The Legend of Broken

drapery at the rear of the dais. The young woman, if judged by her nubile body, has only recently been elevated from novice to the higher order of priestess: and she arrives so quietly (as do all such young priests and priestesses within the Sacristy) that she seems to materialize out of the very air in the chamber. But her gown of the sheerest green-golden fabric makes plain the very real feminine perfections beneath it, confirming Baster-kin’s impression, not only of her youth and inexperience, but of her almost intoxicating physical reality. As the girl hands an evidently much-needed goblet of light wine to the Layzin, the Merchant Lord cannot help but turn away from her, as if to even feel lust for anyone save the object of his complex plans would be a betrayal.

“Will you take some wine, my lord?” the Layzin condescends to ask.

“Your Eminence is kindness itself,” Baster-kin says. “But this night yet holds crucial tasks for me to undertake: if, for example, we are to send one khotor of my Guard in the place of the Talons to destroy the Bane, I must find and enlist a new set of officers for the task — for those who now command those troops are hardly adequate to the task. And the best place to recruit such young men, who must be both versed in combat and sprung from families who are wealthy enough that we need feel no compunction about requiring them to offer their male offspring for service, will be in the Stadium, where my own son spends a great deal of his time, as do the grown sons of so many noble houses.”

The Layzin considers the matter, and then nods approvingly. “Yet another sound plan,” he judges. “But surely you could first grant yourself an hour or so during which to pursue some purely selfish diversion? For example, I saw the look that came into your face when this young servant of Kafra entered the Sacristy. Why not enjoy her flesh for a time, before entering the Stadium and reminding the young men of Broken’s wealthiest households of their duty — a thankless task if ever I heard of one? After all, the continued failure of Kafra to grant the God-King Saylal with an heir weighs heavily upon my own thoughts — yet I can assure you, having done all I can do, this day, to try to entreat a change in the royal fortunes, I know that I must attend to my own needs, later this night, lest I go mad with vexation.”

Lord Baster-kin returns a conspiratorial smile that has entered the Layzin’s features, and allows himself to glance again at the body of the young Priestess of Kafra that is so scarcely hidden by her sheer robe. “And in your case, the reward is richly deserved, Eminence,” Baster-kin replies, still playing the part of slavish servant, never wishing the Layzin or his creatures to suspect that his own desires can be satisfied solely by the one woman who will offer him (as she did when he was a boy) true peace; and that he will achieve that peace once more when he has so arranged matters that both he and Isadora Arnem are free to bind their lives as he believes they should have been bound so many years ago. “But for a far humbler servant such as myself, neither time or energy must be diverted, for the First Khotor of the Guard must be ready to march out of the city as soon as possible.”

“Is it that she is a girl?” the Layzin says, seemingly incredulous that Baster-kin will not take the opportunity to enjoy the physical pleasures that can be offered only by the denizens of the High Temple and the House of the Wives of Kafra. “For this one has a brother, just within, a youth her equal in unspoiled beauty, if this evening your tastes run—”

But Baster-kin is already shaking his head, effectively disguising his own peculiar sense of revulsion at this latest offer. “There will be time enough, as I say, for servants such as myself to take our ease and our pleasure, Eminence,” he replies. “For now, duty must be our master.”

The Layzin sighs and smiles, surrendering his argument as he offers his pale blue ring for the Merchant Lord to kiss. Baster-kin does so, trying hard, now, to keep his eyes from the young priestess; then he turns to finally leave the Sacristy, moving as quickly and forcefully as is his seemingly eternal habit.

Not until an attendant has closed the Sacristy door tightly after the Merchant Lord departs does the Layzin speak again. Apparently without guests, now, he dismisses the young priestess, who vanishes back through the curtain at the rear of the dais, and then leans back against his sofa, tilting his head toward that same drapery.

“You heard all, Majesty?” the Layzin asks.

The voice that responds is filled with a languor to make the Layzin’s own seem energetic, by comparison. Yet there is pride in the voice, too, and an easy tone of authority:

“I heard all,” the voice states, not without comprehension of Baster-kin’s loyalty and self-denial, but without any apparent admiration for either. “And I recall a saying of my mad ancestor’s: ‘Easy lies the master whose hounds’ teeth are sharp, and their bellies empty …’”

“Saylal,” the Layzin says in toying admonishment. “You must not call his lordship a hound, O Brother of God …”

“Must I not?” the voice replies.

“No,” the Layzin replies. “You must not. Even if his manner does, at times, suggest something of the sort. But his ideas on how to protect you, Gracious Saylal, have almost a profundity to them …”

“You misunderstand me, Most Loyal of the Loyal — I have known clever dogs, in my life. Very clever dogs. As has Alandra, of course …”

“Alandra makes her dogs clever, Sire,” the Layzin adds. “Though not so clever as her cats. But the comparison with a mortal is unfair.”

“Hmm,” the voice behind the curtain grunts. “Well, I know this — even the cleverest of dogs would not refuse such beautiful young creatures as the two you have sent me. And I would have them both now, before my regal sister returns from the Wood and tries to snatch them away to be her own playthings.”

“It is fortunate, then,” the Layzin replies, “that I was able to rely on Baster-kin’s unending sense of duty and self-denial to make certain the pair would be intact. But we owed him at least the offer of such flesh. Yet, Saylal, now that we have the girl intact, I beg you, if not for the dynasty, then as a boon to ease my mind, fix your energies first upon her.” The Layzin’s face and voice suddenly grow more solemn. “But are you truly ready, Holy Majesty, for another attempt?”

“These gifts from my Divine Brother Kafra make me ready, I believe.”

“I see …” The Layzin claps his hands twice, at which another attendant in a black robe edged in red appears from one of the side doors of the chamber. “Summon the Sacristan,” the leader of the Kafran faith calls out, making sure that the curtain behind him is fully closed. “Have him open the vestry and prepare my robes of fertility, and his own.”

“Of course, Eminence,” the attendant replies.

“And you may see to the honing and polishing of the thinnest and smallest of the sacred blades yourself, before he blesses them — quickly! The organs must be harvested while the blood is hot, and before the opium has begun to lose its effect. I shall speak the prayer of succession myself, as we begin …” Leaning toward the curtain once more, the Layzin asks, “How long will you require, Majesty?”

“Not long,” struggles the reply. “If, that is, you assist me, old friend …”

“Yes, Divinity,” the Layzin answers; and then, to the attendant, he calls urgently: “Be quick, and get the Sacristan!”

“Eminence!” the attendant says in compliance, rushing from the room; and only then does the Layzin himself hurriedly disappear behind the curtain.

And, before another day has passed, the often foul yet seemingly mystical stream of water beneath the southwestern wall of the Fifth District will run a little higher, a little faster — and its stench will carry a little farther than it did on the night before …

{xii:}

The original purpose of Broken’s Stadium, promulgated by one of Oxmontrot’s more thoughtful descendants, had been to demonstrate that those who piously followed the tenets of the Kafran faith would be rewarded not only with wealth, but with health and vigor, as well. Yet over the years a change has taken place at the northern extremity of the city: the two worlds, Temple and Stadium, have grown apart. The Kafran faithful say that this separation is the result of a rebirth of the consuming taste for gaming that was so dominant among the tribes that made up Broken’s first citizens. Others more quietly assert that the capture of many of the fiercest, most impressive beasts in Davon Wood — panthers, bears, wolves, and wildcats — and their repeated torment by the