Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law

by Southwell, T C

  "No." She saw the trap and sidestepped it. "To show that Lowmen are worthy of Mujar."

  Chanter laughed. "Very clever, my little clan. But what would you expect from this union?"

  "No more than we have now. When you marked me, we became bound to each other, just like a marriage. This would be the Trueman version, confirming our bond in the eyes of my people."

  He sat up, crossed his legs and faced her, taking her hand. "It's a foolish idea. One that I can't agree to. A Mujar bond is not like marriage, and ultimately you would not be happy trapped in a union that could never give you the things you want. A marriage between Trueman and Mujar would be an empty promise, a barren contract that would gain us nothing."

  Talsy gnawed her lip, unsure of his reaction to the idea to which Kieran had been so averse. Would he also rail against it? Whipping up her flagging courage, she met his eyes. "It doesn't have to be barren. Now that there are no laws, we could have children."

  For a moment his expression froze, then he looked down. She held her breath, dreading an angry outburst, shocked refusal, or disgusted aversion, but hoping for acceptance. The hand that held hers tightened, and his shoulders shook. She bent to peer at his face, which the glossy hair that had fallen over it hid. Chanter raised his head, his eyes sparkling, and let loose the laughter he had been trying to hide. He released her hand and fell backwards in paroxysms of mirth. Peals of laughter burst from him as he convulsed with hilarity. Fortunately, the goatherd whose hut they sat atop was always out all day tending his flock, otherwise the laughter coming from above might have startled him. Chanter seemed in danger of rolling off the roof, he laughed so hard. Talsy strived to marshal her confused emotions, a mixture of relief that he had not been angry and anger at his mirth.

  "It's because you're so damned perfect, isn't it?" she asked. "No Mujar would sully his blood by mixing it with a mere Lowman's!"

  Chanter sobered and sat up, shaking his head. "No."

  "Our children would be the answer to the problems of this world. Mujar blood would improve the Trueman race."

  "Listen to me." He gazed at her earnestly. "It's impossible, okay? Not because I think Mujar are too good to mix their blood, or that Truemen are too bad. We're just too different. We're almost complete opposites. We don't think alike, breed alike, live alike, nor even die the same way. We have nothing in common."

  "So what would a child of our two races be like? A monster?"

  "No." He pondered. "I don't know, actually. You're right, without the laws, crossbreeding would be possible. But as to the results, I cannot speculate." He ran a hand through his hair. "Just forget it okay? It's a good joke, nothing more." He chuckled. "You do come up with the most outrageous ideas."

  Rising to his feet, he stretched and turned to leave. "I must go and speak to Kieran." He wagged a finger at her. "Forget it, okay? The answer is no. No marriage, no children, not ever."

  Talsy frowned as he jumped down and strode away along the road into the village. A determined voice deep within her refuted his words with steely resolution. She would prove him and Kieran wrong, somehow. She would bring into the world the most beautiful child ever conceived, and it would be Chanter's.

  Chanter mulled over Talsy's words as he walked through the village. A crazy, impossible Lowman notion, conceiving a child between two races so utterly different that normally they could never breed. Only she could come up with such an irresponsible idea. Like mingling fire and ice, which would give you hot water, he supposed, or steam. Like mixing Life and Death. He shuddered at the thought of the monstrosity that grew in the blasted forest. A Mujar child would probably kill her, his gestation being so different from a Lowman's.

  Remembering his offspring, he stopped to gaze in the direction of the distant, abandoned continent where the Mujar child would no doubt perish in the chaos. He shrugged and walked on. Mujar young could be killed before they were born, a fact that made their whereabouts a carefully kept secret. It took a Mujar two years to emerge from the flower that nurtured him, and then he did so fully formed, a little smaller than an adult. Young Mujar needed no parents to raise them, the world was their cradle and teacher.

  Chanter found Kieran helping two farmers to cut a pile of wood, and wandered over to the Prince. "Kieran, I must speak to you."

  Kieran straightened in surprise, and the farmers doffed their caps as he nodded and picked up the tunic he had removed to work, approaching Chanter.

  The Mujar turned away. "Bring the sword."

  Jesher looked around at the expectant faces of the group of senior warriors he had assembled. The old headman, Larik, had silver hair that set him apart as the oldest man in the tribe. His elderly stallion, Odel, had ruled the herd for ten years before Nort had challenged and beaten him. Now Odel ruled the bachelor herd, and would until he died. The old headman still had standing in the tribe, commanded respect and gave counsel to the young. Jesher glanced at his family, who sat behind the warriors, and dropped his bombshell.

  "The strange man is Mujar."

  Everyone gasped except Larik, who nodded. "I thought so."

  "I didn't believe it, for he's a cripple. No Mujar would remain a cripple."

  "Perhaps he has his reasons," Brin stated.

  "He must. From now on, he'll be treated with the respect that he deserves, and any who don't respect him will be cast out."

  Heads nodded around the crowded tent.

  "To think," Jesher muttered, "I almost attacked him when he took the Stone. I'll make reparation for my temerity, be assured. He's brought more than four hundred horses for us to tend and bring back to health. I doubt any of them will choose from amongst us, but that does not matter. The mares will breed with Nort, and the... geldings will run with the bachelor herd. They have earned a quiet life after all they have suffered."

  "How will you make reparation to the Mujar?" Larik enquired.

  "They plan to go on a quest." Jesher glanced at Shan. "The stone Shan found is part of a sacred staff, and they're going to find the rest of it. We will offer them horses to ride, and our steeds will find those willing to bear unchosen riders. This is a new situation, and the presence of the Mujar will make them willing. The girl, Talsy, bears the Stone mark, yet she has not been chosen by a horse. I will choose four warriors from amongst you to go with them, to help and guard them."

  "I'll go," Brin volunteered.

  Jesher nodded. "I agree. You will be in charge, as a senior warrior. The others will be Taff, Mita, and Tron."

  "Papa, let me go too!" Shan burst out, earning a cuff from his mother and a glare from the headman.

  "You're too young, boy. It will be dangerous, and you're not yet a warrior."

  "I am! I have a horse, I have the mark!"

  "A horse you didn't want," Jesher reminded him.

  "I want him now," Shan protested.

  "He's also too young."

  Shan's eyes shimmered with tears. "I found the stone! I carried it here! I have earned the right!"

  Jesher frowned at the boy, unable to refute the truth of this, and Larik murmured, "Let the boy go, Jesher. What harm can come to him in the company of a Mujar?"

  "He's too young. The Mujar will be concerned only with protecting the girl, no one else. Kieran has the magical sword, and my warriors have their skills, which he lacks."

  "I'll look after him," Brin offered.

  The headman turned his glare on the warrior. "You may not survive yourself. From what they said, this world is falling into chaos. It will be more dangerous out there than you think, no place for a boy."

  "If they fail to find the pieces of the staff, all will perish, so what does it matter?" Larik pointed out.

  "Thorn found the stone, Papa. He will find the other pieces too!" Shan cried.

  Jesher sighed, glancing around at the stony-faced warriors, his eyes skittering away from Shella's hard stare.

  "To deny the boy is cruel," a senior warrior, Mejan, chimed in.

  "We should ask the horses," Lari
k stated. "If they say the boy should go, then he should."

  "Which horses?" Jesher demanded.

  "Mishal, Nort, and Thorn."

  The headman stared at the floor, unable to look at his wife. "Very well, we'll let the decision be theirs."

  Shella snorted and left the tent, her disapproval hanging in the air behind her. Shan bounced with eagerness, certain that the horses would want him to go, especially Thorn. Jesher gazed at his son, wishing that he had sired more than one.

  Kieran emerged from his hut with the Starsword, strapping it on as he loped after the Mujar, who was already halfway to the grove of trees that flanked one side of the lake at the far end of the valley. Dread nibbled at him. Did Chanter intend to destroy the weapon, as he claimed he should have done before the staff was broken? Kieran had overheard that comment when he had been climbing up the scree to the rock where Chanter sat with Talsy.

  Chanter must not destroy the sword. It would be important on the quest to find the rest of the staff. How could he prevent the Mujar from doing so if he chose? One thing he had learnt during his time with Chanter was that no one went against the Mujar and won. The only person who seemed to be able to influence him was Talsy, and he had no time to find her. After the humble pie he had eaten at the hands of the mage Chanter had defeated so easily, the Prince was not so confident any longer.

  The Mujar vanished amongst the trees ahead, and Kieran loped after him, not wishing to keep him waiting. His earlier impatience and frustration with Chanter now seemed disrespectful and childish. Striding through the trees, he came across the Mujar sitting on a mossy rock in a glade, and paused to take in the scene. Sunlight filtered through the trees to gild the unman, who sat motionless, as much a part of the forest as the rock on which he and the trees around him. A Trueman would have looked out of place, but the Mujar looked as natural in this setting as a deer.

  Chanter looked up, and the words Kieran had rehearsed on the way here burst from him. "If you've decided to destroy the sword, I don't agree. We'll need it on the quest for the staff. It's too important. The damage has been done now, let it be used for good."

  Kieran paused, and Chanter raised a leg, put his foot on the rock, rested his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. He gazed at Kieran, who went on, "I bet you haven't discussed this with Talsy. I know she'd agree with me. We're going to need all the weapons we can get out there, and the sword is a good weapon. I know it didn't do any good against the mage, but I shouldn't have been showing off. I should have just burnt him to a crisp."

  Chanter cocked his head as Kieran's oratory stumbled to a halt. "If I was going to destroy the sword, I wouldn't need you to bring it here. I could do that any time."

  Kieran slumped in relief. "Then what's this all about?"

  "It's about your defeat at the hands of the mage. You're right, you shouldn't have been showing off, but nor should you have burnt him to a crisp. There are other solutions to such problems."

  "You're going to teach me something?" Kieran hazarded.

  "No." The Mujar rose and approached him. "I'm going to increase the sword's power." He held out his hand.

  Kieran stared at it, then drew the weapon and handed it to its maker. Chanter raised the blade and studied its honed edge. He ran the stump of his right wrist along it, pausing halfway along the blade.

  "See here, where it broke the Staff of Law."

  Kieran peered at the place where the Mujar's crippled arm rested, where a tiny nick marred the blade's edge. "I'll hone it."

  Chanter smiled. "Then you'll wear out many grinding stones, and make no impression on it." He lowered the blade and gazed at the Prince. "I suppose you would call what you did by rushing out to confront the mage brave."

  Kieran looked away. "No, I'd call it stupid, actually."

  "Ah, then you've already learnt something. That's good."

  "But at least some good came of it. It made you save the Aggapae man and all those horses."

  "It made me." Chanter savoured the words, his mouth twisting as if they tasted bad. "Like a horse that must be made to pull a cart by the use of a whip?"

  "No, I didn't mean in it like that -"

  "Of course you did. But you're wrong. The only person I feel bound to save is Talsy, remember that."

  "Then why...?"

  Chanter shook his head. "Because I chose to."

  Kieran scowled. "If Talsy hadn't been in danger you wouldn't have gone anywhere near that gate or saved those horses."

  "No, I wouldn't. What future do those animals have? They may live out their lifetimes in this valley, and perhaps their offspring will too, but ultimately they're doomed. Bringing more in here to breed only means that there will be more to die, and perhaps the valley will become overcrowded. Then some will have to be killed or chased out to die in the chaos. Your people don't eat horses, so nothing will keep their numbers down. Imagine how much pain it will cause the Aggapae to have to slaughter their beloved horses or watch them starve."

  "You're talking like the fate of the world is sealed. What if we fix the staff? Then all will be well, right?"

  "If I'm proved wrong in this, I'll be happy. But the fact remains that, even if we restore the staff, no one can restore the laws."

  "But you've agreed to take us to find it, haven't you?"

  Chanter nodded. "Talsy made it a Wish, so I must."

  "But you don't believe there's any hope."

  "No."

  "Then why are you giving the sword more power?"

  "Because we're going to need it out there." Chanter raised the blade to study it again. "When I created it, I gave it only powers of burning and cutting, now I must give it warding as well. Then next time you meet a Trueman wizard who thinks he's a god, he won't be able to fry you."

  Kieran fingered the burn scars on his arms. Luckily his face had only been reddened. The worst damage had been done when his clothes had caught fire. His hair had been burnt on one side, so he had cut it short all over. The effect was ragged and gave him a raffish air that his mother had tried to remedy, but he had refused to submit to the eager attentions of her ladies.

  "Thank you for healing me," he murmured.

  Chanter lowered the point of the sword, aiming it at his heart. Kieran stepped back, and the Mujar smiled. "You still fear me. Good."

  "You like people to fear you?"

  Chanter shrugged. "Not especially, but it's better than hate."

  "The only person who doesn't fear you is Talsy, and she's got you wrapped around her little finger, hasn't she?"

  "I suppose you could say that." Chanter lowered the sword. "Why else would I be taking her on this pointless quest?"

  "You can't deny her anything."

  The Mujar flipped the sword into the air and caught it again by the hilt. "Why would I want to?"

  "What if she asked you for a child?"

  Chanter stared at Kieran, then rested the tip of the sword on the ground and leant on it, something the Prince had never been able to do, it always sank in when he tried. "She already has."

  "And what did you say?"

  "What do you think I said? No, of course."

  Kieran sagged with relief. "What if she made it a Wish?"

  Chanter frowned, staring at the leafy ground. "That would be a problem, but she wouldn't. I made it clear that it's not a good idea."

  "That won't stop her." Kieran shook his head. "She wants it badly."

  "I'll deal with her."

  "How well do you think you know her? If she's set her heart on this, she won't let anything stand in her way."

  Chanter raised his brows. "I've known her longer than you. I think I know her better, too. She wants it, yes, but she'll accept my advice."

  "Are you sure of that? You may have known her longer, but you'll never understand her as well as I do, for I'm her own kind. I say she'll find a way, with or without your consent."

  The Mujar frowned. "You're saying that she'll trick me? Or maybe... what? Force me?" He chuckled. "Imp
ossible."

  Kieran shrugged. "I don't know what she'll try, but be warned, she will."

  "I think I can manage to thwart one Lowman girl."

  The finality of his tone told Kieran that the conversation was over, and he sighed as the Mujar turned his attention to the sword once more. Chanter lifted the weapon and held it point down, then released it, leaving it floating in the air. He stepped back and raised his arms, frowned and lowered the right one. Kieran retreated to the edge of the trees as the Mujar invoked Crayash and Dolana in a flash of hot and cold. He moved the fingers of his left hand in graceful, flowing motions, and letters of blue fire appeared in the air at his fingertips.

  With a flick of his wrist, he sent the word of power into the sword, which flashed as the fire vanished into the blade. He pondered, then wrote another fiery word and flicked it into the sword. The blade flashed a second time, and Chanter stepped forward and gripped the hilt. He swung the weapon high and released it. The Starsword rose into the air, turning end over end. Chanter raised his left arm and sent a bolt of fire at the sword, which seemed to explode in a flash of flame and a shower of brilliant sparks. He stepped back as the blade thudded into the ground where he had been standing, buried to the hilt, steam rolling up with a hiss. He gestured, and the hilt frosted, snuffing out the steam. Finally he bent and drew the sword from the ground, inspecting the ebon blade.

  Kieran approached, and the Mujar held the weapon out, laying it across his palm and the end of his truncated right arm. The Prince took the sword, which seemed no different, even the tiny nick was still in the blade.

  "What will it do now?" he asked.

  Chanter rubbed his stump. "It will ward off magic like the Lowman wizard's fire, and it will heal when used with water."

  "What kind of magic will it ward off?"

  The Mujar shrugged. "Just about any kind."

  "What's the command?"

  "There is none for the warding, that's always there. Your reactions wouldn't be quick enough to invoke it in time, anyway. To heal, you put water on the wound, lay the sword against it and tell it to heal."