The following morning, she walked to the city, and Chanter accompanied her to the outskirts. When he decided that it was too dangerous to go closer, he leapt into the air and transformed into a gull with a rush of Ashmar. Talsy walked on, knowing that he kept watch high above. By the time she trudged through the city gates, the fascination of the great metropolis held her in its spell. The massive stone walls loomed over her, daunting in their solid, meticulous construction from chiselled stones that fitted together with almost seamless precision.
At the gates, two bored guardsmen leant on their spears and watched her pass. Within the walls, tall buildings seemed to crowd over the paved streets. Statues watched her pass with blank stone stares and well-dressed citizens stepped aside with grave courtesy. The clean, wide streets crossed each other at exact angles and measured distances apart. Carts and drays rattled along them, and fancy rigs drawn by high-stepping horses carried wealthy ladies in printed gowns. Shopkeepers displayed their wares under gay awnings and greeted passers-by with polite smiles. It all seemed ordered and peaceful to Talsy, civilisation at its height.
Finding the docks was simply a matter of following her nose. The smell of fish and salt carried on the inshore breeze, and the straight wide roads led her to a fish market populated by fat fishwives and salty fishermen. A flotilla of boats crowded the dock, four or five deep along the wharf. Ocean-going ships rubbed against fishing boats of all shapes and sizes. The bustle of loading and off-loading kept a constant stream of activity through the market. Brothels and warehouses bordered the docks, and fishing nets lay in great piles or were stretched between the gangs of men and women repairing them. The atmosphere was industrious, and people laughed and talked as they worked, while children played at their feet.
Stopping beside a grey-bearded man relaxing on a bollard smoking a pipe, Talsy enquired after a dingy for sale. He directed her to a vast, red-faced man repairing a net, who set a price well beyond her purse and assured her that she would not a get a boat for less. Despondent, she asked about buying passage on a ship, and he directed her to a handsome, lean-faced man clad in a smart olive coat, cream shirt, soft brown boots, fawn trousers and a peaked cap. He agreed to take her across for a mere two silver coins, which seemed reasonable, but she shivered at the way his grey eyes raked her. His ship sailed that afternoon, which meant she would have no chance to leave the city and meet Chanter. Wandering to a deserted end of the docks, she leant against a sea wall. She studied the wheeling gulls, wondering which one was the Mujar, and how she could get him to come down.
A rustle of wings beside her made her glance around. A gull had landed not two feet from her, and regarded her with silver-blue eyes as he shuffled his wings into place. Talsy smiled.
"I have passage on a ship," she told him. "It sails this afternoon."
The gull stretched his neck and looked around.
"I don't know its name," she answered the silent question. "But you'll see me board it."
The gull puffed out his feathers and shook himself. Glad of his presence, she sat on the wall beside him and watched the wharf's bustle and the ships sailing in and out of the harbour. At noon, her stomach growled, and she left the Mujar to purchase lunch at a nearby tavern. Returning to the sea wall, she brought a slice of bread, which she tore into little bits and fed to the gull. He took them from her fingers, and she longed to stroke the smooth soft feathers, but doubted that he would appreciate it.
"That's a very tame bird." A voice behind her made her turn as Chanter took wing.
The grey-eyed sea captain sauntered up, smiling. He glanced up at the wheeling birds. "They're good eating, you know."
Talsy shuddered and swallowed the hot words that leapt onto her tongue at his callous observation. "Are we leaving now?"
He nodded. "They've almost finished loading the cargo."
Once again, his eyes raked her, making her skin crawl, and she was glad when he turned away. She followed him to a gangplank that spanned the gap to a modest, well-built schooner. He helped her aboard in a gentlemanly fashion, but she shuddered at his touch. Bales were stacked on the deck, and the ship sat low in the water. The captain led her to a hatchway, where Talsy hesitated, unwilling to follow him into the ship's bowels.
"I'd like to stay on deck," she said.
"For two days?"
She hid her dismay with a bland smile. Chanter had said a day and a night, but evidently it took longer on a ship.
Talsy followed the captain down a steep stairway, filled with trepidation. He took her to a cabin in the stern of the ship with a narrow bunk on one side and a desk and chair on the other. At the back was a diamond-paned window made from poor quality glass. She put down her bag and turned to find him smiling, his demeanour smug.
"This is my cabin, but it's yours for the trip."
"Where will you sleep?"
"I'll bunk with the men. It's only two nights."
Talsy frowned. "I thought you said two days."
"Yes, two days and two nights. We dock early in the morning of the third day. That's depending on the weather, of course."
She fingered the hilt of her hunting knife, drawing his eyes to it. "It's very kind of you to give me your cabin, captain."
He raised cold eyes to hers. "Think nothing of it."
After he left, she sank down on the bunk with a sigh. For all that he was handsome, the captain made her nervous. Half an hour later, the sounds from above told her that they were setting sail, and soon the ship rolled on ocean waves. Afraid that Chanter might have missed her boarding the ship, she went on deck. The bustle of undocking had calmed, and a brisk offshore wind filled the sails. Sailors coiled ropes or sat smoking and talking in groups. The wind freshened, filled the sails to capacity and drove the ship along at a good rate. Talsy knew who was responsible for it and looked up for her gull. Many wheeled above, making it impossible to pick out one with blue eyes.
The captain joined her at the railing. "Nice wind. We should make good time if this keeps up."
"Let's hope it does."
"Yes." He eyed her. "Odd to get an offshore wind at this time of year."
"Lucky for us," she replied.
The captain scowled, then turned to shout orders at some malingering men before walking off. Glad to be left alone, Talsy relaxed and watched the sparkling sea foaming along the ship's flanks. The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly, and at dusk she retreated to her cabin, where a boy brought her a hot fish stew for dinner. The cabin door had a latch, and she locked it after the boy left.
An hour later, just as she was about to climb onto the bunk, a knock at the door startled her.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"It's the captain." The door rattled.
"What do you want?"
"I have some wine. I thought we could have a drink together."
"Thank you," she called, "but I'm too tired."
Talsy held her breath as a long silence fell, then the door flew open with a crash. The captain sauntered in, a bottle of wine in hand, wearing a thunderous scowl.
"I don't like to be turned down, missy," he growled. "Two coins don’t buy the captain's cabin, you know."
"Then you shouldn't have given it to me," she snapped. "I'll sleep on deck." Picking up her bag, she went to pass him.
He stepped into her path. "Not so fast, girl. You just have to be a little friendly, and you can stay here."
"I don't wish to."
"Surely you know how these things work? A girl travelling alone should have learnt the rules of the road. I know you're not from Jishan, so you're wise to it, aren't you?"
"No." She stepped back, putting the bag down. "I learnt how to make my own rules." She slid the big knife from her belt.
The captain eyed it with a smile. "A big knife, but you're just a little girl."
Talsy raised the weapon. "I know how to use it."
His eyes narrowed, and he stepped back. "You're going to regret this, girl. I expect more payment than a mere two coins for this passage."
"Too bad, that's all you asked for. Get out."
The captain hesitated, measured her with his eyes and probably wondered if he could take the knife away without getting injured. Evidently he decided the risk was too great, for he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door. Talsy relaxed with a sigh, sagging onto the bunk. When her heart had stopped pounding, she rose and dragged the chair across the room to jam under the door handle.
Chanter drifted high above a black sea silvered by a glittering moon path that led to the rising orb. Below him, the dark ship ploughed through restless waves, its foaming bow wave aglow with phosphorescence, leaving a shimmering trail that the ocean tossed. A short while ago, he had perched atop the swaying mast to listen to the ship's faint Dolana. It carried no warning of danger to the girl, freeing him to spread his wings and let the wind lift him into the air. The ocean's dark depths beckoned with gentle liquid swells and the promise of endless mystery and excitement.
Folding his wings, he dived through the cold wind and into Shissar's welcoming embrace. As he slipped beneath the waves, he invoked the Power and exchanged his feathered, long-winged form for a sleek grey shape powered by sweeping flukes. With a flick of his tail, he slid through the water that enfolded him in a soft clasp. Shissar was the friendliest of the Powers, the tender healer and wellspring of life. Like returning to the pod that had birthed him, the touch of water sent thrills of delight through him.
With swift vertical strokes of his flukes, he glided through the sea, tasting the currents that flowed beneath the waves. Amid the layers of cold and warm, sweet and salty, he revelled in the ocean's mighty bounty of sensations. The black depths stretched away in every direction save up, where the moon's glimmer shone through the wave patterns. A flash of silver below revealed a solitary hunting fish, eyes agleam as it searched for prey.
Chanter dived deeper with a gentle lashing of his tail, and soon inky blackness surrounded him. The water sliding over his skin and the warm and cold currents gave sensation in this dark world. Passing swells rocked him as they marched across the sea, and the currents that ran through it on their way to distant shores tugged at him. Within the freezing black depths, he sensed the ocean floor and levelled off, letting the sea take him where it would.
Below him, myriad tiny creatures sent signals of light into the darkness, flashing dances of sparkles that pulsed and shimmered, spiralled and glimmered, filling the blackness with their little beacons. Fish carried biotic lanterns to light their way, denizens of the darkness that had never seen any light but their own. Hunters waved flashing lamps to attract the unwary, luring them to certain death in sucking mouths. Within these watery depths, a strange song of pops and crackles, buzzes and rattles mixed with the faint ballad of a distant pod of whales rejoicing in their freedom and the birth of a calf.
Chanter flicked his flukes and started upward, leaving behind the secret dark world. His lean, muscled form arrowed through the water, whose gentle caress became a strong stroking as it parted before him and slid along his length. Moonlight sent shafts of silver downwards, then he leapt into an empty world of light and swift, cold wind. He blew out mist and inhaled before plunging back into the waves, lighting them with a green glow amid the white spume. Back in the buoyant environment for which his form was designed, he powered through the waves, leaping from one swell to the next.
A pod of his sleek grey brothers and sisters joined him with glad cries and smiling mouths, dark liquid eyes sparkling with their innate joy. They gambolled in the waves, rubbed smooth skins and flippers, and blew puffs of spray before diving back into the depths. They sought out the whales and joined them as the new mother nudged her calf to the air, the big bulls watchful for predators amid the birth blood. Two older bulls hung head down and sang their piercing, poignant song of welcome to the new member of their pod.
Chanter headed back towards the ship, followed by the playful dolphins. As the first rosy streaks of dawn lighted the sky, he decided it was time to quit Shissar's safety and return to the emptiness of Ashmar. The ship sailed silhouetted against the golden dawn as he made his final ascent and leapt into the air. The Power of Ashmar transformed him, and he clawed his way into the wind with long, fragile wings. Buffeted by the cold air, he sailed high, looking down at the sleek grey shapes that frolicked in the waves below. With a tilt of his wings, he let the wind sweep him to the ship, there to settle on the mast top and test the ship's Dolana. A few sleepy sailors emerged to stretch and yawn as the cook prepared breakfast on deck.
Talsy emerged, clutching her coat close against the cold wind, and took a bowl of steaming porridge before vanishing below again. Satisfied that she was well, Chanter tucked up a foot and puffed out his feathers. He pondered the distant Rashkar, only a few hours away by air. Perhaps he should go ahead and see what he could find out before Talsy arrived. She seemed safe, and surely the sailors had no reason to harm her. This close to his goal, the urge to find the boy, Arrin, was strong. He could be back at the ship by dusk. Talsy would be on her own for just a few hours. Making his decision, he spread his wings and let the wind lift him into the air.
Chanter flew low over the wave tops, swooping through deep troughs between the swells where the air was easier to fly. The sun was only a halfway to its zenith when Rashkar came into sight.
The great city sprawled for miles up and down the coast, far larger than Jishan, one of the largest Chanter had seen. Unlike Jishan, Rashkar gleamed white in the sun, a city of whitewashed stone and wood. Two massive stone breakwaters calmed the harbour and banned the ocean swells. Here ships lay at anchor or docked beside the wharf, boats swimming between them with flashing oars. He wheeled above the city, studying the centre of it, where straight roads intersected between tall buildings with grey-tiled roofs. On the outskirts, the roads became warped into a maze amongst smaller dwellings, losing the orderly design of its original builders.
Finding the barracks was easy enough. Dusty parade grounds and sprawling tent towns bordered the cluster of long, low buildings. He floated down to perch on a rooftop, surveying the men below. Hundreds marched around in the dust, others trained in groups with slashing swords and parrying shields. Many more lived in the tents and rested in the barracks. How was he to find one man amongst so many? The task seemed impossible, for none of his Powers would aid him in this endeavour.
Pondering the problem, he watched the men. He could not search for red hair; the men wore helmets and looked alike. He would have to ask Talsy to help as part of her clan bond. All she had to do was enquire as to the whereabouts of young Arrin. Once he had the answer, he could do the rest himself. Perhaps he would have to grant a Wish in return, but Talsy would not ask for much.
As he was about to spread his wings once more, a nearby conversation caught his ear, and he turned his head to listen. Two officers paused in their strolling below, brought to a halt by the serious nature of their topic.
"How many physicians have seen the Prince?"
"Too many, if you ask me."
From Chanter’s vantage, only the top of the soldiers' helmets were visible.
The first man nodded. "It seems certain that he will die, then?"
The second officer replied, "The King is in despair, and it will augur badly for the future, since the Queen can have no more children."
"Indeed. The kingdom shall have no heir."
The first officer strolled onwards again. "Unless the King casts off Merrilin, but he is sadly reluctant to do so."
Chanter pondered the information. A stroke of luck, it seemed, had fallen across his path. Spreading his wings, he flew towards the distant palace in the heart of the city. King Garsh's citadel rose above humbler buildings, fluted marble pillars supporting its high domed roof. Manicured gardens surrounded it, and mighty pillared buildings flanked them. A sprawl of servants' quarters and stables bordered these.
Unimpressed by the magnificence of Lowmen's achievements, Chanter drifted down to alight upon one of the trees in the garden. Many gulls waited there, making his presence invisible amongst them. To find the King in the huge palace would be a daunting task, though not as impossible as finding the boy in the barracks. At least he would be able recognise the King.
Chanter found out what the gulls waited for when a young girl in a frilly yellow dress came out and threw bread to them. The gulls swooped and caught it in mid-air, making her giggle with delight. When she left, so did the gulls, and Chanter had to wait alone as the sun traversed the sky. Waiting never bothered Mujar, since there was so much to see and hear, from the warbling of garden birds to the sap rising in the trees. People wandered past below, garishly dressed courtiers and their ladies, army officers with their advisors and scribes. Servants hurried by on errands, gardeners pushed barrows of leaves and manure. A giggling gaggle of maids came to cut roses for the palace, and a pair of young lovers met under a spreading tree nearby.
The sun sank when a lone man walked with bowed head through the garden, his hands clasped behind his back. A simple dark blue velvet coat trimmed with gold embroidery and a crisp white shirt with lacy sleeves clad his burly form, his fawn leggings tucked into black leather boots. The thin gold band that encircled his brow caught Chanter's eyes. Flaxen hair hung in a plait down the King's back, and a darker, curly beard hid his chin. Frowns had lined his brutal visage, and cold green eyes glittered under shaggy brows. Though not a young man, King Garsh retained a well-muscled figure.
Chanter glided down to land on the path before the King, who stopped to frown at him. Chanter transformed with a rush of Ashmar, and the King stepped back, his eyes widening, then his brows drew together in an even deeper frown.
"Mujar!"
Chanter held out a hand, palm up. "No harm."
"What do you want, beggar?"
"I ask a favour."
King Garsh sneered, "Why should I grant you a favour?"
"Is the King of Rashkar versed in the ways of Mujar?"
The King snorted. "I care nothing for your kind."
"You have an advisor who is?"
"I have many advisors, but I don't need one to tell me how to deal with a damned Mujar!"
Chanter shook his head. "You do."
Garsh eyed Chanter, his florid face mottled with anger. He fiddled with his lacy sleeves, clearly torn, until curiosity got the better of him and he turned to bellow a name at the palace. A tense minute passed before a tall, slender man in a severe black suit emerged, with two guards. The soldiers started to draw their swords, and Chanter prepared to invoke Ashmar. The advisor grabbed the soldiers' sleeves.
"No! Don't threaten him! He's no danger to the King, he's Mujar!"
Chanter relaxed as the guards released their weapons. The advisor, a clean-shaven young man with dark hair and brown eyes, passably handsome but for a prominent nose, persuaded them to stay where they were and came forward alone. The King turned to him as he arrived beside his monarch, and the advisor faced Chanter, holding out a hand, palm up.
"No harm."
Chanter nodded.
King Garsh glared at his advisor. "Yusan, this upstart Mujar scum has the effrontery to come into my garden and beg me for a favour."
"Grant it, Your Majesty," Yusan advised.
"What?" The King looked incensed. "Why should I do anything for him?"
Yusan turned to him. "Majesty, you pay me to advise you, and I beg you to listen to me. All will be clear as soon as you grant his favour."
"But why the hell should I?"
"Please, Majesty, just do it."
King Garsh shook his head like an angry dire bear. "Yusan -"
"Majesty, please," Yusan interrupted. "You will thank me for this if you do it. If you're displeased with the outcome, strike off my head, but grant the Mujar's wish before he grows tired of waiting and leaves."
King Garsh studied his advisor's desperate face, his brows rising. "Very well, but if this displeases me, I shall indeed have your head."
Yusan nodded, bowing.
The King turned to glare at Chanter. "What do you want?"
Chanter stepped back and bent one knee, raised his arms and stretched them out. Spreading his hands in a graceful gesture, he bowed his head. "I ask for the life of one boy from the King's army, named Arrin Torquil."
Garsh’s scowl deepened. It seemed to be the only expression he was capable of, for it hardly ever left his face. "His life? You want him killed?"
Yusan plucked at his sleeve. "No, Sire, I think he wants to take the boy away. Say yes, I beg you."
Garsh threw Yusan an angry look, then turned back to Chanter, who remained in his poised position. "Very well."
Yusan said, "Granted, Mujar."
Chanter straightened and smiled. "Gratitude."
"Wish."
"Wish," Chanter allowed.
"The Prince is mortally ill. Save him."
The Mujar nodded. "Granted."
Yusan slumped and looked at the King, who shook his head. "I'll not let him near my son!"
"Sire, he can save Prince Mystar. It's his only hope!"
"I'm not letting a damned Mujar lay his dirty hands on my son!"
"My King, the boy will not live past sunset. The doctors have said so. They can do nothing more for him. He's dying! Your kingdom will be without an heir. You will be forced to cast off Merrilin and take another wife, lest your line be lost and your sister's son inherit."
Garsh hesitated, glaring at his advisor and Chanter in turn. "You're sure of this, Yusan?"
"Yes, Sire. Mujar can do anything, as you know. He has granted a Wish in return for the boy. He will cure the Prince, I swear." The King still appeared irresolute, and Yusan cried, "Majesty, your son will die!"
Garsh turned and marched up the path, but Chanter remained where he was. Yusan hurried after the King, plucking at his sleeve. "Sire, you must give the order."
"What order?"
"To release the boy." Yusan gestured towards Chanter, and Garsh looked around.
"Oh. Where do you want the boy?"
Chanter replied, "Release him and tell him to return to his father."
“See to it,” the King snapped at the guards, one of whom trotted off.
Satisfied, Chanter followed when Garsh set off towards the palace again. Within the structure, gleaming black marble floors stretched away between fluted grey columns that held up the domed crystal roof. Bold murals depicting hunting or battle scenes covered many walls, and statues stood in frozen poses within carved niches lined with white marble. Their footsteps rang on polished floors, and servants bowed as the King marched past.
Garsh and his advisor glanced back often, to ensure that Chanter followed. They seemed dubious that he would. The Mujar received many stares from the servants and guards, most hostile and a few puzzled. Garsh traversed a corridor, ascended a sweeping flight of stairs, and stalked along another corridor. Halfway along it, he entered a gloomy room lighted by candles and lamps, where a score of women wept around a four-poster bed. Two white-robed, grey-bearded men looked around, their faces drawn with worry. Chanter hated the confined chamber with its air of doom and sickness.
"Out!" King Garsh bellowed, and all heads jerked around. "All of you, now!"
The ladies rose and hurried out, lifting their skirts and sniffling, the doctors followed at a more dignified gait. A young, tear-stained woman remained, a raven-haired beauty who raised melting brown eyes to the King's harsh countenance. His eyes softened as they rested upon her pale face.
"You may stay, Merrilin."
The Queen looked at Chanter, who stood in the shadows. "Who's this?"
Garsh replied, "He's come to save Mystar. He's Mujar."
Merrilin’s eyes widened, and she raised a hand to her mouth. Yusan went to the bedside and beckoned to Chanter. The Queen retreated from the sweep of his eyes as he approached the bed to look down at the frail form lost in its silken vastness. The boy was only about five years old, and the greyness of death already hung about him. Prince Mystar was on the verge of passing away; only a few minutes, maybe half an hour, remained.
Chanter turned to Yusan. "Bring me a bath full of water."
The advisor trotted to the door and bellowed into the corridor, where doubtless droves of the curious had gathered. Chanter went over to the floor-length blue velvet curtains and opened them, letting in a flood of light and revealing a pair of glass-paned balcony doors. He pushed them open and let in blessed fresh air, which guttered most of the candles. Garsh opened his mouth to protest and stifled it with an obvious effort, glaring at the Mujar. Chanter turned to the dark-haired boy again, then looked at Yusan.
"Hurry."
King Garsh strode to the door and yanked it open, roaring at the sea of faces that clogged the corridor, "Get me that bath now, or I'll have you all whipped!"
The crowd parted to reveal two sweaty men carrying a metal tub. A dozen more hands joined the task, and the tub's progress speeded up to almost a run, water slopping. They galloped towards the bed when one man slipped and fell, taking the rest of them, and the tub, with him. Water splashed over the floor, found a dozen exits and vanished down them, leaving only a thin film behind. The King grabbed two men and beat their heads together, bellowing like an enraged bull. Yusan went white and the Queen burst into tears. Chanter knew that no time remained. By the time Garsh had finished beating his servants, the boy would be dead.
The Mujar scooped up the young Prince and walked to the balcony. Garsh released his victims and shouted, and the Queen shrieked. Chanter looked down at the gardens, where a fountain sprinkled a shallow pond with crystal droplets. The King lunged for him and slipped as Yusan tackled him around the knees, effectively halting his attack.
Chanter summoned Shissar. The air swelled, filling with mist and the faint crashing of waves, the gurgle of running water and the hiss of falling rain. The water in the pond surged at his command, then rose in a glittering column that weaved towards the balcony. It cascaded over the Prince, drenched him and flooded into the room in a great wave. Chanter bent his head over the dying child as he used the Power of Shissar to drive the illness from the fragile boy, letting the water wash it away with cool, tingling sweetness. As the Shissar poured over him, the Prince's cheeks grew pink. When the last of the water had run off onto the floor, the boy knuckled his eyes and blinked away the moisture to gaze up at his saviour.
Garsh thumped Yusan, who clung to the King's legs, preventing him from regaining his feet. The Prince, finding himself in a stranger’s arms, wailed. Merrilin hastened towards the Mujar with a joyful smile, her gaze riveted to her son. She stopped a few steps away, meeting Chanter’s eyes. He held out the boy, and she snatched him away, clasping him to her bosom.
Yusan released the King, who climbed to his feet to find his wife holding the lustily yelling Prince. He went to her and took the boy, stroked his hair and wiped water from his cheeks. The Prince howled louder, his face mottled with rage. Merrilin wept, and Garsh bent his head, clearly struggling to quell his tears.
From the safety of the doorway, courtiers and servants looked on with broad smiles, thumping each other on the back. Yusan rose to his feet with a groan, but grinned with delight. The two doctors pushed their way in and approached the Crown Prince, whose yells had given way to sniffles, his blue eyes fixed on the Mujar. No one needed the physicians' verdict to know that Mystar was healed. The boy made it clear by slapping away their hands and peevishly demanding a plate of food. Yusan was the only person who looked at the Mujar who stood by the balcony doors.
Chanter inclined his head. "Wish fulfilled."
"Would you like comforts?" Yusan enquired.
Though tempted, Chanter frowned. Something niggled him. Something was wrong. He studied the tableau, but could not fault it. Garsh handed the whining, wriggling boy back to his mother and regarded the Mujar with flat, unreadable eyes. He nodded and echoed Yusan's offer, but Chanter turned away, went to the balcony and gazed out. Stars twinkled in the darkening sky.
Garsh scowled and opened his mouth to comment on the Mujar's rudeness, but Yusan gripped his arm to forestall him.
"Leave him, Sire, Mujar are a strange race."
The King grunted and gazed at his son. Several maids stripped Prince Mystar of his wet nightshirt and wrapped him in blankets, towelling his hair while he sat on the bed. A servant brought a bowl of steaming soup, which the Queen fed to the boy. Garsh thumped Yusan on the back.
"I'm glad I listened to you, Yusan, you were right. You shall be rewarded handsomely for this, but why all the ceremony?"
"I can teach you the ways of Mujar if you wish, Sire."
Garsh glanced at the unman. "Can we persuade him to stay?"
Yusan shook his head. "Not for long. He may accept comforts for a while, but I doubt he'll stay."
"What if Mystar sickens again?"
"I doubt that too, Sire. They say that once healed by a Mujar, people never sicken again."
Garsh tugged his beard. "How do they do it?"
"Nobody knows, but, had he not wanted a favour from you, he would not have healed the Prince."
The King eyed the Mujar. "Why would he want a boy from my army?"
"My guess would be that he was fulfilling another Wish, made by someone who helped him."
"Is there any way of holding him here?"
"You mean trap him?"
Garsh nodded.
Yusan hesitated. "There are ways, but it would do you no good. You can't make a Mujar do anything he doesn't wish to."
The King studied the Mujar with narrowed eyes. The unman appeared to be harkening to some distant music, his head cocked. Garsh looked over at his soup-gobbling son, his heart growing cold. The lump of hatred that had always been a part of him swelled, fuelled by the aid of this worthless monkey who had made his son's life so cheap.
Chanter tried to make sense of the strange sensation he received, unsure of what it was. It came faintly on Dolana, so slight that it had almost slipped his notice, and he had to concentrate. Anxiety flared, and he bent to place his palms on the floor, letting Dolana seep in. Since he was not standing on the ground, it still came faintly, but now he could almost make it out. A faraway tingle; a whisper; a distant, almost silent clang of warning. He straightened, his brows drawing together. Talsy!
Chanter summoned Ashmar, raising his arms in preparation for flight even before the rush of wind and the beating of wings transformed him. The people cowered as a gust whipped the velvet curtains into a billowing wave of cloth.
The Mujar vanished, and in his place a gull stroked the air with fragile wings, sailing out through the doors. Garsh hurried to the balcony to gaze out and up, catching a glimpse of the white gull as it arrowed towards the moon-silvered sea. Yusan joined him.
"Well, so much for that," the King muttered. "Damned Mujar. My father taught me to hate them, and now I know why."
Yusan nodded as he watched the gull vanish into the night.
Talsy spent the afternoon watching the captain consume several bottles of wine on the deck of the rolling ship. If he was trying to get up the courage to face her knife, she mused, he was not doing himself any favours. A drunken man's reactions were far slower than a sober one's. At sunset, she collected her plate of spicy fish stew and decided to barricade herself in the cabin. On her way down the steep steps, she bumped into a sailor, who apologised and stepped aside.
In the cabin, she dragged the desk across the room and jammed it against the door before she sat down to eat her dinner. A minute later, a banging came at the door, followed by the captain's demands to be let in. She ignored them, spooning the hot stew. The banging continued, and the door rattled under a fierce attack. A short silence fell, then the door was pushed inwards and the desk slid across the floor. Two husky sailors stood aside to admit the swaying captain, who slammed the door behind him.
"Now, slut, I've come to collect the rest of what you owe me."
Talsy put down her plate. "I don't owe you anything. You named the price and I paid it."
"This part goes without saying," he said, pushing aside the desk.
Talsy reached for her knife and found an empty sheath. Dismayed, she realised that the sailor on the steps had taken it, and a wash of hatred burnt through her. She jumped up and looked around for a weapon. Her bow was unstrung in the bag, useless. The captain lunged at her, and she skipped aside, avoiding his grasping hands. The cramped cabin hampered her, and the captain leered, his eyes bright with triumph. When he came at her again, she kicked him, making him stagger with a grunt.
No weapon offered itself to her desperate eyes as the captain scrambled after her. He laughed as he got hold of her coat, but she twisted out of it and he growled, throwing it down to leap at her. This time he grabbed her arm and hung on, his fingers biting into her flesh. With a yell of pain, she punched him, hurting her hand but making him grunt again. He slapped her, knocking her into the wall. She slid to the floor, stunned, and he threw himself on top of her, his foetid breath making her gag. The cabin spun as she tried to fend him off, her eyes watering from the blow to her head. Where was Chanter?
The captain had her pinned, and the fight had turned into little more than a tussle. Up close, her blows were too puny to have any effect on the drunken man who pulled at her clothes, and she groped for a weapon. Her hand found a heavy wooden paperweight that had fallen from the desk, and she brought it down on his head with all her strength. The captain recoiled with a yell, and she wriggled from his grip. As she struggled to her feet, he grabbed her ankles, bringing her crashing down. Her face hit the boards hard, and blood oozed from her nose. Stars whirled in her eyes as she tried to regain her feet with desperate urgency. The captain laughed and flipped her onto her back, his fingers fumbling with the laces of her shirt.
"Chanter!" she screamed, terror clutching her gut with a cold hand.
The captain chuckled as he pulled open her shirt and fumbled with her leggings. She squirmed and pummelled him, kicked and smacked, but to no avail. Remembering a trick her father had taught her, she slapped his ears. The captain howled and clutched his head, allowing her just enough room to wriggle free. In her desperate, muddled state, she could find only one way out of her predicament. She turned and hurled herself at the window. The soft lead frame gave way under her weight, and she fell through in a shower of glass and with a wailing scream.
The cold sea hit her with bruising force, driving the air from her lungs as she sank into its black depths. Thrashing, she strived to reach the surface before her burning lungs forced her to suck in water. Salt stung her nose as she clawed her way upwards, a red haze forming in her eyes. The overpowering urge to breathe almost won before her head broke the surface and she inhaled with a wail. The ship's dark shape sailed away before Chanter's wind, and the captain's shouted insults carried across the hissing waves.
"Now you're fish food, you stupid slut! The sharks will feast tonight!"
Talsy kicked against the hostile, freezing sea, the terror of the black depths beneath her filling her with an insane urge to climb out of the water and stand upon the waves. Foaming breakers slapped her, and she coughed and retched. Where was Chanter? Had the Mujar really abandoned her this time? Her father's words returned to haunt her as she bobbed in the pitiless ocean. Mujar had no feelings. They could not be trusted. They flew away at the first chance. Thrusting the hateful words from her mind, she swam after the ship. She cringed from the dark alien water below, expecting at any moment the rough brush of a shark's skin before it made its attack, the sharp teeth tearing her flesh.
"Chanter!" The weakness of her cry mocked her, lost in the vast cold expanse of the ocean, alone and afraid. The sea toyed with her, tossed her about, waited until she opened her mouth, then slapped her in the face with icy waves.
Real or imagined, something flashed silver in the black depths, and she screamed with uncontrollable terror.
"Chanter! Help me! Chanter!"
Terror squeezed her heart until she thought she would die of it, yet she remained alive, filled with sickening, mind-bending dread. Old stories of monsters and sea dragons brought visions of these beasts into her cringing mind. She imagined that she could see them in the blackness below her, swimming towards her, jaws agape. She should have stayed on the ship and paid the captain's price for passage. Anything but be left alone to die in this cold sea. Already the ship was little more than a dot on the horizon, sailing swiftly away.
Talsy tried to swim after it, but the sea pushed and pummelled her, dragging her back with watery hands. The more she kicked and stroked the dancing ocean, the less headway she seemed to make. As she grew tired, she appeared to become heavier, her waterlogged clothes weighing her down. Soon, it was all she could do to keep her head above the waves and try to breathe air between the wavelets that sprang into her mouth and up her nose. The Mujar had abandoned her. There was no doubt about that now, and nothing for her to do but wait to die. With that resolve came a modicum of calm, banishing the monsters, since it did not matter what killed her, a toothy beast or the freezing sea. She floated, barely swimming, stared up at the stars and tried not to dwell on what might be coming up from below.
The cold soaked into her as time passed. Soon her legs grew numb, and she would not know if something bit them off until the buoyancy they gave vanished. Waves hissed past, and the wind whipped spray into her face with cruel glee. Tiredness seeped through her, making her long to stop swimming and let the water swallow her, drag her down into its dark depths forever. The instinct for survival kept her head above water, as it would until she was too weak to swim.
Chanter beat his wings as hard and fast as he dared, frantic for more speed. His fragile bones bent under the strain, and twinges of pain warned him that he was pushing the limit. In a flash of Ashmar, he changed from a gull to a swift, his scythe-shaped wings whipping the air as he flew faster. With a flick of thought, he commanded Ashmar again, reversing the wind so it blew from behind and speeded him further. Yet still, it would take hours to reach her.
Chanter increased the wind until it howled, whipping the black sea below into a welter of frothing waves. It flashed beneath him, the speed of his flight such that the waves passed in a blur. The urgency of Dolana's faint warning beat at him from his memory, goading him to greater effort. Talsy's danger was grave. If he was too late, she would die, and he would have failed a Wish, breaking a trust sacred to Mujar. Allowing someone under his protection to die was as bad as killing.
Desperate thoughts flooded his anxious mind. He should have told her that her Wish was fulfilled after he got her out of Horran. He should have done it after he saved her from the Kuran. Her Wish had been fulfilled long ago, yet he had not spoken the ritual words that released him from its onus. If he had, he could have broken clan bond before leaving her. At least he should have warned her that he would not be there. His decision to go ahead to Rashkar had been the right one, for the boy Arrin was free. Had he not arrived when he had, the Prince would have died, taking with him the chance for the bargain he had made with the King. Still, he would have found a way, but the opportunity had been a good one. If Talsy died, however, he would suffer the consequences of failing a Wish. It would haunt him for the rest of his life.
The gale that howled around him tossed him like chaff, and his tiny wings beat the cold air with a desperation born of dread. Spying a dot in the sea ahead, he veered towards it. The ship wallowed in the foaming waves, her sails shredded by his wind, listing as mighty swells swept over her, threatening to capsize her. He swooped down to land with a flutter on the deck. Before he could invoke the change, the faint warning of Dolana told him that Talsy was not on board. He took wing again, soaring above the rolling ship, where sailors clung to ropes and railings as they fought the raging sea. Again he commanded Ashmar to sweep him onwards, leaving the ship behind.
Talsy gasped as the wind slashed her with driven spray and great foaming waves washed over her, sucking her under as she struggled to keep her head in the air. She kept her eyes closed, for the salt stung them, and there was nothing to see but black heaving waves and the cold glimmer of stars. A howling wind whipped the ocean into a fury, making it almost impossible to breathe anything but water in one form or another.
The moments when she was underwater were calm and peaceful compared to the turmoil above, and she was tempted to give up and sink into the quiet depths. Why did she continue to struggle? Chanter had left her, the ship was gone and no hope of rescue remained. Perhaps it was the fear of death, not knowing what lay in store for her when she let herself sink. Soon there would be no more choice. The sea would claim its own.
Her father's bearded face appeared in her mind, shaking sadly, mouthing the words he had spoken before. Never trust a Mujar, he will only let you down. The woman in the forest appeared, and shrieked that Chanter would break her heart and leave her alone in the wilderness to die. He had done both, and the pain of her shattered trust almost outweighed the terror of her approaching death. She coughed as a wave leapt into her mouth, bringing her back from her memories. Her numb legs flailed, barely responding to the commands of her brain, and the water closed more frequently over her face, weakening her further.
Talsy tensed at a splash beside her, then strong, warm arms enfolded and lifted her. Two Powers swirled as they were invoked, Ashmar and Shissar. The wind died and the ocean calmed as if smoothed by a giant hand to the flatness of a millpond. Warmth flooded into her from the sleek form pressed against her, and he kicked at the sea, holding her up.
"Hold onto me, Talsy."
She tried to open her burning eyes. "Chanter?"
"I'm here. Hold on."
Tears of weakness and relief filled her eyes as she tried to comply, but no strength remained in her limbs, and she shook her head. He grunted and invoked Shissar again. Something cold and solid pressed against her feet. She sobbed with terror and clung to his neck. Chanter held her, hushing her mewling cries as the cold solidity beneath her rose. Her legs buckled, and he knelt beside her as they were raised from the cold sea. A gentle rain fell; big, warm drops that rinsed off the brine while the Mujar rubbed the saltiness from her eyes. The sweet water ran into her mouth, and she licked it from her lips. Chanter's power swirled around them, and the downpour increased. He cupped his hand to catch the rain, and trickled it into her mouth. She sucked at it, washing the sea's harsh taste away.
Too befuddled to care how he did it, she clung to him as the rain washed her and the solid something held her above the dreaded sea. All she knew was that her throat's rawness and the burning of her injured nose and salty eyes were gone. Slumped against him, she soaked up his warmth and comfort, too tired to care about anything else. He wiped the matted hair from her face, and the rain stopped as she opened her eyes to look up at him. In the darkness, he was little more than a shadow beside her, moonlight gleaming on his hair and skin.
"You left me," she accused.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Regret, Talsy."
"Why?" she demanded.
"I thought you were safe. I went ahead to rescue the boy."
She thumped his chest. "Damn you!"
Talsy burst into tears, releasing the terror of her ordeal in the flood, hating and loving his strong silent presence and his arms around her. The weeping sapped the last of her strength, and, as it drained her terror and despair, her eyes closed and an exhausted sleep swept over her.