line be lost and your sister's son inherit.'
Garsh hesitated, glaring at his advisor and Chanter in turn. 'You're sure of this, Yusan?'
'Yes, Sire. Mujar can do anything, as you know. He has granted a Wish in return for the boy. He will cure the Prince, I swear.' The King still appeared irresolute, and Yusan cried, 'Majesty, your son will die!'
Garsh turned and marched up the path, but Chanter remained where he was. Yusan hurried after the King, plucking at his sleeve. 'Sire, you must give the order.'
'What order?'
'To release the boy.' Yusan gestured towards Chanter, and Garsh looked around.
'Oh. Where do you want the boy?'
Chanter replied, 'Release him and tell him to return to his father.'
“ See to it,” the King snapped at the guards, one of whom trotted off.
Satisfied, Chanter followed when Garsh set off towards the palace again. Within the structure, gleaming black marble floors stretched away between fluted grey columns that held up the domed crystal roof. Bold murals depicting hunting or battle scenes covered many walls, and statues stood in frozen poses within carved niches lined with white marble. Their footsteps rang on polished floors, and servants bowed as the King marched past.
Garsh and his advisor glanced back often, to ensure that Chanter followed. They seemed dubious that he would. The Mujar received many stares from the servants and guards, most hostile and a few puzzled. Garsh traversed a corridor, ascended a sweeping flight of stairs, and stalked along another corridor. Halfway along it, he entered a gloomy room lighted by candles and lamps, where a score of women wept around a four-poster bed. Two white-robed, grey-bearded men looked around, their faces drawn with worry. Chanter hated the confined chamber with its air of doom and sickness.
'Out!' King Garsh bellowed, and all heads jerked around. 'All of you, now!'
The ladies rose and hurried out, lifting their skirts and sniffling, the doctors followed at a more dignified gait. A young, tear-stained woman remained, a raven-haired beauty who raised melting brown eyes to the King's harsh countenance. His eyes softened as they rested upon her pale face.
'You may stay, Merrilin.'
The Queen looked at Chanter, who stood in the shadows. 'Who's this?'
Garsh replied, 'He's come to save Mystar. He's Mujar.'
Merrilin’s eyes widened, and she raised a hand to her mouth. Yusan went to the bedside and beckoned to Chanter. The Queen retreated from the sweep of his eyes as he approached the bed to look down at the frail form lost in its silken vastness. The boy was only about five years old, and the greyness of death already hung about him. Prince Mystar was on the verge of passing away; only a few minutes, maybe half an hour, remained.
Chanter turned to Yusan. 'Bring me a bath full of water.'
The advisor trotted to the door and bellowed into the corridor, where doubtless droves of the curious had gathered. Chanter went over to the floor-length blue velvet curtains and opened them, letting in a flood of light and revealing a pair of glass-paned balcony doors. He pushed them open and let in blessed fresh air, which guttered most of the candles. Garsh opened his mouth to protest and stifled it with an obvious effort, glaring at the Mujar. Chanter turned to the dark-haired boy again, then looked at Yusan.
'Hurry.'
King Garsh strode to the door and yanked it open, roaring at the sea of faces that clogged the corridor, 'Get me that bath now, or I'll have you all whipped!'
The crowd parted to reveal two sweaty men carrying a metal tub. A dozen more hands joined the task, and the tub's progress speeded up to almost a run, water slopping. They galloped towards the bed when one man slipped and fell, taking the rest of them, and the tub, with him. Water splashed over the floor, found a dozen exits and vanished down them, leaving only a thin film behind. The King grabbed two men and beat their heads together, bellowing like an enraged bull. Yusan went white and the Queen burst into tears. Chanter knew that no time remained. By the time Garsh had finished beating his servants, the boy would be dead.
The Mujar scooped up the young Prince and walked to the balcony. Garsh released his victims and shouted, and the Queen shrieked. Chanter looked down at the gardens, where a fountain sprinkled a shallow pond with crystal droplets. The King lunged for him and slipped as Yusan tackled him around the knees, effectively halting his attack.
Chanter summoned Shissar. The air swelled, filling with mist and the faint crashing of waves, the gurgle of running water and the hiss of falling rain. The water in the pond surged at his command, then rose in a glittering column that weaved towards the balcony. It cascaded over the Prince, drenched him and flooded into the room in a great wave. Chanter bent his head over the dying child as he used the Power of Shissar to drive the illness from the fragile boy, letting the water wash it away with cool, tingling sweetness. As the Shissar poured over him, the Prince's cheeks grew pink. When the last of the water had run off onto the floor, the boy knuckled his eyes and blinked away the moisture to gaze up at his saviour.
Garsh thumped Yusan, who clung to the King's legs, preventing him from regaining his feet. The Prince, finding himself in a stranger’s arms, wailed. Merrilin hastened towards the Mujar with a joyful smile, her gaze riveted to her son. She stopped a few steps away, meeting Chanter’s eyes. He held out the boy, and she snatched him away, clasping him to her bosom.
Yusan released the King, who climbed to his feet to find his wife holding the lustily yelling Prince. He went to her and took the boy, stroked his hair and wiped water from his cheeks. The Prince howled louder, his face mottled with rage. Merrilin wept, and Garsh bent his head, clearly struggling to quell his tears.
From the safety of the doorway, courtiers and servants looked on with broad smiles, thumping each other on the back. Yusan rose to his feet with a groan, but grinned with delight. The two doctors pushed their way in and approached the Crown Prince, whose yells had given way to sniffles, his blue eyes fixed on the Mujar. No one needed the physicians' verdict to know that Mystar was healed. The boy made it clear by slapping away their hands and peevishly demanding a plate of food. Yusan was the only person who looked at the Mujar who stood by the balcony doors.
Chanter inclined his head. 'Wish fulfilled.'
'Would you like comforts?' Yusan enquired.
Though tempted, Chanter frowned. Something niggled him. Something was wrong. He studied the tableau, but could not fault it. Garsh handed the whining, wriggling boy back to his mother and regarded the Mujar with flat, unreadable eyes. He nodded and echoed Yusan's offer, but Chanter turned away, went to the balcony and gazed out. Stars twinkled in the darkening sky.
Garsh scowled and opened his mouth to comment on the Mujar's rudeness, but Yusan gripped his arm to forestall him.
'Leave him, Sire, Mujar are a strange race.'
The King grunted and gazed at his son. Several maids stripped Prince Mystar of his wet nightshirt and wrapped him in blankets, towelling his hair while he sat on the bed. A servant brought a bowl of steaming soup, which the Queen fed to the boy. Garsh thumped Yusan on the back.
'I'm glad I listened to you, Yusan, you were right. You shall be rewarded handsomely for this, but why all the ceremony?'
'I can teach you the ways of Mujar if you wish, Sire.'
Garsh glanced at the unman. 'Can we persuade him to stay?'
Yusan shook his head. 'Not for long. He may accept comforts for a while, but I doubt he'll stay.'
'What if Mystar sickens again?'
'I doubt that too, Sire. They say that once healed by a Mujar, people never sicken again.'
Garsh tugged his beard. 'How do they do it?'
'Nobody knows, but, had he not wanted a favour from you, he would not have healed the Prince.'
The King eyed the Mujar. 'Why would he want a boy from my army?'
'My guess would be that he was fulfilling another Wish, made by someone who helped him.'
'Is there any way of holding him here?'
'You mean trap him?'
Garsh nodded.
Yusan hesitated. 'There are ways, but it would do you no good. You can't make a Mujar do anything he doesn't wish to.'
