The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (39 page)

Ducking around
a hut, he paused, holding her tight against his side, and drew his
sword. Unable to get free, Talsy pressed her knife against his arm
in a blatant threat. Kieran knocked it from her fist with a painful
blow that made her clutch her stinging hand. Her curses were
inaudible over the screams of the fleeing and the defiant shouts of
those who turned to fight with whatever weapons they could find.
The Hashon Jahar entered the camp in a wave of pounding death,
their steeds smashing down shanties and people alike. For the first
time, she was able to make out details.

Each Rider
might have been another's twin, and identical armour covered
slab-like torsos. Their steeds stood over eighteen hands tall,
broad-shouldered beasts with long tangled manes and tails. They
were as alike as their riders, who guided them with curved bits and
barbed spurs. Their eyes might have been carved from granite, yet
their hides rippled with muscle and their manes flew in the breeze.
Behind their visors, the Riders’ faces were twisted with
suffering.

Kieran cursed
and pressed back against the shack. The Hashon Jahar thundered past
them, chasing chosen. Talsy was certain that his long black sword
would do him no good, no matter how great a warrior he was. A Rider
came around the side of the shack and raised its weapon. Talsy
yelled a warning, and Kieran plunged his blade into the steed's
shoulder. The horse staggered, thick black liquid oozing from the
wound. Its legs buckled, and it collapsed, its rider falling with a
clatter of armour. Kieran edged towards the back of the hovel, but
Talsy knew it was only a matter of time before more Black Riders
found them.

Pain washed
through Chanter in a gentle tide. The dark curtain of
unconsciousness rose to reveal a world of blood and dust and death.
Black Riders rode over and around him, their steeds' hooves thudded
into the ground beside him, some battered him as they passed. The
spear through his chest weighed him down, and Dolana had seeped
into him while he was unconscious. It robbed him of much of his
strength and the ability to wield any other Power. Screams filled
the air in a ghastly din that the drumming of hooves
underscored.

The stench of
blood and death accosted his nose, and Dolana's warning pounded
through him. Its urgency demanded action to save the First Chosen.
He tried to push himself away from the ground, but a passing Rider
thrust its lance through him, pinning him down. Only Earthpower was
at his command now, and Talsy's peril spurred him on. If the First
Chosen died, fate would change again and the race of Truemen would
be doomed. Chanter invoked Dolana, fighting the chill that froze
his weakened will. Using the Earthpower to locate Talsy, he helped
her the only way he could.

Talsy yelped as
the ground in front of her bulged. It tore open, and a sheet of
grey bedrock some three feet wide and twenty feet long thrust up
with a dull grinding of stone and soil. Rising with astonishing
speed, it formed a barrier ten feet high that shimmered with the
unmistakeable glint of Mujar power. It curved around the back of
the hut, cutting off the approach of several Hashon Jahar. Just
beyond the shack, it divided into two parallel walls that rose from
the soil like the backs of two whales, creating a narrow avenue
that shot towards the forest. The rising rock thrust aside the
Black Riders as if they were toys, knocking steeds down as it
parted.

Talsy sobbed,
"Chanter!"

Kieran sheathed
his sword and slung her over his shoulder, ignoring her angry
curses and pounding fists on his back. The walls rose ahead of
them, guarding their path as he sprinted for the forest. The Black
Riders attacked, as if expecting the stone to give way, and,
indeed, the areas they targeted shimmered and warped. The walls
remained solid, however, forcing them to swing their steeds away
before they crashed into them. The Black Riders fell behind, the
camp their main target.

Chanter hung on
to the Earthpower, digging his fingers into the dirt to aid his
concentration. Not only did he strive to control the Dolana that
overfilled him, but also to fend off the Black Riders' attacks on
the walls he had caused to rise to guard Talsy's escape. Their
command of Dolana warred with his, but even in his weakened state
they could not win. No being of this world, not even the combined
willpower of the Hashon Jahar, could defy the will of a Mujar.

The air
thickened with screams and dust as the steeds' hooves smashed down
shacks, crushed their occupants or forced them to flee into the
gauntlet of swords and lances. Chanter gritted his teeth, clinging
to the whipping silver river of power that lashed him with freezing
numbness, weakening his will. He opened his eyes to glimpse the
Hashon Jahar's twisted faces, his lips drawn back in a defiant
grin. A Rider swung close and bent to look down at him, radiating
silent hatred. It swung a long spear like a club, and darkness
swallowed Chanter.

Talsy cried out
as the walls collapsed, vanishing back into the ground as swiftly
as they had arisen. She renewed her struggles, but Kieran hung on
and increased his pace, his breath rasping.

Reaching the
trees, he staggered into their shade and fell to his knees. The
moment Talsy's feet touched the ground, she tried to wrench free,
but he hung onto her legs, sending her sprawling. Evidently he did
not have the strength to fight her or the breath to argue, for he
hauled himself on top of her pinned her down.

Talsy shouted,
"Get off me, you great oaf! Chanter needs help! Let me go!"

Kieran foiled
her struggles with frightening ease. His armour dug into her,
bruised her when she wriggled and made her more furious. Realising
that her situation was hopeless, and she was only hurting herself,
she lay still and fumed for the few minutes it took Kieran to
recover his breath. Then he rose to his feet and pulled her up,
holding her away when she tried to kick him. She struggled and
twisted, cursing him. His brows knotted and he pushed her back
against a tree hard enough to make her grimace.

Pinning her to
it, he said, "Now you can quit acting like a little bitch and
settle down. I haven't time for your stupid tantrums. Don't make me
hurt you."

"Let go of me!"
she shouted.

"With pleasure,
but you're not running back to try to save the Mujar, got it? He
doesn't need saving, but you do."

"They might
torture him!"

"Then let
them," he said. "They can't kill him."

"He must be
pinned to the ground, if I free him -"

"Oh, you think
they're going to let you, do you?" He turned his head to stare at
the distant camp, now a seething mass of black. "You haven't got a
hope in hell."

Talsy glared up
at him. "What do you care what happens to me, anyway?"

"Are you going
to behave yourself?"

She nodded,
rubbing her wrists when he released her. He eyed her as she turned
to stare at the distant camp.

"Do you want to
know why I saved you?"

Talsy was
surprised that he was willing to answer her question, and curious.
"Why?"

"Because of
this." He touched her brow. "You have the mark of the Mujar. Did
you know?"

"Yes. How do
you know what it is?"

"They carry it
themselves. You didn't know that, did you?" He ran a hand through
his hair. "I only saw it because the men who took Dancer to the Pit
chose to humiliate him first. Of course, you can't humiliate a
Mujar, but they didn't know that. They shaved his head, and that
mark was on the back of his scalp."

"Dancer?"

He smiled at
her surprised expression. "That was his true name. He gave it to
me."

"You mustn't
tell anyone."

"About the
mark? Why not?"

"Chanter said
so."

Kieran turned
to gaze at the overrun camp, apparently losing interest in the
conversation. Talsy was oddly annoyed that his rescue had been
prompted by the Mujar mark. Fighting the urge to rush back to the
camp and try to find Chanter, she paced about, the thought of what
he might be suffering making her stomach churn and her heart ache.
Visions of him beaten and bloody, tormented by the Hashon Jahar,
filled her mind.

Realising that
she was working herself into a fever of useless anxiety, she sought
a distraction, and the only one available was the obnoxious Kieran.
His sole talent seemed to be fighting, so she asked, "Where did you
learn to fight like you do?"

"My father
taught me. He was a soldier for most of his life, and a good one.
He sired me in his later years, a bargain child, and taught me all
he knew from an early age; he was afraid he would not live to teach
me later."

"He's dead
now?"

Kieran nodded.
"I buried him two winters ago."

Talsy walked
closer to the forest's edge to try to see what had happened to
Chanter. Kieran gripped her arm and towed her deeper into the wood,
ignoring her protests. In the dappled green dimness, he pushed her
down and knelt beside her.

"I don't know
what that mark means, but I'm not taking any chances with you. I
have a feeling you're important, somehow."

Talsy opened
her mouth to tell him, then shut it, remembering Chanter's
forbidding. Kieran nodded, as if understanding. Sitting back, he
drew his sword and ran a finger along the blade, wiping off thick
black liquid. He sniffed it, rubbing it between finger and
thumb.

"Oil."

"Earth blood,"
Talsy corrected him.

"That's what
Mujar call it. Truemen call it oil. They sometimes use it for a
lubricant instead of animal grease."

"They must be
creatures of the earth, to have oil for blood and control Dolana,"
she mused. "Yet they had Trueman faces."

"They're
monsters."

Hot tears stung
her eyes as she pondered Chanter's plight, and she turned away to
hide them while Kieran wiped his blade clean with dead leaves.

Chapter Sixteen

Chanter groaned
as consciousness returned on a wave of pain. Someone had kicked
him, making the spear shaft grate against his bones and tug at his
insides. A red froth bubbled from the wound, and he coughed up
more, pain shooting through him. He opened his eyes to gaze around
at the destruction. Nothing remained of the camp but a tangled mess
of wood and cloth splattered with blood. Twisted bodies lay amongst
the wreckage, their glazed eyes staring from gaping faces.

Once again, he
lay amongst the dead on a killing field as the gathering mist of
souls hung over the ground. A fleeting glimpse of a ragged grey
figure told him that his presence had summoned Marrana here to
gather the chosen’s' souls, as she had on the icy mountain slopes
so long ago. Her duty was almost done, the mist dispersing as she
strode away, an upright, ethereal figure clad in tattered
robes.

The Hashon
Jahar had dismounted, and their steeds lay on the ground or stood
with hanging heads. Many Riders wandered about, others stood
staring into space, and some sat beside their mounts. Now that the
killing frenzy had left them, their faces had reverted to blank
black masks with sightless eyes.

Unlike Mujar,
whose life force was so powerful it made them immortal, the Hashon
Jahar were undying because they were not alive, and only one being
commanded the dead. Marrana. A strange power animated them,
granting them the semblance of life. They seemed to have little
awareness of individuality, and worked together as if one mind
ruled them all. The screaming soul faces they wore when they
slaughtered belonged to their prior victims, condemned to witness
the horror of their kind's destruction.

Chanter
wondered if he could escape, since the Hashon Jahar took no
interest in him. Gripping the spear head, he tried to pull it out,
but only moved it a few inches before he flopped back, Dolana
sapping his strength. A Rider noticed his movement and wandered
over to stare down at him with granite eyes. Chanter lay still,
hoping it would lose interest. Instead, the Rider's interest seemed
to spread to others nearby, and they wandered over to stand around
the Mujar. One placed a boot against Chanter's shoulder and pushed
him back against the ground. The spear shaft tore his flesh before
it broke, and he groaned as he was forced onto his back.

With a creak of
armour, a second Rider knelt and pulled the Mujar's arm away from
his torso, holding it down. Another raised its spear and thrust it
through Chanter's hand, pinning it to the ground. The Mujar
groaned. The pain dulled his senses and, combined with Dolana's
enervating drain, made him helpless. He understood what it must be
like in a Pit, surrounded by earth blood, so heavy and weak that
lifting a hand would be a supreme effort. The Hashon Jahar repeated
the procedure with his other hand, then his legs. As if four spears
were not enough, they thrust another through his belly and a sixth
through his throat. Apparently satisfied that he was as near to
dead as they could make him, they wandered away.

Kieran looked
up, then jumped to his feet and dragged Talsy to hers. The drumming
of hooves came faintly on the wind, and she glanced around in
alarm. He loped to a gnarled tree with many low branches and
climbed it, reaching down to haul her up after him, then push her
ahead. Talsy climbed as quickly as she could, gasping as her hands
slipped on the rough bark, the branches too thick to grip properly.
Kieran hung onto her jacket when she slipped, pushing and pulling
her up the tree. When he was satisfied that they were high enough,
he thrust her into a fork and squeezed in beside her. She wrinkled
her nose at him.

"Go sit
somewhere else, you smell."