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 ca
mp, 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."
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