The Legend of Broken

Arnem’s heart sinks at this news: for he realizes that, alone among the garrison, Donner Niksar had broken what Visimar has told the sentek must be tainted bread with the people of Esleben, unknowingly condemning himself to a hideous death …

Suddenly, a small sound of triumph from across the walkway reaches Arnem’s ears, and he turns to see that Visimar and the sentek’s weary aide have reached the top of the wooden stairway. Arnem waves to the pair urgently to slow their advance. Both are confused, but Arnem cannot concern himself with it: he must hear Donner out, before Reyne does so and, very likely, is driven to violence by his brother’s condition.

“Donner, we haven’t much time — your brother approaches.”

“Reyne?” the younger Niksar gasps. “Delay him, Sentek, please — although there are certain things I must tell him, to ease my family’s burden …”

“And you shall,” Arnem says, a still greater feeling of wretched responsibility settling on his heart. “But first, you must complete your tale — what can the trysting of the pallin and a town maiden have had to do with all these other matters?”

Donner Niksar spits; this time as much in disdain as because of sickness. “None, Sentek.” And instantly, Arnem recalls Visimar’s words concerning the dead soldier: a victim, not a murderer … “The notion that we were all protecting one love-struck member of our company offered the ever more unreasonable elders and their followers more than a question of a girl supposedly losing her virtue in defiance of army regulations: it was an easy way of justifying their grievances and their desires for vengeance. I attempted to explain the truth to them when we met, but they were beyond explanations — or, at least, any explanations that made sense.”

“Yes,” Arnem replies. “I have encountered them in that mood.”

“Then you know how full of mad rage they can become—” Donner murmurs, before another coughing fit overtakes him. As he listens helplessly, Arnem thinks of one last hope to offer:

“Listen to me, Donner — I have with me a rare man of medicine, who has seen this sickness before. It is possible that he can help you.”

“I fear I am well beyond any such aid,” comes the plaintive, gasping answer.

“You are not,” Arnem declares, as if discipline can overcome disease. “I forbid you to surrender, Linnet.”

Still struggling to breathe, Donner assembles a final attempt to complete the task he has set for himself: “Let me only finish my report, Sentek, that I may die in peace …” Arnem cannot find it in him to forbid such, and so says nothing, at which Donner tries to order his thoughts and voice: “I had warning that the elders intended to take definite action against the illegal river trading. It was a small matter to have them watched. And the madness the townsmen planned was simply that. They believed that they might teach not only the agents of the merchants in Broken, but the foreign traders, too, a lesson. For two nights, they worked in the river’s shallowest run, sinking deadly gutting stakes — sharpened tree trunks, their points reinforced by iron plating. As a last measure, the stakes were joined with heavy chains. The long ships draw so little draught that they can usually sail or row this far upriver without mishap — but they could not have survived that viciousness. I had no time to do anything save send another dispatch to Sentek Gledgesa, then turn my attention toward dismantling the work of these fools … Not because I approved of what the raiders and the Broken merchants were doing, of course, but to try to stop a war with the northerners — for that would have been the result of it, and the raiders have grown very powerful, through all their piracy and plunder. So I took several men and teams of horses, late on a Moonless night, and went to the river. We fastened our own series of chains to their deadly spikes and undid their trap. That was when we were forced within our stockade by enormous mobs from Esleben and more than a few neighboring villages …” Donner’s voice pauses; and Arnem can now hear only a wheezing, choking sound, one that is little short of the noises that so often precede death.

“Donner!” Arnem whispers urgently, trying the door once again, to equally little effect. “Unbar the door, son, and let us in to help you.”

After regaining enough strength to speak — Arnem fears for the last time — the younger Niksar replies, “Nay, Sentek. I know the lay of things. The townspeople want my death, atop the young pallin’s. And I have arranged for all to occur as they wish; for, despite your kind offer, Commander, there is no art, sacred, black, or otherwise, that can help me — not now. I saw what happened to our young pallin …” For a moment, Arnem hears nothing, and his own spirit sinks again; but then, Donner murmurs, in deathly earnest, “You must get your men away, Sentek. I believe I have fulfilled my final commission in the manner that my family, the God-King, and Kafra would have wished, and that yourself and Sentek Gledgesa will approve. Whatever the case, I am dying, and would have my death be of use. I shall not have to strength, then, to tell Reyne — to tell him what I—”

Arnem finally concedes. “Let your soul be at peace, Donner,” he says quietly. “I know what you wish him to know — your actions have told me. He is but an instant away, if you can manage the wait — if not, know from me that you are as good a soldier as Broken has ever known, and that I am indeed proud of you, as I know that Sentek Gledgesa will be. And your family, as well.” The young officer murmurs his pained thanks, relief finding a way through his suffering; at which Arnem turns, haggard, and signals across the walkway to his aide.

Suspecting some strange development, and making sure that Visimar now stands securely upon his walking stick, the elder Niksar runs ahead; the aged cripple, meanwhile, watches the linnet’s face go pale as Arnem relates some news of evidently shattering effect. Niksar attempts to force the door of the garrison commander’s quarters open, fails, and then falls to his knees by it, speaking softly to the planks of wood before him.

Arnem, helpless, moves to join Visimar on the walkway, saying only, “His brother — a lad I knew well,” before turning to lean over the railing at his side, almost as if he will be sick. From that position, he nearly fails to notice Linnet Akillus, as the latter charges into the stockade quadrangle and leaps from his horse’s back, making for the stairway.

“Sentek Arnem!” Akillus shouts repeatedly, his voice ringing with a sort of alarm that Visimar has not yet heard from the man.

Arnem is angered by the interruption, for Niksar’s sake even more than for his own; and he catches Akillus at the top of the stairs. “Linnet! I hope you have some reason for barging in here like a mad dog. What in the name of Kafra’s stones are you thinking—?”

But, even as he speaks, Arnem suddenly takes note of his men forming up below, as if some new danger has appeared in Esleben: a danger which the Talons require no specific order to prepare to face. “The townsmen, Sentek!” Akillus says, never for a moment concerning himself with Visimar. “Or I should say, not only the men of this town, but others as well, for such are their numbers! And there are women, too — hundreds, armed with farming tools as well as weapons — anything that can be made to kill! They are all moving on the garrison, and they — well—”

“Well what, Akillus?” Arnem asks, concerned to see such apprehension in a soldier who has kept his head in far deadlier situations.

“Well, sir,” Akillus tries to explain. “It is the look of them — like mad, desperate beasts — and moving against us!”

{v:}

Arnem immediately dashes down the stairs before him, leaving behind his aide to bid a heartrending farewell to his brother Donner (who continues to refuse any healthy person entrance into his chamber), and issuing an order to Akillus — a man whose lack of social condescension is as strong as his reliability in a fight — to bear Visimar upon his back to the old man’s waiting mare below to save time. Once upon the earthen quadrangle floor, Arnem finds that his own mount, the Ox, is refreshed and ready to ride, the skutaar Ernakh having, as always, anticipated his commander’s orders. Soon, Arnem is among his men outside the garrison gates as they continue to group into defensive formations to meet the approaching mob, which the sentek now spies for the first time; and that first glimpse is enough to tell him that his chief scout’s extreme alarm was not unwarranted.

What must indeed be hundreds of townspeople, from Esleben as well as surrounding villages, are moving against the stockade: merchants, laborers, and farmers, as well as men of obviously less established station, the