The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (27 page)

"Of course he
is. Where else would he be?"

On his way home, if your king was honest,
she thought, and raised her chin to glare at him. The officer
shuffled papers on his desk, cleared his throat and scratched his
nose, looking rather smug.

"Unfortunately,
right now he's being disciplined." Again his yellow teeth appeared
as he failed to stifle a triumphant sneer. "It seems that a Mujar
came here asking for him to be freed, so it stands to reason that
he's a Mujar lover and he's being treated accordingly." He eyed her
with raised brows, a slight, supercilious smile twisting his thick
lips. "You wouldn't happen to know of any Mujar, would you,
miss?"

Talsy shook her
head, trying to hide her anxiety. "May I see him?"

The officer
looked thoughtful, gazing into space for a moment as if
contemplating the troubles of the world. "Well, now, that could be
arranged, but you won't be able to speak to him."

Talsy nodded,
and he rose to his feet, gesturing, with exaggerated courtesy, for
her to precede him. Clearly he considered a ragged girl far beneath
his class, and, while his condescending attitude irked her, his
snide inferences made her nervous. Talsy entered the vast, sandy
parade ground, her heart hammering with tension, which grew worse
when two guardsmen fell in beside her at a signal from the officer.
They marched her across the parade ground as if she was a prisoner,
the officer leading the way. He took her to a walled yard, at the
centre of which a red-haired man sagged against a wooden frame. His
wrists were bound to it and his back was bloody with lash marks.
His bowed head hid his face, and he wore only a ragged pair of
dirty brown trousers. Talsy strived not to show the sickness the
sight caused her, turning away.

"This just
because some damned Mujar came asking for him?"

The officer
nodded. "He must be a scum lover, don't you agree?"

"What if
someone else sent the Mujar?"

His eyes
narrowed. "You think so?"

"It's possible,
isn't it?" she pointed out, not wishing to make him any more
suspicious than he already was. Now she longed to get away from the
army camp, realising that she had made a mistake in coming
here.

"It's just as
possible that he's a scum lover," the officer asserted. "We don't
believe in taking chances."

"I think you're
just a bunch of sadistic bastards," Talsy said, unable to rein her
temper.

The officer
leant closer, his brown eyes intent and his manner threatening.
"Well, of course it's understandable to be upset to see your cousin
like this, but perhaps you know more than you're telling, eh,
miss?"

Panic chilled
her as the two soldiers stepped up and gripped her arms. "What are
you doing?"

"We're going to
find out if you, like your cousin, are a scum lover."

"Neither of us
is!" She tried to jerk her arms from the soldiers' grip.

"We'll see. The
King has taken a particular interest in the affairs of Mujar, since
one tried to blackmail him."

Talsy bit back
the vehement denial that sprang to her lips. The two soldiers led
her away, ignoring her struggles.

On a nearby
rooftop, a raven watched and pondered. Talsy seemed to be in no
immediate danger, although clearly she was unhappy with her
situation. Lowmen were forever picking on each other, in his
experience. When they had no Mujar to throw in Pits, they assuaged
their need for violence and pain on their own kind. The plight of
the lad bound to the wooden frame was far more urgent than Talsy’s.
This was the boy he had been sent to save, and it appeared that the
young man did indeed need rescuing. First, he had to wait until
there were less people around. Chanter settled down to rest until
darkness.

The rising moon
found him roosting on the gable, his feathers fluffed against the
chill. As its silver light touched him, he opened his eyes to study
the yard below, which, apart from the slumped prisoner, was
deserted. Most of the buildings were dark and shuttered for the
night. A sleepy guard leant on his spear at the camp's entrance, a
good distance away. On the other side of the parade ground,
laughter and singing emanated from a tent where a party was
evidently in progress.

With a whisper
of wings, the raven drifted down to land beside the prisoner and
transform into a man with a rush of wind. Chanter invoked fire in a
brief, searing manifestation. The ropes that bound the boy burnt
away, and he fell forward with a groan. The Mujar picked him up,
slung him over his shoulder and strode across the yard. The
stillness of Dolana clamped down, freezing the air, and the yard
wall parted before him. He stepped through onto a road that ran
between two long barracks. Moving with swift stealth, he traversed
the street and crossed a training yard. Beyond that, the city wall
parted for him, too, while the sentry who strolled atop it
continued his bored beat undisturbed.

Chanter carried
the boy deep into the forest before putting him down beside a
stream. Arrin groaned and grimaced, his face pale, shivers racking
him. He had evidently been whipped and beaten, his face a mass of
bruises, swollen eyelids sealing his eyes shut. Dirty brown crusts
of blood caked his lips and chin. The Mujar knelt and scooped up
water, splashed it onto the injuries and healed them.

The boy groaned
again, and Chanter sat back to wait for him to regain
consciousness. Arrin opened his eyes, looking dazed, then turned to
the stream to scoop up handfuls of water and suck it down,
coughing. He washed off the dried blood, revealing a handsome,
clean-cut face with brown eyes and an aquiline nose. When he had
drunk his fill, he turned to his rescuer.

"Mujar!"
Arrin's face twisted with loathing.

Chanter stood
and retreated a few steps. "Your father sent me."

Arrin struggled
to his feet, glanced down and fingered the pale lash scars that
criss-crossed his chest and belly. "What have you done to me?"

"Healed
you."

"Why? Mujar
never do anything for Truemen."

Chanter
shrugged. "They beat you because of me. I owed Regret."

"Why did you
free me?"

"Your father
made a Wish that you be returned to him."

"Why would you
help him?" the boy demanded.

"He helped
me."

"You lie! My
father would never help a Mujar!"

"He didn't know
I was one until he had saved me."

"Doubtless a
fascinating tale, but I'm really not interested in hearing it." He
regarded the Mujar with flat, angry eyes. "They beat me good
because of you, damned scum. I'm no Mujar lover, but you made them
think I was." His expression became calculating. "If I take you in,
they'll reward me."

Chanter smiled.
"If you go back, they'll kill you."

"If I take you,
they'll promote me."

"Maybe, but I
won't go."

"Mujar can be
trapped," Arrin said.

"Not by
you."

"Oh, right,
you'll just turn into a bird and fly away."

Chanter shook
his head. "Since I have to return you to your father, I can't do
that."

Arrin grinned.
"In that case, I'm going to pulverise your yellow Mujar head and
take you back for the King to play with. He loves new toys, and so
does that sadistic little shit of a son he's got. Between them,
they should enjoy you."

"Don't do
anything stupid, Arrin."

"Don't soil my
name with your filthy tongue, Mujar scum!" The boy picked up a
rock. "I'm going to make mincemeat out of you."

The Mujar
sighed and ducked as the stone flew past his head. This task, it
seemed, would be more difficult than he had thought. He retreated
as Arrin picked up another rock and strode towards him. He was
starting to regret healing the boy.

Arrin said,
"Come on, fight, you yellow bastard!"

"Mujar don't
fight."

"That's right,
Mujar don't do anything. They sit around and pick through Truemen's
garbage like the stinking yellow dogs they are. Or at least they
used to, until we threw them all in the Pits."

"You can't goad
me."

"No, Mujar have
no feelings. You're no better than damned animals."

Chanter
continued to retreat, shaking his head. Arrin, apparently incensed
by his calm demeanour, charged, the stone raised. Chanter stepped
aside, letting the boy stumble past. Arrin swung back and lunged at
him again. As he avoided the boy's clumsy rush, Chanter glanced at
the sky and realised that he was running out of time. Dawn's first
rosy streaks gilded the clouds, and birds awakened to greet the day
with shy songs. Arrin turned to make his third charge, and Chanter
invoked Dolana.

The air froze
in a deathly hush for an instant, then roots shot from the earth to
twine around the boy's ankles. He fell with a yell, dropped the
stone and twisted to claw at the roots. More shot up to encircle
his thighs and torso, pinning his arms. He shouted threats as the
woody trap held him to the leafy ground.

Chanter stood
over him. "I'll return for you as soon as I can."

Arrin glared up
at him. "You yellow bastard! Let me go!"

The air filled
with a sweet haze of Shissar, the soft sounds of water accompanying
its misty wetness. A line of frost whitened the ground around the
boy, and a ring of ice formed.

Arrin stopped
struggling. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure
the wolves don't eat you."

"Let me go, you
scum!"

The ice wall
thickened and grew, created with moisture drawn from the air and
soil to form a slippery barrier. Arrin cursed and squirmed. The ice
circle was just large enough to contain the boy, for Chanter did
not plan to be away for long. Its lack of size meant that it formed
fairly rapidly once it gained momentum, aided by water from the
stream. When the wall had risen well above the Mujar's head, he
walked away, leaving the boy writhing in futile fury.

Arrin's shouts
rang through the forest, becoming more venomous as he realised that
he was alone, bound and helpless. Chanter knew that fear played a
major role in Arrin's hatred, as with all Lowmen. His father had
taught him well, if incorrectly. The Mujar invoked Ashmar and
transformed into a raven to wing away on broad wings. The roots
would release Arrin as Chanter's loss of contact with the ground
broke his grip on Dolana, but the boy would still be imprisoned
within the wall of ice.

Talsy paced the
cell, her stomach rumbling. She chafed her chilly arms, longing for
Chanter to come for her. It seemed like hours that she had waited
in the cold, clammy room, but time was impossible to judge except
by her growing hunger. As soon as they had left her alone, she had
hidden the ruby in her most private recess. They had not searched
her yet, but they still might. She rubbed her throbbing temples to
try to ease the pain, doubtless brought on by tiredness and
tension. Her anxiety made it impossible to sleep. The tallow candle
gave off flickering light and a nasty smell.

The cell door
rattled, making her jump. It swung inwards with a screech of rusty
hinges, admitting a flood of light. Talsy squinted at the two
soldiers who gripped her arms and marched her out. The
granite-faced guards searched her with rough hands, taking her
money pouch. They dragged her along several gloomy, damp corridors
that periodic, sputtering torches lighted and up a flight of steps
into a room that a profusion of candles and lamps made bright.
Three high-ranking officers, judging by their gold-ornamented,
royal blue uniforms, brass buttons, crisp white shirts and shiny
black calf boots, stood with a tall, black-garbed man, who might
have been handsome if not for a bony nose. They studied her as if
she was a strange animal, and she lifted her chin to glare at them.
The windowless room smelt of musty straw and dried blood. Rusty
chains on the walls suggested that it was a torture chamber.

"That's her.
That's the one."

Talsy turned at
the sound of a familiar voice. The sea captain stepped from behind
a bank of candles, his cold eyes raking her. The guards prevented
her from backing away as he approached, his cruel mouth twisted
into a nasty smirk.

"I knew there
was something fishy about her. She had a tame gull, and it followed
the ship, even roosted on the mast." He turned to address the
black-clad man. "After she fell overboard, a terrible storm came
up. The wind turned right around and blew against us. And here she
is, alive and well when she should have drowned."

"I almost did,
you bastard!" Talsy shouted.

"How did you
get ashore?" The soft question came from the man in black, whom she
guessed was one of the King’s advisors.

"I swam."

The captain
snorted. "No one could have swum that far."

"I did."

The advisor
said, "You got here before the ship did, so you must be quite a
good swimmer. Then you came to the barracks to see your so-called
cousin, whom a Mujar tried to free the day before. Now he's gone,
the ropes that bound him burnt. Odd, isn't it?"

"I don't know
any damned Mujar!"

"Come now, why
lie to me? He's not worth it, my dear. You're one of his clan,
aren't you? That's why he protects you."

"No."

He smiled. "My
king wishes to reward the Mujar further for saving his son, that's
all. You have nothing to fear."

"Well good, if
I see the Mujar, I'll tell him. I'm sure the news will delight
him."

"You think
you're clever, don't you?" He turned to stare across the room with
a preoccupied air. "I don't need any more proof to order your
torture, you know. And it won't even matter whether or not you tell
the truth, because if you are the Mujar girl, he'll come for you,
and if you're not, it won't matter to me."