"No."
"What are they?"
The golden fire swirled and reformed. "Death."
"Yet you govern Death."
"No. That is the domain of the Staff of Death."
Tyrander glanced at the approaching Black Riders and paced around. "And you govern it. Summon it here."
"That would avail you nothing. The Staff of Death cannot stop them."
"Then what can?" Tyrander cried.
"Only a Mujar, or Marrana, Goddess of Death."
"Then make me a wall of fire at the castle walls."
"I cannot," the staff replied.
"You command fire. You created this oasis!"
"I cannot stand against the Hashon Jahar. That is against my laws."
"Yet a Mujar can!" The Prince’s strides lengthened as he paced up and down the gleaming marble floor, driven by anger and frustration.
"The law does not forbid him."
Tyrander read the words with growing despair. "Are Mujar even outside your laws?"
"Not all of my laws, yet even those that bind them, they can break."
"Like bringing people back from the dead."
"Just so," the staff agreed.
Tyrander held the insignificant pebble up and glared at it. "What are they? Tell me the truth, staff. The hour of my death approaches, so no one will learn the secret from me. Are Mujar all powerful?"
"Yes. They are Life."
"So you've said before, but it makes no sense. Explain it."
The golden fire hissed and expanded, forming a veritable wall of writing, more than the Prince had ever seen before. He read the words with eager eyes.
"Mujar are the ears and eyes of the God of Life, Antanar. They are his emissaries, sent to test the Lowmen to whom he gave the gift of Life, aeons ago. They command all of his powers. Nothing is denied them and no one can stand against them. Not even the Hashon Jahar, emissaries of Death, sent by the Goddess of Death, Marrana, to rid the world of unworthy Lowmen."
Tyrander's eyes narrowed. "And what are you? What's your purpose?"
"I am here to enforce the laws that the gods set down when this world was created. I hold all in order and keep balance between the two great powers, Life and Death."
"Could a Mujar perform your duty?"
"Not entirely," the golden words wrote.
"So without you, the world would fall into disorder."
For a moment the fire swirled in meaningless patterns, then wrote, "I cannot predict that event, for I shall always exist."
The Prince let the stone fall to the end of its chain and turned to gaze out at the long black finger that crept across the desert towards his castle. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he headed for the door.
Talsy slipped and cannoned into Chanter, who had stopped further down the slope. He grabbed her, keeping her upright as she fought to regain her footing in the mud. Those behind her had suffered the same fate, and some clung to trees while others dug their hands into the mud to slow their slide. Kieran hung onto a tree with an arm around Sheera's waist, while Roth and Ardel struggled to keep the Queen from the ignominy of a muddy slide. The end of the steep downhill beckoned from a line of leafy trees not far below, and Talsy glanced up at Chanter when he made no move to continue down. The Mujar had raised his head, and gazed around, nostrils flared.
She tugged at his arm. "What's wrong?"
"Something." He frowned. "Nothing."
"Which one?"
Chanter shook his head, then cocked it as if harkening to inner music, his eyes distant. Talsy sensed a quivering in the air, like a whispering sigh of something, or a silent wave of warning, yet it was nothing. She shivered, clinging to his arm. The Mujar glanced at the tired chosen on their precarious, muddy perches and made his way to the bottom of the slippery slope. There he stopped again, released Talsy and allowed the weary people to rest on the cold ground. They handed out dried meat and journey bread, and a water skin made the rounds. A woman pressed her wailing infant to her breast. Kieran helped Sheera to a rock, and the old woman sat creakily. Talsy gazed Chanter, a slight frown furrowing her brow.
The Mujar wandered around, turned this way and that, cocked his head to listen and scented the air like a hunted animal.
Tyrander scowled at the seething blackness that wound up the red road towards his castle. The drumming of hooves came faintly on the breeze that ruffled the flags. Fascinated, he studied the approaching Riders, who rode four abreast, stiffly upright on their tireless, galloping steeds. He wished that he commanded such an army, for with it he would conquer the world. He smiled as he imagined that it was his army, returning after a successful foray to add great lands to his kingdom.
They would carry his banner to all the corners of the globe, as unstoppable as the tide and as merciless as a bitter winter. Rather that than a useless staff that forced him to live in its lifeless desert, or even the magical sword, neither of which could protect him from the Hashon Jahar. He jerked from his thoughts with a bitter laugh. Individually, his two possessions held little power, but together they would give him sweet revenge.
Turning away from the door, he crossed the throne room to settle upon the ornate, gilded throne. Lifting the stone on its chain, he opened the golden cage and drew it forth. The sea-washed grey pebble gave no hint of its true nature, but it had other aspects, he knew.
"Come to me."
The pebble swelled and glowed with a soft golden light, surrounded by a pulsing rainbow nimbus. It stretched and lengthened, the glow brightening to fiery incandescence. The Staff of Law left his hand and hovered before him, still growing, its fire so bright that he was forced to shield his eyes. It swung vertical, a rod of brilliance now some six paces tall, its foot almost touching the floor. The blinding light winked out, plunging the room into what seemed like darkness after the staff's former radiance.
The Prince stared at the Staff of Law. Never before had he invoked it, and its active form stunned him: a slender, six-foot staff of pure darkness, a window onto the void. A spray of tiny lights shone in its depths, a whirlpool of stars trailing two long glittering arms, an occasional pinprick of light relieving the blackness around it. Intrigued, he rose and walked around it, studying the void within it from every angle. Unlike the Starsword, it did not capture the eyes and draw the viewer into it, nor was it as brightly filled with stars. The Staff of Law was emptier, blacker, and more powerful.
Tyrander said, "Explain this. What am I seeing within you, and why do you look so much like the Starsword in this form?"
The words that formed in the air were as black as the staff. As if a pen had parted reality, the writing seemed to tear asunder the thin fabric of the world. After a moment of shock, Tyrander walked around the writing until it was stark against the bright background of the doorway.
"What you see within me is this universe in its entirety, whilst what you see in the Starsword is but a small portion of it."
"Are you and the sword... similar?"
"We are made from the same elements, but there the resemblance ends. The Starsword is a reflection of the night sky, I contain the universe."
Tyrander snorted, frowning in confusion. "How is that possible? You're within the universe, here before me on this world. How can it also be inside you?"
"I am the Staff of Law. I contain the universe and all that is in it. You are without, and within me, as is everything."
Tyrander shivered and touched the staff’s smooth, icy surface, so slick that his fingers barely sensed it. "That's impossible," he muttered. "Absolutely impossible."
"As the Staff of Life contains all the powers of Life, and as the Staff of Death contains all the powers of Death, I, who am the Staff of Law, must therefore contain everything I control."
"And what use are you, in this state?" Tyrander asked, studying the spinning universe with its myriad tiny suns.
"None. I cannot be wielded as the other two staffs can. My Laws may not be changed."
"Useless," Tyrander
said, scowling. "Utterly useless. All powerful, and completely useless, just like Mujar."
"Yes," the black word appeared against the sky. "Like them, I was not meant to be used by such as you."
Chanter turned to frown at Talsy. The chosen had settled down to their meal, glad of the respite and blithely ignoring the undercurrents. All except Kieran, Sheera and Shern, who watched the Mujar with deep concern.
"The Staff of Law has been invoked," he announced.
Talsy mirrored his frown. "What can it do?"
"Nothing."
"Why would Tyrander invoke it then?"
He shook his head. "That's what worries me."
She forced herself to relax a little, defying the tension he radiated. "Why not summon it now?"
"I can't. When a staff is active, it cannot be summoned."
"Is that a law you can break?"
The Mujar almost smiled. His expression softened, then grew distant again. "It's not a law. It's a fact."
Talsy sighed and shrugged. "Well, if he can't do anything with it, surely there's nothing to worry about?"
Chanter turned away, gazing into the sky once more, and she left him to join Sheera, accepting a crust of journey bread to quiet the clamouring of her stomach. The seeress shot her an enquiring look, and Talsy spoke around a mouthful of food.
"It seems Tyrander has invoked the Staff of Law."
"I should have killed him," Kieran muttered.
"He can't do anything with it."
"Then why does Chanter look so worried?"
She glanced at the Mujar. "I don't know."
The Hashon Jahar’s thunder echoed through the castle, bringing with it the dread they inspired. Tyrander tore his eyes from the beauty of the spinning galaxy within the staff to glance out at the approaching menace. Sunlight glinted on armour and lances, gleamed on the silken hides of lifeless steeds. He wished that he had more time to study this fascinating facet of the staff, but only a short stretch of road separated the Black Riders from the castle walls, which would not delay them long. Tyrander swung back to face the staff, which seemed to draw light from the room into its inky depths, filling the normally bright chamber with gloom.
"Take on your true form," he ordered.
His hatred of the world washed away any conscience that might have pricked him. No one had ever loved him, shown him kindness or pity. From the first, his father had shunned him for his devious ways, and his mother, who had tried so hard to love him, had turned from him finally, hurt beyond forgiveness by his harsh tongue. No one understood him, least of all himself, for he had long wondered why he felt so incomplete, alone, and missing something.
A veneer of gnarled grey stone engulfed the staff’s blackness. The nothingness of its void grew solid, taking on an aspect of ancient bedrock, spawned at the beginning of time and unchanged since then. Tyrander allowed the coldness within him to swallow the last dregs of his pity for what he was about to destroy. When Kieran had appeared so unexpectedly, he had realised what it was he had missed all of his life. His twin, the other half of him, who had been split from him in the womb and denied him by his father. He had always known he had a twin, but not that it was Kieran's absence that had filled him with so much bitterness and hate. His father had paid for that mistake with his life, now this world would pay, too.
Tyrander studied the Staff of Law. It stood six paces tall still, its foot, bound in dull grey metal, resting on the marble floor. Thin lines of golden fire ringed its length, and he stepped closer to peer at them. Each line was a sentence chiselled into the stone in some ancient language of angular letters. The tiny writing burnt with the staff's golden fire, which filled the letters with its cold glow.
The Prince ran his finger along a sentence. "What's this?"
"The laws." Fiery words scored the air once more.
Tyrander let his eyes wander the length of the staff, with its thousands of burning lines of writing. "Why can't I read it?"
"It is written in the language of the gods."
"Yet I can read your writing."
"Mine is my own."
The thunder of hooves outside stopped, and Tyrander glanced out of the door. A cloud of red dust all but obscured the Hashon Jahar, but he could see the halted column, the first row of Riders motionless. Behind them, the second row moved to one side, taking up position next to the first. The third row copied the manoeuvre, stopping on the other side of the first line. Each row did the same, forming a new line facing the castle. Tyrander smiled grimly.
"All this for one man?"
"That is their way," the staff replied.
"How long before they attack?"
"As soon as their formation is complete."
Tyrander nodded. "Then we have little time. Tell me again what you told my grandfather, staff. How can you be destroyed?"
The golden fire flared to form a wall of writing, which the Prince read with a smile.
"The Staff of Law was created by the gods at the time of the creation of all things. It was formed of Fire and Earth, given the laws of the land, and hidden amongst a billion pebbles upon a stony shore. The gods decreed a way in which the staff could be broken, far beyond the realms of possibility, because all things must have balance and nothing is truly indestructible. Thus they proclaimed that the Staff of Law could only be broken by a Mujar weapon, wielded by the one to whom it was given."
"And they thought that this was impossible?" Tyrander asked.
"It is," the staff answered. "A Mujar would not create a weapon, and, should he, never give to one who was evil."
Tyrander laughed. He drew the Starsword from its scabbard with a hiss of steel. "And what is this?"
"The Starsword, created by a Mujar."
"Right," the Prince crooned, his eyes caressing the blade. "Created by a Mujar, and wielded by me."
"You are not the one to whom it was given," the staff pointed out.
"No, but I'm his twin, and the sword cannot tell us apart, just as our parents could not when we were born. Why did the gods overlook this possibility?"
"On this world," the staff replied, "there is no such thing as identical twins."
"But Truemen are not of this world, are they? We fell from the sky in a wingless silver bird, and your gods recreated us from the bits they found. A grave mistake indeed, for our god created us imperfect." He raised the sword, running his fingers along its blade. "Curiosity killed the cat."
"You cannot defeat the gods," the staff stated.
"No?" Tyrander gave a harsh, bitter bark of laughter that would have made another Trueman flinch. "Maybe not, but I'm going to give them one hell of a headache. I doubt my brother will survive the breaking of the Staff of Law."
"He may, but you will not."
"I'm doomed anyway!" The Prince grinned, revealing teeth yellowed and rotted by the sweets that had been lavished upon him as a child. He walked around the staff, the sword clasped in sweating hands. "Unless you tell your Goddess of Death to call off her minions, I will destroy you."
"I cannot."
Tyrander paused, turning his head. From outside, the thunder of hooves shook the castle. The Hashon Jahar charged the walls, and the stone melted before them. Tyrander glimpsed his doom in their rigid, soul-haunted faces before he swung to face the staff and raised the sword high.
"If I cannot live in this world, then no man shall!" he cried.
The Staff of Law flared, the golden letters of the laws blazing. The light burnt into Tyrander's brain in the instant before his eyes crisped, and one line of law held meaning for him.
None shall not plunder this world.
The Starsword fell. In an arc it cut the air, the stars within it shining. Its honed edge, formed of Earth and Fire and Mujar magic, struck the Staff of Law with a tortured scream. It flashed silver as it sundered the staff, which shattered, unleashing a sheet of golden fire that swept over Tyrander's head as he fell to his knees, pawing at his empty eye sockets and howling in pain and anguish.
&
nbsp; The Starsword, released, hung in the air before him, humming with sudden malevolence. Its ebon length turned crimson, and it spun, rising over his bowed head as if wielded by some invisible, celestial hand. The blade descended in a silent sweep, and Tyrander's screams ended. His severed head thudded onto the marble floor, and blood spouted from the neck of his lifeless body as it toppled over onto its side.
The throne room's walls crumbled and melted away as the staff's power vanished, and with it, its creations. The green oasis sank into the sand, vanishing without a trace as it surrendered the unnatural Dolana that had created it. The ruins of what had once been a great castle stood exposed, lost and forlorn in the middle of a lifeless red desert.
Chapter Thirteen
Chanter's head jerked up, his eyes opening wide. "No!"
His shout riveted the chosen and made Talsy jump up and run to him in concern. Kieran rose more slowly from the rock on which he sat and stared at the Mujar in surprise. Chaos slashed the peace of the forest as flocks of birds rose shrieking into the sky and wild animals gave tongue in alarm. Chanter turned to the throng of people as Talsy hurried towards him.
"Get down!" he shouted, then his eyes lighted upon the girl, and he flung himself at her. Talsy gave a yelp of surprise and pain as he bore her roughly to the ground, and the chosen threw themselves down. Kieran leapt towards the Mujar, alarmed by his inexplicable attack on Talsy. Chanter straddled the girl, his face twisted with a strange emotion that terrified her. He gripped her bodice and ripped it open, breaking the leather thongs that bound it. Kieran lunged at the Mujar, and Talsy yelled as the force of Kieran's attack sent Chanter sprawling. She clutched her torn bodice and rolled away from the fray as Kieran pinned the struggling Mujar to the ground. Chanter held something in his hand and shouted at Kieran, but his words were lost in deafening thunderclaps. The chosen cringed and clutched the shivering earth.
With a mighty heave, Chanter thrust Kieran aside and pinned him down as a sheet of fire roared through the forest mere inches above the people's heads. The flames struck Chanter and engulfed him, turning him into a blazing form sheathed in golden brilliance. Thunder crashed and roared around them, drowning out the chosen's screams as the fire seared the air above them. Chanter rolled away from the Prince, ignoring the flames that licked over him as he struggled to his knees. He drew back the fist that held something within it, preparing to throw whatever it was as far as he could, when a point of utter blackness shot through the air and struck him in the chest.
Broken World Book Two - StarSword Page 23