During the time that he commanded the Ninth, Gledgesa slowly became estranged from the rapidly rising Arnem, each of the two men explaining the drift by citing their new duties and physical distance; but there was another and far truer cause for the estrangement, one that went back to the beginning of their comradeship before the Torganian war, and that involved the shared duty that, as time passed, both men found increasingly difficult to live with as a private memory, much less a public one: the guarding of the Kafran priests’ mutilation and exile rituals on the banks of the Cat’s Paw. In particular, it was the fiendishly bloody rites that they had been forced to observe being inflicted upon Caliphestros and Visimar that had brought about, not only their resignations from the much-coveted guardianship of the priests, but the beginning of their estrangement, as well.
Neither man had ever been able to state, precisely, why their mutual objections and protests should have driven them apart. It had been for wise Isadora to later explain to her husband how shared shame often eats at friendships so relentlessly that the glories of triumph can do little to preserve the bond. Thus, while in later years the company of a man with whom one has achieved honorable glory will always be welcome, the mere sight of a comrade with whom one has played even an involuntary part in foul actions, can bring the sense of shame back again with full, vivid force.
And for this reason, these two men — whose last glimpse of one another was long enough ago that Gledgesa has had time, in the interval, to father and raise a child who is now, Arnem would guess, some eight or nine years old — face each other on the plain east of Daurawah, each not quite knowing, for all their bygone years of comradeship, just what to expect of the other …
In characteristic fashion, Gledgesa’s grin widens, or widens as much as his distorted features will allow. “Forgive me for not saluting, Sixt, old friend, as well as for failing to invite you into Daurawah. But the salute might well crack one of my chalk-like bones; and you mustn’t try to enter the port — not now. I haven’t let any Broken troops in or out—not since it became apparent that the Cat’s Paw is now poisoned.”
Arnem spins to face Visimar, who, for his part, is busy staring at Gledgesa in a manner that tells Arnem he indeed remembers the now-ravaged soldier’s presence at his Denep-stahla.
“Did you come by the river?” Gledgesa asks. “And see the bodies?”
“No, Gerolf. We stayed on the main road, to forage in and about Esleben.”
“Esleben!” Gledgesa attempts a laugh, one that dissolves into a hideous cough: a cough reminiscent of the final moments of Donner Niksar, who Gledgesa soon mentions: “I suppose you learned the truth about those ignorant, treacherous townspeople from young Niksar’s brother, as I hoped you would.” He coughs again, at which his daughter reaches up to attempt to put a comforting hand to his shoulder, although she can manage only his forearm. As she does so, she begins to hum a most pleasant and soothing plainsong† for her father. Gledgesa gently presses her hand and then removes it, although the effect upon his symptoms of her touch and song has been immediate. “It’s all right, Weda.‡ I will be fine, as will you.” The girl continues to hum her plainsong. “But you must meet my oldest friend, Sentek — nay, Yantek Sixt Arnem, commander of the Army of Broken, if the heralds from the great city are to be believed!”
Arnem looks down into the girl’s tightly swaddled face, or at the upper half that is visible; and if her father’s crisp blue eyes and golden hair, which she has inherited fully, are any indication, she is indeed a lovely child, who inspires immediate pity for the suffering she silently endures. Knowing that she cannot speak, Arnem says, “Hello, Weda,” and then rushes to add, “Do not try to reply, I know that you are too ill. I have a daughter almost exactly your age — it must be hard to stay silent, even if you are unwell.”
“You’ve been told she’s ill?” Gledgesa says, his blinded head moving from side to side, as if he might defeat the silk bandage that covers his corrupted eyes by finding a way around it.
“Yes,” Arnem replies carefully. “By those extraordinary sentries on your walls.” He cannot help but laugh. “You were always talented with ballistae and catapults, Gerolf — and you have evidently shared your secrets.”
Having brought up a mouthful of phlegm with an attempt at laughter, Gledgesa spits it out; and Visimar sees that its color is so ruby red as to almost be black. “Those maniacs,” he murmurs in disgust. “We’ve had enemies enough, without their creating more.”
“‘Enemies enough’?” Arnem echoes. “The northerners?”
“The northerners alone would have been manageable,” Gledgesa replies, his voice weakening. “Them, along with the easterners, we learned how to either treat with or punish long ago. But the armies behind these southern caravans, both the Byzantines and the Mohammedans … They’ve wanted to destroy us for years, and may even have worked out the method, now. And this new breed of river pirates is leading the way. Just who is paying whom, and why, I don’t know, but it will gut the kingdom, if it goes on.”
“Gerolf — you speak of the poisoning of the river?” Arnem asks.
“I know, Sixt, you likely find it inconceivable,” Gledgesa says. “But I’ve been writing to the council for weeks; sending dead bodies to prove the point, and not only those of the Bane. The first of my own men to fall, as well. I even sent reports to Baster-kin himself. Nothing’s come of it. And now, of a sudden, we receive a message that all this devastation has actually been the work of the Bane? And that you’re leading a campaign to destroy them?”
“You doubt both points, Gerolf,” Arnem says. “Yet to each, I would ask — who else?”
“Anyone else, Arnem,” Gledgesa responds desperately, his voice fading. “The Bane? Devastation of this order? There are too many contradictions. Many of my own men and their people are dying, yet they do not drink from the river — like any garrison, we have our own well. Suppose the Bane have tainted the Cat’s Paw — how did they manage to despoil that reserve? And try to crush them — yourself and your Talons? What do you know of warfare in the Wood, Sixt? What do any of us? And what’s to happen when these other foreign armies enter the kingdom while you’re fooling about with the exiles? And enter they wilclass="underline" they’re planning the end of Broken, I tell you, Sixt — but what’s just as clear is that they’ve had some kind of help from within the kingdom. I’m not certain just who — the council, Baster-kin, the Layzin, even the God-King — or why, or if those internal partners even realize the true danger of what they’re about—”