Authors: Peter V. Brett
'Looking for a Warder named Cob,' he said. 'I was told he owned this shop.'
Elissa looked sad as she shook her head. 'Cob has been dead almost four years,' she said, her words hitting harder than a demon's blow. 'Taken by a cancer. He left the shop to my husband and me. Who told you to seek him here''
'A'Messenger I knew,' the Painted Man said, reeling.
'What Messenger'' Elissa pressed. 'What was his name''
The Painted Man hesitated, his mind racing. No name came to him, and he knew the longer he waited, the greater the risk he would be discovered. 'Arlen of Tibbet's Brook,' he blurted, cursing himself as he did.
Elissa's eyes lit up. 'Tell me of Arlen,' she begged, placing a hand on his arm. 'We were very close, once. Where did you last see him' Is he well' Can you get a message to him' My husband and I would pay any price.'
Seeing the sudden desperation in her eyes, the Painted Man realized how deeply he had hurt her when he left. And now, stupidly, he had given her false hope that she might somehow see Arlen again. But the boy she knew was dead, body and soul. Even if he took off his hood and told her the truth, she would not have him returned. Better to give her the closure she needed.
'Arlen spoke of you that night,' he said, his decision made. 'You're every bit as beautiful as he said.'
Elissa smiled at the compliment, her eyes moist, but then she stopped, as what he had said fully registered. 'What night''
'The night I was scarred,' he said. 'Crossing the Krasian Desert. Arlen died, so that I might live.' It was true enough, after a fashion.
Elissa gasped, covering her nose and mouth with her hands. Her eyes, moist a moment before with joy, now brimmed with water as her face screwed up in pain.
'His last thoughts were of you,' he said, 'of his friends in Miln, his'family. He wanted me to come here and tell you that.'
Elissa barely heard him. 'Oh, Arlen!' she cried, and stumbled. The Painted Man darted forward to catch her, guiding her to one of the workbenches and easing her down as she sobbed.
'Mother!' Marya cried, rushing over. 'Mother, what's wrong' Why are you crying'' She looked at the Painted Man, accusation in her eyes.
He knelt before the girl, not sure if it was simply to appear less threatening to the child, or to allow her to strike him if she wished. He almost hoped she would. 'I'm afraid I brought her some ill tidings, Marya,' he said gently. 'Sometimes it's a Messenger's duty to tell people of things they might not be happy to hear.'
As if on cue, Elissa looked up at him, her sobbing cut short. She pulled herself together with a deep breath, drying her tears with a lace cuff and embracing her daughter. 'He's right, sweetest. I'll be all right. Take your brother into the back a spell, if you please.'
Marya shot the Painted Man one last dark glance, then nodded, gathering up her little brother and leaving the room. He watched them go, feeling wretched. He should never have come, should have sent an intermediary or found some other Warder to go to, though there were none he trusted like Cob.
'I'm sorry,' the Painted Man said. 'I never wished to bring you pain.'
'I know,' Elissa said. 'I'm glad you told me. It makes things easier in some ways, if you understand.'
'Easier,' the Painted Man agreed. He fumbled in his pouch, pulling forth a handful of letters, and a grimoire of battle wards, wrapped in oilcloth and tied with stout cord. 'These are for you. Arlen meant for you to have them.'
Elissa took the bundle and nodded. 'Thank you. Do you plan to stay in Miln long' My husband is out, but he will surely have questions for you. Arlen was like a son to him.'
'I am only in town for the day, my lady,' he said, wanting no part of a conversation with Ragen. The man would press for details where there were none. 'I have a message for the duke, and a few others to pay respects to, and then I am off.'
He knew he should leave it lie there, but the damage was done, and his next words came unbidden. 'Tell me'does Mery still live at the house of Tender Ronnell''
Elissa shook her head. 'Not for many years. She''
'No matter,' the Painted Man cut her off, not wanting to hear more. Mery had found someone else. It was no great surprise, and he had no right to feel stung by the news.
'What about the boy, Jaik'' he asked. 'I've a letter for him, as well.'
'No more a boy,' Elissa said, looking at him with piercing eyes. 'He's a man now. He lives on Mill Way, in the third workers' cottage.'
The Painted Man nodded. 'Then, with your permission, I'll take my leave.'
'You may not like what you find there,' Elissa warned.
The Painted Man looked up at her, trying to read her meaning, but it was lost in her wet puffy eyes. She looked tired and guileless. He turned to go.
'How did you know my daughter's name'' Elissa asked.
The question surprised him. He hesitated. 'You introduced her when she came over.' The moment he said it, he cursed silently, for of course, Elissa had been cut off before she could introduce the girl, and he could have claimed the knowledge came from Arlen in any case.
'I suppose I did,' Elissa agreed, surprising him. He took it as a stroke of luck and made for the door. His fingers were closing on the latch when she spoke again.
'I've missed you,' she said quietly.
He paused, fighting the urge to turn and run back, crushing her in his arms and begging her forgiveness.
He left the warding shop without another word.
The Painted Man cursed himself as he strode down the street. She had recognized him. He didn't know how, but she had, and in walking out he had likely hurt her more deeply than news of his death ever could have. Elissa had been as a mother to him, and his leaving must have seemed the ultimate rejection of her love. But what could he have done' Shown her what he had done to himself' Shown her the monster her adopted son had become'
No. Better she think he had turned his back on her. Better any lie than that truth.
Even though she deserves to know'
the nagging voice in his head asked.
The question pained him, so he put it from his mind, focusing on the real reason he had come to Miln. Rhinebeck's message. He presented himself at Duke Euchor's keep, but the gate guards were not welcoming.
'His Grace ent got time to see every ragamuffin Tender in town,' one of them growled as they saw him approach in his hood and robes.
'He'll see me,' the Painted Man said, holding up the Messenger pouch bearing Rhinebeck's seal. The guards' eyes widened, but then they turned back to him suspiciously.
'You ent any Royal Messenger I met before,' the first guard said, 'and I met 'em all.'
'What kind of Messenger goes around in Tender's robes, anyway'' the other asked.
The Painted Man, his mind still reeling from the encounter with Elissa, had no patience for the petty posturing of minor functionaries. 'The kind who will crack your skull if you don't open that gate and announce me,' he said, pulling off his hood.
The guards both took a step back as they saw his tattooed face. He ges tured to the gate, and they stumbled over each other in their haste to open it. One scrambled ahead to the palace.
The Painted Man pulled his hood back up, hiding a smile. There were some benefits to being a freak, at least.
He walked toward the palace at a steady pace, drawing eyes from all in the courtyard as their whispers reached his sharp ears. Before long the duke's chamberlain, Mother Jone, appeared to greet him, led by the gate guard. Gaunt the last time the Painted Man had seen her more than a decade ago, Jone had become almost desiccated in the years since, her skin translucent and pale, thinly stretched over blue veins and liver spots. But her back was still straight, and her stride quick. Ragen had likened the chamberlain to her own breed of coreling, and none of his encounters with her had given him cause to doubt that assessment. Several steps behind her, a pair of guards followed discreetly.
'That's him, Mother,' one guard said.
Jone nodded and dismissed the guard with a wave. He moved back to the gatehouse, but the Painted Man could see many from the courtyard drifting in his wake, eager for gossip.
'You are the one they call the Painted Man, are you not'' Jone asked.
The Painted Man nodded. 'I come with urgent tidings from Duke Rhinebeck, and an offer of my own.'
Jone raised an eyebrow at that. 'There are many who believe you are the Deliverer come again. How come you to be in the service of Duke Rhinebeck''
'I serve no man,' the Painted Man said. 'I carry Rhinebeck's message because his interests and mine intersect. The Krasian attack on Rizon affects us all.'
Jone nodded. 'His Grace agrees, and so he will grant you audience''
The Painted Man nodded and began to move toward the palace, but Jone held up a finger. ''tomorrow,' she finished.
The Painted Man scowled. It was customary for dukes to make Messengers wait for short periods of time as a show of strength, but a Royal Messenger with grave tidings delayed a full day when the sun had yet to reach its zenith' Unheard of.
'Perhaps you mistake the importance of my news,' the Painted Man said carefully.
'And perhaps you mistake your own,' Jone replied. 'You have quite a reputation south of the Dividing, but you're in the lands of Duke Euchor, Light of the Mountains and Guardian of the Northland, now. He will see you when his schedule allows, and that is tomorrow.'
Posturing. Euchor wanted to show his power by turning the Painted Man away.
He could insist, of course. Claim insult and threaten to return to Angiers, or even force his way past the guards. None of them could hinder him if he did not wish it.
But he needed Euchor's goodwill. Ragen would find the grimoire of battle wards he had given Elissa and know what must be done with them, but only Euchor could provide the needed men and supplies to Angiers before it was too late. It was worth a day's wait.
'Very well. I'll be waiting at the gates at dawn tomorrow.' He turned to go.
'We have curfew in Miln,' Jone said. 'No one is allowed on the streets before dawn.'
The Painted Man turned back to face her, lifting his head to give her a view into his hood. His teeth showed bright against his tattooed lips as he smiled.
'Have the gate guards arrest me then,' he suggested.
They could both posture and flex their power.
Jone's mouth was a hard line. If the sight of his tattooed flesh unnerved her, she did not show it. 'Dawn,' she agreed, and turned swiftly, striding back to the palace.
Several guards followed him as he left the duke's keep. They were discreet and kept distance, but there was no doubt they meant to track him back to where he was staying and make note of anyone he spoke to.
But the Painted Man had lived in Miln for years and knew the city well. He turned a corner into a dead-end alley and, once out of sight, leapt ten feet straight up to catch the sill of a second-floor window. From his perch there, it was an easy leap to the third-floor sill across the way, and from there to the opposite roof. He looked down over the roof 's edge, watching the guards as they waited patiently for him to realize the dead end and emerge. Soon they would tire of waiting and one would go into the alley to investigate, but he would be long gone by then.
As he approached the third house on Mill Way, the Painted Man thought back to Elissa's last, cryptic message about Jaik. Was he well' Had something happened to him'
Jaik and Mery had been his only friends while growing up. Jaik had dreamed of being a Jongleur, and the boys had made a pact to travel together when Arlen got his Messenger license, as Messengers and Jongleurs frequently did.
But while Arlen had pursued his goals with a single-minded tenacity, Jaik had never been willing to put in the long hard hours to master a Jongleur's art. When the time came for Arlen to leave, Jaik could no more juggle than flap his arms and fly.
He seemed to have done well for himself, even so. Though it was no great manse like that of Ragen and Elissa, Jaik's cottage was sturdy and well kept, spacious by crowded Miln's standards. Jaik was likely at the mill at this time of day, which was best. He would have family at home who could receive a packet of letters, people unlikely to recognize Arlen Bales, much less the Painted Man.
Nothing could have prepared him, though, for Mery answering the door.
She gasped at the sight of him, all hooded and covered, and took a step back. Just as frightened and surprised, he did much the same.
'Yes'' Mery asked, recovering. 'May I help you'' She kept her hand on the door, ready to slam it shut in an instant.
She was older than he remembered, but that did nothing to diminish her. On the contrary, the Mery he remembered was a spring bud compared with the flower before him. The thin limbs of her youth had filled out into lush curves, and her rich brown hair fell in waves over a round face and the same soft lips he had kissed a thousand times. He could feel his hands shake at the sight of her, but however unprepared he had been for her beauty, the knowledge that came with her opening this door was far more shocking.