The Legend of Broken

Since I was a child, I have been told that this animal was but a myth. And the sorcerer was spoken of only when my mother wished to terrify me into complying with her wishes—”

“Well,” Heldo-Bah laughs quietly, leaping to the ground from the next-to-lowest limb of his own perch, “now you will have something with which to terrify her, young Pallin! As is only right and just, the world turning as it does, and all parents who engage in such behavior eventually receiving a dose of their own medicine, when the Moon is playing fair.”

“Pay no attention to Heldo-Bah,” Veloc says reassuringly; but he realizes his error immediately, for any comfort he might have offered with his manner is removed by his referring to his infamous friend by name, a name almost as fearful to the pallin as is that of Caliphestros.

“Heldo-Bah?” says the young man, again turning to Keera. “Then it is true you travel with the murderer—” Quickly realizing his own misstep, the soldier glances back at the approaching forager. “Although I have been told, we have all been told, of the great and terrible quest upon which the Groba sent you, several days ago, and I respect your patriotism, sir—”

“Don’t bother, boy,” Heldo-Bah whispers cheerfully, showing the filed, irregular teeth in a grin that does little to help the trembling young fellow. “I do what I do for my friends, out of the desire to extract vengeance on the Tall, and because I must — no great nobility involved in it, as you will yourself discover, should your yantek actually be fool enough to take you out across the river and onto the Plain.” The lethal eyes search the forest further south. “Where is he, by the way? I rather expected him to greet us, after what we’ve been through.”

“Be at your ease, soldier,” Veloc attempts, joining the group and leaving Stasi and Caliphestros just a few steps behind, so that they are both partially hidden and shielded by his own and Heldo-Bah’s bodies. “You have nothing to fear from any of us, as I’m sure my sister has told you.”

“Sister?” the lad repeats. “So you, then, are Veloc, the final member of the party. I am honored—”

“You need to put aside all this being honored and tell us what’s happening, little hero in swaddling clothes,” Heldo-Bah says, still merrily, but also insultingly enough, now, to make the soldier a bit indignant, despite his fear.

“Pay my friend no mind,” Keera says, wondering just how many times she has had to say such things, as she claps the pallin’s shoulder hard to bring him back to the point. “Rudeness comes to him as does breathing to most.” She looks to her fellow foragers with familiar irritation. “The pallin was part of a small scouting party, when I found him — his linnet and another pallin have gone back to fetch Ashkatar, but it will likely take a few moments, as the yantek is moving up and down the line. Apparently, he does indeed intend the attack that Lord Caliphestros envisioned. It seems we have arrived only just in time to prevent a terrible error.”

Very soon, Ashkatar, even more heavily armed than is his usual custom, whip firmly in hand, comes running into the small clearing into which the foragers and their guests have moved with the pallin, another foot soldier and an equally young linnet trailing close behind him.

“Ah — so it’s true, then,” he says through the bristling black beard, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest despite his lowered volume. “The three of you have returned.” Looking over Veloc’s and Heldo-Bah’s shoulders, however, even the powerful and angry Ashkatar pales a bit. “And have succeeded in your mission — or so it would seem,” he adds, his voice losing a good deal of its certainty and confidence.

Both Stasi and Caliphestros draw themselves up proudly, at the appearance of this small but impressive man, for whom authority is an obvious and hard-earned habit, and begin to move slowly forward. The young Bane soldiers move backward in a matching manner, but Ashkatar stands his ground admirably, and even takes a step or two forward to greet the newcomers. “You are welcome among us, Lord Caliphestros. Should I — would it be customary to address your great companion, the noble white panther?” Ashkatar continues uncertainly, yet also with great respect. “Keera informs us that she understands human communications very well.”

This statement clearly impresses and pleases the old man, although he stops short of smiling. “Thank you, Yantek Ashkatar. Your manner does you credit. No, you need not offer any particular address to my friend, although she will be able to sense both your own and your men’s intentions and attitudes instantly. They would do well to remember that fact, and to spread the word quickly, so that there are no unhappy misunderstandings as we make for your camp and then for Okot.”

“Well, you lot?” Ashkatar barks at his men. “You heard Lord Caliphestros. Return to my camp, quickly, and tell all troops you encounter to make it known up and down the line just who has arrived, and how they are to conduct themselves.” Half-turning to see the soldiers too awed to comply, he growls. “Go on, then! And have my staff prepare food in my tent. We shall follow quickly behind.” As the young soldiers vanish into the forest undergrowth, the great black beard turns to Caliphestros again. “I should, perhaps, have said that we will return however quickly it is your pleasure to travel, my lord. You will find my men nervous, at your arrival, as you have seen, but you will also find our leaders grateful for your willingness to come to our aid in this time of crisis.”

“Just how much aid I shall be, Yantek,” Caliphestros replies, still aware of the need for appearances, “is yet to be seen. I must judge the worthiness and intentions of your tribe, although I have never been given cause to doubt either.”

Ashkatar nods, clearly impressed by and appreciative of this statement. “Shall we proceed, then, my lord?” he asks, holding his whip out in the direction that the soldiers took to return to their lines, and where Caliphestros can now see a rough trail barely marked out. He senses that Ashkatar expects him to move up and walk by his side, as the highest Bane authority present, and the old man indicates to Stasi to do so. She shows no hesitation in complying, for she has truly taken the measure of this rugged yet proud and impressive man, and found him to her liking. As he passes Keera by, however, Caliphestros brings Stasi to a halt, and says to Ashkatar, with reciprocal respect:

“I should like the tracker Keera to walk alongside us, as well, Yantek Ashkatar. She has already proved most invaluable, both to me, to the discovery of information invaluable to our shared goals of learning who and what lies behind the terrible illness — if single illness it be — that so afflicts the Wood and your tribe, and in the cause of keeping the great being upon whose back I am privileged enough to travel calm and reassured.”

“Of course, my lord,” Ashkatar says. “Although I fear the other two must follow behind. Veloc and Heldo- Bah are not held in the respect that Keera enjoys, among our tribe, and it would be inappropriate to offer them such honor, whatever their service in the last few days.”

Caliphestros lifts his nose in mock haughtiness as he moves forward past the two male foragers, murmuring to Heldo-Bah in particular, “How refreshingly accurate and honest an assessment, Yantek …”

“Well, Heldo-Bah,” Veloc says, making sure he cannot be overheard by those in front of him. “It’s the servants’ place for us. As usual …”

“Speak for yourself, Veloc,” Heldo-Bah replies bitterly. “There will be time enough for us to claim our proper position and respect, once our story becomes known.”

“Oh, certainly,” Veloc replies, his voice the essence of sarcasm. “But for now — try not to trod upon any panther droppings …”

So numerous and rapt in wonder are the Bane soldiers that appear on both sides of the route that the remarkable lead party take south (a path which leaves the course of the river behind altogether) that no one at first thinks to comment on Caliphestros’s peculiar request for Ashkatar’s small but tough, game troops to begin digging holes in the ground every one or two hundred paces. The old man quickly becomes immersed in their efforts, and seems satisfied with the results only when the troops’ shovels reach water beneath the forest floor. He is especially fascinated when the water thus discovered bears a particular odor, an odor reminiscent, to Keera (whose memory of what she has perceived through her senses is as sharp as those senses themselves), of the dying pool that she visited in the aging scholar’s and Stasi’s company only hours before. Most of the troops doing the digging cannot help but wonder further at Caliphestros’s insistence that all men and women who come into contact with such fluids instantly bathe their hands with strong lye soap, and above all do not drink of their discoveries. His inscrutable behavior in this regard seems only to match both his reputation and overall manner, however, and one thing that is clear is that Caliphestros is not a man to see such efforts as the soldiers expend go wasted. Yet not until the group goes before the Groba will the full significance of these strange investigative activities become startlingly clear …