Talsy glanced up from the sail she sewed as Kieran sauntered into the camp with a long sword strapped to his hip. It complemented his black shirt, over which he now wore a sturdy leather jacket armoured with strips and studs of metal and lined with fur. Studded wristbands encircled his arms, and oddments of armour were tied here and there with leather thongs, each guarding a vulnerable spot.
His leather trousers were scuffed at the knees and seat, and a short cloak of strong black material, lined with crimson silk, hung from his broad shoulders. The outfit looked like it might have once been a soldier’s uniform that had been patched and added to over the years. He walked with more confidence, but his guilt at his failure to protect his people haunted his eyes afresh. Four days had passed since he had left to search for his weapon, and he looked tired, which made her think that the battleground must be quite far away. He went straight to Sheera's hut for a plate of stew, then vanished inside, presumably to sleep.
Two days later, six brawny men wandered into the camp. Although welcomed as chosen, they looked like a rough lot to Talsy, unshaven and dirty, carrying rusty swords and knives. They pitched ragged tents on the camp's outskirts and settled in, watching the young girls with lustful leers and the occasional coarse remark. Talsy sensed trouble brewing when they took wine skins from their packs.
As the strangers drank, they grew more sullen and beady-eyed, their coarse remarks becoming offensive. In response, the chosen found tasks that took them well away from the noisome group and their obnoxious comments. Talsy retreated to the beach with most of the women to aid with the sail making. Late in the afternoon, while she sat with several women and cursed Kieran scrutiny, which lingered upon her every so often, a piercing scream shattered the camp's peace.
Talsy leapt up and raced towards the sound, drawing her knife. The scream came from the outsiders' camp, where three of the men toyed with a young girl, laughing as they pulled at her clothes. Talsy attacked the nearest man, slicing his arm. He roared and turned on her, his grimy face mottled with rage. A backhand blow sent her sprawling with a surprised grunt, and he came after her, his expression murderous. A black sword blade brought him up short, and he stumbled back, his incredulous gaze meeting Kieran’s lofty glower. The girl still struggled with the other two louts, and Talsy went after them.
Her knife gashed one man's chest, forcing him to release the girl, who wrenched free of the last thug and fled. Talsy brandished the knife at them.
"You're not chosen. You're imposters! Get out of our camp, right now!"
"We just wanted a bit of fun," one man said. "We meant no harm."
"You're scum!" Talsy shouted. "Mujar haters!"
The larger man's eyes glittered as he stepped forward. "What if we are? Who's gonna to make us leave, huh? You?" He sniggered. "Even the big fellow can't handle six of us."
Talsy glanced around. Kieran stood a few feet behind her, his sword dangling, his frosty gaze fixed on the ruffians. Beyond him, the camp's few mature men looked scared and irresolute, not an iota of courage or fighting skill between them. She faced the brigands, who smirked, clearly expecting to have fun once they had despatched the only warrior who stood between them and their prizes.
She also doubted Kieran’s ability to win against all of them, and said, "We're protected by a Mujar. Leave now, or he'll send you screaming with your clothes on fire."
The men glanced around and hefted their weapons. The other three joined them, and they conferred in hushed tones. Talsy marched towards them and flourished her knife, desperate to drive them away before they called her bluff.
"Go! Get out of here, you bastards!" she shouted.
Two men retreated towards their tents, casting many dark looks over their shoulders. Three remained, their sullen uncertainty swimming in wine. Its fumes had apparently reduced their brains to useless mush, rendering them incapable of rational thought. Egged on by the nudging and muttered insults of his comrades, one drew his sword.
"I'm going to gut you, Mujar bitch!" He advanced with staggering strides.
Something flashed past her, and a sword cut the air with a deadly swish. Blood pumped from the brigand's severed neck as his head went spinning. It bounced and rolled to her feet, and she stepped back from its eyes' glazed stare as the corpse collapsed, twitching and jerking. The two remaining ruffians tried to draw their swords, but Kieran sent one howling with a slashed arm and punched the other.
Footsteps made Talsy spin around as the fourth man lunged at her, his sword outstretched. She swayed aside, but the blade sliced into her flank. Kieran leapt at the thug and rammed his sword hilt-deep into the man's gut, the bloody blade emerging from his back. Kieran yanked it out, allowing the man to topple forward, then glared at the other two. They ran to join their companions, tearing down their tents and stuffing them willy-nilly into bags as they beat a hasty retreat. Talsy's legs turned to rubber, and she sank down in a heap. She crawled away from the dead man, shaking with shock. Kieran took her arm and pulled her to her feet, but she jerked free.
"Leave me alone," she said, hating his ability and self-confidence, but mostly his presence when she wished Chanter was there instead.
"You're hurt," he pointed out.
"I don't need your help."
Talsy tottered away, and Kieran stared after her, glancing every now and then at the fleeing brigands. Ignoring the dumb-struck stares of the mild-natured men who had watched so helplessly, she went to Sheera's tent. The old woman cleaned and bound the wound, clicking her tongue.
Talsy spoke through gritted teeth. "Chanter will heal it when he gets back."
Sheera shook her head, her hands busy with the bandage. "Wounds like this can go nasty. I hope he's not too much longer."
Talsy echoed the sentiment. When Sheera finished her ministrations, Talsy returned to her shack to flop down on the mattress. Her limbs trembled and her stomach was a tight knot that threatened to empty itself. That night she had no appetite, the fight fresh in her mind and the throbbing wound a constant reminder. She fell asleep with her knife within reach.
Talsy drifted in sea's cold embrace, and below her, Chanter sank into the blue depths, bound with gold. She screamed his name and swam down after him, but he sank too fast. She wailed, exhausted her air and inhaled sea water. Thrashing, she coughed and choked.
Talsy woke as something shook her shoulder. A dark shape loomed over her, and his musky scent told her that he was Trueman. She grabbed her knife and stabbed him with all her strength. The man gave a stifled cry and recoiled, almost jerking the weapon from her grasp. She lunged at him again, but he sprang up and fled. Clutching the knife, she panted with terror and the aftermath of her dream, her wound throbbing. As her fear ebbed, she wondered why the thug had woken her instead of killing her while she slept or pinning her down and gagging her.
Confused and uncertain, she rose and went to the door to peer out, clasping her injury. Moonlight silvered Kieran’s pain-twisted features, and her heart sank. He tried to bind his arm with a strip of cloth, using one hand and his teeth. She stepped out, staring at him in horror.
"What the hell were you doing in my shack?" she demanded.
He clasped his shoulder. "You were screaming blue murder. I came to wake you before you woke the whole damned camp."
A pang of shame shot through her, but she swallowed the apology that hovered on her tongue. The fault was his for invading her tent and waking her.
"You'd better let me bind that wound."
Talsy re-entered the shack and lighted a lamp. She gestured for him to sit on the mattress and knelt beside him with a strip of clean linen. Kieran undid his shirt and pulled it off, revealing a nasty gash in his upper arm. Talsy washed and bound the wound while he gritted his teeth and turned his head away. At least her knife was clean, so his wound was unlikely to become infected. When she finished, he put his shirt back on and rose to leave without looking at her.
"Kieran."
He stopped in the doorway.
"If I scream, bang on the door to wake me. Don't come in here again, understand?"
The warrior nodded and left. She blew out the lamp and lay down, but her worries and aches her kept her awake. Visions of Chanter in another Trueman trap haunted her, and she tossed and turned in the tangled sheets for most of the night.
Talsy woke at first light with gritty eyes and a pounding head. She stretched, wincing, then rose, thrust aside the curtain and tripped over something stretched across her doorstep. She sprawled with a curse, tearing the wound in her side as she was forced to throw out her arms. Gasping with pain, she turned to find Kieran sitting up on his thin pallet, scowling at her.
She stared at him in angry disbelief. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Making sure you're safe." He rose and gathered up his bedroll.
"Well don't! I don't need your protection, so leave me alone!"
Kieran strode away, his back stiff with indignation, either from the embarrassment of being caught sleeping on her doorstep or her harsh words. Talsy glared at his retreating figure, angered by his assumption that he was her self-appointed guardian in Chanter's absence.
At breakfast, she glowered at him until he excused himself and took his bowl of porridge to eat elsewhere.
Sheera raised her brows at the angry girl. "What's going on between you and Kieran?"
"Nothing. He's an oaf, and he hangs around me."
Sheera smiled, her eyes twinkling. "You should be glad, young miss. He's a handsome man, well-mannered and clean. I would be flattered to have such a warrior concerned for my safety."
Talsy snorted, casting her a withering glance. "I'm not. He smells and has no manners at all. I have Chanter. Why would I want a Trueman?"
"Because Chanter is Mujar." Sheera leant forward. "He's of another race, child. He can never be what you want him to be."
"Of course he can!"
Sheera shook her head, looking sad. "Ask Marla, the woman who loved a Mujar. She had many years of misery, for he did not stay with her."
"What Chanter and I have is different. He won't leave me, ever." Her hand rose to the mark on her forehead, and she snatched it away.
Sheera noticed the gesture. "What's that on your brow?"
"Nothing. A clan tattoo."
She eyed it. "And does it bind you to the Mujar?"
"Yes."
"But not he to you."
Talsy hesitated, remembering Chanter's warning. "Ask him."
"That would do me no good at all, as you well know."
She shrugged and spooned her porridge, hoping that the questions were at an end, but the old woman's eyes narrowed.
"Have you lain with him?"
Talsy gasped. "No!"
"Don't do it," Sheera warned. "Take some advice from an old woman. Don't lie with a Mujar."
"Why?"
She sighed, putting aside her bowl. "It will break your heart. Ask Marla why she's never married, never had children. She'll explain it to you."
"He doesn't seem to want me, anyway," Talsy muttered, her cheeks warming with embarrassment even as she hoped that Sheera could explain why this was so.
The old woman paused, as if on the verge of telling her something, then said, "Good, let it remain so."
Talsy spent the day on the beach, scanning the sky for the first glimpse of the returning Mujar. That evening, when Sheera renewed the dressing on Talsy's wound, she shook her head at the puss that filled it, unaffected by her lotions and poultices.
"Those damned brigands and their dirty blades," she muttered. "They need only wound you, and you can die. This is the same sort of infection Kieran had."
Talsy gritted her teeth as the seer dressed the wound again, wishing Chanter would return soon. His prolonged absence worried her.
While they were eating breakfast the following morning, an eagle soared into the camp and landed close by with a few powerful backstrokes. Talsy ran to greet him even before the wind of his transformation died. She refrained from embracing him in front of the others and contented herself with placing a hand on his chest. He smiled and patted her head, a gesture she would have thought demeaning from anyone else.
"Did you find a ship?" she demanded, impatient for good news.
He nodded, scanning the peaceful camp. "Not much of one, but it will help. We'll have to cut trees and rebuild most of it. It's burnt to the waterline."
Talsy's heart sank. The prospect of taking trees from the forest dismayed her. Chanter headed for the fire where Sheera and Kieran sat, their cooling breakfasts forgotten. He settled on a stool after directing a brief smile at each of them, and Sheera dished up a bowl of porridge for him. While Chanter ate, Talsy recounted the events that had occurred in his absence, the highlight of which was the fight with the thugs. At the end of the story, he inclined his head to Kieran.
"Gratitude."
The dark-eyed warrior studied his porridge with unwonted ferocity as Talsy launched into the tale of his bungled attempt to rescue her from a bad dream. The Mujar's eyes twinkled, although he cast her a look of gentle reproof.
After Chanter called a halt to Sheera's seemingly endless supply of rather tasteless porridge, he healed their wounds and announced that he was going into the forest to speak to the Kuran. The ship, he told them, would arrive within the next few days, borne on ocean currents that he commanded. That gave them time to cure and bend the wood in readiness. According to Sheera, there was a shipwright amongst the chosen who was eager to contribute his services. To Talsy's surprise, Chanter asked Kieran to accompany them.
Talsy trotted to catch up as he headed for the forest, leaving Kieran to follow. "Why do you want him to come?" she demanded, jerking her thumb at the black-clad warrior.
The Mujar smiled. "He's a friend of Kuran. He'll be welcomed."
"But we don't need him."
"Why don't you like him?"
"He's an oaf," she snapped.
"No he's not."
Chanter's brusque assertion silenced her, and she followed him through the forest. He seemed certain of his destination, while Talsy was soon lost in the endless monotony of tree trunks. Dry leaves rustled under her feet, at times making the footing treacherous, for they were surprisingly slippery. The forest's haunting melody surrounded them with soft birdsong and sighing leaves. The Mujar led them to a stand of five tall, straight, silver-barked trees growing together, like a family.
Chanter stopped and raised his head, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the forest's heady aromas. The birdsong that drifted around them in an overlay of living sound was interspersed with a woodpecker's occasional hammering, a distant vixen's bark and the faint chattering of squirrels. Without their footsteps' rustling to hide it, the forest's sounds seemed loud. He sensed the Kuran's presence all around him, high amongst the leaves and nearby in the silvery trunks. It stretched away through the vast woodland, an intrinsic part of every leaf, bud and flower.
Approaching the nearest tree, he summoned Dolana, and, in the moment of cold stillness, called forth the forest's soul. Kieran gripped his sword hilt as Dolana's icy clamp released him, and the forest groaned and sighed. Talsy shot the warrior a scathing look, and Chanter shook his head at her. A few minutes passed while the Kuran gathered, pulling in her vastness to concentrate her power around them. Kieran shifted, glancing around as the birds and woodland creatures fell silent. The gathering of a powerful Kuran filled the air with a preternatural charge, like the tension before a thunderstorm. It made Chanter’s neck hairs prickle and his scalp crawl. Talsy shivered in Dolana's growing cold, which, unlike Chanter's manifestations, built gradually, with far less power.
The trees about ten feet away parted their branches high above to let in a shaft of sunlight. Chanter turned to face the Kuran as she became visible. Within the sunbeam, tiny sparkles floated like dust motes, swaying in a gentle dance. They gathered and multiplied, swirling to form an indistinct shape. Green and gold predominated, touched with hints of pink and blue and the barest tint of silver. The glimmers coalesced into pearly eyes that glowed with joy and a shining figure suffused with soft light. It sighed with beauty and flooded the forest with an awesome, placid power.
Chanter bowed to the Kuran's swaying presence, making a complicated gesture. "Greetings, wood sister."
A soft, sighing voice spoke almost beyond the reach of hearing. "Greetings, wood brother, blessed of Life. You have reason?"
"I beg a favour, sister."
"A small one, be sure, the omens of death come."
"Indeed," Chanter replied.
Talsy tore her eyes from the Kuran to glance at Kieran, who frowned, as if puzzled. She turned back to the forest's soul as the Mujar spoke again.
"I need these five trees, dead."
"Ah." A great sigh went through the wood, making Talsy shiver again at the ethereal beauty of the soul and her silvery voice. "A small favour, yes, an unhappy one."
"Regret, wood sister."
The iridescent form twisted, its pearly eyes turning to gaze through the forest. "Death is near, the path is clear."
Chanter waited until the Kuran faced him again. "We three ask."
"You three, friends all, a dear trio to Kuran."
"Yes."
"Beware, wood brother."
The trees moved together again, released from the power that held them, cut off the shaft of sunlight and snuffed out the sparkles. A form remained like a faint mist, dull in the dimness, then it thinned and vanished. A sigh went through the trees, and Chanter turned to the two Truemen.
Talsy was confused. "She didn't grant it?"
"She can't refuse a Mujar, I'm afraid. Asking was merely a courtesy." Chanter sighed.
"So what do we do now, fetch axes and chop them down?"
He winced. "No, we wait. It won't be long."
Chanter settled on a log and Kieran leant against a tree. Talsy fidgeted. The forest remained silent, waiting. After about half an hour, Chanter straightened.
"It begins."
Talsy turned to face the five trees and froze in wonder. High above, the leaves of the chosen trees changed. The green faded from them, turning them first yellow, then red. They fell in a drifting rain, spinning and swaying to the ground. The trees groaned in almost man-like misery as they died, and a deeper hush fell over the woods, like a funeral dirge of silence. Talsy's eyes burnt, and hot tears spilt down her cheeks. Never had she thought to mourn trees, but it was part of the forest that died. Though it was an entity that lacked limbs and organs, flesh and blood, it was nonetheless alive and vibrant, and it suffered death no less than any Trueman. She turned to Chanter, whose visage was grim with grief.
"Must we watch this?" She gulped.
"Yes."
The fall of leaves ended when the branches were bare, and the wood died. As the sap withdrew, the branches warped and twisted like hands writhing in agony, the wood screaming softly in pain. Twigs snapped off and fell, branches split with harsh cracks and deep groans. The bark peeled off and fell in long strips down the golden trunks, the fresh yellow wood faded to grey. The five trees that less than an hour ago had been proud and green now stood as bare grey trunks.
Silence fell, then another great sigh wafted through the wood, and birds sang again in the distance. Chanter walked over the red carpet of newly fallen leaves to the five dead trees and laid his hands on one, invoking Dolana. With it, he lopped off the branches flush with the trunk, then sheared off the dead tree close to the ground. It tore a cloud of green leaves from its neighbours as it crashed down. Chanter split it into a dozen perfect planks, and repeated the procedure with the other four trees.
He returned to Talsy, his eyes downcast. "That should be enough."
She followed as he strode away. "We'll send men to collect the wood."
The Mujar nodded. "Kieran will guide them."
Talsy trotted to keep up with his long strides. "What did the Kuran mean, 'death is near, the path is clear'?"
"The Black Riders are coming."
"But we're the chosen!"
"There are unchosen hiding amongst us, and don't look at him," he admonished as she glanced at Kieran. "He's chosen. The men who attacked the girl are still nearby, and maybe others. We don't have much time."
"Will the Black Riders kill the chosen too?"
"They'll kill all in their path."
Suppressing a shiver, she followed him back to the camp, where he despatched Kieran to lead a group of men into the woods to fetch the planks. That task took the rest of the day, while Chanter paced the beach, waiting for his ship to come in. He stayed there all night, and his urgency worried Talsy.
The following morning, she tripped over Kieran on her doorstep again and cursed him as he walked off with quiet dignity. Hurrying to the beach, she found Chanter perched on a rock, gazing out to sea. In the distance, a low black object moved through the waves as if an invisible hand powered it. As it came closer, she made out more details, and it approached with remarkable speed. When it grated onto the sand, she frowned at it in dismay. The burnt-out hull reeked of smoke and soot, water sloshing in its bilges.
The chosen hauled the hull far up the beach, above the high tide mark. Chanter conferred with the shipwright, then invoked Dolana. The people gasped when the icy hush released them, and Chanter laid his hands on each fresh plank and formed it into a new rib or stem post. The men carried the pieces to the ship and held them in place, and Chanter used the Earthpower to weld the wood together.
At the end of the day, Chanter and the weary men stood back to admire the work that should have taken them a week. With the hull completed, all that remained was laying the deck and stepping the masts. After supper, Chanter returned to the beach to work on the ship all night. By morning, the deck beams were in place and half the decking laid. The chosen packed provisions aboard, barrels of water, sacks of potatoes and turnips, and hay for the animals.
The next day work continued, and Chanter used the powers to hasten it. Kieran slaved harder than anyone, and often he and Chanter worked side by side, dripping with sweat. The Mujar's strength was prodigious, but Kieran seemed to be a little stronger, although he tired when Chanter did not.
At lunchtime, the men returned to the camp, where the womenfolk had prepared a meal. Chanter and Kieran came to Sheera's hut and sat on the low wooden stools while the old woman ladled thick stew into their bowls. Kieran brought with him the musky smell of sweat, and Talsy wrinkled her nose as she sat next to Chanter. The Mujar remained odourless, even though he had sweated just as much as the warrior.
While they ate, Talsy pondered Chanter's toil, which seemed strange for a being who commanded the elements. "Why can't you just command Dolana to build the ship?" she asked.
The Mujar glanced at Sheera and Kieran, then smiled. "A ship is built of wood. Unlike stone, it isn't pure Dolana, it contains Shissar and Ashmar. I can't make it flow like rock, only form it into the right shapes, which must then be bound together."
"But you could build one out of ice, for instance."
"Yes," he agreed. "Ice can be crafted easily, for it is pure Shissar. I can cause it to take any shape I wish, but it would not be very comfortable as a ship on a long voyage. For that matter, I could cause the sea to freeze in a great pathway, but it's a long way to walk."
Talsy cast Kieran a superior smile, but he seemed unimpressed, concentrating on his food. Sheera's faded brown eyes were wide with wonder, however. The Mujar spoke matter-of-factly, clearly unaware of the awe his words inspired in those around him, no matter how well they hid it.
Chanter's head jerked up, and his brows drew together. Talsy stared at him in alarm, and Kieran put aside his bowl. A faint rumbling came on the wind, like thunder or an earthquake. Or the drumming of thousands of hooves, growing louder. Chanter stood up and took hold of Talsy's arm, glancing at Sheera.
"Gather the chosen," he said. "Don't let them flee."
The old woman hurried over to the other groups that stood in alarmed confusion, gathering them together with urgent gestures. Youngsters who had been playing in the forest ran back to the camp, yelling a warning. Other stragglers who had been in the woods gathering nuts and berries or answering the call of nature came running into the camp.
Talsy looked up at Chanter. "You're going to protect them?"
"Yes."
The Mujar strode to the middle of the settlement and stopped, his eyes searching the distant forest whence the rumbling came. The people gathered around him, gazing at him with fear and hope. Youngsters clung together and the older seers stood like bastions of calm amid a sea of whimpering dread. The faint thunder of hooves struck a familiar fear into Talsy's heart, and she clung to Chanter's hand, soaking up his calm.
Even though a Mujar protected them, the terror the Hashon Jahar engendered could not be denied, although his presence made it possible to stave off panic. Kieran had disappeared, and Talsy wondered if he had fled. She recalled the Kuran's prophetic words with a shiver. The Black Death approached. The unstoppable Hashon Jahar, against whom no Trueman city or town had ever stood. People wept and wailed, and Talsy stared at the trees as the crowd crept closer to the Mujar.
A finger of darkness seeped from the forest, flowing over the land's contours. The Black Riders approached at a full gallop. Flocks of sheep and goats scattered in panic, like flotsam swept before a dark wave. Young girls hid their faces, clinging to each other. Some tried to run, but older, wiser members of the group held them back. Many clasped their hands and prayed, closing their eyes to block out the approaching horror.
Talsy fought a strong urge to flee, swallowing the lump of terror in her throat. Chanter’s presence lent her the courage to stand still, and she told herself that no harm would come to her while she was under his protection. He shot her a warning glance, and she braced herself as the air screamed with raging fire, engulfing the people in the illusion of a massive conflagration. The manifestation winked out, and the crowd beat at their clothes in a desperate bid to put out the spectral flames that had licked over them. Many wept in hysterical terror and clung to each other.
Chanter raised an arm and pointed to the beach on the left of the camp. Blue fire shot from the sand with a thump, rising ten feet high. It followed Chanter's finger as he turned to guide the firewall. The Hashon Jahar thundered across the fields beyond in a long line, riding four abreast.
The leaders turned to follow the edge of the fire, trying to outrun it and slip through. Chanter's fire kept pace with their steeds, foiling them. The firewall reached the sea to the right of the camp and entered it in a cloud of steam that obscured the flames. The Black Riders halted on the shore, their steeds rearing and plunging, splashing into the waves before turning away. The line slowed and stopped, and the Riders that still emerged from the wood spread out to encircle the camp just beyond the wall of fire.
Although the Hashon Jahar were only a few hundred feet away, the heat shimmer warped them, and Talsy could not make out any details. Their horses pranced and pawed the ground, snorted and shook their manes. Thousands of Riders surrounded the camp, too many to count, a seething sea of glinting armoured forms. As they had been at Horran, they were silent but for the thud of hooves and jingle of armour. They slowed into immobility, facing the fire. A great sigh went through the crowd, and pale faces smiled as Chanter turned from the wall.
He frowned at Talsy. "We must launch the ship and sail as soon as it's ready. Tell them."
Too shy to address the masses herself, she went in search of Sheera. The old seeress shouted the instructions to those nearest her, who passed it on. Men and women broke from the group around Chanter and headed for their various tasks, throwing nervous glances at the Hashon Jahar. Talsy headed back towards Chanter, noticing several rough-looking men beyond him, revealed by the thinning crowd. Fear gripped her heart as she recognised one of the brigands who had attacked the girl, and she broke into a run, pushing people aside.
"Chanter! Look out!" she yelled.
The man lunged, thrusting a spear into the Mujar's back. The bloody head sprouted from the centre of Chanter's chest, and he doubled over, clutching it. Time seemed to slow as he struggled to keep his feet, turning to face his attackers. Fire exploded from him and engulfed the men, but through the flames a long club fell, striking him on the side of the head. The Mujar's knees buckled, and the protruding spear flipped him onto his side as he hit the ground.
The firewall vanished in a whump of sucked-in air. Bedlam erupted as the chosen ran screaming towards the beach. Talsy fought her way towards Chanter, buffeted by the panic-stricken people who raced past her. The men bent over Chanter, clubbing, kicking and spitting on him. The Hashon Jahar moved. As if a silent signal spurred them, they leapt forward in a charge. Many of the steeds reared in their eagerness, loosed from their riders’ restraint. Long lances lowered, and swords flashed in the sunlight. Talsy tried to reach Chanter, but the wild-eyed stampede forced her back. The Black Riders crossed the scorched line where Chanter's fire had been and converged on the camp. The thunder of their hooves drowned out her desperate cries as she shouted his name.
An arm snapped around her waist and yanked her off her feet with enough force to punch the air out of her lungs. She yanked out her knife, kicking and squirming. Kieran spun and ran for the shelter of some shacks, ignoring her struggles and bellowed abuse.
"There's nothing you can do for him! He doesn't need your help!" he yelled back.
Ducking around a hut, he paused, holding her tight against his side, and drew his sword. Unable to get free, Talsy pressed her knife against his arm in a blatant threat. Kieran knocked it from her fist with a painful blow that made her clutch her stinging hand. Her curses were inaudible over the screams of the fleeing and the defiant shouts of those who turned to fight with whatever weapons they could find. The Hashon Jahar entered the camp in a wave of pounding death, their steeds smashing down shanties and people alike. For the first time, she was able to make out details.
Each Rider might have been another's twin, and identical armour covered slab-like torsos. Their steeds stood over eighteen hands tall, broad-shouldered beasts with long tangled manes and tails. They were as alike as their riders, who guided them with curved bits and barbed spurs. Their eyes might have been carved from granite, yet their hides rippled with muscle and their manes flew in the breeze. Behind their visors, the Riders’ faces were twisted with suffering.
Kieran cursed and pressed back against the shack. The Hashon Jahar thundered past them, chasing chosen. Talsy was certain that his long black sword would do him no good, no matter how great a warrior he was. A Rider came around the side of the shack and raised its weapon. Talsy yelled a warning, and Kieran plunged his blade into the steed's shoulder. The horse staggered, thick black liquid oozing from the wound. Its legs buckled, and it collapsed, its rider falling with a clatter of armour. Kieran edged towards the back of the hovel, but Talsy knew it was only a matter of time before more Black Riders found them.
Pain washed through Chanter in a gentle tide. The dark curtain of unconsciousness rose to reveal a world of blood and dust and death. Black Riders rode over and around him, their steeds' hooves thudded into the ground beside him, some battered him as they passed. The spear through his chest weighed him down, and Dolana had seeped into him while he was unconscious. It robbed him of much of his strength and the ability to wield any other Power. Screams filled the air in a ghastly din that the drumming of hooves underscored.
The stench of blood and death accosted his nose, and Dolana's warning pounded through him. Its urgency demanded action to save the First Chosen. He tried to push himself away from the ground, but a passing Rider thrust its lance through him, pinning him down. Only Earthpower was at his command now, and Talsy's peril spurred him on. If the First Chosen died, fate would change again and the race of Truemen would be doomed. Chanter invoked Dolana, fighting the chill that froze his weakened will. Using the Earthpower to locate Talsy, he helped her the only way he could.
Talsy yelped as the ground in front of her bulged. It tore open, and a sheet of grey bedrock some three feet wide and twenty feet long thrust up with a dull grinding of stone and soil. Rising with astonishing speed, it formed a barrier ten feet high that shimmered with the unmistakeable glint of Mujar power. It curved around the back of the hut, cutting off the approach of several Hashon Jahar. Just beyond the shack, it divided into two parallel walls that rose from the soil like the backs of two whales, creating a narrow avenue that shot towards the forest. The rising rock thrust aside the Black Riders as if they were toys, knocking steeds down as it parted.
Talsy sobbed, "Chanter!"
Kieran sheathed his sword and slung her over his shoulder, ignoring her angry curses and pounding fists on his back. The walls rose ahead of them, guarding their path as he sprinted for the forest. The Black Riders attacked, as if expecting the stone to give way, and, indeed, the areas they targeted shimmered and warped. The walls remained solid, however, forcing them to swing their steeds away before they crashed into them. The Black Riders fell behind, the camp their main target.
Chanter hung on to the Earthpower, digging his fingers into the dirt to aid his concentration. Not only did he strive to control the Dolana that overfilled him, but also to fend off the Black Riders' attacks on the walls he had caused to rise to guard Talsy's escape. Their command of Dolana warred with his, but even in his weakened state they could not win. No being of this world, not even the combined willpower of the Hashon Jahar, could defy the will of a Mujar.
The air thickened with screams and dust as the steeds' hooves smashed down shacks, crushed their occupants or forced them to flee into the gauntlet of swords and lances. Chanter gritted his teeth, clinging to the whipping silver river of power that lashed him with freezing numbness, weakening his will. He opened his eyes to glimpse the Hashon Jahar's twisted faces, his lips drawn back in a defiant grin. A Rider swung close and bent to look down at him, radiating silent hatred. It swung a long spear like a club, and darkness swallowed Chanter.
Talsy cried out as the walls collapsed, vanishing back into the ground as swiftly as they had arisen. She renewed her struggles, but Kieran hung on and increased his pace, his breath rasping.
Reaching the trees, he staggered into their shade and fell to his knees. The moment Talsy's feet touched the ground, she tried to wrench free, but he hung onto her legs, sending her sprawling. Evidently he did not have the strength to fight her or the breath to argue, for he hauled himself on top of her pinned her down.
Talsy shouted, "Get off me, you great oaf! Chanter needs help! Let me go!"
Kieran foiled her struggles with frightening ease. His armour dug into her, bruised her when she wriggled and made her more furious. Realising that her situation was hopeless, and she was only hurting herself, she lay still and fumed for the few minutes it took Kieran to recover his breath. Then he rose to his feet and pulled her up, holding her away when she tried to kick him. She struggled and twisted, cursing him. His brows knotted and he pushed her back against a tree hard enough to make her grimace.
Pinning her to it, he said, "Now you can quit acting like a little bitch and settle down. I haven't time for your stupid tantrums. Don't make me hurt you."
"Let go of me!" she shouted.
"With pleasure, but you're not running back to try to save the Mujar, got it? He doesn't need saving, but you do."
"They might torture him!"
"Then let them," he said. "They can't kill him."
"He must be pinned to the ground, if I free him -"
"Oh, you think they're going to let you, do you?" He turned his head to stare at the distant camp, now a seething mass of black. "You haven't got a hope in hell."
Talsy glared up at him. "What do you care what happens to me, anyway?"
"Are you going to behave yourself?"
She nodded, rubbing her wrists when he released her. He eyed her as she turned to stare at the distant camp.
"Do you want to know why I saved you?"
Talsy was surprised that he was willing to answer her question, and curious. "Why?"
"Because of this." He touched her brow. "You have the mark of the Mujar. Did you know?"
"Yes. How do you know what it is?"
"They carry it themselves. You didn't know that, did you?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I only saw it because the men who took Dancer to the Pit chose to humiliate him first. Of course, you can't humiliate a Mujar, but they didn't know that. They shaved his head, and that mark was on the back of his scalp."
"Dancer?"
He smiled at her surprised expression. "That was his true name. He gave it to me."
"You mustn't tell anyone."
"About the mark? Why not?"
"Chanter said so."
Kieran turned to gaze at the overrun camp, apparently losing interest in the conversation. Talsy was oddly annoyed that his rescue had been prompted by the Mujar mark. Fighting the urge to rush back to the camp and try to find Chanter, she paced about, the thought of what he might be suffering making her stomach churn and her heart ache. Visions of him beaten and bloody, tormented by the Hashon Jahar, filled her mind.
Realising that she was working herself into a fever of useless anxiety, she sought a distraction, and the only one available was the obnoxious Kieran. His sole talent seemed to be fighting, so she asked, "Where did you learn to fight like you do?"
"My father taught me. He was a soldier for most of his life, and a good one. He sired me in his later years, a bargain child, and taught me all he knew from an early age; he was afraid he would not live to teach me later."
"He's dead now?"
Kieran nodded. "I buried him two winters ago."
Talsy walked closer to the forest's edge to try to see what had happened to Chanter. Kieran gripped her arm and towed her deeper into the wood, ignoring her protests. In the dappled green dimness, he pushed her down and knelt beside her.
"I don't know what that mark means, but I'm not taking any chances with you. I have a feeling you're important, somehow."
Talsy opened her mouth to tell him, then shut it, remembering Chanter's forbidding. Kieran nodded, as if understanding. Sitting back, he drew his sword and ran a finger along the blade, wiping off thick black liquid. He sniffed it, rubbing it between finger and thumb.
"Oil."
"Earth blood," Talsy corrected him.
"That's what Mujar call it. Truemen call it oil. They sometimes use it for a lubricant instead of animal grease."
"They must be creatures of the earth, to have oil for blood and control Dolana," she mused. "Yet they had Trueman faces."
"They're monsters."
Hot tears stung her eyes as she pondered Chanter's plight, and she turned away to hide them while Kieran wiped his blade clean with dead leaves.