The Legend of Broken

the humorless laughs that have punctuated his conversation throughout the evening.

“Well, Baster-kin,” he says, remaining seated. “I suppose you think this puts an end to it. But you are wrong, great lord …” Slowly, Korsar drags his heavy, aged frame from the chair, to stand once more in defiance. “Oh, you may mutilate me all you wish, and call it religion — but what I have said will remain true. You are leading this great kingdom to disaster, you are exposing its guts to the blades of all the tribes that surround us; and if Kafra does not punish you, there will be another god to attend to it.”

“Yantek Korsar!” The Grand Layzin stands suddenly, holding an arm out, no longer in outrage, but in warning; and in his voice, a corresponding plea is plain: “Your crime is sufficient — I beg you not to endanger your life in the next world through further sacrilege in this one.” The Layzin then looks down the dark length of the Sacristy. “Linnet!” the Layzin calls. At this, all the soldiers of Baster-kin’s Guard move forward behind the commander of their detachment. “I almost dread to say it — however, you must take Yantek Korsar away. With dispatch.”

“It must be in chains,” Lord Baster-kin declares, with neither venom nor satisfaction, but a perfunctory air of duty. His instruction has been anticipated, for one of the shaven priests now produces a heavy set of manacles from under his robe, and lofts them over the reflecting pool to the linnet of the Guard, who, as they crash to the floor before him, appears a different man than the insubordinate mass of conceit who escorted Korsar and Arnem to the Temple. With a nod, Baster-kin directs the hesitant linnet to put the manacles on Korsar’s wrists and ankles, and make a mere prisoner of the most distinguished soldier in Broken: small wonder that the linnet — a man unfamiliar with momentous events — finds that his own hands tremble as he complies.

“Wake the commander of my Guard,” the Merchant Lord tells the linnet. “Herwald Korsar is no longer to be addressed by the rank of yantek. He will be held in irons until dawn, when he will be taken to the edge of the Wood for the ritual of the Halap-stahla.”

“No.” The Layzin’s voice is painfully dry. “In Kafra’s name, my lord, let us not wait for dawn. My own priests will follow behind your men, when they have collected the sacred instruments. Let all be in place for the ceremony at the edge of the Wood, when the sun rises — we must not risk trouble inside the city, once word spreads.”

Lord Baster-kin bows in response. “Wise, Eminence, as always.” He turns to his soldiers. “Very well — you have your orders, Linnet. Rouse your commander, and have him assemble a ritual detachment. Take the prisoner to the Southeastern Gate, to await the sacred party.”

With a suddenness that strikes horror into Arnem, the soldiers begin ushering the yantek — nay, no longer yantek, now, only the aged prisoner Herwald Korsar! — toward the Sacristy’s arched doorway. One Guardsmen thoughtlessly takes Korsar’s arm as they go, but at a look from the still-powerful warrior the young soldier relents, and forms, along with his fellows, a close but respectful ring around the prisoner.

Arnem’s self-control is no longer sustainable: the emotions that have been battling within him have caused a glistening band to form on his brow, and his vision grows blurred. He is aware that this is the last time he will see Korsar; and he feels a violent urge to bid his oldest comrade farewell, if only to assure the condemned man that they will meet again. Of this Arnem is certain, for the one article of faith that every warrior of every army that he has ever encountered has shared — no matter their specific gods — is the notion of a great hall in the next world where this reality’s bravest warriors will meet once more.† Yet Arnem is still of this world, an Earthly soldier not yet fallen; and so, to his own amazement, the habits of duty keep his feet immobile, and his mouth closed. He finds himself beseeching Kafra to allow Korsar, who is now past redemption, to give some sign—

And his prayer does not go unanswered. Halfway to the arched doorway, Yantek Korsar halts, and his guards do likewise. The old soldier turns around, facing Baster-kin and the Layzin once more, and the head he has held so proudly throughout this ordeal drops forward in respect.

“Eminence — my lord — will you allow me to take leave of Sentek Arnem, who must take my place at the head of Broken’s army?”

Baster-kin strides to the table on the dais, and affects to busy himself with papers. “You can have no further interest in the business of Broken’s army, Herwald Korsar. Nor may you—”

“My lord.” It is the Layzin, his weary voice still compassionate. “How many scars of Bane attacks do you bear? Or do I? In the name of the man he was — we shall grant the prisoner this small request.” And with a simple gesture of the supple hand that wears the blue-stoned ring, the Layzin tells the Guard to allow Korsar to approach Arnem.

“But you must take his sword,” Baster-kin orders, “and do not allow close contact.” As the linnet of the Guard draws Korsar’s raiding sword, Arnem goes toward the prisoner, stopping when he hears:

“Close enough, Sentek.” It is Baster-kin again. “Eminence, there must be no confidences exchanged.” The Layzin nods, acknowledging the remark with as much muted irritation as agreement.

From some ten feet away, then, Arnem and Korsar must end a friendship that has been rooted in far more than friendship, a bond in which far more has been shared than mere blood. Arnem finds that words elude him, but Korsar is not so impaired:

“I beseech you — heed me, Sixt, it is vital.” Arnem takes two steps closer to the prisoner, and inclines his head to listen to Korsar more carefully: “This is your war, now, Sixt — and it may be a calamitous one. You will have to fight it within the Wood, for the Bane will not come out to meet you on the Plain. Do not oblige them too soon — do not fight upon their ground until you are sure our men know what such a fight requires. Do you understand? Do not be bullied into it — you have been there, you know what the Wood can do to men. Beware it, Sixt …”

“Enough!” Baster-kin calls out, starting back down the walkway over the reflecting pool. “Sentek — this man is no longer your superior, you must not discuss military operations with him.”

The Layzin can only lift his hands and declare: “Take him away, all of you — this is too much to bear …”

As the shaven priests attend the distraught Layzin, Baster-kin gives his men a decisive wave of his arm, ordering them to remove their prisoner with haste. Now fully appreciative of the changed world in which they find themselves, two of the Guardsmen take rough hold of Korsar’s arms, while their linnet prods him toward the door.

But Korsar will not be silenced: “Remember that, if you remember nothing else, Sixt: beware the Wood— beware the Wood …!”

And then he is gone. Arnem, finally unable to contain the multitude of passions that burn up through his throat, takes one step to the doorway, unable to stop himself from weakly calling out “Yantek!” as burning tears cloud his vision. Aware of this last fact, suddenly, and hearing, in the new silence of the chamber, the rushing sounds of his surging blood and his own labored breathing, he turns away and works hard to regain his self-control. Daring only one glance up, his still-cloudy vision settles on the face of the Grand Layzin, who, through his own deep sorrow, manages the beginnings of a comforting smile, and inclines his gracious head as if to tell Arnem that he appreciates the terribleness of the moment, and does not fault the sentek for his reaction; and, finally, in those near-sacred eyes, there is an extraordinary reassurance that life in the kingdom will continue, and that all will, somehow, be well.

The sentek starts when he feels a hand on his shoulder; and he starts again when he turns to find Baster- kin, who is a good inch taller than Arnem, grasping the sentek’s shoulder so tightly that Arnem can feel his fingers through the thick shoulder panels of his leather armor.

“Sentek Arnem,” Baster-kin says, in a tone that Arnem has never heard this man use before; a tone he would, if speaking of anyone else, call sympathetic. “Come with me, eh? We have much to prepare, and little time. I know how deeply this business has cut into you. But you are a soldier of Broken, and the safety of the God-King and his realm rest with you now: for reasons, the complexity of which you cannot suspect.”

It is a bewildering statement; and hoping for guidance, Arnem looks past the Merchant Lord to the Layzin. But His Eminence — overwhelmed, at last, by the emotion of the occasion — is being guided by the two priests, along the Wife of Kafra (who has reappeared without announcement), toward and through one of the doorways that lead to adjoining chambers.

Baster-kin’s eyes, too, follow the Layzin out of the Sacristy; and when he and Arnem are left alone, the Merchant Lord confides, “He has been working himself to exhaustion over this business — nobly so, more than nobly, but he must take care, and rely on the rest of us to do more than he is accustomed to allowing.” Turning once more to the sentek, Baster-kin declares, “To do so, however, he must be presented with evidence that we are fulfilling the momentous duties with which we have been tasked — and for you to understand your portion of those labors, Sentek Arnem, I would have you come with me to the Merchants’ Hall. We must be sure of your orders, and