[Shadowed Path 01] - A Woman Worth Ten Coppers Read Online Free PDF

gone.”
    “So what will you do now?”
    “Return to the temple and receive a new master. But first, I must find someone.”
    “Who?”
    Honus gazed at Yaun, seemingly mulling over some distasteful choice. After a prolonged silence, he spoke. “On the night before the battle, my master studied portents. Afterward, he said that I must never carry my own burden.”
    “Why?”
    “It was not my place to ask, nor his role to explain. All I know is that I cannot leave until I find someone to bear my pack.”
    Yaun smiled. “And Karm’s temple lies to the south?”
    “It does.”
    “Then I’ll carry your pack.”
    “Don’t make that promise lightly. The temple lies far from here and the way is hard.”
    “I’ll bear your pack. I so swear by Karm. Does that satisfy you?”
    “It must,” replied Honus. “We should head out now. Bahl’s gone north to ravish the duke’s lands. But when he’s done, I think he’ll turn his army south.”
     
    The Turmgeist Forest lay south of Lurwic, a dense tract of trees that took three days to traverse on foot. It was densest toward its southern edge, where the onset of spring was barely perceptible. In the gloom beneath the pines, the undergrowth remained brown and crowded the path. Honus led the way through this maze, with Yaun lagging behind. The two seldom walked close enough to converse, an arrangement that seemed to suit them both. The pair plodded onward in this manner until the sky darkened. By then, pines had given way to oaks that were in first leaf, and the forest pathway had become a road. Honus halted. “We’ll camp here,” he stated.
    Yaun put down the pack with relief and rubbed his sore shoulders. The Sarf removed his sandals, sat cross-legged on the ground, and closed his eyes. Yaun had seen Honus assume this position before, and it always made him uneasy. He knew that although the Sarf was perfectly motionless, he was roaming the realm of the dead. Yaun shuddered at the thought of it and set off to gather firewood. When he returned, he was disappointed to find Honus still trancing, for only the Sarf had the skill to strike a fire. Yaun wrapped himself in his cloak to ward off the evening’s chill and impatiently waited for the trance to end. Eventually, Honus’s eyes opened.
    “What did you see?” asked Yaun in a hushed voice.
    “Many crowd the Dark Path. There’s much confusion.”
    “What of our comrades?”
    “Some of their shades still journey with us, but not the one I seek,” replied Honus. He gazed at Yaun and added, “Alaric is nearby.”
    The blood drained from Yaun’s face, and he glanced anxiously about the twilit forest. “Did…did he speak with you?”
    “I cannot speak with the dead. I can only sense their memories.”
    “What’s on his mind?” asked Yaun.
    “He’s troubled by regret; the newly slain usually are.”
    “Anything else? Does he think of the battle?”
    “He yearns for a child with golden hair, nothing more.”
    “That’s all?” asked Yaun, sounding relieved.
    “The girl was dear to him.”
    “I would have thought he’d dwell upon his glory.”
    “Glory?” said Honus, his voice hard with incredulity. “The dead care not for glory. The Dark Path doesn’t ring with song.” He took up the iron and flint. Soon, he had a fire blazing.
    Yaun watched as Honus poured some water and a handful of grain into a brass pot to make porridge. After Honus set it on the fire to cook, Yaun gathered his nerve and spoke. “When Alaric died, I was released from my vows.”
    “You don’t wish to remain a squire?” asked Honus without surprise.
    “I rode forth on a charger, seeking renown.”
    “Renown?” Honus seemed amused. “I thought you were seeking your fortune.”
    “Yes, that, too,” replied Yaun. “And now I return bearing another man’s burden.”
    “Then you’ve found your fortune after all.”
    “I wasn’t born to carry a pack.”
    “You seemed eager enough to carry it earlier.”
    “But now we