“I–I don’t know any more than I’ve told you, I swear it! I heard two soldiers talking about an execution that took place some days ago — one asked the other if he thought it had succeeded.”
“Succeeded?” Heldo-Bah does not hide his skepticism. “With nearly half a dozen arrows in him? Of course it succeeded! What’s your game, Tall?”
Again the knife presses hard, and the Guardsman must strain not to cry out. “I don’t think — that is, it seemed they were speaking of something else! Not if they had succeeded in killing the man, but — something else.”
“Such as?” Heldo-Bah draws another bead of blood from the youth, close to the vital pathways throbbing on the powerful neck.
“I don’t know!” the captive sobs. “In the name of Kafra, Bane, I would tell you, if I did — why would I not?”
Heldo-Bah rises up, as if making ready to cut the youth’s throat; but at the sight of the tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks, he relents, and shoves the knife angrily into the sheath that holds all three of the blades. “Yes, I suppose you’re telling the truth, Tall — and I suppose my luck simply is that bad. Tonight as always …” Looking out into the pasture once more, the forager hisses. “Blast it.† And those two still haven’t got my meal!”
Out amid the cattle, Veloc is being chased in a tightening circle by the wounded steer, as his sister moves to grab hold of the long, bloodied hair that dangles from the animal’s neck and shoulders. Keera is close to success — until the steer flings her a dozen yards away with a toss of its head. She sits up, dazed but uninjured. “This evening looks to be a thorough disappointment,” Heldo-Bah moans.
“You won’t kill me?” the captive dares, some nerve returning.
“Oh, I’d like to, make no mistake. Save that the woman you see out there would render me worse than dead, were I to do it …”
“Truly? I–I did not know that the Bane understood mercy.”
Heldo-Bah gives an angry laugh. “Us? It’s you lofty demons that inflict suffering without a bit of remorse! Besides, what of Kafra, and his little brother the God-King? Won’t they save you from our terrible wrath?”
The Guardsman’s voice suddenly boils with indignant rage: “Do not soil those names by speaking them, you unholy little—”
Heldo-Bah laughs more heartily. “Good, Tall — good! Let’s keep things simple — you hate me, and I hate you. Each on principle. I don’t like confusion.” He fetches a gutting blade from his belt, and points into the pasture once more. “You take my friend there — do you know, he has spent this evening savaging my ears with those old lies about all men having once been of an average height? I ask you, what half-witted—”
A stifled cry of alarm comes from Veloc, who is waving frantically at Heldo-Bah; but Heldo-Bah only smiles and returns the wave.
“Listen, Bane,” the captive says, feeling ever bolder, now that he realizes these three do not intend murder. “You know my comrades will return soon. You should release me now—”
Heldo-Bah considers the matter as he watches events on the Plain. “And you had best hope my friends avoid that steer’s horns,” he answers, in a blithe manner that renews much of the young man’s fear. “Because if it’s up to me, boy, you will die. But let’s return to this puzzling question of height for the moment. I’ll tell you what — help me solve it. And then, perhaps, I’ll let you go.”
“What is it you want to know?”
“It’s troubling,” Heldo-Bah answers, squinting at the soldier, his voice still a blend of threat and congeniality. “If it’s true, this business of all men having been of one size before your accursed city was built,† that would mean that the creation of the Bane wasn’t the act of any god, yours or ours — wouldn’t it? That would mean that the Tall somehow brought it about themselves — wouldn’t it?” Heldo-Bah again puts his face very close to the youth’s. “That would mean you have a lot to answer for—wouldn’t it?”
The forager is interrupted by a louder cry from the shag steer, followed by a very unsettling sound that Veloc makes as he runs with his buttocks just inches from the dying animal’s thrusting horns, while Keera dashes alongside the animal once more.
Heldo-Bah frowns. “Well … I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else. This is the price of being a martyr to one’s digestion, Tall …” He grips the gutting blade (which is almost as long as his forearm) tight enough to whiten his knuckles. “Stay at your post,” he mocks, as he bends down to cut a fresh piece of grassy sod and stuff it into the Guardsman’s mouth. “I’m just going to finish that steer.” Heldo-Bah drops the captive’s brass armlet on the ground. “Here,” he says. “Let your god keep you company. And pray, boy …”
Only when Heldo-Bah is out in the open plain does he realize that he and his friends have wasted too much time with their various amusements: other members of Lord Baster-kin’s Guard will arrive before long, to find out what has so upset the cattle. Heldo-Bah takes the ball of hatred that has been fixed all his life on Broken, and momentarily redirects it to the wounded animaclass="underline" he locks eyes with the it, in a manner that transfixes the steer for an instant — long enough to allow Heldo-Bah to leap onto the beast’s thick neck and gain an unshakable purchase with his strong legs. Then, in one expert motion, he reaches around with his gutting blade and slits the animal’s throat, sending a spray of hot blood across the winded Veloc’s legs. In seconds the steer has collapsed, and Heldo-Bah leaps back to the ground, rubbing dirt into the blood on his tunic.
“Trust you to bungle it, Veloc,” he says, as Keera prostrates herself before the head of the dead steer.
“An excellent maneuver, Heldo-Bah,” Veloc answers angrily. “A pity you couldn’t have managed it earlier!”
“Be still!” Keera orders; and then she turns to the steer again, murmuring several phrases indistinctly, yet earnestly.
“She fears its wrath,” Veloc whispers. “It did not die quickly.”
“No — and we’ve tarried too long here, as a result,” Heldo-Bah replies — although not loud enough for Keera to hear.
Within seconds, Keera is on her feet, having begged the steer, as Veloc said, for mercy. “Hurry, both of you,” she says, as she cuts away one of the steer’s haunches. “Heldo-Bah, if you want your precious back straps, you can cut them out yourself.”
Heldo-Bah quickly gets the carcass of the steer open and its guts out onto the Plain in a steaming mass. Working deeper, he neatly harvests the long pieces of muscle that run astride the spine, delicacies he has dreamed of for many days; and he does all of this in less time than it takes the other two foragers to remove the second haunch. The three make ready to run back to the river and their waiting bags — but they go only a few steps before Keera stands alarmingly still, ordering the other two to wait. Heldo-Bah and Veloc see fear suddenly widen her eyes.
“The panther?” Heldo-Bah whispers.
Keera shakes her head once quickly. “No — wolves. Many …”
Veloc looks back at the remains of the steer. “Come for the carcass?”
Keera shakes her head, disturbed. “They may have smelled the blood, but — they’re in that direction. The place where we—”
The noises that erupt from the spot where the three Bane left the bound Broken Guardsman make further explanation unnecessary: none of the foragers needs to see what is happening to know that the pack of wolves has decided to move in swiftly on the easiest meal. The agonized screams of the helpless soldier indicate the pack is working fast: in half a minute the screaming is stifled, and the howls are replaced by the growls of feeding.