The Desert Spear

by Peter V. Brett

  She took a mortar and pestle from her apron, hands darting from pocket to pocket without so much as a glance as she filled it with the proper mixture of herbs. Sikvah brought the hot water, and Leesha brewed a second potion, bidding Sikvah to hold her mistress up as she forced it down the girl’s throat.

  “Open the windows to blow in some fresh air,” Leesha told Sikvah, “and bring pillows. She’ll need to stay by the commode for the next few hours as we hydrate her.”

  Rojer and Gared stuck their heads in, and Leesha promptly sent them to bed. She and Sikvah tended Amanvah until her insides calmed and they could carry her to the bed.

  “Sleep’s the best thing for you now,” Leesha said, putting another potion to Amanvah’s lips. “You’ll wake in twelve hours and then we ’ll try to get some rice and bread into you.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Amanvah whispered, her accent thick like her mother’s, but every word clear. “My mother would not be so kind to one who tried to poison her.”

  “Nor would mine, but we are not our mothers, Amanvah,” Leesha said.

  Amanvah smiled. “When next I face her, I may wish the poison had killed me.”

  Leesha shook her head. “You’re under my roof now. No one is going to do anything to you, including forcing you to marry Rojer if you don’t want to.”

  “Oh, but we do, mistress,” Sikvah said. “The handsome son of Jessum is touched by Everam. First and second wives to such a man, what more could any woman aspire to?”

  Leesha opened her mouth to reply, then promptly closed it again, knowing any answer she gave would fall upon uncomprehending ears.

  Elona was sitting in the hall when Leesha finally emerged from Amanvah’s chambers. Leesha sighed, wanting nothing more than to crawl into her bed herself, but Elona stood and moved to walk with her back to the stairs.

  “It true what Rojer says?” Elona asked. “The girls tried to poison you?”

  Leesha nodded.

  Elona smiled. “Means Inevera thinks you’ve got a good chance of stealing him from her.”

  “I’m fine, if you care,” Leesha said.

  “Course you are,” Elona said. “You’re my daughter, like or not. Ent no desert witch going to stop you once you’ve got a shine for a man.”

  “I don’t want to steal another woman’s husband, Mother,” Leesha said.

  Elona laughed. “Then why are you here?”

  “To try and stop a war,” Leesha said flatly.

  “And if the cost of stopping a war is stealing the husband of a woman who tried to murder you?” Elona asked. “Is that too high a price to pay?” She snorted. “Ent stealing, anyways. These women share husbands like hens share roosters.”

  Leesha rolled her eyes. “Oh, to be so lucky as to be one of Ahmann’s laying hens.”

  “Better than the ones gone to slaughter,” Elona shot back.

  They reached Leesha’s apartments, and Elona followed her in. Leesha fell onto a pillowed divan, putting her head in her hands. “I wish Bruna were here. She ’d know what to do.”

  “She ’d marry Jardir and tame him,” Elona said. “If she had your body and youth, she’d’ve bent both Deliverers to her will by now, and gotten her toes curled to sweeten the pot.”

  “You can’t know that, Mother,” Leesha said.

  “I know better than you,” Elona said. “I was apprenticed to that miserable old hag before you were ever born, and there were a scant few alive then old enough to remember Bruna in her prime. Her legs never closed, to hear them say it, until she married late in life, and she ran that town even more surely than she did in her dotage. More surely than you run it now, because she had power, not just here,” Elona poked Leesha in the temple, “but here, as well.” She stabbed a finger to point at her own crotch. “That is a woman’s power, as much as gathering herbs, and only a fool chooses not to take advantage of it.”

  Leesha opened her mouth to protest, but for some reason her mother’s words rang true, and no rebuttal came to her. Bruna had been a filthy old woman, full of bawdy remarks and tales of her promiscuous youth. Leesha had dismissed many of the stories, thinking the old woman had simply liked to shock people, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  “Take advantage how?” she asked.

  “Jardir is obsessed with you,” Elona said. “Any woman can read it on him at a glance. That is why Inevera fears you, and why you have an opportunity to take this desert snake by the throat and turn it aside from your people.”

  “My people,” Leesha said. “The Hollow.”

  “Of course, the Hollow!” Elona snapped. “Rizon’s sun has set, and ent nothing for it.”

  “What of Angiers?” Leesha asked. “Lakton? Every hamlet between here and there? I might be able to protect the Hollow, but what can I do for them?”

  “From Jardir’s bed?” Elona asked, incredulous. “Is there a place in the world you could influence the war more? Slake a man’s lust, and he will give you anything you ask. Surely that big brain of yours can think of a few simple requests to turn the worst of his tide.”

  She bent close to Leesha, putting her lips to Leesha’s ear. “Or would you rather it be Inevera’s voice that whispers advice in his ear as he drifts off to sleep each night?”

  It was a terrifying thought, and Leesha shook her head, but she still felt unsure.

  “The gates of Heaven don’t lie between your legs, Leesha,” Elona said. “I know you wanted to wait for your wedding night, and truth be told, I wanted that for you, too. But it din’t happen that way, and life goes on.”

  Leesha looked at her mother sharply, and saw Elona’s defiant visage staring back at her, ready to stand by every word.

  “You see the world very clearly, Mother,” Leesha said. “I envy you, sometimes.”

  Elona was taken aback. “You do?” she asked, incredulous.

  Leesha smiled. “Not often, mind.”

  CHAPTER 30

  FERAL

  333 AR SUMMER

  RENNA WAITED PATIENTLY AS the rock demon materialized. She had chosen her perch carefully, high in the single tall tree atop a hill where a large facing of bedrock jutted from the ground like a broken bone sticking through flesh.

  The pattern of tracks in the soil told her the giant coreling, some dozen feet tall, materialized in this same spot almost every night. Over the last six weeks, Arlen had taught her many things, including the fact that rock demons were creatures of habit, and lesser demons would have learned to stay clear of any rising place claimed by a rock demon.

  As the foul gray mist seeped from the bedrock, slowly coalescing into demonic form, she closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she embraced her fear and found her inner center.

  It was amazing how well the Krasian technique worked. It had been a challenge at first, but now it took only a moment to shift her perspective, going to a mental place where there was no pain, no fear of foe or failure.

  The world looked different as she opened her eyes and stood, bare feet gripping the tree limb in perfect balance. In her left hand, she gripped Harl’s knife, running her thumb absently over the wards she had carved into the bone handle. In her right, she held a single chestnut.

  A cool breeze rustled the yellowing leaves around her, and she inhaled deeply, letting the air caress her bare skin, feeling as much a part of the nighttime world as the unsuspecting demon materializing below her.

  Her waist-length brown hair had gotten in her way and was now a short, spiky remnant with only a single braided tail to recall its former length. She had discarded her dress entirely, cutting her shift into two parts: a high vest laced tightly to hold her breasts in place but open below to reveal her warded belly, and a skirt slit high on both sides to free her warded legs.

  Arlen still refused to ward her flesh for her, but she had ignored him, grinding her own blackstems. The ink stained her skin a dark brown that lasted many days before fading.

  She looked down, seeing the demon solidify at last, and flicked the chestnut. Without
waiting to see if it struck its mark, she stepped off the branch into thin air, dropping silently.

  The chestnut hit the demon’s far shoulder as she fell, the heat ward she had painted onto its smooth surface blazing bright in the darkness as it sucked magic from the powerful coreling. The tough nut became superheated in an instant, and exploded with a bang.

  The rock demon was unharmed, but the flash and noise turned its head the other way just as Renna landed on its broad armored shoulder. She grabbed one of its horns with her free hand for balance and drove her knife into its throat. The wards on the blade flared, and she was rewarded with a jolt of magic and a hot gush of black ichor that covered her hand.

  She snarled and drew her arm back for another strike, but the demon howled, throwing its head back, and it was all Renna could do to hold on to its horn and keep her perch.

  She swung wildly to avoid the talons as the demon clawed and punched at its own head in an effort to dislodge her, stabbing with the knife and kicking her warded feet at whatever targets came in range. Magic bucked through her with each strike, an electric thrill that made her faster, stronger, more resilient with every touch. The wards around her eyes activated, and the night lit up with magic’s glow.

  Her blows distracted the demon, but they did little more. She could no longer access the more vulnerable eyes and throat, and she did not have the leverage to stab through its thick skull. Sooner or later, one of its wild swings would crush her. She laughed at the thrill of it.

  Sheathing her knife, Renna reached into her waistband, pulling free the long string of brook stones Cobie Fisher had given her in what seemed like another life. She whipped the necklace around the demon’s throat, letting go its horn to catch the far end as it came around. She crossed her arms and dropped down into the groove between its armored shoulder blades, hanging from the ends of the leather cord just out of the enraged coreling’s reach.

  She was slammed about but kept her grip, using her full weight to pull the warded beads tight around the demon’s throat. Renna had painted the smooth stones with wards of forbidding, and they flared to repel, the magic crushing inward from all sides.

  In moments the giant rock demon’s thrashing and thunderous footfalls became twitches and staggered steps. The string grew warm as the magic built in intensity, brightening the night.

  At last, there was a crack and a final flare before the magic winked out. The giant horned head fell free, and Renna kicked off, leaping out of the way. She landed lightly on her feet as the giant demon came crashing down next to her. She could feel the stolen magic tingling in her skin, healing every scrape and bruise received in the battle. She looked at the black demon ichor on her hands, and laughed again, winding up her beads and running off to continue the hunt.

  She had never felt so free.

  A flame demon came at her, a lone coreling hunting through the brush by the trees. Renna set her feet as it charged, waiting for the telltale inhalation.

  Flame demons always opened their attacks with a blast of firespit as soon as they were in range. The spit could set anything alight, and usually stunned their prey into helplessness while they pressed the attack with tooth and claw. But if the initial blast could be avoided, there was a brief period before they could spit fire again.

  Renna crouched, face low to the ground, presenting a clear target as the demon pulled up short right in front of her, inhaling. It squinted its lidless eyes shut as it began to blow, a reflex not unlike when a human sneezed, and Renna dashed to the left in that instant, the bright blast of firespit arcing through empty air.

  By the time the coreling opened its eyes and saw she was gone, Renna was behind it, grabbing its horns. She yanked its head back and gutted it like a hare caught in her father’s field.

  The flame demon’s ichor spattered her, burning like embers from a fire, but Renna was in a place beyond pain. She slapped mud where the drops had fallen, cooling her skin, and rose.

  A low rumbling told her that in the scant moments the battle with the flame demon had taken, she had been surrounded. She turned to see a wood demon hunched before her, standing six feet at the shoulder, stooped. Farther back and waiting in the trees, her warded eyes caught its two fellows, their rough armor blending into the surrounding woods, but unable to mask their magic. When she engaged the first, the strongest, the others would come at her from the sides.

  Renna had killed wood demons many times, but three was two more than she had ever faced at once without Arlen beside her.

  Is three more than I can face? She pushed the useless thought away. There was no outrunning demons; nowhere to hide once they spotted you. There was only kill or be killed.

  “Come on, then,” she snarled, pointing her knife at the demon before her.

  The Painted Man watched Renna from the trees on the far side of the road, shaking his head. It had taken him some time to track her down. He had gone to gather herbs and firewood, and made her promise to wait at the keep until he returned, so they could hunt together. This wasn’t the first time Renna had gotten impatient or simply ignored his wishes and gone off on her own.

  Watching her slip around the flame demon’s blind spot, laying it open from tooth to tail with her father’s knife, he had to admit she was a fast learner. More than even Wonda of the Cutters, Renna Tanner had thrown herself into the art of demon hunting body and soul, and her skill level after just a few short weeks was a testament to that.

  He wondered if he had done the right thing, teaching her to embrace her fears. Renna had taken it too far and quickly become reckless; as much a danger to herself as the demons.

  He understood what she was going through—more than she would ever know. The night was unforgiving, even to one who embraced its ways, as shown by the copse of wood demons he saw stalking Renna while her attention was focused on the flame demon. Likely she would only see the one that came at her openly, the trunk, and the branches would have her.

  The Painted Man nocked an arrow to his great bow, holding it at the ready. He would wait until she saw all three, and knew doom was upon her, before killing them. Perhaps then she would begin to take better care.

  The wood demon roared, an act meant to terrify and stun her, much like the flame demon’s spit. All along, its fellows crept closer, positioning themselves to strike.

  But Renna never gave them a chance, charging forward in a seemingly suicidal attack. The wood demon bared its rows of teeth and hooked claws, throwing out its chest to accept her initial strike. Wood demons were second only to rock demons in strength, and likely the beast had never had its barklike armor pierced.

  Renna pivoted, using her momentum to power a circle kick. Her warded instep and shin exploded into the demon’s chest, and it was thrown back in a blast of magic, stunned.

  The other demons roared out of the trees, and Renna charged at one, grabbing its wrist and setting her feet, twisting her hips to turn the force of the demon’s attack against it. It was almost effortless, the way she made the heavy wood demon sail through the air into the third member of the copse. She ran into the press, Harl’s knife stabbing into every opening that presented itself in the tumble as the two corelings tried to untangle and right themselves.

  One of the demons swiped at Renna from its prone position as she came within reach of its long, branchlike arms. She threw herself back, feeling the air whistle across her chest as its claws passed. She had been unable to effectively ward the cloth of her vest, and the claws would have cut deeply had they connected. She envied Arlen his ability to fight shirtless.

  She righted herself unharmed, but her momentum was lost, and all three wood demons had regained their feet to threaten her again. They carried scorched wounds where she had struck, but even as the magic she ’d leeched from the corelings healed her own wounds, so too were they recovering quickly. In moments they would be fully healed.

  She reached into the pouch at her waist as they charged, hurling a handful of warded chestnuts their way. The demons sh
rieked and threw up their arms defensively as the heat wards flared, the chestnuts bursting into intense flames with tiny pops.

  The two outermost corelings escaped unharmed, but the one in the center took the brunt of the salvo and its shoulder caught fire. In a moment the whole creature was aflame, shrieking and flailing about madly.

  Seeing their fellow ablaze, the demons to either side backpedaled away from it, separating farther and giving Renna the opening she needed. She charged back in at one, stabbing up into the vulnerable gap between the third and fourth ribs on its right side. Her long knife pierced the coreling’s black heart.

  She ducked under its death throes and grabbed its shoulder with her left hand as it lunged. The ward on her palm flared hot, burning the demon’s knobby armored skin, and she felt flush with strength and power as a portion of its magic arced into her. She pivoted and drove her knife in deeper, using it to lift the two-hundred-pound demon clear over her head. She shrieked, sounding like a demon herself, and threw it into its blazing companion.

  Harl’s knife, still deep in the demon, should have come free then, but the crosspiece caught on its lower rib. She cried out as the blade was torn from her grasp.

  Seeing her unarmed, the last demon roared and charged her, tackling her into the scrub and dirt.

  Wards flared all over her body, but the demon, mad with rage and pain, bit and clawed wildly until its searching talons found purchase. Its claws dug deep, Renna screamed, and hot blood soaked the ground.

  There was a rustle in the trees, and Renna knew more wood demons, drawn to the light and activity, would soon be upon her. Not that it mattered, if she did not end the fight with the demon atop her quickly.

  The demon roared again, and she roared right back, shoving hard against it and reversing the pin. It was a basic sharusahk move, one any novice could have prevented, but corelings had only instinctive knowledge of leverage. She pumped her knees continually, hitting the demon’s thighs to keep it from shifting its legs up to claw at her. She had owned enough cats to know the fight would be over quickly if it gained that advantage.