Broken World Book Four - The Staff of Law Page 13

  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 an
d 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.