The Legend of Broken (89 page)

“True, my lady,” Radelfer says softly, riding closer to the garden gate and nodding respectfully. “Even so, the cost was not so great as the dishonor of refusing your request would have been. And may I take a moment to add”—he turns to Kriksex—“that I am glad to find that
this
old comrade of mine has also managed both to fulfill his pledge to you, as well as to keep himself alive. Although I am not sure that there has ever existed a member of the Merchant Lord’s Guard who could have put an end to such a man.”

Kriksex shrugs the one of his shoulders that does not rest upon his crutch. “There existed some few who made determined attempts, Radelfer,” he replies. “Although I am happy to say that they no longer draw breath …”

Turning about, Arnem and Radelfer both see that most of the Talons’ advance force, recognizing that their commander would as soon be alone with his family, have either taken advantage of his permission to disperse in order to attend to the safety of their own kin, or have begun the task of hunting down the remaining units of Lord Baster-kin’s Guard: men who seem to have made every attempt to disappear amongst the population of the city, for there is no sign of any organized resistance on their part. And yet, seasoned commander that he is, Sixt Arnem takes little comfort from this seeming fact, as yet—for the Guard, he suspects, will prove every bit as treacherous in defeat as the sentek has now learned that their commander has been since the beginning of the Talons’ campaign.

“I am glad to hear it, Kriksex,” Arnem murmurs, eyeing the streets. “And yet—there is something so utterly strange about what has taken place within this city, in so brief a period of time, that I cannot help but wonder if forces other than the sword have been at work.” He turns to Isadora with a slight smile. “You have not taken to conjuring, have you, wife?”

“Had I but been able,” Isadora replies, bravely returning his smile as she softly lands a fist upon his chest, “there are one or two qualities about certain people I would have changed. No, if this was magic, then it was someone else’s—for as soon as it became apparent that the South Gate would fall, orders began to be issued from the Inner City and the Sacristy of the High Temple. We still do not know the wording of most of them, but—at least half the Merchants’ Council have been arrested, and their properties confiscated. No one in the first three districts is certain, even now, of what fate may await their own families, but all citizens were ordered to remain in their homes, until the conclusion of the ‘present unpleasantness.’ Yet no statement has yet been made as to what the ‘unpleasantness’ was, or to who was responsible for it—although just a few minutes ago, I observed Lord Baster-kin being escorted to the north, by a group of armed attendants from the High Temple. And, soon thereafter, I observed a man I believe to have been Caliphestros himself, astride what could only have been the white panther of Davon Wood, making his way toward the High Temple. I might suspect the sorcery to be his, save that I learned long ago that he has never believed in or practiced the sorts of dark arts for which he was condemned. Sixt—what can it all mean? How did that poor man come to return to Broken by such remarkable means? And what of our children, now that all this has taken place—would they not now be safer here, with us, than in your camp?”

Despite his lingering soldier’s worries concerning the missing members of the Merchant Lord’s Guard, Arnem can perceive, when he studies Isadora’s face an instant more, that—relieved though she may be at his return, and determined as she may also be to display the confident demeanor that his men have come to expect from her—she will not be truly easy in her mind until all of her young ones are brought home. With this in mind, he addresses the former seneschal of the great
Kastelgerd
that is, apparently, no longer the center of Rendulic Baster-kin’s power.

“My lady and I have asked much of you, Radelfer, in recent days—do not doubt my awareness of that,” the sentek says. “But I have one last service—nay, call it rather a request—that I would make.” Arnem faces the Path of Shame, where only his two most trusted linnets, Akillus and Niksar, remain in attendance. “Akillus,” he says. “Accompany Radelfer back to our camp, and let it be known that our main force may return to the city, under the cautions I previously declared. And Radelfer, if you will accompany my officers, you can perform this final favor: my children have grown to trust you, and if you will bring them here to their mother and their home, in the same wagon that transported them safely out of Broken, Akillus will escort you with a half dozen of his best men.” Radelfer shows every sign of being pleased to be entrusted with this task, and he wheels on his mount, quickly joining Akillus as the latter sets a rapid pace for the now utterly reduced South Gate.

“And Niksar?” Arnem continues. “Ride, if you will, to the Fourth District. Inform Sentek Gerfrehd—or any other senior officer who is currently commander of the watch—that we have returned, and are beginning our pursuit of the Merchant Lord’s Guard. They may join us or not—but as we have had naught but favorable signs regarding our undertaking from the Grand Layzin and the God-King, they should feel no sense of divided loyalties. After that—proceed with the undertaking in the First District that we have previously discussed.”

“Aye—
Yantek
!” Niksar says, pleased, like the others, to be entrusted with an important mission that will, it seems, begin the process of healing divisions within the city and the kingdom. His impressive white mount rears once to great effect, and then both horse and rider are off toward the palisade of the Fourth District.

Kriksex, meanwhile, nods to his own men, and then faces Arnem a final time. “Well, Yantek,” he says. “I have not grown so old that I cannot perceive your family’s desire to be reunited in privacy—a natural enough wish. Therefore, with your permission, my men and I will begin the hunt for the fleeing members of the Guard—”

And then, suddenly, Kriksex’s face becomes frozen, as do those of the several veterans who remain in a rough circle around the three members of the Arnem clan who are present. At first, Arnem himself is somewhat mystified by this change in aspect; but Isadora is not deceived for a moment, and the hand that does not hold her husband goes to her mouth, to stifle a cry of grief. It is only when Dagobert cries out to him, however, that Arnem realizes the truth:

“Father!” the youth says in alarm, immediately drawing his marauder sword.
“Guardsmen!”

The veterans surrounding Arnem’s party fall slowly to the ground, each crying out in pain as the point of a Broken short spear crashes through the front of his well-worn armor and tunic. With the collapse of Kriksex and the other staunch defenders of the Fifth District and the Arnem family, a new group of faces are revealed: crouching low, the men hide under broadcloth cloaks, and only when they are sure that their far worthier victims are dead do they release their instruments of cowardly attack, and then stand to throw off their cloaks, revealing their well-worked armor, as well tunics bearing the crest of Rendulic Baster-kin. Arnem realizes that his son was correct, and that his own instinctive uneasiness about the treachery of the Guard has once again been proved reliable: for, when he looks toward the South Gate, now, he sees that a
fauste
or more of these supposèd soldiers—perhaps some sixty in all—have gathered to use numbers against the skill of the relatively small number of Talons who have been left behind to guard their position at the gate. No longer supported by their Bane allies, the Talons have been left, like their commander and wife and son, in a seemingly perilous position by the zeal of their comrades, who have enthusiastically taken to the job of hunting down the Guardsmen throughout the rest of the city: for experience dictates that those overdressed, over-painted dandies should be running in the direction of the gates at the other end of Broken, in order to avoid a fight as they flee the city. But instead, this one unit of “soldiers”—who are little more than ruffians and murderers, as they have just proved once again—have doubled back on the Talons’ point of entry into the city, correctly calculating that they would find their enemy unprepared for such a counterattack.

Arnem stares at the linnet who leads the band before him, then says, as he draws his short-sword, “For once, the Guard shows something approaching cleverness—although your cowardly methods remain miserably consistent.” Pushing Isadora and Dagobert back toward the family’s garden gateway as he draws his own sword, Arnem continues, “I assume that your group broke off from the rest of your
fauste
simply to undertake the task of revenging yourselves upon my family, before you rejoin your fellow fugitives?”

“You assume correctly, Sentek,” says the Guardsman to whom Arnem has spoken. “Although I would hardly call it a ‘task’—rather, a pleasure. And we are hardly fugitives, yet—for this action may turn the battle. Our master may be taken, and yourself praised throughout the city; but those positions may still be reversed, should you fall, along with your family and the traitors who have followed—”

Arnem has been relying upon the Guardsman’s typical inability to refrain from gloating: as the man prattles on, his intended victim suddenly pushes his wife and son within the family’s garden, and then just as quickly bars the door within the gateway. At once, the Guardsmen begin to beat upon the wooden planks of the door with fists, feet, and the pommels of their swords. The weakness of the Arnems’ position quickly becomes plain, even to Dagobert:

“Father—they shall be upon us in a matter of moments!”

“And moments are all that we now require,” Arnem answers calmly, bracing his shoulder against the gateway door. Then, taking Dagobert’s marauder sword from the young man, he tosses it aside. “Akillus and his men, and perhaps even soldiers from the Fourth, should be here soon. To meet the challenge that faces us until their arrival, however,
that
blade will not serve you best.”

“Sixt,” Isadora says, with quiet urgency. “What can you be planning? You saw what they did to poor Kriksex and those other men—they will not hesitate to treat us in like manner, once they have broken down that door.”

“And that, wife, will be the moment at which I observe how much our son has truly learned during his afternoons in the Fourth Quarter, as well as from his comrades of late,” Arnem answers, pulling Isadora to him, kissing her once again and then, with his shoulder still hard against the rattling gate, nodding toward the house. “Get your mother inside, Dagobert: see to it that she locks herself in that basement that none of us are supposed to know she frequents as often as she does. Then, get upstairs, and get yourself a decent Broken short-sword. One of my best, along with the largest of my shields.”

“Truly?” Dagobert replies, swallowing his own fears and trying to match his father’s confidence as he pulls his mother toward the house.

“Truly,” Arnem calls after them. “You recall the first rule of Broken swordsmanship?”

Dagobert nods. “Yes—‘the slash wounds, but the lunge kills.’ ”

Arnem acknowledges the statement with a proud smile. “As the eastern marauders, with their curved weapons, have so often paid with their lives to discover. Go on, then: it’s a new, straight blade for you, and one decent shield for us to share—for it’s a great deal of lunging that lies ahead!”

“But, Sixt,” Isadora insists, “come with us! Defend the house, if you must defend anything, for the two of you cannot possibly—”

“Isadora,” Arnem counters, “the two of us cannot possibly do anything
else
. If they trap us inside, we shall all be consumed by flames—and your beauty was not created to suffer so ugly a fate. Hurry along, then, my lady. Two good Broken soldiers have always been worth any ten Guardsmen—a simple statement of fact that Dagobert and I will now demonstrate to you, as well as to those murderous pigs outside!”

As the Guardsmen’s blows upon the gateway door begin to crack its boards, Sixt Arnem lowers his shoulder ever more, digging his boots into the wild terrain of his children’s very unorthodox garden as he watches Isadora and Dagobert vanish into the house at its opposite end.

8.

The white panther and her extraordinary rider have reached the entrance to Broken’s Stadium with extraordinary dispatch: for the Celestial Way, from its southern to its northern extremes, has remained empty of all save the most furtive souls, and even the few of those that Caliphestros and Stasi spy cry out in alarm upon observing them, and hurry ever faster in any direction that will take them away from the otherworldly sight. Yet it has not been fear of panther, sorcerer, or any other attackers alone that has kept the inhabitants of the great granite city within their homes. Soon after Stasi had begun her run north, Caliphestros had begun to see public notices fixed to all windowless sides of buildings—homes, markets, and district temples—and eventually to the great columns that have for so long commanded many of the garden gateways of the First District. At first, Caliphestros had not been able to make out their meaning, so intent had Stasi been on hurtling north toward the enormous ovular structure behind the High Temple that the old man had long since come to suspect was her destination. Eventually, however, the returned exile had stopped even trying to slow his companion, for he found that the content of the proclamations was identical, and that he could read a section of the order as he passed by each copy—and the command he soon pieced together had proved most singular, indeed:

This unique quality had not simply arisen out of the fact that the order bore the rarely seen personal seal of the God-King Saylal. Rather, its most curious quality was that it had not committed that sacred ruler to either side in the civil unrest that had broken out in and around the Fifth District and at the South Gate of Broken, and which by now, Caliphestros had rightly presumed, was spilling over into the other districts of the city. Lords and citizens alike were commanded to remain in their homes and carry on no commerce during “this time of confusion and crisis”; yet neither one nor the other of the obvious adversaries in this “present unpleasantness” had received royal endorsement. Such had been a clever ploy, indeed, Caliphestros had realized: for not only could the God-King and the Grand Layzin treat the matter as one of secular politics, but they could quite truthfully claim, later, to have always favored whichever side emerged victorious.