The Desert Spear (demon)

by Peter V. Brett

  “Painted glass,” Leesha said, picking the bottle back up and giving it to him.

  “A princely gift,” Ashan noted in Krasian. “They are respectful, at least.” Jardir nodded.

  “Our peoples could learn much from each other, if we kept peace by day as well as night,” Leesha said.

  “I agree,” Jardir said, staring into her eyes. “Let us discuss that, among other things, at our tea.”

  “Did you see his crown?” Leesha asked.

  Rojer nodded. “And his metal spear. He’s the one Marick and the Painted Man were talking about.”

  “Obviously,” Leesha said. “I meant the crown itself. The Painted Man has the same wards on his own forehead.”

  “Really?” Rojer asked in surprise.

  Leesha nodded, dropping her voice for only him to hear. “I don’t think Arlen told us everything he knows about that man.”

  “Can’t believe you invited him to tea,” Wonda said.

  “Should I have spat in his eye instead?” Leesha asked.

  Wonda nodded. “Or had me shoot him. He’s killed half the men in Rizon, and had his men force themselves on every flowered woman in the duchy!”

  Wonda stopped short, then turned to Leesha suddenly, leaning in close. “You’re going to drug him, aren’t you?” she asked, her eyes glittering. “Take him and his men prisoner?”

  “I’m going to do no such thing,” Leesha said. “Everything we know about that man is hearsay. All we know for sure is that he and his men helped us fight off two hundred wood demons. He’s our guest until his actions show he should be treated otherwise.”

  “Not to mention that kidnapping their Deliverer is the surest way under the sun to bring the Krasian army straight down on the Hollow,” Rojer added.

  “There’s that, as well,” Leesha agreed. “Ask Smitt to clear his taproom, and summon the town council. Let everyone see and judge this supposed demon of the desert for themselves.”

  “He’s not what I expected, at all,” Tender Jona said.

  “Polite, like,” Gared agreed. “All falsefaced, like the servants in the duke’s palace.”

  “It’s called manners, Gared,” Leesha said. “You and the other men could use a few lessons in them yourselves.”

  “He has a point,” Rojer said. “I expected a monster, not some royal smiling through his oiled beard.”

  “I know what you mean,” Leesha said. “I certainly didn’t expect him to be so handsome.”

  Jona, Rojer, and Gared all stopped short. Leesha walked several more steps before she noticed they were not keeping pace. She looked back to find the men staring at her. Even Wonda had a surprised look on her face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “We ’re just going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Rojer said after a moment. He resumed walking, the others following his lead. Leesha shook her head and followed.

  “These greenlanders are worse than we thought,” Ashan said as they walked back to join the other men. “I cannot believe they take orders from a woman!”

  “But what a woman!” Jardir exclaimed. “Powerful and exotic and beautiful as the dawn.”

  “She dresses like a harlot,” Ashan said. “You should have killed her simply for daring to meet your eyes.”

  Jardir hissed and waved the thought away. “It is death to kill a dama’ting.”

  “Your pardon, Shar’Dama Ka, but she is not a dama’ting,” Ashan said. “She is a heathen. All these greenlanders are infidel, praying to a false god.”

  Jardir shook his head. “They follow Everam whether they know it or not. There are only two Divine Laws in the Evejah: Worship one god, and dance alagai’sharak. Beyond that, every tribe is entitled to their own customs. Perhaps these greenlanders are not so different from us. Perhaps their customs are simply foreign to us.”

  Ashan opened his mouth to protest, but a look from Jardir made it clear the discussion was over. Ashan’s mouth snapped shut, and he bowed. “Of course, if the Shar’Dama Ka says it, it must be so.”

  “Go and tell the dal’Sharum to make camp,” Jardir ordered. “You, Hasik, Shanjat, and Abban will join me for their tea.”

  “We ’re bringing the khaffit?” Ashan scowled. “He is not worthy to take tea with men.”

  “He is more fluent in their tongue than you are, my friend,” Jardir said, “and Hasik and Shanjat barely have a handful of greenland words between them. This is the very reason I chose to bring him. He will prove invaluable at this meeting.”

  It seemed the whole town had gathered around Smitt’s Tavern by the time the Krasians arrived. Leesha let only the town council and their spouses attend, but coupled with Smitt’s small army of children and grandchildren who were setting and serving, they outnumbered the Krasians greatly.

  The crowd rumbled ominously as Jardir walked to the tavern. “Go back to the sand!” someone shouted, and many voices grunted in agreement.

  If the Krasians were bothered at all, they gave no sign. They strutted through the crowd with their heads held high, unafraid. Only one, a rotund man clad in bright colors and limping on a cane, looked at the Hollowers warily as he passed. Leesha stood by the door, ready to rush out if the crowd turned ugly.

  “You’re right, he is handsome,” Elona said at her ear.

  Leesha turned to her in surprise. “Who told you I said that?” Elona only smiled.

  “Welcome,” Leesha said, when Jardir made it to the door. She and her mother gave identical curtsies. Jardir looked at Elona, then glanced over to Leesha. They were similar enough that no one could mistake their relation.

  “Your…sister?” Jardir asked.

  “My mother, Elona,” Leesha rolled her eyes while Elona tittered and allowed Jardir to kiss her hand. “And my father, Ernal,” she nodded to her father. Jardir bowed to him.

  “Allow me to introduce my councilors,” Jardir said, gesturing to the men behind him. “You have met Damaji Ashan. These are kai’Sharum Shanjat and my dal’Sharum bodyguard, Hasik.” The men bowed with the introduction. Jardir made no effort to introduce the fifth member of his entourage, moving on down the receiving line with his men, bowing and making introductions.

  The fifth was unlike any of the others. Where they were lean, he was fat. Where they dressed in somber, solid colors, he was clad as brightly as any Jongleur. And where they were fit and strong, he leaned on his crutch so heavily that it seemed he would fall over without it.

  Leesha opened her mouth to greet the man as he entered, but his eyes passed over her, and he bowed to her father. “A pleasure to meet you at last, Ernal Paper.”

  Erny looked at him curiously. “Do I know you?”

  “Abban am’ Haman am’Kaji,” the man introduced himself.

  “I…used to sell you paper,” Erny stumbled after a moment. “I, ah…actually still have your last order sitting in my shop. I was waiting on payment when the Messengers stopped coming from Rizon.”

  “Six hundred sheets of your daughter’s flower press, I believe,” Abban said.

  “Night, that was you?!” Leesha exclaimed. “Do you know how many hours I slaved over those sheets, only to have them sitting in the dryhouse like…like compost!”

  Jardir was there in an instant, breaking away from an introduction to Smitt as if it were meaningless.

  “What have you said to offend our host, khaffit?” he demanded.

  Abban bowed as low as his crutch would allow. “It seems I owe her father some money, Deliverer, for paper she and her father made for me years ago that I was not able to claim after our borders closed.”

  Jardir snarled, backhanding him viciously to the ground. “You will pay him triple what you owe, immediately!” Abban cried out as he struck the floor, spitting blood.

  Leesha shoved Jardir aside, running to Abban’s side and kneeling beside him. He tried to pull away, but she took his head firmly in her hands, examining him. His lip was split, but she didn’t think it would require stitching.

  She rose quickly an
d glared at Jardir. “Just what in the Core is the matter with you?!”

  A shocked look came over Jardir’s face, as if Leesha had suddenly grown horns. “He is only khaffit,” he explained. “A weakling without honor.”

  “I don’t care what he is!” Leesha snapped, storming up to Jardir so their noses practically touched, her eyes ablaze like blue flame. “He is a guest under our roof, as are you, and if you wish to remain so, you’ll mind your ripping manners and keep your hands to yourself!”

  Jardir stood there, stunned, and his councilors looked equally shocked. All turned to their leader for a cue on how to react. The warriors flexed their hands, as if readying them to reach for the short spears slung over their shoulders, and Leesha’s fingers itched to reach into one of the many pockets of her apron for a handful of blinding powder in case they did.

  But Jardir broke the stare and stepped back, bowing deeply. “You are right, of course. I apologize for bringing violence to your table.” He turned to Abban. “I will purchase the pages from you at triple what you must pay her father,” he said loudly, turning to eye Leesha. “Anything so precious to Mistress Leesha must be a treasure indeed.”

  Abban touched his forehead to the floor, and then braced himself on his cane to rise. Erny rushed over to help him, though the small man could do little to shift the other’s great bulk.

  Jardir turned and smiled at Leesha, beaming with pride as if he honestly thought he could impress her any more with a display of wealth than he had with one of violence.

  “Handsome or no, he’s a pompous ass,” Leesha muttered quietly to Rojer.

  “Perhaps,” Rojer agreed, “but an ass who can crush the Hollow like a bug if he wishes.”

  Leesha scowled. “Don’t go betting on that.”

  “The Northern women have steel in them,” Hasik observed in Krasian as they were ushered to one of the tall greenland tables with its hard benches.

  “Ours do as well,” Jardir replied, “they simply hide it beneath their robes.” All of them, even Abban, laughed at that and did not disagree.

  Tea was served by children, along with plates of hard biscuit. The Northern Holy Man cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. Ashan stared at the Tender like a raptor watching a rodent. The greenland cleric paled under the dama’s gaze, but he pressed on.

  “It is our custom to pray before meals,” he said.

  Elona snorted, and Jona glared at her. Jardir ignored the woman, though he was shocked at her rudeness. “That is our custom as well, Tender,” he said, bowing. “It is right to give thanks to Everam for all things.”

  Jona’s lip twitched slightly at the name Jardir attached to the Creator, but he nodded, mollified for the most part.

  “Creator,” Jona intoned, holding up his teacup in both hands like an offering, “we thank you for the food and drink before us, a symbol of the life and fruitful bounty you have given. We pray for the strength to better serve you, and ask your blessings for ourselves, and all those who have no table to gather at this night.”

  “Not so fruitful a bounty this year,” Elona muttered, picking up one of the hard biscuits, her nose crinkling with distaste. The woman gave a sudden start, and Jardir guessed from the way she glared at Leesha that her daughter had kicked her under the table.

  “I am sorry we cannot offer you better fare,” Leesha said when Jardir caught her eye, “but depredations of war have been hard on our village, with thousands of refugees having senselessly lost everything they own, and many loved ones, as well.”

  “Senselessly?” Ashan whispered in Krasian. “They insult you and your holy path, Deliverer!”

  “No!” Abban hissed. “It is a challenge. Answer carefully.” Ashan glared at him.

  “Be silent, both of you!” Jardir hissed. He took his eyes from both Leesha and her mother, turning to nod to the Tender.

  “Your prayer over bread is much the same as ours,” he said. “In Krasia, we pray over even an empty bowl, for with Everam’s will, it can strengthen in ways a full one cannot.”

  He looked back to Leesha. “I am told your village was small and little different from any other a year ago,” he said. “And yet now you are large and powerful. I see no hungry on your streets. No beggars or wailers or cripples. Instead, you stand tall in the night, fighting demons by the hundred. Like steel, my coming has tempered your village and made it stronger.”

  “Wern’t you that tempered it,” Gared snapped. “Painted Man done that, back when you were still eating sand out in the desert.”

  Hasik tensed. Jardir doubted he understood fully what the greenlander had said, but the giant’s tone was clear. He whisked his fingers at Hasik, calming him.

  “I would know more of this Painted Man,” Jardir said. “I have heard much of him in Everam’s Bounty, but nothing from one who had actually seen the man.”

  “He’s the Deliverer, that’s all ya need t’know,” Gared growled. “Gave us back the magic we lost all them years ago.”

  “Combat wards to fight the alagai,” Jardir said. Gared nodded.

  “May I see a weapon he has warded?” Jardir asked.

  Gared hesitated, his eyes flicking over to Leesha. Jardir’s naturally followed, and again her blue eyes, like cool water, threatened to drown him in their hidden depths. She smiled, and a thrill went through him.

  “We will show you,” Leesha said, smiling coyly, “if you will show us something of yours. Your spear, perhaps.”

  Even Abban gasped at her audacity, but Jardir only smiled. He reached for his spear, but Ashan grabbed his hand.

  “Deliverer, no!” Ashan hissed. “The Spear of Kaji is unfit for the hands of chin.”

  “It is no longer the Spear of Kaji, Ashan,” Jardir said in Krasian. “It is the Spear of Ahmann, and I will do with it as I please. It will not be the first time it has been touched by chin hands, and its blessings remain.”

  “What if they try to steal it?” Hasik asked.

  Jardir looked at him, his eyes calm. “If they try, we will kill every man, woman, and child in this village and raze it to the ground.”

  The matter closed, he lifted the spear horizontally before him. In response, Gared reached to his belt, pulling free a long blade. Hasik and Shanjat tensed, ready to strike, but the giant flipped the weapon over, holding the blade to offer Jardir the hilt. As one, they switched.

  There was no pretense of decorum, then, as those skilled in warding on both sides rushed to examine the weapons.

  Jardir turned the long blade over to catch the light as it ran in glittering rivers along the intricate wards etched in its surface. He saw immediately that most of the wards were the same his people used to ward their own weapons, symbols taken from the Spear of Kaji, which held almost every combat ward in existence.

  But the warding went beyond cold functionality, like the harshly etched spears of the dal’Sharum. There was an artistry to it that rivaled anything Jardir had ever seen outside the Spear itself, hundreds of wards flowing in harmony to weave a net of incredible power that was both beautiful to look upon and terrible for an alagai to behold.

  “Exquisite,” Jardir murmured.

  “Priceless,” Abban said.

  “Could this Painted Man have stolen the symbols from Anoch Sun?” Ashan wondered.

  “Ridiculous,” Jardir said. “No one has been there in a thousand years, except…”

  He looked at his men, and all eyes had lit with the same thought.

  “No,” Jardir said at last. “No, he is dead.”

  “Of course, it must be so,” Ashan echoed after a slight pause, and the others all nodded.

  They looked up to see Leesha and her father, now wearing spectacles, examining the Spear of Kaji a little too closely. They had held it long enough to appreciate the grandeur, but he saw no reason to give away all its secrets yet.

  “These wards are strong,” he said, holding the blade back out to Gared, handle-first. He looked pointedly at the spear, and the greenlanders grudgingly retu
rned it. The look of longing in Leesha’s eyes as the spear was returned was gratifying. She was hungry for its secrets.

  “Where is this Painted Man?” Jardir asked Gared when the spear was again tucked safely over his shoulder. “I would very much like to meet him.”

  “He comes and goes,” Leesha cut in before the giant could answer.

  Jardir nodded at her. “Was it he that gave you your wondrous cloak? Truly, it is like the Robe of Kaji, himself, to let you walk past alagai unseen.”

  Leesha’s cheeks colored, and Jardir realized he had just complimented her in some way.

  “The Cloaks of Unsight are my own creation,” she said. “I altered wards of confusion and sight, along with a mild forbiddance, so that no coreling big or small can see one wearing it.”

  “Incredible,” Jardir said. “Everam must speak in your ear, if you are altering wards, especially to make something of such divine beauty and power.”

  Leesha looked down at her cloak, fingering it absently. Finally, she clucked and got to her feet, unfastening the silver ward clasp at her throat. “Take it,” she said, holding the cloak out to Jardir.

  “Are you crazed?!” Elona shouted, moving to block her way, much as Ashan had done to him before.

  “The cloak’s only good against demons,” she said, as much to her mother as Jardir. “Take it to remind you who the real enemy is, when the sun rises tomorrow.” She pulled her arm away from her mother and held the cloak out to Jardir.

  Jardir put his hands flat on the tabletop and bowed. “That is too great a gift, and I have nothing to give in return. By Everam, I cannot accept.”

  “The reminder is all I want in return,” Leesha said. Jardir bowed again, taking the wondrous cloak with widening eyes. If the wards on this so-called Painted Man’s weapon were a harmony, Leesha’s Cloak of Unsight was a symphony. He folded the cloak carefully and tucked it in his robe before he or any of his councilors began to study the gift to distraction.

  “Thank you, Mistress Leesha, daughter of Erny, Herb Gatherer of Deliverer’s Hollow,” he said, bowing again. “You honor me greatly with your gift.”

  Leesha smiled and returned to her seat. For a moment, the greenlanders made a great pretense of sipping their tea, murmuring to one another as they did. Jardir allowed them this conference time, looking to Abban.