The Desert Spear

by Peter V. Brett

  “Renna Messenger,” she said, trying on the name and smiling. It sounded good. It sounded right.

  “I could make it to Town Square,” she said. “It’s a long way, but I could run it in four hours or so. If I went late in the day, Da could never make it out in time, not with his aching joints.” She glanced over at the cart.

  “’Specially not if he can’t ride,” she added slyly.

  “But what if Cobie’s away when I come?” she asked. “Or if he doesn’t want me anymore?” As she pondered that awful thought, the prodigal tabby returned, a fat mouse in its teeth. It laid the catch by Mrs. Scratch, and Renna thought it was a sign from the Creator himself.

  She waited for days, in case her father suspected she ’d overheard Garric. She went through the plan over and over in her mind, knowing this would be her last chance to escape. If he caught her and threw her back in the outhouse, she doubted she ’d survive, much less dare to run again.

  Her father came for lunch past noon each day, and took his time at eating before going back out into the fields. If she ran then, she could make it to Town Square with two hours of daylight left. Harl wouldn’t notice she was gone in time to follow before the corelings rose, and would have to wait till morning, or at least stop for succor along the way.

  If Cobie was in the Square, that left them the rest of the day to go up Boggin’s Hill and see the Tender. If not, she would run on up the road to Jeph’s farm. She’d never been there herself, but Lucik had, and said it was two hours’ walk up the north road from the Square. She should be able to run it in plenty of time, and Ilain would hide her if Harl came looking. She knew she would.

  When the day finally came, she was careful not to do anything out of the ordinary. She made her rounds and did her chores exactly as she had every day in the last week, careful to keep the pattern.

  Harl came out of the fields for lunch, and she had stew ready. “Stay for seconds?” she asked her father, trying to appear unhurried. “Want to finish out the pot, so’s I can scrub it and start fresh for supper.”

  “Ent gonna turn down another bowl o’ yer stew, Ren,” Harl said with a grin. “Shoulda had you at the pot all these years steada Beni.” He pinched her behind as she bent to fill his bowl. Renna wanted to dump the boiling stew in his lap, but she swallowed the urge and forced a giggle, giving him the stew with a smile.

  “Nice to see a smile on you, girl,” Harl said. “You’ve had a sour puss since yer sister and the young’uns left.”

  “Guess I’ve gotten used to things,” Renna managed, returning to her seat and having a second helping herself, though eating was the last thing she wanted to do.

  She waited a count of a hundred after Harl left the table, then got up swiftly and went to the cutting board where she had piled vegetables for a stew she never meant to make. She took the knife and went out to the barn.

  The only draft animals they had were the two mollies. Renna looked at them sadly, having cared for them ever since Harl brought the two foals home from Mack Pasture’s farm.

  Could she really do this? Harl’s farm was the only world she knew. The few times she had been to Town Square or Boggin’s Hill, she had felt suffocated by all the people, unable to understand how anyone could keep their head in such a crowd. Would they accept her? Did she really have a reputation as a whore? Would men try and force themselves on her, thinking her witless and willing?

  Her heart pounded so loud it was deafening, but she drew a deep breath and steadied herself until the knife in her hand stopped shaking, and she raised it determinedly.

  She cut all the saddle girths, and the harnesses to the cart, and the bridles and reins. She hammered the pin out of one of the wheels on the wagon and kicked it free, splitting the wheel with a stone axe.

  Letting the axe fall to the ground, she reached into her apron pocket, pulling out the long brook stone necklace Cobie had given her. She had known better to wear it when her father might see, but she had treasured it in her secret moments. She put it on now, and it felt right about her shoulders. A proper promise gift.

  Then she took up the skin of water she had hidden, slipped out the barn door, lifted her skirts, and ran down the road as fast as she could.

  The run was harder than Renna thought, if not longer. She was strong, but unused to running distances. Her lungs burned before long, and her thighs cried out in protest. She stopped when she had no choice, gulping water from the skin and panting hard, but she never rested more than a few minutes before setting off again.

  By the time she made it to the bridge over the brook, her eyes were blurry, and she felt drunk on Boggin’s Ale. She collapsed on the bank, dunking her face in the cold running water and drinking deeply.

  Her head clear for the first time in almost an hour, she looked up at the sky. The sun was dipping low, but there was time enough, if she kept on. Her legs and feet and chest all screamed as she rose, but Renna ignored the lances of pain and ran on.

  She saw a few people as she ran through the Square, mostly folk checking their wards for the night. They looked at her curiously, and one called to her, but she ignored them, heading for the one place everyone in Tibbet’s Brook knew, Hog’s general store.

  “Shopsh closhed,” Stam Tailor slurred at her, heading down Hog’s porch steps as Renna started her way up. He stumbled, and Renna had to stop to catch him.

  “What do you mean, the shop’s closed?” she asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “Hog’s supposed to be open till sunset.” If Cobie wasn’t at the store, she had no idea where to look for him, and would have to run on to Ilain.

  “Thatsh what I shaid!” Stam shouted, nodding wildly. “Ay, sho I hadda bit too much ale, and sloshed up a bit. Like thatsh reason to kick poor Stam out and lock up early?”

  Renna caught a whiff of him and recoiled. The vomit on his shirt was still wet. It seemed some gossip, like that about Stam being a drunk, was all too true.

  Setting him on the rail, she ran up the steps and pounded on the door. “Mister Rusco!” she cried. “It’s Renna Tanner! I need to see Cobie Fisher!” She bashed her fist on the door until it hurt, but there was no response.

  “He’sh alreddy gone,” Stam said, holding the banister as if for dear life. He was a sickly pale, and swayed. “Jusht been setting here on ’is porch a shpell, tryin’a…get my feet under me.”

  Renna looked at him in horror, and Stam misunderstood the look. “Oh, don’ you worry yourshelf on account’a ol’ Shtam Tailor, girl,” he said, patting the air at her. “I been worsh off than thish plenny timesh. I’ll be find…fine!”

  Renna nodded, waiting for him to stumble away before she ran around the back of the store. She doubted Hog would trust anyone, even Cobie, inside his store when he wasn’t there. If Cobie lived in the back, there had to be another entrance.

  She was right, and found a little room next to the stables, probably meant to store tack, but big enough for a chest and a cot. She drew a breath and knocked. A moment later Cobie opened the door, and she laughed out loud in joy.

  “Renna, what are you doing here?!” Cobie’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He stuck his head out the door and looked around, then grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. She moved in to embrace him, but he had not let go her arm, and kept her away.

  “Did anyone see you come?” he asked.

  “Just Stam Tailor out front,” Renna said, smiling, “but he ’s so drunk he probably won’t even remember.” She tried to move toward him again, but still he held her back.

  “You shouldn’t have come, Ren,” Cobie said.

  It felt as if he had hit her in the chest with a hammer.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You have to get out of here before someone finds you,” Cobie said. “If your da doesn’t kill me, mine will.”

  “You’ve seen thirty summers, and you’re the size of a horse!” Renna cried. “Are you more scared of our das than I am?”

  “Your da won’t kill you, R
en,” Cobie said. “He will me.”

  “No, he’ll just make me pray I was dead!” Renna said.

  “All the more reason you should go before he finds us together,” Cobie said. “Even if the Tender marries us, they won’t let it go. You don’t know my da. He has it in his head that I’m to marry Eber Marsh’s daughter, even if I do it with a pitchfork at my back. Paid Eber a lotta fish for the promise.”

  “Then let’s run off,” Renna said, clutching at his arm. “Go to Sunny Pasture, or even the Free Cities. You could join the real Messengers’ Guild.”

  “And sleep out in the naked night?” Cobie asked, aghast. “Are you mad?”

  “But you said you loved me,” Renna said, clutching the brook stone necklace. “You said nothing could keep us apart.”

  “That was before your da almost cut my stones off, and mine did worse,” Cobie said, looking around the room frantically. “I shouldn’t stay here tonight, either,” he muttered, “in case Harl comes looking before dark. You go to Boggin’s Hill and stay with your sister. I’ll run to my da, so he knows I din’t do nothing. Come on.” He put a hand behind Renna’s back, propelling her toward the door. She went along, shocked and bewildered.

  Cobie opened the door, only to find Harl standing there, knife in hand. Behind him, one of the mollies lay collapsed and panting in the dirt. He had ridden her bareback.

  “Caught you!” Harl cried, punching Cobie hard in the face. His fist, wrapped around the heavy bone hilt of his knife, turned Cobie’s head sharply to the side and knocked him to the ground. He grabbed Renna with his free hand, hard bony fingers digging painfully into her arm.

  “Run on an’ beg yer sister’s succor,” he said, his face a mask of rage. “I’ll be along presently to deal with you.” His eyes flicked to Cobie as he shoved her toward the door.

  “It’s not what it looks like!” Cobie cried, struggling to one knee and holding his hand out to ward off Harl. “I never asked her to come!”

  “Core you didn’t,” Harl sneered, raising his knife. “Made you a promise, boy, and I aim t’keep it.”

  He looked back at Renna, frozen in fear. “Get going!” he barked. “You’ll be a week in the outhouse as is. Don’t make it two!”

  Renna recoiled in horror, and Harl turned from her. The night in the outhouse flashed through her mind again, seemingly endless hours of torment relived in barely a second. She thought about the aftermath, the smell of her father’s bed, and the weight of his wrinkled bones atop her as he grunted and thrust.

  She thought of going back to the farm, and something inside her snapped.

  “No!” she screamed, and leapt at her father, nails digging at his face like claws. He fell back in shock, knocking his head on the floor. She tried to wrest the knife from his hands, but Harl was stronger, and kept his grip.

  Cobie was standing by then, but he made no move toward them. “Cobie!” she pleaded. “Help me!”

  Harl punched Renna in the face, knocking her over, and leapt to pin her, but she bit his arm, and he howled in pain. His fist smashed into her face again, and then three times into her stomach until her teeth let go.

  “Little bitch!” he cried, looking at the blood spurting from his arm. He growled and dropped the knife as his hands found her throat.

  Renna thrashed as hard as she could, but Harl had locked on and wouldn’t budge. Blood ran down his arm and dripped onto her face as she gasped for air that could not come. She saw madness in her father’s eyes, and realized he meant to kill her.

  Her eyes flicked to Cobie again, but he was still standing there, motionless. She managed to catch his eye, and pleaded with him silently.

  With a start, Cobie seemed to find himself again, and moved toward them. “That’s enough!” he shouted. “You’ll kill her!”

  “That’s enough of you, boy,” Harl said, letting go of Renna’s throat with one hand and grabbing his knife when Cobie came close. As Cobie reached for him, Harl pivoted and thrust the blade between his legs.

  Cobie’s face went bright red, and he looked down in horror, blood pouring down the knife. He drew in a breath to scream, but Harl never gave him the chance, pulling the knife free and burying it in his heart.

  Cobie gripped the blade protruding from his chest, mouthing a silent protest as he fell back, dead.

  Harl got off Renna, leaving her gasping weakly on the floor, and went to Cobie, pulling the knife free. “I warned you more than once, boy,” he said, wiping the blade on Cobie’s shirt, “you shoulda listened.”

  He slipped the knife back in its sheath, where it rested barely a moment before Renna pulled it free and buried it in his back. Again and again she stabbed, screaming and crying as blood spattered her face and soaked her dress.

  CHAPTER 20

  RADDOCK LAWRY

  333 AR SUMMER

  JEPH BALES FINISHED CHECKING the porch wards not a moment too soon. His family was already inside; children washing for supper, Iain and Norine in the kitchen. He looked out as the last rays of sun vanished and heat leached out of the ground, giving the demons a path up from the Core.

  As those stinking gray mists began to rise, he moved inside, even though it would be a few moments more before the corelings solidified. Jeph didn’t believe in taking chances where demons were concerned.

  But as he reached to close the door, he heard a wail and looked up. Down the road, someone was running hard for the farm, screaming all the way.

  Jeph took his axe, always by the door, and moved out as far as the porch wards would allow, his eyes flicking nervously to the corelings coalescing in the yard. He thought of his eldest son, and how he would not have hesitated to run out and help the stranger, but Arlen was dead fourteen years now, and Jeph had never been so brave.

  “Be strong and run on!” he called. “Succor is at hand!” Corelings, still more smoke than flesh, looked up at his call, and Jeph tightened his grip on the axe. He wouldn’t leave the safety of the wards, but he would strike a demon to clear the path if one came too close.

  “What’s happening?” Ilain called from inside.

  “Keep everyone inside!” Jeph shouted back. “No matter what you hear, stay inside!”

  He pulled the door shut, then looked back. The screaming stranger was closer now. It was a woman, her dress soaked in blood, running as if her life depended upon it, as well it did. She had something in her hand, but Jeph couldn’t see what it was.

  Corelings swiped at her as she passed, but their claws lacked substance, and merely scratched when they should have torn. The woman seemed not to notice—but then she was already screaming.

  “Run on!” Jeph called again, hoping the feeble words gave some encouragement.

  And then she was in the yard, and almost to the porch. Jeph recognized her just as a flame demon, fully formed, shrieked and leapt into her path.

  “Renna,” he breathed, but when he looked again, it was not Renna Tanner he saw, but his wife, Silvy, murdered by a flame demon fourteen years ago in that very place.

  Something hardened in him then, and he was off the porch before he knew it, swinging the steel axe with all his might. A flame demon’s armor could turn the edge of any weapon a man could take to hand, but the creature was small, and his blow sent it tumbling through the dust of the yard.

  Other corelings shrieked and leapt for them, but the way back was clear. Jeph grabbed Renna’s arm and pulled her along behind him as he charged to safety. He tripped on the porch steps, and they went down in a heap, but when a wood demon came at them it struck the outer net, sending a spiderweb of silver magic through the air before it was thrown back.

  Jeph cradled Renna in his arms, calling to her, but she kept on screaming, heedless of her safety. She was drenched in blood, her dress soaked and her arms and face covered, but he could see no injury on her. Clutched tightly in her right hand was a large, bone-handled knife. It, too, was coated in blood.

  “Renna, are you all right?” he asked. “Whose blood is this?” The door
opened, and Ilain came out, gasping at the sight of her sister.

  “Whose blood is this?” Jeph asked again, but if Renna heard him at all, she gave no sign, continuing to scream and sob, the blood and dirt on her face streaked with tears.

  “That’s Da’s knife,” Ilain said, indicating the bloody blade she clutched so tightly. “I’d recognize it anywhere. He never lets it out of his sight.”

  “Creator,” Jeph said, blanching.

  “Ren, what happened?” Ilain asked, leaning in and taking her sister’s shoulders. “Are you hurt? Where’s Da? Is he all right?”

  But Ilain got no more response from her sister than Jeph had, and she soon fell silent, listening to Renna’s cries and the answering shrieks of the corelings at the wards.

  “Best bring her inside,” Jeph said. “Put the young’uns in their rooms and I’ll take her to ours.” Ilain nodded and went in first as Jeph lifted Renna’s quivering form in his strong arms.

  He laid Renna down on his straw mattress, and turned his back as Ilain came in with a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. Renna had stopped screaming by this point, but she still gave no response as Ilain pried the bloody knife from her hand and laid it on the night table before undressing her and cleaning the blood from her with firm, even strokes of the cloth.

  “What d’you suppose happened?” Jeph asked when she was bundled in the covers, still staring silently off into space.

  Ilain shook her head. “Don’t know. Long run from here to Da’s farm, even if you leave the road and cut straight across. She must have been runnin’ for hours.”

  “Looked like she came up from town,” Jeph said.

  Ilain shrugged.

  “Whatever happened, it wasn’t corelings that done it,” Jeph said. “Not in the middle of the day.”

  “Jeph,” Ilain said, “I need you to go out to the farm tomorrow. Maybe they were attacked by nightwolves or bandits. I don’t know. I’ll keep Renna hidden till you get back.”

  “Bandits and nightwolves, in Tibbet’s Brook?” Jeph asked doubtfully.

  “Just go and see,” Ilain said.