Broken World Book Two - StarSword (6 page)

Within the
walls, life seemed normal, although the city had an air of lethargy
about it. Pedestrians traversed the streets in a leisurely manner,
pausing at vendors and shops whose poor wares showed the battle
scars of years at war with the land. Vegetables were scarce and
sickly, goods such as flour were not in evidence, but sweetmeats,
sugared fruits and sticky cherries were plentiful. Children
followed their mothers, some escaping to play desultory games on
the tar. They would never know the joy of rolling in soft grass or
playing in the mud. Walking between the low stone buildings, Talsy
noted the populace's forced affability, false smiles and bright
eyes that hid deep fear and sorrow.

Snatches of
conversation between shoppers proved enlightening. People swapped
tales of those who had fallen from the pathways and been swallowed,
or touched a tree from a wagon and been snagged and rent apart by
the forest giant. A woman wept for her lost son, who had slipped
from his cart in the fields. A toddler had escaped from her mother
and run onto the grass, only to be snatched from death by a brave
gallant who had paid for the deed with his life. The morbid talk
turned Talsy's stomach, and she hurried up the street to escape it.
Stopping at a quiet vendor who sold trinkets of polished glass, she
enquired after the city's seer.

The gaunt old
man scratched a stubbly chin. "Well now, missy, Shern would most
probably be visiting the alehouse this time of day. Does his
business in the evening, mostly."

"Where might
the alehouse be?"

Talsy followed
the old man's rambling directions and ended up, after a few wrong
turns, outside a busy alehouse. She glanced back at Kieran, who
followed like a shadow, offering no help other than his looming
presence. Several comatose men lay beside a doorway whence singing
and drunken laughter wafted. Up the street, some cutpurses
lingered. Talsy pushed open the door and entered the dingy, ill
lighted confines of a common ale room. The smell of liquor mixed
with the stench of the vomit and urine that soiled the rushes on
the floor. Pipe smoke thickened the air and added to the
claustrophobic atmosphere. Carved furniture and wooden panelling
told of a more prosperous past, reduced to dull seediness by ill
use and lack of repair.

Elbowing her
way through the torpid throng to the counter, she tried to catch
the eye of the harassed barkeep, but gave up when she realised that
he was as drunk as his clients. The foul swill he passed over the
counter looked as if it had been brewed from garbage, and smelt
almost as bad. Casting her eye over the motley mob, she spotted a
more respectable elder man in semi-clean clothes sitting in a
corner, and approached him. He rose politely at her approach, his
blue eyes brightening. Talsy leant close to be heard over the
baritone hubbub.

"I'm looking
for Shern the seer."

The man's
happiness faded, his smile becoming sad as his eyes raked her. "I
wish I could lay claim to that title at this moment, but I'm afraid
Shern's over there, a bit the worse for wear."

He pointed at a
large, hirsute man sprawled across a table, his mouth open to emit
loud rasping snores. As she turned to leave, the man grabbed her
arm.

"Stay awhile,
my company is better than his."

She tried to
jerk free. "I have business with him, not you."

"I'm surprised
he can afford you."

Anger washed
through her at his assumption that she was a trollop, and her free
hand dropped to her knife. Kieran stepped up to the man, his eyes
like chips of obsidian.

"Let her
go."

The elder
released Talsy like a hot coal and sank back into his seat. She
contented herself with a glare before marching away, pushing aside
drunken patrons. Shern proved impossible to rouse, so deep in his
drunken stupor that she could have throttled him without his
knowing it. Kieran solved the problem by hoisting the man's arm
over his shoulders and dragging him from the alehouse. In the
street, they propped him against a wall, and with the-none-too
gentle administration of slaps and cold water, roused him
sufficiently to learn his address. Kieran dragged him along several
dingy side streets to a dilapidated house with a sagging red tile
roof. Kicking open the door, Kieran entered a seedy room with grimy
yellow walls, dusty shelves covered in brick-a-brack, a tatty grey
rug and a hearth overflowing with ash that three worn brown leather
chairs faced. Going into the cramped, stuffy bedroom that led off
it, he dumped Shern on a creaky bed with a frayed patchwork quilt
and turned to Talsy.

"Better wait
outside. Sobering him up won't be pretty."

With snort, she
left to kick up her heels in the street for almost an hour before
Kieran poked his head out to invite her in again. Shern sat at the
kitchen table, clasped a mug of hot tea and stared owlishly into
space. Several copper pots, green with verdigris, hung above a
soot-blackened stove, and soiled cups and plates were stacked
beside a basin of scummy water on a table in the corner. He
focussed on her when she sat opposite, his thick brows drawing
together.

"That was
almost five dolran of good liquor your manservant rid me of, lady,
just so you could have a seeing, which means that's what I'll
charge you."

"You won't
charge me a cent. I'm not here for a seeing, I'm here to save you
and all the chosen in this city."

His bloodshot
eyes narrowed. "What chosen?"

"You had a
dream in which you were told to take all the chosen and leave the
city, didn't you?"

"Fat lot of
good that would have done."

She leant
closer. "You don't hate Mujar, do you?"

Shern slurped
his tea. "You know what happens to Mujar lovers in this city?
They're branded and chained to the wheel."

"You're a seer,
and therefore one of the chosen. Do you know what the mark on my
brow is?"

He shrugged. "A
tattoo?"

"No, it's the
mark of the Mujar."

"Like hell," he
growled.

"We have a
Mujar with us, waiting outside the city. You must believe me."

Shern glanced
at Kieran, who nodded. The seer turned back to Talsy. "Let me touch
your mark."

She leant
forward, allowing Shern to place his hand on the mark. The seer
jerked back as if burnt, and his eyes widened and lost their
suspicion.

"What did you
see?" she asked, curious.

"Shining eyes."
Shern shook his head in amazement. "I thought we were doomed."

"The Hashon
Jahar are coming. You must gather the chosen and leave the city.
We'll come with you and guide you to the Mujar."

The seer's eyes
overflowed, and he bowed his head to hide his tears. "We're to be
saved after all. I've been trying to drown that dream for months.
How cruel to be offered redemption and be unable to take it."

"We have little
time. We must leave as soon as we can," Talsy urged. "Go and gather
your people, buy a cart and bring food."

The seer
nodded, wiping his cheeks. Talsy smiled, relieved that her mission
had succeeded so easily.

The front door
flew open, and a dozen soldiers invaded the house. Kieran’s sword
left its scabbard with a soft hiss, Talsy swung around in surprise
and alarm, and Shern looked up in confusion. Four invaders attacked
Kieran, who held them at bay with vicious sword strokes. The rest
rushed at Talsy, who made a dash for the closest window. Two men
brought her down in a rough tackle that knocked the wind out of
her. Her knife scored a few good cuts before they disarmed her and
twisted her arms behind her. Kieran felled two of his attackers,
then a man got behind him and clubbed him senseless.

The robed
figure of the elder from the alehouse filled the doorway, and he
cast a jaundiced eye around Shern's humble dwelling. "Shern, you
live like a pig." He raised a linen handkerchief to his nose in a
fastidious gesture.

"My lord
Morgal!" Shern cried. "Why are you arresting these people? What
have they done?"

Morgal eyed
Talsy. "She displeased me, and you know how easily I'm peeved these
days. Sorry to take your client. I trust she's paid you?"

"My Lord, I beg
you, let them go."

Morgal shook
his head with a pained air. "No, I think not. I need some
distraction in these last days. You have your drunkenness, I have
my wenching."

Talsy struggled
against the uniformed guardsmen, who tightened their grip with
brutal disregard for the pain they caused, and she bit her lip to
prevent herself from crying out. Kieran sagged in the grip of two
others, blood oozing down his face from a scalp wound. One of the
soldiers examined the black sword curiously, then hid it under his
cloak. Shern rose somewhat shakily to his feet.

"What are they
charged with?"

Lord Morgal
shrugged. "Disturbing the peace. Stealing. Who cares?"

"You can't do
this!" Talsy burst out. "Let us go!"

"Oh but I can,"
Morgal drawled. "I'm an elder of this city, and we don't tolerate
rudeness here."

"You were the
rude one, laying your hands on me!" she said. "I'm no trollop!"

"No one turns
down an offer from an elder, girl."

Shern said, "My
Lord, I beg you, just this once. She's my cousin from Jaramon. She
didn't know. She's a stranger here."

Morgal shook
his head. "I'm not feeling generous today. You can visit her in
prison."

Morgal
signalled to the guards, who dragged Talsy and Kieran out. Kieran
could barely walk, and the guardsmen had to half carry him. Lord
Morgal followed, his long robes sweeping the road, his face
wreathed in a smile as he greeted passers-by. Not many spared a
second glance for the prisoners, and Talsy got the impression that
this was a common occurrence in this town.

The soldiers
marched them far from the slums where Shern dwelt, to a guardhouse
in a more affluent part of the city. Talsy found it a bit strange
that the City Watch had its quarters amongst the wealthy citizenry,
but then realised that it made perfect sense if the rich folk paid
the guardsmen to keep order in their area. She and Kieran were
thrust into a stone cell with a single barred window, a bunk and a
bucket, the floor sealed with tar, and the solid wooden door boomed
shut behind them. The walls seeped dampness in dark streaks of
black slime, and the marks of many prior prisoners scored them,
names and numbers scratched into the stone in mute testimony to
their existence.

Kieran rose
from the floor where the guards had flung him, wiping blood from
his brow. Talsy was glad that he was not as badly injured as he had
appeared, but hid it as she paced the floor with growing ire.

"This is just
great! We come here to free the chosen, and get flung in jail by
some petty lord!"

Kieran went to
the window and peered out at the passing feet and cart wheels.

"What are we
going to do?" she demanded.

"I don't
know."

"So you'll just
sit here until the Black Riders arrive to slit your throat?"

The warrior
sank down on the rickety bunk. "Perhaps Shern can get us out."

"You know what
will happen, don't you? When the Hashon Jahar come, Chanter will
try to save me, and he may get hurt!"

"At least he
can't die."

"The chosen of
this city will."

Kieran sighed.
"Then let them free us."

Talsy swung
away with a frustrated snort. Silence settled in the gloomy room as
she paced up and down. Cold invaded her from the walls, and the
tar's cloying smell made her head ache. After a while, her steps
slowed as her legs joined her skull in aching and her feet became
numb. She wondered if the seer would leave the city without them,
and whether Chanter would know who they were. Would they risk
fleeing into the hostile forest, not knowing if the Mujar would be
there, or would they await certain death in the city? Talsy jumped
as a warm hand took her arm and led her to the bed.

Kieran pushed
her down and sat beside her, chafing her arms. "You're freezing."
He removed his short cloak and draped it around her shoulders.
"Relax; you're only wearing yourself out."

"How can I
relax? We have to get out of here!"

"Pacing
yourself to death won't help. Chanter will save you."

"He shouldn't
have to! I'm..." She raised a hand to her brow. "He said I wouldn't
need him after he marked me."

"Why?"

"The mark..."
She shook her head. "But I don't know how."

"How to
what?"

She sighed, her
head pounding so badly now that she could hardly think. "It doesn't
matter."

"Why are you so
damned cold?" He rubbed her arms again.

"It's the
Earthpower."

He stared at
her. "You're not Mujar."

"No, but I feel
it more than before. I felt it in the wood, before the Dargon
attacked. Did you?"

He shook his
head. "I only feel it when he uses it."

"That's a
manifestation, not the real thing. Since he marked me, I can sense
it when he wields it, but only Dolana."

"So what does
that mean?"

"I don't know.
It's given me a headache too. Chanter said that Dolana is an
unfriendly power. It's the only one that can trap him, and it's the
most powerful of the four. This place is filled with it, that's why
I'm cold."

Kieran eyed
her. "But you can't use it."

"I'm not
Mujar."

"Well if you
can feel it, maybe you can. Have you tried?"

She shivered.
"No. Chanter said I wouldn't be able to."

Kieran gave a
disappointed grunt and stripped off his jacket to put around her,
but her chill continued to worsen. As the world outside the window
darkened, two metal bowls containing a tiny amount of watery stew
and soggy bread were pushed under the door. Talsy had no appetite,
so Kieran ate it all. By now, he was worried about her, for she lay
on the bunk racked by shivering spasms. He tried to summon the
guards, but his calls echoed down the empty corridors beyond the
cell, unanswered. After dark, he made a futile attempt to kick down
the door, then lay beside her and tried to warm her, but only
lessened her chill a little.