his power, and pity had turned to fear.
Mishak brewed a pot of tea and settled before the fire. Their fear had lessened when people had discovered that Mujar were harmless. Unless abused or tortured, they would not use their powers against a Trueman. Nor would they help people, however. No amount of riches could buy their aid, nor did blackmail work, and even torture had failed. Some people had given Mujar comforts and earned Wishes, but they were scorned as traitors who became servants of the soulless yellow scum and worked for their favours. Trueman pride had bred envy and hate, and Mujar were chased from the cities.
Women had tried to conceive children with Mujar powers, but their bellies had remained empty and Mujar were reviled for this too. Deemed a burden to society, Mujar were beaten until they fled. They had returned again and again, however, moving from city to city like a plague Truemen could not cure. Attempts to kill them had proven futile, and their unwanted presence had continued until someone had thrown one into a Pit. That had been the beginning of the end of the Mujar scourge.
Mishak sat back and sipped his spicy tea. The little luxury calmed his hatred and restored his good humour. At least he had one who now owed him. Only a Mujar could save his son, and if Arrin lived, Chanter would bring him home.
Chapter Two
Talsy crept through the forest, her eyes scanning the undergrowth for her quarry. The snow hare had come this way. Its tracks wandered amongst the trees, small marks that must lead to their maker. A snow hare would make a good meal for herself and her father. She pushed through a clump of frozen bushes, flinching at the icy leaves' chill touch. A thick fur jacket and leather leggings kept her warm and protected her from sharp branches, but her fingers were stiff and her feet numb with cold. As soon as she had killed the snow hare, she could return to the cabin's warmth to defrost.
Emerging into a clearing, she followed the tracks across it, then froze as the hare appeared on the far side, nibbling the withered grass that poked through the thin layer of snow. Notching a hunting arrow into her bow, she took aim and loosed it with a soft buzz. The arrow impaled the hare with a thud, and it screamed piteously, kicking up puffs of snow. She headed towards it, stopping as low humming whine came from the bushes ahead. It rose to a frenzied scream, and a bog sow burst from the undergrowth, scattering ice. The sow's engorged udder told Talsy that she had young, and the hare's scream had sounded like a distressed piglet.
Talsy leapt aside as the bog sow charged, but the huge tusked pig's armoured snout struck Talsy's leg, sending her sprawling. She lay still, hoping that, since the sow was a herbivore, she would leave once she was certain that there was no threat to her piglets. The sow scraped the ground with her tusks, snuffling as she circled the girl, prodding her. Talsy winced, but remained immobile. Her jacket protected her torso from the bruising tusks, but her legs would be blue tomorrow. Still, if she moved, she would be dead.
Four fat piglets trotted into the clearing, and their mother turned to them with a low maternal grunt. Talsy's mouth watered as she remembered the taste of bog boar piglet. Their two hundred pound mother loomed over them, however, a killer when aroused. The bog sow, apparently satisfied that her babies were safe, turned and led them away, and Talsy relaxed with a sigh. As she tried to stand up, however, a lance of pain stabbed up her leg, and she sank down again with a cry. From its unnatural angle, her left leg was broken between knee and ankle, and the slightest movement sent shafts of pain through her. She lay panting steam, waiting for the agony to subside so she could think.
When it dulled, she raised her head and looked around, knowing that to lie on the frozen ground for too long was certain death. Gritting her teeth, she crawled towards the trees. Two pieces of wood to splint her leg, another for a crutch, and she would be able to make it home. By the time she reached the trees, she shivered, cold sweat sliming her skin. Shock made her giddy, and she stopped often to rest so she would not faint.
Amongst the trees, she found a sapling and cut through the bark with her skinning knife, snapped it off and set to work stripping off the branches and shaping it into a splint. She worked quickly, for the day waned and she still had a long journey home. At dusk, her father would search for her, but after dark the wolves would be hunting too. Her arrow pinned the dead hare to a tree, and the scent of its blood would attract predators.
After binding two sticks to her leg with the leather thong from her jacket, she looked for a larger sapling to use as a crutch. A rustle of wings made her swing around in alarm, wrenching her leg. Stifling a whimper, she stared at the huge barred daltar eagle that had landed in the clearing, its black talons sunk into the hare's fur. After a moment of stunned surprise, she pulled another arrow from her quiver and notched it. Eagles were tough and stringy, but it would be a long time before she could hunt again. The raptor's wings remained spread as it tried to tug the hare free. Beautiful though the bird was, she and her father had to eat. The eagle would provide two meals, in a stew. Although its great black and white barred wings blocked her view, she aimed for where the body should be and let fly.
The arrow's vicious hiss ended in a meaty thud that warmed her heart. The eagle leapt into the air with a powerful downbeat, then fell, it long pinions splayed across the snow. Talsy smiled. If she waited long enough, she could probably bag a few ravens too. She returned to her task of finding a crutch, spotting a suitable sapling not far off.
By the time she had cut the wood to the right length, her hands were numb and shivers cramped her gut. Lying on the icy ground was definitely unpleasant. With the crutch's help, she pulled herself upright, hopping. She hobbled over to her kills and tied the hare to her belt, then pulled the eagle closer by one wing. The bird flapped, jerking free, and Talsy reached for her knife. The eagle turned its head to look up at her, not with the hot yellow glare of a daltar, but with piercing, brilliant blue eyes. A rush of wind rustled the bushes and the air filled with the sound of beating wings. Talsy recoiled in shock, her crutch skidded and she fell, twisting her broken leg. Dizziness washed over her in a sickening wave, and she clasped her thigh with a groan, striving to stem the wave of pain that washed up it.
When the world stopped spinning, she stared at the golden-skinned man dressed in black leather who sat where the eagle had been. His silver-studded tunic hung open to reveal a smooth, muscular chest, and her arrow protruded from it, oozing a thin red line down his belly. Worn trousers hugged his slender legs and narrow, scuffed boots shod his feet. His straight jet hair framed a scowling, fine-featured face with a sensual mouth and high cheekbones. He pulled her arrow out, studied it and tossed it aside. She gaped at him, awestruck by his wild beauty. He glanced at her without interest, and Talsy swallowed hard. He was Mujar. Her father had told her about the strange unmen, and armed her against them. Once, there had been quite a lot of them, but now only legends remained. The hatred of them had not faded from older minds, but hardly any of her generation had ever seen one. They were all supposed to be in the Pits.
The Mujar scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it on his wound, grimacing as it melted. After a few seconds, he relaxed and glanced down at his chest. The wound had vanished. The Mujar rose to his feet, regarded her indifferently for a moment, and turned away.
Talsy raised a hand. 'Hey! Wait! Help me, please!'
The Mujar looked at her, pursing his lips. 'No Wish.'
Talsy shook her head in confusion. 'Please, my leg is broken.'
The unman gazed at her with flat, empty eyes, clearly unmoved by her plight. He glanced around, measuring the clearing, and she knew he was going to leave her to the wolves. Reaching into her quiver, she found the white- fletched arrow and pulled it out. Her numb fingers fumbled with the bow as she struggled to notch it. The air seemed to swell, and the Mujar took a few light, running steps, then leapt high. A rush of wind and the sound of beating wings filled the clearing, and a daltar eagle rose into the air, each deep downbeat carrying it higher. She took careful aim, her heart in her throat. She must not miss this shot.
The bowstring twanged, sending the arrow hissing on its deadly course. It struck the eagle with a thud, making it stagger in mid-air. Its wings folded, and it plummeted to the ground in a spray of snow a few yards from her, where it lay still. Talsy crawled towards it, hoping it was not too badly hurt. Her father had told her to use the gold-tipped arrow on Mujar, but had not detailed its effect. To her relief, the eagle appeared only to be stunned, and glared at her when she neared it.
Mujar, the accursed undying. She reached for the arrow, then hesitated. What would happen when she
