The Legend of Broken

“Unavoidable matters of state and household …” Reaching her, he takes her hand, kissing it more lightly than he would like.

And, in an instant, he realizes that his plan, his great hopes and secret arrangements, will be far more magnificent than even he had dared dream. She has aged, without question; the maiden who was just reaching the height of her charms when he knew her so many years ago has matured, as the mother of five should, and wears small amounts of face paint to hide this fact.

“My lord,” Isadora says, bending her knees and dipping her body in a most graceful manner, then standing again to face him. “I can only imagine, given all that is happening, how busy you must be — and I thank you for taking the time to see me.” Then she smiles: it is the same radiant smile that she possessed as a maiden, that much has not been changed by the intervening years. And she even laughs gently, quietly, just once, and but with what he takes for affection. “Forgive me,” she says. “It is — a shock, that is all. But a happy one. To see, so closely, that you have become—”

“The man you hoped, I trust,” Rendulic replies, pleased with the control of his own spirits and voice, the sense of careless good cheer, that he now achieves, and offering Lady Isadora his arm. “For you were instrumental in that formation. And so if you are not pleased”—he turns his head to one side in mock severity—“you must look to yourself, I fear.”

“No, no,” Lady Arnem replies, taking his arm and tossing her head lightly, so that those still-golden tresses float away from her head, as if they are wisps of some magic, celestial fire. “No displeasure. I am impressed, that is all, and that credit you must give to yourself. And to Radelfer”—she indicates the seneschal, who walks several paces behind them—“who always guarded your safety, as well as my own. And, in addition to all his other services,” she continues, more unsteadily, yet hopefully, “he has put my fears to rest, concerning any difficulty that there might be upon our meeting.”

“I should not have thought that you would have required Radelfer for such assurance,” Baster-kin replies. “But that is only one of many things that we can and ought to discuss …” Ever more delighted that the meeting is going so well, Rendulic adds quickly, “Among them your own concerns about your family, I understand. Come — let us return to my library, where we can determine all.”

Lady Arnem, however, stops before the imposing doorway to the silent library, and her face suddenly turns far more grave, as she looks to Rendulic Baster-kin. “Although I have been much impressed, my lord, by that chamber and its contents during the time that I have awaited your arrival, may I suggest that we instead discuss all such matters as we proceed to the remarkable and alarming discovery that I have made along the southwest wall of the city? For I believe that I can say, with no exaggeration, that there is no precedent for either it, or for the danger it may pose to the safety of Broken itself.”

Baster-kin’s smile shrinks, but not out of displeasure: he had expected the former nurse and healer’s apprentice who had played the key role in his own recovery as a youth to speak immediately of his recent communication concerning her son, and of her worries concerning his entrance into the royal and sacred service; yet instead she has spoken, first and, apparently, most urgently, of the safety of the city, as he would expect the best of patriots to do. So impressed is he by this unexpected arrangement of priorities, that he is immediately inclined to oblige her request — just as Radelfer, when Lady Arnem originally told him her story, had thought his master would be.

As for Lady Arnem herself, she in fact is most vitally concerned with her son Dalin’s fate. But when Isadora followed the woman Berthe to her squalid home deep in the Fifth District earlier this evening, to determine the nature and cause of her husband’s illness, she not only discovered a danger to the city: she found a tool with which to sway and, if necessary, coerce the Merchant Lord into delaying any determination concerning Dalin, at least until Sixt returns from his campaign …

“I see,” Lord Baster-kin at length replies, in slow appreciation of what he believes is taking place. “Your husband’s faithful nature and service would seem to have healed much of the anger bred by the fate of your own parents that I recall your expressing, so many years ago. Commendable, Lady Arnem. Radelfer?” The Merchant Lord turns toward his friend and counselor, still seeing, to his amazement, that Radelfer’s expression of amused disbelief is yet present. “Have a litter brought round at once, Seneschal, for Lady Arnem and myself. We must determine just what it is that has roused such creditable alarm in her spirit. And assemble four or five of your most able men, as well. It has become difficult enough to get the supposed Merchant Lord’s Guard to even enter the Fifth District, much less to rely on them for protection.”

“I shall be pleased to accompany you in your litter, of course, my lord,” Isadora Arnem says. “Although I have my own outside, manned by two of my family’s guards, as well as my eldest son, whose father insists he accompany me on any nocturnal business I may need to conduct in his absence.”

A telling look of disappointment passes across Lord Baster-kin’s features, but he is quick to replace it with somewhat forced enthusiasm: “Splendid! I shall be pleased to meet the scion of what I understand to be quite a large and spirited family.” Rendulic regrets the statement almost at once; for he has betrayed a long-standing interest in the clan Arnem that he had not wished the Lady Isadora to think existent. And, equally unfortunately, he need not turn to sense that Radelfer has detected the same concern in his lordship. “Your son may follow in your litter, then, while, perhaps with Radelfer walking beside for safety’s sake, you and I use the time in my own conveyance to investigate the full range of your concerns — safely surrounded by a larger number of guards.” As Lady Isadora nods gratefully, Baster-kin turns to Radelfer. “Well? You have your orders, Seneschal …”

{vii:}

When Lord Baster-kin emerges from his Kastelgerd at Isadora Arnem’s side, they pause for a moment at the top of the wide stone stairs that lead down from the building’s portico to see Dagobert — in his father’s armor and surcoat — engaging in harmless but instructive and quietly amusing swordplay with, by turns, the family’s two bulger guards, who, in their black-haired and bearded enormity, make a particularly unlikely sight, here at the terminus of the Way of the Faithful.

“That is your eldest?” Lord Baster-kin asks, regarding Dagobert with an admiring, almost wishful aspect.

“Yes,” Lady Arnem replies, surprised at how kindly his lordship seems as he watches the scene below him. “Wearing his father’s old armor, I fear, according to the pact that he made with my husband concerning my safety in the city.”

“Why ‘fear’ such a thing?” Baster-kin asks. “It shows every admirable virtue, for one of his age. Does he frequent the Stadium?”

“No, my lord,” Isadora answers uncertainly. “His father’s influence again, I fear — Dagobert would rather spend his free hours in the Fourth District, among the soldiers.”

“Count yourself lucky,” Baster-kin replies. “Too many of our noble youths forgo their duties in the army for the false thrill of playacting in the Stadium. May I meet him?” His lordship starts down the stairs, then pauses, again offering Isadora his arm.

“I — of course, my lord.” Isadora then calls out: “Dagobert! If I may interrupt your clowning about—” And, at the sound of her voice, the guards take up their positions at the litter, standing at most respectful attention when they see whom their mistress is with. Dagobert, for his part, sheathes his marauder sword, does his best to order his armor, surcoat, and hair, and then climbs the stairs as her mother and her host descend them, so that the three meet somewhere in between top and bottom; her son’s every move, Isadora observes, seems modeled on her husband’s, as if he would live up to the responsibility of wearing his father’s kit now more than ever.

“Dagobert,” Isadora says evenly, “this is Lord Baster-kin, who has asked to meet you.”

Dagobert snaps his body absolutely rigid, and then, to his mother’s profound shock, brings his right fist to his breast in sharp salute. “My lord,” the youth says, just a little too loudly to reflect true ease with either the gesture or the situation.

“I appreciate your respect, Dagobert,” Lord Baster-kin says, continuing to escort Isadora down the stairs. “But you may rest easy. I am not quite the fearsome beast that some make me out to be. You do your father’s armor justice, young man — how long until we can expect to see you actually in the ranks?”

Dagobert turns his eyes, ever so briefly, on his mother, and then faces the Lord of the Merchants’ Council