The Legend of Broken (73 page)

Arnem himself is far too confused to make any reply; and so it is for Visimar to say, “If I am not mistaken, they have been left no choice, faced with just the sort of death and disease that we have seen, and having now heard still more of …”

“Aye, Sentek,” Akillus answers. “The cripple is right about that much. They say that plague is loose in the district, and that, when Lady Arnem’s appeals for help to Lord Baster-kin and the Grand Layzin went unanswered, rebellion was the result.”

“Such—would not be a unique cause of such events,” Niksar says, still puzzling with the report, but at the same time provoking a scowl from Arnem, who tries to maintain the evenness of his voice, even as he answers with no little anger:

“It would be unique if it involves
my family,
Niksar …” The young aide can only swallow hard; and then, working hard to regain his full composure, Arnem continues, “But let us leave this subject, for now, until we have this Guardsman before us. What of the rest of this business? Dispatching a
khotor
of Baster-kin’s own men into the Wood—he gave you no further details of what lay behind this action?”

“He gave us such details as he
believes
he knows,” Akillus replies. “Which were precious few. The most important being that the men from the city and the patrols on the Plain together rushed headlong across the Fallen Bridge, apparently, as soon as the
khotor
arrived. Which means, it would seem, at night.”

All the faces of Akillus’s audience darken: for such would be almost inconceivably foolish arrogance.
“Nay,”
Arnem whispers. “Even the Guard cannot have been so stupid.”

“But were, it seems,” Akillus replies. “You can imagine the result. The force was cut to pieces by the Bane, and their wounded, along with their dead, thrown to the mercies of Hafften Falls and the
Ayerzess-werten;
although most of those wounded had their suffering ended by the
dauthu-bleith
before their bodies were thus dispensed with.”

“Sentek,” Niksar asks, both genuinely bewildered and attempting to repair some of the ire brought out of his commander by his last remark. “What can it all mean?”

“I am not in the least certain, Reyne,” Arnem replies, “and I suspect that we shall
all
remain uncertain, until we have a chance to question this Guardsman. And so—lead us to him, Akillus, and then get to my tent, and tell the officers that this evening’s council will be delayed some little time. Or perhaps longer …” Arnem looks ahead in the darkening evening. “For I fear this story may take some time to tell …” The sentek is about to spur the Ox on up the incline of the Plain, when Akillus says:

“There is yet another fact that I suspect you will find accounts for this man’s terror, Sentek.” Arnem pauses, and Akillus rides up beside him. “Although it is a difficult tale to credit. He claims …” And once more, Akillus finds it difficult to choose his words carefully.

“Well?” Arnem demands. “Out with it, Akillus.”

“Yes, sir,” the scout replies, finally dispensing with any attempt at tact: “Apparently, last evening, while looking for any trace of his comrades, the Guardsman came across a most extraordinary sight lit by the Moon: the First Wife of Kafra, sister to the God-King himself, moving north toward Broken through the Plain—without a stitch of clothing upon her, and leading a large male Broken bear by a golden cord. The animal behaved as if it were no more than an obedient dog. The lad said that he knew her features because the Guard has sometimes been called upon to accompany her out of the city and down the mountain.”

Arnem looks to each of his companions in turn, finding comprehension only in Visimar’s face. “It is indeed possible, Sixt Arnem,” the cripple says. “For my master maintained that he knew only one person who could so enthrall such beasts—and my master, you must recall, was an expert in understanding those same creatures. But the sister of the God-King Saylal—Alandra, she was called—had a more mysterious, even unsettling, ability to reach them.” Visimar clearly knows more of this tale, but he withholds it, waiting for a time when he will be able to speak to Arnem alone.

As for the sentek, he has turned his face up to the sky.
“Kafra’s stones,”
he murmurs. “What is happening, in this place …?” Suddenly, Arnem spurs his great mount forward: “Well—we shall not find out here,” he says, urging the others on, obviously desperate to learn what lies behind the incredible stories that he has heard—and how much danger his own family is truly facing …

Caliphestros, Ashkatar, and the Bane foragers

at last reach Okot …

It is without doubt true that the sight of the legless sorcerer Caliphestros riding into the Bane town of Okot on the shoulders of the famed white panther who had long roamed the mountains southwest of Okot, inspiring both respect and fear in the tribe of outcasts, would ordinarily have caused astonishment bordering on panic in the central square. But their arrival in Okot on this occasion, however, had been preceded a full half-day by Ashkatar’s messengers, who had already warned the tribe that the plague that had struck their people was not the result of magic or a curse inflicted by the Tall, but was a poison contained in the water of the wells on the northern side of the community. This warning had almost immediately arrested the progress of the disease, and even lessened its terrible impact. No secret had been made of the fact that it was Caliphestros who determined the details of this problem and its solution—although, as the old man insisted on saying from the moment he reached even the most outlying parts of Okot, there were no divinations or visions involved in his calculations, but rather purely scientific investigations. Such was an explanation that was difficult for many Bane to understand, although most in the town remained grateful, whatever the degree of their comprehension; it was not until the returning heroes and their guests made their way through the crowds gathered at the town’s center and entered the Den of Stone to meet with the Groba, as well as with the Priestess of the Moon and her attending Lunar Sisters and Outragers, that they were met with anything like stern or skeptical questioning.

Ashkatar led the way through the long, dark stone passageway, with its carved reliefs of important moments in Bane history, which Caliphestros paused to admire: not for their accuracy, in every case, but for the skill of their execution. Veloc, meanwhile, used the time to quietly urge Heldo-Bah not to rouse the ire of the Priestess of the Moon, a sentiment echoed by Keera, who rejoined her friends only when she had made certain to quickly dash to her parents’ home after first arriving in Okot. There she had discovered to her wild joy that all of her children were well or recovering, little Effi having been reunited with her brothers, Herwin and Baza, after the boys were released from the
Lenthess-steyn
following a quick recovery—a recovery made possible by the information brought by Ashkatar’s runners.

“Beautiful carvings, are they not, Lord Caliphestros?” Ashkatar asked the old man, indicating the walls of the passageway.

“Indeed,” Caliphestros answered, attempting scholarly detachment as Keera passionately embraced Stasi out of both joy and gratitude, not daring to do the same to the panther’s companion. “Most residents of Broken,” the old man continued, “would think them quite beyond the abilities of your tribe’s artisans.”

“Yes,” Veloc agreed, his voice growing more hushed as the group approached the entrance to the Den of Stone. “Of course, the tales most of the reliefs tell are as much nonsense as the great tapestries in Broken. But they are no less attractive to look at.”

Caliphestros laughed, briefly and quietly. “Is there
any
part of the city on the mountain that you have not dared enter, Veloc? You haven’t, for example, penetrated the
Inner
City, I trust?”

“Oh, no, of course not, no,” Veloc quickly replied.

“Although, based on the form of that First Wife of Kafra,” Heldo-Bah added, “the woman you called Alandra, I rather regret that we did not …”

Keera quickly noticed, even through her joy, that Caliphestros not only failed to reply, but displayed the same pained expression that he did when the woman’s name was first mentioned at the outset of their woodland journey: pained, and something else as well. “Heldo-Bah, you imbecile!” she hissed. “Have you no sense of—”

Further discussion was cut short, however, when the three foragers, along with the rest of their party, heard the sharp voice of the Groba Father:

“Yantek Ashkatar! The Groba invites you and your esteemed guests to enter!” And then the Father added, in far less enthusiastic words that Veloc knew referred to himself and to Heldo-Bah: “Along, I suppose, with the rest of your party …”

Veloc had expected that the faces of the Groba, the Priestess of the Moon, the Lunar Sisters, and the Outragers would likely display suspicion when Caliphestros and Stasi, accompanied by Ashkatar, the foragers, and their guiding Elder, entered the Den of Stone: but the handsome forager had
not
expected that the ten faces before him, which had always been supremely confident when dealing with the likes of himself, Keera, and Heldo-Bah, would be so full of uneasiness bordering on fear when the party made their entrance, a reaction that delighted both himself and Heldo-Bah.

Veloc made the perfunctory introductions, and the Groba Fathers all bowed their heads in great respect to Caliphestros, while the Priestess of the Moon, her Lunar Sisters, and the two Outragers standing in the shadows beside them were far less deferential in their silent greetings. Seeing this, Heldo-Bah began glancing about the Den with a look of dissatisfaction that seemed directly aimed at the Priestess, although his words addressed the head of the Groba:

“
Must
it always be so dark in here, Father?” the sharp-toothed forager asked with no little impertinence. “You see, it makes Stasi—our friend, the panther, here—a little nervous. Am I not right, Lord Caliphestros?”

Caliphestros recognized what the gap-toothed Bane was attempting to ensure: that a correct order of relationships be established, from the start.

“Indeed, Heldo-Bah,” the famed scholar lied (for in truth, Stasi was a creature of the darkness); and then, to the man in the tall chair at the center of the Elders’ table, he continued, “Perhaps, Esteemed Father, one or two of these gentlemen”—and without looking at them, he indicated the Outragers—“might be persuaded to fetch another torch or two. Their presence is not required for our conference, and so they will not be missed.”

“I beg your pardon?” the Priestess of the Moon said incredulously. “Those men happen to be my personal servants, members of the Order of the Woodland—”

“Of the Woodland Knights, Eminence, yes,” Caliphestros interrupted, pleasantly enough. “Although they have other names, in other places—names perhaps more befitting their activities. Then, too, I have never actually
seen
one of them in the ‘Woodland.’”

The Priestess eyed Caliphestros with a resentful stare. “The correct terms to use when addressing me,
sorcerer,
are either ‘Divine One’ or ‘Divinity.’ Please note it.”

“Perhaps if one is of your faith,” Caliphestros replied evenly, “such are the correct terms. I, as it happens, am not.”

The Priestess looked more shocked than ever. “We have allowed a
Kafran
into the Den of Stone?”

But the old man held up a hand. “Nay, Eminence. I assure you, my hatred for the Kafran faith could not be more obvious.” He indicated his legs. “But my own faith is, I suspect, not one which I could explain to you quickly. Suffice to say that my own correct title, whatever your faith, is
scholar.
”

The Groba Father weighed the matter for a moment. “My lord Caliphestros speaks truly, Divinity. His actions have proved the faith he keeps with our people, and take precedence over titles and words, as well. Thus, he may call you ‘Eminence,’ and to you he will be ‘scholar.’”

“But, Father—!” the Priestess objected.

“That is my decision, Priestess!” the Father declared.

“A wise decision, too,” Heldo-Bah said.

“Do
not
make me regret it, Heldo-Bah,” the Father declared. “Now—” The Father deliberately looked past the Priestess, and gave a sharp order to the Outragers: “One or two more torches, and get them in haste.” He pulled a collection of parchment maps close and, beginning to study them, said, “We have much to do, and with so many more participants, we can well use the additional light …”

Knowing that he was risking serious conflict, Heldo-Bah added quietly to the Outragers as they passed, “And perhaps a few more sticks of firewood, as long as you’re going. She does like to bask in the warmth of a good fire, does this panther …”

The Father nodded at the departing Outragers impatiently, and they, looking furious, proceeded upon their servants’ errands.

“Now, then, my lord,” the Father announced, indicating that Caliphestros should draw nearer, which the old man did, sliding from Stasi’s shoulders with the foragers’ help, and then into his harness and crutches. “I do not know just how much Yantek Ashkatar has told you of our intelligence concerning the Tall’s planned attack into the Wood, but—”

“He has told me much,” Caliphestros said, studying the rough but accurate Bane maps. “And almost all of it, I think the noble Yantek will concede when he hears what I have to say, is inaccurate. Although understandably so. My own and Keera’s investigations, together with communications I have exchanged with several … 
associates
of mine, indicate that the Talons are embroiled in terrible matters between Broken and Daurawah, matters concerning their kingdom’s internal integrity—to say nothing of their own lives. They are only now turning toward they valley of the Cat’s Paw, whereas the troops that are presently bearing down upon you are, in fact, a
khotor
of Lord Baster-kin’s Guard.”

To a tableful of blank faces, Caliphestros reached over to pull a crude tracing of the course of the Cat’s Paw from the pile of parchment, then turned when the Outragers reentered the Den. “Ah, good. We need the light. Place the torches here, by the maps, Outrager—”

“He is not your servant, to be ordered to perform such menial tasks,” the Priestess of the Moon almost shouted. “Nor is the term ‘Outrager’ a recognized form of address!”

“Well, Eminence,” Caliphestros replied coolly. “Perhaps if they spent less time butchering Broken farming families, it would not be, but I can assure you that outside this chamber, it is only too common—”

It was for the Groba Father to step in again: “With all respect, my lord, further bickering will gain us nothing.” And then, to the Outragers: “Set the torches near the table, one of you, while the other feeds and stokes the fire. Then return to your mistress, that we may continue learning what is happening near the Cat’s Paw.”

“You need only look at what is happening
in
it, Learnèd Father,” Caliphestros replied. “Members of your own tribe choosing to end their lives, terribly, in the very waters that made them ill to begin with—yet more, besides. Surely your own foragers have reported large numbers of dead and dying animals, especially upstream—for Keera and I saw as much, ourselves.”

“Yes, our people have seen these things,” the Father replied, watching in wonder as Heldo-Bah led the great white panther to the hearth before the great fire, stroked her neck and whispered in her ear, and at last urged her to lie down on the warm stones. Then, with no trace of fear, he himself lay beside her, his head upon her ribs. “But,” the Father continued, astounded and only half-aware of what he was saying, “we thought it simply part of the same plague that the Tall had loosed upon us …” Regaining his dignity and composure, he turned back to Caliphestros, “We shall
all
do our best to cooperate in whatever endeavor I sense you are about to propose to us.”

“Your reputation for wisdom is deserved, indeed, Father,” Caliphestros said with a nod. “I
do
wish to propose a plan, to yourselves and to Yantek Ashkatar; a plan that may allow us, not only to turn the disease in the Cat’s Paw to our advantage, but to entrap those men of the Merchant Lord’s Guard who, I believe, will shortly cross into Davon Wood. And, by so doing, we will forestall any need to engage the Talons in combat, once they arrive, and can invite them to parley under a flag of truce, instead.”

The Groba Father was momentarily at a loss for words; and it was for another Elder to speak further: “Your—
goals
are without question desirable, Lord Caliphestros,” the Elder commented. “Yet they seem, at the same time, extreme, and to contradict themselves. If the rose fever has indeed struck across a broad region of Broken, for example, why should we think that
they
do not know its source, when
we
now know it, ourselves?”

“It was my understanding that age brought wisdom, in this chamber,” Heldo-Bah called out. “Use your eyes, Elder, if your mind is of no help—you’re
looking
at the reason the Tall do not know the source of the disease, and why our own healers
do
. Lord Caliphestros is a master of the sciences that have given our own healers the advantage—the same sciences that bred such great distrust of him among the Tall that they took his legs.”

“Science?”
said the Priestess disdainfully. “If we are to be delivered from this crisis, it will be faith, and not science, that will be our salvation. Science is no more than the blasphemer’s term for sorcery.”

Yantek Ashkatar looked first to Keera and then to Caliphestros in some embarrassment “With all respect, Divinity,” the gruff, bearded soldier said, never daring to engage the Priestess’s gaze. “I fear that your statement may be … incomplete—”

“May be
idiotic,
” Heldo-Bah murmured quietly, causing the Priestess to slam her young fists down upon the Groba’s table and cry:

“That is more than I can tolerate—!” But another low growl from Stasi, who this time lifted up onto her forelegs, as well, was all that was needed to quiet the sacred maiden; and, while this silence was of a sullen variety, it was also continued. Heldo-Bah, in the meantime, coaxed Stasi back to the stones of the hearth by stroking the rich fur of her neck and whispering into the enormous, pointed ear that faced him: