Kieran groaned and pushed at the shawls that covered him, turning his head away when Kamish pulled them over him again. She wiped away the sweat that beaded his brow with a damp cloth, shooting a worried look with Ardel.
"He's becoming weaker."
Roth joined them, studying Kieran's pale face. "If only he would call the sword."
"What do you mean?" Talsy asked.
"That sword of his, it comes when he calls it. I saw it. He shouted, 'Starsword', and the damn thing came straight through the bed, right into his hand."
"What good would it do him? He's too weak to hold it," Kamish pointed out.
"It would take it away from Tyrander."
The Queen nodded. "That's true."
Talsy leant forward and shook the Prince. "Kieran, wake up."
He turned his head, his brows drawing together, and opened his eyes to gaze at her.
She said, "Call the sword."
A weak smile tugged at his lips as he spoke in a hoarse whisper. "What good would it do me now? I failed you."
Sweat ran down his brow, but it was too soon for his wounds to have caused a fever. Rather, it was the intensity of the pain that made him sweat, and her heart twisted with pity.
"No you haven't, we can still beat him. If you call the sword, we can cut our way out of here and escape."
He shook his head. "I don't have the strength."
"We've got to try. Please just call it."
"If Tyrander's got it, it won't come."
"Just try. He's got to put it down some time."
Kieran sighed, his eyes drooping with fatigue. Clearly he longed to release his tenuous hold on consciousness and slip back into the tender sea of oblivion.
"Starsword."
Everyone froze in anticipation, glancing around. Kamish placed a cool cloth on Kieran's brow, and his eyes closed again. "It's no good," he husked, "Tyrander's holding it."
"You must keep trying. Tyrander has only to release it and it will come." Talsy urged, hoping she was right.
"I'm too tired," he muttered. "Let me sleep."
Tyrander stared at the blade. A second ago a powerful vibration had passed through it, almost making him drop it in surprise. Now it was dormant again, and he shrugged off the strange phenomenon. He looked around at his handiwork, a dozen piles of ash that had been straw bales and some artistic holes in the walls where he had practised cutting rock. The novelty was wearing off, however. He needed more interesting targets. Turning to the group of men who stood behind him, he ordered, "Bring me one of those traitors, one of the soldiers."
The prisoners jumped when keys rattled in the door. Two guards entered, grabbed a soldier and dragged him out.
Talsy looked at Kamish. "He's playing with the sword."
The Queen paled, raising a hand to her mouth. "Curse him."
Roth glared at the door, looking sick, and Ardel comforted the Queen with soft words. Talsy lowered her eyes to Kieran's pale, sweating face.
"Kieran, call the sword."
"Starsword," he whispered. "Starsword."
Talsy wiped his brow, praying that Tyrander would lay aside the blade, even for a moment.
Tyrander grinned as he surveyed the burnt corpse of the traitor on the courtyard's cobble stones. This was far more fun. A bit too quick, if anything, but entertaining.
"Fetch me another," he commanded the soldiers who waited to do his bidding. Two trotted away, and he leant on the Starsword. The tip sank into the stone, turning the blade silver. He released it, smiling as it remained upright, the point embedded in the rock.
Talsy gripped Kieran's hand to try to hold his attention and prevent him fading in and out of consciousness. "Keep calling the sword, Kieran," she urged. "It's our only hope."
Kamish stared at her son with dull eyes, chewing her lip. He appeared weaker, and sweat and blood soaked the bandages and bedding. She knew that he was dying, and hot tears burnt beneath her lids. His eyes opened for a moment at Talsy's insistent goading, and a weary smile tugged at his lips.
"You don't give up, do you?"
Talsy wet the cloth again and wiped his brow. "Call it."
"For Antannar's sake, leave him be," the Queen begged.
"I won't give up." She glanced at Roth. "He's using it to murder our people."
"Kieran needs to rest."
"He'll die if we don't get out of here."
Kieran sighed and whispered, "Starsword."
A flash of silver shot from the wall and halted at the Prince's feet, narrowly missing Roth, who recoiled with a yell. The Starsword hung in the air, midnight black and filled with stars. For an instant Talsy stared at it, dumbstruck, then everyone shouted at once.
"Grab it!" Roth and Ardel yelled.
"No, don't touch it!" Talsy bellowed.
Roth lunged for it and Talsy hurled herself at him, knocked him aside and sprawled over Kieran's legs. The Prince groaned, opening his eyes at the sudden ruckus. The blade hung before him, out of reach, and he clearly did not have the strength to raise his arm.
Roth stared at the ebon blade. "Are you mad? Tyrander will call it back!"
"No one can wield it but Kieran!" she shot back.
"He's too weak!"
"Help me with him, quickly!"
Talsy struggled to pull Kieran upright, but he was far too heavy, and her rough handling made him groan again. Roth and Ardel lent their strength, and between them they hauled the Prince into a sitting position. Talsy took his hand and placed his fingers around the hilt of the Starsword, closing them. The sword sank down, and the men lowered Kieran back onto the shawls. He caressed the blade with loving fingers, fresh blood staining his bandages and the renewed pain making sweat bead his brow. With a shaking hand, he struggled to raise the weapon, but the effort was too much and he slumped, his eyes rolling back.
Talsy bent over him. "Damn, he's passed out. At least now we have it. So long as Kieran holds it, Tyrander can't call it back."
"He'll just come and get it," Roth said. "We must use it to escape!"
"How?"
"It cuts through stone. We can make a doorway through the wall."
Talsy shook her head. "Kieran must hold it, and we can't go dragging him around, we'll kill him."
"It can do more than cut stone," Ardel pointed out. "It can burn. Burn the door."
Tyrander glanced around the courtyard, puzzled. The sword had been beside him a moment ago, stuck in the stone. Now it had vanished. He scowled at the soldiers, who cowered from his ire, then realisation dawned on his wine-fogged brain.
"Kieran!" He swore foully. "Starsword!"
After a moment of fruitless waiting, Tyrander strode towards the men.
Darton eyed the Prince as he stopped before him, and Tyrander met his gaze with scowl. He knew the general had always disliked him, especially when he was drunk. Darton nursed several grudges for humiliations inflicted upon him and his men, and Tyrander surmised that he had often dreamt of revenge. Tyrander's penchant for torture and death sickened the puritanical Darton, who also scorned the Prince's weakness for wine, yet he was never more dangerous than when he had been drinking. Tyrander disliked Darton's judgmentalism and regarded his high moral values as weaknesses, but he was an excellent general and a veteran of several conflicts from Shantar's time.
"My sword is in the dungeon with Kieran, fetch it immediately!" Tyrander commanded.
Darton bowed and signalled to some of the men, leading them in the direction of the dungeons,
Talsy raised Kieran's arm, holding his hand around the hilt of the sword, and pointed the weapon at the dungeon door.
"Fire!" she cried, ducking from the expected explosion. She stared at the unscathed door. "It doesn't work! He has to speak the word, too." Letting his arm fall, she gripped Kieran's jacket and shook him. "Wake up!"
Kieran's head lolled, and Roth took hold of her arms. "Are you mad? You'll kill him!"
"If we don't get out of here, we'll all die!" Talsy shook the Prince again. "Wake up, Kieran, please!"
His head lolled and his eyelids flickered as fresh blood stained the bandages on his arms.
Kamish said, "Stop it. You'll shake him to death."
Talsy sagged in despair. "If only it could heal him."
"But it can't, can it?" Kamish said.
"No."
The lock rattled as keys were applied to it, then the door banged open. Several soldiers strode in, led by Darton, who recoiled at the sight of the sword in Kieran's hand, then noticed the Prince's comatose state. His men drew their weapons and herded the prisoners away from Kieran, holding them at bay. Darton bent and wrenched the Starsword from Kieran's hand. The weapon hit the floor with a chiming clang, almost pulling Darton down on top of it. He tried to lift it, but the blade might as well have been glued to the floor, for it would not budge. He straightened and turned to a soldier.
"You, go and tell the Prince."
The man hurried out, and Darton glared at the prisoners. "What good did you think this trick would do you?"
"Tyrander's mad," Ardel said. "He'll doom us all!"
Roth pushed forward. "General, you must join us. We must overthrow Tyrander."
Darton scowled. "You're the one who's mad, Roth. Tyrander is no worse than usual. He defeated your Prince, so he's in charge."
"With trickery!" Roth said. "That was not a fair fight, using archers!"
"Kieran had a magical sword. A duel would have been unfair."
"Tyrander never offered a fair duel. Kieran would have agreed."
Darton hesitated, a flash of uncertainty crossing his face. "The judges deemed it fair."
"The judges won't argue with Tyrander for fear of their lives, as you know."
"Do they now?" Tyrander sauntered in, the soldiers bowing and sidling from his path. He picked up the Starsword, sheathed the ebon blade and faced Roth. "I tire of this game, Roth. I'm sick of harbouring a viper at my bosom. I'll bring the Mujar here now, no more waiting, then you'll all be executed." He turned to Darton. "Chain them and bring them to the great hall, I want them all to watch."
"And your brother, Highness?"
"Especially him." Tyrander glanced at Kieran. "Have the doctor give him something to wake him up."
"Yes, Highness."
Darton bowed as the Prince left, waiting until he was out of sight before giving the orders to his men. Some soldiers marched out to fetch chains; one ran to call the doctor. The rest remained to guard the prisoners, their swords drawn.
Roth glared at Darton. "You're making a big mistake."
He shrugged. "My dice are cast."
Talsy glanced around the great hall, shivering with apprehension and dread. Her hands were bound behind her back, adding to her sense of foreboding. The rebels stood along one wall, chained together at the wrists and ankles. Even the Queen was shackled, her eyes full of sorrow when she gazed upon her sons. Tyrander sat smugly on the gilt throne at the end of the hall, while Kieran was barely conscious on a litter at her feet.
An air of gloom and trepidation hung in the hall, at odds with the bright sunlight that streamed in through high windows to light the jade floor to a soft, glowing green. Tyrander twitched with delight, caressing the hilt of the Starsword at his waist. The Staff of Law hung in its golden cage on his chest for all to see. His men lined the hall in the shadows behind the pillars, and a crowd of courtiers and lords stood behind the throne, their faces set in expressions of bland apprehension. Darton stood beside the throne, expressionless.
Two burly torturers waited on either side of Talsy, one holding a loop of rope. A gold chain linked each man's waist to hers. Tyrander was no fool; he knew that Mujar would not kill. The torturers' inability to leave her side made sure that Chanter would not use fire against them, and gold was the one metal he could not break with Dolana. As long as they were bound to her with gold, he could not free her.
The Prince gestured. "Begin!"
His command smashed the thick silence that had fallen when the rebels had finished shuffling into place and the clinking of their chains had stilled.
Talsy raised her chin and glared at him. "You'll regret this, Tyrander!" she cried. "Summon a Mujar at your peril!"
He giggled, his eyes glinting. "Mujar are harmless, little girl."
The torturers stepped closer and one placed the loop around her neck. They twisted it tight, then slipped lengths of wood into the small loops on either side of her neck. Talsy coughed, straining to free her wrists from the ropes. She tried to kick a torturer, but he skipped aside, twisting the piece of wood. The rope tightened, and a roaring filled her ears.
Before her throat closed, she cried, "Chanter!"
Chanter jumped, his head jerking up. Behind him, Sheera stumbled to a halt and stared at him in confusion. The Mujar stood poised, his nostrils flaring. Dolana's warning thundered through the ground and hammered at his senses more strongly than ever before. He swung to face Sheera, making her recoil.
"Wait here."
The drumming of the warning made his feet fly over the ground as he took a few steps and leapt high. Ashmar rushed around him, filling the forest with the beating of wings, and a tiny black bird shot skyward.
Sheera stared after him, and Shern hurried to her side.
"What is it? Where's he going?"
"I don't know," she replied. "But I think Talsy's in trouble."
"What about us?"
She glared at him. "We're to wait here for his return, of course."
"But... the Hashon Jahar!"
"We'll just have to stay out of their way, won't we? Send some of the young ones up trees as lookouts. If they see them coming, we scatter and run like hell. I've survived it before, so will most of us."
Shern glanced at her doubtfully. "I hope you're right."
"We've got to learn to look after ourselves. We can't rely on Chanter all the time."
He nodded. "I suppose so."
Chanter lashed the wind with the wings of a swift, yearning for more speed. He commanded the wind to carry him, more than doubling his velocity, and rode a howling gale that swept the land below him, bowed trees and ripped leaves from their branches. The ground flashed beneath him, glades and streams, rivers and forests gone in a wink. The clouds above raced and swirled with the wind of his passing, gathering behind to form angry grey thunderheads. Still he urged the wind to greater speed, his tiny wings powering him onwards, outstripping even the wind that screamed its wild joy as it raced with him.
The torturers released Talsy as she slumped, loosening the rope with rough tugs. She gagged, then drew in a great breath. The blue tinge faded from her lips as air rushed into her lungs. The pain of her crushed throat made her cough and swallow convulsively.
Tyrander leant forward and smiled. "Unpleasant, isn't it?"
Ignoring him, she savoured the sweet air and glanced at the silent rebels. The Queen stared at Tyrander, pale with sorrow. Roth and Ardel met Talsy's eyes with looks of deep sympathy and despair. Kieran gazed at her with helpless anguish, breathing in wheezing gasps. The torturers stepped closer and dragged her to her feet.
"Again," Tyrander barked.
Kieran glared at his brother. "Enough! He's coming, damn you!"
The Prince laughed. "I know, but I'm enjoying this."
"Kill me, if it makes you happy. Don't torture an innocent child."
"I will, Brother," Tyrander sneered. "Your turn will come."
"You bastard," Kieran groaned, sagging back.
The torturers placed the rods into the loop about Talsy's neck again and twisted. She kept her eyes locked with Kieran's, drawing strength from his steady gaze as the pain started. Before her throat was pinched closed, she took a deep breath. The pain soon became a distant thing as the blood was denied access to her brain. Kieran looked away as her eyes closed and darkness slammed down.
A sharp pain in her cheek jerked her back from the black abyss, and she drew in a rasping gasp. The torturer who had slapped her watched her recover impassively. Talsy coughed and retched, her head bowed, blood singing in her ears. Tangled blonde hair hid her face, and this time she did not look up. The torturers dragged her to her feet, and she stood with difficulty, swaying.
"Again," Tyrander ordered.
The torturers slipped the pieces of wood into the loop around her neck once more, intent on their work. A distant, muted howling became audible, coming from without and growing in volume. Talsy glanced up at the windows, where the sky had become pink-tinged and flags visible on the outer walls whipped in a sudden, powerful wind. Her heart swelled with gladness, banishing the pain of her injured throat and her despair. She glanced at Tyrander, who stared out of the windows, his expression unreadable. The wind moaned in the battlements, and she wondered if it was Shyass.
The huge paned window above the double doors at the end of the hall imploded with a crash of shattering glass, making everyone jump. A giant barred daltar eagle flew through it, sending cascades of flashing glass falling to smash on the floor. The eagle unfolded his wings to glide silently down. One backstroke of the mighty black and white striped pinions slowed his flight, and he landed lightly on the jade floor, talons clicking.
The torturers dropped the rope loop around Talsy's neck and pressed daggers to her ribs, holding her tightly. The mighty wind howled around the castle, stronger in the Mujar's wake, whipped the flags outside to a frenzied flapping and blew dust past the windows in a red storm. The eagle folded his wings, then a rush of wind filled the great hall, the sound of beating wings echoing around it. The eagle vanished, and the Mujar stood there, his eyes scanning the room. Despite his slender build and lack of stature, Chanter's black-clad form exuded an aura of wild power.
"Chanter," Talsy croaked, her eyes moist. Never had she been so glad to see anyone in her life.
Chanter's eyes skipped over Tyrander, found Kieran lying in the shadows and returned to Talsy. He smiled, his gaze a caress, and walked towards her. The torturers backed away, dragging her with them. The Mujar stopped, and his eyes slid past to rest on Tyrander, turning icy as they did.
The courtiers who flanked the throne gaped at Chanter, their faces stretched with wonder and disbelief, a low murmur emanating from their ranks.
Prince Tyrander rose to his feet, holding the hilt of the Starsword. As the shock of Chanter's appearance wore off, he regained some of his aplomb. Years of studying Mujar ways and legends had evidently not prepared him for the impact of Chanter's reality, however. The sight of a living Mujar in his great hall had momentarily stunned him. He cleared his throat and stepped down from his dais.
"Any hint of power, Mujar, and the girl dies. Not only do these men hold daggers to her heart, but there are more above with arrows."
Chanter glanced up at the galleries, where archers stood with arrows notched in drawn bows. He turned to face Tyrander as the Prince approached. Tyrander stood six inches taller, broad and hirsute beside the Mujar. He studied the unman, circling him with measured steps. Chanter waited until Tyrander stopped before him again, then raised his gaze to the Prince's face.
"I'm sure you know what I want." Tyrander smirked, his confidence growing at the Mujar's apparent passivity. "You will protect my castle and my people from the Hashon Jahar, or the girl dies."
"No." Chanter's soft voice sent shivers through the watching people. The word was decisive and final.
"You can't allow the First Chosen to die," Tyrander growled. "If she does, so will all the chosen."
"Yes."
"And you don't care."
"No."
Tyrander's eyes narrowed. "Yet the gods have decided to save the Trueman race, so you'll be going against their wishes."
"No," Chanter replied, "you will."
"You can save her by doing as I wish."
"No."
Tyrander stepped closer, his attitude menacing. "You're lying, Mujar. You're bluffing. You can't allow the First Chosen to die; the Staff of Law says so. The gods have charged you to bring her safely to the gathering place, so you must."
Chanter's eyes dropped to the dull stone in its golden cage. "If the staff says so, then it must be."
"Right." The Prince nodded. "Then you'll do as I say."
"No."
Tyrander snorted. "I suppose you don't think I'll kill her, do you? You think I'm bluffing!" He spun to face the torturers. "Strangle her!"
A concerted gasp came from the onlookers, especially the rebels. Darton scowled and stepped down from his place beside the throne.
"Highness, if you kill her..."
"Shut up!" Tyrander glared at the confused torturers. "I said strangle her!"
The two men put away their daggers and twisted the rope around Talsy's neck again.
She stared at the Mujar in horror. "Chanter?"
Chanter closed his eyes in a slow, serene blink, but she did not know what he was trying to communicate to her, and an icy tide of fear rose in her. As the rope tightened, his eyes flicked to her forehead and the Mujar mark he had placed there. Talsy thrust aside her fear. She trusted Chanter with her life, and he would not let her die. A strange, comforting warmth stole through her as the tightening rope cut off her air. There was no pain, just a sliding, fading sensation.
Tyrander's eyes widened as the Mujar mark on Talsy's forehead turned crimson. Blood oozed from the lines and ran down between her brows, where it split into two drops that traversed her cheeks like bloody tears.
He turned to Chanter. "What are you doing to her?"
The Mujar shrugged. "Easing her pain."
"That's all? You're not going to save her? You're going to let her die?" Tyrander was clearly amazed, his lips wet with spittle.
"Yes."
"No!" Kieran shouted hoarsely, struggling to raise himself off the litter. "You can't let her die!"
The Mujar gazed at Talsy with just a hint of sadness, as she sagged in the torturer's hands, her skin tinged with blue, her glazed eyes bulging.
Tyrander said, "Release her!"
The men complied, loosened the ropes and slapped her cheeks as she lay unmoving. Long moments passed before she drew a shallow, wheezing breath again. The torturers looked relieved, and Tyrander turned to the Mujar.
"Why did you come here if you will not save her?"
"To ease her suffering."
"That's all?"
Chanter nodded. "You can't blackmail a Mujar."
"Things have changed, damn you! You have to obey me!"
"No."
Tyrander's eyes narrowed as he pondered the possible ramifications of the situation. "Well, I didn't kill her when I could have, I released her, so you owe me gratitude, don't you?"
Chanter considered this. "Yes."
"Wish."
"Wish," Chanter allowed.
"Protect my castle from the Black Riders."
"No."
Tyrander gave a harsh grunt of frustration, running a hand over his face. "All right. Answers then."
Chanter nodded. "Three."
"What will happen if the First Chosen dies?"
"There will be no more chosen, and the race of Truemen will be abolished."
Tyrander's eyes gleamed. "What are your instructions from the gods?"
"To take the chosen to the place of gathering."
"Can you disobey them?"
"No."
"Then you have to save the girl!" Tyrander crowed, grinning and slapping his thigh. "You have no choice!"
Chanter smiled, and Tyrander's glee withered at the sight of it. Talsy coughed and moaned on the floor, and Chanter glanced down at her with deep tenderness. She had a great deal of courage, for a Lowman girl, he mused, but then, he had noticed that about her long ago. Tyrander ran a hand through his hair, frowning as he considered the situation.
"This doesn't make sense," he muttered. "You say that you can't let her die, but you won't save her. So who will?" He glanced around. "I don't see any other Mujar here, do you? And even if there were, they can't save her either without doing as I say, so what's going to happen?"
Chanter gazed around the room as if he had no concern for the proceedings whatsoever, and the lack of answers was clearly driving Tyrander into a fury. A low muttering came from the courtiers, which added to the Prince's annoyance.
"Shut up!" he bellowed at them, stilling the murmur. As if suddenly remembering it, he reached for the Staff of Law. "Staff, how can I make the Mujar obey me?"
Brilliant letters of golden fire scored the air with a faint hiss of power. "You cannot."
"Why is your writing so bright?" the Prince asked in surprise.
"I am drawing power from the Mujar."
"You're drawing power from him?" Tyrander cast Chanter an astounded look. "How can that be?"
"He is the most powerful being here."
Tyrander grunted, frowning. "How can he let the First Chosen die?"
"He cannot," the burning words wrote.
"Then he must do as I say."
"He will not."
Tyrander's sallow skin mottled, the fury that had been building within him during his frustrating, fruitless encounter with Chanter finally becoming more than he could suppress. He dropped the stone, stepped back, and drew the Starsword.
"Riddles!" he bellowed. "You all talk in riddles! You will obey me, or I'll cut you into a million pieces, you dirty Mujar scum!"
Chanter eyed the raised sword. "Not with that."
The Prince gave a howl of rage and swung the sword with all his might, a stroke that would have chopped a man in two. The blade bounced off the air above Chanter's head with a buzzing clang, ripped from the Prince's hands to fall to the floor with a clatter. Tyrander staggered back, clutching his jarred hands.
"You Mujar bastard!" He yanked the dagger from his belt and lunged at Chanter, thrusting the blade at him.
The Mujar leapt back, avoiding the blade with ease that made Tyrander look like a shambling halfwit instead of a superb swordsman. The air swelled, and a faint whisper of wings stirred a soft gust of wind. The Prince, his face mottled with fury, turned and roared at his warriors.
"Get him! Cut him up!"
The men muttered and shifted in their ranks, eyeing the Mujar who stood in the centre of the great hall. Darton glanced around at them and approached the Prince.
"Highness," he ventured, "attacking the Mujar would only get us all -"
"What?" asked Tyrander. "Killed? He won't kill anyone, fool!"
"Burnt, My Prince. We couldn't hope to injure him."
Tyrander bellowed and leapt at the general, plunging the dagger into Darton's breast to vent his rage. The old warrior staggered back, blood crimsoning the front of his tunic. He swayed, staring down at the spreading redness on his chest in surprise, then fell to his knees and keeled over at the Prince's feet. Tyrander bent and pulled the dagger out, wiping the blade on Darton's tunic. He straightened and faced Chanter, who eyed him impassively.
"They'll all die, Mujar, starting with him." He pointed at Kieran, who watched from the litter, his eyes dull.
"No," Chanter said.
"Oh, you don't care about her, but you do care about him?" Tyrander demanded. "Then obey me."
Chanter smiled and shook his head.
Tyrander spun away with a curse, bellowing at his soldiers, "Kill them! Kill the traitors, now!"
The warriors on either side of the chained rebels drew their swords. The hall filled with a raging inferno of roaring flames and choking smoke. Then the manifestation was gone, leaving almost everyone, including Tyrander, coughing and beating at their clothes. Kieran alone was unaffected, and Talsy uncaring, a slight smile on her lips as she lay between the torturers in her own calm world.
Chanter gestured, and a ring of blue fire sprang up around the rebels, forcing Tyrander's men to retreat, their arms raised against the heat. The Prince leapt back with a yell as the flames licked close to him, smacking at his scorched clothes. Within the fiery barrier, the rebels looked around in surprise and alarm, cowering from the flames. Kieran smiled at Chanter, but the Mujar ignored him.
Tyrander faced Chanter, his face set in grim, angry lines. "So, you would protect them, would you? But her, you cannot, for you would kill the men who are chained to her, and that, you're forbidden to do."
Chanter inclined his head.
Tyrander drew himself up, striving to appear dignified and princely despite his singed brows, frizzled hair and sooty clothes. "Well then," he said, "I will call your bluff. I have nothing left to lose." He gestured expansively. "Since you won't obey me, you leave me no choice."
"There is always a choice," Chanter stated.
"Oh?" Tyrander cocked his head. "Going to try to talk me out of it now, are you?"
"No."
"This is the trouble with you damned yellow beggars," the Prince said, incensed by his inability to rile the Mujar. "You don't talk! You stand there and shake your head, saying 'yes' and 'no' to everything! That's why no one understands you; even the damned Staff of Law can't explain you!"
He thumped the stone that hung against his chest. "When I ask it what Mujar are, it says 'life'! Well of course you're life, since you're alive! So am I, so is every living thing! All my grandfather's writings, all the knowledge he gleaned from Mujar does not explain what they are, what their purpose is, or why they were sent amongst us."
He paused to draw breath. "Where do you come from? Why can't you die? Why won't you help us? But you won't answer those questions, will you? Nor will the staff! It gives me stupid answers that make no sense! Yet it can tell me where Truemen come from, that we fell from the sky in a silver bird with no wings, and the gods, the gods, mind you, when everyone knows there's only one god! They decided to give us a try, to see what manner of creatures we are! Big of them, wasn't it? Curiosity killed the bloody cat!"
Tyrander paused, wiping foam from his lips. Silence hung in the hall on the heels of his words, a heavy cloak of gloom that the tension in the air made more tangible. He stared at the Mujar. The rays of the setting sun burnished Chanter's golden skin and glittered on his sable hair. Tyrander's tirade seemed to have calmed him, for when he spoke again, it was in a softer, more reasonable tone.
"Look at you, the perfect being, flawless in every way. You have the power to command the world, yet you won't use it." He glanced at the wall of fire. "Except in little ways like that. All I ask is that you save my people and me from the Black Riders, and I'll free the First Chosen."
"No," Chanter said.
"Why?" Tyrander was almost begging. "Just answer me that!"
The Mujar cocked his head as he considered the question, waiting for the answer to swim up out of that deep, dark place within himself that he had never been able to plumb. He nodded when it came to him, unsurprised. "You're not worthy."
"What does that mean?"
Chanter shook his head.
"Come on!" Tyrander said, "That's only half an answer! Tell me why we're not worthy."
"Ask the Staff of Law."
"All right." The Prince reached for the golden chain and held up the caged stone. "Staff, why are we not worthy?"
The words of fire appeared with hissing brilliance. "You have sinned against the world. You hate Mujar."
"Mujar made us hate them with their selfishness and... laziness! How have we sinned against the world?"
"You have desecrated it, destroyed the forests, fouled the air and water, plundered earth blood and enraged the souls."
Tyrander turned from the staff's golden words to stare at Chanter. "So have the chosen in their own small ways, which means that the deciding factor is whether or not we hate Mujar. That's it, isn't it? The dirty yellow bastards were sent to test us, weren't they? If we hate them for their laziness and selfishness, envy their perfection and power, we're doomed."
The staff's words smeared together into one. "Yes."
The Prince let the stone fall back to the end of its chain, staring at the floor as he pondered this. He bent and picked up the Starsword, sheathing it. "Well then, if I'm doomed because of that, I don't see why anyone should be saved. I hold the fate of Truemen in my power, and I say let them all die!"
Tyrander swung away and strode over to where Talsy lay chained between the torturers. He pulled the dagger from his belt and raised it above her heart.
From behind the wall of fire, Kieran cried, "No!"
Tyrander looked at Chanter, his face twisted in a mocking sneer, his eyes gleaming with madness. "Any last requests?"
The Mujar shook his head, gazing at the Prince with sorrowful eyes. Tyrander gave a grunt of fury and plunged the blade into Talsy's heart. The girl stiffened with a little gasp, and Chanter raised his hands to make a series of graceful motions with his fingers. Kieran groaned and sank back on his litter. The Queen knelt beside him, covering her face. Tyrander stared down at the girl as she relaxed, her eyes glazing, the blood ceasing to pump from the wound.
He straightened and turned to the Mujar. "So you really had no intention of saving her. How will you complete your task now? I think you've blundered badly, Mujar. You underestimated me, and have paid the price. The race of Truemen will be annihilated, and you have failed."
Chanter gazed at Talsy, his heart filled with sorrow. Tyrander called the doctor from amongst the ranks of soldiers and gestured to the body. "Is she dead?"
The healer knelt and felt for a pulse at Talsy's neck, then straightened. "She's dead, Highness."
Tyrander waved a hand at the torturers. "Leave us."
The men unshackled themselves from Talsy's body and hurried after the doctor, clearly eager to quit the scene. The Prince turned to Chanter, his expression defeated despite his triumphant words. "So, what now?"
"I'll take what's mine and leave."
Tyrander smiled, benevolent in his pretence of triumph. While he had failed to save himself and his city, he had doomed the entire Trueman race in retribution. This lesser victory appeared to soothe his disappointment. He clearly thought that he had outwitted a Mujar and foiled his mighty powers by slaying the First Chosen. Although it was not what he had wanted, he seemed to think that it would suffice, since he had not been completely defeated. Chanter had been punished for his defiance, and Tyrander was satisfied.
"Take them. They're as doomed as the rest of us now." He smirked and strolled across the great hall to his throne, flinging himself into it with a grunt.
Chanter bent and scooped up Talsy's body, cradling it tenderly. Her head lolled back, her long flaxen hair a tangled golden veil. He glanced around at the huddled rebels, dousing the fire wall with a flick of his mind. The flames vanished with a soft thump, and the chained rebels shuffled forward. Chanter frowned, and a brief flash of Dolana froze the air. The chains fell away with a rattle. Four soldiers picked up Kieran's litter and bore the Prince through the hall to the charred remains of the huge wooden doors. Chanter followed them, broken glass crunching under his feet.
Tyrander bellowed, "You lost, Mujar! Remember that! A Trueman triumphed in the end! At least one of us had the balls to stand up and slap you down, you arrogant son of a bitch!"
Chanter ignored him, but Kieran looked around as his brother shouted, "Farewell, Brother! You won't live any longer than me now, you damned Mujar lover!"
Tyrander's words echoed around the great hall with the hollow tones of one who knows that he has been vanquished, but even so must shout spiteful abuse at the victor as he walks away, unable to accept his defeat with any kind of good grace. Although he tried to appear magnanimous by releasing the rebels, everyone knew that he could not have prevented Chanter from taking them, and his jeers only belittled him further. The rebels moved out of earshot, foiling any further vitriolic remarks he might have thought up, had he had more time.
Outside, Chanter walked on without pause, following the red road that led through the oasis to the desert beyond. He glanced back at the people who followed him. Queen Kamish walked beside Kieran's litter, her face drawn and grim. Kieran lay desolate, blinking as if unshed tears burnt his eyes.
Kamish bent closer to ask him, "Is it true? Are we all doomed now?"
"Yes," he muttered, "Talsy's dead."
"Then why do we follow him? Why does he lead us into the desert?"
"I don't know, nor do I care."
Kamish regarded her son with deep pity. "You loved her, didn't you?"
Kieran turned his head away. "Leave me alone."
The Queen fell back, granting his wish. As they walked through the valley of the Staff of Law, people came from their houses to join them. Farmers left their homes and any of their family who hated Mujar and followed the rebels. Tradesmen downed tools and abandoned their industry to stride after Chanter, casting aside the trappings of their trades. Housewives stopped their work and followed, carrying children on their hips and bags in their hands. Young lovers emerged from the park-like gardens and joined the throng, their arms around each other. The numbers swelled as they approached the red sand, a long procession of downcast people who walked with dragging steps.
As they left the trees, Chanter paused. He held Talsy's body tightly, a precious burden. With a flick of his mind, he summoned the Earthpower. The manifestation was long and strong, leaving the people shivering and gasping. He raised his head to sniff the first wisp of bitter wind, and his eyes swept the desert before him.
The red sand parted, rising up on either side in steep banks to open a path of hard brown earth. The road stretched away into the hazy distance, cutting through the desert like the track of a giant plough, removing the obstacle of soft, sifting sand. The people gaped at this miracle of Mujar power, hastening after him as he strode along it, fearful of being left behind. The walls of sand stood poised on either side like frozen, cresting waves, and the bitter wind sent gritty cascades down on those who hastened below. Chanter set a gruelling pace, never slowing, carrying Talsy's body as if it weighed nothing.
Kieran fretted on the litter, wondering why the Mujar had not healed him before setting out across the desert. The doctor's draught was wearing off, and he sensed the creeping lethargy taking hold again as the fever burnt in his blood. The Queen returned to walk beside him and place cool cloths on his brow as he sweated and tossed, then he sank once more into darkness.