The Painted Man d-1

by Peter V. Brett

  If we could make a road like this, Arlen thought, the world would be at our fingertips.

  Inside the cottage, he found Cob hunched over his desk, poring over chalked slates.

  'Pot's warm,' the master grunted, not looking up. Arlen moved over to the fireplace in the cottage's single room and filled a bowl with Cob's thick stew.

  'Creator, boy, you started a mess with this,' Cob growled, straightening and gesturing to the slates. 'Half the Warders in Miln are content to keep their secrets, even at the loss of ours, and half of those left keep offering money instead, but the quarter that remain have flooded my desk with lists of wards they're willing to barter. It will be weeks in the sorting!'

  'Things will be better for it,' Arlen said, using a crust of hard bread as a spoon as he sat on the floor, eating hungrily. The corn and beans were still hard, and the potatoes mushy from over­boiling, but he didn't complain. He was accustomed to the tough, stunted vegetables of Miln by now, and Cob could never be bothered to boil them separately.

  'I daresay you're right,' Cob admitted, 'but night! Who thought there were so many different wards right in our own city! Half I've never seen in my life, and I've scrutinized every wardpost and portal in Miln, I assure you!'

  He held up a chalked slate. 'This one is willing to trade your mother's ward to make glass as hard as steel, for ones that will make a demon turn around and forget what it was doing.' He shook his head. 'And they all want the secrets of your forbidding wards, boy. They're easier to draw without a straightstick and a semicircle.'

  'Crutches for people who can't draw a straight line,' Arlen smirked.

  'Not everyone is as gifted as you,' Cob grunted.

  'Gifted?' Arlen asked.

  'Don't let it go to your head, boy,' Cob said, 'but I've never seen anyone pick up warding as quick as you. Eighteen months into your apprenticeship, and you ward like a five-year journeyman.'

  'I've been thinking about our deal,' Arlen said.

  Cob looked up at him curiously.

  'You promised that if I worked hard,' Arlen said, 'you'd teach me to survive the road.'

  They stared at one another a long while. 'I've kept my part,' Arlen reminded.

  Cob blew out a sigh. 'I suppose you have,' he said. 'Have you been practicing your riding?' he asked.

  Arlen nodded. 'Ragen's groom lets me help exercise the horses.'

  'Double your efforts,' Cob said. 'A Messenger's horse is his life. Every night your steed saves you from spending outside is a night out of risk.' The old Warder got to his feet, opening a closet and pulling out a thick rolled cloth. 'On Seventhdays, when we close the shop,' he said, 'I'll coach your riding, and I'll teach you to use these.'

  He laid the cloth on the floor and unrolled it, revealing a number of well-oiled spears. Arlen eyed them hungrily.

  Cob looked up at the chimes as a young boy entered his shop. He was about thirteen, with tousled dark curls and a fuzz of moustache at his lip that looked more like grime than hair.

  'Jaik, isn't it?' the Warder asked. 'Your family works the mill down by the East Wall, don't they? We quoted you once for new wards, but the miller went with someone else.'

  'That's right,' the boy said, nodding.

  'What can I help you with?' Cob asked. 'Would your master like another quote?'

  Jaik shook his head. 'I just came to see if Arlen wants to see the Jongleur today.'

  Cob could hardly believe his ears. He had never seen Arlen speak to anyone his own age, preferring to spend his time working and reading, or pestering the Messengers and Warders who visited the shop with endless questions. This was a surprise, and one to be encouraged.

  'Arlen!' he called.

  Arlen came out of the shop's back room, a book in his hand. He practically walked into Jaik before he noticed the boy and pulled up short.

  'Jaik's come to take you to see the Jongleur,' Cob advised.

  'I'd like to go,' Arlen told Jaik apologetically, 'but I still have to…'

  'Nothing that can't wait,' Cob cut him off. 'Go and have fun.' He tossed Arlen a small pouch of coins and pushed the two boys out the door.

  Soon after, the boys were wandering through the crowded marketplace surrounding the main square of Miln. Arlen spent a silver star to buy meat pies from a vendor, and then, faces coated with grease, handed over a few copper lights for a pocketful of sweets from another.

  'I'm going to be a Jongleur one day,' Jaik said, sucking on a sweet as they made their way to the place where the children gathered.

  'Honest word?' Arlen asked.

  Jaik nodded. 'Watch this,' he said, pulling three small wooden balls from his pockets and putting them into the air. Arlen laughed a moment later, when one of the balls struck Jaik's head, and the others dropped to the ground in the confusion.

  'Still got grease on my fingers,' Jaik said as they chased after the balls.

  'I guess,' Arlen agreed. 'I'm going to register at the Messenger's Guild once my apprenticeship with Cob is over.'

  'I could be your Jongleur!' Jaik shouted. 'We could test for the road together!'

  Arlen looked at him. 'Have you ever even seen a demon?' he asked.

  'What, you don't think I have the stones for it?' Jaik asked, shoving him.

  'Or the brains,' Arlen said, shoving back. A moment later, they were scuffling on the ground. Arlen was still small for his age, and Jaik soon pinned him.

  'Fine, fine!' Arlen laughed. 'I'll let you be my Jongleur!'

  'Your Jongleur?' Jaik asked, not releasing him. 'More like you'll be my Messenger!'

  'Partners?' Arlen offered. Jaik smiled and offered Arlen a hand up. Soon after, they were sitting on top of stone blocks in the town square, watching the apprentices of the Jongleur's Guild cartwheel and mum, building excitement for the morning's lead performer.

  Arlen's jaw dropped when he saw Keerin enter the square. Tall and thin like a red-headed lamp post, the Jongleur was unmistakable. The crowd erupted into a roar.

  'It's Keerin!' Jaik said, shaking Arlen's shoulder in excitement. 'He's my favourite!'

  'Really?' Arlen asked, surprised.

  'What, who do you like?' Jaik asked. 'Marley? Koy? They're not heroes like Keerin!'

  'He didn't seem very heroic when I met him,' Arlen said doubtfully.

  'You met Keerin?' Jaik asked in shock.

  'He came to Tibbet's Brook once,' Arlen said. 'He and Ragen found me on the road and brought me to Miln.'

  'Keerin rescued you?'

  'Ragen rescued me,' Arlen corrected. 'Keerin jumped at every shadow.'

  'The Core he did,' Jaik said. 'Do you think he'll remember you?' he asked. 'Can you introduce me after the show?'

  'Maybe,' Arlen shrugged.

  Keerin's performance started out much like it had in Tibbet's Brook. He juggled and danced, warming the crowd before telling the tale of the Return to the children and punctuating it with mummery, backflips, and somersaults.

  'Sing the song!' Jaik cried. Others in the crowd took up the cry, begging Keerin to sing. He seemed not to notice for a time, until the call was thunderous and punctuated by the pounding of feet. Finally, he laughed and bowed, fetching his lute as the crowd burst into applause.

  He gestured, and Arlen saw the apprentices fetch hats and move into the crowd for donations. People gave generously, eager to hear Keerin sing. Finally, he began:

  The night was dark

  The ground was hard

  Succour was leagues away

  The cold wind stark

  Cutting at our hearts

  Only wards kept corelings at bay

  'Help me!' we heard

  A voice in need

  The cry of a frightened child

  'Run to us!' I called

  'Our circle's wide,

  The only succour for miles!'

  The boy cried out

  1 can't; I fell!'

  His call echoed in the black

  Catching his shout

  I sought to help

&nb
sp; But the Messenger held me back

  'What good to die?'

  He asked me, grim

  'For death is all you’ll find

  'No help you’ll provide

  'Gainst coreling claws

  Just more meat to grind'

  I struck him hard

  And grabbed his spear

  Leaping across the wards

  A frantic charge

  Strength born of fear

  Before the boy be cored

  'Stay brave!' I cried

  Running hard his way

  'Keep your heart strong and true!

  'If you can't stride

  To where it's safe

  I'll bring the wards to you!'

  I reached him quick

  But not enough

  Corelings gathered 'round

  The demons thick

  My work was rough

  Scratching wards into the soil

  A thunderous roar

  Boomed in the night

  A demon twenty feet tall

  It towered fore

  And 'gainst such might

  My spear seemed puny and small

  Horns like hard spears!

  Claws like my arm!

  A carapace hard and black!

  An avalanche

  Promising harm

  The beast moved to the attack!

  The boy screamed scared

  And clutched my leg Clawed

  as I drew the last ward!

  The magic flared

  Creator's gift

  The one force demons abhor!

  Some will tell you

  Only the sun

  Can bring a rock demon harm

  That night I learned

  It could be done

  As did the demon One Arm!

  He ended with a flourish, and Arlen sat shocked as the Audience burst into applause. Keerin took his bows, and the apprentices took in a flood of coin.

  'Wasn't that great?' Jaik asked.

  'That's not how it happened!' Arlen exclaimed.

  'My da says the guards told him a one-armed rock demon attacks the wards every night,' Jaik said. 'It's looking for Keerin.'

  'Keerin wasn't even there!' Arlen cried. 'I cut that demon's arm off!'

  Jaik snorted. 'Night, Arlen! You can't really expect anyone to believe that.'

  Arlen scowled, standing up and calling, 'Liar! Fraud!' Everyone turned to see the speaker, as Arlen leapt off his stone and strode towards Keerin. The Jongleur looked up, and his eyes widened in recognition. 'Arlen?' he asked, his face suddenly pale.

  Jaik, who'd been running after Arlen, pulled up short. 'You do know him,' he whispered.

  Keerin glanced at the crowd nervously. 'Arlen, my boy,' he said, opening his arms, 'come, let's discuss this in private.'

  Arlen ignored him. 'You didn't cut that demon's arm off!' he screamed for all to hear. 'You weren't even there when it happened!'

  There was an angry murmur from the crowd. Keerin looked around in fear, until someone called, 'Get that boy out of the square!' and others cheered.

  Keerin broke into a wide smile. 'No one is going to believe you over me,' he sneered.

  'I was there!' Arlen cried. 'I've got the scars to prove it!' He reached to pull up his shirt, but Keerin snapped his fingers, and suddenly, Arlen and Jaik were surrounded by apprentices.

  Trapped, they could do nothing as Keerin walked away, taking the crowd's attention with him as he snatched his lute and quickly launched into another song.

  'Why don't you shut it, hey?' a burly apprentice growled. The boy was half again Arlen's size, and all were older than he and Jaik.

  'Keerin's a liar,' Arlen said.

  'A demon's ass, too,' the apprentice agreed, holding up the hat of coins. 'Think I care?'

  Jaik interposed himself. 'No need to get angry,' he said. 'He didn't mean anything…'

  But before he finished, Arlen sprang forward, driving his fist into the bigger boy's gut. As he crumpled, Arlen whirled to face the rest. He bloodied a nose or two, but he was soon pulled down and pummelled. Dimly, he was aware of Jaik sharing the beating beside him until two guards broke up the fight.

  'You know,' Jaik said as they limped home, bloody and bruised, 'for a bookmole, you're not half bad in a fight. If only you'd pick your enemies better…'

  'I have worse enemies,' Arlen said, thinking of the one-armed demon following him still.

  'It wasn't even a good song,' Arlen said. 'How could he draw wards in the dark?'

  'Good enough to get into a fight over,' Cob noted, daubing blood from Arlen's face.

  'He was lying,'' Arlen replied, wincing at the sting.

  Cob shrugged. 'He was just doing what Jongleurs do; making up entertaining stories.'

  'In Tibbet's Brook, the whole town would come when the Jongleur came,' Arlen said. 'Selia said they kept the stories of the old world, passing them down one generation to the next.'

  'And so they do,' Cob said. 'But even the best ones exaggerate, Arlen. Or did you really believe the first Deliverer killed a hundred rock demons in a single blow?'

  'I used to,' Arlen said with a sigh. 'Now I don't know what to believe.'

  'Welcome to adulthood,' Cob said. 'Every child finds a day when they realize that adults can be weak and wrong just like anyone else. After that day, you're an adult, like or not.'

  'I never thought about it that way,' Arlen said, realizing his day had come long before. In his mind's eye, he saw Jeph hiding behind the wards of their porch while his mother was cored.

  'Was Keerin's lie really such a bad thing?' Cob asked. 'It made people happy. It gave them hope. Hope and happiness are in short supply these days, and much needed.'

  'He could have done all that with honest word,' Arlen said. 'But instead he took credit for my deeds just to make more coin.'

  'Are you after truth, or credit?' Cob asked. 'Should credit matter? Isn't the message what's important?'

  'People need more than a song,' Arlen said. 'They need proof that corelings can bleed.'

  'You sound like a Krasian martyr,' Cob said, 'ready to throw your life away seeking the Creator's paradise in the next world.'

  'I read their afterlife is filled with naked women and rivers of wine,' Arlen smirked.

  'And all you need do to enter is take a demon with you before you're cored,' Cob agreed. 'But I'll take my chances with this life all the same. The next one will find you no matter where you run. No sense chasing it.'

  11

  Breach

  321AR

  'Three moons says he heads east,' Gaims said, jingling the silver coins as One Arm rose.

  'Taken,' Woron said. 'He's gone east three nights running. He's ready for a change.'

  As always, the rock demon snuffled about before testing the wards at the gate. It moved methodically, never missing a spot. When the gate proved secure, the coreling moved to the east.

  'Night,' Woron cursed. 'I was sure this time he'd do something different.' He fished in his pocket for coins as the shrieks of the demon and the crackle of activated wards died out.

  Both guardsmen looked over the rail, the bet forgotten, and saw One Arm staring at the wall curiously. Other corelings gathered around, but kept a respectful distance from the giant.

  Suddenly, the demon lunged forward with just two talons extended. There was no flare from the wards, and the crack of stone came clearly to the guards' ears. Their blood went cold.

  With a roar of triumph, the rock demon struck again, this time with its whole hand. Even in starlight, the guards saw the chunk of stone that came away in its claws.

  'The horn,' Gaims said, gripping the rail with shaking hands. His leg grew warm, and it took him a moment to realize he had wet himself. 'Sound the horn.'

  There was no movement next to him. He looked over at Woron, and saw his partner staring at the rock demon with his mouth open, a single tear running down the side of his face.

  'Sound the ripping horn!' Gaims screamed, and
Woron snapped out of his daze, running to the mounted horn. It took him several tries to sound a note. By then, One Arm was spinning and striking the wall with its spiked tail, tearing out more and more rock each time.

  Cob shook Arlen awake.

  'Who…wazzat?' Arlen asked, rubbing his eyes. 'Is it morning already?'

  'No,' Cob said. 'The horns are sounding. There's a breach.'

  Arlen sat bolt upright, his face gone cold. 'Breach? There are corelings in the city?'

  'There are,' Cob agreed, 'or soon will be. Up with you!'

  The two scrambled to light lamps and gather their tools, pulling on thick cloaks and fingerless gloves to help stave off the cold without impeding their work.

  The horns sounded again. 'Two blasts,' Cob said, 'one short, one long. The breach is between the first and second watchposts to the east of the main gate.'

  A clatter of hooves sounded on the cobblestones outside, followed by a pounding on the door. They opened it to find Ragen in full armour, a long, thick spear in hand. His warded shield was slung on the saddle horn of a heavy destrier. Not a sleek and affectionate courser like Nighteye, this beast was broad and ill-tempered, a warhorse bred for times long gone.

  'Elissa is beside herself,' the Messenger explained. 'She sent me to keep you two alive.'

  Arlen frowned at Elissa's continued mothering, but a touch of the fear that gripped him on waking slipped away with Ragen's arrival. They hitched their sturdy garron to the warding cart, and were off, following the shouts, crashes, and flashes of light towards the breach.

  The streets were empty, doors and shutters locked tight, but Arlen could see cracks of light around them, and knew the people of Miln were awake, biting nails and praying their wards would hold. He heard weeping, and thought of how dependant the Milnese were upon their wall.