instant she was sucked into a turbulent vortex of wild Powers, a swirling chaos of the four elements that held no structure or law. They warred with one another, blended and warped impossibly into cold fire, dry water, solid air. In that instant she learnt more about the elements than she would ever have dreamt possible, yet at the same time remained ignorant. The world spun as the visions faded, making her stagger. She opened her mouth to demand what he had done.
A bolt of lightning rent the blue sky with a deafening thunderclap and struck Chanter’s brow in a blinding flash. He collapsed, and she fell to her knees beside him. Terror choked her, bright spots danced in her eyes, and her ears rang.
'Chanter!'
Talsy's hands fluttered over him, afraid to touch him. He lay still, apparently unconscious, and she plucked up the courage to pat his cheek, desperate to rouse him. Spray drifted over them as the waves crashed onto the beach with unusual force, spurring her anguish. She tried to drag him up the beach, but could not lift him. He seemed to be glued to the sand, and her heart laboured with terror.
Another crack of lightning jerked her head up. The vicious lance of light struck the sea not far from shore. The sky blackened as furious, twisting clouds raced to block out the sun, darkening the day to a dim twilight. Spray splattered her cheek in a shocking, icy slap, and a tremendous wind came out of nowhere and howled around her, whipping the waves into foaming fury. It tore at her with freezing force, pushed her away from Chanter, broke her grip on him and thrust her up the beach with powerful, pitiless gusts. Great breakers thundered onto the sand in a welter of foam, washing over the Mujar. Lightning crackled and thunder rumbled in a deep drumming that shook the ground. Terrified, she fought against the wind, but it forced her back.
'Chanter!'
The ground swallowed her. She fell screaming into darkness, clawing at the air, and landed lightly on sticky rock. A terrible stench assaulted her sense of smell. A soft golden light appeared, and she found that she was its source. She shone like a beacon, illuminating the cavern in which she stood. She held up a glowing hand to study its marvellous radiance, then looked around. Below her, a pool of black, evil-smelling slime lapped at the rocks. Hands reached up from the filth and heads covered in clotted muck turned towards her. A dozen voices filled the cavern with piteous cries.
'Help us, please help us!'
Talsy realised that, by some strange miracle, she stood at the bottom of a Pit, and the feeble wretches trapped in the slime were Mujar. Their need galvanised her, and she looked around for something to help them with, a rope or stick. Their cries filled her eyes with tears of pity and helpless rage. Unable to bear it, she climbed down and reached out to try to grip an outstretched hand. She caught one and pulled him from the evil muck. He scrambled up the rock and stood beside her.
'Gratitude.'
'Go,' she said. 'Climb out.'
'Wish.'
'Nothing, just go. Be free.'
Talsy bent to grip another hand, but slipped and plunged into the fluid. It closed over her head.
Talsy stood on a windswept plain of sparse grass, facing an army of Hashon Jahar. They stood like ebon statues, unmoving save for the horses' manes and tails blowing in the wind. She retreated several steps, her breath catching and heart pounding. The ten-deep ranks of Black Riders stretched away in either direction, facing her… or what was behind her. She turned to find a city defended by a high wall of grey stone crowned with crenulations, aflutter with war banners and bright pennants of rebellion.
Thousands of defenders crowded the top of the wall, armed with spears and swords, staring down at the army of death. Their grim faces wore expressions of hatred and defiance, and for an instant she admired their courage, then the foolish futility of their stand struck her. She wondered how she could make out their expressions at this distance, as if she possessed supernatural sight. She walked towards the city, covering the ground at an astounding rate, and soon stood beneath the wall.
The words that she spoke came from deep within her, marching unbidden from her lips as if drawn from a font of hitherto untapped wisdom. 'If there are any amongst you who don't hate Mujar, come forth.'
A man shouted, 'Will we be saved?'
'No. But you'll make peace with this world before you die.'
He spat, as did several others, muttering. Talsy waited, the cold wind whipping her hair. Behind her, the Hashon Jahar waited also. Within the city's walls, angry voices shouted. The small door in the huge metal gates burst open and two women and a man stumbled out, thrust by many hands and boots. They ran to her, their clothes and hair smeared with excrement and rotten fruit. They fell to their knees before her.
'We don't hate Mujar. We ask for absolution!' the man cried.
'You wish peace with this world?'
He nodded, and a woman whimpered, “We do.”
'Then you shall be saved,' Talsy said, and reached down to help him to his feet. A rattle of armour and the snorting of ebon steeds came from behind her, and she turned to face the Black Riders. As if by a silent command, the Hashon Jahar leapt into a gallop towards her, their lances lowering in a line of death. The three people wailed. Two fell to the ground and one woman ran back towards the city, screaming. Talsy stood still. The Black Riders parted before her like a sable sea, passing close by on either side, yet not touching her with so much as a spur or boot. The man and woman crouched behind her, sobbing. Ten rows of Riders thundered past, filling the air with dust, and she turned. As they reached the city, the wall parted just as the mountain had split asunder for Chanter, and the Hashon Jahar rode into the city.
Talsy was sad to see the city fall, but understood why it must. The woman who had fled ran back to them, wailing.
The man turned to her. 'You could have saved them all!'
'They are not worthy.'
'Because they hate Mujar?'
'They had no right to judge, and now it falls upon them.'
A bright room lined with bookshelves appeared around her. Tapestries depicting forest scenes and rich velvet hangings graced the walls between the shelves. Finely woven carpets covered marble mosaic floors, and gilt furniture stood in intricately carved splendour. A man in a blue velvet jacket trimmed with gold thread and white fur looked up from the papers on his desk and glared at her. The gold circlet on his brow told her that he was a king, and his pointed black beard told her which one. Marshon, King of Daslar, pride of the southern continent.
'Who are you?' he demanded. 'And how the hell did you get in here?'
Talsy was stumped. What was she supposed to do here?
The King scowled and put down his quill. 'Answer me, girl.'
'I… Do you hate Mujar?' It was the only question that seemed appropriate.
'Of course I hate the yellow bastards, who does not?' He paused. 'Let me guess, the church sent you to check up on me now that the Black Riders are coming, right?'
'No. Why do you hate them?'
He sighed. 'Because they are useless, stupid, uncaring scum.'
'Why must they be useful?'
'Why should we look after them if they are not?'
She shrugged. 'Out of kindness.'
'Why should we help people who will not help us?'
'If they jumped off a cliff, would you?'
Marshon laughed, twirling his moustache. 'You must be the local clown.'
'Why do you think they're stupid?'
'Because they have all that power, but they do not use it.'
She cocked her head. 'What should they use it for?'
'To make this world a better place. They could cultivate the land, order the weather, make things grow just right and build cities, but they will not.'
Talsy pondered that, and the King smiled. She said, 'Perhaps they like it the way it is.'
'Well we do not. Our lives are hard, and they could change all that and be rewarded handsomely for it. They
