The Iron Palace Read Free Page B

slaughter her animals.
    Rappali knew Yim’s blood was as red as anyone’s, for she had found Yim just after she had given birth. Unconscious and covered in muck, Yim had looked dead. Yet she recovered, and Rappali admired how Yim had made a life for herself. Settling on isolated Far Hite with her newbornson and three goats loaned by Rappali’s mother, she had raised a dairy herd and carved a life for herself and her child. Yim’s cheese was the best in the Grey Fens, relished even by those who claimed witchcraft was used in its making.
    Rappali believed Yim’s story that war had driven her to the fens, where she could honor her oath to her dying husband that their child would never witness bloodshed. Rappali thought that Yim went too far in fulfilling that oath, but she never doubted her sincerity. Yim had experienced war, and her tales of its atrocities were chilling.
After what she’s seen
, thought Rappali,
I don’t blame her not wishing ta kill even a goat
.
    Upon reaching the water’s edge, Rappali began cleaning her husband’s catch. Most of the fish were hand sized, so without their heads and tails they were little more than morsels to dry for later use. As the fenswoman scaled and gutted the fish, she thought of the other source of contention with her husband—Yim’s son. Roarc was fond of the lad, but Froan unsettled Rappali.
    Her reaction put Rappali in the minority, for most folk thought well of Froan. Telk, Rappali’s only son, hung on Froan’s every word, although Telk was older and larger than his friend. He wasn’t alone in this; Froan had a knack for getting his way. Rappali found the ease with which he bent folk to his favor an unnatural trait. She believed it had something to do with his eyes. She had noticed them on the day he was born. The pale tan irises made the pupils seem all the more piercing. To her, they likened to twin holes into which one might fall and get trapped. She never spoke of this notion, for it seemed silly to fear a boy’s gaze. Yet that fear had grown stronger over time. She sometimes thought that Yim felt it also.

FOUR
    H ONUS WOKE slowly, drifting into consciousness as one emerges from a fog. When he opened his eyes, he took in little of what he saw. He had become accustomed to waking in strange places, and even the fact that he was clean and freshly clothed made little impression on him. His belly was empty, but he was oblivious of that. The emptiness that gnawed at him was of a deeper nature and one that the living world couldn’t ease. Honus slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes so he might trance and find some happy memory on the Dark Path.
    That endeavor was foiled by a sudden sharp pain on his upper thigh. Honus tried to disregard it, but he felt a second pain and then a third. He opened his eyes and noticed for the first time that another man was in the room. He sat close by. The man had a full white beard and a matching tangle of hair. He wore a shabby robe and held a stick. Certain that the man had hit him with the stick, Honus tried to grab it. His hand grasped only air.
    The stranger grinned. “Pretty slow for a Sarf.”
    Though it was obvious, it only then dawned on Honus that his disguise was gone. “I’m no Sarf.”
    “Your face says otherwise.”
    “My tattoos don’t mark service to the goddess,” replied Honus, his voice low and cold. “They display my hate for her.”
    “Your runes tell a different tale.”
    “A Sarf’s runes may not be seen!”
    The stranger smiled. “But, as you said, you’re no Sarf. Besides, I needed diversion while I scrubbed your back.”
    Honus stared into the man’s eyes, trying to discern the truth behind what he said. But as with his other skills, his powers of perception had diminished. He discerned only what was readily apparent; that the man was old, poor, and had a kindly face.
    “I’ve heard of your affliction,” said the man, “but so few can trance,