The Iron Palace (53 page)

“Of course. They’re like mushrooms, only creamy.”

“That’s what your mother told me. But, to speak truth, I couldn’t bear the sight of them. Your mother laughed at
me and said ‘I thought Sarfs were brave.’ She was only my slave then, but already I suspected she had power.”

“I never thought of Mam as powerful.”

“By the time she terrorized me with those grubs, she had also cured a madwoman, overcome a sorcerer, and received a vision of the massacre at Karvakken Pass.”

“There were pictures of that battle all over the Iron Palace,” said Froan. “Did she say anything about it?”

“It horrified her,” said Honus, recalling the aftermath of Yim’s vision and how shaken and vulnerable she had seemed. “She said she had been waist-deep in blood.”

Froan shook his head. “I always thought that tapestry exaggerated the blood.” He shuddered. “That palace was a pit of horrors. To think I called it home!”

“It wasn’t your home. It was the Devourer’s lair.”

“And Gorm’s.”

“Who’s he?”

“The priest with the gold chain. He said he witnessed that battle, and I believe he told the truth. But he lied about other things. That ritual, for example. He had to know that Mam was beneath that mask, and yet he …” Froan’s face reddened. “He deserved what happen to him!”

“And now he’ll stand before Karm for judgment. If you’re right, then it’s a judgment he long evaded.”

“Even when I was Lord Bahl, I was afraid of him.” Froan shook his head. “I suspect it was he who killed my father, not Mam.”

“Your mother certainly didn’t.”

“Then my father’s spirit lied to me, or at least, he twisted the truth. That’s why I ran away. He said I was destined to be a great lord, though he didn’t say which one.” Froan sighed. “I’m a fool, and a wicked one, too.”

“You’re only those things if you refuse to change,” said Honus. “Do you feel up to some more walking?”

“Let’s go. If I couldn’t walk from here, I’d crawl.”

As the two trekked through the back ways of Bahland, they continued reminiscing about Yim, each filling in gaps that the other didn’t know. The more they conversed, the more accustomed they grew to each other. When dusk arrived, they camped without a fire, though a chill wind blew from the west. Froan knew his former subjects well enough to agree with Honus on the wisdom of avoiding them. Since Honus had lost his cloak in the Iron Palace, they shared Yim’s.

Cara woke with a start. Havren was peacefully snoring beside her, but there seemed to be a ghost at the foot of their bed. Then she realized that it was only Thistle. Her pale skin seemed white in the dim bedroom, and it was still wet from her long swim from the faerie dell. She wore a garland of white roses in her wet hair and nothing else. Cara was about to scold her for going about unclothed, when she wondered how her daughter had entered the manor house, which had been locked for the night.

“Mama,” said Thistle in a soft voice infused with wonder. “Mother has saved the world!”

“Do you mean Yim?”

“Aye.”

“When is she coming back?”

“Never.”

Cara’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s dead.”

“Do na be sad, Mama. Only Mother’s body died.”

“And Honus?”

“Karmamatus lives. But his heart’s wounded, and he must journey far to heal it. Do na look to see him in the living world.”

“So I’m never to learn what becomes of him?”

“You will in time, Mama. One day we’ll journey to Bremven and hear the tale from your namesake. She’ll be the one who’ll know it best.”

Cara was confused, but turned to awake her husband and
tell him what news made sense to her. When she glanced back toward Thistle, she was gone.

It took Honus and Froan seven days to reach Bahland’s borders and three more to reach a sizable village. Over that space of time, they’d grown easy in their companionship. When the village came into sight, Honus shed his pack, took out the golden mask, and handed it to Froan. “With this, you’ll have the means to start your new life.”

Froan regarded him with a surprised and slightly hurt expression. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve brought you to safety to honor your mother. You owe me nothing for that, so I won’t burden you further. This gold can buy you a fine holding where you can raise goats or crops as you deem fit. Or you can purchase the means to follow a trade, though I hope not one involving arms.”

“I thought we’d be a pair,” said Froan. “Like you and Theodus were.”

“Theodus was a holy man. I’m only a Sarf. No … I’m not even that.”

“I lost Mam. Am I to lose you, too?”

Honus looked at Froan and saw tears welling in his eyes. “I’m old and useless. What good is a Sarf who’s renounced the sword?”

“When did you do that?”

“The counsel of a child has been much on my mind. She said weapons aren’t Karm’s tools. After what I’ve seen, I’ve decided to heed her wisdom,” replied Honus. “Since my only skill is killing, I won’t be much use.”

“You’d serve as a good example,” said Froan, “especially to one who was once Lord Bahl. Please, Honus, there’s no reason for us to part ways.”

“But what do you want to do?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Froan. “What do
you
want to do?”

“I’ve wandered all my life,” said Honus. “It might be good to settle down.”

“That sounds fine to me. But where?”

“Somewhere off the beaten track.” Honus thought a moment. “Luvein.”

“The province ruined by the first Lord Bahl?”

“The same. It may sound like a strange choice, but if the world has changed—and I believe it has—then Luvein will have changed the most.”

A portion of the mask was sufficient to purchase a horse and cart and to fill it with tools, seed stock, and other supplies. Since it was late to start planting, Honus and Froan hurried their trip to Luvein. Along the way, Froan procured some goats. In light of his recent experiences, the routine of milking no longer seemed unpleasant and it reminded him of his mother. Moreover, he missed her cheese. They entered the former province from the west, and when they reached the abandoned imperial highway, they took it north.

That portion of their journey followed the route Honus had traveled with Yim, and it was there that Honus found the changes most pronounced. Luvein no longer seemed cursed. Freed of its pall of malevolence, the land responded with renewed fecundity. Flowers crowded out the withered nettles and prickly weeds. The trees shed their shrouds of thorny vines. The meadows were filled with birdsong and the woods ran thick with game. The echoes of war and devastation had dwindled to peaceful silence.

When Honus reached the ruined bridge where he and Yim had camped, he took Froan to see the dark man’s castle. There, he told how Yim had rescued him from the sorcerer and then lied to hide her deed. He found the castle’s interior overgrown where once it had been barren. The keep’s roof had fallen in and some good-sized trees grew in the space. The courtyard was also reverting to forest.

They returned to the road and traveled a short way farther
until they spied a lush field where two boys and three girls were working. The oldest boy seemed nearly Froan’s age. Honus halted the cart and watched them awhile before calling out, “Have any of you heard of a woman named Tabsha?”

“Aye,” replied the eldest boy. “She be our mam.”

“Mam!” shouted one of the girls. “Thar be a blue-faced man askin’ ’bout ya.”

Froan whispered to Honus, “Who’s Tabsha?”

“Your mother and I helped plant her field when she was widowed and starving,” said Honus. He declined to say that Tabsha had pitied Yim for being a slave.

A woman emerged from the stone hut at the field’s edge to stare in amazement. Despite all the time that had passed, Honus recognized her immediately. Tabsha had fleshed out, and though there were gray streaks in her hair, she actually seemed younger than when Honus had seen her last. “ ’Onus? Be tha’ ya?”

Honus bowed from the seat of the cart. “Yes, Mother. It’s good to see you well.”

Tabsha turned to her children. “ ’Onus be tha man who saved mah life. Go fetch yar da an’ tell ’im.” She turned to Honus and Froan. “Will ya stay an’ sup with us?”

“We’d be honored,” replied Honus.

“Ya ’ad a slave with ya las’ time,” said Tabsha.

“Yes,” said Honus. “Yim.”

“Wha’ ’appened ta ’er?”

“I freed her.”

“Ah’m glad.”

“And this is her son, Froan.”

Honus and Froan had climbed down from the cart by the time Gowen, Tabsha’s husband, arrived in the tow of his youngest daughter. He was a robust man with a thick beard, thinning hair, and an effusive manner. By the time he reached Honus he had already bowed to him half a dozen times and
was grinning broadly. “By Karm, ’tis ’Onus ’imself,” he said, bowing twice more. “Now Ah ken finally thank ya fer savin’ mah sweet Tabsha.”

At dinner that evening, Honus made inquiries about vacant lands and learned of a nearby ruin with an intact cellar that might be suitable for cheese making. He and Froan visited it the following day. The roofless structure topped a hillside and consisted of four stone walls pierced by arches that once had held windows. The walls enclosed dead leaves, scrubs, and a few slender trees. At first sight, the structure appeared more suitable for a goat pen than a residence, but its cellars were large and cool. Honus thought they had stored wine long ago.

They moved in the following day and set to work. Following Gowen’s advice, they quickly cleared a plot by girdling trees, rather than cutting them, and put in a crop of roots and beans. They built a small hut using a corner of the ruin for two of the walls. The rest of the building became a goat pen.

The garden flourished, the goats thrived, and before long, the hut felt like a home. At times, Honus reflected that he was living the same simple life as Gan and his mam, who had provided shelter to Yim and him on their second night together. They had lived in a ruin also, and Yim’s visit had changed their lives. Since Honus was unable to trance, when thoughts of Yim made his heart heavy, he turned to the living world for solace. He found it in simple things: milking goats, seeing his crops grow, working with his hands, and viewing the changes of the world from one spot.

Where Honus found refuge, Froan found redemption. Freed at last from the evil that had oppressed him throughout his life, he seemed to blossom before Honus’s eyes. His disposition became kind and cheerful. He was patient and never lost his temper. He became interested in everything and tackled all tasks with energy. He enjoyed helping others.
He mastered cheese making, although he claimed his mother’s cheeses were far superior. In many ways, Froan reminded Honus of Yim, and not just in appearance. It took Honus a long time to figure out why, and when he did, his conclusion startled him. Froan seemed holy. It wasn’t a word that Honus took lightly, and one he never thought he’d associate with Lord Bahl. Nevertheless, upon further reflection, it seemed likely that Yim’s child would be serene and good. Honus kept that judgment to himself, for he knew Froan would smile and refuse to believe it.

R
APPALI STOOD
on the northern slope of Tararc Hite, peering at the fen’s twisted waterways. Frost had caused the reeds to die back, and from her vantage point, nearly everything was tan or blue. Blue dominated. Tangled strands of azure joined the Turgen’s broad cobalt band, which in turn, touched the bright autumn sky. It was a lovely sight, but that wasn’t why she had climbed so high. Rappali was there to view something else, and she strained her eyes to find it.

At last, she saw what she was looking for—a speck moving among the blue. It was making its way toward the hite and her. As she watched it grow ever larger, her heart pounded faster. Finally, when she felt it would burst from joy, she ran down the path to the shore. For a while, the reeds obscured her view. Then she saw the boat turn into the channel. It wasn’t a reed boat, but a wooden one. The tall young man who stood upon its deck wore strange clothes, and instead of poling his craft to propel it, he sculled it with
a single oar. Rappali scarcely noticed those things, for the young man was her son whom she had thought she had lost forever.

“Telk! Telk! Telk!” she cried out between sobs of joy. “Yim said ya’d come home taday.”

“How could she do that?”

“She spoke ta me in a dream.”

“Did she say I went off with Froan, and he’s Lord Bahl?”

“Aye, but Froan’s Bahl no more. Yim saved him.”

“Then good for her. Oh, Mam, ’twas like some terrible dream. What things I saw! What things I did!”

The boat touched the shore, and Telk bounded into his mother’s arms.

The following spring brought more traffic on Luvein’s roads. Some of the travelers were tradesmen, and one of them was an itinerant carpenter. Honus and Froan had spent most of the winter clearing trees, and they paid the man with a piece of the gold mask to help them turn the logs into a wooden floor and a proper roof for their hut. Before the carpenter departed, they contracted with him to bring a crew in the fall for more extensive improvements.

By the next spring, the ruined house enclosed a smaller one that even possessed two glazed windows. One afternoon, Honus discovered a white-haired stranger peering at the dwelling. The man’s expression was one of wonderment that increased dramatically when he spied Honus. Then he bowed very low. “Oh, Karmamatus, this is a most extraordinary day!”

“You shouldn’t address me that way,” replied Honus. “Call me Honus, for I’m only a farmer and goatherd.”

“Oh ho! Just wait!” replied the man, appearing not to have heard Honus. “I must get my daughter. She didn’t believe me. Scoffed at the very idea of it. But now … Oh, just wait!” Then he hurried off.

Honus watched the man and saw that he was heading
for a heavily loaded wagon at the base of the hill. A young woman sat on the bench at its front, reading a scroll. Soon the man had taken her hand to drag her up the hillside. He appeared to be talking the entire way, and soon Honus could make out what he was saying. “…  a house within a house. Those were her exact words. And the Sarf! In Luvein! Even you must confess it passes your strictest test.”