Читать книгу The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy - Peter V. Brett - Страница 24

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Rojer followed his mother as she swept the inn, his little broom swishing side to side in imitation of her broad strokes. She smiled down at him, ruffling his bright red hair, and he beamed back at her. He was three years old.

‘Sweep behind the firebox, Rojer,’ she said, and he hurried to comply, slapping the bristles into the crevice between the box and wall, sending wood dust and bits of bark flying. His mother swept the results into a neat pile.

The door swung open, and Rojer’s father came in, arms full of wood. He trailed bits of bark and soil as he crossed the room.

‘Jessum!’ his mother cried. ‘I just swept in here!’

‘I help sweep!’ Rojer proclaimed loudly.

‘That’s right,’ his mother agreed, ‘and your father’s making a mess.’

‘You want to run out of wood in the night with the Duke and his entourage upstairs?’ Jessum asked.

‘His Grace won’t be here for a week at least,’ his mother replied.

‘Best do the work now while the inn’s quiet, Kally,’ Jessum said. ‘No telling how many courtiers the Duke will bring, running us to and fro to like little Riverbridge was Angiers itself.’

‘If you want to do something useful,’ Kally said, ‘the wards outside are starting to peel.’

Jessum nodded. ‘I saw,’ he said. ‘The wood warped in that last cold snap.’

‘Master Piter was supposed to redraw them a week ago,’ Kally said.

‘Spoke to him yesterday,’ Jessum said. ‘He’s putting everyone off to work on the bridge, but he says they’ll be ready before the Duke comes.’

‘It’s not the Duke I’m worried about,’ Kally said. ‘Piter’s only concern may be impressing Rhinebeck in hopes of a royal commission, but I have simpler concerns, like not having my family cored in the night.’

‘All right, all right,’ Jessum said, holding up his hands. ‘I’ll go talk to him again.’

‘You’d think Piter would know better,’ Kally went on. ‘Rhinebeck ent even our duke.’

‘He’s the only one close enough to get help to us if we need it quick,’ Jessum said. ‘Euchor doesn’t care for Riverbridge, long as Messengers get through and taxes come on time.’

‘See the light,’ Kally said. ‘If Rhinebeck’s coming, it’s because he’s sniffing for taxes, too. We’ll be paying from both ends afore Rojer sees another summer.’

‘What would you have us do?’ Jessum asked. ‘Anger a day away for the sake of the one two weeks to the north?’

‘I didn’t say we should spit in his eye,’ Kally said. ‘I just don’t see why impressing him comes before warding our own homes.’

‘I said I’d go,’ Jessum said.

‘So go,’ Kally said. ‘It’s past noon already. And take Rojer with you. Maybe that will remind you what’s really important.’

Jessum swallowed his scowl and squatted before his son. ‘Want to go see the bridge, Rojer?’ he asked.

‘Fishing?’ Rojer asked. He loved to fish off the side of the bridge with his father.

Jessum laughed, sweeping Rojer into his arms. ‘Not today,’ he said. ‘Your mum wants us to have a word with Piter.’

He sat Rojer up on his shoulders. ‘Now hold on tight,’ he said, and Rojer held on to his father’s head as he ducked out the door. His cheeks were scratchy with stubble.

It wasn’t far to the bridge. Riverbridge was small even for a hamlet; just a handful of houses and shops, the barracks for the men-at-arms who collected tolls, and his parents’ inn. Rojer waved to the guards as they passed the tollhouse, and they waved back.

The bridge spanned the Dividing River at its narrowest point. Built in generations gone, it had two arches, spanning over three hundred feet, and was wide enough for a large cart with a horse to either side. A team of Milnese engineers maintained the ropes and supports daily. The Messenger Road – the only road – stretched as far as the eye could see in either direction.

Master Piter was at the far end, shouting instructions over the side of the bridge. Rojer followed his gaze, and saw his apprentices hanging from slings as they warded the underside.

‘Piter!’ Jessum called when they were halfway across the bridge.

‘Ay, Jessum!’ the Warder called. Jessum put Rojer down as he and Piter shook hands.

‘Bridge is looking good,’ Jessum noted. Piter had replaced most of his simpler painted wards with intricate etched calligraphy, lacquered and polished.

Piter smiled. ‘The Duke will fill his breeches when he sees my warding,’ he proclaimed.

Jessum laughed. ‘Kally’s scouring the inn as we speak,’ he said.

‘Make the Duke happy and your future’s set,’ Piter said. ‘A word of praise in the right ears, and we could be plying our trades in Angiers and not this backwater.’

‘This “backwater” is my home,’ Jessum said, scowling. ‘My grandda was born in Riverbridge, and if I have my say, my grandkids will be, too.’

Piter nodded. ‘No offence meant,’ he said. ‘I just miss Angiers.’

‘So go back,’ Jessum said. ‘The road is open, and a single night out on the road is no great feat for a Warder. You don’t need the Duke for that.’

Piter shook his head. ‘Angiers is teeming with Warders,’ he said. ‘I would just be another leaf in the forest. But if I could claim the Duke’s favour, it would put a line out my door.’

‘Well, it’s my door I’m worried about today,’ Jessum said. ‘The wards’re peeling off, and Kally don’t think they’ll last the night. Can you come take a look?’

Piter blew out a breath. ‘I told you yesterday …’ he began, but Jessum cut him off.

‘I know what you told me, Piter, but I’m telling you it ent enough,’ he said. ‘I won’t have my boy sleeping behind weak wards so you can make the ones on the bridge a bit artier. Can’t you just patch them for the night?’

Piter spat. ‘You can do that yourself, Jessum. Just trace the lines. I’ll give you paint.’

‘Rojer wards better than me, and that’s not at all,’ Jessum said. ‘I’d make a botch of it, and Kally would kill me if the corelings didn’t.’

Piter scowled. He was about to reply when there was a shout from down the road.

‘Ay, Riverbridge!’

‘Geral!’ Jessum called. Rojer looked up in sudden interest, recognizing the Messenger’s bulky frame. His mouth watered at the sight. Geral always had a sweet for him.

Another man rode next to him, a stranger, but his Jongleur’s motley put the boy at ease. He thought of how the last Jongleur had sung and danced and walked upside down on his hands, and he hopped with excitement. Rojer loved Jongleurs more than anything.

‘Little Rojer, gone and grown another six inches!’ Geral cried, pulling up his horse and leaping down to pick Rojer up. He was tall and built like a rain barrel, with a round face and grizzled beard. Rojer had been afraid of him once, with his metal shirt and the demon scar that turned his lower lip into an angry pucker, but no more. He laughed as Geral tickled him.

‘Which pocket?’ Geral asked, holding the boy at arm’s length. Rojer pointed immediately. Geral always kept the sweets in the same place.

The big Messenger laughed, retrieving a Rizonan sugar wrapped in a twist of corn husk. Rojer squealed and plopped down on the grass to unwrap it.

‘What brings you to Riverbridge this time?’ Jessum asked the Messenger.

The Jongleur stepped forward, sweeping his cloak back in a flourish. He was tall, with long hair sun-bleached to gold and a brown beard. His jaw was perfectly squared, and his skin sun-bronzed. Over his motley he wore a fine tabard emblazoned with a cluster of green leaves on a field of brown.

‘Arrick Sweetsong,’ he introduced himself, ‘Master Jongleur and herald to His Grace, Duke Rhinebeck III, Guardian of the Forest Fortress, Wearer of the Wooden Crown, and Lord of all Angiers. I come to inspect the town before His Grace’s arrival next week.’

‘The Duke’s herald is a Jongleur?’ Piter asked Geral, raising an eyebrow.

‘None better for the hamlets,’ Geral replied with a wink. ‘Folks are less likely to string a man up for telling them taxes are raised when he’s juggling for their kids.’

Arrick scowled at him, but Geral only laughed.

‘Be a good man and fetch the innkeep to come for our horses,’ Arrick told Jessum.

‘I’m the innkeep,’ Rojer’s father said, holding out his hand. ‘Jessum Inn. That’s my boy, Rojer.’ He nodded at Rojer.

Arrick ignored the hand and the boy, producing a silver moon as if from thin air and flicking it his way. Jessum caught the coin, looking at it curiously.

‘The horses,’ Arrick said pointedly. Jessum frowned, but he pocketed the coin and moved for the animals. Geral took his own reins and waved him away.

‘I still need my wards looked at, Piter,’ Jessum said. ‘You’ll be sorry if I have to send Kally to shriek at you about it.’

‘It looks like the bridge still needs a lot of work before His Grace arrives,’ Arrick noted. Piter stood a bit straighter at that and gave Jessum a sour look.

‘Do you wish to sleep behind peeling wards tonight, Master Jongleur?’ Jessum asked. Arrick’s bronzed skin paled at that.

‘I’ll take a look at them, if you want,’ Geral said. ‘I can patch them if they’re not too bad, and I’ll fetch Piter myself if they are.’ He stomped his spear and gave the Warder a hard stare. Piter’s eyes widened, and he nodded his understanding.

Geral picked Rojer up and sat him on top of his huge destrier. ‘Hold tight, boy,’ he said, ‘we’re going for a ride!’ Rojer laughed and pulled the destrier’s mane as Geral and his father led the horses to the inn. Arrick strode ahead of them like a man followed by servants.

Kally was waiting at the door. ‘Geral!’ she called. ‘What a pleasant surprise!’

‘And who is this?’ Arrick asked, his hands flicking quickly to smooth his hair and clothes.

‘This is Kally,’ Jessum said, adding “my wife” when the twinkle in Arrick’s eye did not diminish.

Arrick pretended not to hear and strode up to her, throwing his multicoloured cloak back as he made a leg.

‘A pleasure, madam,’ he said, kissing her hand. ‘I am Arrick Sweetsong, Master Jongleur and herald to Duke Rhinebeck III, Guardian of the Forest Fortress, Wearer of the Wooden Crown, and Lord of all Angiers. His Grace will be pleased to see such beauty when he visits your fine inn.’

Kally covered her mouth, her pale cheeks colouring to match her red hair. She made a clumsy curtsey in return.

‘You and Geral must be tired,’ she said. ‘Come in and I’ll serve some hot soup while I prepare supper.’

‘We would be delighted, good lady,’ Arrick said, bowing again.

‘Geral promised to look over the wards for us before dark, Kal,’ Jessum said.

‘What?’ Kally asked, pulling her eyes from Arrick’s handsome smile. ‘Oh, well you two stake the horses and see to that while I show Master Arrick a room and start supper,’ she said.

‘A lovely idea,’ Arrick said, offering her an arm as they went inside.

‘Keep an eye on Arrick with your wife,’ Geral muttered. ‘They call him “Sweetsong” because his voice will make any woman sweet between the legs, and I’ve never known him to stop at a wedding vow.’

Jessum scowled. ‘Rojer,’ he said, pulling him off the horse, ‘run in and stay with Mum.’

Rojer nodded, hitting the ground running.

‘The last Jongleur ate fire,’ Rojer said. ‘Can you eat fire?’

‘That I can,’ Arrick said, ‘and spit it back out like a flame demon.’ Rojer clapped his hands and Arrick turned back to gaze at Kally, who was bending behind the bar to fill him a mug of ale. She had let her hair down.

Rojer pulled his cloak again. The Jongleur tried to tuck it out of reach, but Rojer just tugged on his trouser leg instead.

‘What is it?’ Arrick asked, turning back to him with a scowl.

‘Do you sing, too?’ Rojer asked. ‘I like singing.’

‘Perhaps I will sing for you later,’ Arrick said, turning away again.

‘Oh, give him a little song,’ Kally begged, putting a foaming mug on the counter before him. ‘It would make him so happy.’ She smiled, but Arrick’s eyes had already drifted down to the top button of her dress, which had mysteriously come undone while she fetched his mug.

‘Of course,’ Arrick said, smiling brightly. ‘Just a pull of your fine ale to wash the dust from my throat.’

He drained the mug in one quaff, eyes never leaving her neckline, and reached for a large multicoloured bag on the floor. Kally refilled his mug as he produced his lute.

Arrick’s rich alto voice filled the room, clear and beautiful as he gently strummed the lute. He sang a song of a hamlet woman who missed her one chance to love a man before he left for the Free Cities, and forever regretted it. Kally and Rojer stared at him in wonder, mesmerized by the sound. When he finished, they clapped loudly.

‘More!’ Rojer cried.

‘Not now, my boy,’ Arrick said, ruffling his hair. ‘Perhaps after supper. Here,’ he said, reaching into the multicoloured bag, ‘why not try making your own music?’ He produced a straw fiddle, several strips of polished rosewood in different lengths set into a lacquered wooden frame. A stout cord attached it to the wand, a six-inch stick with a lathed wooden ball at the end.

‘Take this and go play a bit while I speak with your lovely mother,’ he said.

Rojer squealed in delight, taking the toy and running off to plop down on the wooden floor, striking the strips in different patterns, delighting in the clear sounds each made.

Kally laughed at the sight. ‘He’s going to be a Jongleur one day,’ she said.

‘Not a lot of custom?’ Arrick asked, sweeping his hand over the empty tables in the common room.

‘Oh, it was crowded enough at lunchtime,’ Kally said, ‘but this time of year, we don’t get many boarders apart from the occasional Messenger.’

‘It must get lonely, tending an empty inn,’ Arrick said.

‘Sometimes,’ Kally said, ‘but I’ve Rojer to keep me busy. He’s a handful even when it’s quiet, and a terror during caravan season, when the drivers get drunk and sing till all hours, keeping him up with their racket.’

‘I imagine it must be hard for you to sleep through that, too,’ Arrick said.

‘It’s hard for me,’ Kally admitted. ‘But Jessum can sleep through anything.’

‘Is that so?’ Arrick asked, sliding his hand over hers. Her eyes widened and she stopped breathing, but she didn’t pull away.

The front door slammed open. ‘Wards are patched!’ Jessum called. Kally gasped, snatching her hand away from Arrick’s so quickly she spilled his ale across the bar. She grabbed a rag to soak it up.

‘Just a patch job?’ she asked doubtfully, her eyes down to hide the flush in her cheeks.

‘Not by a spear’s throw,’ Geral said. ‘Honestly, you’re lucky they lasted as long as they did. I patched the worst of them, and I’ll have a talk with Piter in the morning. I’ll see him replace every ward on this inn before sunset if I have to hold him at spearpoint.’

‘Thank you, Geral,’ Kally said, casting Jessum a withering look.

‘I’m still mucking the barn,’ Jessum said, ‘so I staked the horses out in the yard in Geral’s portable circle.’

‘That’s fine,’ Kally said. ‘Wash up, all of you. Supper will be ready soon.’

‘Delicious,’ Arrick proclaimed, drinking copious amounts of ale with his supper. Kally had roasted an herb-crusted shank of lamb, serving the finest cut to the Duke’s herald.

‘I don’t suppose you have a sister as beautiful as yourself?’ Arrick asked between mouthfuls. ‘His Grace is in the market for a new bride.’

‘I thought the Duke already had a wife,’ Kally said, blushing as she leaned to fill his mug.

‘He does,’ Geral grunted. ‘His fourth.’

Arrick snorted. ‘No more fertile than the others, I’m afraid, if the talk around the palace holds true. Rhinebeck will keep seeking wives until one gives him a son.’

‘You might have the right of that,’ Geral admitted.

‘How many times will the Tenders let him stand and promise the Creator “forever”?’ Jessum asked.

‘As many as he needs,’ Arrick assured. ‘Lord Janson keeps the Holy Men in check.’

Geral spat. ‘It’s not right, men of the Creator having to debase themselves for that …’

Arrick held up a warning finger. ‘They say even the trees have ears for those who speak out against the first minister.’

Geral scowled, but he held his tongue.

‘Well, he’s not likely to find a bride in Riverbridge,’ Jessum said. ‘There ent women enough for those of us here. I had to go all the way to Cricket Run to find Kally.’

‘You’re Angierian, my dear?’ Arrick asked.

‘Born, yes,’ Kally said, ‘but the Tender had me swear an oath to Miln at the wedding. All Bridgefolk are required to swear to Euchor.’

‘For now,’ Arrick said.

‘So it’s true, what they say,’ Jessum said. ‘Rhinebeck is coming to lay claim to Riverbridge.’

‘Nothing so dramatic,’ Arrick said. ‘His Grace simply feels that with half your people of Angierian stock and your bridge built and maintained from Angierian timber, that we should all have a …’ he eyed Kally as she sat back down, ‘… closer relationship.’

‘I doubt Euchor will be quick to share Riverbridge,’ Jessum said. ‘The Dividing has separated their lands for a thousand years. He’ll no sooner yield that border than his own throne.’

Arrick shrugged and smiled again. ‘That is a matter for dukes and ministers,’ he said, raising his mug. ‘Small folk such as us need not concern ourselves over such things.’

The sun soon set, and outside, there were sharp, crackling retorts, punctuated by flashes of light that leaked through the shutters as wards flared. Rojer hated those harsh sounds, and the shrieks that came with them. He sat on the floor, striking his noisemaker harder and harder, trying to drown them out.

‘Corelings’re hungry tonight,’ his father mused.

‘It’s upsetting Rojer,’ Kally said rising from her seat to go to him.

‘Not to fear,’ Arrick said, wiping his mouth. He went to his multicoloured bag, pulling out a slim fiddle case. ‘We’ll drive those demons off.’

He put bow to string, and immediately filled the room with music. Rojer laughed and clapped, his fear vanished. His mother clapped with him, and they found a rhythm to complement Arrick’s tune. Even Geral and Jessum began to clap along.

‘Dance with me, Rojer!’ Kally laughed, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet.

Rojer tried to keep up as she stepped to the beat, but he stumbled and she swept him up in her arms, kissing him as she spun around the room. Rojer laughed in delight.

There was a sudden crash. Arrick’s bow slipped from the strings as everyone turned to see the heavy wooden door shaking in its frame. Dust, knocked loose by the impact, drifted lazily to the floor.

Geral was the first to react, the big man moving with surprising speed for the spear and shield he had left by the door. For a long moment, the others stared at him, uncomprehending. There was another crash, and thick black talons burst through the wood. Kally shrieked.

Jessum leapt to the fireplace, snatching up a heavy iron poker. ‘Get Rojer to the bolt-hole in the kitchen!’ he cried, his words punctuated by a roar from beyond the door.

Geral had snatched up his spear by then, and threw his shield to Arrick. ‘Get Kally and the boy out!’ he cried as the door splintered and a seven-foot rock demon burst through. Geral and Jessum turned to meet it. The creature threw back its head and shrieked as small nimble flame demons darted into the room around and between its thick legs.

Arrick caught the shield, but when Kally ran to his protection, Rojer clutched in her arms, he shoved her aside, snatching up his multicoloured bag and sprinting to the kitchen.

‘Kally!’ Jessum cried as she struck the floor, twisting to shield her son from the impact.

‘Damn you to the Core, Arrick!’ Geral cursed the Jongleur. ‘May all your dreams turn to dust!’ The rock demon struck him a backhand blow, launching him across the room.

A flame demon leapt at her as Kally struggled to her feet, but Jessum struck it hard with the poker, knocking it aside. It coughed fire as it landed, setting the floor alight.

‘Go!’ he cried as she got her feet under her. From over her shoulder, Rojer watched the demon spit fire on his father as they fled the room. Jessum screamed as his clothes ignited.

His mother clutched him tightly to her breast, moaning as she ran down the hall. Back in the common room, Geral roared in pain.

They burst into the kitchen just as Arrick yanked open the trap-door and dropped down. His hand reached back, slapping around for the heavy iron ring to pull the warded trap shut.

‘Master Arrick!’ Kally cried. ‘Wait for us!’

‘Demon!’ Rojer screamed as a flame demon scampered into the room, but his warning came too late. The impact as the coreling struck them knocked the breath from his mother, but she kept hold of him even as the creature’s talons dug deep into her. She shrieked as it ran up her back, its razor teeth clamping down on her shoulder and slicing through Rojer’s right hand. He howled.

‘Rojer!’ his mother cried, stumbling towards the washing trough before falling to her knees. Screaming in pain, she reached back and got a firm grip on one of the coreling’s horns.

‘You … can’t … have … my … son!’ she screamed, and threw herself forward, pulling on the horn with all her strength. Torn from its perch, the demon took ribbons of flesh with it as Kally flipped it into the trough.

Soaking crockery shattered on impact, and the flame demon gurgled and thrashed, steam filling the air as the water was brought to an instant boil. Kally screamed as her arms burned, but she held the creature under until its thrashes stopped.

‘Mum!’ Rojer cried, and she turned to see two more of the creatures scamper into the room. She grabbed Rojer and ran for the trap, yanking the heavy door open with one hand. Arrick’s wide eyes looked up at her.

Kally fell as a flame demon latched onto her leg, taking a bite of her thigh. ‘Take him! Please!’ she begged, shoving the boy down into Arrick’s arms.

‘I love you!’ she cried to Rojer as she slammed the trap shut, leaving them in darkness.

So close to the Dividing River, houses in Riverbridge were built on great, warded blocks to resist flooding. They waited in the darkness, safe enough from corelings so long as the foundations held, but there was smoke everywhere.

‘Die from demons or die from smoke,’ Arrick muttered. He started to move away from the trap, but Rojer clung hard to his leg.

‘Let go, boy,’ Arrick said, kicking his leg in an attempt to shake the boy off.

‘Don’t leave me!’ Rojer cried, weeping uncontrollably.

Arrick frowned. He looked around at the smoke, and spat.

‘Hold tight, boy,’ he said, putting Rojer on his back. He lifted the edges of his cape to seat the boy in a makeshift sling, tying the corners about his waist. He took up Geral’s shield and picked his way through the foundations, crouching to crawl out into the night.

‘Creator above,’ he whispered, as he saw the entire village of Riverbridge in flames. Demons danced in the night, dragging screaming bodies out to feast.

‘Seems your parents weren’t the only ones Piter shorted,’ Arrick said. ‘I hope they drag that bastard down into the Core.’

Crouching behind the shield, Arrick made his way around the inn, hiding in the smoke and confusion until they made the main courtyard. There, safe in Geral’s portable circle, were the two horses; an island of safety amidst the horror.

A flame demon caught sight of them as Arrick broke into a run for the succour, but Geral’s shield turned its firespit with a flare of magic. Inside the circle, Arrick dropped Rojer and fell to his knees, gasping. When he recovered, he began to dig at the saddlebags desperately.

‘It must be here,’ he muttered. ‘I know I left … Ah!’ He pulled a wineskin free and yanked off the stopper, gulping deeply.

Rojer whimpered, cradling his bloody right hand.

‘Eh?’ Arrick asked. ‘You hurt, boy?’ He moved over to examine Rojer, and gasped when he saw the boy’s hand. Rojer’s middle and index fingers were bitten clear away; his remaining fingers still clutched tightly about a lock of red hair, his mother’s, severed by the bite.

‘No!’ Rojer cried, as Arrick tried to take the hair away. ‘It’s mine!’

‘I won’t take it, boy,’ Arrick said, ‘I just need to see the bite.’ He put the lock in Rojer’s other hand, and the boy clenched it tightly.

The wound wasn’t bleeding badly, partly cauterized by the flame demon’s saliva, but it oozed and stank.

‘I’m no Herb Gatherer,’ Arrick said with a shrug, and squirted it with wine from his skin. Rojer screamed, and Arrick tore a bit of his fine cloak to wrap the wound.

Rojer was crying freely by then, and Arrick wrapped him tightly in his cloak. ‘There, there, boy,’ he said, holding him close and stroking his back. ‘We’re alive to tell the tale. That’s something, isn’t it?’

Rojer kept on weeping, and Arrick began to sing a lullaby. He sang as Riverbridge burned. He sang as the demons danced and feasted. The sound was like a shield around them, and under its protection, Rojer gave in to exhaustion and fell asleep.