The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God Read Free Page A

Mujar were reluctant to harm others, even Truemen.
    The Mujar
mystery remained unsolved. Even torture could not force them to
reveal their origins, and their tormentors had deduced that Mujar
did not know. Fortunately they were sterile, and the women foolish
enough to mate with them never conceived.
    Mishak spotted
Chanter heading for the front door and jerked from his reverie.
"Chanter!"
    The Mujar
halted, turning to face his captor. "Yes, master."
    "Where are you
going?"
    "Firewood."
    Mishak glanced
around. Everything was swept, polished and washed. He rose and
approached the Mujar, who was a little taller, his hair almost
brushing the lintel. At Mishak's nod, Chanter opened the door and
stepped out into the freezing wind that blew up the valley.
Muttering peevishly, Mishak donned his cloak and joined him,
standing in the lee of the house, where he could watch the Mujar
work.
    Chanter plucked
the axe from the block and fell to his task with a will. The pile
of branches dwindled rapidly as he cut them into logs for the fire.
Halfway through, he stripped off his torn leather tunic, sweat
trickling down his chest. No scar marked it where yesterday the
huge wound had been. The lean muscles of his torso rippled as he
worked tirelessly through the morning.
    Mujar would
have made good slaves, Mishak mused, if only they could have been
controlled. Chanter's name gave the old man enough power over him
to ensure that he did as he was told while in Mishak's company, but
not enough to hold him should he decide to break his gratitude. He
must tell the Mujar his Wish soon, then Chanter was bound to fulfil
it.
    When Chanter
had stacked the last of the logs, the old man followed him back
into the house. The Mujar curled up on the floor before the fire,
ignoring his captor. Mishak watched him suspiciously for a moment,
but the Mujar made no attempt to reach for the flames. Chanter had
completed the tasks that should have taken a whole day before
mid-afternoon. Mishak took a ham from a hook under the rafters and
hacked a few pieces off, sliced some bread, and joined the
Mujar.
    Chanter ate his
share while gazing into the fire, apparently lost in thought.
Questions burnt within the old man, but he knew the futility of
asking a Mujar. He ate his lunch in silence, washing it down with
home-made mead.
    Chanter turned
to him. "Wish."
    Mishak sighed.
"Yes. My Wish. I have a son, twenty winters old. Last spring King
Garsh's men press-ganged him into the army and took him away. I'm
growing old. Soon I'll need him to take care of me. I didn't breed
a son to die for King Garsh. You will find him and bring him home,
Mujar."
    "If he's
alive."
    "They couldn't
have killed him already!" Mishak banged down his cup, slopping
mead. "His name is Arrin. He has red hair and brown eyes. Find him
and bring him to me!"
    The Mujar
inclined his head. "Granted."
    He rose fluidly
to his feet, and the air swelled with a gathering Power.
    Mishak grabbed
the poker. "No Powers in my house! Out, Mujar scum!" Mishak heaved
himself out of his chair and brandished the poker. "Fail me, and
I'll curse your name! I'll send you to a Pit!"
    Chanter backed
away, turned to open the door and stepped out into the wind. Mishak
followed, curious. Outside, a watery sun shone through grey clouds.
The icy wind cut through his robe and soaked into his aged flesh,
chilling his bones. He clutched the poker and gazed at the Mujar,
now freed by the speaking of his Wish. Chanter stood poised, at one
with the elements, the wind plucking at his clothes and hair. He
raised his face to its icy caress, his perfect profile and pale
eyes at once savage and beautiful.
    Mishak sensed
the swelling of a Power, and wondered which one Chanter would use.
The Mujar took a few quick steps and leapt high, vanishing with a
gust of wind and the sound of beating wings. In his place, a barred
daltar eagle rose with powerful sweeps of long pinions. Mishak
watched the bird until it was a dot against the sky's grey