The Desert Spear (demon)

by Peter V. Brett

  But when the pouch was returned to her, so too was the choice. The only missing ingredient of the tea was tampweed root, and she had seen some just off the road as they ran to a cave for shelter from the rain.

  Unable to sleep, Leesha had risen before full dawn while Rojer and the Painted Man were still sleeping and snuck out to cut a few stalks of the weed. Even then, she was unsure if she could bring herself to drink the tea, but she meant to brew it all the same.

  The Painted Man had come upon her, startling her, but she forced herself to smile and speak with him, rambling on about plants and demons to distract from her true purpose. All the while, her thoughts roiled in chaos.

  But then she unintentionally insulted him, and the hurt in his eyes brought her out of it. Suddenly she saw something of the man he had once been. A good man, who had been hurt as she was, but embraced his pain like a lover rather than give it up.

  She felt that pain, so resonant with her own, and all her swirling thoughts suddenly clicked together like the gears of a clock, and she knew what she must do.

  Moments later she and Arlen lay together in the mud, a frantic coupling born of mutual desperation, cut short when a wood demon attacked. The man who had been caressing her vanished, becoming the Painted Man again as he wrestled the coreling away from her. As the sun rose, both of them began to dissipate. She stared in terror as they began to sink into the ground.

  But then the mist drifted back to the surface and they solidified, the demon burning away in the sun. Leesha reached for Arlen then, but the Painted Man turned away, and she cursed him for it. So caught in her own feelings, she had barely given thought to what he must have been going through.

  Leesha shook her head, coming back to herself.

  “I’m so sorry,” she told the Painted Man.

  He waved a hand dismissively. “You didn’t make my choices for me.”

  Rojer looked at her, then at him, then back to her. “Creator, your mum was right,” he realized. Leesha knew the news was a blow to him, but there was nothing to be done for it. In a way, she was glad to have the secret out.

  “This can’t just be the tattoos,” she said, returning to the topic at hand. “It makes no sense.” She looked at the Painted Man. “I want your grimoires. All of them. Everything I learn from you is filtered by your understanding. I need the source material to understand what’s causing this.”

  “I don’t have them here,” the Painted Man said.

  “Then we’ll go to them,” Leesha said. “Where are they?”

  “The nearest cache is in Angiers,” the Painted Man said, “though I have others in Lakton, and out on the Krasian Desert.”

  “Angiers will do nicely,” Leesha said. “I have unfinished business with Mistress Jizell, and perhaps you can convince the duke you’re not after his crown while we ’re there.”

  “I might be able to help there,” Rojer said. “I grew up in Rhinebeck’s court while Arrick was his herald. I’ll visit the Jongleurs’ Guild while we ’re there, maybe hire some proper teachers for my apprentices.”

  “All right,” the Painted Man said. “we’ll go at first melt.”

  The broad wings of the mimic ate the miles, but the coreling prince hated the brightness of the surface, and twice took shelter in the Core for all but the darkest hours of the night. It was now the night after new moon, and even the effects of that minute sliver were bright to the demon’s corespawned eyes. When it returned to the Core, it would not rise again until the cursed orb waxed and waned a full turn.

  The greatward of Deliverer’s Hollow came into sight below, its stolen magic shining like a beacon. The mind demon hissed at the sight, and its forehead pulsed as it sent the image hundreds of miles to the south in an instant, resonating in the mind of its brother.

  A reply came instantly, the demon’s cranium reverberating with its brother’s frustration.

  The mimic landed silently, and the mind demon dismounted. Immediately the mimic shed its wings and became a nimble flame demon, darting ahead to ensure that the path of the coreling prince was clear as it made its way toward the village.

  The greatward was too large to mar, and too powerful for even a coreling prince to overcome. The demon could see the accumulated magic shimmering around the village—a barrier more solid than stone. It reached out with its thoughts, the soft nodules on its cranium pulsing as it tried to touch the minds of those within, but the sheer concentration of magic blocked even mental intrusion.

  The demon circled the town, noting the terrain around the twists and turns of the ward. A strong defense with few weaknesses, and those not easily exploited. Drones drifted out of the trees, drawn to the coreling prince’s presence, but a thought drove them off.

  It found a place where two human females stood at the edge of the ward, armed with primitive weapons. The demon listened carefully to their grunts and yelps, waiting for a particular intonation that signaled address. It came soon, and the females clutched each other before dividing to walk the edge in different directions, their weapons at the ready.

  The mind demon ran ahead of the elder of the two, waiting in an isolated spot until the woman reappeared. It signaled the mimic, and its servant swelled, scales melting away to be replaced by pink skin and the outer wrappings of the surface stock.

  The mimic fell to the ground in the shadows just outside the forbidding as the elder female approached. It cried the elder female’s name, its voice as perfect a copy of the younger female as its form. “Mala!”

  “Wonda?” its chosen victim cried. She looked about frantically, but seeing no demons, she ran to what she assumed was her friend. “I just left you! How did you get out here?”

  The mind demon stepped from behind a tree, and the female gasped, raising her bow. The nodules on the coreling prince’s cranium throbbed softly, and the female stiffened, hands lowering her weapon against her will. The mind demon approached, and the female held out the projectile she had meant to launch for its inspection.

  The wards on the projectile were powerfully shaped; the mind demon could feel them tugging at its own potent magic. It waved a taloned hand at them, marveling at how they began to glow even with its flesh still inches away.

  The demon prince probed the mind of its victim deeply, sifting through images and memories as one might rummage in an old trunk. It learned much; too much to act upon without further consideration.

  It was hours before dawn, but already the sky was brightening. Far to the south, it sensed its brother’s agreement. There was time to reflect upon the problem.

  The mind demon regarded the female. It could steal the memory of this event from her—send her back into the forbidding never knowing what had happened—but the touch of the human’s mind, fat and largely unused, aroused its hunger.

  Sensing its master’s desire, the mimic sent a sharp tentacle to sever the female’s head. It caught the prize and slithered over, peeling the skull open with a talon to present the meal.

  The coreling prince tore at the sweet gray matter within, gorging itself. The meat was not as tender as the ignorant brains of its personal stock, but there was a satisfaction to hunting on the surface that added pleasure to the repast.

  The demon looked to its mimic, standing vigilant as the coreling prince feasted. A throb of permission, and the mimic swelled, opening an enormous, many-toothed maw and slithering over to the female, swallowing the remainder of her body whole.

  When master and servant alike were sated, they dissolved into mist, slipping back down to the Core as the sky continued to brighten.

  CHAPTER 13

  RENNA

  333 AR SPRING

  RENNA’S STRONG ARMS BURNED, coated in a thin sheen of sweat as she worked the butter churn. It was early spring, but she was clad only in her shift. Her father would have a fit if he saw her, but he was around back cutting wardposts, and Lucik and the boys were out in the fields.

  The farm had grown in the fourteen years since Lucik came to live with the
m, marrying Beni and putting children in her. There had been a hard season after Ilain ran off with Jeph Bales. Harl had raged and taken it out on them—mostly on Beni, since she was elder. But that had all stopped when Lucik, with his thick arms and broad shoulders, came to live with them. Harl hadn’t touched either of them since, and the fields, once little more than a large garden, had gotten bigger every year.

  Thinking of that time made her think again of Arlen Bales, and what might have been. When they were promised, it was agreed that she was to be the one to go and live on Jeph’s farm, not Ilain. But Arlen had run off into the woods after his mother passed, and was never heard from again. Folk said he must be dead, especially after Jeph went to Sunny Pasture to search and hadn’t found him. The Free Cities were weeks away on foot, and no one could survive that many nights without succor.

  But Renna had never given up hope. Her eyes were always searching the road east, praying that one day he would come and take her away.

  She looked up just then and saw a horseman coming down the road. Her heart stopped for a moment, but the rider came from the west, and after a moment, she recognized him.

  Cobie Fisher sat tall on Pinecone, one of Old Hog’s dappled mares, his patchwork armor and hammered cookpot helmet polished carefully. His spear and shield were strapped to the saddle in easy reach, though she had never heard tell of him using them.

  Cobie fancied himself a Messenger, but he didn’t brave the night like real Messengers; he simply ferried goods and word from one end of the Brook to another for Rusco Hog, who ran the general store. Once or twice, Cobie had slept in their barn on his way north to Sunny Pasture.

  “Ay, Renna!” Cobie called, lifting a hand in greeting. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and straightened as he approached.

  Cobie’s eyes bulged suddenly, and he blushed. Renna remembered then that she was only half dressed. Her shift ended above her knees, and swooped low in front, showing a fair bit of cleavage. She smirked, amused at his embarrassment.

  “Off to Sunny Pasture again?” she asked, making no effort to cover herself.

  Cobie shook his head. “I’ve a message for Lucik.”

  “So late in the day?” Renna asked. “What could be so…” She caught a look in Cobie’s eye, and began to worry. The last time someone had come with a message for Lucik, barely two years past, it was that his brother Kenner had gotten drunk testing ale from the vats and stumbled out beyond the wards. By the time the sun banished the demons, there was barely anything left of him to burn.

  “Everyone’s alright, ent they?” she asked, dreading the answer.

  Cobie shook his head. He bent in close, lowering his voice though no one was around. “Lucik’s da passed this morning,” he confided.

  Renna gasped, putting her hands to her mouth. Fernan Boggin had always been kind to her when he came to see his grandchildren. She would miss him. And poor Lucik…

  “Renna!” came her father’s bark. “Get inside and cover yourself, girl! This ent no Angierian house of sin!” He pointed to the door with his prized hunting knife. The blade was Milnese steel, with a bone handle, and was never far from his hands.

  Renna knew that tone, and left Cobie with his mouth open as she turned and hurried inside. She stopped at the door to watch Harl stride out to meet Cobie, who was tying Pinecone to the hitching post.

  Her father was wrinkled and gray, but he seemed to only toughen with age, his wiry muscles hard from working the fields and his skin leathern and rough. Harl had wanted to find Renna a husband before Ilain left, but since, he had scared off any boy who even looked her way.

  Cobie was taller than Harl, though, and wider, one of the biggest men in Tibbet’s Brook. Hog had chosen him as his messenger because he had more than a little bully in him still and didn’t scare easily, especially with his armor on. Renna couldn’t hear what they said, but her father’s rumbling tone was respectful as they clasped wrists.

  “What’s the commotion?” Beni asked from the fire where she was chopping vegetables into the stew.

  “Cobie Fisher’s come in from Town Square,” Renna said.

  “Did he say why?” Beni asked, her face clouding with worry. “Messengers don’t just come to say hello.”

  Renna swallowed hard. “Da called me in before he could say,” she lied, and hurried to the curtain in her corner of the common room, pulling off her dirty shift and putting on a dress. She was still lacing the stays when she exited the curtain and caught Cobie looking at her again.

  “Corespawn it, Renna!” Harl roared, and she vanished behind the curtain until she was properly done up.

  Harl scowled when she reemerged. “Run and fetch Lucik from the fields, girl, and keep the boys out in the barn. Messenger’s come with dark news.”

  Renna nodded, darting out the door. She found Lucik tending the wardposts at the far end of the fields, just before the ground turned black, scorched clean by flame demons.

  Cal and Jace were with him, digging weeds while their father worked. They were seven and ten.

  “Suppertime?” Cal asked hopefully.

  “No, poppet,” Renna said, tousling his dirty blond hair. “But we’re going to put the animals back in the barn. Your da has a visitor.”

  “Eh?” Lucik said.

  “Cobie Fisher,” Renna said, “with news from your mam.”

  Fear flashed on Lucik’s face, and he set off at once. Renna led the boys back and set them to work leading the hogs and cows from the day pens into the big barn. Renna untethered Pinecone herself, leading the mare into the small barn off the back of the house where they kept their mollies and the chickens. Their last horse had given out two summers past, so there was an empty stall. Renna undid the girth, slipping off the saddle and bridle. She turned to get the brushes and caught Jace reaching for Cobie’s spear.

  “Hands off, ’less you want a whipping,” she said, slapping his hand away. “Get the brushes and rub the horse down, then go slop the pigs.”

  She fed the chickens while the boys went about their chores, but her eyes kept glancing to the door to the house. She had seen twenty-four summers, but Harl still treated her like a child, sheltering her as much as he did the boys.

  After a time, the door opened and Beni stuck her head in. “Supper’s ready. Everyone wash up.”

  The boys whooped and ran inside, but Renna lingered, meeting her sister’s eyes. Since they were children, the two had been able to speak volumes to each other with but a look, and this time was no different. Renna put her arms around Beni and hugged her as she cried.

  After a brief bout of sobbing, Beni straightened and wiped her eyes with her apron before going back inside. Renna drew a deep breath and followed.

  The dinner table only sat six, so the boys were sent to eat by the fire in the common room. Having no idea anything was amiss, they scampered off happily, and the elders could hear them laughing and wrestling the dogs through the thin curtain that served as a divider between the dining area and the common.

  “we’ll head out first thing in the morning,” Lucik said when Renna had cleared the bowls. “With Da and Kenner gone, Mam is going to need a man around afore Hog starts buying Marsh Ale again.”

  “Can’t someone else take it on?” Harl said, his face sour as he whittled the end of a wardpost. “Fernan young’s near a man.” Fernan young was Kenner’s son, named after his grandfather.

  “Fernie’s only twelve, Harl,” Lucik said. “He can’t be trusted to run the brewery.”

  “Then what about yer sister?” Harl pressed. “She married that Fisher boy couple summers ago.”

  “Jash,” Cobie supplied.

  “He’s a Fisher,” Lucik said. “He might be able to scale and gut, but he won’t know night about brewing.” He glanced at Cobie. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Cobie said. “Jash is apt to drink more than he brews, anyway.”

  “You’re one to talk,” Harl snapped. “Way’s I hear, Hog made you his mes
sage boy when you couldn’t pay all the ale credits you owed. Maybe it’s you, ort be up at the brewery, working off your drink.”

  “You got some stones, old man,” Cobie said, scowling and half rising from his seat. Harl rose with him, pointing at him with his long hunting knife.

  “Know what’s good for you, boy, you’ll sit’cher ass back down,” he growled.

  “Corespawn it!” Lucik barked, slamming his hands down on the table. Both men looked at him in shock, and Lucik glared in return. He was of a size with Cobie, and flushed red with anger. They returned to their seats, and Harl picked up his post end, whittling furiously.

  “So just like that, you up and desert us,” he said. “What about the farm?”

  “Spring planting’s done,” Lucik said. “You and Renna should be able to weed and keep the wardposts till harvest time, and me and the boys’ll come back for that. Fernie, too.”

  “And next year?” Harl asked.

  Lucik shrugged. “I don’t know. We can all come to plant, and might be I can spare one of the boys for the summer.”

  “Thought we was family, boy,” Harl said, spitting on the floor, “but it looks like you’ve always been a Boggin at heart.” He pushed back from the table. “Do as you want. Take my daughter and grandsons away from me. But don’t expect a slap on the back for it.”

  “Harl,” Lucik began, but the old man waved him off, stomping over to his room and slamming the door.

  Beni laid a hand over Lucik’s clenched fist. “He din’t mean it like that.”

  “Oh, Ben,” he said sadly, laying his free hand over hers, “course he did.”

  “Come on,” Renna said, grabbing Cobie’s arm and pulling him from his seat. “Let’s leave them in peace and find you some blankets and a clean spot in the barn.” Cobie nodded, following her out of the curtain.

  “Your da always like this?” he asked as they left the house proper.

  “He took it better than I expected,” Renna said, taking a broom and sweeping out one of the empty stalls. Outside, the sun had set, and there were shrieks and flashes of light as the corelings tested the wards. The animals were used to the sound, but still they shifted nervously, knowing instinctively what would happen if the wards failed.