The Legend of Broken

by Caleb Carr

  Although he is about to continue, Caliphestros, like Keera and Stasi, suddenly goes rigid and looks up, when a loud “Shhh!” sounds from above. The panther growls low, looking for a tree to climb as well as the human who has, presumably, made the sound; but she finds neither, until Heldo-Bah’s voice continues to whisper, “Can you two not conclude this imbecilic discussion, or must you tease out every little thread of mutual congratulation, to assure one another of your shared genius?”

  Not even Stasi can locate the gap-toothed Bane at first, thanks to his ever-reliable trick of keeping his body smeared with the scents of various animals when in peril; and it is unsurprising, therefore, that neither Caliphestros nor Keera can spot him, either. Soon enough, however, Heldo-Bah’s ugly mouth and teeth—made somehow even more repellent by their being upside down—appear, along with the rest of his face, when he lets himself slowly hang by the knees from the lower limb of a nearby oak tree, its branches laden with leaves.

  “Heldo-Bah!” Keera says. “So you did make good time in getting here!”

  “And shall remember your unkind words on that subject,” Heldo-Bah replies. “The very thought that we would shirk our duty at a moment such as—”

  “Get them into the trees, will you not, Heldo-Bah?” comes Veloc’s whispering voice, from further up; then, to his sister, he adds, “You are in greater danger than you know, Keera—I would suggest any one of this stand of trees for you, and that rather obliging beech, there, for Lord Caliphestros and his companion, who will find its lower limbs easily conquered.”

  Heeding Veloc’s sense of urgency with no more than whispers and gestures, the old man is able to direct Stasi up and into the nearby beech, which does indeed have several stout lower limbs that grow at odd angles, offering easy pathways upward to the panther’s sharp claws and powerful legs. In only a few quiet moments, cat and rider find themselves in the higher reaches of the beech, at about the height of the three Bane, who are nestled into other, more upright trees of different varieties.

  “At last,” Heldo-Bah whispers. “I did not think that either of you would ever allow us to get a word in, that you might get off the ground and into safety. Great gods, what vain chattering …”

  Now that Keera is away from the rotting soldier, the scent of men becomes unmistakable, bringing several low growls from Stasi before Caliphestros quiets the panther. Yet it is not the simple scent of one tribe of men, but the complex aromas of at least two, and perhaps more. “Yes—I make it out, now,” Keera pronounces. “Our own warriors, somewhere close by. But something else, too—not the honest scent of true Broken soldiers, but the scented, preening aroma of—of—”

  “Baster-kin’s Guard, sister,” Veloc says, directing his chin to the far side of the river. “They imagine themselves well hidden, but even I can pick up the scent and detect their movements. I imagine they await the arrival of some more powerful contingents of the actual Broken army—a fact that would be comforting, were our own men not also proving inexplicably noisy, behind us …”

  “Behind us?” Caliphestros asks. “You mean to say that we …?”

  “Yes, old sage,” Heldo-Bah replies scornfully. “You’ve hit upon it: we’ve stumbled between two quietly advancing forces, and sudden revelation of our presence may be enough to earn us either outright execution from the Guard, or several mistakenly aimed, poison-tipped arrows from advance groups of our own archers, who are no doubt very, very nervous just now. A devilish predicament …”

  “But what can your commander be thinking?” Caliphestros says, somewhat stunned. “When stealth and the Wood have always been your people’s greatest protections?”

  “I believe he intends some gesture,” Heldo-Bah replies, “to make the Tall reconsider all their usual thoughts about how our people fight.”

  Veloc is far from satisfied with this explanation: “And yet it is inexplicable that Ashkatar should make so terrible an error—he is a great soldier …” An idea strikes Veloc at that moment, and he turns to face south. “Linnet!” he suddenly says, not in a full shout, but in a whisper loud enough to be clearly detected. “Any Linnet, in the Army of the Bane Tribe!”

  “Veloc, you imbecile, shut your mouth!” Heldo-Bah commands; and it is well that he does, for almost immediately, an arrow that they both recognize as having come from a sharp-eyed Bane archer’s short bow strikes the tree near the handsome tracker’s head. “Do you listen to nothing that I say? Do you imagine that Ashkatar’s men are acquainted with the average forager’s methods of concealment, much less our own, and so can know who we are? Fool!”

  At the commotion, Stasi growls deeply, looking now to the woodland to the south and its small race of men, who suddenly seem a source of threat: unusual and confusing considerations, for her, an animal who has always respected the Bane enough to spare them from vengeful attacks, just as they have always respected her. Caliphestros whispers words of explanation and reassurance to his companion, stroking her magnificent white coat, but she will not take her brilliant green eyes from the forest, and the fur of her mighty neck and shoulders remains bristling and high, as her tail begins to flick in a manner that would ordinarily mean death for some creature. Keera, observing her fellow foragers’ confusion and the discomfort of their new allies with equal alarm, decides that she alone can remove the threat of violence from this turn of events.

  “The pair of you!” she whispers loud to her brother and Heldo-Bah, swinging down to a lower branch of her tree. “Make no move. And if you would please oblige me, Lord Caliphestros—I will bring some member of our own forces to our position without useless death. If I can …”

  With a few more fast, agile movements, Keera reaches the forest floor, and disappears into the undergrowth of the thicker woodland. Her brother offers one quick protest, but Heldo-Bah has a tight hand over his mouth before he can do any more.

  Their wait is a mercifully short one. There are few of Ashkatar’s officers and men who do not know Keera, at least by reputation; and she manages to find and return with a young pallin who relates that the Bane commander’s force has been on the watch for the return of Heldo-Bah’s foraging party—along with “unexpected guests,” Ashkatar has been careful to say, although he has vouchsafed no more to his men, in the hope that they would not serve their various watches in a state of panic. No warning of Ashkatar’s could truly have prepared his men for the approach of Caliphestros: and when the young Bane warrior sees not only the old man but the enormous white panther, as well, descending from their beech tree, he begins to visibly shake.

  Keera puts a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Do not fear, Pallin,” she says. “They have proved true friends of our tribe—for many years, it turns out.”

  “Yes,” the young man gasps, his dark features going quite white, “but you must understand, Tracker Keera: 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,” Held
o-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 exact 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.

  “Ignore my friend,” 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 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 speaks uncertainly, yet also with great respect. “Keera informs us that she understands human communications very well.”

  This statement clearly impresses and pleases Caliphestros, 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:

  “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 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 …

  Stone

  {i:}

  THE WARM, GENTLE BREEZE that blows across the city of Broken from the west on this spring night might be expected to offer some comfort to the greatly admired yet even more feared chief of the kingdom’s most powerful trading clan, Rendulic Baster-kin. Such soft, sensual waves of air, particularly when they occur at night, are known as “Kafra’
s Breath,” for the welcome effect that they have on the citizens of the city, who are just emerging from beneath winter’s hard-soled boot. This widespread sense of joyous release is perhaps best embodied in the scattered pairs of trysting young lovers that the Lord of the Merchants’ Council can even now spy on the rooftops of their various houses in the First District from his vantage point on one of the two highest points in the city: the terrace that surrounds the central tower of the magnificent Kastelgerd Baster-kin. Both the terrace (once a parapet) and the tower were originally intended as defensive military positions, from which threats to the family and the city itself could be spied long before they became deadly; but for generations, that function has been unnecessary, and the tower as well as the terrace have served as the private sanctum of the Merchant Lord, a place to which the supreme secular official of Broken may summon any subject—nearly all of whom dread such invitations.

  Far below the tower lies the foundation of the Kastelgerd, completely concealed from public view and composed of another section of the city’s remarkable series of vaulted storage chambers, which, like all the others, is filled to overflowing with weapons and provisions. Above the foundation, the visible wings of the great residence are on a scale, it has often been said (not always with respect or admiration) to match the palace of the God-King. But because the Kastelgerd sits hard by the eastern wall of the city, and was first intended to serve the same genuine military purpose as the tower, it is stouter in overall appearance than the sacred ruler’s paradise: a forbidding exterior that further cows those who are required to attend audiences within.