The Painted Man’s eyes came to Meada Boggin as she broke an embrace with her son and strode out of the cluster from Boggin’s Hill. She looked to Coline as she passed, but the Herb Gatherer shook her head. “I got sick to tend,” she said, “not to mention any of you lucky enough to make it back out of there.”
Mack Pasture shook his head as well. “Ent fool enough to step over them wards,” he said. “Got folk and livestock dependin’ on me. Din’t come here to be cored.” He stepped back, and there was a roar of discontent from Baleses and Pastures alike.
“Let us call a new Speaker, if this one ent got the sack!” someone cried.
“Why should I?” the Painted Man shot back at them. “None of you had the sack to stand up for Renna Tanner!”
“That ent true!” Renna called, and the Painted Man turned to her in surprise. She met his eyes with a hard look. “Jeph Bales stood in front of a flame demon for me not five nights hence.”
All eyes turned to Jeph, who shrank under the glare. The Painted Man felt like Renna had kicked him in the teeth, but his father was under the test now, and he wanted to know the result more than any.
“That honest word, Bales?” he asked. “You fight a demon in your yard?”
Jeph looked at the ground a long time, then glanced to his children. He seemed to draw strength from the sight, and his back straightened. “Ay.”
The Painted Man looked to the Baleses and Pastures, farmers and shepherds from every end of the Brook. “You make Jeph Bales Speaker before sundown, and I’ll let him stand.”
The roar of approval was immediate, and Norine gave Jeph a shove to get him walking. The Painted Man turned at last to Raddock Lawry.
“Ent no proof them spears even work!” Lawry shouted.
The Painted Man shrugged. “You come out on trust, or you don’t come out.”
“Don’t know you, Messenger,” Lawry said. “Don’t know where yer from or what you believe. Don’t know nothin’ but what you say, and what you say is Fishers get no justice!” Many of the Fishers nodded and grunted their agreement.
“So you’ll forgive me,” Raddock went on, striding into the square and looking out at not just the Fishers, but other Brook folk as well, “if I don’t entirely trust your word.”
The Painted Man nodded. “I forgive you.” He pointed to the mist beginning to rise at the Speaker’s feet. “Now I’d advise you either pick up a spear or head back to your wards.”
Raddock Lawry made a most undignified sound and scampered back to the Fishers’ wards as fast as his old legs would carry him.
The Painted Man turned to regard the Speakers who had stepped forward. They gripped their spears awkwardly, used to holding tools and not weapons, but there was a surprising lack of fear. Except for Jeph who looked white as a snow demon’s scales, they seemed at peace. Speakers didn’t question decisions once they were made.
“The demons are most vulnerable now, when they are half formed,” the Painted Man said. “If you are quick…”
Before he even finished speaking, Hog grunted, striding over to a solidifying wood demon. The Painted Man remembered the summer solstice festivals each year from when he was a boy. Hog would have whole pigs on great spits he paid the children to turn over the fire. He lifted his spear and stuck it in the coreling’s chest with the same calm efficiency he used to skewer those pigs.
The wards on the spearhead flared and the coreling screamed. The crowd roared, seeing in the semi-translucent demon’s body how the magic rocked through it like forked lightning. Hog held tight as the demon thrashed, magic dancing up his arms as the spear came alive with glowing wards. Finally, the coreling’s jerking stopped and Hog yanked the spear back out, letting the now solid demon drop to the ground.
“Could get used to that feeling,” Hog grunted, spitting on the corpse.
Selia moved next, choosing a flame demon that was beginning to take form. She stabbed down repeatedly as if she were churning butter, and the magic flared, arcing death through it.
Coran did the same, stabbing at another forming flame demon the way he might try to spear a frog in the Marsh, but his leg buckled and he threw himself off balance, missing the demon completely. It made a gurgling noise as it solidified, hawking firespit.
“Da!” Keven Marsh cried, running out into the square. He grabbed one of the two spears still sticking in the dirt and swung it like an axe, knocking the spit right out of the demon’s mouth as it rolled with the blow. The spit left a line of fire in the dirt that Keven followed, sticking the demon the same way his father had tried to.
He looked up at the Painted Man, his eyes hard. “Weren’t gonna just let my da get cored,” he said, baring his teeth and daring protest. His son Fil fetched Coran and helped him back behind the wards.
The Painted Man bowed to him, instead. “Good man.”
Jeph hurried to stab at a nearly solid flame demon, but he was not quick enough and it spat flame at him. Jeph screamed, his spear held out diagonally as if to block the fire.
The crowd cried out in fear, but the wards along the shaft of Jeph’s spear flared, and the flame was turned into nothing more than a cool breeze. Jeph recovered quickly, spearing the coreling as if he were driving a hoe through a troublesome root. He stepped on its smoking back as he pulled out the spear same as he might step on a batch of hay stuck to the teeth of his rake.
A wind demon solidified, and the Painted Man dropped his robe, grappling and driving the demon into the Boggin wardstones, where it convulsed against the wardnet before falling stunned to the ground. “Meada Boggin,” he called, pointing to the prone and helpless demon.
A wood demon swept a branchlike arm at him, but the Painted Man caught its wrist and turned its force against it, flipping it onto its back in front of Jeorje Marsh, who struck his spear as if he were thumping his cane. Magic rocked through him, and his eyes took on a fanatical light.
Tender Harral and Brine Broadshoulders escorted Meada to her kill, standing ready with their spears in case it should recover itself before she could strike her blow. They needn’t have worried. She leaned into the blow like she was putting a prybar into an ale barrel.
Another wood demon formed, and Brine and Harral struck it together.
The demons were all solid now. A fair number had formed in the square, but more than half were dead, and the wardstones of the crowd prevented reinforcements from coming.
A flame demon came at Renna and she cried out, but she was still astride Twilight Dancer, and the stallion reared up, trampling it.
“Group, close!” the Painted Man ordered the Speakers. “Spears out ahead of you!” They did as they were told, and cornered two wind demons, sharing the kills. The Painted Man calmly guided them around the square, directing kills, ready to step in if needed.
But he was not called upon to act again, and the remaining demons were quickly dispatched. The Speakers looked around, gripping their spears quite differently now.
“Ent felt so strong in twenty years, when I used to split my own firewood,” Selia said. The others grunted in agreement.
The Painted Man looked out at the gathered crowd. “Your elders done it!” he cried. “You remember that, the next time there’s a demon in your yard!”
“Ent no demons left in the square,” Hog noted. “We done our part of the bargain, so the second part of your payment’s due.”
The Painted Man bowed. “Now?”
Hog nodded. “I’ve a stack of blank vellum we can fill in my back room.”
“All right,” the Painted Man said, and Hog bowed and gestured toward his store. The other Speakers and the Painted Man began to head that way, but Hog turned to face the crowd.
“Come morning,” he called, “I’ll be taking orders for warded spears at the general store, and hiring folk with a steady warding hand to make them! First come, first served!” A buzz went through the crowd at the news.
The Painted Man shook his head. He knew Hog’s business would be brisk. Hog always fou
nd a way to profit off things folk could just do for themselves.
CHAPTER 27
RUNNIN’ TO
333 AR SUMMER
RENNA SAT IN A corner as Arlen taught the council combat warding in Hog’s back room. Dasy and Catrin were in and out serving fresh pots of coffee. They watched Renna suspiciously, as if expecting her to suddenly leap up and attack them with Harl’s knife, which lay on the table beside her. She ’d painted wards on the blade in a neat hand and now worked with one of Arlen’s fine etching tools, slowly imprinting them onto the metal. Arlen came by once, trying to see her work, but she turned away from him. She was done asking for help.
Dawn’s light was creeping through the cracks in the shutters by the time the Speakers finished, each standing up with a roll of vellum in their hands.
Arlen spoke with Hog a few moments longer, then came over to her. “You all right?”
Renna nodded, swallowing a yawn. “Just tired.”
Arlen nodded and put his hood back up. “Might be you can catch a couple hours’ sleep back at the farm while Hog readies the supplies we need to head back.” He snorted. “The old crook had the stones to charge for them, even after I handed him means to make a fortune.”
“Dunno why you expected different,” Renna said.
“Leaving town then?” Selia asked as they went for the door. “You turn the Brook on its head, and then ride off before you see what comes of it?”
“Town was already on its head when I arrived,” Arlen said. “Reckon I set it aright.”
Selia nodded. “Maybe you did at that. What news from the Free Cities? Are they all warding weapons and killing corelings?”
“The Free Cities ent your concern right now,” Arlen said. “When the Brook is free of demons, you can look to the wider world.”
Jeorje Watch thumped his new spear on the floor. “Tend your own field, before you look to you neighbor’s,” he quoted, a popular verse from the Canon.
Arlen turned to Rusco Hog. “I want copies made and sent to the Speakers of Sunny Pasture.”
“Well, that won’t be cheap,” Hog began. “The vellum alone will cost near twenty credits, plus having them penned—”
Arlen cut him off, holding up a heavy gold coin. Hog’s eyes bulged at the size and thickness of it. “If they don’t get their wards, I’ll hear of it,” he said when Hog took the coin, “and make vellum out of your hide.”
Renna saw Hog’s ruddy complexion pale, and even though he was larger by far, he shrank back from Arlen’s stare and swallowed hard. “Two weeks,” he said. “Honest word.”
“Learned to bully a bit, yourself,” she noted quietly when he came back to her. He didn’t look at her, and his hood was still up. For a moment, she thought he might not have heard.
“Got whole lessons on it, during my Messenger training,” he said, dropping the gravelly pitch he used when speaking to everyone else. She could picture the grin on his warded lips.
Hog opened the doors to the store, and there was a huge crowd waiting on the steps. “Back!” he bellowed. “Clear a path for the Speakers! Ent taking a single order until you do!” Folk grumbled at the risk of losing their places in line, but they made way, letting them pass.
Raddock Lawry was waiting at the front of the crowd as Renna descended the steps of Hog’s porch. “This ent over, Renna Tanner! Can’t hide up at Jeph’s farm forever.”
“Ent hidin’ from no one no more,” Renna said, looking him in the eye. “I’m leavin’ this corespawned town, and ent ever comin’ back.” Raddock opened his mouth to reply, but Arlen raised a warded finger at him and he fell silent, glaring at them as Arlen laced his hands into a step to help her onto Twilight Dancer’s back.
He pulled a small book from his saddlebag, turning and scanning the crowd. Spotting Coline Trigg, he strode over to her. The Herb Gatherer stumbled back from him, tripping over those behind her and going down in a shrieking heap.
Arlen waited for her to right herself, face flushed red with embarrassment, and then pressed the book into her hands. “Everything I know about treating demon wounds is in there,” he told her. “You’re smart, you’ll learn it quick and pass it on.”
Coline’s eyes were wide, but she nodded. Arlen grunted and leapt into the saddle.
Arlen left Jeph’s farm around noon to fetch the promised supplies from Hog. “Pack your things,” he said as he left. “We ’ll leave as soon as I get back.”
Renna nodded and watched him go. She had nothing to pack, not even back at Harl’s farm. Only Selia’s dress on her back, her father’s knife at her waist, and the brook stone necklace Cobie had given her, still looped twice around her neck. She wished she had something to offer Arlen in exchange for taking her, but she had nothing but herself. Cobie had thought it enough, but she doubted Arlen would be so easily paid.
Ilain came out onto the porch to stand next to her as she sat etching her father’s blade.
“Brought somethin’ to eat on your trip,” she said, holding out a basket. “Hog cooks so food’ll keep more’n he does for taste. His bacon’s more smoke than meat.”
“Thanks,” Renna said, taking the basket. She looked at her sister, whom she ’d missed desperately for so many years, and wondered why she had nothing else to say to her.
“You don’t have to go, Ren,” Ilain said.
“Yes I do,” Renna said.
“That Messenger’s a hard man, Renna, and we don’t know nothin’ about him other than he kills demons,” Ilain said. “Could be worse ’n Da a long sight. You’re safer here with us. After last night, folk’ll hold their peace with you.”
“Hold their peace,” Renna said. “Reckon that makes it sunny they tried to stake me.”
“So you gonna just run off with some stranger crazy enough to scar himself with wards?” Ilain asked.
Renna stood up and snorted. “If that ent the night calling it dark! You din’t love Jeph Bales when you ran away with him, Lainie. Din’t know anything other than he was the sort would take a new wife when the old one wasn’t even cold.”
Ilain slapped Renna, but she didn’t flinch, her eyes hard, and it was Ilain who recoiled.
“Difference ’tween us, Lainie,” she said, “is I ent running away. I’m runnin’ to.”
“Runnin’ to?” Ilain asked.
Renna nodded. “Tibbet’s Brook ent a place I want to live, where folk let a man like Da do as he will, and put me out in the night. I dunno what the Free Cities are like, but they got to be better than here.”
She leaned in, lowering her voice so none might overhear.
“I killed Da, Lainie,” she said, holding up the half-warded knife. “I did. Killed that son of the Core good. He needed killing, not just for what he done, but what he woulda done, I hadn’t. Da never paid for anything an ounce of cruelty could take.”
“Renna!” Ilain cried, recoiling as if her sister had become a coreling.
Renna shook her head and spat over the porch rail. “You had any stones, you’d’ve done it yourself long since, when Beni and I were still young’uns.”
Ilain’s eyes widened, but she said nothing, and Renna couldn’t tell if it was guilt or shock. Renna turned away, looking out at the yard.
“Don’t blame you,” she said after a bit. “I’d had stones, I’d’ve done it myself the night he stuck me. But I din’t, ’cause I was scared.”
She turned back and met Ilain’s eyes. “But I ent scared no more, Lainie. Not of Raddock Lawry or Garric Fisher, and not of this Messenger. I expect he’s a good man, but he turns out like Da, I’ll do the world a favor and kill him, too. Sure as the sun rises.”
The Painted Man came riding fast into the yard a couple of hours later. Renna was waiting on the porch, and came out to him as Twilight Dancer pranced and kicked up dust in the yard.
“Light’s wasting,” he said, not even bothering to dismount. He held a hand out to her.
“You’re not even going to say goodbye?” Renna asked.
“
Life’s about to get real interesting in the Brook,” he said. “Best no one have cause to think I got anything more to do with Jeph and Lainie Bales than stealing you.”
But Renna shook her head. “Your da deserves better than you’ve given him.”
He glared at her. “Ent gonna tell him who I am,” he growled.
Renna was uncowed. “Least tell him his son ent dead, or you got no call judgin’ which folk are good enough for your wards and which ent.” The Painted Man scowled, but he dismounted. Renna was right and he knew it, much as he hated to admit it.
“We ’re off!” she cried, and everyone came running from all over the yard. The Painted Man looked at his father and nodded away from the press. Jeph followed.
“Rode caravan with an Arlen Bales in the Messengers’ Guild,” he said when they were alone. “Mighta been your son. Bales name is common everywhere, but Arlen not so much.”
Jeph’s eyes lit up. “Honest word?”
The Painted Man nodded. “It was years ago, but I recall he worked for Cob’s Warding Company in Fort Miln. Might be you can still get word of him there.”
Jeph reached out, grabbing one of the Painted Man’s hands in both of his own. “Sun shine on you, Messenger.”
The Painted Man nodded and pulled away, going over to Renna. “Light’s wasting,” he said again. She nodded this time and let him lift her into Twilight Dancer’s saddle. He climbed in ahead of her, and she held his waist as he trotted to the road and turned north.
“Ent the road to the Free Cities south?” Renna asked.
“Know a shortcut,” he said. “Faster, and we avoid the town altogether.” Twilight Dancer opened up his stride, and they flew up the road. The wind whipped through Renna’s hair, and he joined her as she gave a laugh of exhilaration.
True to his word, Arlen remembered every path and pasture of the local farms in the north of Tibbet’s Brook. Before Renna knew it, they were on the main road out of town, past even Mack Pasture’s farm.
They rode hard for the rest of the day and were well on the way to the Free Cities when he finally pulled up, with barely a quarter hour before sunset.
The Desert Spear Page 59
