Broken World Book Two - StarSword

by Southwell, T C

  The prisoners jumped when keys rattled in the door. Two guards entered, grabbed a soldier and dragged him out.

  Talsy looked at Kamish. "He's playing with the sword."

  The Queen paled, raising a hand to her mouth. "Curse him."

  Roth glared at the door, looking sick, and Ardel comforted the Queen with soft words. Talsy lowered her eyes to Kieran's pale, sweating face.

  "Kieran, call the sword."

  "Starsword," he whispered. "Starsword."

  Talsy wiped his brow, praying that Tyrander would lay aside the blade, even for a moment.

  Tyrander grinned as he surveyed the burnt corpse of the traitor on the courtyard's cobble stones. This was far more fun. A bit too quick, if anything, but entertaining.

  "Fetch me another," he commanded the soldiers who waited to do his bidding. Two trotted away, and he leant on the Starsword. The tip sank into the stone, turning the blade silver. He released it, smiling as it remained upright, the point embedded in the rock.

  Talsy gripped Kieran's hand to try to hold his attention and prevent him fading in and out of consciousness. "Keep calling the sword, Kieran," she urged. "It's our only hope."

  Kamish stared at her son with dull eyes, chewing her lip. He appeared weaker, and sweat and blood soaked the bandages and bedding. She knew that he was dying, and hot tears burnt beneath her lids. His eyes opened for a moment at Talsy's insistent goading, and a weary smile tugged at his lips.

  "You don't give up, do you?"

  Talsy wet the cloth again and wiped his brow. "Call it."

  "For Antannar's sake, leave him be," the Queen begged.

  "I won't give up." She glanced at Roth. "He's using it to murder our people."

  "Kieran needs to rest."

  "He'll die if we don't get out of here."

  Kieran sighed and whispered, "Starsword."

  A flash of silver shot from the wall and halted at the Prince's feet, narrowly missing Roth, who recoiled with a yell. The Starsword hung in the air, midnight black and filled with stars. For an instant Talsy stared at it, dumbstruck, then everyone shouted at once.

  "Grab it!" Roth and Ardel yelled.

  "No, don't touch it!" Talsy bellowed.

  Roth lunged for it and Talsy hurled herself at him, knocked him aside and sprawled over Kieran's legs. The Prince groaned, opening his eyes at the sudden ruckus. The blade hung before him, out of reach, and he clearly did not have the strength to raise his arm.

  Roth stared at the ebon blade. "Are you mad? Tyrander will call it back!"

  "No one can wield it but Kieran!" she shot back.

  "He's too weak!"

  "Help me with him, quickly!"

  Talsy struggled to pull Kieran upright, but he was far too heavy, and her rough handling made him groan again. Roth and Ardel lent their strength, and between them they hauled the Prince into a sitting position. Talsy took his hand and placed his fingers around the hilt of the Starsword, closing them. The sword sank down, and the men lowered Kieran back onto the shawls. He caressed the blade with loving fingers, fresh blood staining his bandages and the renewed pain making sweat bead his brow. With a shaking hand, he struggled to raise the weapon, but the effort was too much and he slumped, his eyes rolling back.

  Talsy bent over him. "Damn, he's passed out. At least now we have it. So long as Kieran holds it, Tyrander can't call it back."

  "He'll just come and get it," Roth said. "We must use it to escape!"

  "How?"

  "It cuts through stone. We can make a doorway through the wall."

  Talsy shook her head. "Kieran must hold it, and we can't go dragging him around, we'll kill him."

  "It can do more than cut stone," Ardel pointed out. "It can burn. Burn the door."

  Tyrander glanced around the courtyard, puzzled. The sword had been beside him a moment ago, stuck in the stone. Now it had vanished. He scowled at the soldiers, who cowered from his ire, then realisation dawned on his wine-fogged brain.

  "Kieran!" He swore foully. "Starsword!"

  After a moment of fruitless waiting, Tyrander strode towards the men.

  Darton eyed the Prince as he stopped before him, and Tyrander met his gaze with scowl. He knew the general had always disliked him, especially when he was drunk. Darton nursed several grudges for humiliations inflicted upon him and his men, and Tyrander surmised that he had often dreamt of revenge. Tyrander's penchant for torture and death sickened the puritanical Darton, who also scorned the Prince's weakness for wine, yet he was never more dangerous than when he had been drinking. Tyrander disliked Darton's judgmentalism and regarded his high moral values as weaknesses, but he was an excellent general and a veteran of several conflicts from Shantar's time.

  "My sword is in the dungeon with Kieran, fetch it immediately!" Tyrander commanded.

  Darton bowed and signalled to some of the men, leading them in the direction of the dungeons,

  Talsy raised Kieran's arm, holding his hand around the hilt of the sword, and pointed the weapon at the dungeon door.

  "Fire!" she cried, ducking from the expected explosion. She stared at the unscathed door. "It doesn't work! He has to speak the word, too." Letting his arm fall, she gripped Kieran's jacket and shook him. "Wake up!"

  Kieran's head lolled, and Roth took hold of her arms. "Are you mad? You'll kill him!"

  "If we don't get out of here, we'll all die!" Talsy shook the Prince again. "Wake up, Kieran, please!"

  His head lolled and his eyelids flickered as fresh blood stained the bandages on his arms.

  Kamish said, "Stop it. You'll shake him to death."

  Talsy sagged in despair. "If only it could heal him."

  "But it can't, can it?" Kamish said.

  "No."

  The lock rattled as keys were applied to it, then the door banged open. Several soldiers strode in, led by Darton, who recoiled at the sight of the sword in Kieran's hand, then noticed the Prince's comatose state. His men drew their weapons and herded the prisoners away from Kieran, holding them at bay. Darton bent and wrenched the Starsword from Kieran's hand. The weapon hit the floor with a chiming clang, almost pulling Darton down on top of it. He tried to lift it, but the blade might as well have been glued to the floor, for it would not budge. He straightened and turned to a soldier.

  "You, go and tell the Prince."

  The man hurried out, and Darton glared at the prisoners. "What good did you think this trick would do you?"

  "Tyrander's mad," Ardel said. "He'll doom us all!"

  Roth pushed forward. "General, you must join us. We must overthrow Tyrander."

  Darton scowled. "You're the one who's mad, Roth. Tyrander is no worse than usual. He defeated your Prince, so he's in charge."

  "With trickery!" Roth said. "That was not a fair fight, using archers!"

  "Kieran had a magical sword. A duel would have been unfair."

  "Tyrander never offered a fair duel. Kieran would have agreed."

  Darton hesitated, a flash of uncertainty crossing his face. "The judges deemed it fair."

  "The judges won't argue with Tyrander for fear of their lives, as you know."

  "Do they now?" Tyrander sauntered in, the soldiers bowing and sidling from his path. He picked up the Starsword, sheathed the ebon blade and faced Roth. "I tire of this game, Roth. I'm sick of harbouring a viper at my bosom. I'll bring the Mujar here now, no more waiting, then you'll all be executed." He turned to Darton. "Chain them and bring them to the great hall, I want them all to watch."

  "And your brother, Highness?"

  "Especially him." Tyrander glanced at Kieran. "Have the doctor give him something to wake him up."

  "Yes, Highness."

  Darton bowed as the Prince left, waiting until he was out of sight before giving the orders to his men. Some soldiers marched out to fetch chains; one ran to call the doctor. The rest remained to guard the prisoners, their swords drawn.

  Roth glared at Darton. "You're making a big mistake."

  He shrugged. "My
dice are cast."

  Talsy glanced around the great hall, shivering with apprehension and dread. Her hands were bound behind her back, adding to her sense of foreboding. The rebels stood along one wall, chained together at the wrists and ankles. Even the Queen was shackled, her eyes full of sorrow when she gazed upon her sons. Tyrander sat smugly on the gilt throne at the end of the hall, while Kieran was barely conscious on a litter at her feet.

  An air of gloom and trepidation hung in the hall, at odds with the bright sunlight that streamed in through high windows to light the jade floor to a soft, glowing green. Tyrander twitched with delight, caressing the hilt of the Starsword at his waist. The Staff of Law hung in its golden cage on his chest for all to see. His men lined the hall in the shadows behind the pillars, and a crowd of courtiers and lords stood behind the throne, their faces set in expressions of bland apprehension. Darton stood beside the throne, expressionless.

  Two burly torturers waited on either side of Talsy, one holding a loop of rope. A gold chain linked each man's waist to hers. Tyrander was no fool; he knew that Mujar would not kill. The torturers' inability to leave her side made sure that Chanter would not use fire against them, and gold was the one metal he could not break with Dolana. As long as they were bound to her with gold, he could not free her.

  The Prince gestured. "Begin!"

  His command smashed the thick silence that had fallen when the rebels had finished shuffling into place and the clinking of their chains had stilled.

  Talsy raised her chin and glared at him. "You'll regret this, Tyrander!" she cried. "Summon a Mujar at your peril!"

  He giggled, his eyes glinting. "Mujar are harmless, little girl."

  The torturers stepped closer and one placed the loop around her neck. They twisted it tight, then slipped lengths of wood into the small loops on either side of her neck. Talsy coughed, straining to free her wrists from the ropes. She tried to kick a torturer, but he skipped aside, twisting the piece of wood. The rope tightened, and a roaring filled her ears.

  Before her throat closed, she cried, "Chanter!"

  Chanter jumped, his head jerking up. Behind him, Sheera stumbled to a halt and stared at him in confusion. The Mujar stood poised, his nostrils flaring. Dolana's warning thundered through the ground and hammered at his senses more strongly than ever before. He swung to face Sheera, making her recoil.

  "Wait here."

  The drumming of the warning made his feet fly over the ground as he took a few steps and leapt high. Ashmar rushed around him, filling the forest with the beating of wings, and a tiny black bird shot skyward.

  Sheera stared after him, and Shern hurried to her side.

  "What is it? Where's he going?"

  "I don't know," she replied. "But I think Talsy's in trouble."

  "What about us?"

  She glared at him. "We're to wait here for his return, of course."

  "But... the Hashon Jahar!"

  "We'll just have to stay out of their way, won't we? Send some of the young ones up trees as lookouts. If they see them coming, we scatter and run like hell. I've survived it before, so will most of us."

  Shern glanced at her doubtfully. "I hope you're right."

  "We've got to learn to look after ourselves. We can't rely on Chanter all the time."

  He nodded. "I suppose so."

  Chanter lashed the wind with the wings of a swift, yearning for more speed. He commanded the wind to carry him, more than doubling his velocity, and rode a howling gale that swept the land below him, bowed trees and ripped leaves from their branches. The ground flashed beneath him, glades and streams, rivers and forests gone in a wink. The clouds above raced and swirled with the wind of his passing, gathering behind to form angry grey thunderheads. Still he urged the wind to greater speed, his tiny wings powering him onwards, outstripping even the wind that screamed its wild joy as it raced with him.

  The torturers released Talsy as she slumped, loosening the rope with rough tugs. She gagged, then drew in a great breath. The blue tinge faded from her lips as air rushed into her lungs. The pain of her crushed throat made her cough and swallow convulsively.

  Tyrander leant forward and smiled. "Unpleasant, isn't it?"

  Ignoring him, she savoured the sweet air and glanced at the silent rebels. The Queen stared at Tyrander, pale with sorrow. Roth and Ardel met Talsy's eyes with looks of deep sympathy and despair. Kieran gazed at her with helpless anguish, breathing in wheezing gasps. The torturers stepped closer and dragged her to her feet.

  "Again," Tyrander barked.

  Kieran glared at his brother. "Enough! He's coming, damn you!"

  The Prince laughed. "I know, but I'm enjoying this."

  "Kill me, if it makes you happy. Don't torture an innocent child."

  "I will, Brother," Tyrander sneered. "Your turn will come."

  "You bastard," Kieran groaned, sagging back.

  The torturers placed the rods into the loop about Talsy's neck again and twisted. She kept her eyes locked with Kieran's, drawing strength from his steady gaze as the pain started. Before her throat was pinched closed, she took a deep breath. The pain soon became a distant thing as the blood was denied access to her brain. Kieran looked away as her eyes closed and darkness slammed down.

  A sharp pain in her cheek jerked her back from the black abyss, and she drew in a rasping gasp. The torturer who had slapped her watched her recover impassively. Talsy coughed and retched, her head bowed, blood singing in her ears. Tangled blonde hair hid her face, and this time she did not look up. The torturers dragged her to her feet, and she stood with difficulty, swaying.

  "Again," Tyrander ordered.

  The torturers slipped the pieces of wood into the loop around her neck once more, intent on their work. A distant, muted howling became audible, coming from without and growing in volume. Talsy glanced up at the windows, where the sky had become pink-tinged and flags visible on the outer walls whipped in a sudden, powerful wind. Her heart swelled with gladness, banishing the pain of her injured throat and her despair. She glanced at Tyrander, who stared out of the windows, his expression unreadable. The wind moaned in the battlements, and she wondered if it was Shyass.

  The huge paned window above the double doors at the end of the hall imploded with a crash of shattering glass, making everyone jump. A giant barred daltar eagle flew through it, sending cascades of flashing glass falling to smash on the floor. The eagle unfolded his wings to glide silently down. One backstroke of the mighty black and white striped pinions slowed his flight, and he landed lightly on the jade floor, talons clicking.

  The torturers dropped the rope loop around Talsy's neck and pressed daggers to her ribs, holding her tightly. The mighty wind howled around the castle, stronger in the Mujar's wake, whipped the flags outside to a frenzied flapping and blew dust past the windows in a red storm. The eagle folded his wings, then a rush of wind filled the great hall, the sound of beating wings echoing around it. The eagle vanished, and the Mujar stood there, his eyes scanning the room. Despite his slender build and lack of stature, Chanter's black-clad form exuded an aura of wild power.

  "Chanter," Talsy croaked, her eyes moist. Never had she been so glad to see anyone in her life.

  Chanter's eyes skipped over Tyrander, found Kieran lying in the shadows and returned to Talsy. He smiled, his gaze a caress, and walked towards her. The torturers backed away, dragging her with them. The Mujar stopped, and his eyes slid past to rest on Tyrander, turning icy as they did.

  The courtiers who flanked the throne gaped at Chanter, their faces stretched with wonder and disbelief, a low murmur emanating from their ranks.

  Prince Tyrander rose to his feet, holding the hilt of the Starsword. As the shock of Chanter's appearance wore off, he regained some of his aplomb. Years of studying Mujar ways and legends had evidently not prepared him for the impact of Chanter's reality, however. The sight of a living Mujar in his great hall had momentarily stunned him. He cleared his throat and stepped down from his dais. />
  "Any hint of power, Mujar, and the girl dies. Not only do these men hold daggers to her heart, but there are more above with arrows."

  Chanter glanced up at the galleries, where archers stood with arrows notched in drawn bows. He turned to face Tyrander as the Prince approached. Tyrander stood six inches taller, broad and hirsute beside the Mujar. He studied the unman, circling him with measured steps. Chanter waited until Tyrander stopped before him again, then raised his gaze to the Prince's face.

  "I'm sure you know what I want." Tyrander smirked, his confidence growing at the Mujar's apparent passivity. "You will protect my castle and my people from the Hashon Jahar, or the girl dies."

  "No." Chanter's soft voice sent shivers through the watching people. The word was decisive and final.

  "You can't allow the First Chosen to die," Tyrander growled. "If she does, so will all the chosen."

  "Yes."

  "And you don't care."

  "No."

  Tyrander's eyes narrowed. "Yet the gods have decided to save the Trueman race, so you'll be going against their wishes."

  "No," Chanter replied, "you will."

  "You can save her by doing as I wish."

  "No."

  Tyrander stepped closer, his attitude menacing. "You're lying, Mujar. You're bluffing. You can't allow the First Chosen to die; the Staff of Law says so. The gods have charged you to bring her safely to the gathering place, so you must."

  Chanter's eyes dropped to the dull stone in its golden cage. "If the staff says so, then it must be."