The Legend of Broken

Why, Radelfer, does the Merchant Lord turn on his own people in this manner? Or on my family? I have never voiced anything but support for him.”

“I can tell you what lies behind his actions, Sentek,” Radelfer says. “But in order to explain the situation fully, I must first tell you things that no one in Broken knows, save myself. The one other who even guessed at the truth paid the most awful price imaginable, simply for his attempt to be truthful and of assistance to the clan Baster- kin.”

Arnem ponders this statement for a moment. “Radelfer — would that ‘other’ have been, by any chance, Caliphestros?”

Radelfer looks up, wholly surprised. “Aye, Sentek,” he answers. “But how can you have guessed that?”

Sitting back and taking a deep sip of wine, Arnem says, “It may interest you to know, Seneschal, that Caliphestros not only survived the Halap-stahla, but is at this moment less than a quarter-league outside the southern perimeter of this camp, in the company of various Bane leaders, all of whom await my arrival under a flag of truce.”

Radelfer, stunned for a moment, eventually murmurs, “I see … The tales that the Bane merchants spread are true, then … It does seem almost too fantastic.”

“Not so fantastic,” Arnem replies, “as the mount it is said he rides: none other than the legendary white panther of Davon Wood. Apparently, she is there now, as well — amazing nearly all of my Talons.”

Radelfer considers the matter for a long moment, then grows far more restless. “Sentek,” he finally says, “if the Bane and Caliphestros are in earnest about their desire to parley — and I pray that they are — then we have greater cause for hope than I had dared believe …”

3:{x:}

The seneschal’s tale, and the continuation of the truce …

The seneschal goes about finishing the full tale of young Rendulic Baster-kin and the healer’s apprentice once known only as Isadora, as the sentek’s children and Ernakh eagerly laugh and fill their bellies beyond the tent’s partition. By the time that Arnem and Radelfer take horse to join the meeting south of the Talons’ camp, the sentek, having made certain that the children will be properly guarded in his tent during his absence, has also made certain that he has allowed the surprise and shock that he first felt upon Radelfer’s revelations to wane, so that they will not dominate his behavior during the parley to come. Yet now the sentek has been made aware, not only of how far back the history between Isadora and the Merchant Lord reaches, but of the very intimate and dangerous nature of it, as well as of a good many more previously unknown facts concerning Rendulic Baster-kin’s life that finally worried Radelfer enough to risk his own life in an effort to save, if not Isadora herself, then at least most of her children, as she asked. By the time they ride toward the southern gate of the Talons’ camp, Arnem has become as convinced as is the fugitive seneschal that no good can come of events as they are presently configured in the city. Broken’s greatest soldier will need to convince his own officers to march, not into Davon Wood, but back up Broken’s mountain — and he will need, as well, to plead that the military arm of the Bane, along with the legless sorcerer Caliphestros and his onetime acolyte, Visimar, support them in their effort, and embrace entirely the changes in outlook and, perhaps, loyalties required for any such scheme to succeed.

It is therefore no omen of success (or is it?) that, as the Ox and the mount with which Arnem has provided Radelfer storm out of the Talons’ camp and thunder toward the meeting place of the truce between the two opposing lines of leaders, the principle sound that they both hear and see from afar is that of a certain notorious, file-toothed Bane laughing as he presides over an apparent game of some sort, one being played among Arnem’s own officers and many of the Bane leaders. Unnerved by the strangely inappropriate activity, Arnem rides on, unnoticed by the bone-casters ahead.

“I ask you, Linnet,” Arnem can hear the infamously ugly Bane he knows must be Heldo-Bah shouting in derision, as the Ox draws closer beside Radelfer’s mount. Heldo-Bah has recognized Niksar’s rank by the silver claws, the color of his cloak, and the air of authority he projects over his men. “Is this any way for the senior representative from your accursed city — well, the most senior yet present — to face the most important encounter between your own and our peoples since the days that your Mad King began throwing the less than perfect in body and mind down off your mountain full of marehs and skehsels two hundred years ago? By not honoring his gambling debts?”

“I have told you,” Niksar says, “I will honor them, it is simply that my own store of silver is back within my tent—”

“Ah, Linnet,” Heldo-Bah replies airily, “if I had a piece of gold for every time I have heard an excuse like that …”

Now it is Caliphestros’s turn to erupt uncontrollably, declaring for but an instant, “Heldo-Bah! Will nothing stop this idiotic exchange of—”

Then comes the sound of hard-pounding horses’ hooves; and the old man looks up to see Sentek Arnem and Radelfer bearing down on their position with ever-greater haste. “Ah!” Caliphestros judges, allowing himself a smile that might be taken for a smirk, in a lesser being. “Well — apparently there may be. Let us see how greatly you feel like disrupting this all-important occasion when faced with both the commander of the Talons and the seneschal of the clan Baster-kin, Heldo-Bah, you impossible student of perversion …”

Himself turning to see the same impressive sight, Heldo-Bah’s face goes a little pale: he straightens himself into something resembling a martial posture, and immediately grows silent. Throughout both sides of the parley lines, men return to their place of rank and draw themselves upright, silently leaving the knucklebones and the monies involved in the game untouched.

Even through his attempt at dignity, Heldo barks out, “No one touches the goods!”

Further comment from the most irrepressible of foragers is silenced, however, when Sentek Arnem bursts through to the spot where the game had been taking place. Sixt Arnem rides first to face Visimar, then crosses half the gap between the lines to study Caliphestros and the white panther in amazement. “So it is true, Caliphestros,” the sentek says. “Your former acolyte’s claim that you survived your punishment was more than fable. I confess that I did not fully credit it until this moment.”

“Understandably, Sixt Arnem,” Caliphestros says, his face a mask of inscrutably complex emotions: for the last time the legless old scholar had set eyes on this soldier, he had been a full man being cut to pieces. “Although I am not certain which of us is, right now, in the more unenviable position …”

Arnem can only nod grimly.

“Radelfer,” Caliphestros says, with a nod. “I confess to some satisfaction that you are here. It at least proves my suspicion that you were ever a man of honor, who has come to realize his moral predicament.”

Radelfer nods back at the compliment. “Lord Caliphestros. I, too, am pleased that you somehow survived your ordeal, for the charges against you were baseless.”

“Indeed,” Caliphestros says. “But that is the heart of this entire matter, is it not?” Radelfer nods again, although Arnem’s features become puzzled. “What I refer to, Sentek,” Caliphestros explains, “is the nature of the most dangerous men in Broken — perhaps the world. Do you know to whom I refer?”

Arnem shrugs. “I should think to evil men.”

But Caliphestros shakes his head. “No. Evil, when it truly exists, is far too easily detected to be of the greatest danger. The most dangerous men in the world are those who — for reasons of their own — put their names and services at the disposal of what they see, at the time, as good causes. The greatest, the truest evil, then, is that undertaken by good men who cannot see or, worse, will not see the wickedness they serve. And there is one such man in Broken, perhaps the last of his breed, whose power and motivations have long made him a source of profound concern.”

Arnem nods grimly. “You refer to me.”

But Caliphestros seems surprised. “To you, Sentek? I do not. But more of such philosophical matters at a later time. We have pressing business to discuss, without delay.”

“Indeed — I see that you have called for truce, Caliphestros,” the sentek replies. “May I safely assume, then,