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

her naked!”
    The woman laughed. “So what? ’Twon’t affect her price.”
    Yim, who had been listening to the conversation with growing alarm, shrank against the wagon’s wall as her captor advanced. “Don’t give me trouble,” he said as he pulled Yim to her feet. He spun her around and untied her wrists. “Take off yer shift. Are ye wearin’ an undershift?”
    “Yes.”
    “I want that, too.”
    “Please…”
    “Please won’t get you nothin’. Now be quick. Most like, yer clothes have fetched more than ye will.”
    Yim obeyed because she had no choice. After she shed her clothes, her wrists were bound again. Yim slumped to the floor and huddled in the corner, drawing up her knees in an attempt to cover herself. The woman departed with her purchases and the wagon moved on. When it halted again, Yim was dragged from it to stand upon the muddy street before a small stone building with an iron door. Near the door was a knee-high stone cube, marking the building as a place where slaves were bought and sold.
    Yim stood shivering in the chill morning air, unable to hide her nakedness while one of her captors pounded on the iron door. She was painfully aware that when the door opened someone would emerge to exchange a few coins for her. Yim had never felt more miserable or so utterly forsaken. Soon someone else would claim her body, and only her soul would be wholly hers.

 
    FOUR
    T O THE north in Lurwic, the duke’s castle was burning. The duke didn’t care; he was dead. So were his family, his servants, his soldiers, and everyone within the surrounding town. Lord Bahl’s men had been thorough. After the battle ended, Honus had walked through its aftermath. Although a veteran of many engagements, he was appalled by the wantonness of the destruction. Whatever wasn’t looted had been destroyed. Every house was burning. Not a single crock or chair or bit of cloth remained intact. But the owners of these things fared worse. They had been slain with such ferocity that Honus often had to avert his eyes. None of the dead were completely whole, as if their attackers had been unsatisfied with merely killing them. No one had been spared indignity, not even tiny babes. As far as Honus could determine, he was the sole survivor.
    After performing his reconnaissance, Honus returned to the castle. By then, it was late afternoon. He removed his chain mail, sharpened his sword, and washed the gore from his clothes and body. Then he sat cross-legged in the center of the castle’s cobbled courtyard. There, surrounded by the slain and drifts of ever-thickening smoke, he meditated. Gradually, the disciplines that he had learned during his childhood in the temple permitted him to master his turbulent mind. He conquered his fear, cooled his rage, and struggled to shut away his grief. The latter proved the most difficult, and dusk arrived before he was calm.
     
    While Honus was meditating, Yaun cautiously pushed up the cover of the latrine, poked his head out, and listened. The castle was eerily quiet. Yaun decided it was safe to emerge from hiding. He climbed from his foul refuge, shed his ruined clothing, and washed the filth from his body in a bathing pool. Its water was cold and also pink with the blood from a floating corpse, so Yaun scrubbed as quickly as possible. Emerging from his hasty bath, he lifted an overturned stone basin and was pleased to find his things untouched. Yaun smiled at his cleverness.
    Yaun dressed himself, something he had seldom done before he became a squire. Out of habit, he sometimes snapped his fingers to summon the servants he had left behind when he joined Alaric’s band of mercenaries. Yaun regretted his decision to become a soldier, but at least he had survived it.
    When he was dressed, Yaun made his way through the castle, skirting the burning portions and ignoring the carnage all around him. Eventually, he reached the entrance to the wine cellar. Using a burning brand as a torch, he