The Legend of Broken (72 page)

Arrival on Lord Baster-kin’s Plain presents

Sentek Arnem’s Talons with an eerie silence …

On the morning that Sixt Arnem marches his full
khotor
of the Talons onto the section of Lord Baster-kin’s Plain north of the Fallen Bridge, he finds no evidence that the men from the Esleben garrison, who were to have met him there, have survived one or the other of the pestilences that Visimar has been able to determine are at work in Broken, during their march to the Cat’s Paw. Similarly, but far more surprisingly, there is no sign of the detachment of Lord Baster-kin’s Guard that has always been assigned to the northernmost boundary of the great family’s most arable and strategic piece of land; yet neither is there any visible token that these men met with some calamity. Instead, as the Talons make their way through the rough, high grass at the edge of the Plain and then south into the rich pastureland that has been chewed to a short and almost uniform length by the Baster-kin family’s renowned shag cattle, they encounter what is, in many ways, the most unnerving circumstance for soldiers who are on the march, full of questions, and far from home:

Nothing.

True, the cattle graze in their ordinary manner (or rather, most of them do, for there are clearly more than a few missing), and take little notice of the newcomers, save to move off to a safe distance; yet none shows any obvious sign of disease. Nevertheless, Arnem’s men are all aware that units of the Guard
should
be patrolling this part of the Plain: and so where are they? Arnem knows that action is the only cure for his own as well as his men’s bewilderment: thus, after ordering the establishment of a central camp, the sentek orders his scouts to employ their keen talents for detection as far as a dozen miles up and down the northern bank of the Cat’s Paw, reminding them, along with the rest of his men, that no water from the river is to be consumed, either by themselves or by their mounts, save from the several collecting ponds for rainwater that the Baster-kin family has constructed throughout the Plain over the last several years. Arnem’s central camp is hard by one such pool; and as his tent is erected, the sentek orders the establishment of an observation post near the southernmost of the these small sources of safe water, a post that, situated closest to the Fallen Bridge, offers a commanding view of both the river and the Wood beyond. Tents are pitched, there, campfires lit, watches scheduled, and the men are ordered to be ready at a moment’s notice.

As the sounds of the other
fausten
preparing their own tents around Arnem’s begin to resonate through the midday air north of the bridge, the sentek, Niksar and Visimar move their horses ever closer to the rough border of the Plain that lines its southern edge, Arnem’s eyes alert for any sign of Akillus or his men returning with news, and particularly for any sign of the missing members of Baster-kin’s Guard. The mood throughout the Plain grows more grim if determined with the passage of each hour, as does the bitterness over the advantage that the soldiers who were supposed to have been already positioned in the area might have offered.

“Damn them,”
Arnem seethes softly, and neither Visimar nor Niksar have any trouble understanding who is the object of his ire. “I did not expect to find those brass-banded dandies alert and at their posts, but somewhere in the vicinity of those positions might have been of some use.”

“Would you expect jackals to become wolves, then, Sentek,” Visimar asks in reply, “simply because an air of danger presents itself?”

Niksar nods slowly. “He speaks truly, Sentek,” the linnet murmurs. “Given that this would be the first prize that the Bane would likely attempt to seize during any attack on the kingdom, we might have expected that the Guard would have withdrawn. The sole questions being, in which direction, why, and under whose authority …”

“‘Authority,’ Niksar?” Arnem asks. “You think that they had
orders
to remove themselves from the field? Such orders, I trust you realize, could only have come from one source.”

Visimar desires with all his heart not to be the one to respond to this statement, and so is delighted when he hears the handsome young linnet reply, “Sentek—I do not intend this as anything other than what it is: an observation of what I see as undeniable facts, as well as an attempt to honor my brother, and to question the peculiar way in which Donner’s plight was consistently ignored by our superiors, our
civilian
superiors, during his time at Esleben; surely this situation suggests that Lord Baster-kin, whatever your former respect for him, is not the man you have so often trusted him to be.”

“Perhaps, Niksar—
perhaps,
” Arnem replies; then, after consideration, he adds, “Although I can but hope that you understand how wary we must be of even considering such conclusions. I do realize that we have not yet found a common thread that runs through all that we have seen, experienced, and
felt
. But the suggestion that such a thread is treachery on the part of the Merchant Lord—I am not at all certain of as much. The officers and men of the Guard share more than enough perfidy and cowardice to explain what has happened—and we must, I fear, leave matters at that. At least for the moment.”

At this rebuff from his commander, Niksar—his brother’s death still fresh in his thoughts—rides further south alone for a moment, while Arnem and Visimar grow silent once again, Visimar studying the commander of the army of Broken for some few moments before quietly asking, “When did you last sleep, Sentek? Properly, that is?”

“When did
any
of us?” Arnem replies, not sharply, but still with some irritation. “The men need to establish a schedule of watches and rest, the horses need some similarly sustained hours of feeding, or at least of grazing on decent grass such as will fill out their bellies, and sleep, to say nothing of grooming … And Kafra’s stones, the
skutaars
look as though they will all be felled by exhaustion at any moment. Can I rest before I know that all of these—men, animals, youths—are safe enough from either fatigue or pestilence to undertake their task? Tell me how, sorcerer’s acolyte, and I shall put my head to my bedroll as fast as any man who marches with us. For of one thing I am certain—” The cool, steady eyes scan the southern riverbank, and Davon Wood beyond it. “The Bane have been watching all that we have been through. From afar, perhaps, but … They are out there, and know at least a little—and likely far more—of our troubled state.”

It is not until hours later, when daylight is growing golden with late afternoon, that Arnem is informed that the first of the scouts—not surprisingly, the ever-reliable Akillus—has been sighted rushing at a great speed back to the Talons’ camp.

Indeed, by the time Akillus’s mount thunders across the Plain and reaches Arnem, the lately returned Niksar, and Visimar, Akillus is still riding so hard that he overshoots the three, and must circle back, bringing light laughter from the sentek, his aide, and his advisor—until they see the grave expression upon the rider’s face.

“Akillus,” Arnem says in greeting, when the scout finally reins up alongside the other three men and their horses. “Something, I gather, is too important for you either to wait for this evening’s council, or to wash off the mud of your long ride before you make your report.”

Looking down at the dried brown splashes that cover his flesh, tunic, and armor, Akillus does not laugh or so much as smile in the manner that he so often displays, even in the most dangerous or embarrassing situations—which is Arnem’s first hint that the scout has gathered intelligence from his mission which is sinister, indeed. “You have seen something, then,” Arnem says. “Along the riverfront?”

“I—I was not alone in seeing it, Sentek,” Akillus answers unsteadily. “Every scout, regardless of whether he was in a party that went upriver or down, glimpsed the like.”

“Well, Akillus?” Niksar says, his face again attaining some of the gravity it exhibited at Esleben. “What is it that you have seen?”

“A scene to rival Daurawah?” Visimar asks, anxiously and knowingly.

“Aye,” Akillus replies, “just so—but far greater in scale, although I would not have thought such possible.” Finally looking up at his commander, Akillus bravely attempts composure, and states, “You would think that some sort of battle had taken place upon the river, Sentek, save that we have never known the Bane to use ships, nor to attack the river traders. And certainly, the number of unarmed women and children among their dead does not speak of a conflict—not a formal one, at any rate. But they are all there together, along with the missing patrols of Baster-kin’s Guard; the dead of every age and both sides, and those not quite dead, as well—although they wished us to grant them death, so painful were their conditions.”

“‘Conditions’?”
Visimar repeats. “You mean, they displayed signs of
both
of the sicknesses that we have witnessed: on the one hand, the rose fever—”

“And the fire wounds, as well,” Akillus continues, “which have spread among the animals seen by the scouts further upstream. Sentek, the Cat’s Paw has become a river of death, from one end to the other!”

“Steady, Linnet,” Arnem says, quietly. “And you could find no one free of disease?”

“But one,” Akillus replies. “A young member of the Guard, wandering alone. Strangest of all, he was as terrified of the possibility that we might be his own comrades as of the thought that we might be the be Bane. He says he was left behind by the main force, to keep watch over those of Lord Baster-kin’s cattle that his detachment usually guards, in the northern part of the Plain—but when the hour grew late, and then an entire night passed, he went to see what progress his comrades had made, and found—just what we have found. He is half-mad with fear.”

“You have him in camp?” Visimar says, alarm bleeding through his words.

“Just outside,” Akillus replies. “He appeared to be untouched by disease, but after what we have seen …”

“Wise, Akillus,” Arnem breathes in relief, glancing at Niksar. “As ever.”

“But—” Visimar is still puzzling with an earlier statement. “
‘What progress his comrades had made’
? Which comrades? And in what endeavor?”

“An ambitious one,” Akillus replies. “Involving far more than the usual patrols on the Plain. A full
khotor
of Guardsmen, it seems, were dispatched from the city while we were on our way here from the east, tasked with entering the Wood before we would be able to, and destroying any and all Bane that they discovered.”

Arnem reins the nervous Ox to a stunned halt.
“What?”

“Aye, Sentek,” Akillus replies. “Most strange, as I say—for this was to be
our
mission, we all knew that. But apparently, Lord Baster-kin—”

“Baster-kin sent them?” Arnem says, again looking to Niksar, but now with an aspect of apology. “But why? Why send us to finally destroy the Bane and then send his own men to do the job separately?”

“Because,” Visimar murmurs discreetly, “it was not anticipated that the Talons—and especially you, Sentek—would
survive
their trip east. Baster-kin is attempting to use the terrible events in those provinces as a path by which he may consolidate his control over
all
instruments of force in the kingdom: in order for the regular army to become his instrument, the Talons and their commander would have to be removed, and what tidier way to make this removal seem accidental—or better still, the work of the Bane—than to deliberately send them into that portion of the kingdom that is rife with disease?”

Akillus has evidently seen enough along the river to find Visimar’s explanation plausible: “Indeed, Sentek. To judge by what this Guardsman has said—and you may ask him about it, yourself—it was the tenor of your own reports that made the Merchant Lord believe that he must send men more … 
personally
loyal to both himself and the God-King to undertake the conquest of the Bane, in the event that we either never reached the Wood, or chose not to attack once we did.”

Niksar says nothing, but casts his commander a look that says he, too, has reached the same conclusion.

“And there is more, Sentek,” Akillus says, his voice now growing even more uneasy. “It would seem—according to this young pallin—well, it would seem that rebellion has broken out in the Fifth District of the city.”

Again, a look which indicates that Visimar already knows the answer to his own question enters his face as he asks, “Aye? And who leads this ‘rebellion,’ Linnet?”

Appearing more reluctant than ever, Akillus says, “Perhaps it will be better if you question this man yourself, Sentek …”

“I am questioning
you,
Akillus,” Arnem replies, quietly but darkly. “Who leads this ‘rebellion’?”

“He says—” And finally Akillus simply utters the words. “He says that it is Lady Arnem, Sentek. Supported by veterans from throughout the district, in addition to—well, in addition to your eldest son.”

This news, again, does not come as such to Visimar; but Niksar draws back in no little shock. “Sentek Arnem’s wife and son?
Hak
—this is nothing but malicious gossip, being spread by members of the Guard.”

“Such were my thoughts, Niksar,” Akillus replies. “But the boy does not seem to have been in the Guard long enough to have quite become—
infected
by their behavior.”

“But—Sentek! The Lady Isadora and Dagobert?” Niksar questions, bewilderment in his every word. “What can have led them to such actions?”