He shrugged, his mouth full. "Probably around noon."
"We'll let him rest until just before noon, then ask him what he wants to do," she stated.
Boras puffed his pipe, avoiding her eyes. "Yes, we'll do that. It's the most sensible thing."
A rough shaking woke Kieran, and he snapped awake and sat bolt upright in a smooth movement. His hand started towards his waist, then paused when he found Shara kneeling beside him. He gazed around, his mind still fogged with sleep and weariness. Shara pressed a mug of hot soup into his hands, and he sipped it, then rose to his feet. He ached, his shoulder throbbed and the room swayed, forcing him to clutch the back of a chair for support. He slid into it and clasped the hot mug to soak up its warmth, the broth's savoury smell making his mouth water.
Boras eyed him from across the table. "You're in big trouble, my friend."
Kieran smiled. "I guess she's found out. How long did I sleep?"
"Close to half a day. Larina is tearing the city apart searching for you and her stone."
Kieran yawned. "Then I should be on my way."
"I agree, but the black army is outside, searching the countryside."
"Well, that was clever of her." He frowned, thinking of Talsy and Chanter waiting in the forest. "All the more reason to leave."
"How did you do it?" Boras leant closer, his eyes alight with curiosity.
"As I had planned, up to a point. Then I was surrounded, as you said I would be, so I made a bargain with the Queen."
"A bargain?"
Kieran nodded. "I swapped my sword for the stone. She was most generous, gave me silver and another sword, but then, she expected to get them back, only she won't."
"You swapped your magical sword?" Boras looked outraged.
"Don't worry, I intend to get it back."
"How? You can't go back to the palace!"
Kieran shook his head. "I'm not. Don't worry, when I need it, I'll have it. Let it frustrate her a little longer."
The beggar stuck his head through the doorway. "They're two streets away."
Kieran gulped the rest of the broth and stood up, his legs a little firmer. "Will you guide me to a place where the forest meets the city wall? I'll need the cover of trees if I'm to elude the Torrak Jahar in daylight."
Boras nodded. "Of course, and my sons will carry the bag for you."
Kieran went over to the satchel and extracted the bag of silver, putting it on the table with a clank. He took a handful of coins to fill his purse, then pushed the rest to Boras.
"Take it for the beggars, hide it well. The sword is yours too, but don't keep it here. Hide it somewhere on the way to the wall, that way if they find it, they won't know who put it there."
Boras stared at the bag in astonishment, and, since her husband was speechless, Visha murmured, "Thank you."
Kieran smiled. "Thank you, Visha, Shara, for your hospitality and kindness."
Visha smiled and Shara blushed, making Jaevu giggle. Kieran ruffled the boy's hair and admonished him, "Stay out of trouble."
Boras recovered from his surprise and pushed the bag towards Visha with instructions, "Divide it up and hide it."
Boras rose to his feet, and his strapping teenage sons lifted the heavy satchel. Kieran hid the jewelled sword under his cloak as Boras opened the door and peered out. He gestured for them to follow and led the way down the street towards the city wall.
On the way, Boras took the jewelled sword and slid it through a drain hole into the sewer, where the beggars could retrieve it later. Few people ventured onto the streets, and fearful faces peered from windows and doors. Once they ducked into some stables to avoid a patrol marching past, then hurried on. When the boys grew tired, Boras and Kieran shared the load for a while, giving it back when Chavas and Peran had recovered their youthful strength. They passed through a street the soldiers had already searched, where muttering citizens carried their scattered and soiled belongings back into their houses.
Reaching a section of wall where branches waved above it, the boys put down the satchel and rubbed aching arms. Boras turned to Kieran. "Are you going to climb it?"
Kieran shook his head. "I'm going to cut my way through it." He stepped back and squinted at the distant palace to ensure that Boras and his sons were not in the way. "With the Starsword."
Larina jerked in surprise as the sword slid from its scabbard and shot across the room in a flash of stars, vanishing through the wall with a soft snick of steel on stone. For a stunned instant she stared at the empty scabbard, then rose to cross the room and study the slim incision in the wall. Her hands clenched as fresh rage coursed through her in a burning tide.
"You cunning bastard!" she hissed. "Not stupid at all, are you? But you won't escape my black army; that I swear!"
Boras' jaw dropped as the Starsword appeared before Kieran, hanging point down in the air. No one had seen it fly to him, its speed was too great, so it seemed to materialise from thin air. Kieran gripped the hilt and turned to the wall, Boras and his sons shuffling aside. Kieran ran a hand lovingly along the ebon blade and smiled at the portly merchant.
"No one can wield it but me, Boras, and it comes when I call. Your greedy Queen got what she deserved for the stone. Nothing."
Boras' hesitant smile grew into a delighted grin, and he chuckled at Kieran's triumph, his sons joining in the merriment. The more they thought about it the more their mirth grew, until all three convulsed in paroxysms of laughter.
Boras wiped his eyes. "I wish I could see the look of her face when she finds it gone! What a marvellous ploy! She thought she was tricking you, meanwhile she was the one to fall into her own trap!" He laughed uproariously.
Kieran grinned at their hilarity, enjoying the moment of triumph. Times of precious laughter were to be treasured in a world where so much hate and greed burgeoned, polluting life's sweetness with its sour taint of unhappiness and discontent. People who could laugh at times like these were rare, and he appreciated Boras even more for it. Boras walked on the sunny side of the road of life, and enjoyed its little pleasures without dwelling on the horrors and fears that lurked in the shadows. He took the rocky path of morality and goodness, but enjoyed its hardships because he knew that he was on the right track. To see one who wallowed in the mire of greed and walked the easy road of corruption derailed as Queen Larina had just been gave him immense satisfaction, and Kieran enjoyed his amusement for what it was, honest merriment at the defeat of mendacity.
Leaving Boras to enjoy his moment of happiness, Kieran approached the wall. He plunged the blade into the stone and described a low arch once more, sliding it through the rock with a faint, grating hiss. Boras and his sons gaped. Completing the incision, he found that again the sword had failed to slice through the thick wall, and the chunk he had cut remained firmly in place. With swift strokes, he hacked off great hunks of stone, jumping back as they rolled from their place in the wall.
Crouching within the recess he had carved, he followed his original cut a second time, then set his back to it and heaved. Chavas and Peran squeezed in beside him when the stone gave only a fraction, adding their considerable muscle to his. Between them, they pushed the huge stone from its place, for it was as thick as the sword was long. When the gap was wide enough, Kieran peered through it into a dense, deserted forest.
Turning to his helpers, he shook the boys' hands, then Boras'. The portly merchant smiled and nodded, moved to speechlessness again.
"Take care, Boras," Kieran advised. "Look after your family, and hopefully, when the staff is restored, we'll meet again in a better world."
"Our prayers are with you," Boras assured him, finding his voice. "Safe journey and good luck."
Kieran nodded and picked up the satchel, pushing it through the gap in the stone before he followed it. In the forest, he shouldered his burden and slipped through the trees, glancing back at the hole as Boras and his sons fitted the chunks of rock back into it to disguise his exit.
Talsy sat ou
tside the cave that had become their home for the past few days, enjoying the peaceful forest and dreaming of her coming child. The Aggapae played a game with pebbles and sticks, giggling amongst themselves. They had invited her to join them, but she preferred to spend her time lost in dreams. Chanter was away somewhere, on guard, and the horses had gone to find grazing. The arrival of an inky raven jerked her from her pleasant thoughts. It transformed in a rush of wind, and Chanter came over to them.
"Get inside the cave, something's coming."
They all jumped up, and the Aggapae called their horses, which galloped up after a few minutes. Talsy entered the cave first, and the others crowded in after her, calming the fretful horses. As soon as they were all within, the Mujar bent and placed his palms on the ground to pick up the reins of Earthpower. The chilly silence clamped down as he straightened, and he wielded the power with a flick of his mind. A sheet of rock rose from the ground with a soft grating, sealing the cave's entrance. The Mujar caused it to take on a natural appearance, seamed and weathered by time, moss and ferns growing in its cracks. As he finished, a rumble of hooves came on the wind, and he went to the nearest tree. Assuming the shape of a spotted hunting cat, he clawed his way into its branches.
Several minutes later, four Torrak Jahar galloped up, their hooves' thunder loud. Their heads swivelled as their glowing eyes searched the land. As they neared the cave, they slowed to a canter, then stopped. Chanter flattened himself on his perch, wondering what had led them to this spot. The Riders turned this way and that, as if they sensed something but were unable to find it. An ugly thought wormed its way into Chanter's mind, that these undead creatures could sense life like a dog could track a man. If so, his life would soon draw their attention upwards, and he hoped that they would see only a spotted hunting cat and move on.
Instead, the Riders milled closer to the cave, and one dismounted to place its hands on the stone. It spoke in a strange grating voice, and the other three joined it, clearly puzzled by what they had found. They searched the rock for an opening, and one pushed the tip of its sword into a crack and tried to pry it open. Two others joined in this futile endeavour, but the fourth turned and scanned the surroundings again. As Chanter had dreaded, its eyes rose until they found his camouflaged shape amongst the leaves. It drew the attention of the other three to its discovery, and four pairs of sickly eyes fixed upon him, making him shiver. He remained still, watching them, for he doubted that their mission was to hunt spotted cats. Even his acute hearing was not keen enough to pick up the words of their conversation, and he waited for the outcome before deciding on his next move.
The one who had first seen him approached the tree, its twisted visage raised. It placed its hands on the trunk, as if it wished to shake him down, but the tree was far too sturdy for that. It turned to the others and gave an order, its whispery voice grating in the Mujar's ears. The three drew nearer, hefting their swords, and Chanter knew that his time for action had come. Whether they had sensed that he was Mujar, or merely wished to drink the blood of a spotted cat was now irrelevant, for they intended to cut down his tree. So long as he held the reins of Earthpower he could not fly, and if he released it the rock would fall and the chosen would die. As the Torrak Jahar hacked at the base of his tree, Chanter wielded the Dolana he held.
Brin kindled a flame in the cave and fed it with dry grass and sticks. The silence pressed in on them, and the darkness before the fire had been complete. The horses shifted and stamped, soothed by their riders, who whispered soft meaningless words as they squatted around the fire.
"Thorn doesn't like it in here," Shan muttered, and Taff clasped his shoulder.
"None of us do, but we have to be calm."
"I've told him, but he's not used to small spaces, and the air smells bad."
"Just calm him," Brin said, "the older horses know to trust their riders."
"He does trust me," Shan protested, "he's not going to go berserk, he just doesn't like it."
"Must I have Task speak to him?" Brin asked.
"No, he's -"
They all jumped as the earth beneath them shivered. Talsy sensed the deepening cold of Dolana and stood up. "He's doing something."
"Who, Chanter?" Brin glanced around.
"Yes." She groped to the back of the cave and laid her palms against the soil. Intense cold radiated from it, and she snatched her hands away with a shiver. "Bring a light."
Brin picked up a few burning twigs and went over to her, holding up the flame. The earth at the back of the cave shimmered, sparkling as if frosted with fire. The rocks and soil oozed away, pulling back to deepen the cave.
"He's making it bigger."
"Shan will be pleased," Brin commented.
Talsy shook her head. "He must have a reason."
"Hey! Bring a light!" Taff called urgently, and Brin swung away, taking the guttering flame to the front of the cave. The flickering fire lighted a bizarre scene. Shimmering, moving soil had swallowed the grey rock that had covered the entrance. Already it pressed against the haunches of the nervous horses, which snorted and stamped.
"It's getting smaller!" Shan cried, clinging to the black colt's mane, and Thorn's eyes were white-ringed with fear.
"No!" Talsy went over to them, pushing horses aside. "He's moving us. Come further in, the cave's deepening at the back."
Brin snatched up the rest of the burning twigs and moved to the back of the cave to illuminate the oozing earth as it parted before them. Slowly the soil that pushed from behind forced them to walk forward. The horses advanced on stiff legs, flinching from the cold earth that crowded behind them.
"Why is he doing this?" Brin demanded.
"There must be danger outside. He's taking us through the hill to the other side." Talsy guessed, shivering in the cold that enveloped them.
"By the gods," Taff swore, "I hope nothing happens to him when we're in the middle of the damned hill."
Mita prodded him in the ribs and hissed, "Shut up!"
Taff shot a guilty glance at the wild-eyed Shan in the gloom. The boy clung to his equally wild-eyed colt. "Nothing can happen to him. I was only joking. He's Mujar."
"Damn right," Mita said. "Why is it so cold?"
"It's the Earthpower," Talsy explained. "It's always cold."
Chanter gazed down at the Black Riders that hacked at his tree's sturdy trunk. Their swords chopped out chips, making no speedy impression, which was good. Still, he had a long way to go before the chosen reached the other side of the hill. He concentrated on the Dolana, moving the air pocket a little faster. He hoped that Talsy had figured out what was happening and why, for he could not provide them with any light. Crayash's manifestation would give away his identity to his enemies and spur them to greater efforts. Instead, he clung to the quivering branch with razor claws and wielded the Power he already controlled.
The Torrak Jahar's steeds stood immobile, nothing more than statues without their riders. The sun beat down on the Riders' gleaming backs as they swung their long swords, weapons immune to blunting or destruction. Only the Starsword could break one of their weapons, which were inherited from the Hashon Jahar and created by Marrana, Goddess of Death. Chanter squinted at the distant city, which seethed with soldiers. Evidently Kieran had gained the stone, or at least had stirred a mighty ants' nest.
The air pocket that held the chosen was now more than halfway through the hill, and he kept its progress slow and even so as not to alarm those within it. The Riders had chopped through the tree's bark and deep into its flesh. The haunting melody of its rising sap had ceased, telling the Mujar that the great tree was dying, cut off from its roots.
The cold silver Power he wielded turned black. To his senses it simply vanished, and a wave of sickly warmth washed through him. His form wavered, losing the cat shape, and he almost fell as his claws disappeared. Clinging to the branch with appendages that wavered between paws and hands, Chanter strived to hold the corrupted power that now defied his grip. To drop it
would kill the chosen in the cave, yet to hold it filled him with its terrible sickness.
Chanter plucked at the corrupted web, using his inner sight to find silver strands amongst the black waves that coursed through it. Even as he switched from one strand to another, the blackness followed, sickening each thread he reached for. The air pocket within the hill had stopped, but he prevented it from collapsing as his fingers of his will played the web of power with consummate skill. He dropped threads as they blackened, finding pure ones to use for an instant before they too sickened. He was losing the battle, however. The entire web that covered this area was sickening. A wellspring of corruption had opened beneath it, and this place was becoming another withered brown patch like the many others that now riddled the land.
Chanter struggled to hold the dregs of purity long enough to move the chosen through the hill, but he was so busy trying to find pure threads that he had no time to move them. Frustration grew in him. Never had Mujar been forced to deal with tainted power before, and the illness sparked a dormant rage that burnt deep within him, a legacy of generations of suffering. The warmth and blackness repelled him, and he longed to free himself of its pollution, but could not without killing. Trapped by duty, he continued to draw silver threads to him, only to have them blackened by the creeping sickness from beneath.
Talsy gasped for air, wiping sweat from her face as she tried to hold onto her sanity. The cave had stopped moving, and the soil's shimmering had ceased. Putrid warmth filled the confined space. The horses squealed and shivered, and the Aggapae hugged their steeds, comforting them. Something had happened to Chanter. The thought sent a shaft of pain through her, and she denied it. Surely not. If he had lost control of the Dolana, they would already have been crushed by tons of earth. Something else had gone wrong, and the fetid warmth was a clue. Corruption. Fists of rock and soil thrust into the cave and withdrew, sometimes blossoming into ugly flowers of bulging earth. The Earthpower's iciness had vanished, replaced by this sickly warmth.
Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law Page 23
