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

hem of Yim’s tunic.
    Yim heard Honus’s voice. “The girl’s mine.”
    The man pivoted, keeping his foot on the sword. “What use has a holy man for a woman?”
    “You need only know that she’s mine.”
    The man with the mace forced a smile on his face. “Of course,” he said. “It’s not my business.” Then, he turned toward his companion and winked.
    A sword flashed, reflecting the last of the sky’s light. It passed through where Honus had stood an instant before. The Sarf rolled on the ground and sprang up so that he and the swordsman were chest-to-chest. At such close quarters, the sword was useless. Honus jabbed with his fist. There was the crunch of gristle, and the swordsman fell backward. Honus caught his opponent’s sword before it hit the ground. Then he whirled, and the mace dropped with a hand still grasping it. A wail arose. It was cut short as Honus whirled again. The second man dropped to the road in two pieces. Honus turned and plunged the sword into the other man gurgling on the ground. There was a grunt, and the gurgling stopped. Honus withdrew the sword and stepped on its blade to snap it. Afterward, he hurled it and the mace into the bushes flanking the road. Then he picked up and sheathed his weapon.
    Yim had stood paralyzed throughout the encounter. As she stared at the two dead men, she felt sickened by their violent end. Her stomach churned, and if it weren’t empty, she would have thrown up. For a long while, she trembled as horror fought with relief. Then she subdued her emotions and asked Honus in a shaky voice, “Are we safe now?”
    A grim smile came to Honus’s fierce face. “Safe?” He glanced down at the pair of corpses. “These were but fleas. There are wolves abroad. Didn’t you know?”
    “No. My home’s far away and isolated.”
    “Then you were ill-advised to leave it.” Honus dragged the bodies from the road. “Don’t worry, we’ll be safe enough tonight. Come. We’ll walk until the moon rises. Then you’ll find firewood more easily.”
     
    By the time Yim returned to camp with a second load of wood, Honus had a fire blazing and porridge cooked. He tasted it before passing the pot to Yim. The porridge was burnt, but she ate ravenously. “Don’t eat so quickly,” Honus warned her. “You’ll get sick.” Yim slowed her pace, but she still cleaned the pot with her fingers, licking them noisily. Honus’s teeth showed in the moonlight. “Such royal manners.”
    Withdrawn and tense, Yim didn’t react to the jest. After eating, she sat near the dying fire, wrapped in her bloodstained cloak and shivering, though the night was not yet cold.
    Honus spread his cloak over leaves and removed his sandals and outer pants. Yim looked away as he began to remove his leggings. “Take off that damp tunic,” she heard him say, “and come to me.”
    Yim remained put, but turned to look at Honus. He was reclining on his cloak, his manhood covered by his long shirt. In a voice that trembled slightly, Yim responded. “You’re a Sarf, a holy man.”
    “A Sarf is but a holy man’s servant. I’m no purer than other men, probably less.”
    “If you had purchased the blond slave, would you have wished to tup him also?”
    “No,” said Honus, his voice betraying irritation.
    “Then why must I do what he need not?”
    “Come. There’s pleasure in this.”
    “I’ve already suffered as a bound captive, so don’t speak of pleasure. What pleases the man degrades the woman.”
    “This is my right,” replied Honus. “I own you.”
    “You own your sword. Would you use it to hew rocks?”
    “Stop speaking riddles.”
    “Only a fool destroys his possessions.”
    Honus sat up and glared at Yim. “Are you calling me a fool?”
    “No, Master.” Yim recalled the night with the scar-faced man in the wagon, and when she spoke again there was resolve in her voice. “You can have me by force, but you cannot force me to live. If you tup me, I’ll kill myself. Then, the