge was a dwelling that was half-buried into the slope. Smoke rose from a hole in its roof.

“Let’s see how we’ll be greeted,” said Yim. The two climbed the slope until they reached the house. It was made of stone where it touched the ground, and timber above that. The logs that formed its walls had been squared before they were fitted together, and the spaces between them were chinked with moss. The roof was made of broad wooden shakes, weighted with stones. At the rear of the house, the roof merged with the mountain’s slope. The smoke hole was there, surrounded by wide slabs of stone. The only windows were on the structure’s front. They were small and their shutters were flung open, as was the dwelling’s door. Yim approached the house without seeing anyone and peered inside.

The sunny day made the single room beyond the doorway seem all the darker. Yim saw a dirt floor, a table, benches, a loom, and lines that were strung between the walls. Various shades of twisted wool dangled from the lines. Some of the wool steamed and dripped from recent dyeing. At the far end of the room, Yim spied a fire and a large kettle. A small figure stirred the kettle. It took a moment for Yim’s eyes to adjust and discern that the figure was that of a girl, perhaps eleven winters old. Plaid homespun was wrapped about her thin waist to form a skirt that reached midcalf. A second length of plaid was tucked into the top of her skirt. It passed across her chest, over her left shoulder, and down her back to tuck into the skirt’s rear. These two items comprised her garments, for she wore no shirt and her feet were bare. Her long, light brown hair was tied back, exposing a face whose sootiness made the girl’s wide-eyed stare all the more conspicuous. Concerned that Honus’s face might have frightened the child, Yim bowed low and said, “Greetings, dear. We’re servants of Karm.”

The girl said nothing, but she dropped the wooden stirring paddle and slowly edged toward the table. Yim noted there was a knife upon it. “My companion’s face looks grim, but his heart is kind. You need not fear him or me. We bring Karm’s blessing.”

“Karm’s dead,” said the girl, laying her hand on the knife hilt, but not grasping it.

Yim smiled and spoke in a light, almost amused tone. “How can a goddess die?”

“Da said she did,” stated the girl, as if that assertion explained everything.

“Then I bring good news. Karm still watches over you.”

The girl simply stared at Yim with doubt and more than a hint of suspicion. Yim, sensing the futility of speaking further, motioned for Honus to back away. She bowed again and said, “Tell your da that we bestowed our blessing.” Then she turned and departed.

Trudging down the slope, Yim observed the girl dash from the house and disappear into the trees that surrounded the field. She wondered what the girl would tell her father and if they should fear another attack. After no one appeared, either friendly or hostile, Yim’s thoughts turned to the girl’s assertion that Karm was dead. She tried to dismiss it as foolishness, something an ignorant girl repeated without understanding. It might be a lie from a black priest or a mere misunderstanding. Nonetheless, the idea worked on Yim’s imagination. It matched her foreboding that something terrible loomed ahead. It also recalled her disturbing visions. The last two times Karm had appeared to her, the goddess had been covered with blood. She had seemed battered, not powerful. And Karm’s last visitation had been followed by a disturbing absence that intensified Yim’s feelings of abandonment.

Honus walked in front, so he was unaware of Yim’s musings. They returned to the trail, which gradually broadened into a narrow dirt road as it snaked through a high valley. There, the southward slopes were cleared wherever the stony ground was level enough to till or use for pasturage. Among the clearings, Yim spotted dwellings, but her encounter with the girl had made her reluctant to approach them. Occasionally, they met people on the road. Both the men and women wore costumes similar to the young girl’s, but their attire usually included long-sleeved shirts and boots or sandals. Since everyone greeted her politely—albeit tersely—as they passed, Yim began to think her first encounter was a fluke. Eventually, she decided that it was, and when dusk approached she sought hospitality.

Yim spotted a homestead built of timber and stone and told Honus to head for it. Like the first dwelling they visited, it was partly buried into the mountain’s slope. It was more expansive, however, appearing to have been enlarged by several additions. Yim noticed adults and children toiling in a nearby field. About the house, more children were driving sheep into a pen or doing other chores while two boys in their late teens sparred vigorously using wooden swords. Red welts upon their arms and chests proved the earnestness of their practice.

A woman, her blond hair streaked with gray, emerged from the house when Yim and Honus reached it. She was barefoot and her plaids and woolen blouse were soiled and threadbare, but she bore herself with dignity. Yim bowed to her. “Mother, we seek food and shelter in respect for the goddess.”

“My husband is lord here,” replied the woman. “’tis his place to say aye or nay.” She pointed to the field. “He’s guiding the plow.”

Yim bowed to the woman and walked over to the field. There, a gray-haired man was plowing under the stubble of winter grain. A young couple pulled the plow, the woman round with child. Ragged, barefoot children walked behind to scatter grain in the freshly turned furrows. The plowman halted when he saw Yim approach. She bowed to him and repeated her request. The man regarded her with interest. “At first I thought I was seeing spirits,” he said without returning Yim’s bow, “but you seem solid enough. Aye, you can sup and sleep with us.”

Yim bowed. “Karm sees your generosity.”

The man smiled. “Does she now? Well, na matter either way; we’ll be glad for talk. I’m Devren, lord of this holding.” He gestured to the couple pulling the plow. “This is my heir, Folden, and his bride, Kaarkan. We’ll join you when ’tis too dark to plow.”

As Yim headed back to the house, she turned to Honus and said in a low voice, “So many children!”

“Averen families run large, and children of unmarried daughters are counted as the patriarch’s offspring.”

“Would there be many of those?”

“Usually quite a few. There’s a saying here: ’A man needs land to have a wife, but na a child.’ Did you see those lads with wooden swords? Landless sons usually go off soldiering.”

“And forsake the mothers of their children?”

“The lucky ones return.”

“And what if his love has found another?”

“That’s the theme of many Averen ballads.”

When Yim and Honus reached the dwelling, Devren’s wife introduced herself as Fremma. After Yim slipped the pack from her shoulders, Fremma bade Yim and Honus sit at a bench by the table while she brewed them a hot drink. She did that at a fire pit near the room’s far wall. A young woman, barefoot and as ragged as her mother, stood there adding herbs to a bubbling kettle. An infant nestled within her plaid chest wrap, nursing at her breast. A naked toddler played about a loom, where a girl of perhaps nine winters worked the shuttle. The light was so dim, she seemed to be guiding it by feel.

Fremma brought out wooden bowls of herbal tea, served Yim and Honus, then left the room. As Yim sipped her drink, she gazed about. The long table at which she and Honus sat occupied much of the central room. Two looms took up most of the remaining floor space. Skeins of wool, plants for making dye, lengths of plaid cloth, and all manner of implements dangled from the rafters. On either sidewall was an entrance to an adjoining chamber. One chamber seemed for sleeping. The other seemed a storeroom.

While Yim gazed about the central room, it slowly filled with children who curiously regarded her and Honus. Although they whispered among themselves, none spoke to Yim or answered her greetings. They kept their distance until Devren arrived to formally welcome his guests. After Yim gave her and Honus’s names, the children crowded around her, although they gave wide berth to Honus. The youngsters remained too shy to speak, but they seemed fascinated by Yim’s clothes and foreignness.

There was but a single chair at the long table. It was placed at its head, and Devren took it. Then he invited Yim to sit at the end of the bench closest to his right, apparently the place of honor. Honus was offered the seat on the bench to his left. Once Devren and his guests were seated, the male members of his family took their places at the long benches lining the table, the eldest sons sitting closest to their father. Then Fremma, Kaarkan, and Devren’s elder daughters served them food and drink. There was coarse brown bread, ale, and porridge that contained a few roots and even fewer bits of mutton. Only after the men were served did the women serve themselves and the children. They sat crowded at the far ends of the benches.

Herbs made the porridge flavorful, and Yim enjoyed both it and the bread. The dark ale was strong, and she took only small sips from her bowl. Yim suspected that it was brought out in her honor. Only she and the men drank it. All the men, except for Honus, drank deeply. Devren was cordial to her during the meal, as were his sons, but no one was reverent. When tongues loosened as the ale took hold, Yim attempted to steer the talk toward what concerned her most. “Sir, you seemed surprised to see me. Why was that?”

“I’d heard all Karm’s folk were slain,” replied Devren.

“Who told you that?”

“The new priests.”

“So they’ve come spreading lies.”

“I do na agree,” replied Devren. “What they say makes sense.”

“Like what?”

“That our clan has too long endured wrongs against us. Because our neighbors crowd us, my sons can na take wives.”

“Da speaks true,” said one of Devren’s sons. “Why soldier for other men when a sword can win you a homestead?”

“By that, you mean another man’s homestead,” said Yim.

“Strength is the sign of grace,” said Devren.

“Not Karm’s grace,” replied Yim.

“That’s why your kind’s gone,” said Devren. “Meekness may have its place, but ’tis a hard world. ’tis only common sense to turn to a hard god.”

Yim felt a chill pass through her. “So you worship the Devourer?”

Devren smiled and patted Yim’s hand. “If you’re surprised, then you’re unworldly.”

“So unlike the priests!” said one of the boys who had been sword fighting. Yim glanced at him and was startled by the intensity of his gaze. “They know how things go. How Clan Mucdoi slew our folk and stole our land.”

“Aye,” said a brother. “’twas fine land, too, na all hills and rocks like here.”

Honus spoke for the first time the entire evening. “Those battles you speak of took place centuries ago, and tales differ as to who was in the wrong.”

“Then hear the true tale,” said the boy who had praised the priests. “We were foully betrayed and foully slaughtered. Even now, our dead cry for vengeance.”

“The departed forget their lives,” replied Yim.

“’tis na so!” exclaimed the lad. “The priest called forth their voices. I heard their cries with mine own ears and was sorely grieved.” He gazed around the firelit room, red-faced and with his fists clenched. “I hear them still!”

“Do others feel like you?” asked Yim.

“Enough,” replied the boy.

Yim glanced about and suspected most of the family agreed with him. It made her wonder what tales the black priests were telling the Mucdoi Clan.

“So, lass,” said one of the brothers, “why do you travel?”

“To visit a lady friend,” replied Yim.

“Where?” said the red-faced boy, his voice laced with suspicion.

“In the hall of Clan Urkzimdi.”

“Ha! That’s an unnatural lot!” exclaimed one of the brothers. “A woman for a chieftain. What nonsense!”

“’tis because their land lies nigh to Faerie,” said another. “Small wonder they’re all strange.”

Before Yim could react to that remark, the red-faced boy spoke. “To reach Urkzimdi, you must pass through Mucdoi territory.”

“Yes,” replied Yim, keeping her voice even.

“’Twould na be wise to go that way,” the boy said, fixing his gaze on Yim so she might see his menace. “You’ve heard too much tonight.”

“A Bearer listens to all, but repeats little,” replied Yim. “I’ll not recite your speeches. As to what path to take, I’ll keep my own counsel.”

“Since you’re offering advice,” said Honus to the boy, “I’ll give you some of mine: It’s unwise to see a threat where there is none, and safety lies in wisdom.”

The room hushed as the boy glared at Honus and the Sarf looked back calmly. Then Devren spoke in a mild tone. “Son, speak more amiably to our guest. She’s harmless enough.”

“Go where you will,” said the boy in a subdued tone. Then he looked away, and the tension dissipated.

By then, the fire was dying down, and children were wandering off to sleep. After clearing the dishes, their mothers joined them, leaving the men to linger about the ale jug. Yim stayed with them, though she was uncomfortable as their talk turned bellicose. Atrocities were recounted as if they had occurred yesterday, though generations had passed since the purported deeds. Mingled with grievances were tales of loss. Lands the men had never seen grew more fair and bountiful as they spoke of them, making their home seem insignificant in comparison. As the ale jug passed back and forth among them, the drinkers’ voices became louder and more animated until Yim feared they might seize arms and storm out of the house.

That didn’t happen, and eventually the ale made the men sleepy. Then they joined the women and children in the adjacent chamber. Yim and Honus followed them. Straw mattresses covered most of the floor, and sleeping women and children covered most of those. The mattresses of Devren and his heir had curtains hung about them, so they might bed their wives in privacy. The rest of the family slept crowded together and Yim and Honus were given a mattress to share with two toddlers, a boy and a girl.

Yim didn’t mind the arrangement, and she liked it when the boy nestled against her. Honus drifted off to sleep, but Yim lay awake in the dark room that was filled with the sounds of slumber. The entire family was united by sleep and by common bonds of blood, hardship, and poverty. The tiny boy against Yim’s chest seemed an extension of the whole. Through him, the family touched Yim and roused her compassion. She thought how those about her struggled on the hard edge of want and yet shared what they had with strangers. She loved them all, even the angry lad who spoke of vengeance.

Yim’s compassion made the priests seem all the more vile to her. They were poisoning this family to turn it against other families. Yim had sensed a grim future during the drunken talk of retribution. Hate was a burning brand tossed into a dry field. Fanned by want and lies, it was spreading. It had consumed the lad and it was overcoming the others. She feared talk would become action, and each cruel deed would inspire more.

These troubled thoughts kept Yim awake, so she was only drowsing when she heard a noise in the outer room. It was the sound of something striking and splintering wood. Yim raised her head to see if anyone else had heard it. When she did, she saw the light of flames coming from the central room. Before Yim could shout an alarm, men with torches burst in on the sleeping family. They carried farm tools that could serve as weapons. Then they attacked the sleepers.

All was fire, blood, and chaos. The bed-curtains went up in sheets of flame. Devren and Folden were both alight when they staggered through them to be hacked down. Then men pushed the burning curtains aside and made quick work of the screaming women behind them. Meanwhile, other men advanced upon the family that had awakened to a nightmare. The killers, their eyes turned red by reflected firelight, seemed inhuman. They slaughtered their helpless victims without pity as though they were scything grain or threshing it. Women and children received no more mercy than the men.

Yim was immobilized by horror, unable even to cry out. All she could do was grip the boy who had been sleeping next to her and shield his eyes from the sight of butchery. Yim was still clutching the child when a man advanced toward them. The mattock in his hand was dripping with gore. As Yim wondered where Honus was, the man tore the boy from her arms and threw him hard upon the floor. The child lay stunned, able only to whimper as his assailant raised the mattock high to plunge it into his chest. Yim reacted instinctively. As the mattock descended, she threw her body atop the boy’s to take the blow. Heavy iron plunged into her, splintering Yim’s ribs as it dug toward her heart.

With a cry of pain, Yim’s eyes flew open. The room was dark and quiet. Then Honus stirred and touched her wrist. When his hand felt hot against her icy skin, Yim knew that Karm had sent her another vision.

SIXTEEN

YIM’S CRYhad awakened the boy who nestled against her. The frightened child pulled away, then quickly fell asleep again. Yim did not. She was thoroughly chilled and her ribs and chest ached terribly. Her only comfort was that Honus wrapped an arm about her. She was glad that he didn’t speak, but seemed to know what she had endured without asking. Yim gratefully snuggled against him.

As warmth passed from Honus into her, Yim pondered the meaning of her vision. She wondered if it foretold what was to come, or only warned her of what might be.I was slain , she thought, still feeling the blow from the mattock.Is that to be my fate? She hoped that the mattock was symbolic. Of what? She had no idea, but feared it was something horrific.

The vision had so thoroughly drained Yim that sleep stole upon her despite her apprehensions. She slipped into dreamless slumber and didn’t wake until Devren’s family rose. They were unchanged, but Yim saw them differently. Everyone seemed endangered, with a hold on life so precarious that Yim had to struggle against showing tears. The family went to work without a morning meal, with only the very youngest having no chore to do. Yim and Honus left early in the morning, pausing at the field where Devren plowed to thank him for his hospitality.

Honus didn’t speak until they had walked some distance down the road. “You cried out last night. Did something pain you?”

“Karm bestowed another gift.”

“A vision?”

“Yes. A vision like the one at Karvakken Pass, only worse. It wasn’t about what had happened but about what will happen or may happen, I don’t know which.” Tears welled in Yim’s eyes, and she began to tremble. “I feel now as I did then. Overwhelmed. I’m afraid, Honus, and don’t know if I can go on.”

Honus held out his arms, and Yim retreated to their refuge. She clasped him tightly, burying her face into his chest. Then she began to sob. They stood embracing in the road for a long time, Honus silent and Yim softly crying. Only when Yim grew quiet did Honus release her.

Yim regarded him and saw a face filled with devotion. His look stirred her love and once more tempted her to seek the solace of intimacy. The urge was so strong that she looked away so as not to reveal her desire. Yet even as Yim cast down her eyes, she envisioned leading Honus to some quiet grove and engaging in lovemaking that would drown her fears in a flood of passion. Moreover, it would release her from Karm’s task, for its fulfillment would be impossible. Yim wondered if the consequences of such a surrender would be so terrible. Recalling last night’s vision, she doubted that birthing a child could prevent such slaughter.

When Yim glanced at Honus again, he was watching her thoughtfully. “Karmamatus,” he said, “remember that evening after your vision at the pass? You would’ve given yourself to me if had I pressed you. The next morning, did you regret that I hadn’t?”

The insight of Honus’s question so surprised Yim that she was unable to reply. She simply stared at him in astonishment. Honus smiled ruefully, then lightly kissed her cheek. “I thought not.”

In her heart, Yim knew that Honus was right. She would regret such weakness. Already, she felt guilty for having considered it. Yim sighed, and without another word, commenced walking down the road. Ironically, though Honus’s remark made her check her impulse, it also made that impulse even stronger. She marveled at Honus’s understanding. He seemed to know what she was thinking without a word on her part. Moreover, he hadn’t thought of his desire, but lent her strength so she might deny him what he wanted most. She found his self-sacrifice utterly endearing, and once again, desire became exquisite torment.

Honus took his customary position in front until Yim asked him to walk beside her. Then he obeyed and matched his stride to Yim’s. He said nothing until Yim asked him about his impressions of Devren’s family.

“I’d say they’re typical of this region,” he replied. “The land’s poor, and with so many mouths to feed, its folk are likewise.”

“Was their warlike talk also typical?”

“No. That struck me as new. Folk who must pull their own plows are usually too worn down to seek a fight.”

“So the priests have stirred them up. How?”

“I suspect by means more powerful than words,” replied Honus.

“Sorcery?”

“Perhaps. Theodus and I encountered something similar before.”

“Where?”

“In Lurwic.”

“The place where Theodus fell?”

“Yes.”

Yim felt the blood drain from her face as dread seized her. The idea that she had glimpsed her death suddenly didn’t seem far-fetched at all. She caught Honus’s alarmed expression and knew she couldn’t keep silent about her vision. “Last night I saw all of Devren’s family slaughtered,” she said. “I died with them.”

“I’m only a Sarf. Visions are matters for Bearers and Seers.”

“They possess the learning to understand such things,” said Yim. “I don’t. Karm’s supposed to tell me what man to bed so I might bear his child. What did my vision have to do with that? Why must I see my death?”

“Theodus said that Karm never reveals one’s fate, so I don’t believe you glimpsed your end.”

“It seemed so real. I felt the blow. I feel it still.”

“At Karvakken Pass, you thought you drowned in blood.”

“So this vision of my death was equally unreal?”

“I hope so,” said Honus.

“Then what did it mean?”

“I’m not fit to answer that.”

“Then what would Theodus say? You spent years with him. Surely you must have some idea.”

“I suppose he would have told you to ponder why you died in your vision,” replied Honus. “Perhaps some answer lies there.”

I died to save a child, thought Yim. As soon as she had that thought, she felt a chill deep within. Her response had nothing to do with reason; it arose from a subtler form of understanding. Then she knew that no mattock would kill her. She would bear a child, and that child would seal her fate.

Honus had been trained to walk in front of his Bearer, performing the function of a human shield. Thus walking beside Yim on the road made him uneasy, and he made sure to walk on her right so that his sword arm was always free. Despite his unease, he liked walking beside Yim, for it allowed him to gaze at her. What he saw made him heartsore.

Honus recalled an impression of Yim that he had on their second day together. As they were trekking through Luvein, he momentarily thought he saw someone struggling under a terrible burden. After all that had happened, he was convinced that impression had been accurate. The only difference was that he had gained some idea of the nature of the burden and the woman who bore it. With that in mind, Honus marveled at Yim’s humility, for he was certain that she was both holy and powerful. It perplexed him that Yim didn’t seem to view herself as either. Rather, she sometimes acted as if she were still a slave. Certainly not his slave.Karm’s slave , he thought.

Honus’s musings made him love Yim all the more. He swore to himself that he would help Yim bear her burden, though it meant denying himself the intimacy he craved.That must take another form , he told himself. He had no delusions that it would be easy. It hadn’t been so far. But he was a Sarf and trained for privation. He felt he would be able to restrain himself, though the thought of that restraint made him melancholy. It seemed his love would never be simple or painless.

Honus smiled at Yim in what he hoped would be a reassuring way, but she seemed preoccupied. They walked quietly for a long while before Yim spoke. “This is a fair, though a harsh place,” she said. “Yet I fear I’ve glimpsed a menace that threatens all its folk. I grieve for them, but what can I do?”

“Only what you’re able,” replied Honus.

“But what’s that?” Yim sighed. “I wish I knew.”

The dirt road wound through a mountain valley, passing numerous poor farms along the way. Toward noon, the way began to slope downward. Ahead lay another range of peaks, their steep sides covered with trees. “Do those mountains belong to Clan Mucdoi?” asked Yim.

“No,” said Honus, “but the lands beyond them do.”

“Are they as bountiful as Devren’s family believes?”

“Hardly. Winters are severe there and the ground is even stonier than here.”

The valley twisted, and the road that Yim and Honus followed twisted along with it to reveal a meadow that contained a large, solitary tree. Under its shade, a group of men and boys had gathered. A man in a black robe was speaking to them. “Come,” said Yim. “I wish to hear what he has to say.”

Honus had become wary as soon as he spotted the priest. Yim’s command heightened that wariness, but it never occurred to him to question it. He merely accompanied Yim, alert for any threat and prepared to respond to it. As they neared the group, none within it paid them the slightest attention; everyone seemed focused entirely on the speaker. The dark priest seemed equally focused on his audience, so that Yim and Honus’s approach was unnoticed. They halted only when the priest’s words were audible.

“… real good dirt. Just throw seeds on it and up come crops. It oughta be yers. Aye, they stole it, them thievin’ Clan Mucdoi.”

“He’s not very eloquent,” whispered Yim.

Honus agreed, but the priest’s audience appeared enthralled by what he said. Every man and boy stared at the black-robed one with rapt attention. Many seemed roused by him, for they were red-faced with their hands clinched into fists.

“So what ye’re gonna do?” asked the priest. “Be like women? Let Mucdoi get away with it?”

“He inflames them with his eyes,” whispered Yim. “He’s good, too.”

After Yim’s remark, Honus observed how the priest gazed at his audience, staring at a man or boy awhile, then shifting his gaze to another. Although the priest had not glanced in his direction, Honus caught some of the intensity of the man’s gaze and sensed its power. The priest continued goading the assembly, and as he did, his eyes lingered longer on those who were the most agitated. Finally he cried out, “What do them Mucdoi deserve? What?”

“Death!” yelled a barefoot, shirtless man in tattered plaids.

“Kill them!” cried a boy.

Then Yim surprised Honus by striding toward the crowd, forcing him to keep apace with her. “Stop speaking lies!” she shouted.

The crowd turned to look in Yim’s direction, and Honus heard angry muttering among them. The priest also gazed at Yim and locked his baleful eyes on her. Yim stared back, and Honus had the impression that the two were engaged in a silent struggle. Then the black-robed man’s expression slackened, though he seemed unable to glance away. Yim spoke to him in a normal voice. “Have you ever visited the lands you speak of?”

“Aye,” replied the priest in a low, meek voice.

“Describe them,” said Yim. “Speak loud enough for all to hear.”

“’tis poor land,” shouted the priest. “Stony and cold.”

“Then why send these folk to take it?”

“So they might slay and be slain.”

“What does your master truly want?” asked Yim.

“Death,” replied the priest in a quiet voice.

“Louder. All must hear.”

“Death!” shouted the priest.

“Whose?”

“Anyone’s. Dolbane. Mucdoi. It matters not.”

Yim looked away, releasing the priest. He continued to gaze at her in astonishment as Yim walked closer to the men and boys. Their expressions resembled those of folk awakening from evil dreams. Gradually, wonder settled on their faces as they regarded Yim. “The priest spoke truly,” she said. “This war is a fool’s quest where death’s the prize. Choose peace instead and go home.”

The crowd began to quietly disperse, but a few men lingered. They were those who had been most firmly in the priest’s power. One advanced toward him and raised a heavy stick. “This dog would have tricked me to my death.”

“Spare him,” said Yim. “He deluded you, but he was also deluded.”

The man lowered his stick and left with the others. Then Yim regarded the priest. “I’ve faced your master before,” she said. “The Devourer is as eager for your death as those you were swaying. Look me in the eye and see truth.”

To Honus’s amazement, the priest meekly obeyed. Soon tears welled in his eyes. “Forgive me.” He began to sob. “I only wanted… wanted something more …”

For the first time, Honus noted that the priest’s black robe was threadbare and tattered and his sandals were falling apart. The man’s face was young, but it seemed worn.

“Nightmares haunt your waking life,” said Yim. “You live cut off from human kindness. You’re slave to a god of hate and slaughter. Is this what you wanted?”

The priest’s sobs began to rack his body like hard blows, and it took a while before he could reply. When his sobs finally diminished to gasps, he was able to slip a “nay” between them.

“Then forsake your wicked path,” said Yim. “If you choose peace and life, I’ll bless you.”

The man dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “Bless me, Mother.”

Yim walked over to him and gently laid her fingers upon his forehead. “I forgive and bless you. Go forth and honor the goddess through your goodness.”

The priest regarded Yim with such devotion that Honus was touched by his expression. Yim seemed somewhat embarrassed by it, though she returned the man’s smile before she headed for the road. “Come, Honus,” she said. “We should resume our journey.”

Honus was about to follow when he gave one last glance at the kneeling priest. He was still beaming at Yim when his eyes suddenly changed. The transformation was so dramatic that Honus felt he was not looking at the same face. It had become the image of malevolence and rage. The eyes, in particular, were terrifying. They projected malice that, even glimpsed sideways, tore at Honus’s sanity. Sensing the peril in that gaze, Honus quickly looked away.

As he did, he caught a flicker of movement. Honus whirled, and saw the priest spring up. He was bounding toward Yim grasping a dagger. Its blade was stained with poison. Honus unsheathed his sword in an instant and severed the man’s head. The sound of that decapitation alerted Yim. She turned to see a headless body that spouted blood as it advanced toward her. It swung the blade as purposefully as if a brain still directed it.

Honus’s sword flashed again, and the dagger fell to the ground with a hand still gripping it. The dead man continued to advance on Yim, swinging his stump as though it still held a weapon. Yim didn’t retreat from the approaching horror. Instead, she stared at the ground behind it. She seemed transfixed and unaware of her surroundings. With a flying kick, Honus sent the body sprawling on the ground, where it finally assumed the stillness of a corpse. Yim didn’t move at all.

Honus followed Yim’s gaze and saw that she was staring at the severed head. The head was staring back with eyes that not only betrayed consciousness but also power and malice. There was nothing human about that look, and Honus realized that the earlier contest between the priest and Yim was trivial compared to the ongoing one. He was certain that Yim was fighting for her soul and the outcome was far from assured.

An otherworldly chill settled on the meadow as the silent struggle continued. Yim remained frozen in place as the color gradually left her face. Her lips darkened, acquiring a grayish blue hue. She began to wobble slightly, and Honus feared that she was succumbing to her malign opponent. Honus backed away, sensing the deadliness of the eyes that held Yim. It wasn’t until he was completely behind the severed head that he rushed forward and kicked it with all his might. It went flying in a high arc. Falling upon a limestone outcropping, the head smashed apart like a melon.

Yim collapsed, and when Honus rushed over to her, her eyelids were fluttering. Honus kissed her icy lips, lifted her so she was sitting up, and embraced her. Yim’s breathing was shallow, and it was a long moment before she returned Honus’s embrace.

When she recovered further, Honus asked, “What just happened?”

“I was foolish,” replied Yim. “I probed the priest’s mind too deeply, and alerted his master.” She rose shakily to her feet. “We must leave this road and take another route to Cara’s. Honus, find some way that’s wild and seldom traveled.”

“I know of such a path. It’ll be a hard one.”

“No matter,” replied Yim. “Today I challenged Death, and it’ll be looking for me.”

SEVENTEEN

AS INmost of Averen, it was but a short distance from farms and roads to the wild. Honus headed toward a north-facing slope, and soon he and Yim were struggling up its steep, rocky side. Scrubby trees hid them from view, and they saw no sign of humanity. “How fast must we go?” asked Honus. “Do you fear pursuit?”

“I doubt anyone will trail us,” replied Yim. “But all the black priests will be on the watch, and they’ll turn folk against us like they did in Vinden.”

“Then I’ll try to avoid people,” said Honus. “It should be easy enough on the way we’re headed.” He slowed his pace and was mindful as he chose their route that Yim bore a heavy pack and had lost her sandals. However, there was no easy way up the steep slope, and the climb eventually had Yim sweating and panting. When they stopped to rest, Honus started to rummage through the pack.

“What are you doing?” asked Yim.

“I’m going to don my chain mail,” he said. “You needn’t carry it.”

“Leave it be. I won’t have you tiring yourself. What use is a weary Sarf?”

“Karmamatus …”

“Honus, our grain sack’s nearly empty. After we travel farther, I intend to laze about while you hunt me up a feast.”

“I’ll try, but game can be hard to come by.”

“What? Will there be no fallen logs?” Yim grinned and licked her lips. “Surely, they’ll be full of wood grubs.” She laughed when Honus blanched.

He quickly changed the subject. “When you spoke to that priest, you said you had faced the Devourer before. When?”

“On the night I became your Bearer. Also at Karvakken Pass. But I wasn’t certain it was the Devourer until I probed that priest today.”

Honus regarded Yim with awe. She caught his look and rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop it, Honus!”

“I’m just…” Honus looked elsewhere. “… just surprised. I’ve never heard of anyone facing the Devourer, not in all my years at the temple.”

“I guess I’m just lucky,” replied Yim in a wry tone.

“And the Devourer wants death?”

“It craves it,” replied Yim.

“Yet it bestows power to its followers.”

“True, but to what end does it bestow that power? Look at Lord Bahl. He doesn’t conquer; he destroys. His master wants only death.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know the answer,” said Yim. “Neither did the priest, or at least, he was restrained from revealing it.”

“So when I slew him, I also pleased his god,” said Honus. He shook his head. “What kind of god is that?”

“’God’ is but a word,” said Yim, “and men are careless how they use it.”

“God or no, how can such a thing be fought?”

Yim sighed. “I’m not sure it’s possible.”

Yim and Honus slowly made their way up the slope, pausing frequently. By early afternoon, they reached the winding ridgeline that comprised the mountain’s summit. From there, they could view the land beyond. Another mountain ridge lay so close that Yim could make out individual trees upon its slope. Between the two ridges was a steep-sided and narrow valley. It looked like the sun would reach its floor only while it was directly overhead, and already most of the valley was shaded by the adjacent mountain. From where Yim stood, all she could see were trees and a long lake, its shadowed surface as blue-black as the night sky.

“That place seems far from the beaten track,” said Yim, surveying the wild terrain.

“It is,” replied Honus, “and I don’t gladly take you there.”

“We walked through Luvein. This place looks scarcely wilder.”

“See that lake?” said Honus. “It lies in Faerie. Even in daytime, its surface reflects starlight.”

Yim gazed at the lake with curiosity. She could see no stars twinkling on its dark surface. “Have you seen this yourself, or are you repeating old tales?”

“Not all old tales are false.”

“So the starlight’s only hearsay,” said Yim. “Besides, at Devren’s hut they said Faerie lies close to Cara’s hall.”

“There’s more than one dell in Averen where the Ancient Folk still linger, and mortals best stay clear of them.”

“And this valley’s such a place?”

“In part,” said Honus. “I certainly wouldn’t venture near that lake.”

Yim smiled slightly. “Why? Because of faeries? I’ve heard tales also. They’re tiny folk with dragonfly wings. Mischievous, perhaps, but certainly not perilous.”

“Do you have faerie dells in the Cloud Mountains?”

“No,” admitted Yim.

“Well they do in Averen, and here tales differ. No tiny sprites dwell in such places, but creatures with little love for our kind.”

“How so?”

“If you were present at the world’s beginning, would you be pleased with what we’ve done to it?”

Yim thought of Luvein. “I guess not.”

“So we’ll follow this ridge west awhile, and enter the valley farther from the lake.”

When Yim and Honus finally descended into the valley, the way was steep but not overly long. They reached its shadowed floor by late afternoon. There, the woods seemed already wrapped in twilight. Upon her journey, Yim had passed through many forests, but the one in the valley seemed different from all of them. It took her a while before she decided why.It’s undisturbed , she thought. The trees appeared ancient and the undergrowth beneath them was unmarked by pathways. The plant life was lush and the air was filled with birdsong and the sounds of creatures rustling among the leaves. There was a sacred quality to the place that made Yim decide against sending Honus out to hunt.

Honus found a game trail and was following its narrow, winding route when he suddenly halted. Yim peered around him and saw a girl of no more than eleven winters standing on the trail. She carried a bark basket filled with cattails and was strangely dressed in a short tunic made from the pelts of various small animals. Leaves and entire plants dangled from a cord that was tied around her waist—so many that they formed a kind of herbal skirt. Both the “skirt” and tunic ended high above the girl’s knees, and her feet and long legs were bare.

Despite the girl’s unusual garb, it was her face that seized Yim’s attention. Her skin was as pale as moonlight and her long red hair was tied back. Both these things emphasized her eyes. They were the lightest shade of blue that Yim had ever seen. The girl gazed at Yim with none of the shyness common to children but with a look that was at once piercing and serene. It made the child seem wise, as did her knowing smile.

The girl paid no attention to Honus, walking past him to reach Yim. Then she knelt on the ground, set down her basket, and seized Yim’s right hand with both of hers to kiss it. Only then did she speak. “Welcome, Mother. I’ll lead you to food and shelter.” She turned to glance at Honus. “He may come also.” Then, taking up her basket, she rose and stepped from the trail.

The girl merged so silently into the undergrowth that, for a moment, Yim thought the child had vanished. Then she heard her voice again. “Come, Mother, you know it’s safe.” Yim, certain that the girl spoke truly, pushed her way into the undergrowth. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled as she followed her guide. Honus trailed behind, moving more quietly, but not matching the perfect silence of the girl. That silence discouraged speech, and Yim refrained from asking any questions.

Yim and Honus’s guide took a long and convoluted route through the densest part of the forest, and it wasn’t long before Yim lost her sense of direction. All she knew was that they were moving closer to the lake. Suddenly, the girl halted. If it wasn’t for the smoke rising from a stone chimney, Yim might have missed the dwelling altogether. It resembled a hillock within the forest, topped by an ancient tree with tangled roots. Only upon closer examination was Yim able to spot a knee-high hole forming an entrance among those roots.

“This is my home,” said the girl. “Na metal may enter it.” She gave a sharp glance to Honus. “Especially your killing stick.”

When Honus seemed about to protest, Yim said, “Your sword stays outside. I’m in no danger here.”

Honus looked perplexed, but he unstrapped his sword and leaned it against the pack, which Yim had unshouldered and set upon the ground. As he did this, a woman crawled out from the entrance to the hillock. Her hair was dazzling white, but her face looked neither young nor old. Like the girl, she was dressed in skins, but had no plants about her waist.

“Mama,” said the girl, “Mother has finally come.”

The woman immediately knelt and smiled radiantly. “Welcome, Mother. I’m Nyra. Your visit is a long-anticipated honor. Please come inside and rest.”

The woman’s greeting puzzled Yim, but she smiled and bowed. “Karm sees your generosity and we’re grateful for your hospitality. But please call me Yim. My Sarf is Honus.”

“Oh, ‘Yim’ will na do, Mother. Lila insists on proper naming.”

“Lila?” said Yim.

“My daughter. She’s faerie-kissed.”

Yim understood the term as meaning “sunny-natured,” and she wasn’t sure it applied to the mysterious girl dressed in pelts and leaves. Nevertheless, she smiled pleasantly. “If it pleases you to call me such, then do.” Then she followed Nyra toward the hole at the base of the hillock, thinking it looked more like the entrance to an animal’s burrow than to a human dwelling. Before she crawled into the opening, Yim glanced back toward Honus. Lila stood behind him, gazing skyward. Yim looked upward also, and saw three large owls, each bearing something in its talons. They were swooping down toward the girl. Then Yim dropped to her hands and knees to crawl through the hole.

The short tunnel that Yim passed through sloped upward and was lined with wood that appeared smoothed by long use. It ended at a chamber that defied Yim’s expectations. Instead of squatting in an earthen burrow, she stood in a cozy room with a flagstone floor, wood-paneled walls, and a large stone fireplace. Light came not only from a fire in the hearth, but also from numerous windows. They were covered with some translucent mineral resembling glass. Glancing about, Yim saw that everything was made from plants or other natural materials. A large, flat stone served as a table. It was only knee-high, for there were no chairs or benches. Upon it were wooden plates and bowls, drinking vessels made from gourds, knives chipped from stone, and other utensils made of bone or wood. Lining the walls were large baskets filled with acorns, nuts, faerie arrow and fox sword tubers, dried mushrooms, and other foodstuffs, but nothing that looked like it had been cultivated. Also about the walls were several low openings to adjoining chambers.

An ancient-looking man rose from where he had been stirring a series of clay pots that sat in the hearth. “This is my husband, Fenric,” said Nyra. She turned to him. “Fenric, Mother has finally arrived.”

Fenric bowed low. Though what little hair he had was the same shade as Lila’s, he seemed far too old to be her father. His garb matched that of Averen men, being made of cloth. It seemed ancient and exceedingly worn.

Honus entered, and Yim was introducing him to Fenric when Lila crawled into the room. Along with her basket, she carried three freshly killed hares. Yim noted that they bore wounds from talons on their backs. The girl handed the hares to Fenric. “Here, Da. They’re for the feast.”

Fenric placed the hares on a board near the hearth and began to skin them using a flake of black, glassy stone. As he did so, Yim turned to Nyra. “You said I was expected.”

“Aye, Mother. Lila’s talked of little else since the end of winter.”

“But how would she know?”

“She speaks to the Old Ones by the lake, as I did afore Fenric came.”

“By the Old Ones, do you mean faeries?”

“Some call them that.”

“And they know of me?”

“For ages and ages.”

Yim felt as disconcerted as when the Seer had said that knowledge of her was “an old secret.” She noted that Honus seemed to have the same reaction, and she felt it wisest to speak of something else. “Well, it’s been ages and ages since I’ve eaten. Everything smells delicious. What’s cooking in those pots?”

“Acorn porridge with herbs and honey,” said Nyra, pointing to one pot. She gestured to the others in turn. “Summer stew, faerie arrow with garlic scapes, mushroom soup, and this is hot water.”

Lila gripped the rim of the water pot using scraps of pelts and emptied it into a wide crockery basin. Then she set the basin before a large rounded rock. “Sit here, Mother,” she said pointing to the rock. As Yim sat down, the girl tested the water’s temperature and added some of the leaves that hung from her waist. When she stirred them in, a fragrant mist arose. “Place your feet in the water,” said Lila, “and I’ll wash them.”

“I can do that for myself,” replied Yim.

“Please let me have that honor,” said Lila.

“Only if you’ll explain what’s going on.”

“Na here. Na now. Later.”

“All right.” Yim lifted her feet and placed them in the warm, herb-scented water. Initially she felt awkward as Lila washed the dirt from her feet and began to massage them. The girl’s fingers were strong, and she used them skillfully to ease Yim’s soreness. It seemed to Yim that Lila’s hands spoke to her, acknowledging her hardships and offering relief. Yim relaxed, and her thoughts turned tranquil. After Lila lifted Yim’s feet from the water and dried them using a cattail, she brought out a pair of sandals. “These are yours, Mother.”

Yim put them on. After all the strange things that had happened that afternoon, she wasn’t surprised that the sandals fit perfectly, down to the impression of her feet on the leather soles. They were oiled but not new, and when she looked down at them, she realized that one of the straps had been repaired. Yim took that sandal off, examined the strap, and recognized Foel’s handiwork. “I kicked this off in the Yorvern River!”

Lila smiled, then whispered in Yim’s ear. “A token from the Old Ones that you may look to them in times of need.”

Yim stared at her sandal, wondering what form of magic had restored her footwear and what other secrets Lila knew. The girl ignored Yim’s amazement and joined her father in cooking the hares. Her mother stirred the other pots. No one spoke, but the silence had a peaceful air that gradually put Yim at ease again. The light coming in from the windows slowly faded, and when dinner was served, it was eaten by firelight. The food was delicious, and Lila and Nyra entertained their guests with stories of the forest and its creatures. Some of it sounded like gossip—a feud between the crows and owls; how a larcenous raccoon tricked a badger; and the laments of voles. They also spoke of the lineage of trees and the spring’s surprises. But the topic of faeries never came up until Yim asked, “Does the lake really reflect starlight in the daytime?”

“Aye,” said both mother and daughter.

“But the stars are in their old places and hard to recognize,” added Lila.

“I’d forgotten that,” said Nyra, mostly to herself. “’tis been a long time.”

“And you meet faeries there?” asked Yim.

Lila silently raised a finger to her lips.

EIGHTEEN

IT WASN’Tuntil the meal was over that Yim finally had a chance to speak privately with Lila. As the table was being cleared, the girl took the remains of the butchered hares outside. Shortly afterward, Yim followed her. When she emerged from the hillock, she saw Lila standing in the darkness with the ghostlike forms of owls feeding near her feet. The birds remained put as Yim approached. The girl knelt briefly, then rose.

“What’s happening here?” asked Yim.

“You’re visiting friends.”

“Friends I’ve never met before and who seem to know all about me.”

“Na all,” replied Lila.

“Then what?”

“That you’re the Chosen.”

Yim started at the word. “Who told you that? Honus?”

“Na him. ’tis an old secret.”

“I’ve heard that once before.” Yim gazed at Lila. The child’s pale skin made her seem ethereal in the dark—almost like a vision—and it didn’t feel foolish turning to her for guidance. “What will happen to me?”

“You can na understand your life until the very end.”

“Why?” asked Yim. “Earlier, you said you’d explain things.”

“I can na explain what is na certain.”

“That’s babble,” said Yim, not bothering to hide her frustration. “You know things, but say nothing.”

“Do what’s necessary.”

Those words again!thought Yim. “I don’t know what’s necessary.”

“You do,” said Lila, her voice quiet yet assured. “You’ve always known.”

Lila’s reply was so similar to Karm’s that it momentarily silenced Yim. Then, despairing of ever getting a direct answer, Yim asked something simple. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three winters,” replied Lila. “But I sleep through them and age slowly.”

“You’re older then me!”

“And my friends are far older still. Please do na be cross with them or me. We’ve told you all we know. The end approaches, but we do na know its nature.”

Yim saw she was being told the truth. “I’m not angry, Lila.” She stroked the girl’s cheek. “It’s just that you seemed so knowing. I’d hoped… I don’t know what I hoped. That you had some answers, I guess.”

“You possess the answers, na I. But I can give you food, and speak to your lover about what route to take.”

“He’s not my lover.”

“He loves you. And you him.”

“Yes, but…” Yim sighed. “You probably already know.”

“I do. ’tis sad.”

“It is.”

Yim and Lila spoke a while longer, but about nothing of consequence. The girl wouldn’t discuss the faeries, and she had given Yim what guidance she could. The owls finished their meal and flew off as Lila and Yim went inside. There, Nyra showed Yim and Honus their sleeping chamber. It lay beyond one of the low openings in the wall and resembled a snug, wooden-walled burrow. Its rounded walls and ceiling formed a space that was too low to stand in and just wide enough for two persons. A thick, soft layer of fragrant dried plants covered its wooden floor. Yim imagined Lila hibernating through the winter in that very place or a similar one. The idea seemed pleasant. She removed her newly recovered sandals, settled into Honus’s arms, and fell asleep.

The next morning, Yim awoke to view hordes of mice scampering about the central room. She glanced at the stone table and saw that it was covered with fresh berries. The mice departed when Yim’s hosts emerged from their sleeping chambers to invite her and Honus to a breakfast of berries, nuts, and herb-flavored water. Throughout the meal, Lila told more tales of the woods. Although he must have heard them before, Fenric seemed as enthralled as Yim by his daughter’s stories. “Do you sleep through the winters also?” Yim asked him.

Fenric’s eyes grew melancholy. “Nay. Lila and her mother do, so ’tis a lonely time for me. Only the kiss bestows long sleep, and only girls are kissed.”

“This place looks old,” said Honus to Nyra. “Have your folk lived here long?”

“Since beyond remembering,” replied the woman. “The tree that grows above this house is but the latest of a long line.” She gave the Sarf a stern look. “Do na speak ill of the Old Ones. They’re wary and protect what they love, but they’re na evil.”

“Then why do folk fear their dells?” asked Honus.

“Because they should,” said Lila. “People are heedless, and the Old Ones never forget.” She turned to Yim. “But they love you, Mother. Remember that.”

After Yim and Honus had eaten, Nyra gave them provisions for their journey, and then Lila led them from the forest. When she reached its border, a crow flew down and perched upon her shoulder. Then the girl spoke to Honus. “Karmamatus, this is Kwahku. He’ll guide Mother to her friend’s dwelling. Follow him and no unfriendly eyes will spy you. Anywhere he alights will be safe.”

Honus seemed almost as surprised that Lila called him “Karmamatus” as he was to have a crow for a guide, but he said nothing. The crow flew off as the girl knelt before Yim and kissed her hand. “Many hopes go with you, Mother.”

Before Yim could thank her, Lila rose and stepped into the undergrowth. Then she seemed to vanish. Kwahku, who had been circling above, gave a “caw” and began to fly northwestward. Honus and Yim followed him.

Throughout the day, Yim and Honus were guided by the crow. The bird would fly a distance—a short one in wooded places and a longer one over more open ground—before perching within view. Honus, with Yim close behind him, would make his way to the bird. As soon as they reached him, he would fly off again. Sometimes he circled high above, seeming to survey the territory ahead before choosing which way to go.

By this means, Yim and Honus traveled through valleys and over slopes without encountering a single soul. As dusk drew nigh, the bird led them to a perfect place to camp. The spot had running water nearby and was so hidden that having a fire didn’t seem imprudent. Honus gathered wood and lit one. Afterward, Yim roasted tubers in its embers. When dinner was cooked, Kwahku landed next to Yim and she fed him as she ate.

Honus watched Yim with such reverence that she felt awkward and tried to steer his thoughts to more mundane matters. “Honus,” she said, “when do you think we’ll reach Cara’s hall?”

“I’ve never followed a bird before. Perhaps you should ask our guide.”

Yim stared into Kwahku’s black eyes for a moment. “He says five days as the crow flies.” Honus appeared awed until Yim laughed. “I’mteasing , Honus. You’ve been looking at me strangely all day. Stop acting so worshipful.”

“Said by one who has faeries fetch her sandals.”

“The girl did that, not I.”

“After seeing what you did with that priest, it seems likely you could view a crow’s thoughts.”

“Well, I can’t. I want to be treated like a woman, not a shrine. If you love me, you will.” Yim puckered her lips. “You can start by kissing me.”

Honus kissed Yim, but in a restrained way that left her dissatisfied. Later, when they lay down to sleep, Yim reflected on Honus’s restraint. It depressed her.But what should I expect? He must restrain himself . Nevertheless, it bothered her that he could.

Kwahku led Yim and Honus for six days over a rugged route. The hardships of travel helped distract Yim from her desire for Honus, but it was always present—an ember hidden among ashes. Yim worried it might flare into indiscretion if she let down her guard. Certain that Honus was undergoing the same trial, she felt that love both united and divided them.

Not once in that entire time did they encounter another person, though they sometimes passed through settled places. Honus was often familiar with the terrain, but not always. One night they camped by a high waterfall that he had neither seen nor heard about. That evening, otters brought fresh-caught trout and laid them, still flopping, before the campfire. For a while, Yim worried that Honus would get his worshipful look again. He didn’t, and she was glad.

Late in the afternoon of the sixth day, Yim and Honus crested a ridge and gazed upon a sizable lake nestled among the mountains. On a rise overlooking the far shore was a walled stronghold with a tiny village clustered around it. Beyond the village was a broad and disordered expanse of tents, makeshift shelters, and people camping in the open. From a distance, it resembled a blight that had spread over the surrounding fields. Smoke from its numerous fires smudged the sky. As Kwahku flew eastward and disappeared from sight, Honus pointed to the stronghold. “That’s Cara’s hall,” he said.

The sight disheartened Yim. In her mind, Cara’s home had seemed a refuge from hostility. Seeing it ringed with people gave Yim pause. She had no idea why they were there. For all she knew, they might be a besieging mob. At the very least, they were likely refuges and fertile ground for the black priests to sow their lies.

Yim made no effort to hide her discouragement from Honus. “So that’s where Cara lives,” she said in a heavy voice. “It seems we must run a gauntlet to reach her.”

NINETEEN

HONUS STUDIEDthe encampment surrounding the hall and village awhile before he spoke. “Things are less chaotic than they seem. Troops are bivouacked there, and I think folk have camped nearby for safety.”

“Why?”

“I’m not certain. Most likely, war’s begun.”

Honus’s words gave Yim a chill, and the sense of dread that she had felt throughout her journey increased. “But you think it’s safe to walk through the encampment?”

“Probably,” replied Honus, “but I’d rather be cautious. I know a less open way to the hall.”

Yim took a deep breath. “Then let’s go.”

Honus led the way from the mountain ridge, heading for the eastern side of the lake. Despite Yim’s initial apprehensions, they encountered no one for a while. At first, they walked down a forested slope that obviously had been tended as a woodlot. Stumps marked where trees had been chopped down, and Honus quickly found a pathway. He followed it to a dirt road that led toward the lake.

Before Honus and Yim reached the shoreline, the trees gave way to an open meadow. There they spied the first people they had seen in six days. They were three shepherds watching a flock of sheep. The men were sitting on the ground, but rose and bowed when they saw Yim.

“That’s a good sign,” said Yim. “Let’s talk with them.”

Honus led the way over to the men, who bowed again to Yim. “Greetings, Karmamatus,” said a tall, curly-headed fellow. “You’re a rare sight. Karm’s servants have been scarce of late.”

“Small wonder with what’s about,” said one of his companions. “You’re a brave lass to take to the road, Sarf or nay.”

“I’ve come to see your chieftain and her brother,” replied Yim. “Are they at the hall?”

“Aye. Been there since shearing time,” said the curly-haired man. “But you’re lucky, for Cronin’s leaving soon to fight.”

“And we’re going with him,” said the second shepherd, “if our chieftain will give us leave.”

“Pardon me, Karmamatus,” said the third shepherd, “but is your Sarf Honus?”

“He is.”

The man turned to his companions. “I told you he was!” Then he spoke to Honus. “You probably don’t remember me, but I was with Cronin at Kambul. I’ll never forget what you did there.”

“It was a hard fight,” said Honus.

“Hard? Cronin would be dead if na for you. And the rest of us with him. When you charged…”

Honus cut the man short. “My Bearer has urgent business in the hall, but I wonder about the folk surrounding it. Have the black priests mingled among them?”

“Those dogs!” said the man. He spat on the ground. “Cronin slays every one of them he finds. But they’re a treacherous lot. ’tis likely some have shucked their robes to spread their lies in secret.”

Yim bowed to the men. “I’m heartened by your greeting and glad for your news. We should be off.”

Honus immediately headed for the road, and Yim followed close behind him. “If spies are about,” she said, “we should try to avoid their gaze. I don’t wish to draw trouble to Cara.”

“We won’t,” said Honus. “We’ll arrive through a secret entrance.”

Honus followed the road around the lake’s eastern end until he reached a grove of trees upon its shore. There he left the pathway and found a place by the water’s edge where dense undergrowth screened them from view. “We can wait here until dusk,” he said.

Yim took off the pack and sat down. She was glad for the rest, but anxious about what lay ahead. Lila had told her that “the end approaches” and Yim’s instincts confirmed it.It’ll begin in Cara’s hall , she thought. Parting the branches, she gazed across the water at her destination. From her closer viewpoint, the “stronghold” didn’t look formidable. Its walls were short of two stories high and there were no towers or a keep. It was the smallness of the homes in the surrounding village that made the hall seem large. Viewed more objectively, it was a modest manor protected by an equally modest wall.

“How did you learn about the secret entrance?” asked Yim. “Have you visited here before?”

“Yes. Theodus and I came several times.”

“Why? I thought Cronin and Cara lived in Bremven.”

“Clan business often brought them here.”

“Of course,” said Yim. “Cara’s clan chieftain.”

“She wasn’t chieftain until she attained her majority. Before then, a steward served.”

Yim smiled and shook her head. “I still can’t imagine her as a chieftain.”

“Tonight, you won’t need your imagination.”

After the sun set, Honus and Yim left the grove and walked along the shoreline of the lake. Campfires glowed in the fields surrounding the hall and village, but the grounds near the lake were dark. As Yim and Honus drew nearer to the hall, the land beyond the beach rose up to form a long, sloping field that ended at the village’s edge. Near the shore was the roofless ruin of a small stone hut, and Honus headed there. He entered the hut, and Yim followed him.

The hut’s floor was made of stone. Honus pointed to the largest block, which was two paces long and half as wide. “That’s the entrance to the passageway,” he said. “I just hope I remember how to open it.” He studied the rough stones forming the wall awhile before he grabbed one and tugged at it. The stone slipped out a palm’s width before stopping. “This has to be done in the proper sequence,” he said, before pulling on a second stone. After Honus tugged three more, Yim heard a dull, scraping sound beneath her feet. Honus walked over to the block and pushed its narrower edge with his foot. The stone pivoted on its center to reveal an opening.

Honus pushed the stones in the wall back into their original positions before he climbed down the opening. Yim heard him striking an iron with flint before a flame flared in the hole, and she could see him plainly. He was holding a torch that illuminated a stone-lined passageway. Iron rungs were set in one wall to form a ladder to the floor, which was covered with murky water that rose to Honus’s knees. Honus called up. “Do you want to toss down the pack?”

“I can manage with it,” said Yim. She climbed down to join Honus.

After Honus pushed the entrance stone back in place and reset the locking mechanism, he led the way up the narrow, dank passageway. “This dates back to the clan wars,” he said, “but it’s kept in repair.”

Despite what Honus said, Yim found parts of the tunnel were crumbling, and even after they weren’t treading through water, the footing was treacherous. It seemed to her that they walked a long distance before their way was barred by a stout oak door. The walls on either side of it had slots for shooting arrows, and a chain extended from a hole in the ceiling. Honus pulled the chain several times, then waited.

A long time passed before a voice called out the hole from which the chain dangled. “Who’s there?”

“Honus and his Bearer, come to see the chieftain and her brother.”

After Honus spoke, there was an even longer spell of silence before the oak door flew open and Cronin burst into the tunnel. “Honus!” he shouted, giving him a bear hug. Honus still held the burning torch, which prevented him from returning the hug, but he grinned broadly.

Only when Cronin released Honus did he seem to notice Yim. Then his expression turned both surprised and puzzled. “You said you were with your Bearer,” he said to Honus.

“I am,” replied Honus.

“But how can this be? She’s your slave!”

“No more,” replied Honus. “Yim’s my master now. As to how this came to be, you should ask her.”

Cronin glanced at Honus as if to confirm that he wasn’t jesting. Then he bowed to Yim. “Pardon my confusion, Karmamatus.”

“It’s understandable,” replied Yim. “Much has happened since we parted. Do you know the temple’s been destroyed?”

“Aye, I heard and feared the worst for Honus. But now you’ve brought him here in the time of our greatest need. Surely, that’s Karm’s doing.” Yim said nothing, so Cronin spoke. “Well, there’s na point tarrying in this dank place. You must want food and drink. And Cara will be delighted to see you both. Come, Karmamatus, I’ll show the way.”

A small room lay beyond the oak door. When Yim followed Cronin into it, she discovered it was also the bottom of a shaft. Two bowmen stood in it, but they had put away their arrows. Attached to the wall was a wooden ladder, which Yim and the others ascended.

Yim found herself in what appeared to be a small subterranean storeroom, for it was windowless and piled with various goods. Cronin led her and Honus through a succession of such rooms until he reached a set of rough wooden stairs. They climbed these and entered a pantry. Beyond it was a kitchen, its table piled high with dirty pots and bustling with activity.

Cronin turned to Yim and said, “’tis na the grandest of entrances, Karmamatus, but you’ve come by the back way.”

“I’m glad to have come here by any way I could, and please call me Yim.”

“You’ve risen in the world,” said Cronin. “I did na wish you to think that I had na noticed.”

“She hasn’t risen,” said Honus, “for she was always holy. But now that holiness has been revealed.”

Yim saw Cronin cast Honus a questioning look that quickly disappeared from his face. When he regarded her again, he smiled graciously. “The evening meal is in progress. Would you honor us with your presence, or would you rather refresh yourself before supping?”

“We’ve traveled hard and look it,” replied Yim, “but we’d be glad to dine among friends.”

“Then we’d be glad, too,” said Cronin. He led the way out of the kitchen into a long room that appeared to be an entrance hall. It had a high ceiling, wood-paneled walls containing several doorways, and a flagstone floor. A pair of large double doors, bolted for the night, lay at the far end. They faced a broad but short stairway leading to another set of double doors carved with hunting scenes. Those doors were open, and beyond them was a banquet hall.

Cronin escorted them there. A meal was in progress, and though most of the hall was empty, the head table was crowded with about a dozen diners. It was raised, and Yim could see Cara seated at its center in a thronelike wooden chair with a high back. The place to her right—Yim assumed that it was Cronin’s—was vacant. Cara was the only woman at the table. Yim remembered many of the men there from her stay at the Bridge Inn.Army officers , she thought.

Yim’s gaze returned to Cara, who had yet to see her. Her friend seemed transformed, at least in appearance. Upon her head was a thin gold circlet. She wore a gray-green gown with a square low-cut neckline and a sash of dark green plaid that was pinned at the shoulder by a brooch in the shape of a tree. Like the circlet, it was golden. Cara’s demeanor matched her regal attire. When Yim thought of Cara’s face, she recalled it as animated and often impish. Yet the woman at the table appeared dignified and even grave, indeed a chieftain. Yim felt somewhat disappointed.

Cronin preceded Yim up the stairway, and announced in a loud voice, “We are honored tonight by a visit from one of Karm’s Bearers, Yim, and her Sarf, Honus.”

Cara looked up, and all of her former animation briefly passed over her features. She was in turn surprised, delighted, puzzled, and curious. Then she forced her expression into a semblance of gravity, though she grinned too broadly to seem genuinely grave as she rose and bowed. “Welcome, Karmamatus. You honor us.”

Yim returned the bow. “Karm sees your generosity, and we’re grateful for your hospitality.” It felt strange to speak formally when she wanted to rush up to Cara and hug her, but she sensed formality suited the occasion best.

Cara turned to both her left and right, addressing those who sat there. “Please make places for my guests. They’ve been much on my mind, and I wish them close.”

Only Cara had a chair; the others at the table sat on two long benches, so her guests simply slid down them to make spaces. Most did so graciously, but Yim noted that the middle-aged man to Cara’s right seemed annoyed to lose his place. As she made this observation, Honus whispered in her ear. “Call Cara ‘Clan Mother,’ that’s how the Urkzimdi address their chieftain.”

When Yim approached the head table, Cara gestured to her right. “Please take the place of honor, Karmamatus.”

“Thank you, Clan Mother, but please call me Yim.”

“All right, Yim.” Cara’s eyes twinkled from a suppressed smile. “And you must call me Cara.”

When Yim sat down, Cara tightly gripped her hand. “It’s good to see you. When I heard about the temple, I feared … But what does that matter now? Look at you! A Bearer! And Honus …” Cara gazed at him as he took the place to her left, and for a moment she was at a loss for words. She studied him, then turned to study Yim, who felt her face redden as she was being scrutinized. “Zounds!” she exclaimed at last. “You’ve both changed, and I thoughtmy life was eventful.” She clapped her hands. “Food and drink for our honored guests.” As servants scurried forth with both, Cara said, “You popped in unexpectedly and caught us as we truly live these days, eating porridge and drinking watered ale. Tomorrow we shall feast you properly. By Karm, it’ll be good to make merry, or at least pretend to. And while you dine on tonight’s poor fare, I’ll have a place readied for you.” She lowered her voice to an intimate tone. “Well, Yim, will you be needing two beds … or one?”

“Two,” replied Yim in an even lower voice, “in separate rooms.”

Cara appeared disappointed by Yim’s reply, but she quickly perked up. “Well, then we can talk all night!”

Yim suspected that Cara wasn’t exaggerating.

TWENTY

CARA WASN’Texaggerating about the humbleness of the repast. The main course was porridge mixed with bits of mutton and diced roots. There was also roasted whiteroot and loaves of brown bread, both in quantities that added more variety than substance to the meal. The ale was heavily watered, and the diners were sober in fact as well as demeanor. But Yim guessed that the quality of the food and drink weren’t the cause of the table’s subdued atmosphere. The mood reminded her of the meal at the Bridge Inn on the night Cronin had told his officers that they were returning home to defend it from invasion.

Yim gazed about the hall as she ate. It was fairly large, but simple in construction and decoration. The walls were paneled with wood that had turned dark brown from smoke and age. A huge stone fireplace took up the center of one wall, but no fire burned in front of its blackened stones. Torches that resembled huge rushlights provided illumination. They were set around the wall in sconces and upon the table in iron holders. The high roof was supported by massive wooden trusses that were festooned with long garlands of flowers. Obviously relics from an earlier occasion, they were dried and brown.

The evening didn’t seem fit for small talk, and Yim engaged in none. “Why is this place surrounded by folk living outdoors?”

“Brother has gathered all men who’ll fight against Lord Bahl,” said Cara. “Many were loath to leave their families because of the feuds, so they’ve brought them here. The others are folk who’ve fled from trouble. We provide for them as best we can.”

“So feuds have broken out already?” asked Yim.

“Feuds and worse,” said Cronin. “Mostly in the west. There, the clans squabble like roosters, all the while ignoring the advancing wolf. ’tis madness!”

“This comes as no surprise,” said Yim. “We’ve arrived from the east, where the black priests are also stirring trouble.”

“Yim met up with one and…”

“Honus!” said Yim in a cautionary tone.

Honus immediately bowed his head. “Pardon me, Karmamatus.”

Cronin looked at Honus, unable to hide the surprise upon his face. Yim caught the look and said, “I’ll speak to you privately of what I’ve learned.”

“There’s na need for secrecy here,” said Cronin. “Cara’s clan mother, and Rodric’s clan steward.” He gestured to the middle-aged man who had surrendered his place at Cara’s right. “The rest here are men who’ve fought beside me for many winters. Any counsel for me is counsel for us all.”

“I’ve learned Lord Bahl is not your true enemy,” said Yim.

Cronin’s expression grew incredulous. “Then who is?”

“Bahl’s master. The Devourer.”

“A god? My enemy’s a god?”

“Yes.”

“And how can I fight a god?”

“You can’t.”

Cronin gazed at Yim with fierce eyes. “I make na claim to be holy. I can only use what sense I have. So mayhap what you say is true, and I can na defeat my foe.” He slammed his ale goblet down on the table, spattering the brew everywhere. “But, by Karm, I’ll try!” Then he rose from the table and strode toward the door.

Cara rose also. “Cronin!” she shouted with a tone of authority that Yim had never heard from her before. “Do na insult our guest!”

Cronin threw up his hands in a gesture that could have signified resignation, fury, apology, or defiance; Yim was unsure which. Whatever its meaning, Cronin didn’t turn around as he left the room.

Cara sat down, looking angry. “I apologize for Brother’s ill behavior.”

“He spoke his heart,” replied Yim. “That’s not a bad thing in these times.” She turned to Honus. “When you’ve eaten, go to him. Speak with him as you deem best. He needs your friendship.”

Honus bowed his head, then quickly finished his porridge. Afterward, he rose to do Yim’s bidding.

*   *   *

The clan hall proved overflowing with people, and many had noted Cronin’s passage. They directed Honus to the wall that enclosed the hall. A wooden walkway ran behind its crenellated top. Honus climbed up to it and found Cronin pacing along its length, peering at the campfires in the dark. He turned at the sound of Honus’s footsteps. “I thought she’d send you here.”

“You sound displeased,” replied Honus.

“I’ve suffered many blows. But to see you unmanned! ’tis beyond abiding!”

“Is that what you think?”

“What else? The temple’s been destroyed, so who invested Yim as your Bearer?”

“Karm herself.”

Cronin gave a bitter laugh. “Why look so high to explain her hold on you? ’Twould be wiser to peer below your drawstring.”

“Tread lightly, friend,” said Honus. “You’ve not seen what I’ve seen.”

“True enough, although her slave’s tunic was revealing. I’m sure she’s shown you…”

Honus seized Cronin’s collar and jerked it until they were nose-to-nose. He glared at his friend for a moment, then just as suddenly released him and stepped back. “I’m sorry. That’s not what Yim wanted.”

“Whatdid she want?” asked Cronin.

“For me to help you.”

“Then why did she bring you here only to say there’s na point fighting? What does she propose to do? Wait like lambs in a slaughter pen?”

“I lack Yim’s wisdom. You should speak with her.”

“She’s just a pretty lass. What wisdom can she have?”

“Karm guides her. Of that I’m certain.”

“And how did you come by that notion?”

“When we reached Bremven and found the temple destroyed, I gave Yim her freedom. As a favor to me, Commodus made her his ward. With Yim safe, I prepared to avenge the massacre by slaying the priests in the Black Temple. Yim stopped me.”

“Stopped a Sarf? How could she do that?”

“That night, she forced the truth from Commodus and tracked me down in the temple’s ruins. She said killing would displease the goddess. I mocked her and called her deluded. But when I peered into her eyes, she revealed her holiness to me.”

“I think you gazed at your lover and found what hope had placed there.”

“It wasn’t like that at all,” said Honus. “You know my powers of perception. And I was steeled for death, not seeking love.”

“So what did you see?”

“Indescribable holiness.”

“Indescribable?” said Cronin. “I give up. There’s na talking to you.”

“I’ve seen miracles, too. Deeds worthy of legendary Seers and Bearers.”

“Like what?”

“She raised spirits. She made a black priest confess his lies and renounce his god.” Honus lowered his voice to an awed whisper. “When I died, she restored my life.”

Cronin simply stared at Honus, dumbfounded.

“Don’t tell Yim I said that. She’ll deny it.”

“As well she might. Such tales are meant for fond ears only.”

“She claimed she only sucked poison from my wound. But you know that doesn’t work. Besides, I recall my death and resurrection, though she said it was but a dream.”

Cronin sighed. “If you believe she’s holy, then it does na matter what I think. Yet to replace Theodus with a timid lass …”

“She’s not timid.”

“She talks defeat. ’tis a fool’s counsel.”

“So wisdom lies solely in fighting?”

“If one fights wisely,” said Cronin. “Hope remains, but we must act soon. Bahl’s already in the west and pressing at Averen’s outskirts. Word has it he slaughters everyone except those who join him. Thus his army grows even as it ravages, and death breeds more death. But to come this way he must pass through Tor’s Gate, and there we can make a stand.”

“I’ve heard of the place,” said Honus. “There’s a stronghold there, but it’s not mighty.”

“I do na plan to defend the stronghold,” said Cronin. “’tis Tor’s Gate itself that will aid our cause—a notch between the mountains that squeezes a large force into a long thin one. Within its confines, Bahl’s unskilled killers can na overwhelm us with their numbers. We can cut them down as they advance. Help me, Honus! We can prevail.”

“Convince Yim, and I’ll do her bidding.”

“And if I can na convince her?”

“Her word will guide me, not your pleas.”

“She must lend our cause your prowess and courage. Think on this: If we fail, Bahl’s red-handed men will surely come for her, just as they came for Theodus. And though you’ll defend her, she’ll share his fate. You’ve seen it before. Do you want to see it again? Your Bearer torn apart before your eyes?”

Honus failed to answer, for he was reliving the horrific day that Theodus fell. He stared into the dark with tear-rimmed eyes as if he were viewing the carnage Cronin had evoked. Then the scene within his mind underwent an appalling change, and it wasn’t Theodus whom the horde ripped apart, but Yim.

TWENTY - ONE

DINNER WASlong over when Honus returned to the banquet hall. Because the clan mother lingered at the table, the other diners did also. “Well, Honus,” called out Cara, “did you calm my brother?”

Honus didn’t reply at once, and Yim noted that his face was far from calm. Rather, she detected a mask forced on his features to hide the turbulence within. She was alarmed, but at a loss as to what to do.If we were alone it’d be different , she thought. But Yim was keenly aware that she had an audience that was watching her every move. She turned to Cara. “My Sarf and I have traveled long and hard, and it’s taken a toll. If you would show us where we might rest, we’d be grateful.”

Cara rose, and the others at the table rose also. “Good night, gentlemen,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Yim and Honus, you’re under my special care. Please stay awhile.”

The other diners dispersed, but Cara remained behind with Yim and Honus until she had them to herself. “Well, Honus, what did Brother say to you? You’ve never looked so upset, and you a Sarf. Zounds! What’s the world coming to?”

Honus, having regained some of his composure, said, “He expressed concerns.”

“Concerns!” said Cara. “Why, I’m sure he did. Zounds, Brother’s concerns would overfill a valley. He went on about Yim, I’m certain of it. After what he said at dinner, you can na tell me otherwise. Men! Agree with them, or be called a fool!”

The tiniest of smiles briefly passed over Honus’s lips. “I’d never be so rash as to disagree with you.”

“Wise choice,” said Cara. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ve got to put Yim to bed. You, too. Now come.” She started walking from the banquet hall, but kept talking without pause. “Yim says you’re to have separate rooms. ’tis a pity, but that’s na my concern. So, Honus, you’ll have your own room, except you’ll have to share it—just na with Yim. It won’t be fancy, for we’re full up. More than full, with every relation you can imagine. And Brother’s officers. A few strays, too. So, Honus, you’ll sleep with Brother’s serving man. And a third cousin from Karm-knows-where. But at least your room will be close to Yim’s.” Cara glanced at Yim, who had retrieved the pack from the entrance hall. “Yim, you’ll share my bed.”

“I couldn’t do that!” said Yim.

“Of course you can! And you will. But you must bathe first and tell me what happened to your hair. Who chopped it off?”

“A Sarf,” said Yim.

Cara shot Honus an outraged look. “Zounds, Honus! How could you?”

“It wasn’t me,” said Honus.

“Then who?”

“Ask Yim,” replied Honus, “for I’m sure you will, regardless of what I say.”

“I will then, and when …” Cara spotted a servant and went over to tell him to fetch a tub and hot water to her room. Distracted by the interruption, she started on a new topic upon her return. “Honus, you must talk to Brother about his plan. I’m na fool, I know its prospects are na so good. Brother knows it, too, but will na say it. But a little chance is bigger than none. Oh Karm, to think that… Oh, well, here’s your room. Sleep tight, Honus. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow.”

“And where will Yim be sleeping?” asked Honus. “As her Sarf, I need to know.”

“Why, in Dar’s room, of course,” replied Cara, pointing to the door at the end of the hallway. “I’m clan mother now, or have you forgotten?”

Honus smiled and bowed. “That would be impossible.”

As soon as the two women were alone, Cara threw her arms around Yim and hugged her close. “Oh Yim, I thought I’d never see you or Honus again. And now that you’re here, I’m happy and sad at once. I fear your visit may have doomed you.”

“Danger’s everywhere,” said Yim, “so best to face it with friends. Already you’ve performed a wonder and cheered up Honus.”

“After Brother did just the opposite. Well, Honus was always a brooder. You must know that for sure. But like most men, he can’t ponder two things at once, so I just gave him more than he could handle.”

“More than I can handle, too.”

“Nay, na you. But enough of that. You’re inlove! And Honus is, too! I knew the moment I saw you two, so do na deny it. How truly wonderful! I’m so glad you heeded my advice. So, why separate rooms? Both of you can have this bed. I want you to have it. Who knows where we’ll be soon. The Dark Path, most like. So why na grab what happiness you can?”

“You know why, Cara. I’m the Chosen.”

“You mean you’re still…”

“A virgin? Yes.”

“Why? I see the way you look at Honus. And the way he looks at you. Why na tup him?”

“And abandon the goddess?”

“It seems to me that she’s abandoned you. Why even think you can have a child? There’s na time for it. I fear Bahl’s fiends will be at our door long before nine moons pass.”

“My path was set long ago, and I’ll follow it as far as I can.”

“But youdo love Honus?”

“Yes, and it’s torment! Every night I waver. And every night it gets harder to ignore my heart.”

Cara gazed at Yim sadly and shook her head. “I do na understand you.”

A knock on the door interrupted the two women. A voice from behind it said, “Clan Mother, we’ve brought the bath.”

Cara had the servants enter. One carried a small copper tub, while others brought ewers of hot water, soap, and a drying cloth. Yim was glad for the interruption and suspected that Cara sensed her relief, for after the servants left, Cara didn’t resume the previous conversation. Instead she asked if a Sarf had really chopped her hair.

“Yes,” replied Yim, “but he was aiming for my neck.”

“Zounds! And he missed? I thought Sarfs never missed.”

“I was leaping into a river when he swung.”

“Oh Holy Karm! What a life you’ve been leading! And where did you get that big scar on your back? That’s new. So tell me all. Do na leave out a single thing.”

“When you said we’d share a bed, I thought you’d let me sleep in it,” said Yim. “I think instead you plan to keep me up all night. Can’t I have a little rest? I’m not leaving tomorrow.”

“When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know. I have no plans. I’ll stay until Karm directs me elsewhere, or you tire of me.”

“I’ll never do that,” said Cara. “We’ll grow old together.” She quickly made the Sign of the Balance. “Karm willing.” Then she bounced up and down like an overanxious child. “But zounds, Yim,please tell mesomething!”

While Yim washed, she began an abbreviated account of her adventures since she last saw Cara. She continued it after she changed into her old slave’s tunic, which still served her as a nightgown, and climbed into bed beside her friend. Yim omitted a great deal in an attempt to seem as unremarkable as possible. She didn’t speak of visions, raising spirits, the malign presence in the ruined temple, or her encounter with Lila. Since Yim had once used her powers to force truth from Cara, she did speak of doing the same to the Devourer’s priest. However, Yim didn’t describe the aftermath. She related the incident with Gatt as a series of combats in which Honus finally triumphed and won her heart.

For her part, Cara kept mostly silent, except for uttering “Zounds!” at dramatic moments and asking a few pertinent questions. She looked thoughtful throughout the narration, and Yim had little doubt that Cara was weighing everything she said and finding much missing.

Yim awoke alone. Sunlight was streaming through the room’s tiny windows. By its angle Yim saw that she had slept late into the morning. She glanced about for her clothes and for the first time noticed that the room had once been a cottage. Its front door and some of its windows had been sealed up, but their outlines were still visible, and the ancient wooden floor was most worn around the former doorway. The room’s fireplace was hearth-sized and still had pothooks.Cara called this Dar’s room , thought Yim, suspecting it had been the clan founder’s home. She imagined a long line of women living in the space, ruling a growing clan and adding to the cottage until it became a manor house.

Yim continued looking for her clothes, but could find only her sandals. A short-sleeved gown of finely woven wool lay next to them, making Yim think it was intended for her. The gown wasn’t dark blue, the appropriate shade for a Bearer, but bluish-gray. Thus she donned the garment reluctantly, feeling that it diminished her standing. After Yim dressed, she opened the door and found a young woman waiting outside. The woman bowed immediately. “Good morning, Karmamatus. Clan Mother says I’m to serve you.”

“I have a Sarf for that. Where is he?”

“Waiting for you, Karmamatus. Shall I take you to him?”

“Please. And what happened to my clothes?”

“They’re being washed and mended, Karmamatus.”

Yim was inclined to ask the servant to call her “Yim,” but thought better of it. Cronin seemed to have questioned her sanctity at dinner, and she was currently dressed like an ordinary woman. The servant led Yim to a small room off the kitchen that seemed an informal dining area. Honus was seated but rose immediately when Yim entered. He bowed. “Good morning, Karmamatus.”

Honus’s formality bothered Yim until she gazed at his face. His loving look was stronger than ever. She had missed his closeness in the night, and she felt certain that he had missed her equally. “Did you sleep well, Honus?”

“The mattress was soft.” Honus smiled wryly. “But the company was abundant.” Then his voice turned wistful as he gazed into Yim’s eyes. “Sleeping outdoors had greater charms.”

Yim was about to agree, but said instead, “And greater temptations.”

“Yes,” said Honus, looking away. “Those also.”

“Would Karmamatus like some porridge?” asked the serving woman.

“Yes, please,” said Yim.

When the woman left, Yim spoke to Honus in a low voice. “What did Cronin say to you last night? I’ve seldom seen you in such a state.”

“He didn’t like what you said, so he was disinclined to believe your authority.” Honus paused. “Last night, you said that one can’t fight the Devourer. Before, you were only uncertain it was possible.”

“Perhaps I spoke too strongly,” said Yim. “However, I’ve begun to think that fighting is futile.”

“But you’re not certain?” said Honus, his tone betraying hopefulness.