The Legend of Broken

require quarters. But the black-haired, intuitive youth divines from the briefest study of Arnem’s manner that the Talons will not be staying long in this place, despite the sentek’s deliberately vague answers on the subject; and Ernakh leads the Ox off to be watered, fed, and quickly curried, so that he will be ready (if not entirely rested) for the force’s departure, which may, the young skutaar correctly believes, come at any moment. Akillus, meanwhile, hurries along to Arnem, his smile vanishing.

“I understand, Akillus,” the sentek says, “that the commander of the garrison is unable to report due to illness — have you determined if this is true?”

“Yes, Sentek,” Akillus answers, saluting so firmly that his chest resonates with the impact of his fist. “He is shut tightly away in his quarters, above.” Akillus points to the northwestern-most doorway of a dozen such on the fort’s upper level, above which the parapet encircles the structure. Another walkway runs the full length of the fort’s upper level outside the doors of these rooms, guarded by a railing of cut timbers: all workmanship characteristic of Broken’s sappers and engineers. “He says he will not come out, and will speak only with you alone.”

“Indeed?” says Arnem, letting out a weighty sigh. “Well, then — his secrets had better be as remarkable as his behavior, or I’ll have the hide off his back. And the elders will have his neck. For now — spread the word, Akillus: the men must be ready to resume the march at any moment.”

“Aye, Sentek!” says Akillus, never questioning the surprising order; instead, he simply runs to his horse and mounts the animal with his usual, seemingly effortless motion.

Watching carefully, in order to weigh the reactions that Akillus receives from the men as he relays these orders through the clusters of soldiers, Arnem is suddenly startled by a horse snorting, not far behind his head: turning, he once again finds Visimar atop his mare, and accompanied by Niksar. Two skutaars appear to tend to the men’s mounts, one helping the old acolyte to the ground. Once supported by his familiar walking staff, Visimar finds, in addition, that he is being offered a ready and supporting shoulder from Niksar, who follows Arnem’s earlier order with a mixture of obedience and emerging compassion. The sentek is thus allowed to rush up the stockade stairs with a speed that, if not enthusiastic, is purposeful; and when he first sets foot on the walkway above, he quickens his pace still more. Only when he gets within an arm’s length of the officer’s doorway does a sudden apprehension shoot through his bones and prickle his skin, taking nearly all the determination out of him in an instant. It is not a feeling that he can define, but it is one that he must obey: and when he finally raps at the door, he does so but lightly, not knowing whence this hesitation has come.

“Linnet?” he calls, scarcely loud enough to be heard. Then, suddenly, he is made aware of the reason for his wariness: a smell, or rather a stench, the blunt stink of human sweat, waste, and decay, of filthy garments and bedding — in sum, the stink of mortal illness …

“Linnet!” Arnem states with more authority. “I order you to open this door.”

The man tries to answer, but his words are soon choked off by a fit of moist coughing. When the attack subsides, Arnem hears a weak voice, one that, clearly, was once strong, and with the unmistakable inflections of an officer who, although young, is accustomed to command:

“I am sorry, Sentek — I cannot obey you,” the voice says. “But it is not out of impertinence, for I have known you for nearly all of my life, and there is no soldier, indeed no man, that I respect more. But I cannot risk your …” The voice trails off; it has, for the moment, no strength left.

And during the pause, Sentek Arnem realizes that, beneath the distortions of sickness, he knows the voice well: it belongs to the younger brother of his own aide, who is — or once was — as vibrant and ideal an example of Broken virtues as is Reyne.

“Donner?”† Arnem murmurs, as quietly as he can. “Donner Niksar?”

A noise of assent from the chamber’s occupant quickly dissolves back into terrible coughing. “Forgive me for not opening the door, sir,” the younger Niksar brother says, after his fit has subsided. “But you mustn’t come in here — not now. I haven’t let the rest of them in since the pallin died. I first detected the symptoms in myself within hours of his death; and, while it is possible that my men have already been affected by the sickness, they may also have escaped, and I won’t allow the mess that is coming out of me — that I have become—to somehow endanger them …”

Just then, Arnem hears Niksar struggling up the stairs with Visimar, and the sentek grows ever more anxious. “Donner, your brother is with me, surely you will wish to talk with him—”

“No, Sentek, please!” comes the desperate reply. “I fear I have only enough time to tell what I must: of these damnable town merchants, with their elders and their plots and poisons …”

Arnem’s eyes widen. “You think the townspeople tried to poison you, Donner?”

“I realize that it sounds like madness, Sentek. And it may well be. But I’ve good reason to believe it. We meant to interfere with certain of their schemes to remedy their trade difficulties, you see, while at the same time, one of our men had what they considered the cheek to actually court one of their daughters. Their rage was becoming deadly — indeed, as you may have seen, some of them actually seem to be mad …”

Arnem is struck by each part of this statement, but none more so than the last — for he remembers well the looks on the faces of some of the townspeople when he entered Esleben. “But, Donner,” he says, “what are you doing in Esleben? And what ‘plans’ of theirs would you have spoiled?”

“I had formerly been serving under your old comrade, Sentek Gledgesa, in Daurawah,” young Donner Niksar replies, his voice now so hoarse as to suggest razor-like knives lacerating the back of his throat. “Until he sent me here. The last garrison commander had been caught concluding deals with those river raiders who have been bringing their grain up the Meloderna and into the rivers that feed it, including the Cat’s Paw, from which Esleben draws water for its aqueduct. This was Moons ago, Sentek Arnem, midwinter … Before there was any report of disease. Without informing anyone, Sentek Gledgesa called the garrison commander to Daurawah, executed him on his own authority, and dispatched me to take his place. He seemed to know you would be coming, and with you, Reyne; and that you would both believe me, more readily than his other officers.”

“But how did this lead to the business of this pallin, and the girl from the town?”

“That story began to unfold soon after I arrived here,” young Niksar goes on; and it seems that he has found a way in which to speak for longer periods of time, if he keeps the volume of his voice low, making it necessary for Arnem to put his ear directly to the wooden door. “Sentek Gledgesa knew well enough that the commander of the garrison was guilty of the crimes with which so many had charged him; what he could not determine was what part, if any, the elders of Esleben were also playing in the grain scheme. Yet, despite my taking command, the foreign grain continued to make its way upriver in the raiders’ ships, while neither my men nor I could prove the elders of Esleben were involved — yet such did not demonstrate their innocence. Then this business concerning the pallin and his maiden was uncovered in early spring, just as we began to hear of the fire wounds in Daurawah, where they were already burning dozens, perhaps hundreds of bodies, every week, dead from what the commander was confident, by then, represented a foul new way our enemies had devised to weaken our power — I had by then learned otherwise, however. For the maiden had mentioned to her pallin that the town elders meant to take the matter of the raiders into their own hands, and he reported as much to me. I dispatched to Sentek Gledgesa a report that told of the plot—” His words having come too fast, Donner begins to cough terribly again.

“Slow, now, son,” Arnem says, in a voice he hopes is soothing. “Are you trying to say the elders of Esleben meant to oppose the foreign traders?”

“It was after the winter rye had been harvested …” Arnem hears Donner Niksar pouring water into his tormented mouth. “The merchants in Broken — they continued to offer payment that enticed the pirates, being far lower than anything the farmers and millers of Esleben were accustomed to receiving. Soon, the elders of Esleben decided that, so long as those longboats were allowed to race up and down the rivers, they would feed their grain to their own people and animals, rather than accept such low prices from merchants who were meant to protect Broken’s own commerce, not betray it. They then began to do just that, hoping it would bring notice from the Merchants’ Council or even the Grand Layzin and the God-King. It did not, but almost immediately, the girl became ill. Even to myself, the timing of it all seemed — odd … And the rage among the townspeople was implacable. I offered to meet with them alone, to show the army’s goodwill and freedom from further involvement in the illegal trading that was cheating them of the rightful fruits of their labor. I was invited to sup with their elders’ council, so long as I did, indeed, come alone — which I did …”