The Legend of Broken by Caleb Carr Read Free Book Online

involve such high officials of religion, commerce, and the army, to say nothing of young Niksar? But the possibility is unsettling, nonetheless. At length, however, the sentek shrugs once, affecting merely mild consternation. “Well—if called, we must attend.”
    “But, Sentek, I—I have never been summoned to the Sacristy.”
    Arnem understands Niksar’s apprehension: for the Grand Layzin can order anything from a man’s banishment to Davon Wood to his ennoblement, without any explanation that base mortals might comprehend. To be summoned to the Sacristy, seat of the Layzin’s power, is therefore cause for great celebration or for deep dread; and even Niksar—a man who could not display any more obvious signs of Kafra’s favor—cannot greet the call with confidence.
    How much more, then, should an older, less handsome man—one lacking great wealth and certainty of faith—feel cause for alarm?
    But Arnem has confronted greater terrors. “Pull yourself together, Niksar,” he says. “What interest can the Layzin have in you?” Hastening Niksar toward the nearby guard tower, the sentek adds with a laugh, “Why, you make even
me
look like a Bane forager …”
    Just before he descends the spiral stairs, Arnem claps his earlier companion on the shoulder. “Stay alert, Ban-chindo—you may get your action yet!”
    The pallin draws in a proud breath and smiles. “Yes, Sentek!”
    Inside the guard tower, where torchlight dances on stone surfaces, Arnem and Niksar prepare to start down the winding steps; but before they can, they, along with every other soldier on the western wall, are frozen by an unmistakable sound:
    Echoing up from the far side of Lord Baster-kin’s Plain comes a horrifying shriek of terror and pain, one clearly made by a man.
    Rushing back out, Arnem and Niksar see that Ban-chindo’s spear now drifts from his side uncertainly. “Sentek?” he murmurs. “It comes from the direction of the torches …”
    “It does, pallin.” Arnem listens for further cries; but none come.
    “I—have never heard such a sound,” the pallin admits softly.
    “Likely some Bane has fallen prey to wolves,” Niksar muses, his own face knotted with puzzlement. “Although we heard no howling …”
    “Outragers?” Ban-chindo’s voice is scarcely more than a whisper, revealing that the extent to which the Bane raiders are not only disdained but feared in Broken. “Attacking one of Lord Baster-kin’s Guard? Surely the others heard him cry out, if we were able to.”
    “Perhaps,” Arnem murmurs, as the three soldiers move to the parapets. “But sound plays evil tricks on a man, near the rocks of the Cat’s Paw. We once campaigned for a month down there, and lost many men to wolves—you could hear them attacking from a mile’s distance, yet they could take a picket off without his nearest comrades detecting a thing. And yet, as Niksar says, we have heard no howling …”
    “A panther?” Niksar suggests. “They are silent during attack.”
    “So is their prey,” Arnem replies. “Difficult to scream with a set of panther’s teeth embedded in your throat.”
    Pallin Ban-chindo’s dread rises, as his superiors discuss these grim possibilities, further freeing his young tongue: “Sentek—I know that those who live in the Wood are unworthy, but—I pity the creature who made that sound. Even if it was a Bane. What can have caused it, if neither wolves nor a panther?”
    “Whatever the full explanation, Ban-chindo,” Arnem pronounces, “understand that what you have just heard is the unmistakable voice of human agony. Understand it, respect it—and get used to it. For such are the sounds of the glory you seek so desperately.” Arnem softens his tone. “Keep careful watch. Like as not the torches and this scream were not connected—but if a party of Bane Outragers
has
got past Baster-kin’s men, it means that they intend to enter the city. And I want them stopped—
here.
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