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 65

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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 ahorse.’

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. A cold part of her wanted him to say yes, even though it went against everything she believed; everything Bruna had taught her.

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 there 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, keeping 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.

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 with feelings too mixed for her to begin to sort.

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.

‘Why are you so angry?’ Leesha asked, drawing bowls and spoons from her bag as Rojer worked to light a small fire.

‘Bad enough they come at night,’ the Painted Man spat. ‘They’ve no right to the day.’

Leesha shook her head. ‘You’d be happier if you could accept what is,’ she advised.

‘I don’t want to be happy,’ he replied.

‘Everyone wants to be happy,’ Leesha scoffed. ‘Where’s the cookpot?’

‘In my bag,’ Rojer said. ‘I’ll get it.’

‘No need,’ Leesha said, rising. ‘Mind the fire. I’ll fetch it.’

‘No!’ Rojer cried, but even as he leapt to his feet, he saw he was too late. Leesha drew forth his portable circle with a gasp.

‘But …’ she stammered, ‘… they took this!’ She looked at Rojer, and saw his eyes flick to the Painted Man. She turned to him, but could read nothing in the shadows of his cowl.

‘Is someone going to explain?’ she demanded.

‘We … got it back,’ Rojer said lamely.

‘I know you got it back!’ Leesha shouted, whipping the coil of rope and wooden plates to the cave floor. ‘How?’

‘I took it when I took the horse,’ the Painted Man said suddenly. ‘I didn’t want it on your conscience, so I kept it from you.’

‘You stole it?’

‘They stole it,’ the Painted Man corrected. ‘I took it back.’

Leesha looked at him for a long time. ‘You took it at night,’ she said quietly.

The Painted Man said nothing.

‘Were they using it?’ Leesha demanded through gritted teeth.

‘The road is dangerous enough without such men,’ the Painted Man replied.

‘You murdered them,’ Leesha said, surprised to find her eyes filling with tears. Find the worst human being you can, her father had said, and you’ll still find something worse by looking out the window at night. No one deserved to be fed to a coreling. Not even them. ‘How could you?’ she asked

‘I murdered no one,’ the Painted Man said.

‘As good as!’

The man shrugged. ‘They did the same to you.’

‘That makes it right?’ Leesha cried. ‘Look at you! You don’t even care! Two men dead at least, and you sleep no worse! You’re a monster!’ She sprang at him, trying to beat him with her fists, but he caught her wrists, and watched impassively as she struggled with him.

‘Why do you care?’ he asked.

‘I’m an Herb Gatherer!’ she screamed. ‘I’ve taken an oath! I’ve sworn to heal, but you,’ she looked at him coldly, ‘all you’re sworn to do is kill.’

After a moment, the fight left her and she pulled away. ‘You mock what I am,’ she said, slumping down and staring at the cave floor for several minutes. Then she looked up at Rojer.

‘You said “we”,’ she accused.

‘What?’ the Jongleur asked, trying to appear confused.

‘Before,’ she clarified. ‘You said “we got it back”. And the circle was in your bag. Did you go with him?’

‘I …’ Rojer stalled.

‘Don’t you lie to me, Rojer!’ Leesha growled.

Rojer’s eyes dropped to the floor. After a moment, he nodded.

‘He was telling the truth before,’ Rojer admitted. ‘All he took was the horse. While they were distracted, I took the circle and your herbs.’

‘Why?’ Leesha asked, her voice cracking slightly. The disappointment in her tone cut the young Jongleur like a knife.

‘You know why,’ Rojer replied sombrely.

‘Why?’ Leesha demanded again. ‘For me? For my honour? Tell me, Rojer. Tell me you killed in my name!’

‘They had to pay,’ Rojer said tightly. ‘They had to pay for what they did. It was unforgivable.’

Leesha laughed out loud, though there was no humour in the sound. ‘Don’t you think I know that?’ she shouted. ‘Do you think I saved myself for twenty-seven years to give my flower to a gang of thugs?’

Silence hung in the cave for a long moment. A peal of thunder cut the air.

‘Saved yourself …’ Rojer echoed.

‘Yes, corespawn you!’ Leesha shrieked, angry tears streaking her face. ‘I was a virgin! Does even that justify giving men to the corelings?’

‘Giving?’ the Painted Man echoed.

Leesha whirled on him. ‘Of course, giving!’ she shouted. ‘I’m sure your friends the demons were overjoyed at your little present. Nothing pleases them more than having humans to kill. With so few of us left, we’re a rare treat!’

The Painted Man’s eyes widened, reflecting the firelight. It was a more human expression than Leesha had ever seen on his face, and the sight made her momentarily forget her anger. He looked utterly terrified, and backed away from them, all the way to the cave mouth.

Just then, a coreling threw itself against the wardnet, filling the cave with a flash of silver light. The Painted Man whirled and screamed at the demon, a sound unlike anything Leesha had ever heard, but one she recognized all the same. It was a vocalization of what she had felt inside when she had been pinned, that terrible evening on the road.

The Painted Man snatched up one of his spears, hurling it out into the rain. There was an explosion of magic as it struck the demon, blasting it into the mud.

‘Damn you!’ the Painted Man roared, ripping off his robes and leaping out into the downpour. ‘I swore I would give you nothing! Nothing at all!’ He pounced on a wood demon from behind, crushing it to him. The massive ward on his chest flared, and the coreling burst into flame, despite the pouring rain. He kicked away as the creature flailed about.

‘Fight me!’ the Painted Man demanded of the others, planting his feet in the mud. Corelings leapt to oblige, slashing and biting, but the man fought like a demon himself, and they were flung away like autumn leaves against the wind.

From the rear of the cave, Twilight Dancer whinnied and pulled at his hobble, trained to fight by his master’s side. Rojer moved to calm the animal, looking to Leesha in confusion.

‘He can’t fight them all,’ Leesha said. ‘Not in the mud.’ Already, many of the man’s wards were splattered with muck.

‘He means to die,’ she said.

‘What should we do?’ Rojer asked.

‘Your fiddle!’ Leesha cried. ‘Drive them away!’

Rojer shook his head. ‘The wind and thunder would drown me out,’ he said.

‘We can’t just let him kill himself!’ Leesha screamed at him.

‘You’re right,’ Rojer agreed. He strode over to the Painted Man’s weapons, taking a light spear and the warded shield. Realizing what he meant to do, Leesha moved to stop him, but he stepped out of the cave before she could reach him, rushing to the Painted Man’s side.

A flame demon spat fire at Rojer, but it fizzled in the rain and fell short. The coreling leapt at him, but he lifted the warded shield and the creature was deflected. His concentration in front, he didn’t see the other flame demon behind him until it was too late. The coreling sprang, but the Painted Man snatched the three-foot tall demon right out of the air, hurling it away, its flesh sizzling at his touch.

‘Get inside!’ the man ordered.

‘Not without you!’ Rojer shot back. His red hair was soaked and matted to his face, and he squinted in the wind and pelting rain, but he faced the Painted Man squarely, not backing down an inch.

Two wood demons leapt for them, but the Painted Man dropped to the mud, sweeping Rojer’s legs from under him. The slashing claws missed as the Jongleur fell, and the Painted Man’s warded fists drove the creatures back. Other corelings were gathering, though, attracted by the flashes of light and the sounds of battle. Too many to fight.

The Painted Man looked at Rojer, lying in the mud, and the madness left his eyes. He held out a hand, and the Jongleur took it. The two of them darted back into the cave.

‘What were you thinking?’ Leesha demanded, tying off the last of the bandages. ‘Both of you!’

Rojer and the Painted Man, bundled in blankets by the fire, said nothing as she berated them. After a time, she trailed off, preparing a hot broth with herbs and vegetables and handing it to them wordlessly.

‘Thank you,’ Rojer said quietly, the first words he has spoken since returning to the cave.

‘I’m still angry with you,’ Leesha said, not meeting his eyes. ‘You lied to me.’

‘I didn’t,’ Rojer protested.

‘You kept things from me,’ Leesha said. ‘It’s no different.’

Rojer looked at her for a time. ‘Why did you leave Cutter’s Hollow?’ he asked.

‘What?’ Leesha asked. ‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘If these people mean so much to you that you’re willing to risk anything, endure anything, to get home,’ Rojer pressed, ‘why did you leave?’

‘My studies …’ Leesha began.

Rojer shook his head. ‘I know something about running away from problems, Leesha,’ he said. ‘There’s more to it than that.’

‘I don’t see that it’s any of your business,’ Leesha said.

‘Then why am I waiting out a rainstorm in a cave surrounded by corelings in the middle of nowhere?’ Rojer asked.

Leesha looked at him for long moments, then sighed, her will for the fight fading. ‘I suppose you’ll be hearing about it soon enough,’ Leesha said. ‘The people of Cutter’s Hollow have never been very good at keeping secrets.’

She told them everything. She didn’t mean to, but the cold and damp cave became a Tender’s confessional of sorts, and once she began, the words overflowed; her mother, Gared, the rumours, her flight to Bruna, her life as an outcast. The Painted Man leaned forward and opened his mouth at the mention of Bruna’s liquid demonfire, but he closed it again and sat back, choosing not to interrupt.

‘So that’s it,’ Leesha said. ‘I’d hoped to stay in Angiers, but it seems the Creator has another plan.’

‘You deserve better,’ the Painted Man said.

Leesha nodded, looking at him. ‘Why did you go out there?’ she asked quietly, pointing her chin towards the cave mouth.

The Painted Man slumped, staring at his knees. ‘I broke a promise,’ he said.

‘That’s all?’

He looked up at her, and for once, she didn’t see the tattoos lining his face, only his eyes, piercing her. ‘I swore I would never give them anything,’ he said. ‘Not even to save my own life. But instead, I’ve given them everything that made me human.’

‘You didn’t give them anything,’ Rojer said. ‘I took the circle.’ Leesha’s hands tightened on her bowl, but she said nothing.

The Painted Man shook his head. ‘I facilitated it,’ he said. ‘I knew how you felt. Giving them to you was the same as giving them to the corelings.’

‘They would have continued to prey on the road,’ Rojer said. ‘The world is better without them.’

The Painted Man nodded. ‘But that’s no excuse for giving them to demons,’ he said. ‘I could as easily have taken the circle – killed them even – face-to-face, in the light of day.’

‘So you went out there tonight out of guilt,’ Leesha said. ‘Why all the times before? Why this war on corelings?’

‘If you haven’t noticed,’ the Painted Man replied, ‘the corelings have been at war with us for centuries. Is it so wrong to take the fight to them?’

‘You think yourself the Deliverer, then?’ Leesha asked.

The Painted Man scowled. ‘Waiting for the Deliverer has left humanity crippled for three hundred years,’ he said. ‘He’s a myth. He’s not coming, and it’s time people saw that and began standing up for themselves.’

‘Myths have power,’ Rojer said. ‘Don’t be so quick to dismiss them.’

‘Since when are you a man of faith?’ Leesha asked.

‘I believe in hope,’ Rojer said. ‘I’ve been a Jongleur all my life, and if I’ve learned one thing in twenty-three years, it’s that the stories people cry for, the ones that stay with them, are the ones that offer hope.’

‘Twenty,’ Leesha said suddenly.

‘What?’

‘You told me you were twenty.’

‘Did I?’

‘You’re not even that, are you?’ she asked.

‘I am!’ Rojer insisted.

‘I’m not stupid, Rojer,’ Leesha said. ‘I’ve not known you three months, and you’ve grown an inch in that time. No twenty-year-old does that. What are you? Sixteen?’

‘Seventeen,’ Rojer snarled. He threw down his bowl, spilling the remaining broth. ‘Does that please you? You were right to tell Jizell you were nearly old enough to be my mother.’

Leesha stared at him. She opened her mouth to say something sharp, but closed it again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said instead.

‘And you, Painted Man?’ Rojer asked, turning to him. ‘Will you add “too young” to your list of reasons why I shouldn’t travel with you?’

‘I became a Messenger at seventeen,’ the man replied, ‘and I was travelling much younger than that.’

‘And how old is the Painted Man?’ Rojer asked.

‘The Painted Man was born in the Krasian desert, four summers ago,’ he replied.

‘And the man beneath the paint?’ Leesha asked. ‘How old was he when he died?’

‘It doesn’t matter how many summers he had,’ the Painted Man said. ‘He was a stupid, naïve child, with dreams too big for his own good.’

‘Is that why he had to die?’ Leesha asked.

‘He was killed. And yes.’

‘What was his name?’ Leesha asked quietly.

The Painted Man was quiet a long time. ‘Arlen,’ he said finally. ‘His name was Arlen.’