The Desert Spear
Page 145
“That honest word, Bales?” he asked. “You fight a demon in your yard?”
Jeph looked at the ground a long time, then glanced to his children. He seemed to draw strength from the sight, and his back straightened. “Ay.”
The Painted Man looked to the Baleses and Pastures, farmers and shepherds from every end of the Brook. “You make Jeph Bales Speaker before sundown, and I’ll let him stand.”
The roar of approval was immediate, and Norine gave Jeph a shove to get him walking. The Painted Man turned at last to Raddock Lawry.
“Ent no proof them spears even work!” Lawry shouted.
The Painted Man shrugged. “You come out on trust, or you don’t come out.”
“Don’t know you, Messenger,” Lawry said. “Don’t know where yer from or what you believe. Don’t know nothin’ but what you say, and what you say is Fishers get no justice!” Many of the Fishers nodded and grunted their agreement.
“So you’ll forgive me,” Raddock went on, striding into the square and looking out at not just the Fishers, but other Brook folk as well, “if I don’t entirely trust your word.”
The Painted Man nodded. “I forgive you.” He pointed to the mist beginning to rise at the Speaker’s feet. “Now I’d advise you either pick up a spear or head back to your wards.”
Raddock Lawry made a most undignified sound and scampered back to the Fishers’ wards as fast as his old legs would carry him.
The Painted Man turned to regard the Speakers who had stepped forward. They gripped their spears awkwardly, used to holding tools and not weapons, but there was a surprising lack of fear. Except for Jeph who looked white as a snow demon’s scales, they seemed at peace. Speakers didn’t question decisions once they were made.
“The demons are most vulnerable now, when they are half formed,” the Painted Man said. “If you are quick…”
Before he even finished speaking, Hog grunted, striding over to a solidifying wood demon. The Painted Man remembered the summer solstice festivals each year from when he was a boy. Hog would have whole pigs on great spits he paid the children to turn over the fire. He lifted his spear and stuck it in the coreling’s chest with the same calm efficiency he used to skewer those pigs.
The wards on the spearhead flared and the coreling screamed. The crowd roared, seeing in the semi-translucent demon’s body how the magic rocked through it like forked lightning. Hog held tight as the demon thrashed, magic dancing up his arms as the spear came alive with glowing wards. Finally, the coreling’s jerking stopped and Hog yanked the spear back out, letting the now solid demon drop to the ground.
“Could get used to that feeling,” Hog grunted, spitting on the corpse.
Selia moved next, choosing a flame demon that was beginning to take form. She stabbed down repeatedly as if she were churning butter, and the magic flared, arcing death through it.
Coran did the same, stabbing at another forming flame demon the way he might try to spear a frog in the Marsh, but his leg buckled and he threw himself off balance, missing the demon completely. It made a gurgling noise as it solidified, hawking firespit.
“Da!” Keven Marsh cried, running out into the square. He grabbed one of the two spears still sticking in the dirt and swung it like an axe, knocking the spit right out of the demon’s mouth as it rolled with the blow. The spit left a line of fire in the dirt that Keven followed, sticking the demon the same way his father had tried to.
He looked up at the Painted Man, his eyes hard. “Weren’t gonna just let my da get cored,” he said, baring his teeth and daring protest. His son Fil fetched Coran and helped him back behind the wards.
The Painted Man bowed to him, instead. “Good man.”
Jeph hurried to stab at a nearly solid flame demon, but he was not quick enough and it spat flame at him. Jeph screamed, his spear held out diagonally as if to block the fire.
The crowd cried out in fear, but the wards along the shaft of Jeph’s spear flared, and the flame was turned into nothing more than a cool breeze. Jeph recovered quickly, spearing the coreling as if he were driving a hoe through a troublesome root. He stepped on its smoking back as he pulled out the spear same as he might step on a batch of hay stuck to the teeth of his rake.
A wind demon solidified, and the Painted Man dropped his robe, grappling and driving the demon into the Boggin wardstones, where it convulsed against the wardnet before falling stunned to the ground. “Meada Boggin,” he called, pointing to the prone and helpless demon.
A wood demon swept a branchlike arm at him, but the Painted Man caught its wrist and turned its force against it, flipping it onto its back in front of Jeorje Marsh, who struck his spear as if he were thumping his cane. Magic rocked through him, and his eyes took on a fanatical light.
Tender Harral and Brine Broadshoulders escorted Meada to her kill, standing ready with their spears in case it should recover itself before she could strike her blow. They needn’t have worried. She leaned into the blow like she was putting a prybar into an ale barrel.
Another wood demon formed, and Brine and Harral struck it together.
The demons were all solid now. A fair number had formed in the square, but more than half were dead, and the wardstones of the crowd prevented reinforcements from coming.
A flame demon came at Renna and she cried out, but she was still astride Twilight Dancer, and the stallion reared up, trampling it.
“Group, close!” the Painted Man ordered the Speakers. “Spears out ahead of you!” They did as they were told, and cornered two wind demons, sharing the kills. The Painted Man calmly guided them around the square, directing kills, ready to step in if needed.
But he was not called upon to act again, and the remaining demons were quickly dispatched. The Speakers looked around, gripping their spears quite differently now.
“Ent felt so strong in twenty years, when I used to split my own firewood,” Selia said. The others grunted in agreement.
The Painted Man looked out at the gathered crowd. “Your elders done it!” he cried. “You remember that, the next time there’s a demon in your yard!”
“Ent no demons left in the square,” Hog noted. “We done our part of the bargain, so the second part of your payment’s due.”
The Painted Man bowed. “Now?”
Hog nodded. “I’ve a stack of blank vellum we can fill in my back room.”
“All right,” the Painted Man said, and Hog bowed and gestured toward his store. The other Speakers and the Painted Man began to head that way, but Hog turned to face the crowd.
“Come morning,” he called, “I’ll be taking orders for warded spears at the general store, and hiring folk with a steady warding hand to make them! First come, first served!” A buzz went through the crowd at the news.
The Painted Man shook his head. He knew Hog’s business would be brisk. Hog always found a way to profit off things folk could just do for themselves.
CHAPTER 27
RUNNIN’ TO
333 AR SUMMER
RENNA SAT IN A corner as Arlen taught the council combat warding in Hog’s back room. Dasy and Catrin were in and out serving fresh pots of coffee. They watched Renna suspiciously, as if expecting her to suddenly leap up and attack them with Harl’s knife, which lay on the table beside her. She’d painted wards on the blade in a neat hand and now worked with one of Arlen’s fine etching tools, slowly imprinting them onto the metal. Arlen came by once, trying to see her work, but she turned away from him. She was done asking for help.
Jeph looked at the ground a long time, then glanced to his children. He seemed to draw strength from the sight, and his back straightened. “Ay.”
The Painted Man looked to the Baleses and Pastures, farmers and shepherds from every end of the Brook. “You make Jeph Bales Speaker before sundown, and I’ll let him stand.”
The roar of approval was immediate, and Norine gave Jeph a shove to get him walking. The Painted Man turned at last to Raddock Lawry.
“Ent no proof them spears even work!” Lawry shouted.
The Painted Man shrugged. “You come out on trust, or you don’t come out.”
“Don’t know you, Messenger,” Lawry said. “Don’t know where yer from or what you believe. Don’t know nothin’ but what you say, and what you say is Fishers get no justice!” Many of the Fishers nodded and grunted their agreement.
“So you’ll forgive me,” Raddock went on, striding into the square and looking out at not just the Fishers, but other Brook folk as well, “if I don’t entirely trust your word.”
The Painted Man nodded. “I forgive you.” He pointed to the mist beginning to rise at the Speaker’s feet. “Now I’d advise you either pick up a spear or head back to your wards.”
Raddock Lawry made a most undignified sound and scampered back to the Fishers’ wards as fast as his old legs would carry him.
The Painted Man turned to regard the Speakers who had stepped forward. They gripped their spears awkwardly, used to holding tools and not weapons, but there was a surprising lack of fear. Except for Jeph who looked white as a snow demon’s scales, they seemed at peace. Speakers didn’t question decisions once they were made.
“The demons are most vulnerable now, when they are half formed,” the Painted Man said. “If you are quick…”
Before he even finished speaking, Hog grunted, striding over to a solidifying wood demon. The Painted Man remembered the summer solstice festivals each year from when he was a boy. Hog would have whole pigs on great spits he paid the children to turn over the fire. He lifted his spear and stuck it in the coreling’s chest with the same calm efficiency he used to skewer those pigs.
The wards on the spearhead flared and the coreling screamed. The crowd roared, seeing in the semi-translucent demon’s body how the magic rocked through it like forked lightning. Hog held tight as the demon thrashed, magic dancing up his arms as the spear came alive with glowing wards. Finally, the coreling’s jerking stopped and Hog yanked the spear back out, letting the now solid demon drop to the ground.
“Could get used to that feeling,” Hog grunted, spitting on the corpse.
Selia moved next, choosing a flame demon that was beginning to take form. She stabbed down repeatedly as if she were churning butter, and the magic flared, arcing death through it.
Coran did the same, stabbing at another forming flame demon the way he might try to spear a frog in the Marsh, but his leg buckled and he threw himself off balance, missing the demon completely. It made a gurgling noise as it solidified, hawking firespit.
“Da!” Keven Marsh cried, running out into the square. He grabbed one of the two spears still sticking in the dirt and swung it like an axe, knocking the spit right out of the demon’s mouth as it rolled with the blow. The spit left a line of fire in the dirt that Keven followed, sticking the demon the same way his father had tried to.
He looked up at the Painted Man, his eyes hard. “Weren’t gonna just let my da get cored,” he said, baring his teeth and daring protest. His son Fil fetched Coran and helped him back behind the wards.
The Painted Man bowed to him, instead. “Good man.”
Jeph hurried to stab at a nearly solid flame demon, but he was not quick enough and it spat flame at him. Jeph screamed, his spear held out diagonally as if to block the fire.
The crowd cried out in fear, but the wards along the shaft of Jeph’s spear flared, and the flame was turned into nothing more than a cool breeze. Jeph recovered quickly, spearing the coreling as if he were driving a hoe through a troublesome root. He stepped on its smoking back as he pulled out the spear same as he might step on a batch of hay stuck to the teeth of his rake.
A wind demon solidified, and the Painted Man dropped his robe, grappling and driving the demon into the Boggin wardstones, where it convulsed against the wardnet before falling stunned to the ground. “Meada Boggin,” he called, pointing to the prone and helpless demon.
A wood demon swept a branchlike arm at him, but the Painted Man caught its wrist and turned its force against it, flipping it onto its back in front of Jeorje Marsh, who struck his spear as if he were thumping his cane. Magic rocked through him, and his eyes took on a fanatical light.
Tender Harral and Brine Broadshoulders escorted Meada to her kill, standing ready with their spears in case it should recover itself before she could strike her blow. They needn’t have worried. She leaned into the blow like she was putting a prybar into an ale barrel.
Another wood demon formed, and Brine and Harral struck it together.
The demons were all solid now. A fair number had formed in the square, but more than half were dead, and the wardstones of the crowd prevented reinforcements from coming.
A flame demon came at Renna and she cried out, but she was still astride Twilight Dancer, and the stallion reared up, trampling it.
“Group, close!” the Painted Man ordered the Speakers. “Spears out ahead of you!” They did as they were told, and cornered two wind demons, sharing the kills. The Painted Man calmly guided them around the square, directing kills, ready to step in if needed.
But he was not called upon to act again, and the remaining demons were quickly dispatched. The Speakers looked around, gripping their spears quite differently now.
“Ent felt so strong in twenty years, when I used to split my own firewood,” Selia said. The others grunted in agreement.
The Painted Man looked out at the gathered crowd. “Your elders done it!” he cried. “You remember that, the next time there’s a demon in your yard!”
“Ent no demons left in the square,” Hog noted. “We done our part of the bargain, so the second part of your payment’s due.”
The Painted Man bowed. “Now?”
Hog nodded. “I’ve a stack of blank vellum we can fill in my back room.”
“All right,” the Painted Man said, and Hog bowed and gestured toward his store. The other Speakers and the Painted Man began to head that way, but Hog turned to face the crowd.
“Come morning,” he called, “I’ll be taking orders for warded spears at the general store, and hiring folk with a steady warding hand to make them! First come, first served!” A buzz went through the crowd at the news.
The Painted Man shook his head. He knew Hog’s business would be brisk. Hog always found a way to profit off things folk could just do for themselves.
CHAPTER 27
RUNNIN’ TO
333 AR SUMMER
RENNA SAT IN A corner as Arlen taught the council combat warding in Hog’s back room. Dasy and Catrin were in and out serving fresh pots of coffee. They watched Renna suspiciously, as if expecting her to suddenly leap up and attack them with Harl’s knife, which lay on the table beside her. She’d painted wards on the blade in a neat hand and now worked with one of Arlen’s fine etching tools, slowly imprinting them onto the metal. Arlen came by once, trying to see her work, but she turned away from him. She was done asking for help.
