When Talsy woke, Chanter held her pillowed against his shoulder. Warm sunlight flooded from a bright blue sky where fluffy white clouds wandered. The sea stretched away all around, as calm as a sheet of gently undulating glass. Talsy sat up, freeing herself from the Mujar's embrace, and studied the huge piece of ice on which they sat. It bobbed in the swells, ripples fanning out from its edges.
Talsy turned accusing eyes upon her saviour. "I could have died."
"Yes." His face was expressionless.
"Don't give me that silent Mujar crap," she snapped. "Talk to me."
Chanter made a graceful gesture. "Regret."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I have caused you pain. Wish."
"I don't want a damned Wish!" She scowled at him. "I want an apology!"
He regarded her with puzzled eyes, a smile curving his sensual lips, then bowed his head. "I'm sorry, my little clan. I made a mistake. It almost cost your life, and I apologise. Punish me if you wish, take out your anger, I won't be offended."
Talsy stared at him, and he flashed her a fire-blue glance with a grin. The memory of the terror she had endured washed away the temptation to join in his gaiety, however. She thumped him as hard as she could, a puny blow on his shoulder that made her slip and almost sprawl on the ice, but for the support of his hands that flashed out to hold her. Talsy slapped and punched him, hating his alien humbleness and disarming allure, as well as the immense power he commanded. Hated him for being Mujar.
"You damned Mujar!" she wept. "I was all alone, scared out of my wits! You left me to die! Why did you come back? Why bother to calm the seas and stop the wind, just to rescue a worthless Lowman?"
Chanter's brows rose at her use of the Mujar name for her people. He let her pummel him while he held her to prevent her slipping. She soon exhausted the little strength she had and slumped against him, allowing him to hold her and stroke her hair.
"So now you hate Mujar too?" he enquired.
"No," she groaned. "I love you." Flinging her arms around his neck, she clung to him and sobbed into his chest.
Clearly bewildered by her strange, tumultuous Lowman emotions, Chanter patted her back. "I didn't leave you to die. I thought you were safe. When I heard the warning, I came as fast as I could. That's what caused the wind."
"I thought you had left me. I was frightened!" she wailed. "Everyone has warned me that you'll abandon me one day!"
"I won't," he assured her. "As long as we have clan bond, I will fulfil my side of the bargain."
She sighed and hiccupped. "Don't leave me again."
"I won't, as long as we have clan bond, I promise."
Satisfied, she snuggled close to him, her eyes heavy with fatigue, and the iceberg's rocking lulled her into an exhausted slumber. Before she drifted off, she became aware that the iceberg moved against the breeze. Chanter, she realised, commanded the deep ocean currents to push the berg towards Rashkar, where he evidently had unfinished business. The distant shoreline was a dark smudge on the horizon, coming closer.
When Talsy woke again, the sun sank towards the horizon. The dark smudge of land had swelled, revealing beaches and cliffs, forests and grassland. While they waited, Talsy questioned Chanter about what had happened to him in Rashkar, and he gave her a brief explanation. At the end of it, she wondered how trustworthy King Garsh was, and whether he would fulfil his side of the agreement.
The sun sank and the moon rose as the iceberg drifted closer to land, until it loomed dark before them, waves foaming on the shore. Chanter brought the berg right up to the beach, and Talsy stepped off without getting her feet wet. As soon as they were ashore, the ice melted away without a trace. Stumbling with tiredness and hunger, she followed him up the beach to a secluded grove, where he paused to contemplate her. She knew what he was thinking. Without a tent or bedding, she was ill equipped to spend a night in the open. She needed shelter and food.
"Do you still have money?" he asked.
She groped at her belt and found the bag of coins. "Yes."
"Good. I'll take you to Rashkar. You can buy food and rent somewhere to sleep for the night."
"What about you?"
"I'll be fine." He smiled. "Since it was my fault that you lost the equipment for the comforts, I'll do without them for now."
She nodded, too tired to argue.
The black stallion carried her to the city gates, where she dismounted and walked within to find an inn. She ate a hearty meal of roast beef and boiled vegetables in her room before falling asleep in a soft bed. In her dreams, she sank into the black depths, trying to claw her way towards the glimmer of moonlight high above, and woke yelling Chanter's name.
The following morning, she bought a new bag and supplies before returning to the woods to cook the Mujar a meal, which he consumed with relish. Talsy eyed her handsome companion while they ate.
"Why are we here? If the boy's been released, surely the Wish is fulfilled?"
"No. I agreed to bring him home, so I must wait until he emerges from the city, then see to it that he returns to his father safely."
Talsy smiled at the Mujar's innocence. "What if he doesn't? He might decide to stay here, even if King Garsh has released him."
"Then I'll have to find him. At least in the city he'll be easier to find than in the barracks, where they all look the same."
"That's assuming the King kept his bargain."
Chanter nodded.
"What if he hasn't?"
"Then I was a fool to deal with Lowmen."
Talsy looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She was ashamed of her people, for she doubted that the King had released the boy. Truemen, or maybe Lowmen was a better name for them, hated Mujar to such an extent that doing anything at the request of one was a dire insult. Most likely the hapless boy had been locked in a dungeon somewhere, and the King was scheming, even now, of how to trap the Mujar and throw him in a Pit. She could not allow that to happen. She must protect Chanter from her people.
With studied nonchalance, she enquired, "What's his name, this boy?"
"Arrin Torquil. Why do you ask?"
She shrugged. "Just curious." Putting aside her empty bowl, she said, "I'm going back into the city. There are still some things I need to buy."
His eyes narrowed. "Such as?"
"A new knife, a tent, bedding."
"Have you enough money?"
"I hope so." In truth, her supply of silver was low, and she planned to try her hand at pickpocketing. Chanter gazed at her, his brow furrowed. Perhaps he sensed that she was lying, for his expression was doubtful.
"I can help with that," he said. "Hold your breath."
Talsy obeyed, knowing that he was about to invoke a Power. He placed his hands on the ground, and icy cold clamped down, freezing the air into momentary solidity. When it passed, he raised his hands and stared at the ground, his eyes luminous. Talsy wondered what was going to happen.
The result of his power was not as dramatic as she had expected. The ground swelled, then fell open like a blossoming flower. He plucked something from the mound of soil, brushed it off and held it out to her.
"I believe Lowmen like these."
Talsy took a stone the size of a hen's egg from his hand and stared at it in awe. A deep red glow emanated from the ruby's depths, its muted fire mottled by dirt and flaws. She looked up at him.
"How did you do that?"
He shrugged. "I called it up."
"Are there more?"
Chanter smiled. "Plenty, but one is enough."
Talsy washed and polished the stone before tucking it into her purse. No wonder Mujar were not interested in earning wealth when they could simply call it up from the earth. Another reason Truemen envied Mujar. While Truemen grubbed in the soil, sweated and toiled to make a paltry living, a Mujar could summon a fortune from the bosom of the earth with a mere thought. Chanter had handed her a king's ransom as if it was just another pebble. She packed away the pots and plates, then stood and shouldered the bag.
"I won't be too long. I'll return here at dusk with more food."
"I'll be watching."
With a brisk nod, she headed for the city. Chanter waited until she was far down the road before transforming into a raven with a rush of Ashmar.
In the city, Talsy found a lively market in a suburb close to the gates and bought a thick fur coat and another tent. Like the rest of the city, the market was clean and ordered, with street sweepers to clear away the rubbish and gay awnings shading brightly painted stalls. Smiling, friendly people populated it, and merchants cried their wares and haggled with customers. Her shopping done, she got directions from a trader and headed for the barracks, determined to find out if Arrin Torquil had been released. At a dusty parade ground, a blue-uniformed guard with silver armour and a cream-plumed helmet allowed her in and showed her to an officer's billet. Ugly square buildings with narrow, barred windows and grey slate roofs surrounded the yard, giving it a grim atmosphere, and the officer's room proved to be just as stark and unpleasant.
A tall, hard-eyed man with a well-trimmed beard rose from behind a scarred desk at her entry. His uniform had gold ornamentation on the sleeves and shoulders, a yellow sash was knotted around his waist, and a silver sword hung on his hip. The sentry stated her business, saluted and left. The officer eyed her as he sank back into his chair, put his quill down and spliced his fingers.
"You're looking for Arrin Torquil?"
She nodded.
"His sister, I suppose?" His tone was sarcastic.
"Cousin, actually."
"I see no family resemblance."
"Step cousin. We're related by marriage," she said.
"Ah. And what is your business with him?"
"I wish to visit him, that's all. Is that allowed?"
The officer showed long yellow teeth. "Of course. Odd, though. Young Arrin has been with us for almost a year, and no family has visited him before."
"That's because we all live in the Yamshar province, where he was snatched from."
The officer's thick brows rose, and his teeth vanished behind red lips. "Snatched? Young Arrin is a volunteer, miss."
"Have it your way." Talsy refused to be side tracked. "Is he here?"
"Of course he is. Where else would he be?"
On his way home, if your king was honest, she thought, and raised her chin to glare at him. The officer shuffled papers on his desk, cleared his throat and scratched his nose, looking rather smug.
"Unfortunately, right now he's being disciplined." Again his yellow teeth appeared as he failed to stifle a triumphant sneer. "It seems that a Mujar came here asking for him to be freed, so it stands to reason that he's a Mujar lover and he's being treated accordingly." He eyed her with raised brows, a slight, supercilious smile twisting his thick lips. "You wouldn't happen to know of any Mujar, would you, miss?"
Talsy shook her head, trying to hide her anxiety. "May I see him?"
The officer looked thoughtful, gazing into space for a moment as if contemplating the troubles of the world. "Well, now, that could be arranged, but you won't be able to speak to him."
Talsy nodded, and he rose to his feet, gesturing, with exaggerated courtesy, for her to precede him. Clearly he considered a ragged girl far beneath his class, and, while his condescending attitude irked her, his snide inferences made her nervous. Talsy entered the vast, sandy parade ground, her heart hammering with tension, which grew worse when two guardsmen fell in beside her at a signal from the officer. They marched her across the parade ground as if she was a prisoner, the officer leading the way. He took her to a walled yard, at the centre of which a red-haired man sagged against a wooden frame. His wrists were bound to it and his back was bloody with lash marks. His bowed head hid his face, and he wore only a ragged pair of dirty brown trousers. Talsy strived not to show the sickness the sight caused her, turning away.
"This just because some damned Mujar came asking for him?"
The officer nodded. "He must be a scum lover, don't you agree?"
"What if someone else sent the Mujar?"
His eyes narrowed. "You think so?"
"It's possible, isn't it?" she pointed out, not wishing to make him any more suspicious than he already was. Now she longed to get away from the army camp, realising that she had made a mistake in coming here.
"It's just as possible that he's a scum lover," the officer asserted. "We don't believe in taking chances."
"I think you're just a bunch of sadistic bastards," Talsy said, unable to rein her temper.
The officer leant closer, his brown eyes intent and his manner threatening. "Well, of course it's understandable to be upset to see your cousin like this, but perhaps you know more than you're telling, eh, miss?"
Panic chilled her as the two soldiers stepped up and gripped her arms. "What are you doing?"
"We're going to find out if you, like your cousin, are a scum lover."
"Neither of us is!" She tried to jerk her arms from the soldiers' grip.
"We'll see. The King has taken a particular interest in the affairs of Mujar, since one tried to blackmail him."
Talsy bit back the vehement denial that sprang to her lips. The two soldiers led her away, ignoring her struggles.
On a nearby rooftop, a raven watched and pondered. Talsy seemed to be in no immediate danger, although clearly she was unhappy with her situation. Lowmen were forever picking on each other, in his experience. When they had no Mujar to throw in Pits, they assuaged their need for violence and pain on their own kind. The plight of the lad bound to the wooden frame was far more urgent than Talsy’s. This was the boy he had been sent to save, and it appeared that the young man did indeed need rescuing. First, he had to wait until there were less people around. Chanter settled down to rest until darkness.
The rising moon found him roosting on the gable, his feathers fluffed against the chill. As its silver light touched him, he opened his eyes to study the yard below, which, apart from the slumped prisoner, was deserted. Most of the buildings were dark and shuttered for the night. A sleepy guard leant on his spear at the camp's entrance, a good distance away. On the other side of the parade ground, laughter and singing emanated from a tent where a party was evidently in progress.
With a whisper of wings, the raven drifted down to land beside the prisoner and transform into a man with a rush of wind. Chanter invoked fire in a brief, searing manifestation. The ropes that bound the boy burnt away, and he fell forward with a groan. The Mujar picked him up, slung him over his shoulder and strode across the yard. The stillness of Dolana clamped down, freezing the air, and the yard wall parted before him. He stepped through onto a road that ran between two long barracks. Moving with swift stealth, he traversed the street and crossed a training yard. Beyond that, the city wall parted for him, too, while the sentry who strolled atop it continued his bored beat undisturbed.
Chanter carried the boy deep into the forest before putting him down beside a stream. Arrin groaned and grimaced, his face pale, shivers racking him. He had evidently been whipped and beaten, his face a mass of bruises, swollen eyelids sealing his eyes shut. Dirty brown crusts of blood caked his lips and chin. The Mujar knelt and scooped up water, splashed it onto the injuries and healed them.
The boy groaned again, and Chanter sat back to wait for him to regain consciousness. Arrin opened his eyes, looking dazed, then turned to the stream to scoop up handfuls of water and suck it down, coughing. He washed off the dried blood, revealing a handsome, clean-cut face with brown eyes and an aquiline nose. When he had drunk his fill, he turned to his rescuer.
"Mujar!" Arrin's face twisted with loathing.
Chanter stood and retreated a few steps. "Your father sent me."
Arrin struggled to his feet, glanced down and fingered the pale lash scars that criss-crossed his chest and belly. "What have you done to me?"
"Healed you."
"Why? Mujar never do anything for Truemen."
Chanter shrugged. "They beat you because of me. I owed Regret."
"Why did you free me?"
"Your father made a Wish that you be returned to him."
"Why would you help him?" the boy demanded.
"He helped me."
"You lie! My father would never help a Mujar!"
"He didn't know I was one until he had saved me."
"Doubtless a fascinating tale, but I'm really not interested in hearing it." He regarded the Mujar with flat, angry eyes. "They beat me good because of you, damned scum. I'm no Mujar lover, but you made them think I was." His expression became calculating. "If I take you in, they'll reward me."
Chanter smiled. "If you go back, they'll kill you."
"If I take you, they'll promote me."
"Maybe, but I won't go."
"Mujar can be trapped," Arrin said.
"Not by you."
"Oh, right, you'll just turn into a bird and fly away."
Chanter shook his head. "Since I have to return you to your father, I can't do that."
Arrin grinned. "In that case, I'm going to pulverise your yellow Mujar head and take you back for the King to play with. He loves new toys, and so does that sadistic little shit of a son he's got. Between them, they should enjoy you."
"Don't do anything stupid, Arrin."
"Don't soil my name with your filthy tongue, Mujar scum!" The boy picked up a rock. "I'm going to make mincemeat out of you."
The Mujar sighed and ducked as the stone flew past his head. This task, it seemed, would be more difficult than he had thought. He retreated as Arrin picked up another rock and strode towards him. He was starting to regret healing the boy.
Arrin said, "Come on, fight, you yellow bastard!"
"Mujar don't fight."
"That's right, Mujar don't do anything. They sit around and pick through Truemen's garbage like the stinking yellow dogs they are. Or at least they used to, until we threw them all in the Pits."
"You can't goad me."
"No, Mujar have no feelings. You're no better than damned animals."
Chanter continued to retreat, shaking his head. Arrin, apparently incensed by his calm demeanour, charged, the stone raised. Chanter stepped aside, letting the boy stumble past. Arrin swung back and lunged at him again. As he avoided the boy's clumsy rush, Chanter glanced at the sky and realised that he was running out of time. Dawn's first rosy streaks gilded the clouds, and birds awakened to greet the day with shy songs. Arrin turned to make his third charge, and Chanter invoked Dolana.
The air froze in a deathly hush for an instant, then roots shot from the earth to twine around the boy's ankles. He fell with a yell, dropped the stone and twisted to claw at the roots. More shot up to encircle his thighs and torso, pinning his arms. He shouted threats as the woody trap held him to the leafy ground.
Chanter stood over him. "I'll return for you as soon as I can."
Arrin glared up at him. "You yellow bastard! Let me go!"
The air filled with a sweet haze of Shissar, the soft sounds of water accompanying its misty wetness. A line of frost whitened the ground around the boy, and a ring of ice formed.
Arrin stopped struggling. "What are you doing?"
"Making sure the wolves don't eat you."
"Let me go, you scum!"
The ice wall thickened and grew, created with moisture drawn from the air and soil to form a slippery barrier. Arrin cursed and squirmed. The ice circle was just large enough to contain the boy, for Chanter did not plan to be away for long. Its lack of size meant that it formed fairly rapidly once it gained momentum, aided by water from the stream. When the wall had risen well above the Mujar's head, he walked away, leaving the boy writhing in futile fury.
Arrin's shouts rang through the forest, becoming more venomous as he realised that he was alone, bound and helpless. Chanter knew that fear played a major role in Arrin's hatred, as with all Lowmen. His father had taught him well, if incorrectly. The Mujar invoked Ashmar and transformed into a raven to wing away on broad wings. The roots would release Arrin as Chanter's loss of contact with the ground broke his grip on Dolana, but the boy would still be imprisoned within the wall of ice.
Talsy paced the cell, her stomach rumbling. She chafed her chilly arms, longing for Chanter to come for her. It seemed like hours that she had waited in the cold, clammy room, but time was impossible to judge except by her growing hunger. As soon as they had left her alone, she had hidden the ruby in her most private recess. They had not searched her yet, but they still might. She rubbed her throbbing temples to try to ease the pain, doubtless brought on by tiredness and tension. Her anxiety made it impossible to sleep. The tallow candle gave off flickering light and a nasty smell.
The cell door rattled, making her jump. It swung inwards with a screech of rusty hinges, admitting a flood of light. Talsy squinted at the two soldiers who gripped her arms and marched her out. The granite-faced guards searched her with rough hands, taking her money pouch. They dragged her along several gloomy, damp corridors that periodic, sputtering torches lighted and up a flight of steps into a room that a profusion of candles and lamps made bright. Three high-ranking officers, judging by their gold-ornamented, royal blue uniforms, brass buttons, crisp white shirts and shiny black calf boots, stood with a tall, black-garbed man, who might have been handsome if not for a bony nose. They studied her as if she was a strange animal, and she lifted her chin to glare at them. The windowless room smelt of musty straw and dried blood. Rusty chains on the walls suggested that it was a torture chamber.
"That's her. That's the one."
Talsy turned at the sound of a familiar voice. The sea captain stepped from behind a bank of candles, his cold eyes raking her. The guards prevented her from backing away as he approached, his cruel mouth twisted into a nasty smirk.
"I knew there was something fishy about her. She had a tame gull, and it followed the ship, even roosted on the mast." He turned to address the black-clad man. "After she fell overboard, a terrible storm came up. The wind turned right around and blew against us. And here she is, alive and well when she should have drowned."
"I almost did, you bastard!" Talsy shouted.
"How did you get ashore?" The soft question came from the man in black, whom she guessed was one of the King’s advisors.
"I swam."
The captain snorted. "No one could have swum that far."
"I did."
The advisor said, "You got here before the ship did, so you must be quite a good swimmer. Then you came to the barracks to see your so-called cousin, whom a Mujar tried to free the day before. Now he's gone, the ropes that bound him burnt. Odd, isn't it?"
"I don't know any damned Mujar!"
"Come now, why lie to me? He's not worth it, my dear. You're one of his clan, aren't you? That's why he protects you."
"No."
He smiled. "My king wishes to reward the Mujar further for saving his son, that's all. You have nothing to fear."
"Well good, if I see the Mujar, I'll tell him. I'm sure the news will delight him."
"You think you're clever, don't you?" He turned to stare across the room with a preoccupied air. "I don't need any more proof to order your torture, you know. And it won't even matter whether or not you tell the truth, because if you are the Mujar girl, he'll come for you, and if you're not, it won't matter to me."
"She's the one," the captain said. "That storm almost sank my ship. It'll cost me a fortune to repair the sails. How else could she have got here?"
The advisor held up a hand. "I know. The wind was caused by the Mujar hurrying back to help her after he healed the Prince. A noble act on his part, I might add."
"Then why didn't you release Arrin?" Talsy demanded.
"Ah." He beamed at her, turning to bask in the approval of the officers, who nodded and smiled at his cleverness.
One clapped him on the shoulder. "Good work, Yusan, the King will be pleased."
Yusan looked smug. "So, you are with the Mujar."
Talsy cursed herself for falling into such a stupid, obvious trap, and tried to rectify her mistake. "I didn't say that. The officer told me he thought Arrin was a Mujar lover, and that one had tried to release him. It's not that hard to work out."
"Very clever," Yusan congratulated her. "But, unless I miss my guess, the Mujar will come for you, and then we'll have him."
Realising that denying it further would be useless, she tried another tactic. "If you think he's stupid enough to fall into this trap, you're the one who's really dumb."
"But I know Mujar, and what clan bond means. You must have protection or aid as part of your bargain, or he wouldn't have rescued you. He must fulfil his clan bond, my dear. Is Arrin also part of the clan?"
"No," Talsy denied. "Nor is protection part of the bargain. I know more about Mujar than you, and I'm telling you he won't come for me."
"Oh, but he will." He smiled and gestured to the guards. "Bring her to the sun room, we will summon him now."
The officers filed out, muttering, and the captain's smug smile faded as he realised that his usefulness was over. Yusan dropped a couple of coins into his hand as he passed, dismissing him. Talsy tried to kick the guards as they dragged her after him, but they merely tightened their grip.
They left the dull, brown stone dungeons and entered a shiny white palace through a narrow corridor. Fluted pillars supported a high ceiling covered with murals of battle and woodland scenes, and potted plants basked in the sunlight that poured in through skylights. A variety of podgy statues, presumably of prior kings, smirked in niches, while haughty portraits stared down from the walls. The guards' boots rang on polished marble floors, and hers skidded when she dragged them. Anxious terror and horrific visions of Chanter trapped and tortured again clogged her mind. There had to be something she could do to stop it, but her mind was a void when it came to clever plans. Nothing would stop Chanter from coming to her aid, yet how did they plan to trap him? Would they use gold, as her father had, or violence like the thugs in Horran?
The guards stopped in a bright, sun-warmed room with a domed quartz roof and grey-streaked white marble walls. Formal gardens, where clipped hedges lined stone paths and flowering trees shaded beds of bright flowers, were visible between a convex row of fluted marble pillars. A velvet-covered couch and a low, glass-topped table furnished it, and white roses twined a trellis outside, filling the air with sweet scent. Two shaven-pated servants, clad in blue and yellow livery, stood like statues in shallow alcoves at the back of the room, their hands folded and faces blank. Yusan beckoned to one, who broke his immobile stance to hurry over and bow. From the servant's demeanour, Talsy deduced that Yusan was a high-ranking noble.
Yusan said, "Inform the King that we're ready when he is."
Talsy racked her brains for a way to warn Chanter. Birds sang outside, mocking her despair. She turned to the advisor, glimpsing a flicker of regret in Yusan's eyes before he looked away.
"Why do you want to hurt him? He's never done anything to harm anyone," she said.
"He blackmailed the King."
Talsy shook her head. "He'd never do that. He told me he made a bargain, begged a favour and granted a Wish in return. That's not blackmail."
A muscle twitched in Yusan's jaw. "The King wishes it. He doesn't like to be beholden to a Mujar."
"You know it isn't true. Just let me go."
Yusan frowned. "I obey my king."
"Your king is about to hurt a harmless being. It's like squashing a butterfly."
"Mujar aren't butterflies. If allowed to roam free, they brainwash young people like you into thinking they're some kind of gods. Eventually they would have had the entire race of Truemen worshipping them."
"That would have been a good thing. Instead, the Hashon Jahar are wiping out Truemen."
Yusan turned to her, his brow furrowed. "What did you say?"
"You heard me. The only beings strong enough to stop the Black Riders are Mujar, but they're all in the Pits."
"Mujar won't help us."
Yusan's uneasiness made Talsy smile. Had no one ever thought of this before? "Why should they? What have we ever done for them?"
Yusan shook his head, recovering his poise. "That's an insane idea. Mujar wouldn't do it, and besides, Truemen are in no danger of being wiped out, as you so nicely put it. The Hashon Jahar are merely a savage tribe, and we'll stop them eventually."
"Wrong again, smart boy. The Hashon Jahar are of this world, and, like Mujar, they're undying."
Yusan crossed the floor to grip her shoulders. "Shut up! You know nothing! It's Mujar lies! He told you this, didn't he?"
She nodded. "But I've seen them, and they're not men."
A group of well-dressed men entered, forcing the advisor to release her and bow to his king. The guards dragged Talsy down with them, although she would rather have spat in the monarch's face. When she straightened, she studied the group. King Garsh stood out by virtue of his bearded blond bulk and the gold circlet. Gold brocade patterned the collar and cuffs of his indigo jacket, which he wore over a white silk shirt tucked into matching trousers. Beside him, a frail boy of about five strutted in pale blue, silver-edged finery that almost matched his father's outfit. Three black-clad advisors and a stocky, handsome man with curly brown hair and bright green eyes followed them. He wore brown leather studded with silver, which made Talsy think that he must be a huntsman or executioner.
King Garsh approached her. "So this is she? A pretty little thing, but common." He gestured to the green-eyed man. "This is Darron. He's going to make sure the Mujar behaves himself."
Darron smiled.
"Well, let's get on with it,” Garsh said, “I don't have all day. Move the couch so I can see."
The servants dragged the couch to a better vantage, turning it to face the garden. The King settled on it, the Prince beside him. Darron approached Talsy, drew a long dagger from his belt and held it up, hoping, no doubt, to frighten her. She raised her chin and glared at him. He pressed the cold blade to the hollow of her throat, where her pulse beat.
"Call the Mujar, bitch."
"No."
The weapon pricked her skin. "I'll cut you if you don't."
"Go ahead, kill me, then he'll never come."
Darron shook his head. "I'm not going to kill you yet."
"And I'm not going to call him."
Yusan said, "She doesn't have to call him, the danger will."
Darron's dagger dug deeper, and blood oozed from the cut. Talsy bit her tongue to stifle a cry.
The Prince pointed and crowed, "Look, Papa, she's bleeding!"
King Garsh smiled as the Prince bounced and giggled, standing on the couch to peer at Talsy. Judging by their expressions, everyone except the King found the Prince's ghoulish inclinations shocking. The senior advisors shot him sideways glances of distaste, Yusan grimaced and kept his eyes on Talsy, who struggled to remain calm.
Talsy wished she knew what warned Chanter when she was in danger. Perhaps it was her fear, and if she could control it, he would not come. Closing her eyes, she tried to block out the pain and stifle her fear. They would not kill her while they needed her. The dagger sliced a burning wound down her chest, severed her jacket's thongs and came to rest over her heart.
Darron whispered, "You've got spirit, girl, I'll give you that."
The blade's point pricked her as he dug it in, making her gasp and open her eyes.
"All I have to do is push, and you're dead," he murmured.
Talsy spat in his face, making him recoil with a grunt. The dagger whipped up to press against her throat, poised over the throbbing artery.
"Don't make me angry, little girl," he said, wiping his cheek.
"Do it, and the Mujar goes free."
"I know."
Talsy swallowed a scream as the dagger dug into her shoulder. The Prince crowed and clapped, urging Darron to cut more. Talsy closed her eyes again, praying that Chanter would not come to her aid this time.
The daltar eagle drifted over the city, pinions rippling and tail steering as he scanned the crowds below for a familiar figure. He had searched all morning, taking on the eagle form for easier flying. He wondered if she was locked up somewhere, but what reason could they have to imprison a young girl? Surely, even if she had transgressed, they would soon release her. He did not like to leave Arrin trapped in the woods for too long.
Folding his wings slightly, Chanter glided down to hover over the houses. In the street below, a kitchen boy threw a bucket of scraps into the gutter. Several stray dogs, a few crows and two vultures descended upon the pile of offal and crusts. The sight of their feasting reminded him of his hunger, and he considered joining them. He lowered his feet to the rooftop – and almost leapt into the air again. The deep clang of Dolana's urgent warning pounded through the roof, coming from the palace. With a mighty downbeat, Chanter sprang into the air, his wings powering him towards the King's domicile. Now that he had heard the warning, he knew whence it came. A pillared sun room came into sight, and he glided down, checked his speed with a backstroke and dropped to the floor.
Talsy shouted, "Get out of here! It's a trap!"
The man who menaced her slapped her. "Shut up!"
The wind whipped the advisors’ black robes as Chanter transformed. He glanced around at the regal audience, his eyes settling upon Talsy and her tormentor. As he was about to invoke Crayash, Yusan stepped forward.
"Use the Powers, and she dies."
Chanter hesitated, considering the situation. The blade pressed to Talsy's throat would kill her with one cut, and the man who held it looked tough and determined, as did the soldiers who gripped her arms. His powers would not intimidate them, since they knew he would not want to harm them, and he did not doubt the advisor's threat. Deciding that the risk was too great, he relaxed, his eyes flicking to the King and Prince. He recognised the boy he had saved from the brink of death, and wondered why he was now summoned here in this hostile fashion.
Garsh smiled. "So, Mujar, we meet again. A neat trick, hey? We have you trapped."
Chanter inclined his head, puzzled. "You do, it would seem."
"Now you will pay for the insult you offered me. Did you think you would escape punishment for your acts?"
"I offered no insult. I saved your son."
Garsh's hard smile vanished, replaced by a scowl of pure hatred. "You put the price of a common soldier's freedom as sufficient to pay for my son's life! Then you spurn my offer of comforts as though my roof is not good enough for you to sup under." Foam flecked the King's lips. "What do you think you are? Better than me? Better than a king? You condescended to heal my son only because you wanted something, or else you would have let him die. Your insults will not go unpunished, Mujar scum! You forced me to obey you or lose my only son!"
Chanter glanced at Talsy, who stood rigid, the green-eyed man’s hand clamped over her mouth, then turned to the King. "I did not force you to do anything. Without my aid, your son would be dead now. What does it matter why I saved him? My request was a small favour for you to grant, and I was forced to leave because my clan was in danger."
"I don't care why you left! You could have demanded a mountain of jewels for my son's life, and I'd have paid it. That, I would have understood and respected, but you damned Mujar bastards revel in your power, don't you?"
Garsh almost frothed at the mouth, his face reddening as he worked himself into a fury. "You treat us like fools and incompetents, taking every opportunity to make us feel inferior, beholden, granting wishes like you're some sort of god. I am a king, and I will not allow the likes of you to best me. I will have retribution! You will surrender, or she dies!"
"Let her go," Chanter murmured.
"When I have you, not before."
The Mujar glanced at Talsy again, his heart filled with sorrow. The situation was unprecedented and confusing. Garsh was blackmailing him, yet there was no way out of the predicament. If he refused, Talsy would die and he would have failed her Wish of protection. By doing that, he would be guilty of her death, which he could not allow. If not for her Wish, he could have allowed her to die, since clan bond did not include protection. Strangely, it all hinged on the words Talsy had spoken months ago, which were burnt into his memory. Once again, he regretted that he had not allowed her Wish to be fulfilled on a prior occasion, and wondered why he had not. The ways of Mujar were complicated and little understood by Truemen, but, in this instance, he must allow Garsh to blackmail him in order to save Talsy's life. This was a singular event, one that would never be repeated.
Chanter met Talsy's eyes and intoned the ritual words that released him from his obligation and made her useless to the King for future demands. "Wish fulfilled."
Talsy jerked free of her tormentor’s hand. "No! Fly! Don't -"
The man slapped her, then grabbed her again, and the blade sliced into her neck. She writhed in the guards' grip as the torturer's hold on her face muffled her scream.
The Mujar stepped towards her. "Don't harm her."
Garsh laughed. "How touching! As if a Mujar could care for a Trueman. Now you're mine, so don't try to resist!"
Chanter bowed his head as Yusan approached, pulling his hands from the pockets of his robe. In each, he held a golden bracelet, and Chanter took an instinctive backward step at the sight of the dreaded metal.
"You'll wear them, Mujar," the King snarled, "or she dies."
Talsy shared Chanter’s fear of the bracelets, hating the way in which the Wish she had made so long ago had trapped him. They would bind him with gold and throw him in a Pit, and she would never see him again. He would suffer a living death in the bowels of the earth, trapped by the overwhelming power of Dolana. The thought of his impending doom filled her with a terrible anguish and a desperate need to save him at any cost. She could not let him suffer because of her stupidity and ignorance, nor could she allow him to sacrifice himself to save her.
Ignoring the pain, she gave a mighty heave and freed her mouth from Darron's hand. "Chanter, I release you! I don't want the Wish fulfilled! Go!"
Yusan laughed, and Chanter shook his head. "You cannot. I granted it, and I must fulfil it."
His soft, resigned words tore her heart, and tears of anguish spilt down her cheeks. Her last hope of saving him died with those words. His fate was sealed because he would not abandon her. Darron chuckled in her ear, his sour breath fanning her cheek. He only kept the dagger pressed to her neck, since nothing she said would change the situation now.
Yusan stepped closer to the Mujar. "Hold out your hands."
"No, Chanter!" Talsy wailed. "Don't let them take you to a Pit! Fly free! I would rather die!"
He stared at her. "You would die for me?"
Talsy nodded, sobs choking her. "Yes."
"Stupid bitch," Darron snarled, his face twisted with contempt. "Mujar lover."
"Hold out your hands!" Yusan barked.
Chanter raised his hands, looking puzzled, as if something important had just occurred to him, but he was not sure what it was. Talsy met his eyes with a pleading look, silently begging him not to give up his freedom for her sake, her throat too clogged to speak. Yusan snapped a golden bracelet around Chanter's wrist, and he shivered, looking away.
The sight of the gold locked around his wrist jerked Talsy from her anguish and filled her with a frantic need to find another way to free him. She turned to the King. "No! Don't do it! You doom your people!"
Yusan snapped on the second bracelet, and Chanter's head drooped as if he was deathly tired. The advisor smiled. "My theory works, Sire. Put gold around their necks, and they become complete zombies, but around the wrist they merely lose their Powers."
The King rose and approached the Mujar to gaze down at the slender unman's bowed head. "How ironic. He gives up his precious freedom for the sake of a Trueman slut, just because of some silly Wish he granted. Yet he would have let my son die had he not wanted that boy released to fulfil the Wish of some other Trueman. He could have earned riches and respect, if only he had not insisted on turning the tables and making me the one who had to obey his orders to earn his favour."
"They're stupid, Majesty," Yusan asserted.
"You bastards," Talsy snarled. "You'll burn in Hell for this! In Hell! The Hashon Jahar will wipe you out! You'll regret this day, I swear it!"
Darron slapped her again, making her eyes water. "Shut up, or I'll slice you good!"
The King looked at her and nodded. "Don't let his sacrifice be for nothing, girl. I'll let you live if you don't make trouble."
Talsy bit her lip, blinking away her tears. Chanter raised his head and gazed at her with an expression of profound forgiveness, gentle affection and resignation. His gaze flicked to Garsh, and the gentleness in his expression drained away, leaving his eyes cold and empty.
"Don't harm her," he begged.
Garsh laughed. "It's not her I want to harm, scum. She's just a silly girl you led astray. I want to hurt you!"
The King drove his fist into Chanter's gut, making the Mujar double over with a groan. Garsh punched him again, harder. Chanter sank to his knees, clasping his belly, and Garsh kicked him in the face, sending him sprawling.
"Get up!" the King shouted. "Show some spine, damn you!"
Chanter gasped, grimacing. Blood oozed from his nose. Talsy sobbed, longing to scream abuse at the King, but mindful of his threat. She had promised Chanter that she would save him from the Pit. Garsh kicked Chanter again, grunting with annoyance when the Mujar only flinched.
“Hold him up!” the King ordered the guards, who dragged Chanter upright. Garsh punched him again and again, crushed his nose and split his lips and brows. Blood ran down his face and dripped onto his chest. The King gripped Chanter's hair and lifted his head to batter his face further, laughing.
"Not so wonderful now, is he, girl?"
Talsy bit back hot words and looked away, her stomach heaving. Chanter's face was a bloody ruin by the time the King stopped, his royal trappings splattered with blood. When Garsh released him, the Mujar's head sagged forward again. The King wiped his hand with a handkerchief and addressed the guards.
"Take him to the barracks and let anyone who wants to have a go. Break every bone in his body. When they're done, put the gold collar on him and toss him in the sea."
Talsy looked up, dismayed. With a gold collar on, he would lie forever on the ocean floor, and how could she save him from the depths? The soldiers dragged Chanter out, and servants appeared to mop up the blood.
Darron turned to the King. "What do you want to do with her, Sire?"
Garsh shrugged. "Throw her out."
Darron put away his dagger, gripped Talsy's jacket, and marched her to the front gate, where he kicked her into the street. She lay on the cobbles, wept and scratched at the stone in a frenzy of sorrow and anguish. Chanter’s gentle ways, revelations and soft-spoken teachings had altered the way she thought forever. How would she survive without him, in a harsh world of Trueman manufacture, hating them for their envy, hatred and savagery? She knew she was more Mujar now than Trueman, and, worst of all, she had been the bait that had led to his downfall. She had condemned him to a living death beneath the waves. Uncaring of the people who walked past, some staring, she wept with wild abandon.
In the woods, the ice wall melted away with unnatural swiftness, and Arrin sprang up in confusion. When no one appeared, he fell into a quandary. To return to the barracks was suicide. His unwilling career in King Garsh's army was over, thanks to the Mujar his father had sent. He was free, but faced a long journey through hostile lands. He cursed and walked into the forest.