"It's the Dolana," she gasped, "the Earthpower. It's gone bad. He's okay, and he's trying to fight it. He'll succeed."
Brin's pale visage gleamed sweatily in the light of his burning twigs, almost consumed now. "How long will it take him?"
"I don't know. He won't let us die. He can't."
"Maybe he has no choice," Taff panted. "If he fails -"
"He won't," she interrupted. "He's Mujar. In case you've forgotten, he has the power to rip this hill open, corrupted or not."
"I hope you're right," Brin muttered, "because this cave is shrinking."
Talsy sensed the space around them lessening, and the warm foul earth pressing inwards. A prickle of fear marched up her spine. The horses huddled together in a shivering, sweating group, the riderless piebald stiff with terror. The tiny flames burnt Brin's fingers, and he dropped the twigs with an oath, plunging them into utter darkness. Talsy fought the scream that clogged her throat, pressing her hands against the closing walls as if to hold them back.
The thrum of danger came through the corrupted Dolana like a muted cacophony, hurting Chanter's senses. He paused in his plucking of the endlessly dying web to listen. Now he had no choice, his hand was forced, and rage simmered in him. Releasing the tiny wedge of will that held his cat shape, he resumed man form and stood up on the quivering branch, clasping the trunk beside him.
Reaching for the uncorrupted Powers, he summoned them in quick succession. Crayash's raging inferno screamed in a momentary hellish manifestation, followed by Shissar's misty wetness and its booming sea, then the wind's rush, beaten by its denizen's pinions. The strong manifestations brought hisses from the Torrak Jahar that attacked the tree. They looked up with yellow eyes and swung their swords with sudden fury.
Chanter held the four Powers with his will, and, stretching it forth, commanded them. Air, light and ice he sent into the hill, sustaining those within it. Lifting each Power's reins with a will fuelled by rage, he wielded them. He took control of all around him, joining with the environment in a moment of utter command. His mind became the land and he a small part of it. The spreading pool of corruption crept across the silver web of Dolana, and with a flick of his mind, he cut it.
The wound pierced him as it did the land, like severing a part of himself. The blackened web sank into the morass of seeping pollution below, swallowed by it, and the elements of its construction began to unravel. Chanter held water, air and fire, using the three to sustain the integrity of the ground he had destroyed. The tree wavered, its Dolana stolen by his action, the three elements that remained tenuous.
Chanter's willpower took hold of Dolana's silver threads beyond the cut he had made. His action had stopped the sickness' spread, but at the same time had destroyed the ground's solidity. Closing his eyes, he ordered the chaos, drawing the silver web over the wounded land and closing the gap he had opened, locking the sickness below. Dolana's lines thinned with the stretching, but held, thickening again as power pulsed along them to strengthen them with the earth's immense might. The land around him regained its solidity as the Dolana seeped back into it, and as it did, he opened his eyes.
The Torrak Jahar had stopped hacking at the tree because they were waist deep in the soil, struggling to free themselves from it. The tree had sunk twice as far into the ground, and the damage they had done to it was below the earth now. All the trees in the area had sunk, and the stone he had placed over the cave's mouth was gone, leaving bare earth. Several other changes leapt at him.
The hill was flattened, and the ground appeared rippled, as if stirred by a giant hand. The tree he clung to no longer looked like a tree, but was now a melted form of smeared brown and green, its delicate branches blunt stubs, its bark smudged with pale wood. Everything around him was twisted and blunted, as if for a moment it had turned liquid and started to melt, which was exactly what had happened. Vast amounts of matter had simply atomised, released into air by the cessation of the Earthpower that held everything together.
The silver web around him now shone with purity, however, and he lifted its reins to move the air pocket and its precious passengers through the hill. He started it slowly and gradually speeded it up. The Torrak Jahar freed themselves from the soil and attacked the tree with renewed fury, carving great chunks from it with the strength of their strokes.
When light flooded the tiny cave, Talsy and the Aggapae had cried out in gladness and relief. With it came fresh air and a sudden chill. Talsy put her hand on the wall and found a solid layer of ice holding the corrupted ground at bay. In the rosy glow of the illumination, pale faces smiled uncertainly. For several moments they waited, then the ice vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and the shimmering earth moved around them once more, pushing them through the hill. With the light to comfort them, the journey became less frightening, and the fact that the Mujar was back in control brought greater comfort still. Their progress through the soil speeded up gradually, and the chosen welcomed this, for their greatest wish now was to quit this earthen womb.
When the soil broke open to let in a bright shaft of light, Talsy rushed to try to dig her way out. By the time the gap had widened to the size of a window, she was already halfway through it. Brin caught her arm and dragged her back.
"Much as we all long to get out, we must make sure there's no danger outside first."
Chastised, she peered out with him, scanning a deserted landscape that stretched away all around. "Looks safe," she muttered.
"But should we leave or wait here for Chanter?"
"Whatever the danger is, it's on the other side of the hill. I think we should get as far from it as we can."
Brin nodded and turned to commune with his horse while the gap widened to the size of a doorway, then faced to her. "The piebald will carry you until the Mujar returns."
Glancing back at the shivering horse, she was glad that Brin had a cool head, for she had not thought about the fact that without Chanter she had no transport.
The chosen emerged into the sunlight and mounted, Talsy scrambling onto the big piebald with difficulty. As soon as all were aboard, Brin urged the party away from the hill, and the horses broke into an eager canter.
Chapter Thirteen
Dropping the reins of Earthpower, Chanter assumed the shape of a daltar eagle and launched himself into the air, his great wings beating it with a whisper of long pinions. The Torrak Jahar hissed with rage and rushed to mount their stone steeds, struggling to free them from the earth. The Mujar waited, drifting on the wind, then glided towards the city, losing height to tempt them after him. They followed, their yellow eyes burning as they stared up at him, unable to forego the lure of Mujar Life. He spotted the fleeing forms of the chosen vanishing into the forest on the far side of the hill as he turned to lead the Riders towards the city. More Torrak Jahar emerged from the forest to join the four who chased him, drawn by the possibility of capturing him, no matter how slight. He swooped low, teasing them with his nearness while drawing them away from his charges.
A tall, dark-haired man ran through the trees ahead, and Chanter veered away, slowing his flight to tempt the Torrak Jahar. Despite this, several Riders peeled away from the group and galloped towards Kieran, their lances lowering with deadly intent. With an eagle's shrill scream of anger, the Mujar swerved and arrowed towards the fleeing Prince with powerful wing beats. Kieran had no chance of outrunning the Riders that Chanter had unwittingly led to him. Kieran stopped, raising the Starsword, and the lead Rider turned to slag and slumped to the ground. The rest were undeterred, and clods of earth flew from their horses' pounding hooves as they charged towards their prey. Chanter changed his shape to a sleek hawk and stooped, folding his wings in a high-speed dive. At the last moment, he spread his wings, stopping his rush earthwards.
The moment his talons touched the ground he transformed, becoming a huge, blue-eyed black stallion. The Prince burnt two more Riders before Chanter reached him. The heavy stone in its bag hampered him, but he scrambled onto
Chanter's back and clung to his long mane as he leapt into a gallop. The Torrak Jahar thundered on his heels, so close that their lance tips almost touched his haunches. Kieran turned and lashed out with the sword's fire, picking off Riders in a succession of slumping mounds of lava that rapidly fell behind as they thundered through the woods. The stallion's speed did not allow the Riders to gain on him, and, as he found his stride, he pulled away. The Torrak Jahar refused to give up, however, with their three greatest prizes so close, and Kieran reduced their numbers steadily.
They burst from the forest onto a stretch of open ground, and only when they were halfway across it did Chanter realise that the grass was brown and withered. His senses warned him of the corruption below even as he noticed the thin black lines that crazed the dry, barren soil. His heart chilled with fear, but there was nothing he could do except keep going. Without Kieran he would have taken wing, for an unburdened Mujar was unfettered, and chose his environment at will.
While carrying the Prince, however, that option was denied him, and he hoped that the crust could support his weight. His hooves beat a rapid tattoo across the hard ground, a staccato rhythm that broke when his forefeet broke through the crust. He sank into the tar to his knees, and the speed of his travel almost freed him again, but not quite. His forelegs broke with twin reports, and he slammed down on his chest, breaking through the crust again. Kieran was thrown several man lengths and landed hard. The stone travelled even further, beyond the area of tar to thud onto solid ground.
Kieran struggled to draw breath that his aching ribs denied him. Writhing, he turned to see what had become of Chanter and the Torrak Jahar, filled with fear for the Mujar. His fall had jerked the Starsword from his grip, but he did not waste time looking for it. The black stallion lay sunk to his shoulders in a pool of tar, his neck stretched out on the ground. The area around him was collapsing, and his hind legs had become mired as well. The Mujar lay placidly, as if uncaring of his fate, and Kieran knew that the Dolana already wreaked its havoc on him. Shaking his head to dispel the gathering darkness in his eyes, he gasped a little air and looked beyond the fallen Mujar.
The Torrak Jahar weighed considerably more than a living being, and the forerunners had travelled far onto the corruption, breaking the ground until they fell into the tar's sucking grip. Those that followed fell sooner into the morass that the ones that had gone before had churned. The earth blood's trap held all their pursuers, but it did not stop them. Unlike Chanter, the powerful Dolana did not affect the Riders, and although it slowed them, they continued to push their way through it. Four man lengths separated Chanter from his enemies, a gap they lessened with their torpid movements.
Drawing a deep breath to replenish his burning lungs, Kieran levered himself onto shaking legs and stumbled to the stricken Mujar. He knelt before Chanter and grasped the long mane that cascaded from his neck.
"Chanter, get up!"
The stallion moved feebly, his ears flicking. Kieran pulled on the thick mane, trying to drag the Mujar free, but Chanter did not help, and in this form, he was far too heavy for the Prince to shift.
"If you can't get up, then turn back into a man so I can carry you!" the Prince said.
The Mujar raised his head a little, then let it sink back with a groan. Kieran shook him, pummelling his neck to try to rouse him from his stupor, his dread growing as the Riders drew nearer. He considered using the sword to destroy them, and wondered if he would have time. More Riders were certainly on their way. Only about fifty had entered the tar pit. He could not protect Chanter indefinitely. He wondered where the rest of the chosen were, but finding them would take too long. Nor could he ask Chanter what to do while he was trapped in horse form.
Chanter fought Dolana's drain with all his will, but the earth blood contained it in such immense quantities that he had been helpless from the moment his legs had sunk into it. The corrupted Earthpower's sickly warmth flowed through him as it had in the tree, only now it suffused him with its immense lethargy. Its touch had snuffed out his grasp on the other Powers, and he could not wield a Power that flooded him as this did. To his senses, the tar pit was a seething lake of tarnished silver, the lines so thick and close together they almost made a solid. Unlike the previous corruption, tints of green and grey sullied this one, its warmth mixed with fleeting waves of cold.
Kieran's frantic voice reached him through the numbness, and Chanter longed to urge him to flee. Summoning all his remaining strength, he cried out in a stallion's deep-throated scream, mingled with the silent speech of horses, hoping that some might hear him. Only in this most dire of perils would he command beasts to his aid.
The stallion's neigh startled Kieran, making him glance at the Mujar with a frown. The cry was a strange mixture of roar and scream, and it made Chanter and the ground on which he lay vibrate. The Prince looked up at the approaching Riders, tempted to call the sword and burn them. That was only a temporary solution though, he had to think of something else. He delved into his knowledge of Mujar, wishing that he knew more, but one piece of information thrust itself into his mind repeatedly. Mujar could not die. Nothing could harm them except Truemen weapons made from Dolana, like metal and stone. He shook Chanter again.
"Fire can't hurt you, can it?" He shot a despairing look at the Riders. "It can't! Nothing can, right?"
The Mujar appeared to be asleep now, and Kieran was forced to make the decision alone. Fire could not harm Chanter, and this was his only hope to save the Mujar. He stroked the stallion's silken mane.
"I'm sorry if this causes you pain. I don't know what else to do." He glanced behind him. "Starsword!"
The sword appeared before him, and he gripped its hilt and rose to his feet. The nearest Rider was a mere man length from Chanter now, its eyes alight with avarice as it forged closer. Backing away to a safer distance, Kieran raised the sword and pointed it at the tar pit.
"Fire!"
The Starsword's power did not merely set things alight, something Kieran should have considered. It raised the temperature of its target to the point of combustion, and in the case of tar, this had startling results. The tar pit turned molten, and exploded with a thunderous boom. The force of the blast threw Kieran three man lengths over the ground and lifted him higher still, engulfing him momentarily in flames. Burning tar sprayed outwards in a fiery rain, but most missed Kieran. He hit the ground with one arm twisted beneath him, and it snapped like a twig. The Riders in the pit were blown apart and their pieces flung far and wide, melted by the inferno's intense heat. All that remained of the tar pit was a great crater covered by a thin layer of burning earth blood.
Brin yelled in surprise when Task and the other horses swerved from their course and raced back the way they had come. Shan, clinging to Thorn's mane, questioned the colt urgently.
"What are you doing? There's danger this way!"
"The Mujar is in trouble. He has called for our help!" Thorn replied.
Shan glanced at Brin, whose pale face told him that he had already learnt this from Task. What kind of trouble could a Mujar get into, he wondered. They were supposed to be all powerful, weren't they? He ducked a branch and hung on as the horses careered over the land at a reckless speed.
Within the city, bedlam erupted as horses went berserk, bucked off their riders and galloped to the city wall, where they found the way blocked. They raced along it, searching for a way out, but the huge gates were closed. They reared and pounded the wooden gates with their hooves, lashing out at the men who tried to catch them. Heavy cart horses pulled their wagons after them, adding to the melee with their unwieldy burdens. The horses screamed in frustration as they tried to answer the Mujar's call.
Outside the walls, patrols were bucked off and left sitting in the dust as their steeds raced away. A herd of wild horses flung up their heads from their grazing and joined the stampede, sprinting towards the faint call.
The explosion had lifted Chanter from the tar and flung him onto firmer ground, but not
far enough to remove him from the powerful Dolana's influence. Burning tar covered him, but the Crayash did no harm. Unfortunately, the force of the explosion had driven chunks of stone into him, ripped open his belly and torn great rents in his skin. The pain of his wounds came through the mists of numbness, a dull sensation detached by the Earthpower. As the fire burnt away the tar on his skin, the Dolana lessened until it seeped only from beneath him, allowing his awareness to increase, but his weakness to remain.
Kieran swam up from a black sea, which receded in waves. His head pounded from the blow that had knocked him unconscious. As soon as he moved, agony shot through his arm, and he lay back with a groan. His good hand groped for the sword, but he had lost it again. Biting his tongue to moisten his mouth, he licked his lips and croaked, "Starsword."
The weapon appeared over him, and he gripped the hilt and laid it against his fractured arm. Remembering that he needed water, he cursed and set down the blade, levering himself upright with a hiss of pain. Pulling the water skin from under his cloak, he unplugged it with his teeth and splashed the liquid over his arm. He picked up the sword and laid the blade against the limb again, muttering the command to heal. The pain receded and the limb straightened as the bones realigned and knitted. Allowing the sword to fall with a soft clatter, he gazed around at the havoc he had wreaked.
A blazing crater almost a man height deep was all that remained of the tar pit. All around it, fires burnt in the grass, amongst the trees, even on the trees, wherever the tar had splattered. Thick smoke rose in a massive banner for all to see. Cursing, Kieran looked around for Chanter. The stallion lay near the crater, flames licking over him. Favouring his arm, Kieran tried to rise to his feet, but fell sideways as waves of dizziness washed over him, robbing him of his balance. Cursing his aching head, he crawled towards the Mujar, horrified by the pools of blood that formed under the stallion.
Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law Page 24
