“Plague — in Okot …” Welferek looks down at his bound hands, then at the forest around him, as if these and all other sights are new to him. “There is plague in Okot …”
Keera rushes to the man, fastens her powerful hands onto the chest of his tunic and pulling him into a sitting position, then slams him back against the oak tree. “What are you talking about, Outrager?” she shouts. “What plague?”
Light slowly reenters Welferek’s eyes; he recognizes Keera, at last, and then the other two; but precisely who they are and why he is among them is obviously still a mystery. “Do not — return. They’re dying — so many are dying.” He gasps once, then lifts his arms, oblivious to the pain of his wounds, and puts his bloody, bound hands to either side of Keera’s chin, as if he somehow understands her urgency. “Do not return there!” he shouts. “There is plague in Okot—there is plague in Okot!”
Keera snatches his hands and tears them from her face. Standing, she turns to see that Heldo-Bah and Veloc have fixed their sacks to their shoulders. “We go—now,” she orders. “Cut him loose — his own men may still be about. If they do not find him, he can make his own way, or be eaten by panthers, I don’t care. I will lead.”
Veloc touches her arm as she passes. “Keera, we don’t know—”
“No,” she replies. “We don’t. And we won’t find out here. Now run, damn you both!”
And, in the time it takes for Welferek’s bobbing, slowly clearing head to right itself, the three foragers disappear once again into the deep forest, leaving no trace of their encounter save the Outrager’s bandaged wounds and the lump on his head.
1:{xi:}
Arnem learns many secrets of his city, and
of the perils it faces …
Walking up the center aisle of the Temple nave, Sixt Arnem has remained a respectful half-step behind Lord Baster-kin, not wishing to presume to equal rank, yet unsure of just what his position has become. He has been named the new commander of the army of Broken; that idea alone would require time for the sentek to take in. But beyond this, he has been unsure of just what Baster-kin needs to tell him concerning the coming campaign against the Bane, and why, if the matter really was and is so urgent, the Merchant Lord has said nothing at all, to this point. Evidently Baster-kin wishes to converse in a place more shielded than the Sacristy of the High Temple; but as to where such a place might be, the sentek can hazard no guess.
As Arnem has continued to follow the his lordship through the nave, he has noticed that the east and west walls of that central part of the structure have begun to come to life: the deep indigo illumination of early dawn has begun filtering through tall, wide windows in each of the walls. These windows, like those in the Sacristy, consist of panels of colored glass; but, because secrecy has never been a consideration in the public congregation hall, the panels in its windows were originally made far thinner, which had allowed for them to be leaded together to form enormous patterns of profound complexity† that have never failed to awe the many worshippers who, on high holy days, have abandoned their smaller district temples and streamed up the Celestial Way to the High Temple.
Now, as Baster-kin approaches the building’s enormous brass doors, which are tended by two priests unfamiliar to Arnem, the Merchant Lord pauses, exchanging a few words with these men outside of Arnem’s hearing. The priests nod obediently, then stay where they were as Baster-kin signals to Arnem, telling him to follow into the far eastern corner of the nave. As he obeys this signal, Arnem sees Baster-kin reach for something within his scarlet tunic — an angular object, suspended from his neck on a thin silver chain, which reflects the light of a torch set in a sconce on the nearest of the nave’s columns. Soon, Arnem is able to see by that same light that the object is a key of some sort; and, after he has lifted the chain over his head and taken this key in hand, Baster-kin stops before a marble initiation font,† a basin almost three feet wide with a base some five feet square. A small, circular piece of brass‡ is mounted to the bottommost section of the base, and when Baster-kin slides this aside, Arnem can see a finely worked keyhole, also of brass. The Merchant Lord kneels, inserts the key, and turns it, producing clicks: the working of some inner mechanism.
Getting to his feet again, Baster-kin declares, “What I am about to show you, Sentek, are things of which you must never speak to anyone — not even to your wife.” Arnem is somewhat taken aback by this reference to Isadora, to whom Baster-kin has only been introduced (so far as her husband knows) very briefly, during a few official ceremonies; yet there is a vague air of familiarity about this latest statement that the sentek does not care for, and even more ominously, that he fears. Two things alone can be responsible for it, Arnem calculates: ordinary lust, which would be both insulting and ill-considered, and is therefore unlikely; or, full knowledge of Isadora’s past — her past, and her activities — which would be less likely, yet far more dangerous … “I have your word that you will maintain such silence?” Baster-kin presses.
“Of course, my lord,” Arnem answers. “But I assure you—”
“Perhaps I should not have mentioned it,” Baster-kin says quickly; and then he looks away, scowling and annoyed, it seems to Arnem, at his own awkward choice of words. “My apologies. It’s simply that, given what we have just observed …”
“Yes, my lord,” the sentek answers, relieved at the credible statement of contrition. “I understand.”
“You are now to learn things you must know, if you are to lead our army — and I think you will appreciate the need for secrecy, once you’ve seen them.” Baster-kin signals to the priests at the Temple doors.
The pair rush to him, seeming to Arnem to require no spoken instruction. Both physically powerful young men, the priests pivot the heavy marble font on the point of its brass locking mechanism, revealing a spiral stone staircase that leads down into utter darkness. The priests stand back, and Baster-kin takes the nearby torch from its sconce.
“These tunnels run between the most important structures in the city,” the Merchant Lord explains, leading the way down the steps. “Particularly those that would be crucial during time of siege.” As soon as Arnem’s head is below the level of the Temple floor, the priests above rotate the font back over the hole, and its locking pivot mechanism makes a rather sharp snapping sound.
Thus sealed into the narrow staircase, Arnem is unable to keep from thinking that this descent into the bowels of the city is not a propitious start to his new command …
But, as he reaches the bottom of the steps, the sentek finds a large, vaulted chamber, which offers immediate relief from the cramped stairway. Branching off are perhaps half a dozen roomy tunnels carved through the solid stone, and the chamber itself is filled to brimming with sacks of grain, sides of salt-dried beef and pork, piles of root vegetables — and, finally, enough weapons, Arnem estimates, to arm half a khotor.
“We try to replenish the food supplies regularly,” Baster-kin announces, his voice uncharacteristically enthusiastic as he moves the torch about the chamber to reveal all of its remarkable contents, “and we do what we can to prevent moisture from rusting the weapons.”
“It almost surpasses comprehension,” Arnem says, his eyes following the torchlight. “But who instituted this practice?”
Baster-kin shrugs. “It has gone on for many generations, certainly — it was likely part of the original plan of the Mad King himself. I had the full system of tunnels and chambers mapped, when I assumed my office, and created an inventory of their contents — enough to secure the city for months, at the very least, should we face a siege.”