The Legend of Broken

large fir trees. “But this appears to have been simply to satisfy the sentiments of the most powerful of his fellow merchants and their families, to whom the horses must belong, for he has also taken several of the wealthier children’s ponies—”†

At that moment, Arnem is interrupted by the sound of quicker, lighter hooves approaching out of the half- darkness and the mist, and everyone on or about the carts turns to witness the appearance of Yantek Ashkatar, riding a small, tan-colored mount with a nearly white mane and tail. The animal’s unusual size causes Stasi — who suspects it is merely a young Broken warhorse — to widen her eyes and twitch her tail with thoughts of hunting; yet, as Caliphestros calms her, even the panther realizes that this is no foal, but a creature fully grown: a puzzling discovery, for her and at least some of the Bane alike.

“Look at this little devil, Keera!” Ashkatar calls out. “Have you ever seen the like? He bears my weight as easily as one of his larger cousins would, yet I can ride him with complete control.”

“Yes, I have seen the like, Yantek,” replies Keera, who nonetheless smiles and laughs at her commander’s joy.

“Anyone who has ever been to Broken has seen the like, Ashkatar,” Heldo-Bah calls dismissively, as he gets to the ground. “The Tall breed them for their children, and a few rougher varieties to pull carts and wagons up the mountain — for they are indeed as strong as they are strange.”

“Well, I have never been to Broken, as well you know,” Ashkatar replies. “And so I am both surprised and pleased to find them. There must be fifty or so, on this field, along with even more horses. Baster-kin apparently does not fear our approach.”

“Aye,” Arnem says, dismounting from the Ox, “would that he rather did not expect it. But, as the scouts have already told us—” Handing his mount’s reins to the ever-ready Ernakh, Arnem approaches the lead cart, and eyes Caliphestros, keeping a wary distance between himself and Stasi. “He watches for the first sign of our reaching the mountaintop. And so, it will be for you to punish him for having left so many mounts to us. That — and so many other crimes and mistakes, my lord. To punish him with this — with whatever is in these containers.” As he stands over the bed of Keera’s cart, Arnem gets a full breath of the odor arising from within, and steps back. “Kafra’s stones, that is a stench! I hope it bodes something unusual — for the gates of Broken, as you know, will not submit to ballistae, nor even to ordinary flames.”

Suddenly, the mountain trail echoes with the magnified sound of fast-moving horses’ hooves, along with a cry of “Get to the side of the road!” repeated again and again. Heldo-Bah leaps back aboard his cart, to steer it to the left side of the trail’s inlet into the training ground, while Keera moves her own conveyance to the right.

“It’s that fire-brained scout of yours, Sentek!” Heldo-Bah shouts. “To judge by the sound of his voice and his horse’s pace — whatever he is about, I should move, if I were you — the man would ride down his own mother to achieve his purpose!”

“Which is why I rely upon him,” Arnem replies; but the commander, Ashkatar, and Niksar nonetheless comply with Heldo-Bah’s suggestion, and then stare down the rutted trail, waiting for Akillus’s face to show. But before it does, more horses’ hooves resonate from the north, entering the training ground from the relatively short stretch of remaining trail that leads to the ground before the Southern and Southwestern gates of Broken. “Where is Sentek Arnem?” comes a shout from the second scouting party earlier sent in that direction by their commander, and, having been quickly told his location, they descend on the crowd about the carts quickly, reaching it at almost the same instant that Akillus does.

“Sentek!” calls the linnet-of-the-line who leads the northern group. “The sky is clear, once one reaches the open ground above — there is yet a violent storm amid the hills to the west, to be sure, but it is difficult to tell, in this light, how quickly it shall bear down upon Broken, or if, indeed, it shall at all!”

“Our own reports confirm this, Sentek,” Akillus adds. “All is uncertainty!”

Arnem nods coolly, turning again to issue orders to Ernakh. “Inform Linnets Crupp and Bal-deric that they are to consult Lord Caliphestros on the types of ballistae that he wishes made, and to begin building them straightaway. We shall spend no more than one day and one night more upon this ground, before advancing on Broken.” Ernakh leaps up on his own small mount and is off, at which Arnem turns to Caliphestros.

“Well, my lord,” he says, no little uneasiness in his voice. “The moment has come: you must brew your answer to the Riddle of Water, Fire, and Stone, and the rest of us must make our own preparations.”

“Do not look so troubled, Sentek — if only for your men’s sake,” Caliphestros answers with a small laugh. As he dismounts from Stasi’s shoulders, the old man accepts Keera’s help in strapping his walking device to his thighs, then takes his crutches from her. “Unity will be as necessary to our endeavor as will force itself. Baster-kin, remember, believes he has righteousness on his side — he thinks he fights the good fight, and he will resist so long as he can. Our only friends remain speed and hope — the hope that, thanks to this mist, he does not yet know our exact position.”

“Very well, Lord Caliphestros,” Arnem says, turning the Ox to cross the training ground and begin the organization of his attack. “I shall heed these reasons for encouragement — but I nonetheless wait to see what miracle you will draw out of those containers!”

As the various officers’ forms fade again into the mist, Caliphestros looks up the mountain, even though, from where he, the foragers, and Visimar stand, only the glow of braziers and the very tops of the walls and guardhouses of Broken can be seen. “No miracle, Sentek,” he says softly. Then, in a louder voice, he addresses his former acolyte. “No miracle, eh, Visimar?”

“Oh, no?” Heldo-Bah says skeptically, as he starts to unbind the containers in the carts, with the aid of the other foragers. “What then, old man?”

“Tell me, Heldo-Bah,” Caliphestros replies. “You are a more worldly man than most in this camp; did you ever hear mention, among the traders and mercenaries who frequented Daurawah — or anywhere else, for that matter — of what the Kreikisch called the fire automatos?”†

Heldo-Bah stops his work, and stares at Caliphestros with a combination of awe and disbelief. “You haven’t …”

“I have,” Caliphestros answers, as Visimar laughs lightly at the Bane’s wonderment.

“But the fire automatos is a myth!” Heldo-Bah protests, his voice controlled, so as not to spread what he thinks will be panic, but his feet stomping like a child’s, as is his habit when presented with something that is too much for him to bear. “As much a myth as your ‘Riddle of Water, Fire, and Stone’!”

“What is a myth?” Keera and Veloc ask, almost in unison.

“Oh, Moon—!” the gap-toothed Bane says, with the same hushed urgency.

But Keera interrupts him. “Heldo-Bah — I have warned you about your blasphemies!”

“Blasphemies?” Heldo-Bah replies. “What do blasphemies matter? Keera, these two old madmen have rested our entire endeavor upon a fantasy!”

Yet Caliphestros and Visimar continue only to laugh quietly, as the former instructs the latter on where each canister should be placed. “Neither the Riddle nor the fire automatos are myths, Heldo- Bah,” Caliphestros says, still chuckling. “In fact, the fire is the answer to the Riddle …”

Heldo-Bah attempts no argument, but only nods his head in resignation. “Oh, I am certain it is — and so, go ahead, laugh, you fools,” he says. “When you should be praying — praying that you get your rain!”

“It will come,” Caliphestros replies; and then, in a slightly more serious voice, he adds, “But will it come with enough violence? No matter, right now. Heldo-Bah, if you know of the fire automatos, you must know that we will need every breakable container in the cooks’ wagons and the baggage train — rather than weeping, why don’t you start to gather them?”

Heldo-Bah makes no further protest, but wanders off meekly, still nodding obediently and speaking in a voice that sounds remarkably like a moaning infant: “Dead men … we are all dead men …”

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