Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law

by Southwell, T C

  "We must go to the winter pasture as fast as we can. Soon they'll find the empty village and track us," one man said.

  Jesher nodded. "Yes. If they follow us there we'll have to defend the canyon, but we'll have the advantage then."

  "What about the wizard?" Brin asked.

  "We'll just have to do our best," Jesher said. "What choice do we have?"

  "I've never seen anything like that before," a tired warrior stated as his wife bandaged a nasty burn on the side of his head.

  "No," Jesher agreed, "Nor have I."

  "How many did we lose?" Brin enquired in the leaden silence that followed.

  "Seven men, two horses," the first warrior said.

  "We'll be hard put to stay ahead with foals at foot." Brin pointed out, and many heads nodded. "We'll have to fight a rear guard to slow them down."

  Again they all nodded, and Jesher sighed.

  Over the next five days, the herd moved at a punishing pace through scrubby tundra and belts of twisted trees. The route was well known to the Aggapae, and chosen to frequently encounter swift mountain streams in stony beds. The poor grazing meant that the horses lost weight as they travelled, and the swift pace made it worse. Some of the younger foals could not keep up, and women tied them to their mother's backs. Fortunately, Mishal's foal was able to follow his mother. Twice the warriors stayed behind to slow the Arrad, and they lost another five men and one horse in the fighting. The fallen warriors' horses joined the bachelor herd behind the mares, some carrying baggage for the wives of their former riders. Gloom and mourning dogged the herd, and every night the keening of bereaved wives joined the lonely neighing of their husbands' horses.

  In this sorrowful atmosphere, the tribe's tattooist placed the Stone mark on Shan's brow, and he joined the men's ranks. Jesher held a brief naming ceremony for his son's new colt, and Shan learnt his horse's name. Thorn.

  Brin gave him his first spear, and he rode with the rear-guard the next day. The stone's weight tired Thorn, and Shan's arms ached from holding it in place. Brin helped him to load and unload it, but no one would help to carry it.

  On the tenth day, they reached the belt of trees that led up to the canyon's mouth, entrance to the winter pasture. Normally the journey took a moon, but the Arrad still pursued them, giving them no option but to keep running. The herd passed through the trees at a trot, eager to reach their sanctuary. The old lead mare who led the herd bore no rider, so when she stopped and the herd milled in confusion, the men at the back had no idea what the problem was.

  One of the women came riding back. "The way is blocked!"

  Pandemonium broke out as people shouted in confusion, dismay and disbelief. Jesher urged the stallion into the herd. The mares parted before him, and Shan followed with Brin and a few other warriors. Emerging from the trees, Shan stared at the wall of rock that faced them. It had not been there seven moons ago when they had left the winter pasture. Nor was it a natural phenomenon like a rock slide or even a volcanic eruption. The stone rose smooth and sheer, as if drawn out of the earth by some invisible force.

  Jesher stared at it with defeat in his eyes. "This is preposterous! Where the hell did it come from? What are we supposed to do now?"

  The warriors around him shook their heads, staring at the wall that spelt disaster for tribe and herd alike. Jesher dismounted, and the others joined him in an impromptu meeting.

  "We'll have to use the mares," Jesher stated.

  "The mares will fight, but what about the foals and yearlings?" a warrior protested.

  "What choice do we have? Our way is blocked, so we must turn back. Only the might of the herd can carry us through. At a full gallop, no one will be foolish enough to stand in the way of the herd."

  "We'll lose some, and others may be injured, especially the young."

  "You have a better plan, Taff?" the headman demanded. "If we stay here we'll be caught against this confounded barrier, unable to move and fight. At least if we turn back we'll have a chance to save most of the horses."

  Shan dismounted and walked up to the smooth grey wall as the argument raged, running his hand along it. Where had it come from? Its presence was impossible. Rock did not sprout from the earth like a plant, yet it looked like that was exactly what had happened here. His wandering gaze fell on a mark at the centre of the wall, just above his head. He went closer to examine it, then turned to shout to his father.

  "Papa! Come quick!"

  Jesher glanced around in annoyance, but ignored his son and returned to the debate.

  "Papa! It's the Stone mark!" Shan cried.

  Jesher strode over to Shan, a deep frown furrowing his brow. The warriors followed, gathering around to see what the boy had found. The headman ran his fingers over the mark in the rock wall. A circle with a cross through it. The Stone mark. What did it mean? Jesher pulled the precious bag from the front of his tunic, where it hung on a stout leather thong around his neck. Reverently he opened it and took out the Stone, holding it up beside the mark on the wall. They were identical. The warriors muttered, but no one knew what it meant.

  Nort, who stood behind Jesher, squealed and hopped aside with his tail tucked as Shisab nipped him on the rump, her long yellow teeth clocking together as he freed his hide from them. He sidled away from the lead mare with his ears laid back to show his displeasure. Menalth, Shisab's chosen, looked down sympathetically at the headman, who scowled at his stallion's affront. The old woman looked pale and exhausted from the long journey, but riding a lead mare gave her authority, and she made no apologies for her mare's bullying of the stallion.

  "Shisab says put the Stone on the mark," she said.

  Jesher's scowl deepened. "Why?"

  Menalth tilted her head as she listened to her mare. "She says it's a key."

  "A key?" The headman's brows rose. "It gives us the power to speak to the horses, and now it's a key?"

  Menalth nodded. "That's what she says."

  "What if it's damaged?"

  Menalth communed with Shisab. "It won't."

  "How does she know this?"

  "What does it matter?" Menalth demanded. "We must get into the valley!"

  No one could deny this, and Jesher turned back to the wall, uncertainty in his eyes. The Stone was the tribe's most prized possession. Without it, their children would lose the power to converse with horses. He lifted the Stone and pressed it to the mark, plain side to the rock. Shisab snorted.

  "She says the other way," Menalth translated.

  Jesher frowned and turned the pebble to touch the cross and circle mark on the Stone to the mark on the wall. The mark on the wall glowed with pale blue light, and he stepped back, trampling on the toes of the warriors behind him.

  Chapter Three

  "Invaders!"

  The shout made Talsy jump up from the table where she ate lunch and run outside. A herdsman raced into the village, yelling at the top of his lungs. Sheera joined her, staring at the red-faced man in confusion as he ran past, panting. He headed for Kieran's hut, stopping as the Prince emerged from it. Talsy scowled and marched towards them, annoyed by the man's assumption that Kieran was in charge. She was the First Chosen, not him.

  "Invaders, Your Highness," the man gasped. "Coming through the wall! Hundreds of them!"

  Kieran glanced around as Talsy reached him. "Where's Chanter?"

  "How should I know? I'm not his keeper."

  "I thought you were."

  "Very funny. He doesn't want to found, and I'm not climbing a damned mountain to make him show himself."

  "Find him, please. We need him. This is no time to get petty."

  "Highness," the herdsman wheezed. "They have magic, they've opened a door in the wall."

  "Gather all the men and weapons you can," Kieran instructed, turning to Talsy as the herdsman ran off. "Do you know where he is? We can't fight an army with these few farmers."

  Talsy snorted and stalked away, taking some satisfaction in leaving him to wonder if she was goin
g to find the Mujar or simply stomping off in a huff. For two weeks, Chanter had delayed their departure to find the staff, putting it off each time she asked. He appeared at mealtimes, then vanished to some quiet place for the rest of the day. He had not retreated to the mountains again, but remained elusive nonetheless. Talsy had tracked him down on several occasions, and usually found him sitting in a sunny spot, staring into space. His favourite place at the moment was the roof of one of the huts, where he could stretch out in the sun without being bothered by Dolana. Often he was asleep, an unnecessary pastime, but a retreat for him. She headed for that hut.

  Clambering onto the roof, she found him fast asleep. His deep slumber was undisturbed by her grunting arrival, for, she had discovered, when Mujar chose to sleep they did so thoroughly. Alertness was unnecessary for a being who could not be killed, and Chanter slept like the dead. She gripped his shoulder and shook him. The Mujar snorted, shrugged and settled back.

  "Chanter, wake up!" she bellowed into his ear.

  He twitched and sighed, raising a hand to brush at his ear as if some insect had invaded it. Talsy almost smiled at the comical sight, then shook him even harder, making his head loll from side to side. "Chanter! We're being attacked!" she shouted, pummelling him until the roof creaked alarmingly.

  The Mujar jerked away as if burnt, and opened his eyes to scowl at her. "Wamhuszzel?"

  "There's an army coming through the wall."

  He blinked, sat up and stretched, then yawned and knuckled his eyes. "Really." Realising that he had failed to knuckle his right eye due to his lack of that hand, he used his left. "An army?"

  "Yes, hundreds of them."

  "Hmmh."

  "Come on, wake up."

  He yawned again, then smiled at her. "Okay, I'm awake."

  Talsy clambered off the roof, and the Mujar jumped down as lightly as a cat beside her. She started away down the road, then turned when he remained stationary. "Aren't you coming?"

  "Not that way." He gestured towards the village. "You go on, I want to see them."

  Talsy snorted and set off again, eager to see the newcomers. Rounding the last hut, she stopped in surprise.

  Hundreds of horses walked across the lush valley, some carrying riders, most of the rest burdened with baggage. She trotted over to Kieran, who stood with a group of badly armed men.

  "Did you find him?" he asked, looking worried.

  Talsy nodded, staring at the horses that crossed the grass in a compact herd. Men with painted faces and armed with spears and bows led the herd, followed by women and children riding mares with foals at foot.

  Kieran glanced around, searching for Chanter. "Where is he?"

  "Watching."

  "It's not an army," he said, turning back to the herd. "But those guys in the front look pretty fearsome."

  Four riders at the front broke away and cantered towards them, stopping a few feet away. Talsy noticed that the horses wore no bridles or saddles, and their riders sat on them with consummate ease. Men and beasts looked exhausted, and, although the horses tried to put on a show of energetic prancing, they quickly settled and let their heads droop. Kieran stepped forward, and she stayed at his side, determined to remain in the thick of things. The chosen behind them muttered and shifted, hefted the hoes and axes they carried and eyed the newcomers' spears.

  A man who rode a tall, dapple-grey stallion dismounted and approached. He scowled at them, the streaks of paint making his expression fiercer.

  "Who are you, and what are you doing in our valley?"

  "Your valley?" Kieran raised his brows. "There was no one here when we arrived."

  "We winter here every year."

  The man swayed with fatigue, and lines of strain furrowed his brow and bracketed his mouth. His bloodshot eyes glittered with suspicion and uncertainty, but he carried himself with the pride of a leader, although he did not swagger.

  Talsy glanced past him at the herd. "How did you open the wall?"

  He patted his chest. "With a key."

  Kieran traded a puzzled look with her, then his gaze was jerked back to the man as he stepped closer and raised a finger to point at her brow.

  "You carry the Stone mark!"

  "Stone mark?" Kieran glanced at her again. "That's a Mujar mark. She's the First Chosen."

  The man snorted, casting an amused look over his shoulder at his warriors. Two more dismounted and wandered over, carrying long, lethal looking spears. The first man smiled as he faced them again. "Mujar are only legend. That's the mark on our key, the same one that's on the wall."

  "Yes," Kieran agreed. "A Mujar mark."

  The man shrugged, apparently too tired to argue. "Call it what you will. At least it shows that you're good people, not horse thieves. If she carries the mark, she is beloved of horses and therefore our friend." He held out his hand. "I'm Jesher, Headman of the Aggapae."

  The Prince shook hands and introduced himself and Talsy, who wondered where the legend was hiding now. When Chanter chose to show himself, the Aggapae would know that Mujar were not just a legend. Jesher introduced his warriors, Taff and Brin, gesturing behind him to a boy on a black colt.

  "My son, Shan."

  The boy looked ready to drop, and the colt looked little better. "You're welcome to share what we have," Talsy offered.

  Jesher shook his head. "We have our own, my thanks." He turned to stare back down the valley. "But you should close the gate if you can, there are bad people following us."

  Noticing that some of his odd clothes were bandages, and his warriors were likewise injured, she glanced around with a frown. Where was Chanter?

  "Why are they after you?" Kieran asked Jesher.

  "They're horse thieves, of course. We're the blessed of the god of horses, they're scum." Jesher spat on the ground to punctuate his opinion.

  The Prince appeared unconcerned. "Well, make yourselves at home; I'm sure we won't let them in. As soon as you're settled we'll have a talk."

  Jesher shot him a puzzled look, but shrugged and turned away to signal to his people. The tired horses plodded up the valley, stopping almost in the centre of it, where the women dismounted and started to unload them.

  Kieran turned to Talsy. "Where is he? Has he closed the gate?"

  "How should I know? He's become very strange lately."

  "He always was strange."

  Talsy glared at him, then was distracted as the boy on the black colt keeled over and slid from his horse's back to land with a thud on the ground. Talsy started forward in concern, and Jesher followed, not looking particularly worried at the sight of his son sprawled on the grass under the colt's feet.

  "He's just tired," he explained, glancing back at Brin when the warrior commented, "It's that damned stone he's been carrying."

  "He's still got that?" Jesher demanded, and the warrior nodded.

  Talsy knelt beside the boy, and the colt lowered his head to snuffle her hair. Shan was out cold, and she looked up at Jesher. "We can take him to my hut."

  The headman looked peeved by his son's show of weakness in front of strangers. "No, no, I'll take him to his mother. He'll be fine. Brin, get rid of that damned piece of rock before this colt collapses too."

  The painted warrior stepped up to the horse and tugged at the ropes that bound a bundle to the colt's withers. A grey stone thudded to the ground beside Talsy, and she gasped, staring at it.

  "That's a piece of the staff!"

  Kieran bent to examine it. "How do you know that?"

  "It looks the way Chanter described it. Look at the writing."

  "She's right," a soft voice said behind them.

  Kieran turned to find the Mujar standing there, gazing down at the grey stone. Jesher eyed the unman askance, clearly struck by his odd appearance, but the horses' reaction brought gasps of amazement from the Aggapae. Nort shouldered his way to the Mujar and pressed his head to the Chanter's chest in a gesture of complete trust, whickering a low greeting. The other horses gathered round, jos
tled and gave little nickers of welcome, stretching out their soft muzzles to the Mujar. Chanter stroked the stallion, then flicked his fingers. The horses retreated, and Jesher paled beneath his paint, his eyes measuring Chanter with deep misgiving.

  "Who are you, who can speak to all horses?"

  Chanter smiled. "You don't know?"

  "If I did, I wouldn't ask."

  "That's good."

  Kieran glanced down the valley. "Is the gate closed?"

  "Yes."

  Talsy tried to pick up the piece of staff and failed, grunting with annoyance. She turned to Jesher. "Why did the boy bring the stone?"

  Brin answered, "The horses said that it was important."

  "The horses?" She raised her brows. "You can speak to them?"

  Jesher nodded. "Of course, ever since the god of horses blessed us and gave us the Stone."

  "The stone you used for a key?" Kieran enquired.

  "That's right."

  "The one with the Mujar mark on it."

  Jesher looked a little impatient. "There are no more Mujar. They are only legend now, if they ever existed."

  Kieran shook his head, glancing at the Mujar who stood beside him, as large as life and apparently uninterested in the discussion. "I beg to differ. Chanter is Mujar."

  The headman studied Chanter again, his eyes lingering on his truncated right arm, and a frown wrinkled the dried paint on his brow. "Mujar are extinct. If you claim to be one, then prove it."

  "No." Chanter glanced at the Prince. "I didn't claim it, he did."

  Talsy stood up with a sigh. "He won't. That's one of the things about Mujar. You can't make them do anything they don't want to. We're very glad your son brought the stone. The horses are right, it's important to all of us."

  Jesher continued to stare at the Mujar as if unable to tear his eyes away, but not with fascination or respect. His gaze was disbelieving and slightly hostile, apparently angered by Kieran's unproven claim that Chanter was a member of the legendary, extinct race of Mujar.

  Kieran gestured to the village. "Come and have refreshment. We can talk in comfort."

  Shan groaned and opened his eyes, looking dazed. Brin helped him to his feet, and Jesher shot his son a frown of annoyance. "Take him to his mother."