The elder silences these men with a wave of one hand, and shouts: “Well, Sentek Arnem? How comes this fellow to know so much of our business? Not only the girl’s death, but our subsequent misfortunes! Is he in secret communication with someone in Esleben?” But both Arnem and Niksar remain, for the moment, too stunned to speak. “I demand to know, I tell you!” the elder rails on. “You call him your surgeon, yet he does not wear the uniform of your legion — who, then, by all that is holy, is he?”
Although inwardly somewhat satisfied that his suspicion concerning Visimar’s usefulness to this campaign has been borne out, Arnem must, because of the cripple’s rash statements, continue to affect only shock: “You don’t mean to say,” the sentek asks the elder, “that he has spoken the truth of this business?”
“Truth enough,” the elder answers, himself astounded at Arnem’s question. “But surely you know it to be, Sentek.”
“I know no such thing, Elder,” Arnem replies, aware that he is engaged in a dangerous ploy. “If you tell me it is so, I shall not contradict you — but do not mistake this fellow. He is still a competent healer, one who inspires faith in my men, and I have kept him on this march for their sake. But his rants are not true ‘vision,’ Elder; they are only the noises created by his broken mind, whatever their seeming conformity to any truth.” The elder seems to become suddenly uncertain. “And, even if he has stumbled upon some few details of events here,” Arnem presses, “do not doubt that he yet remains a stranger to reason, the greater part of the time.” Drawing his blade slowly, Arnem faces Visimar, but glances at the elder. “Finally, I promise you this — if there be any truth in what he says, then I shall discover how he knows it …” The sentek attempts greater congeniality. “But that inquiry, as well as my inspection of the bodies in the granary, do not require your presence, Father. For I have seen the dead of all varieties, during my campaigns, and require no guidance — whereas I would not have you witness what may become necessary, during my interrogation of this man. Niksar—” Arnem’s aide salutes his commander. “Escort the elder back to his home. Do not allow anyone to bully or threaten him in any way.” As Niksar salutes once more, Arnem calls to the elder: “And accept my assurance, Father — you may leave this matter in our hands, and my Talons will determine the truth of it for you …”
Faced with Arnem’s hard aspect, Visimar realizes that he has said too much, and ought to have waited until he was alone with the sentek to divulge his accurate apprehension of the lovers’—and indeed the town of Esleben’s — fates. His words have been dangerous, he quickly sees, precisely because of their accuracy: the townspeople are plainly interpreting the mysterious illness as some sort of punishment brought down upon their whole community by the golden god as punishment for both the reckless acts of the malevolent young soldier and the disobedience of the commander of the garrison. They do not know, as Visimar believes he does, that a terrible sickness is at work in Esleben, one that is not only impossible to cure or control, but is also of an entirely different nature than the supposèd “poison” with which the Bane (according to Arnem) are said to have attempted the assassination of the God-King Saylal.
In short, there are in all likelihood two deadly diseases now at work in Broken: one in the city, and one in the provinces. The first might admit of some cure, if treated as an illness and not a poison; but the second, should it spread, will become as voracious as the fire for which it is named.
Visimar requires but an instant, after this realization, to finally comprehend that he must cooperate with Arnem’s deception, and convince the elder and his bearers that his conclusions concerning the lovers’ deaths and the fate of the town indeed arose from a disordered imagination. By doing so, he will gain for Arnem the freedom to independently seek out the commander of the garrison, and then determine if, in fact, the soldiers of that unit are as doomed as most of the townspeople appear to be.
With this end in mind, Visimar quickly affects a long string of nonsensical declamatory remarks, deliberately made within the retiring elder’s hearing and concerning the “true” (and “magical”) source of his insight. The cripple makes a great show of saying that the birds about Esleben have whispered to him all that they have seen and heard, a ploy — inspired by the work of Visimar’s old master, Caliphestros, who often seemed truly able to draw such information from creatures wild and tame, as if they spoke plainly to him — that is effective; and ere long the elder, still peering out through the back of his litter, orders his men to hasten the return to Esleben, satisfied that Sentek Arnem will honestly determine the extent of the old healer’s madness, and, should it prove in any mischievous way connected to actual events in Esleben, punish Visimar accordingly.
“But remember, Sentek,” the elder calls, as he returns to the assembled crowd, “that the commander of the garrison also awaits the God-King’s justice — and do not think I take any joy in it. For we had hoped, when a new commander was appointed—”
Arnem’s brow arches. “A new commander?” he calls out.
“Certainly,” the elder replies with a nod. “Sent from Daurawah, almost half a year ago. Surely you knew.” Arnem feigns simply having forgotten a fact that, in truth, he never learned. “And we had hoped he would be worthy of our trust — but a man who locks both his dishonorable subordinate and then himself away from his accusers inspires something very different.”
“Indeed, Elder,” Arnem replies. “But I tell you again, we are not here to defy our own customs and laws — if what you say is true, you have my word that the garrison commander will hang for it.”
It is the first open mention of an execution that has passed Arnem’s lips; and it seems to heartily encourage the elder. The drapes of the litter finally close, and Niksar nods to Arnem, signaling that he fully understands his task: to buttress all that the sentek has said with word and action.
Arnem answers with an easy salute, in appreciation of his young aide’s willingness to undertake a less than gallant, but still brave and necessary, service; and when the litter has moved off far enough for plain talk to be safe, the sentek glowers at Visimar, his sword still bared.
“I will tell you but once more, old man. Say what you like to me — but do not endanger the lives of my men or their purpose, or I shall hang you beside this garrison commander!”
“I admit the error, Sixt Arnem — but I spoke the truth, and you must, as quickly as you can, get your men away from Esleben. Deadly sickness is here — indeed, a far more horrifying illness than you have described as being at work in Broken. Its spread in the town can no longer be stopped: and it will begin to kill others with as little warning, or apparent explanation, as it did the unfortunate lovers. And your men cannot be protected from it, save by leaving.”
Arnem studies Visimar, deeply puzzled. “How can you know this, old man, before we have even seen the dead bodies?”
“Viewing the bodies is meaningless — indeed, we had best not even enter the granary, lest we expose ourselves to great danger.”
“Danger — from the dead?”
“From the dead — and from that.” Visimar points to the topmost breaks in the high granary walls, designed to allow for ventilation. Through these openings can be seen grain: a great store of it.
Following Visimar’s indication, as the two men approach the building, Arnem asks, “And what is that, save grain?”