The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (24 page)

Pondering the
problem, he watched the men. He could not search for red hair; the
men wore helmets and looked alike. He would have to ask Talsy to
help as part of her clan bond. All she had to do was enquire as to
the whereabouts of young Arrin. Once he had the answer, he could do
the rest himself. Perhaps he would have to grant a Wish in return,
but Talsy would not ask for much.

As he was about
to spread his wings once more, a nearby conversation caught his
ear, and he turned his head to listen. Two officers paused in their
strolling below, brought to a halt by the serious nature of their
topic.

"How many
physicians have seen the Prince?"

"Too many, if
you ask me."

From Chanter’s
vantage, only the top of the soldiers' helmets were visible.

The first man
nodded. "It seems certain that he will die, then?"

The second
officer replied, "The King is in despair, and it will augur badly
for the future, since the Queen can have no more children."

"Indeed. The
kingdom shall have no heir."

The first
officer strolled onwards again. "Unless the King casts off
Merrilin, but he is sadly reluctant to do so."

Chanter
pondered the information. A stroke of luck, it seemed, had fallen
across his path. Spreading his wings, he flew towards the distant
palace in the heart of the city. King Garsh's citadel rose above
humbler buildings, fluted marble pillars supporting its high domed
roof. Manicured gardens surrounded it, and mighty pillared
buildings flanked them. A sprawl of servants' quarters and stables
bordered these.

Unimpressed by
the magnificence of Lowmen's achievements, Chanter drifted down to
alight upon one of the trees in the garden. Many gulls waited
there, making his presence invisible amongst them. To find the King
in the huge palace would be a daunting task, though not as
impossible as finding the boy in the barracks. At least he would be
able recognise the King.

Chanter found
out what the gulls waited for when a young girl in a frilly yellow
dress came out and threw bread to them. The gulls swooped and
caught it in mid-air, making her giggle with delight. When she
left, so did the gulls, and Chanter had to wait alone as the sun
traversed the sky. Waiting never bothered Mujar, since there was so
much to see and hear, from the warbling of garden birds to the sap
rising in the trees. People wandered past below, garishly dressed
courtiers and their ladies, army officers with their advisors and
scribes. Servants hurried by on errands, gardeners pushed barrows
of leaves and manure. A giggling gaggle of maids came to cut roses
for the palace, and a pair of young lovers met under a spreading
tree nearby.

The sun sank
when a lone man walked with bowed head through the garden, his
hands clasped behind his back. A simple dark blue velvet coat
trimmed with gold embroidery and a crisp white shirt with lacy
sleeves clad his burly form, his fawn leggings tucked into black
leather boots. The thin gold band that encircled his brow caught
Chanter's eyes. Flaxen hair hung in a plait down the King's back,
and a darker, curly beard hid his chin. Frowns had lined his brutal
visage, and cold green eyes glittered under shaggy brows. Though
not a young man, King Garsh retained a well-muscled figure.

Chanter glided
down to land on the path before the King, who stopped to frown at
him. Chanter transformed with a rush of Ashmar, and the King
stepped back, his eyes widening, then his brows drew together in an
even deeper frown.

"Mujar!"

Chanter held
out a hand, palm up. "No harm."

"What do you
want, beggar?"

"I ask a
favour."

King Garsh
sneered, "Why should I grant you a favour?"

"Is the King of
Rashkar versed in the ways of Mujar?"

The King
snorted. "I care nothing for your kind."

"You have an
advisor who is?"

"I have many
advisors, but I don't need one to tell me how to deal with a damned
Mujar!"

Chanter shook
his head. "You do."

Garsh eyed
Chanter, his florid face mottled with anger. He fiddled with his
lacy sleeves, clearly torn, until curiosity got the better of him
and he turned to bellow a name at the palace. A tense minute passed
before a tall, slender man in a severe black suit emerged, with two
guards. The soldiers started to draw their swords, and Chanter
prepared to invoke Ashmar. The advisor grabbed the soldiers'
sleeves.

"No! Don't
threaten him! He's no danger to the King, he's Mujar!"

Chanter relaxed
as the guards released their weapons. The advisor, a clean-shaven
young man with dark hair and brown eyes, passably handsome but for
a prominent nose, persuaded them to stay where they were and came
forward alone. The King turned to him as he arrived beside his
monarch, and the advisor faced Chanter, holding out a hand, palm
up.

"No harm."

Chanter
nodded.

King Garsh
glared at his advisor. "Yusan, this upstart Mujar scum has the
effrontery to come into my garden and beg me for a favour."

"Grant it, Your
Majesty," Yusan advised.

"What?" The
King looked incensed. "Why should I do anything for him?"

Yusan turned to
him. "Majesty, you pay me to advise you, and I beg you to listen to
me. All will be clear as soon as you grant his favour."

"But why the
hell should I?"

"Please,
Majesty, just do it."

King Garsh
shook his head like an angry dire bear. "Yusan -"

"Majesty,
please," Yusan interrupted. "You will thank me for this if you do
it. If you're displeased with the outcome, strike off my head, but
grant the Mujar's wish before he grows tired of waiting and
leaves."

King Garsh
studied his advisor's desperate face, his brows rising. "Very well,
but if this displeases me, I shall indeed have your head."

Yusan nodded,
bowing.

The King turned
to glare at Chanter. "What do you want?"

Chanter stepped
back and bent one knee, raised his arms and stretched them out.
Spreading his hands in a graceful gesture, he bowed his head. "I
ask for the life of one boy from the King's army, named Arrin
Torquil."

Garsh’s scowl
deepened. It seemed to be the only expression he was capable of,
for it hardly ever left his face. "His life? You want him
killed?"

Yusan plucked
at his sleeve. "No, Sire, I think he wants to take the boy away.
Say yes, I beg you."

Garsh threw
Yusan an angry look, then turned back to Chanter, who remained in
his poised position. "Very well."

Yusan said,
"Granted, Mujar."

Chanter
straightened and smiled. "Gratitude."

"Wish."

"Wish," Chanter
allowed.

"The Prince is
mortally ill. Save him."

The Mujar
nodded. "Granted."

Yusan slumped
and looked at the King, who shook his head. "I'll not let him near
my son!"

"Sire, he can
save Prince Mystar. It's his only hope!"

"I'm not
letting a damned Mujar lay his dirty hands on my son!"

"My King, the
boy will not live past sunset. The doctors have said so. They can
do nothing more for him. He's dying! Your kingdom will be without
an heir. You will be forced to cast off Merrilin and take another
wife, lest your line be lost and your sister's son inherit."

Garsh
hesitated, glaring at his advisor and Chanter in turn. "You're sure
of this, Yusan?"

"Yes, Sire.
Mujar can do anything, as you know. He has granted a Wish in return
for the boy. He will cure the Prince, I swear." The King still
appeared irresolute, and Yusan cried, "Majesty, your son will
die!"

Garsh turned
and marched up the path, but Chanter remained where he was. Yusan
hurried after the King, plucking at his sleeve. "Sire, you must
give the order."

"What
order?"

"To release the
boy." Yusan gestured towards Chanter, and Garsh looked around.

"Oh. Where do
you want the boy?"

Chanter
replied, "Release him and tell him to return to his father."

“
See to it,” the King snapped at the guards, one of whom
trotted off.

Satisfied,
Chanter followed when Garsh set off towards the palace again.
Within the structure, gleaming black marble floors stretched away
between fluted grey columns that held up the domed crystal roof.
Bold murals depicting hunting or battle scenes covered many walls,
and statues stood in frozen poses within carved niches lined with
white marble. Their footsteps rang on polished floors, and servants
bowed as the King marched past.

Garsh and his
advisor glanced back often, to ensure that Chanter followed. They
seemed dubious that he would. The Mujar received many stares from
the servants and guards, most hostile and a few puzzled. Garsh
traversed a corridor, ascended a sweeping flight of stairs, and
stalked along another corridor. Halfway along it, he entered a
gloomy room lighted by candles and lamps, where a score of women
wept around a four-poster bed. Two white-robed, grey-bearded men
looked around, their faces drawn with worry. Chanter hated the
confined chamber with its air of doom and sickness.

"Out!" King
Garsh bellowed, and all heads jerked around. "All of you, now!"

The ladies rose
and hurried out, lifting their skirts and sniffling, the doctors
followed at a more dignified gait. A young, tear-stained woman
remained, a raven-haired beauty who raised melting brown eyes to
the King's harsh countenance. His eyes softened as they rested upon
her pale face.

"You may stay,
Merrilin."

The Queen
looked at Chanter, who stood in the shadows. "Who's this?"

Garsh replied,
"He's come to save Mystar. He's Mujar."

Merrilin’s eyes
widened, and she raised a hand to her mouth. Yusan went to the
bedside and beckoned to Chanter. The Queen retreated from the sweep
of his eyes as he approached the bed to look down at the frail form
lost in its silken vastness. The boy was only about five years old,
and the greyness of death already hung about him. Prince Mystar was
on the verge of passing away; only a few minutes, maybe half an
hour, remained.

Chanter turned
to Yusan. "Bring me a bath full of water."

The advisor
trotted to the door and bellowed into the corridor, where doubtless
droves of the curious had gathered. Chanter went over to the
floor-length blue velvet curtains and opened them, letting in a
flood of light and revealing a pair of glass-paned balcony doors.
He pushed them open and let in blessed fresh air, which guttered
most of the candles. Garsh opened his mouth to protest and stifled
it with an obvious effort, glaring at the Mujar. Chanter turned to
the dark-haired boy again, then looked at Yusan.

"Hurry."

King Garsh
strode to the door and yanked it open, roaring at the sea of faces
that clogged the corridor, "Get me that bath now, or I'll have you
all whipped!"

The crowd
parted to reveal two sweaty men carrying a metal tub. A dozen more
hands joined the task, and the tub's progress speeded up to almost
a run, water slopping. They galloped towards the bed when one man
slipped and fell, taking the rest of them, and the tub, with him.
Water splashed over the floor, found a dozen exits and vanished
down them, leaving only a thin film behind. The King grabbed two
men and beat their heads together, bellowing like an enraged bull.
Yusan went white and the Queen burst into tears. Chanter knew that
no time remained. By the time Garsh had finished beating his
servants, the boy would be dead.

The Mujar
scooped up the young Prince and walked to the balcony. Garsh
released his victims and shouted, and the Queen shrieked. Chanter
looked down at the gardens, where a fountain sprinkled a shallow
pond with crystal droplets. The King lunged for him and slipped as
Yusan tackled him around the knees, effectively halting his
attack.

Chanter
summoned Shissar. The air swelled, filling with mist and the faint
crashing of waves, the gurgle of running water and the hiss of
falling rain. The water in the pond surged at his command, then
rose in a glittering column that weaved towards the balcony. It
cascaded over the Prince, drenched him and flooded into the room in
a great wave. Chanter bent his head over the dying child as he used
the Power of Shissar to drive the illness from the fragile boy,
letting the water wash it away with cool, tingling sweetness. As
the Shissar poured over him, the Prince's cheeks grew pink. When
the last of the water had run off onto the floor, the boy knuckled
his eyes and blinked away the moisture to gaze up at his
saviour.

Garsh thumped
Yusan, who clung to the King's legs, preventing him from regaining
his feet. The Prince, finding himself in a stranger’s arms, wailed.
Merrilin hastened towards the Mujar with a joyful smile, her gaze
riveted to her son. She stopped a few steps away, meeting Chanter’s
eyes. He held out the boy, and she snatched him away, clasping him
to her bosom.

Yusan released
the King, who climbed to his feet to find his wife holding the
lustily yelling Prince. He went to her and took the boy, stroked
his hair and wiped water from his cheeks. The Prince howled louder,
his face mottled with rage. Merrilin wept, and Garsh bent his head,
clearly struggling to quell his tears.

From the safety
of the doorway, courtiers and servants looked on with broad smiles,
thumping each other on the back. Yusan rose to his feet with a
groan, but grinned with delight. The two doctors pushed their way
in and approached the Crown Prince, whose yells had given way to
sniffles, his blue eyes fixed on the Mujar. No one needed the
physicians' verdict to know that Mystar was healed. The boy made it
clear by slapping away their hands and peevishly demanding a plate
of food. Yusan was the only person who looked at the Mujar who
stood by the balcony doors.