to Veloc. “I’ll meet you at the bridge!” Before waiting for further argument, Heldo-Bah vanishes quickly.
Intending to give the wolves a chance to move on to the steer carcass, Heldo-Bah works a wide circle through the field to the spot where he left the Guardsman. As he runs, the forager’s thoughts turn to the young man, but with little remorse: to a greater extent he is curious—about how much of the body the wolves will consume before going to the steer, and how it must have felt for a youth who had known comfort for most of his short life to have faced, on his first night of patrol, all the horrors of the wilderness, without weapons, comrades, or even freedom. This last thought brings a smile to Heldo-Bah’s face, as he reaches a spot from which he can hear those few wolves who have not already been drawn to the richer meat of the steer snarling over the soldier’s remains. When these sounds cease, Heldo-Bah creeps closer once more. But even he cannot maintain his smile when he finds the remains:
The wolves have torn away the young man’s limbs, along with the gut-line that bound them, and slick white bone sockets shine out from the bloody groin and shoulders. The armor has frustrated attempts to get inside the body, but the head lies to one side, almost fully severed, the wide eyes slowly ceasing to reflect the moon. Heldo-Bah studies the remains, then retrieves the shining armlet from the ground and sets out for the river. He pauses after just a few steps, however, and turns to stare once more into the dead, horrified eyes of his young captive.
“Well, boy,” Heldo-Bah murmurs. “It’s a Bane’s education you’ve had tonight.” His cracked lips curl a final time, displaying something more complex than cruelty. “A shame you’ll never have a chance to use it …”
Turning back to snatch the soldier’s short-sword from about his ravaged right shoulder, Heldo-Bah is soon running fast enough to catch his companions before they reach the Fallen Bridge.
1:{
v
:}
Arnem’s long march into the heart of Broken, and the
mystery he encounters along the way …
“So it
was
wolves,” Linnet Niksar pronounces, having heard the terrible sounds that have reverberated up from the Plain below Broken; and though his words are conclusive, his tone lacks the certainty to match.
“Yes, Linnet,” agrees young Pallin Ban-Chindo, who tries to hide his relief at this Earthly explanation for the agonized cries. “Shall I stand the watch down, Sentek?”
Like his aide, however, Sixt Arnem does not share the young pallin’s certainty. “I wouldn’t, Ban-chindo,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing and deepening the scar-like creases at their corners: the product of a lifetime spent studying what ordinary eyes are slow to detect. “No, I would not …”
“Sentek?” Ban-chindo asks in surprise.
Arnem slowly lifts a finger to trace the black horizon of the forest. “Why the lengthy pause? Between the initial scream and the final attack?”
“That’s not hard to explain,” Ban-chindo answers, again letting his mouth move faster than respect dictates. “Sir!” he adds quickly.
“I’m delighted you think so,” Arnem chuckles, once more resting his forearms on the parapet. “Please share this easy explanation that eludes both Linnet Niksar and myself.”
Ban-chindo’s face twists with discomfort, as he realizes that his next statement had better be considered, deferential—and above all, accurate. “Well, Sentek—the first cry was one of alarm. A reaction, upon spying the pack, and a warning to the other members of his patrol.”
Arnem nods slowly, settling the pallin’s spirits considerably. “That may have been the intent behind it—yet what would such tell us about the man who cried out?”
Ban-chindo’s mouth falls open. “Sentek?”
“Come now, Ban-chindo, think,” Arnem says, firmly but without anger. “You, too, Niksar. What have we said about the tricks that sound can play
Intending to give the wolves a chance to move on to the steer carcass, Heldo-Bah works a wide circle through the field to the spot where he left the Guardsman. As he runs, the forager’s thoughts turn to the young man, but with little remorse: to a greater extent he is curious—about how much of the body the wolves will consume before going to the steer, and how it must have felt for a youth who had known comfort for most of his short life to have faced, on his first night of patrol, all the horrors of the wilderness, without weapons, comrades, or even freedom. This last thought brings a smile to Heldo-Bah’s face, as he reaches a spot from which he can hear those few wolves who have not already been drawn to the richer meat of the steer snarling over the soldier’s remains. When these sounds cease, Heldo-Bah creeps closer once more. But even he cannot maintain his smile when he finds the remains:
The wolves have torn away the young man’s limbs, along with the gut-line that bound them, and slick white bone sockets shine out from the bloody groin and shoulders. The armor has frustrated attempts to get inside the body, but the head lies to one side, almost fully severed, the wide eyes slowly ceasing to reflect the moon. Heldo-Bah studies the remains, then retrieves the shining armlet from the ground and sets out for the river. He pauses after just a few steps, however, and turns to stare once more into the dead, horrified eyes of his young captive.
“Well, boy,” Heldo-Bah murmurs. “It’s a Bane’s education you’ve had tonight.” His cracked lips curl a final time, displaying something more complex than cruelty. “A shame you’ll never have a chance to use it …”
Turning back to snatch the soldier’s short-sword from about his ravaged right shoulder, Heldo-Bah is soon running fast enough to catch his companions before they reach the Fallen Bridge.
1:{
v
:}
Arnem’s long march into the heart of Broken, and the
mystery he encounters along the way …
“So it
was
wolves,” Linnet Niksar pronounces, having heard the terrible sounds that have reverberated up from the Plain below Broken; and though his words are conclusive, his tone lacks the certainty to match.
“Yes, Linnet,” agrees young Pallin Ban-Chindo, who tries to hide his relief at this Earthly explanation for the agonized cries. “Shall I stand the watch down, Sentek?”
Like his aide, however, Sixt Arnem does not share the young pallin’s certainty. “I wouldn’t, Ban-chindo,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing and deepening the scar-like creases at their corners: the product of a lifetime spent studying what ordinary eyes are slow to detect. “No, I would not …”
“Sentek?” Ban-chindo asks in surprise.
Arnem slowly lifts a finger to trace the black horizon of the forest. “Why the lengthy pause? Between the initial scream and the final attack?”
“That’s not hard to explain,” Ban-chindo answers, again letting his mouth move faster than respect dictates. “Sir!” he adds quickly.
“I’m delighted you think so,” Arnem chuckles, once more resting his forearms on the parapet. “Please share this easy explanation that eludes both Linnet Niksar and myself.”
Ban-chindo’s face twists with discomfort, as he realizes that his next statement had better be considered, deferential—and above all, accurate. “Well, Sentek—the first cry was one of alarm. A reaction, upon spying the pack, and a warning to the other members of his patrol.”
Arnem nods slowly, settling the pallin’s spirits considerably. “That may have been the intent behind it—yet what would such tell us about the man who cried out?”
Ban-chindo’s mouth falls open. “Sentek?”
“Come now, Ban-chindo, think,” Arnem says, firmly but without anger. “You, too, Niksar. What have we said about the tricks that sound can play
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