The Painted Man d-1

by Peter V. Brett

  'Me neither,' Rojer agreed.

  'Very well,' the Painted Man sighed, getting up and taking his bow, a quiver of arrows, and a long spear. He stripped off his robe, revealing his warded flesh, and moved to the edge of the circle. 'I'll see what I can hunt up.'

  'You don't need to…!' Leesha called, but the man ignored her. A moment later, he had vanished into the night.

  It was more than an hour before he returned, carrying a plump pair of rabbits by the ears. He handed the catch to Leesha, and returned to his seat, picking up the tiny warding brush.

  'You make music?' he asked Rojer, who had just finished restringing his fiddle and was plucking at the strings, adjusting the tensions.

  Rojer jumped at the comment. 'Y-yes,' he managed. 'Will you play something?' the Painted Man asked. 'I can't remember the last time I heard music'

  'I would,' Rojer said sadly, 'but the bandits kicked my bow into the woods.'

  The man nodded and sat in thought a moment. Then he stood suddenly, producing a large knife. Rojer shrank back, but the man just stepped back out of the circle. A wood demon hissed at him, but the Painted Man hissed right back, and the demon shied away.

  Me returned soon after with a supple length of wood, shearing I he bark with his wicked blade. 'How long was it?' he asked.

  'E-eighteen inches,' Rojer stuttered.

  The Painted Man nodded, cutting the branch to the appropriate length and walking over to Twilight Dancer. The stallion did not react as he cut a length of hair from its tail. He notched the wood ;md tied the horsehair flat and thick on one side. He knelt next to Rojer, bending the branch. 'Tell me when the tension is right,' he said, and Rojer laid the fingers of his crippled hand on the hair. When he was satisfied, the Painted Man tied the other end and handed it to him.

  Rojer beamed at the gift, treating it with resin before taking up his fiddle. He put the instrument to his chin and gave it a few strokes with the new bow. It wasn't ideal, but he grew more confident, pausing to tune once more before beginning to play.

  His skilful fingers filled the air with a haunting melody that took Leesha's thoughts to Cutter's Hollow, wondering at its fate. Vika's letter was almost a week gone. What would she find when she arrived? Perhaps the flux had passed with no more loss, and this desperate ordeal had been for nothing.

  Or perhaps they needed her more than ever.

  The music affected the Painted Man as well, she noticed, for his hands stopped their careful work, and he stared off into the night. Shadows draped his face, obscuring the tattoos, and she saw in his sad countenance that he had been comely once. What pain had driven him to this existence, scarring himself and shunning his own kind for the company of corelings? She found herself aching to heal him, though he showed no hurt.

  Suddenly, the man shook his head as if to clear it, startling Leesha from her reverie. He pointed off into the darkness. 'Look,' he whispered. 'They're dancing.'

  Leesha looked out in amazement, for indeed, the corelings had ceased to test the wards, had ceased even to hiss and shriek. They circled the camp, swaying in time to the music. Flame demons leaped and twirled, sending ribbons of fire spiralling away from their knotted limbs, and wind demons looped and dove through the air. Wood demons had crept from the cover of the forest, but they ignored the flame demons, drawn to the melody.

  The Painted Man looked at Rojer. 'How are you doing that?' he asked, his voice awed.

  Rojer smiled. 'The corelings, they have an ear for music,' he said. He rose to his feet, walking to the edge of the circle. The demons clustered there, watching him intently. He began to walk the circle's perimeter, and they followed, mesmerized. He stopped and swayed from side to side as he continued to play, and the corelings mirrored his movements almost exactly.

  'I didn't believe you,' Leesha apologized quietly. 'You really can charm them.'

  'And that's not all,' Rojer boasted. With a twist and a series of sharp strokes of the bow, he turned the melody sour; once pure notes ringing out discordant and tainted. Suddenly, the corelings were shrieking again, covering their ears with their talons and scrambling away from Rojer. They drew back further and further as the musical assault continued, vanishing into the shadows beyond the firelight.

  'They haven't gone far,' Rojer said. 'As soon as I stop, they'll be back.'

  'What else can you do?' the Painted Man asked quietly.

  Rojer smiled, as content to perform for an audience of two as he was for a cheering crowd. He softened his music again, the chaotic notes smoothly flowing back into the haunting melody. The corelings reappeared, drawn to the music once more.

  'Watch this,' Rojer instructed, and changed the sound again, the notes rising high and grating, causing even Leesha and the Painted Man to grit their teeth and lean away.

  The reaction of the corelings was more pronounced. They grew enraged, shrieking and roaring as they threw themselves at the barrier with abandon. Again and again the wards flared and threw them back, but the demons did not relent, smashing themselves against the wardnet in an insane attempt to reach Rojer and silence him forever.

  Two rock demons joined the throng, shoving past the others and hammering at the wards as yet more added to the press. The Painted Man rose silently behind Rojer and lifted his bow.

  The string hummed, and one of the heavy, thick-headed arrows exploded into the chest of the nearest rock demon like a bolt of lighting, brightening the area for a moment. Again and again the Painted Man fired into the horde, his hands a blur. The warded bolts blasted the corelings back, and the few that rose again were quickly torn to pieces by their fellows.

  Rojer and Leesha stood horrified at the slaughter. The Jongleur's bow slipped from the fiddle's strings, hanging forgotten in his limp hand as he watched the Painted Man work.

  The demons were screaming still, but it was pain and fear now, their desire to attack the wards vanished with the music. Still the Painted Man fired, again and again until his arrows were all gone. He grabbed a spear, throwing it and striking a fleeing wood demon in the back.

  There was chaos now, the few remaining corelings desperate to escape. The Painted Man stripped off his robe, ready to leap from the circle to kill demons with his bare hands.

  'No, please!' Leesha cried, throwing herself at him. 'They're running!'

  'You would spare them?!' the Painted Man roared, glaring at her, his face terrible with wrath. She fell back in fear, but she kept her eyes locked on his.

  'Please,' she begged. 'Don't go out there.'

  Leesha feared he might strike her, but he only stared at her, his breath heaving. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he calmed and took up his robe, covering his wards once more.

  'Was that necessary?' she asked, breaking the silence.

  'The circle wasn't designed to forbid so many corelings at once,' the Painted Man said, his voice again a cold monotone. 'I don't know that it would have held.'

  'You could have just asked me to stop playing,' Rojer said.

  'Yes,' the Painted Man agreed, 'I could have.'

  'Then why didn't you?' Leesha demanded.

  The Painted Man didn't answer. He strode out of the circle and began cutting his arrows from the demon corpses.

  Leesha was fast asleep later that night, when the Painted Man approached Rojer. The Jongleur, staring out at the fallen demons, gave a startled jump when the man squatted down next to him. 'You have power over the corelings,' he said. Rojer shrugged. 'So do you,' he said. 'More than I ever will.' 'Can you teach me?' the Painted Man asked. Rojer turned, meeting the man's gimlet eyes. 'Why?' he asked. 'You kill demons by the score. What's my trick compared to that?'

  'I thought I knew my enemies,' the Painted Man said, 'but you've shown me otherwise.'

  'You think they may not be all bad, if they can enjoy music?' Rojer asked.

  The Painted Man shook his head. 'They are no patrons of art, Jongleur,' he said. 'The moment you ceased to play, they would have killed you without hesitation.'

&nbs
p; Rojer nodded, conceding the point. 'Then why bother?' he asked. 'Learning the fiddle is a lot of work to charm beasts you can just as easily kill.'

  The Painted Man's face hardened. 'Will you teach me or not?' he asked.

  'I will…' Rojer said, thinking it through,''but I want something in return.'

  'I have plenty of money,' the Painted Man assured him.

  Rojer waved his hand dismissively. 'I can get money whenever I need it,' he said. 'What I want is more valuable.'

  The Painted Man said nothing.

  ‘I want to travel with you,' Rojer announced.

  The Painted Man shook his head. 'Out of the question,' he said.

  'You don't learn the fiddle overnight,' Rojer argued. 'It'll take weeks to become even passable, and you'll need more skill than that to charm even the least discriminating coreling.'

  'And what do you get out of it?' the Painted Man asked.

  'Material for stories that will fill the duke's amphitheatre night after night,' Rojer said.

  'What about her?' the Painted Man asked, nodding back towards Leesha. Rojer looked at the Herb Gatherer, her breast gently rising and falling as she slept, and the Painted Man did not miss the significance of that gaze.

  'She asked me to escort her home, nothing more,' Rojer said at last.

  'And if she asks you to stay?'

  'She won't,' Rojer said quietly.

  'My road is no fun adventure, boy,' the Painted Man said. 'I've no time to be slowed by one who hides at night.'

  'I have my fiddle now,' Rojer said with more bravery than he felt.'I'm not afraid.'

  'You need more than courage,' the Painted Man said. 'In the wild, you kill or be killed, and I don't just mean demons.'

  Rojer straightened, swallowing the lump in his throat. ‘Everyone who tries to protect me ends up dead,' he said. 'It's time I learned to protect myself.'

  The Painted Man leaned back, considering the young Jongleur.

  'Come with me,' he said at last, rising.

  'Out of the circle?' Rojer asked.

  'If you can't do that, you're no use to me,' the Painted Man said. When Rojer looked around doubtfully, he added, 'Every coreling for miles heard what I did to their fellows. It's doubtful we'll see more tonight.'

  'What about Leesha?' Rojer asked, rising slowly.

  'Twilight Dancer will protect her, if need be,' the man said. 'Come on.' He moved out of the circle and vanished into the night.

  Rojer swore, but he grabbed his fiddle and followed the man down the road.

  Rojer clutched his fiddle case tightly as they moved through the trees. He made to take it out at first, but the Painted Man had waved for him to put it away.

  'You'll draw attention we don't want,' he whispered.

  'I thought you said we weren't likely to see any corelings tonight,' Rojer hissed back, but the Painted Man ignored him, moving through the darkness as if it were broad day.

  'Where are we going?' Rojer asked for what seemed the hundredth time.

  They climbed a small rise, and the Painted Man lay flat, pointing downwards.

  'Look there,' he told Rojer. Below, Rojer could see three very familiar men and a horse sleeping within the tight confines of an even more familiar portable circle.

  'The bandits,' Rojer breathed. A flood of emotions washed over him; fear, rage, and helplessness, and in his mind's eye, he relived the ordeal they put him and Leesha through. The mute stirred in his sleep, and Rojer felt a stab of panic.

  'I've been tracking them since I found you,' the Painted Man said. 'I spotted their fire while I was hunting tonight.'

  'Why did you bring me here?' Rojer asked.

  ' I thought you might like a chance to get your circle back,' the I tinted Man said.

  Rojer looked back at him. 'If we steal the circle while they're sleeping, the corelings will kill them before they know what's happening.'

  'The demons are thin,' the Painted Man said. 'They'll have hotter odds than you did.'

  'Even so, what makes you think I'd want to risk it?' Rojer asked.

  ‘I watch,' the man said, 'and I listen. I know what they did to you…and to Leesha.'

  Rojer was quiet a long while. 'There are three of them,' he said at last.

  'This is the wild,' the Painted Man said. 'If you want to live in safety, go back to the city.' He spat the last word like a curse.

  But Rojer knew there was no safety in the city, either. Unbidden, he saw Jay cob crumple to the ground, and heard Jasin's laughter. He could have sought justice after the attack, but he chose to flee, instead. He was forever fleeing, and letting others die in his stead. His hand searched for a talisman that was no longer there as he stared down at the fire.

  'Was I wrong?' the Painted Man asked. 'Shall we go back to our camp?'

  Rojer swallowed. 'As soon as I have what belongs to me,' he decided.

  28

  Secrets

  332 AR

  Leesha awoke to a soft nickering. She opened her eyes to see Rojer brushing down the russet mare she had purchased in Angiers, and for a moment, she dared think the last two days a dream.

  But then Twilight Dancer stepped into view, the giant stallion towering over the mare, and it all came rushing back.

  'Rojer,' she asked quietly, 'where did my horse come from?'

  Rojer opened his mouth to reply, but the Painted Man strode into the camp then, with two small rabbits and a handful of apples. 'I saw your friends' fire last night,' he explained, 'and thought we would travel faster all a'horse.'

  Leesha was quiet a long time, digesting the news. A dozen emotions ran through her, many of them shameful and unsavoury. Rojer and the Painted Man gave her time, and she was thankful for that. 'Did you kill them?' she asked at last.

  The Painted Man looked her in the eye. 'No,' he said, and an immense relief flooded through her. 'I scattered them long enough to steal the horse, but that was all.'

  Leesha nodded. 'We'll send word of them to the duke's magistrate with the next Messenger to pass through the Hollow.'

  Her herb blanket was rolled crudely and strapped to the saddle. She pulled it off and examined it, relief washing over her as she found most of the bottles and pouches intact. They had smoked all her tampweed, but that was easy enough to replace.

  After breakfast, Rojer rode the mare while Leesha sat behind The Painted Man on Twilight Dancer. They travelled swiftly, for I here were clouds gathering, and threat of rain.

  Leesha felt like she should have been afraid. The bandits were alive and ahead of them. She remembered the leering face of the black-bearded man and the raucous laughter of his companion. Worst of all, she remembered the terrible weight and dumb, violent lust of the mute.

  She should have been afraid, but she wasn't. Even more than Bruna, the Painted Man made her feel safe. He did not tire. He did not fear. And she knew without a doubt that no harm could ever come to her while she was under his protection.

  Protection. It was an odd feeling, needing protection, like something out of another life. She had been protecting herself for so long, she had forgotten what it was like. Her skills and wits were enough to keep her safe in civilized places, but those things meant little in the wild.

  The Painted Man shifted, and she realized she had tightened her hands around his waist, pressing close to him with her head resting on his shoulder. She pulled away, so caught up in her embarrassment that she almost didn't see the hand, lying in the scrub at the side of the road.

  When she did, she screamed.

  The Painted Man pulled up, and Leesha practically fell off the horse, rushing to the spot. She brushed the weeds aside, gasping as she realized the hand wasn't attached to anything, bitten clean off.

  'Leesha, what is it?' Rojer cried, as he and the Painted Man ran to her.

  'Were they camped near here?' Leesha asked, holding up the appendage. The Painted Man nodded. 'Take me there,' Leesha ordered.

  'Leesha, what good could…' Rojer began, but she ignored him, kee
ping her eyes locked on the Painted Man.

  'Take. Me. There.' she said. The Painted Man nodded, putting down a stake and tying the mare's reins to it.

  'Guard,' he said to Twilight Dancer, and the stallion nickered and nodded its great head.

  They found the camp soon after, awash in blood and half-eaten bodies. Leesha lifted her apron to cover her mouth against the stench. Rojer retched and ran from the clearing.

  But Leesha was no stranger to blood. 'Only two,' she said, examining the remains.

  The Painted Man nodded. 'The mute is missing,' he said. 'The giant.'

  'Yes,' Leesha said. 'And the circle as well.'

  'The circle, as well,' the Painted Man agreed after a moment.

  The heavy clouds continued to gather as they made their way back to the horses. 'There's a Messenger cave ten miles up the road,' the Painted Man said. 'If we press hard and skip lunch, we should make it there before the rain comes. We'll have to take refuge until the storm passes.'

  'The man who kills corelings with his bare hands is afraid of a little rain?' Leesha asked.

  'If the cloud is thick enough, corelings might rise early,' the Painted Man said.

  'Since when are you afraid of corelings?' Leesha pressed. 'It's stupid and dangerous to fight in the rain,' the Painted Man said. 'Rain makes mud, and mud obscures wards and ruins footing.'

  They were barely settled in the cave before the storm struck. Drenching sheets of rain turned the road to mud and the sky went dark, save for the sharp strikes of lightning. The wind howled at them, punctuated by roaring thunder.

  Much of the cave mouth was warded already, symbols of power etched deeply into the rock, and the Painted Man quickly secured the rest with a cache of wardstones left within.

  As the Painted Man predicted, a few demons rose early in the false dark. He watched grimly as they crept out from the darkest parts of the wood, relishing their early release from the Core. The brief flashes of light outlined their sinuous forms as they frolicked in the wet.

  They tried to break into the cave, but the wards held strong. Those that ventured too close regretted it, greeted with a jab from the scowling Painted Man's spear.