The Legend of Broken

Arnem wonders, if it happened in a roomful of dignitaries? Yet here, in private, the awkwardness of the laughter can be overlooked, and the sentiment behind it valued. “You needn’t look so shocked, Sentek,” says Baster-kin, his voice becoming businesslike once more. “We knew you were aware of Linnet Niksar’s role, as I say, but we also knew that you neither held it as a mark against your aide, nor ceased to place your full trust in him. Thus we, in turn, were given additional reason to trust you. That counted for a great deal, I don’t mind telling you, with both the God-King and the Grand Layzin. You’re an exceptional man, Arnem, and an even more exceptional commander. I’m sorry for Korsar, I truly am — but his time had long since passed, even before he gave voice to heresy and treason. No, this moment belongs to you, Sentek — make the most of it. Continued trustworthiness would be a fine first step, along those lines, and if eliminating the pretense with Niksar will help, we can easily arrange it.”

Still unaccustomed to this side of his companion, Arnem simply says, “It will help both Niksar and myself, Lord Baster-kin; I thank you.”

The sentek’s attitude toward Baster-kin is transforming. Arnem has always respected the Merchant Lord; but now, to walk with him in these secret passageways and learn their equally secret purpose, to talk to him as an equal about the inner workings of the kingdom, and to gain deeper insight into how this man, who is the very embodiment of Broken power, thinks, as well as into how he manipulates even the supreme authorities of the great kingdom for their own good and preservation … It is enough to deeply humble anyone, much less a man who was once a troublesome youth from the Fifth District — and Arnem is humbled, indeed: where there had been only sadness for his old friend Korsar not so very much earlier, there is now a profound sense, not only of humility, but of Fate. Fate, which has chosen Arnem to lead the mighty army of Broken in a cause that will bring greater security to the subjects of Broken, and greater safety to the God-King. Yes, humility and Fate: these are the forces driving Arnem’s actions.

Or so he finds it comfortable to believe, for the moment …

In this way, he soon grows to feel that he can presume — humbly, of course — to voice the most critical question of all: “My lord, if I may ask — you have said that this campaign will have a goal far greater than the destruction of the Bane. What might that goal be?”

As he begins to answer this question, Baster-kin guides the way from the tunnel through which they have been traveling into a secondary, steadily widening passageway, one that soon opens out onto a large staircase leading up to a formal doorway, into which is set a series of stout oak boards, banded to form a door by thick straps of iron.

“Let me answer that question with another, Sentek. Herwald Korsar believed that the Merchants’ Council arranged this campaign simply to make ourselves richer. But am I right to suppose that you do not?”

Arnem does not hesitate. “You are correct, my lord. If all you desired was greater wealth, there are far more efficient ways to gain it.”

“Precisely,” Baster-kin judges, further pleased by Arnem’s answer. “Given the amount of blood, effort, and riches we will have to put into taking the Wood and destroying the Bane, it hardly makes sense as a business undertaking — the expedition will likely not pay even its own costs. But there are deeper questions involved.”

As they pass the halfway point of the staircase, Arnem’s attention is diverted when he hears water flowing, seemingly inside the mass of stone beneath the steps. “The sewers?” he asks. “Are we really so low?”

“We are lower still,” Baster-kin replies. “The city’s sewer system in fact runs above these tunnels. Look there …”

Arnem has reached the top of the steps, and sees that, indeed, one of the sections of Broken’s extensive (and pungent) sewer system runs beneath the landing at the top of the steps, but into an opening above the tunnels he has just left. “It really was a fantastic vision, that of the Mad King,” Baster-kin muses in appreciation.

“In truth,” Arnem agrees. “And fortunate that he worked in solid stone — for what else could have survived intact for all these ages?”

Baster-kin only nods thoughtfully — perhaps, (or so Arnem supposes) even a little worriedly. “Indeed,” his lordship murmurs, and then he suddenly returns to business once more: “However, as we were saying: the destruction of the Bane will likely be an undertaking that will not even pay its own cost. Certainly not in the short term.”

Arnem’s eyes squint a bit. “And so — why undertake it now?”

“Arnem,” Baster-kin says, as he pulls the large key over his head again, “when was the last time you were in those areas of the kingdom that lie between this mountain and the Meloderna?”

“It must have been — well, some time ago, my lord. It’s the irony of the soldier’s life — we join to serve, but also for adventure; yet most of our time is spent in endless drilling and preparing for events that we hope will never come to pass. In the meantime, the world goes by.”

“Well — be that as it may, Sentek, you shall have the chance to see some of that world again, and soon.” Baster-kin approaches the oak door at the top of the stairs, fits the key into another brass hole much like that in the initiation font, and prepares to turn it. “You will need to gather supplies for your men, and forage for your horses. And when you do, you will see that matters have — changed, in much of the kingdom. There is no reason for me to elaborate now”—Baster-kin gives his key a quick turn, at which a locking mechanism inside the oak planks gives out clicking sounds almost identical to those that Arnem heard in the Temple—“but we face grave dangers, Sentek. Dangers made all the more deadly because so few of our citizens either see or concern themselves with them.” Pushing the oak door once, Baster-kin leads the way into the chamber beyond.

Arnem follows, and finds himself in yet another large space with a high and vaulted ceiling — but this one is more familiar. It is the cellar of the Merchants’ Hall, which Arnem has been in before. The cellar walls are bare stone, and the vaulting above supports the long, planked floor of the Merchants’ Hall, gathering place of Broken’s most elite citizens, where they sit in council, enjoy meals, and, in honor of Kafra, often spend late nights away from their families in the company of disrobed young ladies whose names they scarcely know. Such entertainment is apparently being played out this very night, to judge by the sounds of laughter, breaking glass, and men’s and women’s voices that echo through the floor.

Baster-kin looks up. “Yes, they are at their favorite form of worship yet again,” the Merchant Lord says, with frowning disgust. “Fools. But”—Baster-kin leads Arnem to the far side of the torch-lit cellar—“the Layzin approves of their pursuits, as does the God-King. Revels in the Hall, and games in the stadium, without respite — and men like you and I to tend to the state in the meantime, eh?”

From out of the half-light, a large opening in one end of the cellar is illuminated by both Baster-kin’s torch from below and the steadily if slowly progressing light of dawn from above, both sources of illumination revealing a massive stone ramp that leads to the avenue above. “And now, Arnem, having seen many of our secret strengths, you must be told of our equally shrouded weaknesses: and the largely unrecognized truth, Sentek, is that the present actions of the Bane — even this poisoning attempt — represent less of a threat to both our safety and our commerce than does the very fact of the their existence.” And then another of his lordship’s strange moments of seeming uncertainty, even discouragement, grips him: “We are not, as a people, inclined to concern ourselves with what takes place beyond our own frontiers; it is a tendency that develops among superior societies. But some of us must keep such watch. And I tell you, Sentek — we have no reason to feel easy about the world beyond Broken. Indeed, we will, in the months to come, be pressed by would-be conquerors as never before.”

“But — why, my lord? Since the Torganian war—”

“A great victory, certainly — but your stand at the Atta Pass† was eight years ago, Arnem. And during that time, traders have taken tales back to their peoples, tales of how the mighty kingdom of Broken cannot effectively control a population of misshapen, dwarfish exiles.‡ We begin to appear weak, despite all that you and the army have done. Think on it, for a moment — what conclusion would you draw, in their place? Bane traders come and go in Daurawah almost at will. They meet foreign traders, there, and tell them of our weakness, and of how our own citizens breed too fast, for a kingdom our size. Not that they need be told — any foreigner with eyes can see for himself, in Daurawah, how farmers’ and fishermen’s second and third sons every day give up their families’ vital forms of work and come to Broken to seek easy fortunes. We must have new land to clear and work, our enemies can see that, as well — and they are well aware of the only region where we can secure such territory with relative ease. But instead, we allow the Bane to survive, even to attack our people.” Baster-kin’s voice has continued to decrease in volume, Arnem notices, even