Chapter Seven

 

Talsy stopped on the crest of a hill and stared back at the long column of horsemen strung out behind her. Never had she dreamt that almost every Aggapae warrior would want to come, and several of the chosen. They had listened to the warnings about the chaos with blank, stubborn faces, and Jesher had assured her that every horse that came did so because he or she wished to. Nort had no need to stay with the mares, since they were not breeding, and almost the entire bachelor herd, apart from a few oldsters, had left the valley with them. Four hundred warriors had ridden out with twenty pack horses carrying provisions, for Chanter had warned that there was little food in the chaos. The Aggapae dressed in their battle finery, bright feathers and ribbons sprigging their hair and armour. Their spears bore the long silken banners of the valley, as well as their own battle flags.

Each day they faced a new danger, and wore their war paint to confront it. Already they had lost five warriors and two horses to the chaos, killed by its beasts or sudden treachery. Chanter flew above, leading them on the safest route and bypassing dangerous areas. Even so, several times the lead rider’s horse had broken through a thin crust and fallen into a sucking quagmire of oily sludge. The Aggapae had used ropes to pull man and horse free each time, but this unseen enemy that lurked beneath their feet sapped their morale.

They had passed through areas that looked like visions of Hell, and others that appeared merely barren, but everywhere hung the stench of decay and the electric tension of impending doom. They avoided dark forests whence strange sounds and smells wafted, following a torturous route between the remaining patches of trees. It was far safer in the open, where danger could be seen from afar, and Chanter could guard them from the air. Still, there was no true safety. Everything they encountered had to be regarded as a potential threat, no matter how innocuous it seemed.

The chaos struck with chilling suddenness each time it attacked, sometimes heralded by the scream of a swooping daltar eagle as Chanter gave warning. Weird beasts rose out of mud pits, so perfectly camouflaged that no one had suspected their presence, not even the horses. Huge winged manants swooped down on them, most falling as Chanter’s fire burnt their wings. The Mujar strived to protect the chosen, causing unprecedented harm to their foes, although never killing. By robbing the manants of flight, he allowed the chosen to escape, and Talsy soon realised that without him, they would have been dead within the first week.

The nervous tension sapped everyone’s strength, and watches of fifty men took turns during the night to repel attacks by chaos beasts and sometimes the land itself. During the second week, a thunderstorm unleashed a rain of fire. Chanter took control of the elements and swept the storm away, saving them from serious harm, although all were burnt slightly. The next day it rained frogs, and the day after that, fish, which they gathered for food, but found inedible.

The Mujar warned them to eat nothing of the chaos, and even the horses ate ground maize and oats the pack animals carried. The lack of clean water presented a greater problem, since they could not carry vast amounts of it, and there was little to be found in the chaos. Each time they encountered a rivulet or pond, they called Chanter down to test it, and usually he found it to be poison. Sometimes they would travel for days on short water rations, passing streams and ponds they could not drink.

One night, a river of mud had washed two men and a horse away, never to be seen again. The roar of its coming had warned them, but two had not escaped the wall of liquid soil that had thundered down the gulley in which they sheltered. Another three men had died fighting chaos beasts, and many more would have perished if Chanter had not healed them. For two days, they rode through a rain of ash, which turned everything grey. The sooty clouds blotted out the sun, engulfing them in a weird twilight world that occasional flashes of pink lightning illuminated. Some of the things they encountered were merely unpleasant, like an area of ground that gave off vast muddy bubbles that rose into the air and burst, releasing a terrible foetor. The Mujar who rode the winds high above made sure they avoided the worst perils, however. Sometimes he would veer far from their course, leading them around some danger they never saw, and nor would he speak of it.

At times, when they lighted the campfires at night the flames gave off no heat, other times the fire burnt into the ground and vanished, leaving a blackened hole. Once they rode into a pocket of deadly air, and all were forced to gallop madly to escape it, while Chanter drew good air in from ahead. The Mujar avoided towns, so they saw none of the people who survived the chaos shut away within their cities’ walls. They encountered a mountain of ice sprouting from the earth like a great white fang, and on another day, a giant waterspout that vanished into the sky. Sometimes burning clouds drifted above like the flaming galleons of hellish gods. There seemed no end to the weirdness and monstrosities they encountered, some fascinating, most dangerous.

All these things they had already seen, and the journey was only half over. For two weeks they had travelled, and another two weeks lay ahead, then a month to return. Talsy shivered. The weather was as unpredictable as everything else, at times unbearably hot, then turning bitterly cold in an instant. The scout who rode ahead came cantering back, his face pale and his spear gripped in a white-knuckled hand. He stopped beside Kieran, who rode with Jesher and Talsy.

We’ll have to turn back,” the scout announced. “We can’t continue. The land ahead... is on fire.”

Talsy glanced up at the speck that was Chanter. “Why didn’t he warn us?”

Kieran grunted. “Who knows? Let’s have a look.”

Jesher led them at a canter to the brow of the next hill, where they gazed upon an amazing vista. As far as the eye could see, the land burnt with brilliant red-gold fire. Trees and rocks, soil and grass dwelt beneath the sea of flame, yet nothing appeared harmed by it. Talsy slid off her chestnut mare and approached the edge of the fire, Kieran following. No heat came from it, and she bent to run her hand through the bright flames, pulling it back unharmed.

It doesn’t burn.”

Kieran muttered, “But what’s to say it won’t start?”

If it was dangerous, he would have warned us.”

The Prince glanced up at the hovering Mujar. “I hope he’s right. Nothing’s predictable here.”

They set out across the burning land, the horses high-stepping nervously until they got used to the strange phenomenon. The flames crept up the animals’ legs until it engulfed the riders too, licking harmlessly over their skin. It took two days to cross the burning land, and most found it difficult to sleep amid the flames at night. When they emerged from the fire, they encountered a boiling lake, steam rising from it in a great column, its shores littered with cooked fish. Beyond the lake, they traversed a field of white bones, and after that a rolling landscape covered with knobs of growing rock, thrusting up in weird shapes like stone sentinels.

They crossed a salty stream flowing uphill and a ragged chasm whose depths glowed with sullen fire. Chanter used the tainted Dolana as little as possible. Its touch sickened him, and each time he was forced to use it, he looked pale and drawn afterwards. Thus, when they came to a river of lava, they were forced to delay until it cooled enough to walk across. They rode around a sickly forest that exuded dark malevolence and waded through a sucking bog of stinking mud instead.

At the end of the third week, a man woke screaming one morning, his legs engulfed by living rock. It took Chanter over an hour to free him, after which the Mujar vomited. Two days later, the land gave way beneath a group of riders, sending ten men and their horses screaming to certain death at the bottom of a yawning cavern too deep to plumb. Mourning the loss of their friends, they journeyed on, only to be attacked the next day by a band of fifty starving brigands mounted on fierce, skinny manhorses.

Chanter remained aloft while Kieran laid about him with the Starsword, burning the marauders until they fled. Three Aggapae fell to the bandits’ sharp wooden spears, two of whom Chanter healed, and one died instantly. After that, they crossed a land spotted with gulping wet mouths that sucked and spouted water each time they snapped shut. Just when Talsy thought she had seen it all, they came across two huge, gaunt chaos beasts locked in a titanic struggle. They gripped each other with toothy jaws, and their hot red eyes glared hatred as they wrestled mightily. The chosen gave them a wide berth, although Talsy was sure the animals were too engrossed in their battle to pay the Truemen any heed.

Finally, they arrived at a little wood apparently untouched by the chaos, whose trees offered dappled shade and lush greenness lured the horses into its inviting verdure. Chanter descended and entered the forest first, beckoning them in after a few minutes. Talsy sighed as she entered the bastion of sanity, sensing the calm purity of the tiny realm. The horses dropped their heads to graze, and weary riders slid from their backs to lie on the soft grass and revel in its safety. Talsy, Kieran, and Jesher gathered around Chanter as he squatted.

This is my brother’s haven, where he lived until they took him,” he explained.

So where is he now?” Talsy asked.

A few hours walk away, in a city. I say we rest here a day before we go there.”

Kieran nodded. “But how are we going to rescue him? Has anyone thought of a plan?”

I say we just ride in there and get him,” Talsy said. “We have enough men to do it.”

There would be bloodshed,” Kieran pointed out.

They might not fight. We’re an imposing force. Also, we could tell them that we’ve come to take him to a Pit. Why would they object?”

It might work,” Kieran admitted, “as long as they believe us.”

Any other ideas?” Talsy glanced at Jesher.

We could go in after dark and grab him,” the headman suggested.

If they have guards, we’d be caught. Besides, we don’t know where he is. We’d have to search the whole city, and they might have him stashed in a cellar. No.” Talsy shook her head. “I say we ride in en mass, put on a show of force. After all, that’s why we all came.”

Okay,” Kieran agreed, “but I do the talking, and let’s hope they don’t know what a Mujar mark looks like, because everyone has one except me.”

While Chanter wandered off to do what he could to help the forest, the chosen settled down to a cooked lunch, their supplies augmented by the berries and fruit they picked. Chanter returned a few hours later and drew Talsy aside, leading her into the forest. She followed him to a huge tree with ragged reddish bark, where he turned to her.

I came to see what I could do to lengthen this wood’s survival, for the sake of its Kuran, but I found something very strange.” He paused, gazing at the tree with a puzzled air. “There are laws here, set by a Mujar, but they’re not Mujar laws.”

What do you mean?”

Look at this.” He pointed at a mark on the tree. A line of tiny writing was branded into the wood, pale against the rough bark. “Do you recognise it?”

No.” She frowned, puzzled. “What does it say?”

I don’t know. It’s the same writing that’s on the Staff of Law.”

The writing of the gods! Did they put it here?”

No, a Mujar put it here.”

How do you know that?” she demanded.

He passed his hand over the writing, and it glowed blue. “It’s a Mujar law, yet it isn’t.”

So what does this mean?”

I don’t know, but it’s strange. How could a Mujar do this?” He shook his head. “It’s impossible. No one understands the writing of the gods.”

Well, when we rescue him, we’ll have to ask him,” she said.

 

 

Law lay on the cold tar. The sickly Earthpower had long since numbed him to the torture of the men who held him prisoner. It seemed as if he had lain there for an eternity, and his flesh was turning to stone. The creeping heaviness invaded his limbs, moving towards his heart. He longed for the release of death that he knew would not be granted, to end the dull pain. The Lowmen had whipped, cut, kicked and beaten him. They had torn his scalp off, and now Shugin wore it as a hat. They had even tried to burn him.

With each rain, his injuries had healed with excruciating pain, made worse by the tainted Powers. The spikes and spear that held him were now part of his flesh, and his new scalp sprouted soft stubble. Yet the Lowmen’s torture did not compare with the agony of the tainted Dolana that filled him, sapped his reason and caused the golden light to hammer tirelessly at his brain. His withdrawal into the dark cocoon of sleep was broken at least once a day by someone with a new idea for his torture, even though it had been weeks since he had shown any sign of pain at these procedures, too numbed by Dolana to react.

They had driven more spikes into him, dropped heavy rocks on his limbs had smashed his bones to splinters, and no rain had healed those wounds since then. Once he had turned completely to stone, he would be safe from harm, but trapped in his useless body for another ninety-four years.

Law was barely aware of the commotion in the city, the patter of running feet as people rushed around. Shugin’s bellowing hardly impinged on his dull mind, and when someone trod on him, he did not even flinch.

 

 

Kieran led the chosen into the city, riding beside Jesher at the head of the column of plumed and painted Aggapae, imposing on their proud, prancing steeds. Talsy rode behind him, Shan at her side, Thorn guiding her horse. The city folk gawped and pointed, jabbered and snatched bloated children from the horses’ path. Rags clad their thin, filthy forms, and their hollow eyes stared from gaunt faces. The city stank of refuse and excrement, and the crowd reeked of unwashed bodies. Some bore chaos scars in the form of withered limbs or twisted features, patches of scales or fur sprouting from their dirty skins, mutated by the lawless land.

Strutting hunters guarded the Aggapae column, one trotting ahead to lead them deeper into the maze of foul, twisted roads. More and more men emerged from dingy side streets and dark dwellings, surprising in their number. They had the half crazed look of the starving, their eyes fixed on the horses’ glossy hides as if measuring the meat under it. All held weapons, from well-honed spears to crude clubs, and Talsy suspected that her imposing force was outnumbered.

They stopped before a hirsute, brutal looking man with a low brow and a broken nose, who blocked their path. From his tattered finery, she deduced that he was the city’s chieftain. At first, she thought his hair was black, but then she realised that he wore a Mujar’s withered scalp, and her stomach clenched. The hunters gathered around their chief, forming a wall of scrawny bodies and hostile faces. Others stood amongst the women and children who ringed the chosen in a curious throng. Kieran addressed the chief from the lofty perch of his tall sorrel steed.

Greetings.”

The chief glared. “Who are you, and why have you come here?”

Kieran ignored the man’s churlish tone. “We’re a wandering tribe, and we’ve heard about the Mujar you’ve captured.”

Really.” The chief glanced around. “News travels fast.”

Sometimes,” the Prince allowed.

You and your steeds look fat, for wanderers.”

We do all right, moving from one good spot to another.”

The chief’s eyes narrowed. “I thought all the good spots were taken.”

They are. We barter and trade. Sometimes we fight.”

 

 

Shugin eyed the big warrior, thinking fast. Ever since only ten of the thirty gatherers and hunters he had sent to the wood had returned empty handed, each with a tale of the land attacking them, his people had gone hungry and blamed him for their woes. The Mujar had agreed to nothing despite the worst tortures he could devise, and many of his people had questioned his ability to lead them. Perhaps this was an opportunity to regain their esteem.

So why did the tale of our Mujar bring you to us?” he asked.

The stranger shrugged. “He belongs in a Pit, and we can take him there.”

Maybe we want to keep him.”

And risk him escaping? I want the satisfaction of throwing him in a Pit myself. I might be willing to trade for him, and you don’t seem to have anything else to offer.”

Shugin bridled at the insult. “We have good steel weapons.”

I have enough.”

We have women.”

So do we.”

Shugin growled, “I only see one.”

We didn’t bring them with us.”

You left them in the chaos?”

They’re guarded,” the man said. “We have more men outside.”

A large tribe,” Shugin remarked. “What do you have to trade?”

 

 

Food. Good fresh stuff.” Kieran gestured, and one of the pack horses came forward at Nort’s command. An Aggapae warrior opened the packs to reveal fresh fruit and berries picked in the forest. The chief scowled at the bounty.

Where did you get that?”

That’s our business.”

I’d rather have meat. A few of those fat horses would do nicely.” The chief leered.

They’re not for trade. We need them.”

Come down, we’ll go inside and talk, have a drink. Maybe we can work something out.”

Kieran shook his head. “I’m in a hurry, and besides, I won’t leave my warriors standing in the street while I drink. Unless you have room for all of us at your table, I suggest we do our business here.”

The chief said, “Well come down, anyway, I’m getting a crick in my neck.”

Kieran dismounted to confront the chief, his hand caressing the hilt of his sword. The dirty man was still shorter by several inches, and his scowl deepened. Sullenly he introduced himself, and Kieran reciprocated, adding, “So, do you still have the Mujar?”

Of course.” Shugin gestured behind him. “He’s right over there.”

Talsy stifled a gasp as the warriors behind the chief stepped aside and she glimpsed the strange Mujar staked out on the tar with iron. His skin was pale, his head shorn, and he lay as still as a statue.

Kieran glanced past Shugin, then back at the chief. “Will you trade for him?”

You’re willing to trade good food for a useless Mujar?”

We have it to spare.” Kieran shrugged. “Like I said, I want to be the one to throw him in a Pit.”

Shugin’s eyes narrowed. “It’ll cost you all you have.”

Talsy slumped with relief, and Kieran smiled. “All that I’m willing to part with, but it’s quite a lot.”

Let’s see it.”

The Prince gestured, and five more pack horses came forward. The Aggapae had spent the entire morning gathering food, and Chanter had spurred the trees to ripen their fruit and unearthed edible tubers. At his urging, the forest had yielded a veritable mountain of food. Two Aggapae dismounted and opened the packs to display the formidable array of wares. The starving people gulped at the sight, and hungry children wailed. Shugin stepped closer and sampled a fruit, juice running down his chin. With an obvious effort, he handed the half eaten fruit to one of his warriors, denying his own hunger, and faced Kieran proudly.

The food is good. We will trade with you. All this, for the Mujar.” He indicated the six pack horses as if it was more than Kieran had offered.

Kieran nodded. “Agreed. Bring the Mujar here, and your people can take the food.”

Shugin signalled to his warriors, and four loped off towards the Mujar. Talsy looked away while they pried the iron spikes from his hands and feet, leaving bloodless holes. Two warriors lifted him, and his head lolled forward. For the first time, she glimpsed the blue Mujar mark on the back of a true Mujar’s scalp, smaller than her own, but distinctly visible under the thin veil of black stubble. Shugin’s eyes narrowed when he noticed the mark, until now hidden, since the strange Mujar had lain on his back. His gaze travelled to the Aggapae, each tattooed with the identical mark, though theirs were black. His eyes came to rest on her brow, and he frowned.

How is it that you all carry the same mark as he has, save the woman?”

The Prince shrugged, belying his tension with feigned disinterest. “It’s a tribal marking. We’ve never seen one on a Mujar before.”

Where did you get this mark?”

It’s been handed down for generations, a mere coincidence.”

Shugin drew himself up and stepped back, his hand seeking the hilt of his sword. “I don’t believe you. I’ve heard tales of a tribe that fled the chaos, and are hidden in a distant valley, guarded by a Mujar, living a good life while the rest of us suffer and perish. It’s said that they all carry the mark of the accursed Mujar, and call themselves the Chosen. You’re not here to throw him in a Pit, you’re damned Mujar lovers! You’ve come to free the dirty scum!”

Shugin’s sword hissed from its scabbard, and Kieran drew the Starsword, raising it to meet the chieftain’s attack. Shugin’s blade shattered, and the Starsword almost sliced him in half. Shugin’s warriors roared and charged the Aggapae, who hurled their spears, felling many, then drew their short stabbing spears for close combat. The women and children scuttled from the fray with shrieks of fear, vanishing down the many side streets. Kieran used the Starsword’s fire to slay dozens with broad sweeps. The Aggapae’s horses lashed out with flinty hooves, felling those their riders did not reach in time. Talsy’s mare squealed and kicked, forcing her to cling to the animal’s long mane, her dagger gripped in a white-knuckled fist.

The Mujar lay where the warriors had dropped him, and Talsy urged her mare towards him, but Thorn’s order to fight controlled her mount. Jammed in a melee of cavorting horses and swinging swords, Talsy looked around for help. Kieran stood alone, wielding the Starsword in mighty strokes that burnt dozens each time he cried ‘fire’. Arrows hissed into the fray as enemy bowmen swarmed onto nearby rooftops and let fly. Horses squealed as vicious shafts pierced their flesh, and riders fell with screams. A huge black horse barged into Talsy’s steed as Shan strived to impose himself between her and the hail of death. Talsy grabbed the young warrior’s arm, bellowing at him over the din.

We’ve got to get the Mujar!”

Shan nodded and stabbed a warrior, who fell back with a scream. He spoke into Thorn’s twitching ear, and the big horse neighed as he turned. Other horses answered the call, communicating with their riders, and a bunch forged through the melee towards the prone Mujar. Kieran leapt aboard his steed, and the Starsword’s fire drove back the wall of warriors that blocked their way, forcing most to dive for cover as flames killed their comrades. Enemy fighters pulled screaming horses down and stabbed them, their riders flung into the fracas to be slain in turn.

Talsy strived to shut her ears to the sounds, concentrating on reaching the Mujar. A riderless horse appeared beside her as her mare stopped next to the motionless unman, and she leapt down, safe within a ring of fighters. Shan joined her, put down his short sword and jerked the spear from the Mujar’s flesh. His blood reddened their hands as he and Talsy lifted the slender unman and thrust him onto the riderless horse. He hung limply, forcing them to hold him on the horse. They mounted and moved their steeds beside him, penning him between them. Shan ordered the three horses from the battle, flanked by Aggapae who defended their retreat as they forged towards the deserted streets that led out of the city.

Warriors rushed to block their way, but the Aggapae’s horses thrust them aside, allowing Talsy and Shan to break free. Flanked by a small group of horsemen, they galloped through the twisted streets, hanging onto the flopping Mujar on the horse between them. Arrows whistled in pursuit, and a stab of pain in her shoulder made Talsy gasp and wobble. Thorn squealed as an arrow sprouted from his rump, and several others slumped or fell as death rained from the sky. Brilliant blue fire burst in their wake, and Talsy glanced up as a shadow passed over her with a high-pitched scream. The eagle swooped low, and blue fire exploded amongst their pursuers, forcing them to dive aside to avoid it.

The rest of the Aggapae leapt through the Mujar’s fire as it dwindled, cutting down foes who flung themselves at the horsemen with maniacal zest. Talsy clung to her mare’s thick mane as they galloped, the chestnut’s shoulder pressed to the horse beside her, matching him stride for stride and holding the Mujar in place. Shan hung onto the unman’s torn jacket as Thorn sprinted through the streets, the arrow protruding from his rump. Their escorts ploughed into the warriors who leapt into their path, cutting down any who challenged them.

Chanter swooped again, and gouts of blue fire exploded amid the enemy. Archers sent arrows buzzing viciously upwards in retaliation. The city’s massive wooden gates swung shut as a group of warriors strived to foil their escape. The men in front of them turned to grin at their trapped enemies, and the horses slowed. Talsy stared in dismay at the solid, brass bound wooden gates that blocked their way. An eagle’s scream split the air, and Chanter swooped over them, his shadow a black cross on the tar. The gates exploded in a great wall of Mujar fire, flinging the warriors aside with shrieks of pain.

The three horses leapt the burning wood abreast and galloped towards the tiny forest. Talsy glanced back as they thundered away, afraid for Kieran and the rest still fighting within the city. High above, Chanter swung back towards the battle, leaving them to gallop to the wood’s safety with an escort of twenty warriors and ten riderless horses.

By the time they reached it, Talsy could barely cling to her mare’s mane. Deep within the shady green realm, the panting horses stopped and their exhausted riders slid off. Shan pulled Talsy down and supported her as she staggered on rubbery legs. Blood ran from her shoulder under her clothes, and shafts of pain lanced through her at every movement. The young warrior pushed her down on the grass, careful not to touch the protruding arrow.

Is the Mujar all right?” she asked.

He’s fine,” Shan assured her, pressing her down when she would have risen to see for herself. “You rest; I’ll take care of him.”

Where’s Chanter? He should be here to heal the wounded.”

Shan glanced around at the injured Aggapae who rested on the ground, Thorn standing on three legs nearby. “He’ll be along. He’s helping the others, they’re in more danger.”

Talsy slumped back, too weak to protest. Shan moved away to pull the strange Mujar from the horse. Dozens of small spikes protruded from his skin, and his limbs flopped with unnatural suppleness that told her his bones were broken.

Pull those things out,” she instructed, “and find some water to heal him.”

Shan shot her an amused glance, and the spikes left bleeding wounds when he plucked them out. Talsy studied the strange unman, who looked young and frail, his delicate features similar to Chanter’s, yet different. He appeared to be little more than a youth, his shorn head and smooth skin adding to his air of vulnerability. When Shan finished removing the spikes, he found a water skin and poured water over the Mujar’s wounds. The youngster arched in healing spasms, and a soft groan escaped his blood-caked lips as the holes in his flesh closed. When the convulsions subsided, Shan dribbled water into the Mujar’s mouth, and he coughed when he swallowed it.

Again he thrashed while his bones knitted, making Shan move away to watch him with worried eyes. When the seizures grew less violent, he poured more water over him. The young Mujar was so badly injured that it took several minutes before his convulsions diminished to mere shivers. Talsy bit her lip, relieved when he lay still. He remained motionless and apparently unconscious, however. Shan squatted and ran his hands over the Mujar’s limbs, frowning.

His flesh is cold, and his arms feel hard,” he commented.

Get him off the ground,” Talsy said, berating herself for forgetting about the Dolana again.

Enlisting the uninjured Aggapae’s help, Shan had several dead branches dragged together and covered with soft bracken. The Mujar was lifted onto this, and they all waited for him to recover. After several minutes of fruitless anticipation, she shook her head in bewilderment.

We’ll have to ask Chanter when he comes. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

More than an hour passed before a shadow swooped down, and Chanter landed in the clearing, folding his wings before transforming in a rush of wind. He approached Talsy, taking the water skin from Shan on the way. Kneeling beside her, he laid his hands on her shoulder and pulled the arrow out with a swift jerk, which, to her surprise, did not hurt at all. He poured water over the wound and healed it, engulfing them in the soft mists of Shissar.

Where are the others?” she asked when he sat back.

On their way here. Don’t worry, Kieran’s fine.”

Relief washed over her in a welcome wave, and she glanced at the strange Mujar. “There’s something wrong with him, he isn’t well.”

Chanter turned to study the youngster. “He’s been too long in the grip of Dolana.”

Will he get better?”

He needs the sea to recover quickly, but it’s too tainted now. The lake in the valley will heal him.”

She frowned. “You mean he’s going to stay like that -”

Until we reach the valley, yes.”

Talsy sighed as he rose and went to tend to the injured, Shan following with more water skins. When he had healed all of them, golden rays slanted through the trees. Talsy was frantic with worry by the time the rest of the Aggapae rode into the glade, ragged, bleeding and drooping with weariness. Kieran approached and settled beside her with a sigh, gulping from a water skin. His dented armour and slashed leather tunic bore fresh bloodstains, but either Chanter had already healed him, or he had used the Starsword. His hair clung wetly to his scalp and smudges of soot patterned his face, but he smiled at her, glancing over at the new Mujar.

How is he?”

Chanter says he’s been too long on the tar. He won’t recover until we get back to the valley and put him in the lake.”

Kieran looked disappointed. “That’s too bad; we could have used his help on the journey back.”

Talsy smiled. “I doubt that he would help us. He’s not Chanter, remember.”

He owes us.”

Yes.”

Why doesn’t Chanter heal him?”

I don’t know. Chanter hasn’t been near him. Perhaps they can’t heal each other.”

Kieran sipped water with a grimace. “From what I’ve heard, Mujar prefer to live apart from each other. Even when they congregated in cities, they rarely stayed together.”

I think we’ll learn much from seeing these two together.”

He chuckled. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

How many did we lose?”

Too many.” His face fell into grim lines. “Over a hundred, I think. It wasn’t the kind of fighting that suited them, boxed up in that city. They’re plains people; they fight best at a gallop. Those bastards will feast on the horses that fell, damn them.”

It was a bad plan,” she said. “It’s my fault so many died.”

No, it almost worked, so don’t blame yourself. If they hadn’t seen the mark on the Mujar’s scalp, we’d have been okay.”

She shook her head. “Jesher’s plan was better. Fewer would have died, maybe none.”

Jesher’s plan could have failed too easily. It was riskier than yours. If there was a better plan, I’d have thought of it.”

She smiled. “Pompous arse.”

Kieran took a swig from the water skin and pulled a face. “Didn’t we bring any wine?” He spotted Jesher and jumped up. “Hey, Jesher, you old goat, I know you brought some decent brew!”

The Prince grabbed the startled Aggapae and muttered earnestly to him as he hustled him towards the pack horses. Fourteen of the beasts had stayed in the forest, preserving their supplies for the return trip. The six they had taken to the city were lost, along with their precious burdens. Talsy gazed at the unmoving Mujar, and then went over to settle beside him. Using a damp cloth, she wiped away the dried blood and dirt to reveal his flawless golden skin and almost feminine features. Working her way down him, she found his arms cold and hard, his fingers so stiff they would not bend.

 

 

Law dreamt that he lay on a soft bed in the shimmering blue of his forest. A Lowman woman bathed him with a cool cloth, birdsong soothed his burning senses and gentle breezes caressed his skin. He dreamt that the terrible drain of sickly Dolana was gone, and the wounds in his chest and hands had been healed by the blessed touch of Shissar. He could almost taste its cleanliness on his tongue, and savoured the cessation of pain. Not wanting to wake from this sweet bliss, he pushed himself deeper into sleep. The dream faded, and he allowed himself to drift upwards again into the world of soft sounds and gentle hands.