Authors: Peter V. Brett
The trail led at last to another wardwall, this one tightly crafted and without flaw. The wards were not keyed to their castes, but the coreling prince knew they would still activate and cause great pain should it or its mimic cross the net. The demon was forced to disable some of the wards so they could pass the barrier safely.
They drifted silently up to the dwelling, and in the window, the mind demon caught sight of its quarry at last. Those with him were dull and colorless creatures, but the one had warded his flesh, and glowed fiercely with stolen magic.
Too fiercely. The coreling prince was thousands of years old, a creature of caution, consideration, and decisive action. This deep in the breeding ground, it could not summon drones to attack, and the mind demon was loath to risk its mimic. Having seen the human, there was no question he must be killed, but there would be better chances in the coming cycles when he was less protected, and there were unanswered questions about his power to answer first.
It moved to the window, absorbing the crude grunts and gestures of the human stock.
' 'You would find yourself with two less guards'' ' Ragen said with a deep, rich laugh. 'I thought Euchor was going to burst a vein right there! I told you to act like a king, not a suicidal Krasian!'
'I didn't expect him to demand a marriage,' the Painted Man said.
'Euchor knows full well he is not going to produce a direct heir,' Ragen said, 'so it's wise to get at least one of his daughters out of the city before they tear Miln apart for his throne. Whichever girl Rhinebeck chooses, she 'll likely welcome the escape, and the chance to put her own issue on the throne of Angiers.'
'Rhinebeck will never accept it,' the Painted Man said.
Ragen shook his head. 'Depends on how much of a threat the Krasians prove,' he said. 'If it's half as bad as you say, Rhinebeck may have no choice. Will you share Euchor's book of weapons with him''
The Painted Man shook his head. 'I have no interest in ducal politics, or helping the men of Thesa kill one another with the Krasians in our lands and the corelings clawing at the wards. I've more interest in turning these weapons against the corelings, if it can be done.'
'No wonder Ronnell thinks you the Deliverer,' Ragen said.
The Painted Man looked at him sharply.
'Don't look at me like that,' Ragen said. 'I believe it no more than you do. At least, not that you're divine. But perhaps it's natural that when the time is right, a man of sufficient will and drive appears to guide the rest of us.'
The Painted Man shook his head. 'I don't want to guide anyone. I just want to see the fighting wards spread wide so they can never be lost again. Let men guide themselves.'
He moved to the window and glanced out the curtains at the sky. 'I'll leave before first light, so none will mark my''
He almost missed it, his eyes on the sky and not the ground. It was just a glimpsed thing, vanished before he got a good look, but there was no mistaking the glow to his warded eyes.
There was a demon in the yard.
He turned and ran for the door, pulling off his robe and throwing it on the marble floor as he went. Elissa gasped at the sight of him.
'Arlen, what is it'' she cried.
He ignored her, lifting the bar off the heavy oak door and flinging it open as if it were weightless. He leapt out into the yard, looking about frantically.
Nothing.
Ragen was at the door an instant later, spear in hand and warded shield on his arm. 'What did you see'' he demanded.
The Painted Man turned a slow circuit, scanning the courtyard for signs of magic, and straining his other senses to catch some hint confirming what he had seen.
'There's a demon in the yard,' he said. 'A powerful one. Stay behind the wards.'
'Good advice for you as well,' Elissa called. 'Come inside before my heart stops.'
The Painted Man ignored her, moving about the yard, scanning. There were Servants' houses inside Ragen's wall, as well as his garden and stables. Many places to hide. He drifted through the darkness, seeing all with absolute clarity, even better than he did in the light.
There was a presence in the air, like a lingering stench, but it was insubstantial and impossible to pinpoint. His muscles grew tight, ready to flex at an instant's notice.
But there was nothing. He searched the compound from one end to another, and found nothing. Had he imagined it'
'Anything'' Ragen asked, when he returned. The guildmaster was still in the doorway, safe behind the wards, but ready to spring out at a moment's notice.
'Empty my pockets,' the Painted Man said with a shrug. 'Maybe I imagined it.'
Ragen grunted. 'No one gets cored for being too careful.'
The Painted Man took Ragen's spear as he came back inside. A Messenger's spear was his trusted companion on the road, and Ragen's, though he had not Messaged in nearly a decade, was still well oiled and sharp.
'Let me ward this before I leave,' he said. He glanced outside. 'And you check your wardnet come morning.' Ragen nodded.
'Must you go so soon'' Elissa asked.
'I draw too much attention in town, and I don't want it to lead back here,' the Painted Man said. 'Better I be gone before sunrise, and out the dawn gate the moment it opens.'
Elissa did not look pleased, but she embraced him tightly and kissed him. 'We expect to see you again before another decade passes,' she warned.
'You will,' the Painted Man promised. 'Honest word.'
The Painted Man felt better than he had in years when he left Ragen and Elissa just before dawn. They had refused sleep and stayed up with him through the night, filling him in on the goings-on in Miln since his departure, and asking after the details of his life. He told them stories of his early adventures, but never spoke of his time in the desert, when Arlen Bales had died and the Painted Man been born. Or the years after.
Still, there were enough tales to fill the remainder of the night and to spare. He barely made it away before the dawn bell, and had to trot to be far enough from the manse not to draw suspicion as people began to open warded doors and unshutter warded windows.
He smiled. Likely, his missing the bell and being forced to stay another day had been Elissa's plan all along, but she had never been able to cage him.
The guards at the day gate were still stretching out morning kinks when he arrived, but the gate was open. 'Seems everyone's up early this morn,' one said as he passed.
The Painted Man wondered what he meant, but then he rode past the hill where he had first met Jaik and found his friend waiting there, sitting on a large rock.
'Looks like I made it out just in time,' Jaik said. 'Had to break curfew to do it.'
The Painted Man dropped from the horse's back and came over to him. Jaik made no effort to rise or extend a hand, so he simply sat on the rock beside him. 'The Jaik I met on this hill would never break curfew.'
Jaik shrugged. 'Didn't have much choice. Knew you'd try and skulk off with the dawn.'
'Didn't Ragen's man bring you my letters'' the Painted Man asked.
Jaik pulled out the bundle and threw it to the ground. 'Can't read, and you know it.'
The Painted Man sighed. In truth, he had forgotten. 'Came to see you in person,' he offered. 'Wasn't expecting to find Mery there, and she wasn't eager that I stay.'
'I know,' Jaik said. 'She came to me at the mill in tears. Told me everything.'
The Painted Man hung his head. 'I'm sorry.'
'You should be,' Jaik said. He sat quietly for a time, looking out over the land spread out before them.
'Always knew she was just settling for me,' he said at last. 'You were gone a year before she saw me as anything more than a shoulder to cry on. Two more before she agreed to be my wife, and another after that before we made our vows. Even on the day she was holding her breath, hoping you'd storm in and break up the ceremony. Night, I half expected it myself.'
He shrugged. 'Can't blame her. She was marrying down a class, and I ent educated or much to look at. There was a reason I followed you around when we were kids. You were always better than me at everything. I wasn't even fit to be your Jongleur.'
'Jaik, I'm no better than you are,' the Painted Man said.
'Yeah, I see that now.' Jaik spat. 'I'm a better husband than you ever could have been. Know why' Because unlike you, I was there for her.'
The Painted Man scowled, and any feelings of contrition fled from his thoughts. Anger and hurt he would accept from Jaik, but the condescension in his tone burned.
'That's the Jaik I remember,' he said. 'Shows up and does the least he can. Heard Mery's da had to call favors at the mill so you could afford to move off your parents' carpet.'
But Jaik stood fast. 'I was there for her here,' he snapped, pointing to his temple, 'and here!' He pointed to his heart. 'Your head and heart were always out there.' He swept a hand out over the horizon. 'So why don't you just go back there' No one needs your delivering here.'
The Painted Man nodded, leaping back up onto Twilight Dancer's back. 'You take care of yourself, Jaik.' He rode off.
BROTHERS IN THE NIGHT
333 AR SPRING
'HEY! WATCH THE BUMPS, I'm tuning!' Rojer cried as the cart trundled along the road. He had carefully cleaned and waxed the ancient fiddle the Painted Man had given him, and purchased expensive new strings at the Jongleurs' Guildhouse. His old fiddle had belonged to Master Jaycob, and the cheap workmanship had him forever tuning it. Before that, he had used Arrick's fiddle, which was finer, though it had seen many years of use and was worn down even before Jasin Goldentone and his apprentices smashed it.
This one, rescued from some forgotten ruin, was another class entirely. The neck and body curved differently than Rojer was used to, but the workmanship was exquisite, and the wood had passed the centuries like days. A fiddle fit for a duke to play.
'I'm sorry, Rojer,' Leesha said, 'but the road just doesn't seem to care that you're tuning. I don't know what's gotten into it.'
Rojer stuck his tongue out at her, gently turning the last peg between the thumb and forefinger of his crippled hand while the thumb of his other hand plucked at the string.
'Got it!' he shouted at last. 'Stop the cart!'
'Rojer, we have miles to go before dark,' Leesha said. Rojer knew that every moment away from the Hollow ate at her, worried over its citizens as a mother worried over her children.
'Just for a minute,' Rojer begged. Leesha tsked, but she complied. Gared and Wonda pulled up as well, looking at the cart curiously.
Rojer stood on the driver's seat, brandishing the fiddle and bow. He put the instrument under his chin and caressed the strings with the bow, bringing them to a resonant hum.
'Listen to that,' he marveled. 'Smooth like honey. Jaycob's fiddle was a toy by comparison.'
'If you say so, Rojer,' Leesha said.
Rojer frowned for a moment, then dismissed her with a wave of his bow. His two remaining fingers spread wide for balance, it fit his crippled hand like a part of it as it danced across the strings. Rojer let the music soar from the fiddle, sweeping him up in its whirlwind.
He could feel Arrick's medallion resting comfortably against his bare chest, hidden under his motley tunic. No longer a trigger to painful memories, it was a reassuring weight, a way to honor those who had died for him. He stood straighter knowing it was there.
This wasn't the first talisman Rojer had carried. For years, he had kept a puppet of wood and string topped with a lock of his master's golden hair in a secret pocket in the waistband of his motley pants. Before that, it was a puppet of his mother, capped with a lock of her red.
But with the medallion, Rojer could feel both Arrick and his parents looking over him, and he spoke to them through the fiddle. He played his love and played his loneliness and regret. He told them all the things he had never been able to in life.
When he finally finished, Leesha and the others were staring at him, their eyes glazed like charmed corelings. It was only after a few moments of silence that they shook their heads and came back to themselves.
'Ent never heard anything beautiful as that,' Wonda said. Gared grunted, and Leesha produced a kerchief, dabbing at her eyes.
The rest of the journey to Deliverer's Hollow was filled with music, with Rojer playing every minute his hands weren't otherwise occupied. He knew they were returning to all the same problems they had left, but with the promise of aid to come from the duke and the Jongleurs' Guild, as well as the comfort of the medallion around his neck, he held new hope that all their problems could be solved.
They were still a day from the Hollow when the way became choked with refugees, many of them with tents and warding circles pitched right in the road. Leesha knew them immediately as Laktonians, for as a whole they were stocky folk, short and round-faced, and they stood as those more used to walking on a boat's deck than dry land.
'What's happened'' Leesha demanded of the first person they came to, a young mother pacing to calm a crying infant. The woman looked at her with hollow, uncomprehending eyes as Leesha got down from the cart. Then she took note of Leesha's pocketed apron and a light came back to her.