The Legend of Broken Read Online Free PDF Page A

walking into evil, I fear. So both of you, please—try not to fall into the trap that evil has set for us.” The Bane men stare at her in confusion. “No killing,” Keera clarifies. “Unless absolutely necessary.”
    “Of course,” Heldo-Bah replies, dropping to the ground, his thick legs absorbing the impact easily. And then he adds under his breath, “But somehow, I suspect it will be …”

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    On to the city atop the mountain, now!, and learn
    of its virtues, its vices—and the vexations of a soldier …
     
    We take to the sky once more, you and I, across the fields and dales that seemed so serene on our arrival, but which, perhaps, you now find less idyllic; up the slopes of the lonely mountain, first through thick trees and undergrowth on the lower reaches, and then into a still more treacherous maze of rock and harsh scrub; and finally, to the heights, where scattered stands of defiant fir trees give way at last to stone formations, bare of any life and rising, as if of their own accord, to the ultimate and ordered demeanor of mighty walls …
    “Sentek?” †
    Sixt Arnem ‡ sits in a shadow beneath the parapet, staring at a small brass oil lamp atop a folding camp table that he has had brought up from the barracks of the Talons.
    “Sentek Arnem!” the sentry repeats, more urgently.
    Arnem leans forward and folds his arms on the table, his features becoming distinct in the lamp’s light: light brown eyes, a strong nose, and a wry mouth that is never entirely concealed by a rough-trimmed beard. “I’m not deaf, Pallin,” he says wearily. “There’s no need to shout.”
    The young pallin slaps his spear against his side in salute. “I am sorry, Sentek.” He has forgotten, in his excitement, that he addresses no ordinary officer. “But—there are torches. On the edge of Davon Wood.”
    Arnem stares into the smoky lamp once more. “Are there?” he says quietly, poking his finger into the yellow flame and watching black soot collect on his skin. “And what is so interesting about that?” he muses.
    “Well, Sentek—” The pallin takes a deep breath. “They are moving toward the river and Lord Baster-kin’s Plain.”
    Arnem’s eyebrow arches a bit higher. “The Plain?”
    “Yes, Sentek!”
    Rising with a groan, Arnem sweeps his wine-red cloak behind him, revealing well-made, well-worn leather armor. A pair of silver clusters worked into the shape of outstretched eagle’s feet and claws attach the cloak to his powerful shoulders. “All right, Pallin,” he says, approaching the eager youth. “Let’s see what makes your heart race so.”
    “There, Sentek; just by the Wood!” the pallin says triumphantly; for to rouse the interest of Broken’s greatest soldier is indeed an accomplishment.
    Arnem eyes the distance with the calm, all-encompassing gaze of a seasoned campaigner. Even in the light of the rising Moon, the dark mass on the horizon that is the northern frontier of Davon Wood reveals no details about these dancing pinpricks of light. Arnem sighs ambiguously. “Well, Pallin—there are, as you say, a series of torches. Moving just inside Davon Wood, toward the river and the Plain.”
    Then, as the two men watch, the lights in the distance suddenly disappear. Arnem’s features sag mildly. “And now they’re gone …”
    The pallin watches incredulously as Arnem returns to his small stool by the camp table. “Sentek—should we not report this?”
    “Oh, Kafra’s stones …” The blasphemy—common among the poor, but no less extreme for its popularity—has escaped Arnem’s lips before he can stop it. He studies his pallin’s youthful, clean-shaven features, so resolute beneath the unadorned steel plate helmet † that is standard equipment among the Talons; and when he sees how deeply the boy is shocked by his vulgar reference, he cannot help but smile. “What’s your name, Pallin?”
    “Ban-chindo,” the young man replies, again snapping his spear to