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 31

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‘There’s our friend again,’ said Gaims, gesturing into the darkness from their post on the wall.

‘Right on time,’ Woron agreed, coming up next to him. ‘What do you s’pose he wants?’

‘Empty my pockets,’ Gaims said, ‘you’ll find no answers.’

The two guards leaned against the warded rail of the watchtower and watched as the one-armed rock demon materialized before the gate. It was big, even to the eyes of Milnese guards, who saw more of rock demons than any other type.

While the other demons were still getting their bearings, the one-armed demon moved with purpose, snuffling about the gate, searching. Then it straightened and struck the wood, testing the wards. Magic flared and threw the demon back, but it was undeterred. Slowly, the demon moved along the wall, striking again and again, searching for a weakness until it was out of sight.

Hours later, a crackle of energy signalled the demon’s return from the opposite direction. The guards at other posts said that the demon circled the city each night, attacking every ward. When it reached the gate once more, it settled back on its haunches, staring patiently at the city.

Gaims and Woron were used to this scene, having witnessed it every night for the past year. They had even begun to look forward to it, passing the time on their watch by betting on how long ‘One Arm’ took to circle the city, or whether he would head east or west to do so.

‘I’m half-tempted to let ’im in, just t’see what he’s after,’ Woron mused.

‘Don’t even joke about that,’ Gaims warned. ‘If the watch commander hears talk like that, he’ll have both of us in irons, quarrying stone for the next year.’

His partner grunted. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘you have to wonder …’

That first year in Miln, his twelfth, passed quickly for Arlen as he grew into his role as an apprentice Warder. Cob’s first task had been to teach him to read. Arlen knew wards never before seen in Miln, and Cob wanted them committed to paper as soon as possible.

Arlen took to reading voraciously, wondering how he had ever gotten along without it. He disappeared into books for hours at a time, his lips moving slightly at first, but soon he was turning pages rapidly, his eyes darting across the page.

Cob had no cause to complain; Arlen worked harder than any apprentice he had ever known, staying up late in the night etching wards. Cob would often go to his bed thinking of the full day’s work to come, only to find it completed when the sun’s first light flooded the shop.

After learning his letters, Arlen was put to work cataloguing his personal repertoire of wards, complete with descriptions, into a book the master purchased for him. Paper was expensive in the sparsely wooded lands of Miln, and a whole book was something few commoners ever saw, but Cob scoffed at the price.

‘Even the worst grimoire’s worth a hundred times the paper it’s written on,’ he said.

‘Grimoire?’ Arlen asked.

‘A book of wards,’ Cob said. ‘Every Warder has theirs, and they guard their secrets carefully.’ Arlen treasured the valuable gift, filling its pages with a slow and steady hand.

When Arlen had finished plumbing his memory, Cob studied the book in shock. ‘Creator, boy, do you have any idea what this book is worth?’ he demanded.

Arlen looked up from the ward he was chiselling into a stone post, and shrugged. ‘Any greybeard in Tibbet’s Brook could teach you those wards,’ he said.

‘That may be,’ Cob replied, ‘but what’s common in Tibbet’s Brook is buried treasure in Miln. This ward here,’ he pointed to a page. ‘Can it truly turn firespit into a cool breeze?’

Arlen laughed. ‘My mam used to love that one,’ he said. ‘She wished the flame demons could come right up to the windows on hot summer nights to cool the house with their breath.’

‘Amazing,’ Cob said, shaking his head. ‘I want you to copy this a few more times, Arlen. It’s going to make you a very rich man.’

‘How do you mean?’ Arlen asked.

‘People would pay a fortune for a copy of this,’ Cob said. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t even sell at all. We could be the most sought-after Warders in the city if we kept them secret.’

Arlen frowned. ‘It’s not right to keep them secret,’ he said. ‘My da always said wards are for everyone.’

‘Every Warder has his secrets, Arlen,’ Cob said. ‘This is how we make our living.’

‘We make our living etching wardposts and painting doorjambs,’ Arlen disagreed, ‘not hoarding secrets that can save lives. Should we deny succour to those too poor to pay?’

‘Of course not,’ Cob said, ‘but this is different.’

‘How?’ Arlen asked. ‘We didn’t have Warders in Tibbet’s Brook. We all warded our own homes, and those who were better at it helped those who were worse without asking anything in return. Why should we? It’s not us against each other, it’s us against the demons!’

‘Fort Miln isn’t like Tibbet’s Brook, boy,’ Cob scowled. ‘Here, things cost money. If you don’t have any money, you become a Beggar. I have a skill, like any baker or stonemason. Why shouldn’t I charge for it?’

Arlen sat quietly for a time. ‘Cob, why ent you rich?’ he asked at last.

‘What?’

‘Like Ragen,’ Arlen clarified. ‘You said you used to be a Messenger for the Duke. Why don’t you live in a manse and have servants do everything for you? Why do you do this at all?’

Cob blew out a long breath. ‘Money is a fickle thing, Arlen,’ he said. ‘One moment you can have more than you know what to do with, and the next … you can find yourself begging food on the street.’

Arlen thought of the Beggars he saw on his first day in Miln. He had seen many more since, stealing dung to burn for warmth, sleeping in public warded shelters, begging for food.

‘What happened to your money, Cob?’ he asked.

‘I met a man who said he could build a road,’ Cob said. ‘A warded road, stretching from here to Angiers.’ Arlen moved closer and sat on a stool, his attention rapt.

‘They’ve tried to build roads before,’ Cob went on, ‘to the Duke’s Mines in the mountains, or to Harden’s Grove to the south. Short distances, less than a full day, but enough to make a fortune for the builder. They always failed. If there’s a hole in a net, no matter how small, corelings will find it eventually. And once they’re in …’ He shook his head. ‘I told the man this, but he was adamant. He had a plan. It would work. All he needed was money.’

Cob looked at Arlen. ‘Every city is short of something,’ he said, ‘and has too much of something else. Miln has metal and stone, but no wood. Angiers, the reverse. Both are short of crops and livestock, while Rizon has more than they need, but no good lumber or metal for tools. Lakton has fish in abundance, but little else.

‘I know you must think me a fool,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘for considering something everyone from the Duke on down had dismissed as impossible, but the idea stuck with me. I kept thinking, What if he could? Isn’t that worth any risk?’

‘I don’t think you’re a fool,’ Arlen said.

‘Which is why I keep most of your pay in trust,’ Cob chuckled. ‘You’d give it away, same as I did.’

‘What happened to the road?’ Arlen pressed.

‘Corelings happened,’ Cob said. ‘They slaughtered the man and all the workers I hired him, burned the wardposts and plans … they destroyed it all. I had invested everything in that road, Arlen. Even letting my servants go wasn’t enough to pay my debts. I made barely enough money selling my manse to clear a loan to buy this shop, and I’ve been here ever since.’

They sat for a time, both of them lost in images of what that night must have been like, both of them seeing in their mind’s eye the corelings dancing amidst the flames and carnage.

‘Do you still think the dream was worth the risk?’ Arlen asked. ‘All the cities sharing?’

‘To this day,’ Cob replied. ‘Even when my back aches from carting wardposts and I can’t stand my own cooking.’

‘This is no different,’ Arlen said, tapping the book of wards. ‘If all the Warders shared what they knew, how much better for everyone? Isn’t a safer city worth losing a little profit?’

Cob stared at him a long time. Then he came over and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re right, Arlen. I’m sorry. We’ll copy the books and sell them to the other Warders.’

Arlen slowly began to smile.

‘What?’ Cob asked suspiciously.

‘Why not trade our secrets for theirs?’ Arlen asked.

The chimes rang, and Elissa entered the warding shop with a wide smile. She nodded to Cob as she carried a large basket to Arlen, kissing him on the cheek. Arlen grimaced in embarrassment and wiped his cheek, but she took no notice of it.

‘I brought you boys some fruit, and fresh bread and cheese,’ she said, removing the items from the basket. ‘I expect you’ve been eating no better than you were upon my last visit.’

‘Dried meat and hard bread are a Messenger’s staples, my lady,’ Cob said with a smile, not looking up from the keystone he was chiselling.

‘Rubbish,’ Elissa scolded. ‘You’re retired, Cob, and Arlen isn’t a Messenger yet. Don’t try to glorify your lazy refusal to go to the market. Arlen is a growing boy, and needs better fare.’ She ruffled Arlen’s hair as she spoke, smiling even as he pulled away.

‘Come to dinner tonight, Arlen,’ Elissa said. ‘Ragen is away, and the manse is lonely without him. I’ll feed you something to put meat on your bones, and you can stay in your room.’

‘I … don’t think I can,’ Arlen said, avoiding her eyes. ‘Cob needs me to finish these wardposts for the Duke’s Gardens …’

‘Nonsense,’ Cob said, waving his hand. ‘The wardposts can wait, Arlen. They’re not due for another week.’ He looked up at Lady Elissa with a grin, ignoring Arlen’s discomfort. ‘I’ll send him over at the Evening Bell, Lady.’

Elissa flashed him a smile. ‘It’s settled, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you tonight, Arlen.’ She kissed the boy and swept out of the shop.

Cob glanced at Arlen, who was frowning into his work. ‘I don’t see why you choose to spend your nights sleeping on a pallet in the back of the shop when you could have a warm featherbed and a woman like Elissa to dote on you,’ he said, keeping his eyes on his own work.

‘She acts like she’s my mam,’ Arlen complained, ‘but she’s not.’

‘That’s true, she’s not,’ Cob agreed. ‘But it’s clear she wants the job. Would it be so bad to let her have it?’

Arlen said nothing, and Cob, seeing the sad look in the boy’s eyes, let the matter drop.

‘You’re spending too much time inside with your nose buried in books,’ Cob said, snatching away the volume Arlen was reading. ‘When was the last time you felt the sun on your skin?’

Arlen’s eyes widened. In Tibbet’s Brook, he had never spent a moment indoors when he had a choice, but after more than a year in Miln, he could hardly remember his last day outside.

‘Go find some mischief!’ Cob ordered. ‘Won’t kill you to make a friend your own age!’

Arlen walked out of the city for the first time in a year, and the sun comforted him like an old friend. Away from the dung carts, rotting garbage, and sweaty crowds, the air held a freshness he had forgotten. He found a hilltop overlooking a field filled with playing children and pulled a book from his bag, plopping down to read.

‘Hey, bookmole!’ someone called.

Arlen looked up to see a group of boys approaching, holding a ball. ‘C’mon!’ one of them cried. ‘We need one more to make the sides even!’

‘I don’t know the game,’ Arlen said. Cob had all but ordered him to play with other boys, but he thought his book far more interesting.

‘What’s to know?’ another boy asked. ‘You help your side get the ball to the goal, and try to keep the other side from doing it.’

Arlen frowned. ‘All right,’ he said, moving to join the boy who had spoken.

‘I’m Jaik,’ the boy said. He was slender, with dark tousled hair and a pinched nose. His clothes were patched and dirty. He looked thirteen, like Arlen. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Arlen.’

‘You work for Warder Cob, right?’ Jaik asked. ‘The kid Messenger Ragen found on the road?’ When Arlen nodded, Jaik’s eyes widened a bit, as if he hadn’t believed it. He led the way onto the field, and pointed out the white painted stones that marked the goals.

Arlen quickly caught on to the rules of the game. After a time, he forgot his book, focusing his attention on the opposing team. He imagined he was a Messenger and they were demons trying to keep him from his circle. Hours melted away, and before he knew it the Evening Bell rang. Everyone hurriedly gathered up their things, fearful of the darkening sky.

Arlen took his time fetching his book. Jaik ran up to him. ‘You’d better hurry,’ he said.

Arlen shrugged. ‘We have plenty of time,’ he replied.

Jaik looked at the darkening sky, and shuddered. ‘You play pretty good,’ he said. ‘Come back tomorrow. We play ball most afternoons, and on Sixthday we go to the square to see the Jongleur.’ Arlen nodded noncommittally, and Jaik smiled and sped off.

Arlen headed back through the gate, the now-familiar stink of the city enveloping him. He turned up the hill to Ragen’s manse. The Messenger was away again, this time to faraway Lakton, and Arlen was spending the month with Elissa. She would pester him with questions and fuss about his clothes, but he had promised Ragen to ‘keep her young lovers away’.

Margrit had assured Arlen that Elissa had no lovers. In fact, when Ragen was away, she drifted the halls of their manse like a ghost, or spent hours crying in her bedchamber.

But when Arlen was around, the servant said, she changed. More than once, Margit had begged him to live at the manse full time. He refused, but, he admitted to himself if no one else, he was beginning to like Lady Elissa fussing over him.

‘Here he comes,’ Gaims said that night, watching the massive rock demon rise from the ground. Woron joined him, and they watched from the guard tower as the demon snuffled the ground by the gate. With a howl, it bounded away from the gate to a hilltop. A flame demon danced there, but the rock demon knocked it violently aside, bending low to the ground, seeking something.

‘Old One Arm’s in a mood tonight,’ Gaims said as the demon howled again and darted down the hill to a small field, scurrying back and forth, hunched over.

‘What do you suppose has gotten into him?’ Woron asked. His partner shrugged.

The demon left the field, bounding back up the hill. Its shrieks became almost pained, and when it returned to the gate, it struck at the wards madly, its talons sending showers of sparks as they were repelled by the potent magic.

‘Don’t see that every night,’ Woron commented. ‘Should we report it?’

‘Why bother?’ Gaims replied. ‘No one is going to care about the carryings-on of one crazy demon, and what could they do about it if they did?’

‘Against that thing?’ Woron asked. ‘Probably just soil themselves.’

Pushing away from the workbench, Arlen stretched and got to his feet. The sun was long set, and his stomach growled irritably, but the baker was paying double to have his wards repaired in one night, even though a demon hadn’t been spotted on the streets in Creator only knew how long. He hoped Cob had left something for him in the cookpot.

Arlen opened the shop’s back door and leaned out, still safely within the warded semicircle around the doorway. He looked both ways, and assured that all was clear, he stepped onto the path, careful not to cover the wards with his foot.

The path from the back of Cob’s shop to his small cottage was safer than most houses in Miln, a series of individually warded squares made of poured stone. The stone – crete, Cob called it – was a science left over from the old world, a wonder unheard of in Tibbet’s Brook but quite common in Miln. Mixing powdered silicate and lime with water and gravel formed a muddy substance that could be moulded and hardened into any shape. It was possible to pour crete, and, as it began to set, carefully scratch wards into its soft substance that hardened into near-permanent protections. Cob had done this, square by square, until a path ran from his home to his shop. Even if one square were somehow compromised, a walker could simply move to the one ahead or behind, and remain safe from corelings.

If we could make a road like this, Arlen thought, the world would be at our fingertips.

Inside the cottage, he found Cob hunched over his desk, poring over chalked slates.

‘Pot’s warm,’ the master grunted, not looking up. Arlen moved over to the fireplace in the cottage’s single room and filled a bowl with Cob’s thick stew.

‘Creator, boy, you started a mess with this,’ Cob growled, straightening and gesturing to the slates. ‘Half the Warders in Miln are content to keep their secrets, even at the loss of ours, and half of those left keep offering money instead, but the quarter that remain have flooded my desk with lists of wards they’re willing to barter. It will be weeks in the sorting!’

‘Things will be better for it,’ Arlen said, using a crust of hard bread as a spoon as he sat on the floor, eating hungrily. The corn and beans were still hard, and the potatoes mushy from over-boiling, but he didn’t complain. He was accustomed to the tough, stunted vegetables of Miln by now, and Cob could never be bothered to boil them separately.

‘I daresay you’re right,’ Cob admitted, ‘but night! Who thought there were so many different wards right in our own city! Half I’ve never seen in my life, and I’ve scrutinized every wardpost and portal in Miln, I assure you!’

He held up a chalked slate. ‘This one is willing to trade wards that will make a demon turn around and forget what it was doing for your mother’s ward to make glass as hard as steel.’ He shook his head. ‘And they all want the secrets of your forbidding wards, boy. They’re easier to draw without a straightstick and a semicircle.’

‘Crutches for people who can’t draw a straight line,’ Arlen smirked.

‘Not everyone is as gifted as you,’ Cob grunted.

‘Gifted?’ Arlen asked.

‘Don’t let it go to your head, boy,’ Cob said, ‘but I’ve never seen anyone pick up warding as quick as you. Eighteen months into your apprenticeship, and you ward like a five-year journeyman.’

‘I’ve been thinking about our deal,’ Arlen said.

Cob looked up at him curiously.

‘You promised that if I worked hard,’ Arlen said, ‘you’d teach me to survive the road.’

They stared at one another a long while. ‘I’ve kept my part,’ Arlen reminded.

Cob blew out a sigh. ‘I suppose you have,’ he said. ‘Have you been practising your riding?’ he asked.

Arlen nodded. ‘Ragen’s groom lets me help exercise the horses.’

‘Double your efforts,’ Cob said. ‘A Messenger’s horse is his life. Every night your steed saves you from spending outside is a night out of risk.’ The old Warder got to his feet, opening a closet and pulling out a thick rolled cloth. ‘On Seventhdays, when we close the shop,’ he said, ‘I’ll coach your riding, and I’ll teach you to use these.’

He laid the cloth on the floor and unrolled it, revealing a number of well-oiled spears. Arlen eyed them hungrily.

Cob looked up at the chimes as a young boy entered his shop. He was about thirteen, with tousled dark curls and a fuzz of moustache at his lip that looked more like grime than hair.

‘Jaik, isn’t it?’ the Warder asked. ‘Your family works the mill down by the East Wall, don’t they? We quoted you once for new wards, but the miller went with someone else.’

‘That’s right,’ the boy said, nodding.

‘What can I help you with?’ Cob asked. ‘Would your master like another quote?’

Jaik shook his head. ‘I just came to see if Arlen wants to see the Jongleur today.’

Cob could hardly believe his ears. He had never seen Arlen speak to anyone his own age, preferring to spend his time working and reading, or pestering the Messengers and Warders who visited the shop with endless questions. This was a surprise, and one to be encouraged.

‘Arlen!’ he called.

Arlen came out of the shop’s back room, a book in his hand. He practically walked into Jaik before he noticed the boy and pulled up short.

‘Jaik’s come to take you to see the Jongleur,’ Cob advised.

‘I’d like to go,’ Arlen told Jaik apologetically, ‘but I still have to …’

‘Nothing that can’t wait,’ Cob cut him off. ‘Go and have fun.’ He tossed Arlen a small pouch of coins and pushed the two boys out the door.

Soon after, the boys were wandering through the crowded marketplace surrounding the main square of Miln. Arlen spent a silver star to buy meat pies from a vendor, and then, their faces coated with grease, he handed over a few copper lights for a pocketful of sweets from another.

‘I’m going to be a Jongleur one day,’ Jaik said, sucking on a sweet as they made their way to the place where the children gathered.

‘Honest word?’ Arlen asked.

Jaik nodded. ‘Watch this,’ he said, pulling three small wooden balls from his pockets and putting them into the air. Arlen laughed a moment later, when one of the balls struck Jaik’s head, and the others dropped to the ground in the confusion.

‘Still got grease on my fingers,’ Jaik said as they chased after the balls.

‘I guess,’ Arlen agreed. ‘I’m going to register at the Messengers’ guild once my apprenticeship with Cob is over.’

‘I could be your Jongleur!’ Jaik shouted. ‘We could test for the road together!’

Arlen looked at him. ‘Have you ever even seen a demon?’ he asked.

‘What, you don’t think I have the stones for it?’ Jaik asked, shoving him.

‘Or the brains,’ Arlen said, shoving back. A moment later, they were scuffling on the ground. Arlen was still small for his age, and Jaik soon pinned him.

‘Fine, fine!’ Arlen laughed. ‘I’ll let you be my Jongleur!’

‘Your Jongleur?’ Jaik asked, not releasing him. ‘More like you’ll be my Messenger!’

‘Partners?’ Arlen offered. Jaik smiled and offered Arlen a hand up. Soon after, they were sitting on top of stone blocks in the town square, watching the apprentices of the Jongleurs’ guild cartwheel and mum, building excitement for the morning’s lead performer.

Arlen’s jaw dropped when he saw Keerin enter the square. Tall and thin like a redheaded lamppost, the Jongleur was unmistakable. The crowd erupted into a roar.

‘It’s Keerin!’ Jaik said, shaking Arlen’s shoulder in excitement. ‘He’s my favourite!’

‘Really?’ Arlen asked, surprised.

‘What, who do you like?’ Jaik asked. ‘Marley? Koy? They’re not heroes like Keerin!’

‘He didn’t seem very heroic when I met him,’ Arlen said doubtfully.

‘You met Keerin?’ Jaik asked, his eyes widening.

‘He came to Tibbet’s Brook once,’ Arlen said. ‘He and Ragen found me on the road and brought me to Miln.’

‘Keerin rescued you?’

‘Ragen rescued me,’ Arlen corrected. ‘Keerin jumped at every shadow.’

‘The Core he did,’ Jaik said. ‘Do you think he’ll remember you?’ he asked. ‘Can you introduce me after the show?’

‘Maybe,’ Arlen shrugged.

Keerin’s performance started out much as it had in Tibbet’s Brook. He juggled and danced, warming the crowd before telling the tale of the Return to the children and punctuating it with mummery, backflips, and somersaults.

‘Sing the song!’ Jaik cried. Others in the crowd took up the cry, begging Keerin to sing. He seemed not to notice for a time, until the call was thunderous and punctuated by the pounding of feet. Finally, he laughed and bowed, fetching his lute as the crowd burst into applause.

He gestured, and Arlen saw the apprentices fetch hats and move into the crowd for donations. People gave generously, eager to hear Keerin sing. Finally, he began:

The night was dark

The ground was hard

Succour was leagues away

The cold wind stark

Cutting at our hearts

Only wards kept corelings at bay

‘Help me!’ we heard

A voice in need

The cry of a frightened child

‘Run to us!’ I called

‘Our circle’s wide,

The only succour for miles!’

The boy cried out

‘I can’t; I fell!’

His call echoed in the black

Catching his shout

I sought to help

But the Messenger held me back

‘What good to die?’

He asked me, grim

‘For death is all you’ll find

‘No help you’ll provide

’Gainst coreling claws

Just more meat to grind’

I struck him hard

And grabbed his spear

Leaping across the wards

A frantic charge

Strength born of fear

Before the boy be cored

‘Stay brave!’ I cried

Running hard his way

‘Keep your heart strong and true!’

‘If you can’t stride

To where it’s safe

I’ll bring the wards to you!’

I reached him quick

But not enough

Corelings gathered round

The demons thick

My work was rough

Scratching wards into the ground

A thunderous roar

Boomed in the night

A demon twenty feet tall

It towered fore

And ’gainst such might

My spear seemed puny and small

Horns like hard spears!

Claws like my arm!

A carapace hard and black!

An avalanche

Promising harm

The beast moved to the attack!

The boy screamed scared

And clutched my leg

Clawed as I drew the last ward!

The magic flared

Creator’s gift

The one force demons abhor!

Some will tell you

Only the sun

Can bring a rock demon harm

That night I learned

It could be done

As did the demon One Arm!

He ended with a flourish, and Arlen sat shocked as the audience burst into applause. Keerin took his bows, and the apprentices took in a flood of coin.

‘Wasn’t that great?’ Jaik asked.

‘That’s not how it happened!’ Arlen exclaimed.

‘My da says the guards told him a one-armed rock demon attacks the wards every night,’ Jaik said. ‘It’s looking for Keerin.’

‘Keerin wasn’t even there!’ Arlen cried. ‘I cut that demon’s arm off!’

Jaik snorted. ‘Night, Arlen! You can’t really expect anyone to believe that.’

Arlen scowled, standing up and calling, ‘Liar! Fraud!’ Everyone turned to see the speaker, as Arlen leapt off his stone and strode towards Keerin. The Jongleur looked up, and his eyes widened in recognition. ‘Arlen?’ he asked, his face suddenly pale.

Jaik, who’d been running after Arlen, pulled up short. ‘You do know him,’ he whispered.

Keerin glanced at the crowd nervously. ‘Arlen, my boy,’ he said, opening his arms, ‘come, let’s discuss this in private.’

Arlen ignored him. ‘You didn’t cut that demon’s arm off!’ he screamed for all to hear. ‘You weren’t even there when it happened!’

There was an angry murmur from the crowd. Keerin looked around in fear until someone called, ‘Get that boy out of the square!’ and others cheered.

Keerin broke into a wide smile. ‘No one is going to believe you over me,’ he sneered.

‘I was there!’ Arlen cried. ‘I’ve got the scars to prove it!’ He reached to pull up his shirt, but Keerin snapped his fingers, and suddenly, Arlen and Jaik were surrounded by apprentices.

Trapped, they could do nothing as Keerin walked away, taking the crowd’s attention with him as he snatched his lute and quickly launched into another song.

‘Why don’t you shut it, hey?’ a burly apprentice growled. The boy was half again Arlen’s size, and all were older than he and Jaik.

‘Keerin’s a liar,’ Arlen said.

‘A demon’s ass, too,’ the apprentice agreed, holding up the hat of coins. ‘Think I care?’

Jaik interposed himself. ‘No need to get angry,’ he said. ‘He didn’t mean anything …’

But before he finished, Arlen sprang forward, driving his fist into the bigger boy’s gut. As he crumpled, Arlen whirled to face the rest. He bloodied a nose or two, but he was soon pulled down and pummelled. Dimly, he was aware of Jaik sharing the beating beside him until two guards broke up the fight.

‘You know,’ Jaik said as they limped home, bloody and bruised, ‘for a bookmole, you’re not half bad in a fight. If only you’d pick your enemies better …’

‘I have worse enemies,’ Arlen said, thinking of the one-armed demon following him still.

‘It wasn’t even a good song,’ Arlen said. ‘How could he draw wards in the dark?’

‘Good enough to get into a fight over,’ Cob noted, daubing blood from Arlen’s face.

‘He was lying,’ Arlen replied, wincing at the sting.

Cob shrugged. ‘He was just doing what Jongleurs do, making up entertaining stories.’

‘In Tibbet’s Brook, the whole town would come when the Jongleur came,’ Arlen said. ‘Selia said they kept the stories of the old world, passing them down one generation to the next.’

‘And so they do,’ Cob said. ‘But even the best ones exaggerate, Arlen. Or did you really believe the first Deliverer killed a hundred rock demons in a single blow?’

‘I used to,’ Arlen said with a sigh. ‘Now I don’t know what to believe.’

‘Welcome to adulthood,’ Cob said. ‘Every child finds a day when they realize that adults can be weak and wrong just like anyone else. After that day, you’re an adult, like it or not.’

‘I never thought about it that way,’ Arlen said, realizing his day had come long before. In his mind’s eye, he saw Jeph hiding behind the wards of their porch while his mother was cored.

‘Was Keerin’s lie really such a bad thing?’ Cob asked. ‘It made people happy. It gave them hope. Hope and happiness are in short supply these days, and much needed.’

‘He could have done all that with honest words,’ Arlen said. ‘But instead he took credit for my deeds just to make more coin.’

‘Are you after truth, or credit?’ Cob asked. ‘Should credit matter? Isn’t the message what’s important?’

‘People need more than a song,’ Arlen said. ‘They need proof that corelings can bleed.’

‘You sound like a Krasian martyr,’ Cob said, ‘ready to throw your life away seeking the Creator’s paradise in the next world.’

‘I read their afterlife is filled with naked women and rivers of wine,’ Arlen smirked.

‘And all you need do to enter is take a demon with you before you’re cored,’ Cob agreed. ‘But I’ll take my chances with this life all the same. The next one will find you no matter where you run. No sense chasing it.’