The Legend of Broken

“I have spoken the truth!” he declares defiantly. At the words, the two shaved priests, who have been half- hidden in the shadows in the rear corner of the dais behind the scribe’s desk, move to protect the Layzin, while the soldiers of Baster-kin’s Guard advance toward Korsar. The Layzin holds up a hand, quickly and silently halting all activity; Korsar, by contrast, continues to rail: “Yes, it was we of Broken who made the Bane — not Kafra! For what god would condemn the misshapen, the sickly, and the idiotic to such vicious, wretched ends as lurk in every corner of Davon Wood?”

It is Baster-kin who answers; but the Merchant Lord’s tone has changed now. Gone are the attempts to challenge Korsar, to almost bully the yantek into more obedient and more pious behavior. In place of these efforts is resignation: confident resignation, to be sure, yet irritated confidence, as well, as if Fate has made its decision, and both men must carry out the irksome business of accepting it. And in this, Baster-kin and Korsar are not so different; yet each is a man of importance, and their words must be spoken, if only that they may be recorded by the scribe.

“A god of unsurpassed wisdom, Yantek,” Baster-kin replies to Korsar’s last demand. “A god whose design was long ago revealed so clearly that even the heathen Oxmontrot could not deny it, choosing instead to allow Kafran law to become supreme, even as he himself kept the old faith. Or do you not remember that the Mad King began the banishments?”

Korsar’s gaze becomes hateful. “Yes, that’s how you bend all facts to your purpose, isn’t it, my lord? You know as well as I do that Oxmontrot used the banishments as a practical tool to strengthen his kingdom. But he gave his life, as you have said, to the old faith—”

“He did not give his life to anything, Yantek,” says Baster-kin. “His life was taken, because it was of no more use — he could not see divinity when it was before his face, because his mind was so broken by heathen idiocies. The banishments were never meant simply to make this kingdom strong — they were a sacred gift, granted in the hope that Broken would remain powerful. They were an instrument, not of survival, but of purification, a sacred method to root out imperfections in the people, to keep them strong, in body, in mind—”

“And in purse — I know the litany, my lord,” Korsar says, with rising anger. But his disdainful demeanor is interrupted when he sees the Layzin’s head fall into his hands, as if it has once again attained insupportable weight. “But it was a sin, Eminence,” the yantek continues, with more urgency than pride. “I know this. Whatever else the God-King Thedric called the continuation of the banishments, it was a sin against Kafra, against humanity! To go on dooming creatures like ourselves, simply because of imperfections of the body and mind — to destroy families — when the city and kingdom were already secure …” Korsar takes several steps toward the walkway up to the dais, at which the priests rush quickly to guard the thing, ready to withdraw it instantly if they must. The soldiers of the Guard start again in Korsar’s direction; but this time, Baster-kin himself stops them, realizing, it seems (as does Arnem himself), that every word the old soldier says only ensures his doom more certainly. “But they survived the sin,” Korsar says eagerly, still speaking to the Layzin, who will not look up. “Those forsaken devils, dwarfish, sickly, mad, many of them still children — out there where death was all around and never merciful — enough of them survived to form a tribe and make a life, wretched as it was. As it is. And now, because of insatiable greed and ungovernable pride, Eminence, you would allow the Merchants’ Council to take even that away from them?” Korsar turns on Baster-kin. “Well, I will have none of it — no, my lord, I say I will have none of your fanciful, murderous plots!”

At these words, the Layzin looks up and speaks, his voice so empty of emotion as to seem ghostly: “Do you say the poisoning attempt is a fabrication?”

“I do!” At the words, the Layzin clutches the arms of his golden seat tightly, anger casting a pall over his features. But the yantek will not be dissuaded by scowling, now that he has traveled so far down the path of blasphemy. “I’ve spent my life defending this kingdom, Eminence — I’ve killed more Bane than my noble Lord Baster-kin has ever seen. And I say that they are not a people capable of such audacity — though, Kafra knows, they should be. I say it before you all — this is merely a contrivance to establish our control over the Wood, and by doing so to allow our merchants to bring even more precious goods out of the wilderness than the Bane can carry on their small backs!”

For a moment, no one in the Sacristy is capable of speech. Arnem himself is concerned with somehow coaxing his chest to take in air, once more, and with finding something upon which to steady himself. He is aware of what has happened, of the grievousness of Korsar’s statements; but he cannot make sense of the scene, cannot grasp the reality of this moment that will shortly demand from him greater participation.

In the silence, the Grand Layzin’s face slowly softens, the rage becoming, once again, an acknowledgment of tragedy. Nor is there anything in his expression that might admit satisfaction at the exposure of a traitor; there is only regret clearly embodied in his next words:

“Yantek Korsar, I do not know if madness or treachery has driven you to this outburst — your life and your service speak against either quality, yet what else are we to think? In the name of that life and that service, however, I offer you a final opportunity to recant your outrageous statements, and mitigate the punishment that must befall you.”

But Korsar’s clear blue eyes are illuminated by defiance. “Thank you, Eminence,” he says, genuinely but unrepentantly. “I will stand by my words. Baster-kin and the Merchants’ Council have sent enough warriors to die in the cause of filling their coffers. There must be an end. Make peace with the Bane, let them keep the Wood. Let us continue to trade with them, but on terms, if not of friendship, then at least of respect. It is little enough to offer, considering what we have done to them. But I know you will refuse any such idea. And so,” placing his hands behind his back, Korsar plants his feet, “I am ready, Eminence, to face exile. No doubt Lord Baster-kin would like to escort me to the Wood himself.”

Baster-kin, the Layzin, and Arnem react to these words in unison, each displaying a different kind of shock: but all are genuine. In Arnem, the stunning blow is deepened by sorrow; in the Layzin, it is accented by bewilderment; and in Baster-kin, the effect of the yantek’s words is mitigated by something like pity.

“Exile?” the latter says. “Do you imagine exile could be considered an appropriate punishment for challenging the basis of our society?”

For the first time, Korsar exhibits surprise: “My lord? Banishment is the ordained punishment for sedition, it has always been—”

“For the weak-minded, or mere drunkards, yes,” Baster-kin continues, still astonished. “Or for any other hapless fools in the Fifth District. But a man of your standing cannot be granted a punishment equal to that of a child with a withered leg — your position demands that an example be made of you, an example that will serve as a warning to any who might be swayed by your calumnies, and tempted to repeat them. Did you not at least consider that before you indulged in this insanity?” The Merchant Lord waits for an answer; but, receiving none, he holds his arms high and then drops them in resignation, shaking his head. “For you, Yantek Korsar, there can only be the Halap-stahla …”†

A low commotion runs through the soldiers and the priests in the Sacristy, while Korsar falls as if struck into a nearby chair. For the first time, Arnem starts toward him — but years of discipline and the yantek’s own orders pull the commander of the Talons back again. Whatever his bewilderment and horror, Arnem knows that his friend has spoken nearly unprecedented treason against Broken, against the God-King and Kafra, against all that he once valued and that they both have spent their lives defending. But why? the sentek demands of himself. Why now? What has driven him to do it? And, most terrible thought of all: Is Korsar the liar of whom Visimar spoke?

“The Halap-stahla,” Korsar breathes at length, the flame gone from his eyes and real fear in his voice. “But — not since Caliphestros—”

“Not since Caliphestros has there been such treachery,” Baster-kin declares, still astounded at the yantek’s failure to foresee the consequences of his own actions.

“The higher the position, the greater the betrayal,” the Layzin adds mournfully. “And the God-King has entrusted few in this kingdom with as much power as it has been your privilege to exercise.”

Arnem’s heart is near to bursting, as he watches Korsar’s body begin to tremble. The motion is slight, at first, but becomes ever more violent as he plainly imagines the fate that he has brought down upon himself. Yet then he calms, suddenly and strangely, and turns to Arnem, managing a half-smile of trust and affection, as if to tell the younger man that he has done well to control himself, and must continue to do so, for the sake of both Sixt’s life and Korsar’s own composure; then, just as quickly, the smile vanishes, although the yantek does grunt another of