The Legend of Broken

the chaos of conflict.‡ It is an ability that transforms such peculiar souls into agents of good fortune, who may increase a man’s, and even an army’s, chances of surviving the shapeless tumult of war.

Such had been Arnem’s outward justification for enlisting “Anselm”; and the older man has played his role well. He has also, more importantly, given not only Arnem, but the sentek’s troops, some explanation for the blackness of mood displayed by the farmers, fishermen, and seksents†† along the Daurawah Road: for their complaints have been voiced, not only to Arnem and his officers (particularly to those linnets-of-the-line† who are generally the first officers to enter each community), but to the sentek’s bemused legionaries. The whole of Arnem’s column are now aware that the affairs of the kingdom of Broken are badly out of joint: never a safe thing for soldiers to have gnawing at their minds. The schemes regarding trade might be counted as simply another ploy of the ruthless ruling class of Broken to increase their profits; but such weakening of the kingdom’s own industry by illegal imported goods is forbidden by Kafran law. In addition, the supposed “traders” bear the appearance of raiders, with whom the merchants of Broken are forbidden to treat. Most unsettling of all, reports are rife that the authorities who are entrusted with protecting Broken’s commerce from such foreign goods (from the Grand Layzin and the powerful Merchant Lord, all the long way down to local magistrates) are aware of the true origins of many of the shipments of goods with which unscrupulous men line their pockets at the expense of humbler subjects. There are even rumors that these lofty royal servants do worse than ignore these merchant dealings — they profit from them …

In reaction to the villagers’ complaints, Arnem has explained to his officers (at Visimar’s — or “Anselm’s”— urgings, which are supported by the madman’s “visions”) that the grumblings are fantastic concoctions, designed to explain away the ill fortune of those subjects lacking the nerve to survive in the heated competition of Broken’s marketplaces; and each officer has been careful to pass this on to his men. At the same time, the sentek has also explained earnestly to those town elders whom he has encountered that neither he nor his officers have been made aware of any such treasonous shifts in trade practices, and that the leaders of the army possess no authority to address purely commercial issues — the conduct of trade being, within the Kafran faith, ultimately a sacred, not a secular, activity. Nevertheless, Arnem has repeatedly pledged that, when he reaches Daurawah, he will seek out nefarious traders, and will extract from them, not only the names of their partners within Broken, but whether they possess written dispensation to carry on so sacrilegious a form of commerce. Throughout the first days of his march, this has sufficed to placate the townspeople, and he has departed each community with such meager stores of provisions and fodder as its elders can supply—

And yet … Such coolness on the part of subjects who have always been happy to welcome Broken’s soldiers as the embodiment of the God-King’s love for even the humblest of his people, has caused confusion to spread through the ranks of the Talons. While as yet mild, it occupies a growing portion of their own, and their commander’s, thoughts.

“They will see far more unsettling things, when they actually find themselves in an engagement,” Visimar continues to muse. “And should they continue to meet with this ingratitude on the part of the very subjects for whose sake they will be fighting, and in many cases dying — they may lose the will to fight, and especially to die …”

With the two men’s remove from the troops now safe, Arnem finds that he is grateful to voice and hear voiced the anxieties that have plagued him since the night of Korsar’s banishment. He has not dared express such doubts to anyone — not even to the loyal Niksar, or, in full, to his wife — but somehow, he feels safe sharing them with one who obviously (if somewhat surprisingly) comprehends them: even if that one has ever been rumored to have been nearly as evil as the dreaded Caliphestros himself. Indeed, some within Broken consider Visimar to have been the more evil of the pair, for while Caliphestros cut up the fresh bodies of citizens killed by violence, execution, or poor health, it was Visimar who supervised the acquisition of the bodies. And the more handsome the corpse, whether male or female, the more eager the creature of the sorcerer was to buy or steal it.

The sentek takes the hem of his cloak and moistens it with a large skin of water that hangs from his saddle, then leans down to wipe sweat from the Ox’s glistening shoulders. “I was not aware,” he says, dismounting and using more water to clean the Ox’s neck and face, “that explorers of the dark arts were also interested in military matters.”

“You mock me, Sentek,” says Visimar, still good-naturedly. “But I was once given a unique perspective from which to study your mind and heart — as was my master. I know your moods; and I comprehend your devotion to the rites of Kafra — or rather, its compromised nature.”

Pain seizes Arnem’s body: it is the physical discomfort, not of illness, but of shame. Visimar has brought their conversation — not for the first time — to the brink of a terrible truth the two share: that Arnem had not merely been among the soldiers that escorted the Halap-stahla ritual party that mutilated Caliphestros, so many years ago, and then, some months thereafter, the Denep-stahla that left Visimar in his present condition; no, the full truth is that Arnem commanded those detachments. He and his troops played no active part in the repugnant rituals, of course; but they protected the priests from any interference by the acolytes of the sorcerer and his principal assistant, or by the ever-watchful Bane.

Visimar observes what has washed over Arnem’s features, even as the sentek continues to lovingly groom his horse. “I only persist in broaching the subject, Sentek,” the older man says kindly, “so that you will realize that, if you speak of it once, we need not dwell on it. I could see at the time that you disdained the rituals; and I heard that, after my own punishment, you refused to stand guard at any others — and that your refusal played no small part in the God-King’s decision to suspend the practices altogether. I tell you truly that I then felt happiness for you. Not loathing.”

Arnem looks up, his eyes dark. “Such understanding would be extraordinary, Visimar. And it cannot have made these years easier.”

Visimar tilts his head thoughtfully. “It has not — and yet it has. My body’s suffering would have been worsened by perpetual hatred of men such as yourself, Sixt Arnem. You were all — and remain, whether or not you know it — nearly as helpless, effective prisoners of the priests and the merchants as both myself and my master once were. Or so he and I have always believed — and, I think, you have begun to suspect.”

Much of the darkness lifts suddenly from Arnem’s aspect. “You said ‘have always believed’—so the tales are true, and Caliphestros yet lives!” Visimar glances away uncertainly; but he does not deny it. “I have always suspected as much,” the sentek continues, with apparent relief.

Visimar smiles at Arnem’s eagerness, knowing it grows from a strong desire to be absolved of the shame of having guarded the Kafran mutilation rituals — even if such participation had been compulsory. For the old acolyte also knows that, where matters of such violent moment are concerned, compulsion does not absolve participation, in the mind of the superior military man: instead, he will wonder — if, eventually, he refuses to carry out a repugnant order, and then finds that his refusal leads, not to his punishment, but to a reassessment of the actions ordered — how many other unfortunates might have been spared, had he objected earlier.

“Well, Sentek, I can but say that I knew him to have been alive, at least until fairly recently,” Visimar replies. “But as to the questions of how I knew it, and whether or not he lives still, I can say but little, save that I have plainly been in no condition to seek him out. I will tell you this, however: if anyone could have survived for so long, without his legs and in the most dangerous parts of that wilderness, it would have been my master. And so — fear not, Sixt Arnem. If Caliphestros is still among the living, then we shall both meet him again, and likely soon.”

Just then, the two men mark the sound of a horse approaching at the gallop. The man astride the hardworking white animal is Niksar, returned to them from the column’s head.

“Sentek!” Niksar shouts; and even through the young linnet’s urgency, Visimar can see that Arnem’s aide remains confounded by the manner in which his commander continues to spend private moments in close counsel with an aging unbeliever. “You must rejoin the vanguard. Scouts have reached the next town — one is now returning.”

Arnem, reading trouble in Niksar’s noble features, shifts his attention. “But this will be Esleben — surely the merchants and farmers of so wealthy a town can offer no such complaints as we have heard already.” Arnem studies Niksar closely. “Yet your face tells me that they can …”