Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law (5 page)

"That?"

Shan nodded.
"It's important!"

Brin turned to
Task, who came closer to sniff the stone, then retreated. The two
communed silently, and Brin looked confused. "Task agrees that it's
important, but what the hell is it?"

"I don't know,
but we must take it."

Brin nodded.
"Task's tired. Will the colt carry it?"

The black colt
agreed, and Brin bent to pick up the stone. He grunted in surprise.
"This thing's heavier than it looks!"

Shan arranged
his packages into a cushion on the colt's wither, and Brin lifted
the stone onto it. A firm binding of rope held it in place, and
Shan mounted. Brin glanced at the village.

"The chief's
leaving, come on!"

Brin leapt
onto Task and urged the horse back across the plains. Shan
followed, sensing the colt's slower pace under the stone's burden.
Soon they had to veer away from the former site of village to join
the rear of the moving herd. In all the years that Shan had
travelled with the herd to and from the winter pastures, he had
never known it to move faster than a walk. Now the herd cantered, a
seething mass of horses rocking gently as they thundered over the
grass. The rumble of hooves drowned out all else, allowing Jesher
only a brief glare in Shan and Brin's direction as they joined the
rear-guard that was the stallion's place in the herd.

By nightfall,
the tired herd reached a valley and stopped to rest, the young
foals unable to travel at such a gruelling pace for long. The women
set up camp, and Jesher paced around while he waited for the
warriors he had left to fight the Arrad to join them. Brin helped
Shan to take the stone from the colt's back, and Shan set to his
task of drying and brushing the tired young horse.

The moon had
risen by the time the exhausted warriors walked into the camp on
drooping mounts. Some came on foot, their horses too tired to carry
them. Their womenfolk tended their wounds and fed them while
horseless sons brushed their father's animals. Warriors who had no
sons had to perform this task themselves, helped by their wives.
Bachelors had no help at all. A group of senior warriors sat with
the headman while their wives tended them, discussing the day's
defeat.

"We must go to
the winter pasture as fast as we can. Soon they'll find the empty
village and track us," one man said.

Jesher nodded.
"Yes. If they follow us there we'll have to defend the canyon, but
we'll have the advantage then."

"What about
the wizard?" Brin asked.

"We'll just
have to do our best," Jesher said. "What choice do we have?"

"I've never
seen anything like that before," a tired warrior stated as his wife
bandaged a nasty burn on the side of his head.

"No," Jesher
agreed, "Nor have I."

"How many did
we lose?" Brin enquired in the leaden silence that followed.

"Seven men,
two horses," the first warrior said.

"We'll be hard
put to stay ahead with foals at foot." Brin pointed out, and many
heads nodded. "We'll have to fight a rear guard to slow them
down."

Again they all
nodded, and Jesher sighed.

Over the next
five days, the herd moved at a punishing pace through scrubby
tundra and belts of twisted trees. The route was well known to the
Aggapae, and chosen to frequently encounter swift mountain streams
in stony beds. The poor grazing meant that the horses lost weight
as they travelled, and the swift pace made it worse. Some of the
younger foals could not keep up, and women tied them to their
mother's backs. Fortunately, Mishal's foal was able to follow his
mother. Twice the warriors stayed behind to slow the Arrad, and
they lost another five men and one horse in the fighting. The
fallen warriors' horses joined the bachelor herd behind the mares,
some carrying baggage for the wives of their former riders. Gloom
and mourning dogged the herd, and every night the keening of
bereaved wives joined the lonely neighing of their husbands'
horses.

In this
sorrowful atmosphere, the tribe's tattooist placed the Stone mark
on Shan's brow, and he joined the men's ranks. Jesher held a brief
naming ceremony for his son's new colt, and Shan learnt his horse's
name. Thorn.

Brin gave him
his first spear, and he rode with the rear-guard the next day. The
stone's weight tired Thorn, and Shan's arms ached from holding it
in place. Brin helped him to load and unload it, but no one would
help to carry it.

On the tenth
day, they reached the belt of trees that led up to the canyon's
mouth, entrance to the winter pasture. Normally the journey took a
moon, but the Arrad still pursued them, giving them no option but
to keep running. The herd passed through the trees at a trot, eager
to reach their sanctuary. The old lead mare who led the herd bore
no rider, so when she stopped and the herd milled in confusion, the
men at the back had no idea what the problem was.

One of the
women came riding back. "The way is blocked!"

Pandemonium
broke out as people shouted in confusion, dismay and disbelief.
Jesher urged the stallion into the herd. The mares parted before
him, and Shan followed with Brin and a few other warriors. Emerging
from the trees, Shan stared at the wall of rock that faced them. It
had not been there seven moons ago when they had left the winter
pasture. Nor was it a natural phenomenon like a rock slide or even
a volcanic eruption. The stone rose smooth and sheer, as if drawn
out of the earth by some invisible force.

Jesher stared
at it with defeat in his eyes. "This is preposterous! Where the
hell did it come from? What are we supposed to do now?"

The warriors
around him shook their heads, staring at the wall that spelt
disaster for tribe and herd alike. Jesher dismounted, and the
others joined him in an impromptu meeting.

"We'll have to
use the mares," Jesher stated.

"The mares
will fight, but what about the foals and yearlings?" a warrior
protested.

"What choice
do we have? Our way is blocked, so we must turn back. Only the
might of the herd can carry us through. At a full gallop, no one
will be foolish enough to stand in the way of the herd."

"We'll lose
some, and others may be injured, especially the young."

"You have a
better plan, Taff?" the headman demanded. "If we stay here we'll be
caught against this confounded barrier, unable to move and fight.
At least if we turn back we'll have a chance to save most of the
horses."

Shan
dismounted and walked up to the smooth grey wall as the argument
raged, running his hand along it. Where had it come from? Its
presence was impossible. Rock did not sprout from the earth like a
plant, yet it looked like that was exactly what had happened here.
His wandering gaze fell on a mark at the centre of the wall, just
above his head. He went closer to examine it, then turned to shout
to his father.

"Papa! Come
quick!"

Jesher glanced
around in annoyance, but ignored his son and returned to the
debate.

"Papa! It's
the Stone mark!" Shan cried.

Jesher strode
over to Shan, a deep frown furrowing his brow. The warriors
followed, gathering around to see what the boy had found. The
headman ran his fingers over the mark in the rock wall. A circle
with a cross through it. The Stone mark. What did it mean? Jesher
pulled the precious bag from the front of his tunic, where it hung
on a stout leather thong around his neck. Reverently he opened it
and took out the Stone, holding it up beside the mark on the wall.
They were identical. The warriors muttered, but no one knew what it
meant.

Nort, who
stood behind Jesher, squealed and hopped aside with his tail tucked
as Shisab nipped him on the rump, her long yellow teeth clocking
together as he freed his hide from them. He sidled away from the
lead mare with his ears laid back to show his displeasure. Menalth,
Shisab's chosen, looked down sympathetically at the headman, who
scowled at his stallion's affront. The old woman looked pale and
exhausted from the long journey, but riding a lead mare gave her
authority, and she made no apologies for her mare's bullying of the
stallion.

"Shisab says
put the Stone on the mark," she said.

Jesher's scowl
deepened. "Why?"

Menalth tilted
her head as she listened to her mare. "She says it's a key."

"A key?" The
headman's brows rose. "It gives us the power to speak to the
horses, and now it's a key?"

Menalth
nodded. "That's what she says."

"What if it's
damaged?"

Menalth
communed with Shisab. "It won't."

"How does she
know this?"

"What does it
matter?" Menalth demanded. "We must get into the valley!"

No one could
deny this, and Jesher turned back to the wall, uncertainty in his
eyes. The Stone was the tribe's most prized possession. Without it,
their children would lose the power to converse with horses. He
lifted the Stone and pressed it to the mark, plain side to the
rock. Shisab snorted.

"She says the
other way," Menalth translated.

Jesher frowned
and turned the pebble to touch the cross and circle mark on the
Stone to the mark on the wall. The mark on the wall glowed with
pale blue light, and he stepped back, trampling on the toes of the
warriors behind him.

Chapter Three

"Invaders!"

The shout made
Talsy jump up from the table where she ate lunch and run outside. A
herdsman raced into the village, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Sheera joined her, staring at the red-faced man in confusion as he
ran past, panting. He headed for Kieran's hut, stopping as the
Prince emerged from it. Talsy scowled and marched towards them,
annoyed by the man's assumption that Kieran was in charge. She was
the First Chosen, not him.

"Invaders,
Your Highness," the man gasped. "Coming through the wall! Hundreds
of them!"

Kieran glanced
around as Talsy reached him. "Where's Chanter?"

"How should I
know? I'm not his keeper."

"I thought you
were."

"Very funny.
He doesn't want to found, and I'm not climbing a damned mountain to
make him show himself."

"Find him,
please. We need him. This is no time to get petty."

"Highness,"
the herdsman wheezed. "They have magic, they've opened a door in
the wall."

"Gather all
the men and weapons you can," Kieran instructed, turning to Talsy
as the herdsman ran off. "Do you know where he is? We can't fight
an army with these few farmers."

Talsy snorted
and stalked away, taking some satisfaction in leaving him to wonder
if she was going to find the Mujar or simply stomping off in a
huff. For two weeks, Chanter had delayed their departure to find
the staff, putting it off each time she asked. He appeared at
mealtimes, then vanished to some quiet place for the rest of the
day. He had not retreated to the mountains again, but remained
elusive nonetheless. Talsy had tracked him down on several
occasions, and usually found him sitting in a sunny spot, staring
into space. His favourite place at the moment was the roof of one
of the huts, where he could stretch out in the sun without being
bothered by Dolana. Often he was asleep, an unnecessary pastime,
but a retreat for him. She headed for that hut.

Clambering
onto the roof, she found him fast asleep. His deep slumber was
undisturbed by her grunting arrival, for, she had discovered, when
Mujar chose to sleep they did so thoroughly. Alertness was
unnecessary for a being who could not be killed, and Chanter slept
like the dead. She gripped his shoulder and shook him. The Mujar
snorted, shrugged and settled back.

"Chanter, wake
up!" she bellowed into his ear.

He twitched
and sighed, raising a hand to brush at his ear as if some insect
had invaded it. Talsy almost smiled at the comical sight, then
shook him even harder, making his head loll from side to side.
"Chanter! We're being attacked!" she shouted, pummelling him until
the roof creaked alarmingly.

The Mujar
jerked away as if burnt, and opened his eyes to scowl at her.
"Wamhuszzel?"

"There's an
army coming through the wall."

He blinked,
sat up and stretched, then yawned and knuckled his eyes. "Really."
Realising that he had failed to knuckle his right eye due to his
lack of that hand, he used his left. "An army?"

"Yes, hundreds
of them."

"Hmmh."

"Come on, wake
up."

He yawned
again, then smiled at her. "Okay, I'm awake."

Talsy
clambered off the roof, and the Mujar jumped down as lightly as a
cat beside her. She started away down the road, then turned when he
remained stationary. "Aren't you coming?"

"Not that
way." He gestured towards the village. "You go on, I want to see
them."

Talsy snorted
and set off again, eager to see the newcomers. Rounding the last
hut, she stopped in surprise.

Hundreds of
horses walked across the lush valley, some carrying riders, most of
the rest burdened with baggage. She trotted over to Kieran, who
stood with a group of badly armed men.

"Did you find
him?" he asked, looking worried.

Talsy nodded,
staring at the horses that crossed the grass in a compact herd. Men
with painted faces and armed with spears and bows led the herd,
followed by women and children riding mares with foals at foot.

Kieran glanced
around, searching for Chanter. "Where is he?"

"Watching."

"It's not an
army," he said, turning back to the herd. "But those guys in the
front look pretty fearsome."

Four riders at
the front broke away and cantered towards them, stopping a few feet
away. Talsy noticed that the horses wore no bridles or saddles, and
their riders sat on them with consummate ease. Men and beasts
looked exhausted, and, although the horses tried to put on a show
of energetic prancing, they quickly settled and let their heads
droop. Kieran stepped forward, and she stayed at his side,
determined to remain in the thick of things. The chosen behind them
muttered and shifted, hefted the hoes and axes they carried and
eyed the newcomers' spears.