Broken World Book Two - StarSword (17 page)

"I'm used to
fighting my own battles. I'll manage."

Kieran started
to turn away, but Ardel stepped forward to grab his sleeve. Kieran
swung back with a scowl and the advisor retreated, bowing his
head.

"I beg pardon
for laying hands upon your person, My Prince. To lose you now would
be a disaster for your people. Let me muster a few men to stand by
you, that's all I ask. There are many good people here who deserve
a chance to be free of Tyrander. Only you can give them that, even
if you renounce your birth right."

Ardel seemed
genuine, but Kieran had no wish to become embroiled in a royal
dispute.

"If I grant you
this," Kieran said, "will you take me to the girl?"

"Your Highness,
I will obey any order you give, whether or not you grant my
wish."

"Obviously
you're not very loyal to Tyrander."

Ardel studied
his clasped hands.

Kieran made an
impatient gesture. "All right then, go get the men, but hurry, I
wish to find the girl and be on my way."

The advisor
slumped. "Thank you, Highness. May I also ask you not to act in
haste? Allow me to show you to a room where you can rest, eat and
refresh yourself. Tyrander doesn't know you're here, and the girl's
in no danger, I assure you. He waits for the Mujar to rescue
her."

"Is there no
end to your advice?" Kieran rubbed his brow, his eyes heavy with
fatigue. Although he had not slept for two days, the sudden
sleepiness alarmed him.

Ardel backed
away. "I took the liberty of adding a sleeping draught to your
wine, Highness. You need to rest if you are to win, and I need you
to win."

Kieran reached
for the Starsword, but before he drew it halfway from its scabbard
his knees buckled and the world faded to black.

Ardel stared at
the senseless Prince, stunned by what he had done. For five years,
since becoming Tyrander's chief advisor, he had hoped and prayed
that the lost Prince would return, as had so many others. He had
served Tyrander since King Shantar had died, and been privy to the
Prince's increasingly violent mood swings and penchant for
inflicting pain and humiliation upon his subjects, having taken the
brunt of it himself on many occasions. This morning, when he had
heard the rumour that a man had appeared from the desert who looked
exactly like Tyrander, his heart had leapt with hope and joy. It
seemed too good to be true, yet here he was.

The fact that
Tyrander had a twin was supposed to have been kept secret, but,
upon Tyrander's ascension to the throne, albeit as a Prince due to
King Shantar’s forbidding his coronation, the Queen had finally
admitted the truth about Kieran. She and Shantar had realised that
Tyrander should not be allowed to rule, but, without other sons, he
had remained the Crown Prince. Mystery shrouded Shantar's death
seven years ago, and most blamed Tyrander for it. The fact that he
had imprisoned his mother shortly thereafter seemed to confirm
people's suspicions. Shantar's deduction that Tyrander would be a
cruel and unjust ruler had been proven correct, which had not
surprised Ardel. Tyrander had been a horrible child who had grown
into a sadistic man.

Ardel clapped
his hands to summon the two menservants who waited outside the
door, then directed them to put the Prince on the bed in the
adjoining bedroom. At Ardel's orders, they stripped off Kieran's
dusty armour and dirty clothes, placing his scabbarded sword on a
table, and bathed the Prince with warm wet cloths and scented oils
while he snored. Ardel hovered, awaiting the arrival of the
officers he had summoned.

Captain Roth
arrived promptly, accompanied by two lieutenants. A stocky,
powerfully built man of medium height with a square-jawed face and
bluff features, Roth had served King Shantar since his youth. Grey
sprinkled his cropped, dark hair and lines of weariness and worry
furrowed his brow and framed his sharp brown eyes. He had risen
through the ranks by dint of brawn and brains to acquire his fairly
lofty status in his middle years. After becoming disenchanted with
Tyrander's tyrannical rule and fits of rage two years ago, he
continued to serve him only so he could aid in his downfall. He
glanced at the man on the bed before turning his astonished gaze
upon Ardel.

The advisor
nodded. "Prince Kieran."

"So, it's true.
He's returned," Roth muttered. "What have you done to him?"

"A sleeping
draught, that's all. He was exhausted, in no state to challenge
Tyrander."

"Will he,
though?"

"He wants the
girl, so he'll have to. I had to buy time to let you gather the men
to defend his back." Ardel smiled. "He can depose Tyrander. Even
the judges cannot deny his right to the throne, and our queen will
be freed."

"What makes you
think he'll be any better than Tyrander? They're twins, after
all."

"He can't be
any worse. Besides, he has no wish to take the throne."

"Then who
will?" Roth demanded.

"When the
Hashon Jahar get here it won't matter. At least with Tyrander gone,
those people who can will be able to join the Mujar and be saved.
The girl he stole is the First Chosen, that's why Kieran came here.
He's one of the chosen too. Tyrander's plan to blackmail the Mujar
stands no chance of success, but in his madness he will kill the
First Chosen and doom everyone. Our only hope is Prince Kieran. If
he can challenge Tyrander and beat him, we will be free."

"And if he
fails?"

Ardel shrugged.
"We're dead anyway."

Roth glanced
around. "Is this his sword?" He walked over to the table where the
Prince's sword lay.

Ardel followed,
nodding. "A strange looking blade, I must say."

Roth picked up
the weapon and tried to draw it, but the blade remained in the
scabbard as if glued there. The captain frowned. "I find it hard to
believe that the Prince carries a sword that is rusted into its
scabbard. What kind of swordsman must he be?"

Ardel looked
worried. "He'll need to be a good one to defeat Tyrander. Are you
sure it's rusted there?"

Roth studied
the sword. "It appears quite new, but it won't budge." He banged it
on the table and tried again. "No, it's jammed solid, or
rusted."

"Yet he
appeared ready to use it when I first met him, and again when I
told him that I had drugged him. His hand never strayed far from
its hilt."

Captain Roth
eyed the advisor. "I hope our newfound Prince isn't unskilled with
a blade. If he can't challenge Tyrander to a duel, you know what
that means."

"Civil war,"
Ardel breathed, slumping.

Roth turned to
one of the waiting lieutenants and handed him the sword. "Take this
to the armourer and tell him to free it, meantime, find the best
blade we have." He looked at Ardel. "How long before he wakes
up?"

The advisor
shrugged. "A couple of hours at least, but he didn't drink much of
the wine."

"Then we must
pray that Prince Kieran knows how to use a sword."

Talsy sipped
her tea and eyed the man who sat opposite. Prince Tyrander seemed
to enjoy her discomfiture, and took immense pleasure in taunting
her about what would happen when Chanter came for her. She strived
to hide her anger at his goading and his comments about Mujar
cowardice that made her long to fling the hot tea in his face. She
was not about to explain the true nature of Mujar, as she
understood it. When he paused to think of the next scathing
comment, she injected an innocent question.

"Where is this
Staff of Law you claim to have?"

"Oh, I have it,
never fear." He smiled.

"Yet I have
only your word on that."

"It created all
of this. How can you doubt its existence?"

"I don't, but I
doubt that you possess such a powerful object."

"I have it," he
snapped, clearly put out.

"May I see
it?"

Tyrander
hesitated, scowling, then vanity triumphed, and he reached for the
gold chain around his neck. Pulling it from the front of his
embroidered jacket, he held up a golden cage in which a brown
pebble lay. Talsy leant forward to peer at it. There was no doubt
in her mind that this was the Staff of Law. Its appearance fitted
with the oddly understated nature of this world. Had he shown her a
jewelled golden rod or diamond-studded pole she would not have
believed him. To rile him, she feigned disbelief.

"That? You've
been fooled, that's just a pebble."

"Stupid girl,"
he growled. "This is the Staff of Law."

"It isn't a
staff, not even an ordinary one. It certainly doesn't look like an
object of power."

"Well it is."
He started to put it away.

"Prove it,"
Talsy challenged.

Tyrander
paused, considering the caged stone. A smile curved his thin,
sensuous lips, and his black eyes glinted. "Why not?" Holding the
stone before him, he addressed it. "Staff of Law, where is the
Mujar now?"

Golden fire
formed strange runic writing in the air before the Prince,
reminding her of Chanter playing with fire. At first she could not
read it, then a burning pain in her brow made her raise a hand to
it in surprise. The Mujar mark glowed bright blue, illuminating her
palm briefly, then the pain vanished. When she looked again at the
strange writing, she could read it.

The Mujar is moving away,
the runes
said.

Tyrander
scowled. "It says that your Mujar is on his way here to do my
bidding in return for your life."

"No it
doesn't," she retorted. "It says that he's moving away."

The Prince
looked dumbstruck. "How can you read it? No one can understand the
staff but me."

Talsy shrugged.
"I just can."

He leapt up.
"It's that damned Mujar mark, isn't it? That's why you can summon
the souls to aid you, and you can understand the Staff of Law as
well." He leant closer. "That's why you wanted to see it, wasn't
it? To test your powers! Well, don't try any tricks like that
again, or you'll be sorry." He fingered the hilt of a jewelled
dagger at his belt. "I'll cut that mark right out of your
hide."

Talsy recoiled
from his venom, and he straightened to tuck the stone back into the
front of his jacket.

"You'd better
hope your precious Mujar comes for you, girl, or you will die a
very painful death, that I promise. I won't leave you for the
Hashon Jahar."

Spinning on his
heel, he marched out, slamming the door. Talsy took a gulp of cold
tea, her nerves jangling. Her senses warned her that Prince
Tyrander teetered on the brink of insanity.

A guard hurried
into the room where Kieran slept and whispered to Captain Roth. As
soon as the soldier left, Roth turned to Ardel.

"Prince
Tyrander has left the girl's room, apparently in a rage."

Ardel shook his
head. "He won't come here. He's never entered my private
chambers."

"Let's hope
not. If he finds his brother now, he will kill him while he
sleeps."

"We'll protect
him."

"As much as
we're able." Roth glanced at the sleeping Prince. "I almost wish he
would wake. This waiting is eating my nerves."

"He's been
asleep for a couple of hours already, but he needs more. Perhaps I
should go and see if I can soothe Tyrander."

Roth nodded.
"That might be an idea. Find out why he's so angry, without getting
your head chopped off, if you can."

Ardel hurried
out, and Roth settled down on an upholstered couch by the window.
His nerves grew raw, and after a while he fidgeted, then paced the
room. Kieran occasionally turned and stretched, making Roth burn
with anticipation, only to slump as the Prince resumed his slumber.
The advisor returned three hours later, according to the sundial
outside the window, and the two moved away from the bed to talk in
hushed tones.

"It seems the
girl angered him. She can understand the staff," Ardel
whispered.

"How did you
calm him?"

"With
difficulty. I pointed out that once the Mujar is in his control,
he'll be all powerful, and her petty powers will be
meaningless."

Roth grunted.
"That should soothe his bloated ego."

"For a while.
The child seems unaware that she is playing with fire. Tyrander is
a most unpredictable man."

"She doesn't
know him."

Ardel sighed,
glancing at the bed. "She's in great danger. He won't kill her, but
he longs to torture her. Has Kieran shown any sign of
wakening?"

"No. He sleeps
like the dead."

"It's
exhaustion that holds him now. He must rest until he is
recovered."

Roth snorted.
"He seems intent on doing just that."

"Good."

They turned as
a lieutenant came in, and Roth beckoned the young, fair-haired man
over to join their hushed conversation.

"Captain, the
armourer cannot free the Prince's blade. He has tried every way he
knows, and is baffled. He sends this one, the best he has."

Roth took the
proffered sword, which was a finely made weapon, strong and true,
honed to a fine edge and well balanced.

"It will do.
It's better than mine, and hopefully a match for Tyrander's."

A servant
entered with Kieran's clean clothes and newly polished armour, and
tiptoed across the room to join the huddle, bowing to the
advisor.

"My lord Ardel,
the guards bade me tell you Tyrander is returning to the girl's
room, and he’s angry."

Ardel paled,
glancing at Roth, who nodded. "You'd better go and see if you can
head him off."

Tyrander
stormed into Talsy's room, making her jump when he slammed the
door. He glared at her as he stalked over to where she sat on the
window seat's dull, brocaded cushions. She met his cold eyes with a
mixture of trepidation and defiance.