The officer's thick brows rose, and his teeth vanished behind red lips. 'Snatched? Young Arrin is a volunteer, miss.'
'Have it your way.' Talsy refused to be side tracked. 'Is he here?'
'Of course he is. Where else would he be?'
On his way home, if your king was honest, she thought, and raised her chin to glare at him. The officer shuffled papers on his desk, cleared his throat and scratched his nose, looking rather smug.
'Unfortunately, right now he's being disciplined.' Again his yellow teeth appeared as he failed to stifle a triumphant sneer. 'It seems that a Mujar came here asking for him to be freed, so it stands to reason that he's a Mujar lover and he's being treated accordingly.' He eyed her with raised brows, a slight, supercilious smile twisting his thick lips. 'You wouldn't happen to know of any Mujar, would you, miss?'
Talsy shook her head, trying to hide her anxiety. 'May I see him?'
The officer looked thoughtful, gazing into space for a moment as if contemplating the troubles of the world. 'Well, now, that could be arranged, but you won't be able to speak to him.'
Talsy nodded, and he rose to his feet, gesturing, with exaggerated courtesy, for her to precede him. Clearly he considered a ragged girl far beneath his class, and, while his condescending attitude irked her, his snide inferences made her nervous. Talsy entered the vast, sandy parade ground, her heart hammering with tension, which grew worse when two guardsmen fell in beside her at a signal from the officer. They marched her across the parade ground as if she was a prisoner, the officer leading the way. He took her to a walled yard, at the centre of which a red-haired man sagged against a wooden frame. His wrists were bound to it and his back was bloody with lash marks. His bowed head hid his face, and he wore only a ragged pair of dirty brown trousers. Talsy strived not to show the sickness the sight caused her, turning away.
'This just because some damned Mujar came asking for him?'
The officer nodded. 'He must be a scum lover, don't you agree?'
'What if someone else sent the Mujar?'
His eyes narrowed. 'You think so?'
'It's possible, isn't it?' she pointed out, not wishing to make him any more suspicious than he already was. Now she longed to get away from the army camp, realising that she had made a mistake in coming here.
'It's just as possible that he's a scum lover,' the officer asserted. 'We don't believe in taking chances.'
'I think you're just a bunch of sadistic bastards,' Talsy said, unable to rein her temper.
The officer leant closer, his brown eyes intent and his manner threatening. 'Well, of course it's understandable to be upset to see your cousin like this, but perhaps you know more than you're telling, eh, miss?'
Panic chilled her as the two soldiers stepped up and gripped her arms. 'What are you doing?'
'We're going to find out if you, like your cousin, are a scum lover.'
'Neither of us is!' She tried to jerk her arms from the soldiers' grip.
'We'll see. The King has taken a particular interest in the affairs of Mujar, since one tried to blackmail him.'
Talsy bit back the vehement denial that sprang to her lips. The two soldiers led her away, ignoring her struggles.
On a nearby rooftop, a raven watched and pondered. Talsy seemed to be in no immediate danger, although clearly she was unhappy with her situation. Lowmen were forever picking on each other, in his experience. When they had no Mujar to throw in Pits, they assuaged their need for violence and pain on their own kind. The plight of the lad bound to the wooden frame was far more urgent than Talsy’s. This was the boy he had been sent to save, and it appeared that the young man did indeed need rescuing. First, he had to wait until there were less people around. Chanter settled down to rest until darkness.
The rising moon found him roosting on the gable, his feathers fluffed against the chill. As its silver light touched him, he opened his eyes to study the yard below, which, apart from the slumped prisoner, was deserted. Most of the buildings were dark and shuttered for the night. A sleepy guard leant on his spear at the camp's entrance, a good distance away. On the other side of the parade ground, laughter and singing emanated from a tent where a party was evidently in progress.
With a whisper of wings, the raven drifted down to land beside the prisoner and transform into a man with a rush of wind. Chanter invoked fire in a brief, searing manifestation. The ropes that bound the boy burnt away, and he fell forward with a groan. The Mujar picked him up, slung him over his shoulder and strode across the yard. The stillness of Dolana clamped down, freezing the air, and the yard wall parted before him. He stepped through onto a road that ran between two long barracks. Moving with swift stealth, he traversed the street and crossed a training yard. Beyond that, the city wall parted for him, too, while the sentry who strolled atop it continued his bored beat undisturbed.
Chanter carried the boy deep into the forest before putting him down beside a stream. Arrin groaned and grimaced, his face pale, shivers racking him. He had evidently been whipped and beaten, his face a mass of bruises, swollen eyelids sealing his eyes shut. Dirty brown crusts of blood caked his lips and chin. The Mujar knelt and scooped up water, splashed it onto the injuries and healed them.
The boy groaned again, and Chanter sat back to wait for him to regain consciousness. Arrin opened his eyes, looking dazed, then turned to the stream to scoop up handfuls of water and suck it down, coughing. He washed off the dried blood, revealing a handsome, clean-cut face with brown eyes and an aquiline nose. When he had drunk his fill, he turned to his rescuer.
'Mujar!' Arrin's face twisted with loathing.
Chanter stood and retreated a few steps. 'Your father sent me.'
Arrin struggled to his feet, glanced down and fingered the pale lash scars that criss-crossed his chest and belly. 'What have you done to me?'
'Healed you.'
'Why? Mujar never do anything for Truemen.'
Chanter shrugged. 'They beat you because of me. I owed Regret.'
'Why did you free me?'
'Your father made a Wish that you be returned to him.'
'Why would you help him?' the boy demanded.
'He helped me.'
'You lie! My father would never help a Mujar!'
'He didn't know I was one until he had saved me.'
'Doubtless a fascinating tale, but I'm really not interested in hearing it.' He regarded the Mujar with flat, angry eyes. 'They beat me good because of you, damned scum. I'm no Mujar lover, but you made them think I was.' His expression became calculating. 'If I take you in, they'll reward me.'
Chanter smiled. 'If you go back, they'll kill you.'
'If I take you, they'll promote me.'
'Maybe, but I won't go.'
'Mujar can be trapped,' Arrin said.
'Not by you.'
'Oh, right, you'll just turn into a bird and fly away.'
Chanter shook his head. 'Since I have to return you to your father, I can't do that.'
Arrin grinned. 'In that case, I'm going to pulverise your yellow Mujar head and take you back for the King to play with. He loves new toys, and so does that sadistic little shit of a son he's got. Between them, they should enjoy you.'
'Don't do anything stupid, Arrin.'
'Don't soil my name with your filthy tongue, Mujar scum!' The boy picked up a rock. 'I'm going to make mincemeat out of you.'
The Mujar sighed and ducked as the stone flew past his head. This task, it seemed, would be more difficult than he had thought. He retreated as Arrin picked up another rock and strode towards him. He was starting to regret healing the boy.
Arrin said, 'Come on, fight, you yellow bastard!'
'Mujar don't fight.'
