'Not so wonderful now, is he, girl?'
Talsy bit back hot words and looked away, her stomach heaving. Chanter's face was a bloody ruin by the time the King stopped, his royal trappings splattered with blood. When Garsh released him, the Mujar's head sagged forward again. The King wiped his hand with a handkerchief and addressed the guards.
'Take him to the barracks and let anyone who wants to have a go. Break every bone in his body. When they're done, put the gold collar on him and toss him in the sea.'
Talsy looked up, dismayed. With a gold collar on, he would lie forever on the ocean floor, and how could she save him from the depths? The soldiers dragged Chanter out, and servants appeared to mop up the blood.
Darron turned to the King. 'What do you want to do with her, Sire?'
Garsh shrugged. 'Throw her out.'
Darron put away his dagger, gripped Talsy's jacket, and marched her to the front gate, where he kicked her into the street. She lay on the cobbles, wept and scratched at the stone in a frenzy of sorrow and anguish. Chanter’s gentle ways, revelations and soft-spoken teachings had altered the way she thought forever. How would she survive without him, in a harsh world of Trueman manufacture, hating them for their envy, hatred and savagery? She knew she was more Mujar now than Trueman, and, worst of all, she had been the bait that had led to his downfall. She had condemned him to a living death beneath the waves. Uncaring of the people who walked past, some staring, she wept with wild abandon.
In the woods, the ice wall melted away with unnatural swiftness, and Arrin sprang up in confusion. When no one appeared, he fell into a quandary. To return to the barracks was suicide. His unwilling career in King Garsh's army was over, thanks to the Mujar his father had sent. He was free, but faced a long journey through hostile lands. He cursed and walked into the forest.
Chapter Twelve
Talsy held up a crystal vase and inspected it. With a nod, she handed it to her buyer, a short, balding man with a podgy face and a good eye for wares. He went off to finalise the deal, and she stared blindly at the book in front of her. The figures danced on the page, defying her to read them, and she rubbed her eyes. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the dusty windows of her office in a modest shop on Windall Street, an area between the poor quarter and the middle-class district. Damaged merchandise, papers and oddments cluttered the cramped room, whose walls were yellowed with age and neglect, its furnishing worn and drab. Two chairs faced her polished yew desk, a sagging bookshelf covered one wall and coarse curtains framed a window with a view of the busy street.
Talsy had found a thriving market here for trinkets from the far north, cities like Prenath and Gardellin, which made pretty things from cheap materials, like the vase she had just bought. It looked expensive, but the crystal was inferior. For denizens of the poor quarter, however, such things were previously unaffordable luxuries. Now, poor labourer husbands could buy their wives pretty vases, pots and crockery, and trade was good. She rented the shop from an ageing, retired merchant who had no son to inherit his business. It had improved since Talsy had taken over, and she had given the shop a fresh coat of whitewash three months ago.
Six months had passed since King Garsh's men had flung Chanter into the sea. It seemed like an eternity of grinding misery and constant sorrow. For days, she had scaled the barracks' walls in her desperate attempts to free him. Two guards had stood over the motionless, bleeding Mujar night and day, making her task impossible. Twice, the guards who patrolled the walls had caught and beaten her.
Then that terrible day had come, when he had been thrown into a cart and driven to the docks. People had spat on his torn and bloody form, jeered and shouted insults. The ship had set sail at sunset, foiling Talsy's longing to find out where they dumped him. Not that it would have done any good, for the currents would sweep him away, and the sea was too deep to rescue him.
Two weeks later, cold and hungry from living on the streets as a beggar, Talsy had taken Chanter’s ruby to a reputable dealer. The jeweller had paid her handsomely for it, and she had purchased the modest business, which provided a living and a distraction. She lived alone in a rented house, and had turned nineteen a month ago, but had not celebrated it.
The business' profit provided her with good clothes and fine food, but no amount of luxuries could ever blot out Chanter's memory. She missed him as much now as she had on the day he had been bound in gold, and often woke from dreams of him to weep until dawn. Though it seemed hopeless, she never stopped trying to think of ways to save him, refusing to accept his loss.
Several times, she had hired a boat and braved her fear of the sea to voyage out in a vain hope that she might find him drifting like wrack on the waves. The sight of the ocean that would one day become his grave moved her to tears, and she would spend hours weeping alone before returning to shore. She had no friends, but those who knew her thought her a little touched in the head. Every morning, she walked the beaches on either side of the harbour, hoping that Chanter would be washed ashore. All she had found was a scrap of frayed black leather, which she kept in a box beside her bed. Her unrelenting grief had aged her, thinned her face and figure and made her eyes sink into their sockets. She did not care; nothing mattered without Chanter.
Talsy was dragged from her reverie as her buyer, Tarn, re-entered her office, looking pale and sick.
She eyed him. 'What is it?'
Tarn pulled up a chair and sat, frowning. 'Bad news, I'm afraid, Miss Talsy. The man who brought the crystal came from Jishan, and he brought news of a rumour that the Black Riders are heading there.'
She experienced a twinge of triumph and hid a smile. 'Oh, dear.'
Tarn nodded, as if she had said something far more appropriate. 'I reckon it's time to move on.'
'Of course. I'll pay you a good severance, so you'll have something to live on for a while. Where will you go?'
'North, I reckon. It'll take them Riders a long while to march all the way around the Narrow Sea, so we'll have a good head start.'
Talsy opened her desk drawer and took out a bag of silver. 'Would you like your pay now?'
Tarn nodded, and she counted out the coins. She was tempted to give him the whole bag, for it meant nothing to her now. Her life in Rashkar would soon be over. She counted out most of it, until Tarn's eyes bulged, then put the remainder back in the drawer. He stood up and gathered it into his purse, filling his pockets as well.
'You're welcome to join us, Miss Talsy. The wife and kids like you well enough, and you've always been generous with us.'
Talsy rose and wandered over to the window to stare into the street, where life continued as usual. Once word got out, people would try to flee as they had in Horran, but she was sure that Garsh would also force his people to fight. Becoming aware of Tarn's words, she turned to smile at him.
'Thank you, Tarn, but no, I shall stay here.'
'That's certain death, Miss Talsy.'
She longed to point out that no one would escape the Hashon Jahar in the end, but shook her head instead. 'I'll be all right.'
Tarn grunted, and left the office jingling with bounty. She wished him luck silently, for he was a nice man.
Two days later, Talsy looked up from the accounts on her desk as her doorway darkened. King Garsh's black-clad advisor stood framed in it, and she rose to her feet, her heart hammering with fury.
'Get out! How dare you come here?'
Yusan raised his hands. 'I know you don't like me, but I need to know more about what you said.'
'I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire, now get out!'
The advisor sidled into her office. 'Tell me more about the Hashon Jahar. How do you know they're undying?'
'The King sent you, didn't he? Getting worried now that the Black Riders are on his doorstep, is he?' she sneered.
'Did the Mujar tell you about the Black Riders?'
