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 s
wung 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 t
o 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.
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