“Brave words, when you have an army behind you, Ashkatar,” Heldo-Bah answers, nonetheless falling alongside the middling-long column of soldiers to keep pace with them. “But neither the Bane nor the Tall have yet made the whip that will cut my skin, I promise you that …”
Once again walking beside Stasi and Caliphestros as they move to catch up to Ashkatar, Keera shakes her head. “I promise you, my lord — there really are Bane tribe members who are not so devoted to bickering as are those two. Or three, I suppose, if you number Yantek Ashkatar among them, these three—”
“Oh, I am certain of it,” Caliphestros interrupts, an enigmatic smile entering his features. “Indeed, I have seen those among your people who can be almost silent — even as they dance along the treetops …”
3:{iii:}
Arrival on Lord Baster-kin’s Plain presents
Sentek Arnem’s Talons with an eerie silence …
On the morning that Sixt Arnem marches his full khotor of the Talons onto the section of Lord Baster-kin’s Plain north of the Fallen Bridge, he finds no evidence that the men from the Esleben garrison, who were to have met him there, have survived one or the other of the pestilences that Visimar has been able to determine are at work in Broken, during their march to the Cat’s Paw. Similarly, but far more surprisingly, there is no sign of the detachment of Lord Baster-kin’s Guard that has always been assigned to the northernmost boundary of the great family’s most arable and strategic piece of land; yet neither is there any visible token that these men met with some calamity. Instead, as the Talons make their way through the rough, high grass at the edge of the Plain and then south into the rich pastureland that has been chewed to a short and almost uniform length by the Baster-kin family’s renowned shag cattle, they encounter what is, in many ways, the most unnerving circumstance for soldiers who are on the march, full of questions, and far from home:
Nothing.
True, the cattle graze in their ordinary manner (or rather, most of them do, for there are clearly more than a few missing), and take little notice of the newcomers, save to move off to a safe distance; yet none shows any obvious sign of disease. Nevertheless, Arnem’s men are all aware that units of the Guard should be patrolling this part of the Plain: and so where are they? Arnem knows that action is the only cure for his own as well as his men’s bewilderment: thus, after ordering the establishment of a central camp, the sentek orders his scouts to employ their keen talents for detection as far as a dozen miles up and down the northern bank of the Cat’s Paw, reminding them, along with the rest of his men, that no water from the river is to be consumed, either by themselves or by their mounts, save from the several collecting ponds for rainwater that the Baster-kin family has constructed throughout the Plain over the last several years. Arnem’s central camp is hard by one such pool; and as his tent is erected, the sentek orders the establishment of an observation post near the southernmost of the these small sources of safe water, a post that, situated closest to the Fallen Bridge, offers a commanding view of both the river and the Wood beyond. Tents are pitched, there, campfires lit, watches scheduled, and the men are ordered to be ready at a moment’s notice.
As the sounds of the other fausten preparing their own tents around Arnem’s begin to resonate through the midday air north of the bridge, the sentek, Niksar and Visimar move their horses ever closer to the rough border of the Plain that lines its southern edge, Arnem’s eyes alert for any sign of Akillus or his men returning with news, and particularly for any sign of the missing members of Baster-kin’s Guard. The mood throughout the Plain grows more grim if determined with the passage of each hour, as does the bitterness over the advantage that the soldiers who were supposed to have been already positioned in the area might have offered.
“Damn them,” Arnem seethes softly, and neither Visimar nor Niksar have any trouble understanding who is the object of his ire. “I did not expect to find those brass-banded dandies alert and at their posts, but somewhere in the vicinity of those positions might have been of some use.”
“Would you expect jackals to become wolves, then, Sentek,” Visimar asks in reply, “simply because an air of danger presents itself?”
Niksar nods slowly. “He speaks truly, Sentek,” the linnet murmurs. “Given that this would be the first prize that the Bane would likely attempt to seize during any attack on the kingdom, we might have expected that the Guard would have withdrawn. The sole questions being, in which direction, why, and under whose authority …”
“‘Authority,’ Niksar?” Arnem asks. “You think that they had orders to remove themselves from the field? Such orders, I trust you realize, could only have come from one source.”
Visimar desires with all his heart not to be the one to respond to this statement, and so is delighted when he hears the handsome young linnet reply, “Sentek — I do not intend this as anything other than what it is: an observation of what I see as undeniable facts, as well as an attempt to honor my brother, and to question the peculiar way in which Donner’s plight was consistently ignored by our superiors, our civilian superiors, during his time at Esleben; surely this situation suggests that Lord Baster-kin, whatever your former respect for him, is not the man you have so often trusted him to be.”
“Perhaps, Niksar—perhaps,” Arnem replies; then, after consideration, he adds, “Although I can but hope that you understand how wary we must be of even considering such conclusions. I do realize that we have not yet found a common thread that runs through all that we have seen, experienced, and felt. But the suggestion that such a thread is treachery on the part of the Merchant Lord — I am not at all certain of as much. The officers and men of the Guard share more than enough perfidy and cowardice to explain what has happened — and we must, I fear, leave matters at that. At least for the moment.”
At this rebuff from his commander, Niksar — his brother’s death still fresh in his thoughts — rides further south alone for a moment, while Arnem and Visimar grow silent once again, Visimar studying the commander of the army of Broken for some few moments before quietly asking, “When did you last sleep, Sentek? Properly, that is?”
“When did any of us?” Arnem replies, not sharply, but still with some irritation. “The men need to establish a schedule of watches and rest, the horses need some similarly sustained hours of feeding, or at least of grazing on decent grass such as will fill out their bellies, and sleep, to say nothing of grooming … And Kafra’s stones, the skutaars look as though they will all be felled by exhaustion at any moment. Can I rest before I know that all of these — men, animals, youths — are safe enough from either fatigue or pestilence to undertake their task? Tell me how, sorcerer’s acolyte, and I shall put my head to my bedroll as fast as any man who marches with us. For of one thing I am certain—” The cool, steady eyes scan the southern riverbank, and Davon Wood beyond it. “The Bane have been watching all that we have been through. From afar, perhaps, but … They are out there, and know at least a little — and likely far more — of our troubled state.”
It is not until hours later, when daylight is growing golden with late afternoon, that Arnem is informed that the first of the scouts — not surprisingly, the ever-reliable Akillus — has been sighted rushing at a great speed back to the Talons’ camp.