Free Broken World Book Two - StarSword by T C Southwell

appeared to
be arguing with Chanter. The Mujar shook his head, and she hurried
over to see what was going on. The tall warrior looked angry and
tight-lipped, his eyes hard, while the Mujar appeared sad but
adamant. Chanter turned to her as she walked up.
    "What's wrong?"
she enquired.
    "Kieran wishes
to regain his sword. I have said it's impossible."
    "You said it's
a good weapon, and I'll need it," Kieran pointed out. His eyes
darted between them, clearly expecting them to gang up on him.
    "Yes, but it's
lost." Chanter sighed. "To go back would be folly."
    Talsy glared at
Kieran. "If Chanter says no, that's it. He's in charge here. If you
go back and someone spots you, they'll lock you up and no one will
be able to free you before the Black Riders come."
    "I won't get
caught if I go back after dark."
    "The gates are
closed at dusk."
    He gestured in
annoyance at the expected dissent. "Then I'll use the portal."
    "The portal
will be open for only a few minutes," Chanter pointed out, shaking
his head.
    Kieran scowled
at Talsy, thwarted by the logic of the Mujar's argument. He spun on
his heel and strode away, his hand resting on the empty scabbard as
if a part of him was missing. A warrior without a sword would not
be complete, she supposed, and he missed it just as she missed her
knife, maybe more. Chanter watched him go, his eyes narrowed.
    "I think he
will still try to get it back."
    "Then he's a
fool," Talsy snapped. "And if he gets caught it will be his own
fault."
    "But we need
him."
    "What for?"
    The Mujar
glanced at the chosen, who now appeared to be embroiled in an
argument with Shern. "They're not warriors, and we have many more
cities to visit, many more chosen to free."
    She nodded.
"I'll talk to him."
    Talsy headed
for Kieran, who leant against a tree, scowling at the twisted
forest. Before she reached him, Shern caught up with her and tugged
at her sleeve.
    "Only two have
agreed to go back," he said. "The rest refuse."
    "Refuse?" She
stared at him with incredulous anger.
    "I would go,
but I can't. So would Derrin and Torril, the innkeeper, but we all
left on the wagon."
    "Don't they
want to save the others?"
    "They're young
and frightened."
    She snorted.
"I'm young too, but I'd go back."
    "Is there no
way those of us who were on the wagon could return?"
    "Not without
arousing suspicion." She frowned. "Two won't be able to free
many."
    "Unless they
gave stones to those they had freed and bade them free more."
    "Yes." She
pondered a moment. "That might work."
    Accompanied by
the nervous seer, she took the suggestion to Chanter, who listened
with obvious disappointment. He agreed that it would work, though
not as well as the first plan. His comment that the people lacked
courage made Shern wince, but there was no denying the truth of his
words. Most Truemen cared more for their own well-being than that
of others. Talsy looked around for Kieran, who had vanished.
Several hours still remained until dusk, and it was possible that
he had gone hunting, although they had enough food.
    When the sun
filled the clouds on the horizon with ruddy light, Kieran was still
absent. The two brave youngsters, a boy in his late teens and a
girl in her early twenties, were dispatched back to the city before
the gates closed, each with a pouch of Chanter's stones. The rest
of the band settled down to wait in the evening cold, parents
wrapping their children in blankets. Although she had intended to
stay awake, Talsy dozed off leaning against a tree trunk.
    Chanter woke
her when the moon had settled behind the trees in a dull golden
glow and stars gleamed in the chill night sky. Taking her hand, he
led her through the eerie dead forest of black trunks and silver
ash. Arriving at the edge of the trees, Chanter stopped and gazed
at the distant moonlit city whose dull roofs were visible over the
great wall. The black spire marked the meeting place, and Talsy
hoped that all the slaves had gathered there by now, ready to
escape. The Mujar