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.
&nbs
p; 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.
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