Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law

by Southwell, T C

  Kieran regarded him with flat eyes. "Why should I convince you, anyway? What would it gain me?"

  "Maybe, just maybe, I can help you get your stone."

  "How?"

  Boras shook his head. "Convince me first."

  "Very well." Kieran swept aside his cloak to reveal the hilt of his sword, his hand going to it.

  Boras tensed. "Doing me an injury won't convince me, lad."

  The Prince smiled and drew the Starsword with a soft slither of metal. The ebon blade with its shimmer of stars emerged from the scabbard before the family's astounded eyes. Kieran laid it flat on the table. "This was made by a Mujar. That cross and circle is the Mujar mark, there on the blade. Don't stare into it."

  Boras gazed at the weapon with wondering eyes, timidly touching it. Where his fingers touched, the blade turned silver. The rest of the family gathered around to stare at the sword, Jaevu with his mouth open. Boras raised his eyes to Kieran's.

  "This is a weapon of great power."

  "Yes."

  "Be careful it doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

  "It can't."

  Boras stared at the sword a moment longer, then sat back. "All right, put it away. I'm convinced. No earth wizard could make a sword like that. In fact, no one but a Mujar could, I suspect."

  "You'll help?"

  Boras nodded.

  "How?"

  "The beggars." Boras smiled at Kieran's incredulous look. "Don't underestimate them, my friend. Once many of them were respectable citizens, and a few were warriors. They hate the new order as much as I, and have lost everything because of it. They know this city inside and out, including the sewers. There may be a way, using the sewers, to get under the tower, then dig through the stone into it. Once inside, they can take the stone and return the same way without being seen."

  Kieran considered this. "It sounds good. It might work."

  "It's your best chance, young man, perhaps your only one."

  "Why would they do it? I can't pay much."

  Boras rose and tapped out his pipe into the fire. "They won't do it for money, they'll do it for hate. They were all betrayed by the Queen. They all hate the new order."

  "They might tell the Queen in the hope of getting a reward."

  "No. Larina is far fonder of sacrificing people to her black army than handing out rewards. They know that."

  "All right. When do we go?"

  Boras smiled, refilling his pipe. "Not we. You're not going. It's too dangerous, and they don't need you. You'll wait here. If they succeed, they'll bring it here, and then we just have to smuggle it out of the city."

  "But -"

  "No buts. Either you stay here, or the deal is off. You're too big to be crawling around in the sewers, you might get stuck in one of the pipes."

  Kieran sighed and inclined his head, rose and sheathed the sword. "Very well."

  Boras nodded. "Good. I'll speak to the beggars in the morning. Now it's time we all got some sleep."

  Shara fetched a sleeping mat and laid it before the fire, then the family bade Kieran goodnight and vanished into their rooms. Kieran lay awake for a long time, musing over the plan and the unexpected help he had found. How strange that his steps had led him to the one man in the city who could, and would, help him, almost as if the gods guided him. Comforted by that thought, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  The following morning when the family rose, the beggars had left. Boras dispatched his two elder sons to find the men he wanted, then went to work. Kieran settled down to wait, dozed beside the fire or helped Visha with her chores. Boras returned from his business at lunchtime to tell Kieran that the beggars had agreed to help. They had already found the right sewer, and would dig their way into the tower that night. Five ex-warriors had volunteered to do it purely for the satisfaction of enraging the Queen.

  Kieran met the thin, bitter men whose lives had been destroyed when the staff had been broken. Two were veterans, grizzled and gap toothed, one was little more than a boy. He had lost an arm in one of the Queen's battles, and been thrown out on the street for his pains. The other two were seasoned warriors, but shadows of their former selves, a one-eyed archer and a soldier with a crippled foot. Kieran shook their hands before they left, wishing he could do more for them than that.

  "Just save the world," Boras told him. "That's all they want. Put back the laws, and they'll regain their lives."

  "If they live."

  "They have no lives now anyway. Death is preferable to the misery they live in." Boras gazed into the fire as they stood before it, his eyes distant. "At least they have a purpose now, and if they succeed, an achievement. It means a lot to them, more than money."

  Kieran paced the kitchen until Visha asked him not to wear out her floor, then sat and fidgeted. When Boras returned from work in the afternoon, he tried to interest Kieran in a card game, but his mind was not on it. The family fed the rest of the beggars and ate supper, which Kieran picked at, then went to bed. Kieran sat up and fed the fire, counted the hours and drove himself into a frenzy with worry. Towards dawn fatigue set in, and he fell asleep slumped across the kitchen table.

  Boras shook him awake for breakfast, told him that there was no news and soothed him with assurances that the men were probably resting somewhere in the sewers. Kieran sat and fidgeted while Shara did the laundry and Visha swept the floors, the boys fetched water, threw out the garbage and brought in firewood. Boras went to run his business, and would return at nightfall.

  Boras returned in the late afternoon, looking pale and frightened. The rest of his family were in the other room cooking food for the beggars. Boras sat opposite Kieran at the kitchen table and stared into the fire, shaking his head. "They failed. They were all caught and killed. They missed the tower and came up in the courtyard. The black army feasted."

  Kieran cursed and thumped the table, jumping up to stare out of the window, his jaw set.

  "It gets worse," Boras went on. "The Queen thinks there's rebellion afoot in her city. She's ordered the Torrak Jahar to round up all the beggars for sacrifice. All the citizens have been ordered to stay in their houses. Any caught outside will be counted as homeless and taken."

  Kieran turned with an oath. "I knew I should have gone! We should never have sent beggars to do such a dangerous task."

  "They weren't always beggars. Once they were all proud warriors. They died a hero's death."

  "For nothing! They were thin, weak!"

  Boras shook his head. "Their task didn't require strength other than to carry the stone, and five of them could have managed that. All they needed was courage, and that they didn't lack."

  "Now all the beggars will die."

  "They would have anyway, eventually. Larina was always taking them for sacrifice, it was just a matter of time. Those that come here will be hidden, only those who stay in the streets will perish."

  Kieran growled and paced the floor, caressing the Starsword's hilt. "But one good thing has come of it."

  "What?"

  "The Torrak Jahar will leave their courtyard to search the city. Only four will be left to guard the stone."

  Boras threw up his hands in horror. "You can't be serious! To go outside while they're around will be suicide, and there may be more than four guarding the stone, since the Queen now knows that it's threatened."

  "It's the best chance we're likely to get."

  "It's madness, that's what it is. You'll never make it to the palace, and if you do, how will you get in?"

  Kieran swung to face Boras. "With my sword."

  "Look, it may be magical, but you'll be outnumbered! There will be dozens of guards at the gates, and even more in the barracks. Once fighting breaks out, the Torrak Jahar will return and kill you. Also, there are earth wizards who keep the walls strong, they have magic too."

  Kieran shook his head. "I don't need to use the gates, I'll go through the walls."

  "How on earth will you do that?
If you mean climb them, you'll be spotted for sure."

  "Not climb them, go through them. The Starsword cuts stone like butter. All I need is a stretch of wall that's not guarded."

  Boras flopped down in a chair as if the wind had been punched out of him. "It cuts stone?"

  "Like butter."

  "You'll never make it to the palace."

  "I will."

  Boras fumbled for his pipe. "There's more than one wall."

  "That doesn't matter."

  "It takes two men to lift the stone."

  Kieran shrugged. "I'll manage."

  "You'll never make it back here carrying it."

  "I'll stash it somewhere, pick it up when the furore dies down."

  Boras stuffed tobacco into his pipe with trembling hands. "The Queen will search the city for it."

  "Let her, she won't find it."

  Boras lighted his pipe and sucked it. "There will be more than four Torrak Jahar in the courtyard."

  "I reckon I could handle up to eight, maybe ten. I've fought them before, when they were Hashon Jahar, and I didn't have this sword then. They don't fight well. They're slow and clumsy. It's only because they can't be killed that they've never been defeated. The Starsword will cut them into little pieces."

  Boras had vanished behind a cloud of blue smoke. Kieran waved his hand to disperse it, finding the plump man pale and sweaty. The Prince leant on the table.

  "I'll make it. I have to. Tell me how to get into the palace. Which walls aren't guarded."

  Boras rose and went into another room, presumably to fetch writing materials. Kieran had not left the kitchen in his time in Boras' house, and slept on a mat before the hearth. He understood the tradesman's wariness of an armed stranger, and respected his boundaries. Boras returned with a piece of parchment, ink pot and quill, and bent over the table to draw a crude map. Kieran studied it when he finished. The palace was vaguely oblong, guarded by three walls. Boras pointed to the outer wall.

  "This is the lowest, about two man heights, but it's also the thickest. There are gates here and here." He pointed to them on the map. "These are guarded." He indicated an empty stretch of wall, out of sight of the gates. "This would be the best place, but I don't know if there are patrols. Inside are gardens, lawns, ponds, that sort of thing. The barracks are on the other side of the palace. The next wall is three man heights, and there are gates here and here, but the top of the wall is patrolled."

  "How many guards?" Kieran asked.

  "Four, one for each side of the wall. Inside are the palaces of the gentry, lords and ladies. Each has its own garden, and sometimes guards. The next wall is the palace itself, four man heights. If you go through it here, it leads directly into the Torrak Jahar's courtyard. The gate is around the corner. There may be earth wizards here, to keep the walls strong."

  Kieran stared at the map. The gauntlet was daunting, and, if not for the Starsword, would have been impossible. "How tall is the tower?"

  "Not too tall. About three man heights."

  "And the stone is at the top?"

  Boras nodded. "You'll never make it."

  Kieran went to the window and stared out. "I will. I must."

  "It's impossible, even with a sword that cuts stone. I only showed you the map to convince you of that. No one can get into the Torrak Jahar's courtyard, steal the stone and leave alive. The sewers were our only chance, and now they'll be guarded, or bricked up. The earth wizards can make the floor swallow you, and there may be a fire wizard too, I don't know. It's suicide."

  "Right now, the world's fate rests solely on me," Kieran said. "And I won't give up without trying. If I fail, others will take up the task after me, and someone will succeed, I promise you that."

  "We'll think of a better plan, one with less risk," Boras begged. "To go rushing in there now is brave but foolhardy."

  Kieran shook his head. "We don't have time. Every day, every hour the world sinks deeper into chaos. We have only one chance to save it, by restoring the staff."

  "You said a hundred years."

  "Before total destruction. We still have two more pieces to find, and each day that the chaos worsens our task becomes more difficult. Besides, what better plan is there? At least four Torrak Jahar guard the stone always, and it may be months before they leave the city again. Right now they're out of the courtyard, all but a few. I would have faced all of them to reach that stone."

  "And died," Boras mourned. "Throwing your life away will achieve nothing, and harm your cause. The Torrak Jahar have only to touch you, and they will suck out your life and your soul."

  "With their weapons?"

  "No, with any part of their bodies." Boras made a pleading gesture. "Don't rush in there. There has to be a better way."

  "No." Kieran stared out of the window again, frowning.

  Dusk gathered outside in pools of spreading shadow, and lamps cast puddles of light across deserted streets. Mangoats, unaffected by the orders that only applied to people, went about their business as usual, lighting street lamps. A clatter of hooves made Kieran glance down the street, where four Torrak Jahar galloped up it and went past, their armour glinting in the lamplight. Visha, Shara and the boys came in, their work finished. Boras explained what had happened, and Kieran's plans, which brought protests from Visha and Shara. Boras shrugged and made a helpless gesture, agreeing with them. Kieran turned to find Boras and his family staring at him with sad resignation, all except Jaevu, who looked awestruck.

  "I must go," he announced.

  Boras sighed. "What do you need?"

  "A little food, and a flask of water."

  Visha packed some sweet cake and dried meat, Shara filled a wine skin with water. Kieran accepted the items with murmured thanks, saddened by the way they avoided his eyes. To them, he was already dead. Jaevu grinned at him, obviously thrilled by the adventure. Glad that someone was excited, Kieran ruffled the boy's hair on his way to the door.

  "I should be back around dawn."

  Boras nodded, but concern, pity and disbelief shone in his eyes. Opening the door a crack, Kieran peered up and down a deserted street. He slipped out of the house, keeping close to the wall as he hurried up the road, avoiding the pools of light as much as he could. Two mangoats ignored him, intent on their work. He traversed several silent streets, heading for the palace. A distant, ululating scream, abruptly cut off, sent a shiver through him. A clatter of hooves warned him, and he dived into a dark alley as four Riders passed by. Flitting from shadow to shadow, he headed towards the luridly lighted palace that commanded an entire hill. Screams tore the still night air as beggars died at the Ghost Riders' hands, sending fresh shivers through him each time. Something about those screams told him that the beggars did not die easily.

  Rounding a corner, he almost stepped into a street right in front of four Riders who sat silent and motionless on their steeds. Cursing his stupidity, he moved back into deep shadow. He should have known. Beggars could run and hide from the galloping Torrak Jahar too, whose hooves' drumming announced their progress. So they set traps, waiting for the hapless men to run out, fleeing other Riders. Like traps set for rats. He waited for his heart to stop pounding, wiping nervous sweat from his forehead. The mere sight of the Riders still had the power to instil great fear in him. Backtracking, he chose another street and moved along it more cautiously, peering out at every corner. Twice more he encountered waiting Riders, and each time he chose another route. His breath steamed in the chill air, and the water skin glugged gently on his back.

  Just before he reached the palace wall, he encountered four Riders that had trapped a beggar. They surrounded him, prodded him with their lances and made him hop and gibber, begging for mercy in a terrified, whining voice. One of the Riders dismounted, and its steed froze into immobility, becoming a statue. The Rider approached the man with a hand outstretched, as if to offer mercy. The other Riders laughed in a hissing titter that jangled Kieran's nerves. The Torrak Jahar touched its victim, and the m
an gave a gut-chilling scream of pure agony. Kieran turned and trotted away, unable to watch. He had no qualms about killing, but there were limits to how much suffering he could stomach.

  Reaching the first wall, he turned to walk along it, heading for the stretch Boras had recommended. Twice he was forced to hide while riders galloped past, moving cautiously to avoid the traps they set. He arrived at the correct section of wall and paused, searching the street for any sign of Riders. In order to reach the wall, he would have to quit the houses' shelter and stand exposed for as long as it took to cut through it. He strode across the street and drew the Starsword, thrusting it into the wall with a swift movement.

  Kieran dragged the ebon blade through the wall in a low arch, large enough for him to crawl through without being too conspicuous. After sliding the blade along the ground and up to join the first incision, he tried to push the piece of rock from its place, but found it unaffected by his struggles. Panting, he rested against it and glanced around. Either the rock was too heavy, or the wall was so thick that he had not cut right through it. Either way, he was going to have to cut his way through it far more laboriously than he had thought.

  After listening for a moment, he decided that the coast was clear and set to work. Thrusting the blade in at an angle, he cut through to his first incision, dislodging a chunk of stone that thudded to the ground, narrowly missing his toes. He repeated the procedure until he had cut away all the archways' edges, then sliced off the protruding centre. Crouching within the alcove he had carved, he tried to move the stone again, but it was still solid. Evidently the wall was thicker than the blade was long, and he had not succeeded in cutting through it. Thrusting the blade into his original incision, he followed it a second time, pushing the sword into the stone to the hilt. When he heaved at the stone again, it slid away with a harsh grating, opening a gap around its edge. Since it was wider than it was tall, the stone did not fall, and he was forced to push it until the gap had widened sufficiently to allow him to wriggle through it.

  Emerging into a thick hedge, he thrust aside its prickly branches until he could see what lay beyond it. As Boras had said, it was a park-like garden filled with trees and flowering shrubs, ponds and statues. Sheathing the sword, he crawled from the hedge and stood up, studying the landscape. It appeared to be deserted, and he paused to mark his escape route with a piece of rag before moving into the garden. He ran across the rolling lawns, pausing in the shadow of trees and statues to check the way ahead before going on.