The Legend of Broken

forest and reached the river; and it comes—” She dashes to the edge of the Wood and climbs a gnarled cherry tree, judging the increase or decrease in the power of the scent from that point. She then returns to the spot where Stasi stands with her rider, the old man knowing enough to let the tracker go about her work without interference. “From very near the river, if not from within the valley itself. Indeed, my best guess would be that it originates along the silted banks of one of the large pools that form where the river first descends. Those calmer stretches, that is, where creatures of every variety come to drink and bathe.” Her upper teeth bite at her lower lip, as her confusion and concern heighten: “For there are many varieties of death and decay, within this one stench …”

Stasi soon steps to the left, moving onto the more solid ground at the edge of Davon Wood; and there she paces uneasily to and fro, her eyes searching the northwest forest and sky, both of which are still gripped by darkness sufficient to allow her imagination full sway. Caliphestros strokes her neck and urges her to be calm, but with little success: “It was in just such a spot,” explains the old man to the others, “that Stasi and her cubs were first spied by the party of Broken hunters and drivers that gave them chase deeper into the Wood.”

Keera studies the white panther’s motions and the expressions of her face and voice for a few more moments, and finally says, “It seems that Stasi returns to that terrible time even now — as if she senses that those who carried out the attack upon her family are also responsible for the death she now detects; and she desires another chance to settle—”

Stasi suddenly releases her resonant, hauntingly high-toned cry of alarm. She then rushes a little deeper into the forest proper, to a nearby cluster of thick roseberry† bushes that grow out of a patch of particularly soft Earth that is covered by a thick layer of moss. Here, she gracefully but deliberately dips her left foreleg and side, causing Caliphestros to lose his balance atop her and, clutching his twin bags and his bundled crutches, to roll into the patch of almost harmless bushes and, soon, into the thick moss at their base. Then, briefly glancing back to see that the old man has survived without mishap, Stasi dashes away, keeping just within the line of the forest’s edge, where the ground is easier to grip, and soon disappearing into the northwesterly wilderness.

“Stasi!” Caliphestros cries, before he has even gotten himself into a sitting position. As the foragers rush to assist him, he continues to shout in fear, “Stasi, do not be rash — you must wait for our help!”

{vi:}

“My lord!” Keera says, leaping into the enveloping bushes, finding a path through the more widely spaced branches at the base of the thicket, and thus a way to the old man’s side, as quickly as we might, by now, have grown to expect of these Bane. “Are you injured?” Keera says, when she reaches him.

Caliphestros grinds his teeth hard, already grabbing at a small deerskin pouch that hangs round his neck. “No — not injured, Keera,” he says, groaning. “It is nothing more than the old pain …” This statement bleeds into another groan and more teeth-gnashing: “Nor is it anything less. May the true deities who watch over this world damn the golden god and his priests to such eternal fire as is forever mine!”

“Hak! Be careful, now,” Heldo-Bah laughingly scolds, as he cuts his way through the berry bush branches. “You’ve spent too much time in our company already, Lord of Wisdom — blaspheming like some cheap Daurawah whore, you shock me!”

“But what happened, my lord?” Veloc asks, his mind, like Heldo-Bah’s, fully capable of carrying on a conversation as his hands and arms slash away at the strong bush expertly enough to avoid the painful cuts that the larger thorns can inflict.

“As I have told you, Veloc, Stasi’s actions and purposes are her own,” the struggling Caliphestros replies sharply, taking three pressed balls of what Keera can tell, simply by their scent, are powerful combinations of herbaceous medicines out of his pouch, then quickly putting them into his mouth and chewing them, seemingly oblivious to what the tracker surmises must be their terribly bitter taste. “Although I cannot pretend that both my pride and other, pettier feelings of my heart do not suffer when these things happen …” Already having revealed far more about this moment than he would have liked, even in friendly company, Caliphestros abruptly ceases such talk and calls out: “Heldo-Bah! I assume you have some quantity of potent drink on your person?”

Much of Heldo-Bah’s humorous view of this latest event has been driven out of his mind and manner by sudden and close scrutiny of the terrible scars on the old man’s thighs; and so he responds to this inquiry by reaching inside his tunic, producing what appears to be a fairly small wineskin, made of kid hide and lined with the stomach of the same animal. “You assume rightly, my lord, and you are welcome to as much of it as you need …”

Caliphestros nods, takes a deep draught from the skin, and hastens to draw air. “By whatever gods be true!” he soon gasps, staring at Heldo-Bah with stunned features, “What is that?”

Heldo-Bah grins, lets the old man take another pull at the skin, then indulges in one, himself; and even he must work to keep it down. “That is the one civilized thing to come north with the dark barbarians southeast of the Tombs,” he says, sucking in his own cooling gasp of air. “Plum brandy, or so they claim it to be. Slivevetz, they call it.”†

“Brandy?” Caliphestros echoes in disbelief. “It cannot be. An incendiary used by their armies, perhaps — I would almost believe it to be napthes,‡ save that I know from my own studies that those tribes are too ignorant to distill such.”

Heldo-Bah laughs once, and heartily, as if he has just seen the first evidence he can truly comprehend that Caliphestros is indeed a man, as Heldo-Bah understands the word: a person who, whatever his present diminished state, once savored the visceral joys of life. “Yes, I thought the same, my lord, when first I tasted it,” the Bane calls in delight. “Save that it does not rob one of life. Rather the opposite!”

Keera has taken the small but weighty bags from Caliphestros’s shoulders and set them aside, after which she helps the old man to sit fully up. Caliphestros looks off in the direction of the forest undergrowth through which Stasi disappeared.

“Should we not hurry, my lord, to aid Stasi?” Keera asks. “If you are able, of course.”

“We shall,” answers the old man, getting his crutches on. “But we need not move too quickly. Stasi will attack only if she finds living humans at the site of whatever death has taken place upriver — and the chances of discovering such life, be it animal or human are, if I am correct about what is taking place, small. And that is fortunate — for it is the dead who hold the clearest answers to our questions …” The old man, gaining strength, glances about. “Yet we must consider that our purposes now seem to lead in two opposing directions.”

“These strange deaths upriver,” Keera says with a nod, “and the soldier at the Fallen Bridge.”

“Indeed, Keera,” Caliphestros replies. “Thus we must, for the moment, split our band into sensible pieces. I propose that you and I follow Stasi; Veloc, you go with Heldo-Bah and keep watch over the body downriver, taking every care not to be observed until our return, when we may conduct a more thorough investigation.”

“It shall be done as you say, my lord,” Veloc replies, again anxious to please the old man. “You may rely upon it, and upon us.”

“And,” Heldo-Bah adds eagerly, “as yours will be the longer journey—” Without anyone having ordered it, he fetches up Caliphestros’s two bags from the midst of the roseberry bush. “Permit me to assume these burdens for you, Lord Caliphestros.” Moaning when he lifts the bags onto his shoulders, he removes one and hands it to Veloc. “Who would have ever thought that the day would come when we would be draughting books about the Wood, as if they were blocks of gold or iron ore …”

“I very much doubt that anyone would believe it,” Caliphestros says quickly, anxious to get under way. “Come here, now, both of you.” Heldo-Bah and Veloc obey, and stand quite still as Caliphestros retrieves a few small objects from his bags, and then hands these apparently precious items to Keera, who places them in her own shoulder sack. “Remember this,” the old man says, indicating his bags to Veloc and Heldo-Bah. “These books, as well as the instruments you carry, are in fact of far greater importance to our finding the source of the illness, and whether it is indeed a plan set in motion by those who rule Broken, than any of the goods you usually carry. Be careful with them, especially at those moments when you display, as you so frequently do, little concern for your own necks. And so — on your way!”