The Legend of Broken

grew—evil …”

Putting her arms around her son’s shoulders, Isadora declares, “Evil … I am not at all sure that we poor humans can ever comprehend that word, or know its qualities, my son …” A sudden shudder runs through her body, and then she declares, “Now, Dagobert — Kriksex, all of you — we must make ourselves ready for the sentek’s arrival. If I am any judge, he—”

And just then comes the sound of thundering hooves, moving up the Path toward the Arnem house and growing closer by the instant. Veterans and the sentek’s wife and son alike prepare for the approach of Broken’s greatest soldier, who has so precipitously been restored to his former glory — though he himself still knows it not.

Just as the group step further into the Path to await the arrival of Sixt Arnem and his triumphant force, however, Isadora, Dagobert, and their surrounding guardians are forced to move back again at a sight far more apparitional and fast moving than the sentek’s cavalry:

It is the legendary white panther of Davon Wood, speeding up and toward the same hole in the wall through which Lord Baster-kin has been taken. The animal requires no guidance: it is all that the legless old man who sits astride her can do to remain there. Nor will she require any direction, from god or man, when the pair dash up the Celestial Way, moving toward the city’s Stadium …

7

When the advance riders of the Talons’ cavalry come within view of the Arnem house at last, both Isadora and Dagobert cannot determine what precisely it is the soldiers are about: for their relatively slow pace does not match the immense noise that they have been producing, while the first six horsemen pull between them, by way of ropes attached to the pommels of their saddles, some crude yet fearsome wheeled device. Isadora is also somewhat surprised, after having carefully listened to as many of the shouted messages that earlier passed between Rendulic Baster-kin and his Guardsmen during the attack on the South Gate as she could safely manage, to see that no Bane warriors accompany her husband’s soldiers; but, as she will soon learn, the Bane, after smashing through the glowing, bound towers of burnt or burning wood that were once that same “impregnable” portal with their prodigious, expertly constructed ram, have refused to advance any farther. As ever, they do not trust that some group among the God-King’s subjects will not attempt to chastise them for taking part in the assault upon the city, and have decided to wait outside its walls until Sentek Arnem can assure them absolutely that the Tall will not seek such vengeance upon the tribe of outcasts for whose destruction the citizens of the city had until lately clamored — and may, in their hearts (for all the Bane know) still wish. With this consideration in mind, Ashkatar has granted control of the wheeled battering machine to Arnem, for use against the wall at the head of the Path of Shame, which the sentek has every reason to believe still stands intact. Ashkatar and his warriors, in the meantime, withdraw back into the stands of trees on the high slopes of the mountain, to await word that it is indeed safe for them to set foot within the city. Only Visimar and the three foragers with whom he has become fast friends will brave the question of just who holds what power within the granite walls of Broken before the issue has seemingly been decided; and even they move with great caution.

The sharp-eyed Kriksex can soon explain to Lady Arnem that the Talons’ riders move slowly and noisily because of their unusual burden, a device the like of which the aged veteran has beheld many times before. Moments after receiving this explanation, Isadora and Dagobert are relieved of their greatest anxiety when, moving at the fast pace with which the Talons’ mounted contingents are more typically associated, not only the khotor’s commander, but his aide and several of his scouts appear from behind the riders that work to pull the great ram through the now-softened surface of the Path of Shame. Having glimpsed the dismantling of the barrier at the Path’s head soon after entering the city, Arnem has determined that Lord Baster- kin’s treachery has been found out by the God-King and the Grand Layzin; and the sentek cannot, thereafter, be prevented from proceeding with all haste to his home, where he receives the cheers of the veterans who surround his wife and son. But his own eyes are fixed on those of his lady, most immediately, and then on the image of his son, who wears the armor Sixt entrusted to him before departing, and carries the best of the sentek’s marauder swords. Like Dagobert himself, both blade and armor have plainly seen combat of some sort in recent days, a fact that causes Arnem no little concern; however, he is yet the leader of a force that must be prepared for still more treachery of the kind that has haunted his men since they first began their march. Thus, before obeying his deepest passion and rushing to his wife and son, he cries out over his shoulder:

“Akillus! Inform the advance force that they may abandon the ram, and see to the safety of their own families, if they wish. It would seem the issue has been settled, and that the day is ours — but they must yet be wary of any attempts by the Merchant Lord’s Guard to either attack our units or commit some other murderous outrage in their efforts to escape the city and the God-King’s justice.”

Then, at long last, Arnem leaps from his saddle and hurries to embrace Isadora, holding one arm free to draw Dagobert close to him. Tears of joy and relief well quickly in the eyes of both the commander’s wife and his scion; and it requires all the discipline that the sentek can muster not to himself weep before his men. On closer inspection, however, Arnem is unable to prevent his own happiness from being curtailed by unpleasant surprise at the somewhat drawn aspect of both his wife’s and his son’s features. Isadora, who is as ever able to comprehend her husband’s thoughts, puts a hand to his face and, smiling more gently, says, “It is nothing, Sixt — we shared what food stores we had with those most in need, that is all. Nor have we suffered as much as have many …”

Arnem kisses his lady with a passion augmented by pride at her bravery, and then turns to his son. “And you, Dagobert?” he says, tightening his grip on his son’s shoulder. “It seems to me that my old armor and marauder sword saw more than ornamental use.”

“Your son took his place among us, Sentek,” Kriksex answers, seeing that Dagobert is too modest to boast in front of the collection of brave veterans who surround his parents and himself. “When defense of the district was necessary.”

Arnem’s expression becomes suddenly ambiguous. “And were you forced to kill, my boy, during these actions?”

“I—” Dagobert’s face, too, becomes a mask of uncertainty. “I did what we were all forced to do, Father. I cannot boast of it, for it was …” The youth’s voice trails off, and his eyes turn toward the ground. “It was necessary — and terrible. Nothing less — or more …”

Arnem leans down to meet Dagobert’s eyes intently. “And that is war, young man,” he says quietly. “For you are no longer to be counted a ‘boy’—by myself or anyone else. That much is plain …” Standing and turning to the old veteran who rests upon his crutch, Arnem speaks aloud once more: “And you are Kriksex — a few wrinkles cannot disguise that much. I know that you will forgive the concern for my family that prevented my greeting you at once, Linnet. But do not doubt my awareness of how very much I am indebted to you: for my wife made it clear in her letters to me that you have spared no effort to ensure their safety.”

“Despite the many strange things we have seen of late in the Fifth District, Sentek,” Kriksex answers, “my loyalty to the Talons, to you, and to your house has remained intact. Like your son, I did my duty, and nothing more — although with no little happiness, in this case, for your lady and Master Dagobert both share your courage and your own devotion to all in Broken that is truly good and noble.”

“And for that, I shall see to it that you are rewarded by the God-King and the Grand Layzin with more than a crutch — even a well-worked crutch,” Arnem pronounces. “For it appears that our rulers were as much taken in by Baster-kin’s mad schemes as were many of us.”

“But, Sixt,” Isadora says, her joy suddenly mitigated by worry. “I do not see the rest of the children—”

Arnem turns to indicate Radelfer, who rides with the advance force of his cavalry. “Fear not, wife,” the sentek says. “Radelfer more than fulfilled the commission with which you charged him: the other children wait, fed and safe, within my tent outside the city.”

Isadora looks at the former seneschal of the clan Baster-kin, regaining her ordinarily noble outward bearing. “Thank you, Radelfer,” she says. “I, of all people, know how much your change of allegiance and your safekeeping of my children have cost you, not only in rank, but in the realization that Rendulic Baster-kin’s heart had not, in the end, survived the torment he had endured as a boy.”

“True, my lady,” Radelfer says softly, riding closer to the garden gate and nodding respectfully. “Even so,