good skull … And they slew him on this very spot, whereas the sickly have always been simply abandoned to the Wood — the ritual they call the
“A criminal?” Heldo-Bah wonders. “No — no, you’re right, Keera, there’s no mutilation. A criminal would have suffered some such.”
“We must find out the meaning in this death,” Keera announces.
“And who may we ask?” Veloc betrays nervousness at his sister’s determination. “We are foragers, Keera, raiding for decent meat — shall we inquire of Lord Baster-kin’s Guard what took place here?”
Keera’s purposeful manner never weakens: “If we must, Veloc.”
Heldo-Bah smiles wide, revealing the black gap in his teeth. “So — this night promises amusement! Not only poaching, but capturing one of the Merchant Lord’s soldiers, too.…”
Keera looks at the dead man once more. “There is nothing amusing in this, Heldo-Bah. This is the worst evil: that made by men, be it sorcery or mere murder.”
“Then it calls for evil in return, does it not?” Loosening the straps that hold his deerskin sack on his shoulders, Heldo-Bah moves back toward the Fallen Bridge. “We leave our goods here — take only weapons.” Planting his torch in the ground, Heldo-Bah nimbly clambers to a high maple branch, and ties his sack to it. “Keep everything above the ground — I don’t want scavengers destroying three weeks† of work.”
Veloc cannot conceal satisfaction of his own at the party’s new mission — but he is vexed about his sister, as well. Alone of the party, Keera has a family awaiting her return to the Bane village of Okot, which is a full day’s run to the southeast, even for these three. The handsome Bane approaches her confidentially, while Heldo-Bah is busy.
“Keera,” Veloc murmurs, placing his hands on her shoulders, “I believe you are right about what we must do — but why not let Heldo-Bah and me attend to it, while you wait here? After all, if we meet with misfortune, no one will weep for us — but Tayo‡ and the children need you to return to them. And I pledged that you would.”
Keera, though touched by her brother’s words, frowns a bit at this news. “And what right had you to pledge my return, Veloc?”
“True,” Veloc says, his manner growing contrite. “But I bear the responsibility for your being here — your own children know it.”
“Don’t be foolish, brother — what was I to do? Allow those Outragers to beat you both senseless, simply because they enjoy the favor of the new Moon priestess? No, Veloc. Tayo and the children know the injustice of this term of foraging — and the best thing that I can do for them is to learn if what has taken place here endangers our tribe.”
Veloc shrugs, knowing that the guilt he already feels for Keera’s punishment by the Groba will become unbearable, should some mishap befall her now. Having long ago learned not to argue important matters with his wise and gifted sister, however, he begins to climb into an oak that stands near Heldo-Bah’s maple. “Very well — hand me your bag. Heldo-Bah is right, we must travel light, if we are to do as you wish.”
“I do not wish it,” Keera says, loosening the straps of her sack. “I could wish we had not discovered this nightmare. For you are wrong, Heldo-Bah.”
“Undoubtedly,” the sharp-toothed Bane replies as a matter of course from above. “But what, pray, am I wrong about on
“You said that evil calls for evil.”
“You think it does not?”
“I know it does not,” Keera says, handing her sack up. “Evil breeds evil — spreads it like fire. It parches men’s souls, just as the Sun burns the skin. Had you paid attention to the basic tenets of our faith, you’d know that this was how the first Moon priests determined that all devils spring from that same Sun, while the Moon, by night, reminds each human heart of its solitary, humble place in the world, and so fills it with compassion. But we will find no compassion across the river — no, we are walking into evil, I fear. So both of you, please — try not to fall into the trap that evil has set for us.” The Bane men stare at her in confusion. “No killing,” Keera clarifies. “Unless absolutely necessary.”
“Of course,” Heldo-Bah replies, dropping to the ground, his thick legs absorbing the impact easily. And then he adds under his breath, “But somehow, I suspect it will be …”
1:{iii:}
On to the city atop the mountain, now! and learn
of its virtues, its vices — and the vexations of a soldier …
We take to the sky once more, you and I, across the fields and dales that seemed so serene on our arrival, but which, perhaps, you now find less idyllic; up the slopes of the lonely mountain, first through thick trees and undergrowth on the lower reaches, and then into a still more treacherous maze of rock and harsh scrub; and finally, to the heights, where scattered stands of defiant fir trees give way at last to stone formations, bare of any life and rising, as if of their own accord, to the ultimate and ordered demeanor of mighty walls …
“Sentek?”†
Sixt Arnem‡ sits in a shadow beneath the parapet, staring at a small brass oil lamp atop a folding camp table that he has had brought up from the barracks of the Talons.
“Sentek Arnem!” the sentry repeats, more urgently.
Arnem leans forward and folds his arms on the table, his features becoming distinct in the lamp’s light: light brown eyes, a strong nose, and a wry mouth that is never entirely concealed by a rough-trimmed beard. “I’m not deaf, Pallin,” he says wearily. “There’s no need to shout.”
The young pallin slaps his spear against his side in salute. “I am sorry, Sentek.” He has forgotten, in his excitement, that he addresses no ordinary officer. “But — there are torches. On the edge of Davon Wood.”
Arnem stares into the smoky lamp once more. “Are there?” he says quietly, poking his finger into the yellow flame and watching black soot collect on his skin. “And what is so interesting about that?” he muses.
“Well, Sentek—” The pallin takes a deep breath. “They are moving toward the river and Lord Baster-kin’s Plain.”
Arnem’s eyebrow arches a bit higher. “The Plain?”
“Yes, Sentek!”
Rising with a groan, Arnem sweeps his wine-red cloak behind him, revealing well-made, well-worn leather armor. A pair of silver clusters worked into the shape of outstretched eagle’s feet and claws attach the cloak to his powerful shoulders. “All right, Pallin,” he says, approaching the eager youth. “Let’s see what makes your heart race so.”
“There, Sentek; just by the Wood!” the pallin says triumphantly; for to rouse the interest of Broken’s greatest soldier is indeed an accomplishment.
Arnem eyes the distance with the calm, all-encompassing gaze of a seasoned campaigner. Even in the light of the rising Moon, the dark mass on the horizon that is the northern frontier of Davon Wood reveals no details about these dancing pinpricks of light. Arnem sighs ambiguously. “Well, Pallin — there are, as you say, a series of torches. Moving just inside Davon Wood, toward the river and the Plain.”
Then, as the two men watch, the lights in the distance suddenly disappear. Arnem’s features sag mildly. “And now they’re gone …”
The pallin watches incredulously as Arnem returns to his small stool by the camp table. “Sentek — should we not report this?”
“Oh, Kafra’s stones …” The blasphemy — common among the poor, but no less extreme for its popularity — has escaped Arnem’s lips before he can stop it. He studies his pallin’s youthful, clean-shaven features, so resolute beneath the unadorned steel plate helmet† that is standard equipment among the Talons; and when he sees how deeply the boy is shocked by his vulgar reference, he cannot help but smile. “What’s your name, Pallin?”
“Ban-chindo,” the young man replies, again snapping his spear to his side so that its point rises above his six-foot-three-inch body.
