“Get up!” the King shouted. “Show some spine, damn you!”
Chanter gasped, grimacing. Blood oozed from his nose. Talsy sobbed, longing to scream abuse at the King, but mindful of his threat. She had promised Chanter that she would save him from the Pit. Garsh kicked Chanter again, grunting when the Mujar only flinched.
“Hold him up!” the King ordered the guards, who dragged Chanter upright. Garsh punched him again and again, crushed his nose and split his lips and brows. Blood ran down his face and dripped onto his chest. The King gripped Chanter’s hair and lifted his head to batter his face further, laughing.
“Not so wonderful now, is he, girl?”
Talsy bit back hot words and looked away, her stomach heaving. Chanter’s face was a bloody ruin by the time the King stopped, his royal trappings splattered with blood. When Garsh released him, the Mujar’s head sagged again. The King wiped his hand with a handkerchief and addressed the guards.
“Take him to the barracks and let anyone who wants to have a go. Break every bone in his body. When they’re done, put the gold collar on him and toss him in the sea.”
Talsy looked up, dismayed. With a gold collar on, he would lie forever on the ocean floor, and how could she save him from the depths? The soldiers dragged Chanter out, and servants appeared to mop up the blood.
Darron asked, “What do you want to do with her, Sire?”
Garsh shrugged. “Throw her out.”
Darron put away his dagger, gripped Talsy’s jacket, and marched her to the front gate, where he kicked her into the street. She lay on the cobbles, wept and scratched at the stone in a frenzy of sorrow and anguish. Chanter’s gentle ways, revelations and soft-spoken teachings had altered the way she thought forever. How would she survive without him, in a harsh world of Trueman manufacture, hating them for their envy, hatred and savagery? She knew she was more Mujar now than Trueman, and, worst of all, she had been the bait that had led to his downfall. She had condemned him to a living death beneath the waves. Uncaring of the people who walked past, some staring, she wept with wild abandon.
In the woods, the ice wall melted away, and Arrin stood up. When no one appeared, he fell into a quandary. To return to the barracks was suicide. His unwilling career in King Garsh’s army was over, thanks to the Mujar his father had sent. He was free, but faced a long journey through hostile lands. He cursed and walked into the forest.
Chapter Twelve
Talsy held up a crystal vase and inspected it. With a nod, she handed it to her buyer, a short, balding man with a podgy face and a good eye for wares. He went off to finalise the deal, and she stared blindly at the accounts book in front of her. The figures danced on the page, defying her to read them, and she rubbed her eyes. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the dusty windows of her office in a modest shop on Windall Street, an area between the poor quarter and the middle-class district. Damaged merchandise, papers and oddments cluttered the cramped room, whose walls were yellowed with age and neglect, its furnishings worn and drab. Two chairs faced her polished yew desk, a sagging bookshelf covered one wall and coarse curtains framed a window with a view of the busy street.
Talsy had found a thriving market here for trinkets from the far north, cities like Prenath and Gardellin, which made pretty things from cheap materials, like the vase she had just bought. It looked expensive, but the crystal was inferior. For denizens of the poor quarter, however, such things were previously unaffordable luxuries. Now, poor labourer husbands could buy their wives pretty vases, pots and crockery, and trade was good. She rented the shop from an ageing, retired merchant who had no son to inherit his business. It had improved since Talsy had taken over, and she had given the shop’s exterior a fresh coat of whitewash three months ago.
Six months had passed since King Garsh’s men had flung Chanter into the sea. It seemed like an eternity of grinding misery and constant sorrow. For days, she had scaled the barracks’ walls in her attempts to free him. Two guards had stood over the motionless, bleeding Mujar night and day, making her task impossible. Twice, the guards who patrolled the walls had caught and beaten her.
Then that terrible day had come, when he had been thrown into a cart and driven to the docks. People had spat on his torn and bloody form, jeered and shouted insults. The ship had set sail at sunset, foiling Talsy’s longing to find out where they dumped him. Not that it would have done any good, for the currents would sweep him away, and the sea was too deep to rescue him.
Two weeks later, cold and hungry from living on the streets as a beggar, Talsy had taken Chanter’s ruby to a reputable dealer. The jeweller had paid her handsomely for it, and she had purchased the modest business, which provided a living and a distraction. She lived alone in a rented house, and had turned nineteen a month ago, but had not celebrated it.
The business’ profit provided her with good clothes and fine food, but no amount of luxuries could ever blot out Chanter’s memory. She missed him as much now as she had on the day he had been bound in gold, and often woke from dreams of him to weep until dawn. Even though it seemed hopeless, she never stopped trying to think of ways to save him, refusing to accept his loss.
Several times, she had hired a boat and braved her fear of the sea to voyage out in a vain hope that she might find him drifting like wrack on the waves. The sight of the ocean that would one day become his grave moved her to tears, and she would spend hours weeping alone before returning to shore. She had no friends, but those who knew her thought her a little touched in the head. Every morning, she walked the beaches on either side of the harbour, hoping Chanter would be washed ashore. All she had found was a scrap of frayed black leather, which she kept in a box beside her bed. Her unrelenting grief had aged her, thinned her face and figure and made her eyes sink into their sockets. She did not care; nothing mattered without Chanter.
Talsy roused from her reverie as her buyer, Tarn, re-entered her office, looking pale and sick.
She eyed him. “What is it?”
Tarn pulled up a chair and sat, frowning. “Bad news, I’m afraid, Miss Talsy. The man who brought the crystal came from Jishan, and he brought news of a rumour that the Black Riders are heading there.”
She experienced a twinge of triumph and hid a smile. “Oh dear.”
Tarn nodded, as if she had said something far more appropriate. “I reckon it’s time to move on.”
“Of course. I’ll pay you a good severance, so you’ll have something to live on for a while. Where will you go?”
“North, I reckon. It’ll take them Riders a long while to march all the way around the Narrow Sea, so we’ll have a good head start.”
Talsy opened her desk drawer and took out a bag of silver. “Would you like your pay now?”
Tarn nodded, and she counted out the coins. She was tempted to give him the whole bag, for it meant nothing to her now. Her life in Rashkar would soon be over. She counted out most of it, until Tarn’s eyes bulged, then put the remainder back in the drawer. He stood up and gathered it into his purse, filling his pockets as well.
“You’re welcome to join us, Miss Talsy. The wife and kids like you well enough, and you’ve always been generous with us.”
Talsy rose and wandered over to the window to gaze into the street, where life continued as usual. Once word got out, people would try to flee as they had at Horran, but she was sure Garsh would also force his people to fight. Becoming aware of Tarn’s words, she turned to smile at him.
“Thank you, Tarn, but no, I’ll stay here.”
“That’s certain death, Miss Talsy.”
She longed to point out that no one would escape the Hashon Jahar in the end, but shook her head instead. “I’ll be all right.”
Tarn grunted, and left the office jingling with bounty. She wished him luck silently, for he was a nice man.
Two days later, Talsy looked up from the accounts on her desk as her doorway darkened. King Garsh’s black-clad advisor stood framed in it, and she jumped up, her hea
rt hammering.
“Get out! How dare you come here?”
Yusan raised his hands. “I know you don’t like me, but I need to know more about what you said.”
“I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, now get out!”
The advisor sidled into her office. “Tell me more about the Hashon Jahar. How do you know they’re undying?”
“The King sent you, didn’t he? Getting worried now that the Black Riders are on his doorstep, is he?” she sneered.
“Did the Mujar tell you about the Black Riders?”
“Why don’t you go and ask him?”
Yusan ran a hand over his hair. “It wasn’t my idea to throw -”
“But you went along with it!”
“I obeyed my king.”
“As you are now.”
“Yes!” he said. “The King can have you tortured if he wants, so just tell me!”
Talsy went cold and settled back onto her chair. “I’ve told you what I know.”
“Tell me again.” Yusan pulled up a chair and sat forward.
“They’re of this world, and they’re undying.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“That’s all I know,” she retorted.
“How can they be stopped?”
Talsy smiled. “By a Mujar.”
“Like Horran.”
“Precisely.”
“Was that your Mujar?”
Her eyes stung, and she blinked. “Yes.”
“Why did he do it?”
“They made him.”
“How?”
His persistent, snapped questions annoyed her. “What difference does it make? You don’t have a Mujar here.”
“Maybe we can find one.”
“Why don’t you go and dredge up the one you threw in the sea?”
“Perhaps we will.”
Ridiculous hope flared in her, then died. “You’ll never find him.”
“We can get one from a Pit.”
Talsy sat back. “Then try.” She hesitated. “Why didn’t you throw Chanter in a Pit? Why did you throw him in the sea?”
Yusan looked away, gnawing his lip. “The nearest Pit is many hundreds of leagues from here, and the Hashon Jahar had already cut us off from it.”
“So, you knew then that the threat was approaching.”
“No, they were passing by, heading west.”
“And now they’re coming here,” she said. “So, you can’t rescue one from a Pit to save you, and Chanter is lost in the sea.”
“What are the Hashon Jahar?”
“I’ve just told you.”
“Not men?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Mujar.”
“Mujar don’t kill.”
Yusan grunted. “Then what are they, and how can they be stopped? Why do they attack Truemen cities?”
“I don’t know.”
The advisor jumped up and paced about. “You seemed to know a lot the day we captured the Mujar, now you know nothing. You implied that if we hadn’t thrown them into the Pits, the Mujar would have protected us from the Hashon Jahar.”
She shrugged. “Maybe they would.”
“If Rashkar falls, you’ll die too.”
“I know. But you took away my reason for living when you threw Chanter into the sea.”
He surveyed the room. “You’ve done well for yourself. I’d say you have a reason to live.”
“Bits of metal, wood and cloth. The Black Riders can burn it all.”
“It’s strange, the effect a Mujar can have on a person,” he mused. “I’ve seen it before.”
“It happened to you, didn’t it? That’s how you know about them.”
“Yes, one tried to twist my mind.”
“What happened to him?”
Yusan stared out of the window, stroking his chin. “I saw to it that he was thrown into a Pit.”
“Of course, I should have guessed. Few Truemen have the ability to understand Mujar. Perhaps I’m the only one.”
“No, there have been others. They withered away when they lost their Mujar to a Pit.” He glanced at her. “Just as you’re doing.”
She nodded. “It’s hard to live in a world ruled by selfish savages when one has met a truly good being. At least they saw the light. At least they had that wonderful experience.”
Yusan snorted and marched out.
“As you did!” she shouted after him, then slumped over her desk and buried her face in her hands.
The next day, the first refugees arrived from Jishan. Ships ferried thousands of women, children and old men across the Narrow Sea. The returning vessels took young, scared recruits to die defending Jishan. King Garsh kept his seasoned troops to defend Rashkar. He obviously did not hold out much hope of saving the stone city. Many seemed to think, quite rightly, that Rashkar was doomed too, and fled. Some sailed up the Narrow Sea to towns along the coast, others headed inland aboard wagons. Talsy was of the opinion that trying to flee the Hashon Jahar was like trying to outrun an avalanche on a mountain slope. She did not really know why she waited. While she had no wish to die, she could not leave Chanter behind. When they arrived, she would probably panic and try to escape, but until then, she would wait.
Two days later, the Black Riders laid siege to Jishan, which fell within hours. Sailors brought the news, along with a few soldiers they had fished out of the sea. Even Talsy was surprised. She had thought that Jishan, with its mighty walls, would hold out for a few days. The soldiers brought puzzling stories of the Hashon Jahar, claiming that they were men with twisted faces who could be killed, and that Jishan’s stone walls had melted away like hot wax before them.
The strangest news of all was that, the day after they had reduced Jishan to rubble, the Black Riders had vanished. Most people maintained that the Riders had retreated over the mountains; others said that they marched up the coast, but coastal ships saw no sign of them. Talsy knew the Hashon Jahar moved fast, but she could not understand how they could disappear so quickly.
A strange foreboding plagued her, and she grew restless, tossed in her sleep at night and woke bleary-eyed and haggard. In her dreams, Chanter haunted her as never before, urging her to flee.
Three days after Jishan fell, her restiveness peaked, and by noon she could bear her jitters no longer, so she closed the shop and headed home. There she dressed in tough leather leggings, strong boots, a linen shirt and a sturdy jacket. She packed a warm fur coat, tent and bedroll, dried food and pots into a bag. At the stables where she kept two riding horses, she selected the sturdier animal and ordered a groom to saddle him.
The guards at the city gates eyed her strange outfit when she rode past. Since the Hashon Jahar had vanished, the panic in Rashkar had abated, and life was almost normal. Talsy urged the horse into a canter and headed up the coast to a beach she frequented in her search for Chanter. Away from the city, her anxiety subsided, and she dismounted, tied the horse to a tree and wandered along the shore.
Waves pounded the sand with the steady rhythm of the ocean swells; gulls mewed as they rode the wind. She collected sand-washed shells, then threw them away and resorted to building sand castles. When the rising tide washed them away, she contemplated going home, but the thought did not appeal to her. Instead, she lighted a fire and cooked a meagre meal of bacon, corn and journey bread, picnicking on the shore as the sun set in a glorious medley of glowing clouds.
A distant roaring distracted her, and she looked at Rashkar, surprised by the amount of smoke rising from the city. Fires dotted the waterfront and dock area and spread into the warehouses that lined the wharf. The conflagration’s roar grew louder, and the screams and shouts of terrified people mingled with the clanging of alarm bells and rumble of hooves and feet.
Talsy squinted, wishing she had a spyglass. Something black emerged from the sea like a creeping carpet of shadow, engulfed the docks and filtered into the city. Flames leapt in its wake, and a line of defenders tried to
stem the sable tide. Talsy swallowed bile. So that was where the Black Riders had gone. Not over the mountains or up the coast.
The Hashon Jahar rode out of the sea. They swarmed into the city, unhindered by the walls that faced the landward side, and even Garsh’s mighty army could not hold them back. Talsy sat on the warm sand and watched the city fall. In the gathering dusk, the ragged line of torch-bearing defenders marked the invaders’ progress, retreating before them. War drums boomed, summoning soldiers to fight, and trumpets bleated as officers tried to rally them.
The world seemed to become still and hushed as the cries of dying people carried on the wind. Talsy shivered, not only because of the frigid wind that blew in from the sea, but with horror at the carnage. As the number of torch-bearing defenders dwindled, lights fled the city like fireflies leaving a nest, sparkles streaming along the two coastal roads.
Within a few hours, the city of Rashkar fell, the roads out of it clogged with fleeing citizens. The Black Riders swarmed after them in a pitiless tide, snuffing out the torches along with the lives of those who bore them. The shadowy advance spread up the roads, extinguishing even the occasional twinkling light that broke away and headed into the wilderness. By midnight, the last few lights vanished, plunging the land into darkness, save for the garish flames of the burning city. As the fires died, a distant rumbling carried on the breeze, along with the stench of smoke and burning flesh.
By the time the morning dew fell in a gentle haze, silence had descended. The first rays of dawn lighted a scene of utter devastation. A jumble of fallen walls and smouldering timbers lay under a pall of black smoke. Nothing remained of Rashkar, capital of Manshur and seat of King Garsh’s throne, but rubble. As the gathering light crept across the land, Talsy mounted and rode along the beach to a cave she had discovered on her earlier visits to the beach. There, she unsaddled the horse and tethered it, then set up a camp on the shelving rock. Being above the high water mark, the cave would make a dry home. Something told her that she was safe here, hidden from the Hashon Jahar. Shock and exhaustion forced her into an uneasy sleep.
When Talsy woke, the sun was past noon, and she went out to view the ruined city, which the Hashon Jahar’s black mass still filled. Smoke rose in lazy spirals, and the harbour was empty, the ships sunk or fled. An hour later, the Black Riders mounted their steeds and formed into their four-abreast columns. Two black lines emerged, one heading away, the other towards her, and she experienced a twinge of fear.
The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God Page 21
