The Painted Man d-1

by Peter V. Brett

  Demons howled with glee and charged the opening, but they were met by Rojer's music. Gone was the soothing, hypnotizing melody, replaced by sharp and jarring sounds that had the corelings clawing at their ears as they stumbled away.

  'Leesha!' The side door opened with a crash, and Leesha turned to see the Painted Man, awash in demon ichor and his own blood, burst into the room, looking about frantically. He saw the wood demon lying dead, and turned to meet her eyes. His relief was palpable.

  She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but he turned and charged for the shattered doors. Rojer alone held the entrance, his music holding the demons back as surely as any wardnet. The Painted Man shoved the wood demon's corpse aside, pulling the spear free and throwing it back to Leesha. Then he was gone into the night.

  Leesha looked out upon the carnage in the square, and her heart clenched. Dozens of her children lay dead and dying in the mud, even as the battle continued to rage.

  'Darsy!' she cried, and when the woman rushed to her side, they ran out into the night, pulling wounded inside.

  Wonda lay gasping on the ground when Leesha reached her, her clothes torn and bloody where the demon had clawed her. A wood demon charged them as she and Darsy bent to lift her, but Leesha pulled a vial from her apron and threw it, shattering the thin glass across its face. The demon shrieked as the dissolvent ate away its eyes, and the two Herb Gatherers hurried away with their charge.

  They deposited the girl inside and Leesha shouted instructions to one of her assistants before running out again. Rojer stood at the entrance, the screeching of his fiddle forming a wall of sound that held the way clear, shielding Leesha and the others who began to drag the wounded inside..

  The battle waxed and waned through the night, allowing exhausted villagers time to stagger back to their circles or into Holy House to catch their breath or gulp down a swallow of water. There was an entire hour when not one demon could be seen, but another after that when a large pack that must have come running from miles away fell upon them.

  The rain stopped at some point, but no one could recall quite when, too preoccupied with attacking the enemy and helping the wounded. The cutters formed a wall at the great doors, and Rojer roamed the square, driving demons back with his fiddle as the wounded were collected.

  By the time dawn's first light peeked over the horizon, the mud of the square had been churned into a foul stew of human blood and demon ichor; bodies and limbs were scattered everywhere. Many jumped in fright as the sun struck the demon corpses, setting their unholy flesh alight. Like bursts of liquid demonfire from all over the square, the sun finished the battle, incinerating the few demons that still twitched.

  The Painted Man looked out at the faces of the survivors, half his fighters at least, and was amazed at the strength and determination he saw. It seemed impossible that these were the same people who were so broken and terrified less than a day before. They might have lost many in the night, but the Hollowers were now stronger than ever.

  'Creator be praised,' Tender Jona said, staggering out into the square on his crutch, drawing wards in the air as the demons burned in the morning light. He made his way to the Painted Man, and stood before him.

  'This is thanks to you,' he said.

  The Painted Man shook his head. 'No. You did this,' he said. 'All of you.'

  Jona nodded. 'We did,' he agreed. 'But only because you came and showed us the way. Can you still doubt this?'

  The Painted Man scowled. 'For me to claim this victory as my own cheapens the sacrifice of all that died during the night,' he said. 'Keep your prophecies, Tender. These people do not need them.'

  Jona bowed deeply. 'As you wish,' he said, but the Painted Man sensed the matter was not closed.

  32

  Cutter's No More

  332-3 AR

  Leesha waved as Rojer and the Painted Man rode up the path. She set her brush back in its bowl on the porch as they dismounted.

  'You learn quickly,' the Painted Man said, coming up to study the wards she had painted on the rails. 'These would hold a horde of corelings at bay.'

  'Quickly?' Rojer asked. 'Night, that's undersaid. It's not been a month since Leesha couldn't tell a wind ward from a flame.'

  'He's right,' the Painted Man said. 'I've seen five-year journeyman Warders whose lines weren't half so neat.'

  Leesha smiled. 'I've always been a quick study,' she said. 'And you and my father are good teachers. I only wish I had bothered to learn sooner.'

  The Painted Man shrugged. 'Would that we all could go back and make decisions based on what was to come.'

  'I think I'd have lived my whole life different,' Rojer agreed.

  Leesha laughed, ushering them inside the hut. 'Supper's almost ready,' she said, heading for the fire. 'How did the village council meeting go?' she asked, stirring the steaming pot.

  'Idiots,' the Painted Man grumbled.

  She laughed again. 'That well?'

  'The council voted to change the village name to Deliverer's Hollow,' Rojer said.

  'It's only a name,' Leesha said, joining them at the table and pouring tea.

  'It's not the name that bothers, it's the notion,'' the Painted Man said. 'I've gotten the villagers to stop calling me Deliverer to my face, but I still hear it whispered behind my back.'

  'It will go easier for you if you just embrace it,' Rojer said. 'You can't stop a story like that. By now, every Jongleur north of the Krasian desert is telling it.'

  The Painted Man shook his head. 'I won't lie and pretend to be something I'm not to make life easier. If I'd wanted an easy life…' he trailed off.

  'What of the repairs?' Leesha asked, pulling him back to them as his eyes went distant.

  Rojer smiled. 'With the Hollowers back on their feet thanks to your cures, it seems a new house goes up every day,' he said. 'You'll be able to move back into the village proper soon.'

  Leesha shook her head. 'This hut is all I have left of Bruna. This is my home now.'

  'This far from the village, you'll be outside the forbiddance,' the Painted Man warned.

  Leesha shrugged. 'I understand why you laid out the new streets in the form of a warding,' she said, 'but there are benefits to being outside the forbiddance, as well.'

  'Oh?' the Painted Man asked, raising a warded brow.

  'What benefit could there be to living on land that demons can set foot on?' Rojer asked.

  Leesha sipped her tea. 'My mum refuses to move, too,' she said. 'Says between your new wards and the cutters running about chopping every demon in sight, it's a needless bother.'

  The Painted Man frowned. 'I know it seems like we have the demons cowed, but if the histories of the Demon Wars are anything to go by, they won't stay that way. They'll be back in force, and I want Cutter's Hollow to be ready.'

  'Deliverer's Hollow,' Rojer corrected, smirking at the Painted Man's scowl.

  'With you here, it will be,' Leesha said, ignoring Rojer and sipping at her tea. She watched the Painted Man carefully over the rim of her cup.

  When he hesitated, she set her cup down. 'You're leaving,' she said. 'When?'

  'When the Hollow is ready,' the Painted Man said, not bothering to deny her conclusion. 'I've wasted years, hoarding wards that can make the Free Cities that in more than name. I owe it to every city and hamlet in Thesa to see to it they have what they need to stand tall in the night.'

  Leesha nodded. 'We want to help you,' she said.

  'You are,' the Painted Man said. 'With the Hollow in your hands, I know it will be safe while I'm away.'

  'You'll need more than that,' Leesha said. 'Someone to teach other Gatherers to make flamework and poisons, and to treat coreling wounds.'

  'You could write all that down,' the Painted Man said. Leesha snorted. 'And give a man the secrets of fire? Not likely.'

  'I can't write fiddling lessons, in any event,' Rojer said, 'even if I had letters.'

  The Painted Man hesitated, then shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'Th
e two of you will only slow me down. I'll be weeks in the wilds, and you don't have the stomach for that.'

  'Don't have the stomach?' Leesha asked. 'Rojer, close the shutters,' she ordered.

  Both men looked at her curiously.

  'Do it,' she ordered, and Rojer rose to comply, cutting off the sunlight and filling the hut with a dark gloom. Leesha was already shaking a vial of chemics, bathing herself in a phosphorescent glow.

  'The trap,' she said, and the Painted Man lifted the trap door down to the cellar where the demonfire had been kept. The scent of chemics was thick in the air that escaped.

  Leesha led the way down into the darkness, her vial held high. She moved to sconces on the wall, adding chemics to glass jars, but the Painted Man's warded eyes, as comfortable in utter darkness as in clear day, had already widened before the light filled the room.

  Heavy tables had been brought down into the cellar, and there, spread out before him, were half a dozen corelings in various states of dissection.

  'Creator!' Rojer cried, gagging. He ran back up the stairs, and they could hear him gasping for air.

  'Well, perhaps Rojer doesn't have the stomach yet,' Leesha conceded with a grin. She looked at the Painted Man. 'Did you know that wood demons have two? Stomachs, I mean. One stacked on top of the other, like an hourglass.' She took an instrument, peeling back layers of the dead demon's flesh to illustrate.

  'Their hearts are off-centre; down to the right,' she added, 'but there's a gap between their third and fourth ribs. Something a man looking to deliver a killing thrust should know.'

  The Painted Man looked on in amazement. When he looked back at Leesha, it was as if he were seeing her for the first time. 'Where did you get these…?'

  'A word to the cutters you sent to patrol this end of the Hollow,' Leesha said. 'They were happy to oblige me with specimens.

  'There's more,' she said. 'These demons have no sex organs. They're all neuter.'

  The Painted Man looked at her in surprise. 'How is that possible?' he asked.

  'It's not that uncommon among insects,' Leesha said. 'There are drone castes for labour and defence, and sexed castes that control the hive.'

  'Hive?' the Painted Man asked. 'You mean the Core?'

  Leesha shrugged.

  The Painted Man frowned. 'There were paintings in the tombs of Anoch Sun; paintings of the First Demon War that depicted strange breeds of corelings I have never seen.'

  'Not surprising,' Leesha said. 'We know so little about them.'

  She reached out, taking his hands. 'All my life, I've felt like I was waiting for something bigger than brewing chill cures and delivering children,' she said. 'This is my chance to make a difference to more than just a handful of people. You believe there's a war coming? Rojer and I can help you win it.'

  The Painted Man nodded, squeezing her hands in return. 'You're right,' he said. 'The Hollow survived that first night as much because of you and Rojer as me. I'd be a fool not to accept your help now.'

  Leesha stepped forward, reaching into his hood. Her hand was cool on his face, and for a moment, he leaned into it. 'This hut is big enough for two,' she whispered.

  His eyes widened, and she felt him go tense.

  'Why does that terrify you more than facing down demons?' she asked. 'Am I so repulsive?'

  The Painted Man shook his head. 'Of course not,' he said.

  'Then what?' she asked. 'I won't keep you from your war.'

  The Painted Man was quiet for some time. 'Two would soon become three,' he said at last, letting go her hands.

  is that so terrible?' Leesha asked.

  The Painted Man took a deep breath, moving away to another table, avoiding her eyes. 'That morning when I wrestled the demon…' he said.

  ‘I remember,' Leesha prompted, when he did not go on.

  'The demon tried to escape back to the Core,' he said.

  'And tried to take you with it,' Leesha said, i saw you both go misty, and slip beneath the ground. I was terrified.'

  The Painted Man nodded. 'No more than me,' he said. 'The path to the Core opened up to me, calling me, pulling me down.'

  'What does that have to do with us?' Leesha asked.

  'Because it wasn't the demon, it was me,' the Painted Man said, i took control of the transition, dragged the demon back up to the sun. Even now, I can feel the pull of the Core. If I let myself, I could slip down into its infernal depths with the other corelings.'

  'The wards…' Leesha began.

  it's not the wards,' he said, shaking his head, i'm telling you it's me. I've absorbed too much of their magic over the years. I'm not even human anymore. Who knows what kind of monster would spring from my seed?'

  Leesha went to him, taking his face in her hands as she had that morning they made love. 'You're a good man,' she said, her eyes welling with tears. 'Whatever the magic has done to you, it hasn't changed that. Nothing else matters.'

  She leaned in to kiss him, but he had hardened his heart to her, and held her back.

  ‘It matters to me,' he said. 'Until I know what I am, I can't be with you, or anyone.'

  'Then I'll discover what you are,' Leesha said, i swear it.'

  'Leesha,' he said, 'you can't…'

  'Don't you tell me what I can't do!' she barked. 'I've had enough of that from others to last a lifetime.'

  He held up his hands in submission. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

  Leesha sniffed, and closed her hands over his. 'Don't be sorry,' she said. 'Just hold me.' She moved in close, and rested her head against his chest as his powerful arms enclosed her.

  Out in the Krasian desert, there was a stirring on the horizon. Lines of men appeared, thousand upon thousand, swathed in loose black cloth drawn about their faces to ward off the stinging sand. The vanguard was composed of two mounted groups, the smaller riding light, quick horses, and the larger upon powerful humped beasts suited to desert crossings. They were followed by columns of footmen, and they, in turn, by a seemingly endless train of carts and supplies. Each warrior carried a spear etched with an intricate pattern of wards.

  At their head rode a man dressed all in white, on top of a sleek charger of the same colour. He raised a hand, and the horde behind him halted and stood in silence to gaze upon the ruins of Anoch Sun.

  Unlike the wood and iron spears of his warriors, this man carried an ancient weapon made of a bright, unknown metal. He was Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am'Jardir, but his people had not used that name in years.

  They called him Shar 'Dama Ka, the Deliverer.

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