Broken World Book Two - StarSword (16 page)

Putting away
the food, he contemplated the rippled sand before him. Like a
mighty ocean, it undulated in sweeping dunes, a sea of sand
creeping before the wind. His hand dropped to the Starsword’s hilt,
an old habit that reassured him of its presence. He remembered
Chanter's explanation of the sword's powers and his enigmatic
assurance that Kieran would discover the rest of them in time.
Perhaps now would be a good time to find out if it could help him,
for he was in dire need. With a swift, well-practised movement, he
drew the blade, which lay in his hands like a cold window on the
firmament.

Between
chattering teeth, he gritted, "I need warmth."

The blade
warmed enough to defrost his frozen hands, but it did little to
counter the icy wind. Kieran took hold of the hilt and plunged the
blade halfway into the sand, released it and backed away.

"Give me
fire."

The weapon
burst into flames, becoming a pillar of hot blue fire that toasted
his face and burnt his hands. Retreating a little further, he
turned his face away and basked in the glorious warmth. The sword
burnt steadily, humming with power, its warmth imparting new
strength and hope. For a while he rested, glad that at least the
cold was gone. Remembering Chanter's explanation of the sword's
powers, he knew that it could not aid him with his thirst. When he
was warm enough, he ordered it to stop, and it returned to its
inert state. He plucked it from the sand and held it before him,
point up.

"Guide me to
the First Chosen, the one I seek."

Kieran’s hope
dwindled as he waited for what seemed like a long time. Perhaps the
sword could not help him in this way. The blade leapt from his
hands, making him step back with a startled oath. The weapon fell
flat on the sand, spinning. It slowed to a stop within the smooth
circle it had formed, the tip pointing ahead, a little to the left.
He gathered up the weapon and sheathed it, then struck off in the
direction it had indicated. All he could do now was put his trust
in the blade and hope that it would guide him to his goal. The
sword warmed his thigh, helping to ward off the freezing wind.

Talsy woke on
the big, comfortable bed where she had lain down the night before
after her fruitless search for an exit. Every window and door was
barred save the one that led into the hall, where two soldiers
stood guard. Rising, she went to splash her face in the water bowl
on the table in the corner, dabbing at the raw sides of her mouth.
Daylight showed the room to be furnished with rich, but drab
furniture and dull green curtains. The bed cover mirrored this in
shades of brown and red, and the room had a dingy, musty
atmosphere.

A maid entered
with a tray and deposited it on the table before hurrying out, head
bowed. Talsy sampled the rather tasteless meal, taking more
interest in the hot tea. She nibbled a cake while she contemplated
her situation. Since escape was impossible, she could only wait and
see what Chanter would do.

The door
opened, and Prince Tyrander entered, his eyes sweeping the room and
coming to rest on her. "I trust you've been comfortable?"

Talsy noticed
the bandage around his neck and wondered at it, not bothering to
answer his insincere question. Tyrander wandered around the room
before settling on a chair.

"Your Mujar
failed to beat me in a magical battle last night," he stated,
looking smug.

"He did?" Talsy
raised her brows, unimpressed. "I doubt that he was trying very
hard."

"But he was!"
Tyrander retorted. "He tried to steal the Staff of Law, and
failed."

"I don't
believe you." She put aside the tasteless cake. "Mujar are all
powerful."

"I'm more
powerful than him. I have the staff."

"I doubt that.
What can it do?"

Tyrander
smirked. "Many things."

"Such as?"

"It created the
oasis and this castle at my bidding."

That explained
the faint frisson of Dolana she had sensed when she had entered the
castle. Everything here had been formed, and was held in place by
the staff.

"Yet it cannot
defend you against the Hashon Jahar," she pointed out. "For that,
you need a Mujar."

"But it has
given me the means to get a Mujar."

"You mean me?"
She shook her head. "It won't work. If it told you that he would
come and protect you to save me, it was wrong."

"It didn't tell
me that, I figured it out for myself. He'll never allow the fate of
the world to be changed by letting you die."

"Yet he has not
rushed here to save me, has he?"

"No." The
Prince frowned. "But when the Hashon Jahar threaten this castle,
he'll have to."

Talsy was
struck afresh by his resemblance to Kieran in all but character.
Chanter might try to save her, but he would never be blackmailed
into protecting Tyrander. She wondered how he would overcome this
problem. What was the significance of the Staff of Law? Could it be
pitted against a Mujar? What powers did it possess? From what she
knew of this world, it had to be benign. There were no weapons of
power here. Yet Tyrander's assurance and smugness sent shivers of
apprehension through her.

Kieran gazed
down at a lush valley of green fields and trees, totally out of
place in the bosom of this arid land. The sand was now a deep blood
red, glowing in the newly risen sun's rays. Since the first time he
had asked the sword to guide him, he had cast it into the air twice
more, and it had pointed unerringly here. He did not doubt that
Talsy was held prisoner in the tall grey castle that rose distantly
above the trees. Stumbling down the dune, he toiled towards the
beckoning greenery and its promise of water. The sword bumped
against his thigh, imparting its warmth and the reassurance of it
presence.

Reaching the
first trees, which grew impossibly in the red sand, he stepped onto
harder ground and soft grass. The landscape was dream-like in its
unnatural fecundity. Creeping red dunes thrust between the trees,
furred with new grass. Soon, he came to a crystal pond set in a
border of sand so dry it should have sucked the moisture down. As
he slaked his thirst, he wondered what magic sustained the
impossible greenery. Had a powerful Trueman mage captured Talsy? A
renegade Mujar? Both ideas were equally impossible, and he glanced
about, unnerved. The warm air was as unnaturally still as the
trees.

After filling
his flask, he rested beside the pond for a while, regaining some
strength to face whatever strangeness might lie ahead. When he set
off again, he encountered a red path that wound between the trees
towards the castle. The terrible quiet and daunting atmosphere
pressed in on him like a cloak of sorrow. The trees were too evenly
spaced and the grass too short and green. Every aspect of the place
was too perfect and orderly, marring its beauty. He passed
glimmering pools at even distances along the path, each perfectly
round and brimming with clear water.

The first house
he passed, a pretty log cabin, was surrounded by cultivated land in
which a crop of beans and potatoes grew. The bare red sand between
the plants was devoid of weeds, and the farmer who sat on his
veranda smoked a pipe with an air of deep boredom as he watched
Kieran pass. The further he walked, the more the unnatural order
struck him. White cattle grazed the velvet grass, and spotless
sheep bleated in their rich pasture. No one took any undue interest
in him. They did not seem to care, or were too sunk into the
orderly grind of their lives to notice him. This place was utterly
tame, and its calmness slowed his steps. Shaking off the creeping
apathy, he marched on towards the castle.

The tall wooden
gates, bound and embossed with shining brass, stood open, and he
walked unchallenged between the two guards who leant on their
spears. Their armour was identical to his own, which explained the
lack of challenge, but puzzled him. Within the massive courtyard,
grey walls towered over him, topped with crenulations. The
structure was clearly the figment of someone's imagination, for,
while beautiful, it was impractical. Kieran headed for the nearest
doorway, but stopped when a tall, brown-robed man with dark eyes
and a hooked nose filled it. Kieran stepped back, gripping his
sword hilt. The stranger made a pacifying gesture, his eyes
flicking over Kieran with what looked like delighted
recognition.

He bowed low.
"Welcome back, Prince Kieran."

Kieran frowned,
dumbfounded.

The man smiled.
"I'm Ardel, chief advisor to your brother, Prince Tyrander."

"I'm not a
prince," Kieran said. "Nor do I have a brother."

"But you are,
and you do. Come to my study, and I'll explain it all."

Kieran
hesitated, suspicious. "How can you say with such certainty that I
am who you think?"

Ardel chuckled.
"I just had to look at you, Highness. No one can mistake you. How
else do you think you could walk in here without being challenged?
Of course, your brother will not be pleased."

Kieran caressed
the hilt of the Starsword, whose powerful presence soothed his
reservations. As long as he had it, no one could lock him up. He
nodded, and the advisor led him into the castle. They traversed two
corridors populated by apathetic people, then Ardel opened another
brass-bound door and led him into a book-lined room. An olive
lounge suite and a low polished table stood before a hearth full of
ash. Brown curtains framed the windows, and drab portraits sneered
on the walls. Ardel bowed and gestured to an upholstered chair, and
Kieran scanned the room before settling upon it.

Ardel took a
chair opposite, offering a cup of wine and a bowl of fruit. Kieran
accepted them, eyeing the balding man. Ardel folded his hands and
smiled.

"I can't begin
to tell you how glad I am to see you, Prince Kieran. Your brother
has ruled your people with an iron fist since your father's death,
and I fear that he has put us on the road to destruction."

"First tell me
how you knew I was coming."

Ardel's eyes
sparkled. "Word spread before you, Highness. Your people recognised
you immediately. Ten minutes before you arrived, a man came to tell
me that you were coming. Of course, at first I found it hard to
believe. Most believed you to be dead or lost to us forever. But
the moment I saw you, I knew."

Kieran frowned,
plucking a grape. "You see a family resemblance?"

"Resemblance?"
Ardel chuckled. "My Prince, you and Tyrander are identical
twins."

Kieran coughed,
almost choking on the grape, and gulped the rich red wine to wash
it down. He stared at Ardel, who nodded, apparently reading the
dozens of questions that flashed through Kieran's mind.

"At your
birth," he explained, "there was a great commotion. For the Queen
to bear twin boys was a disaster, for them to be identical was even
worse. The eldest male inherits the throne, naturally, but when
there are only minutes between their ages, this is difficult, and
can lead to fighting between them. Within hours of your birth, even
your dear mother could not tell you apart, nor did anyone know who
was older. Your father, in his wisdom, made the great sacrifice of
giving you to a retiring soldier with instructions to take you far
away, raise you well and never bring you back."

Kieran stared
at the fruit bowl, the beloved face of the man who had raised him
flashing through his mind.

Ardel
continued, "King Shantar was your father, and Kamish is your mother
still. The only mistake your father made was in his choice of who
to keep and who to send away. Now that you have returned..."

"What? You
think I'll challenge Tyrander for the throne? I want no part of
your problems, and I didn't come here for this. As far as I'm
concerned, Jossa was my father. Even if he didn't sire me, he
raised me from a baby. I owe nothing to the man who gave me away. I
came here to rescue the girl your Prince kidnapped, nothing
else."

"But
Highness..." Ardel gazed up at him in dismay as Kieran rose to his
feet. "You can put an end to his evil ways, free your
mother..."

"I want no part
of it. As soon as I have the girl, I'm leaving."

"Please, My
Prince, at least hear me out."

Kieran shook
his head. "Why should I? The moment I arrive in this bewitched
place, you tell me some outlandish tale and expect me to believe
it? I come from across the sea, from another continent. I cannot be
who you think I am. More likely, you wish to lull me into a false
sense of security, then spring some diabolical trap." He held up a
hand as Ardel opened his mouth. "I don't care whether or not it's
true, it doesn't concern me either way. Just tell me where the girl
is and I'll be on my way."

"Highness, the
armour you wear is your father's, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Ardel looked
desperate. "Then that proves he was the soldier you were given to
as a baby, for the armour is King Shantar's."

"It proves that
my father, adoptive or not, was once in your king's army, nothing
more."

Ardel rose to
his feet. "You cannot spurn your birth right, you must claim it. If
you're not Tyrander's twin, then how did I know your name? Shantar
named you before he gave you to Jossa."

Kieran made an
angry gesture. "I don't care. Your king made that decision a long
time ago, and he chose Tyrander to be his heir, so you're stuck
with it."

Ardel's eyes
narrowed. "Very well, Prince Kieran, deny me if you will. But
you'll not get the girl without meeting Tyrander, and he won't let
you take her without a fight. If you're wise, you'll accept who you
are and lay claim to those soldiers within these walls who wish to
follow you, otherwise you'll be alone in your struggle."