The Desert Spear
Page 147
The Painted Man came riding fast into the yard a couple of hours later. Renna was waiting on the porch, and came out to him as Twilight Dancer pranced and kicked up dust in the yard.
“Light’s wasting,” he said, not even bothering to dismount. He held a hand out to her.
“You’re not even going to say goodbye?” Renna asked.
“Life’s about to get real interesting in the Brook,” he said. “Best no one have cause to think I got anything more to do with Jeph and Lainie Bales than stealing you.”
But Renna shook her head. “Your da deserves better than you’ve given him.”
He glared at her. “Ent gonna tell him who I am,” he growled.
Renna was uncowed. “Least tell him his son ent dead, or you got no call judgin’ which folk are good enough for your wards and which ent.” The Painted Man scowled, but he dismounted. Renna was right and he knew it, much as he hated to admit it.
“We’re off!” she cried, and everyone came running from all over the yard. The Painted Man looked at his father and nodded away from the press. Jeph followed.
“Rode caravan with an Arlen Bales in the Messengers’ Guild,” he said when they were alone. “Mighta been your son. Bales name is common everywhere, but Arlen not so much.”
Jeph’s eyes lit up. “Honest word?”
The Painted Man nodded. “It was years ago, but I recall he worked for Cob’s Warding Company in Fort Miln. Might be you can still get word of him there.”
Jeph reached out, grabbing one of the Painted Man’s hands in both of his own. “Sun shine on you, Messenger.”
The Painted Man nodded and pulled away, going over to Renna. “Light’s wasting,” he said again. She nodded this time and let him lift her into Twilight Dancer’s saddle. He climbed in ahead of her, and she held his waist as he trotted to the road and turned north.
“Ent the road to the Free Cities south?” Renna asked.
“Know a shortcut,” he said. “Faster, and we avoid the town altogether.” Twilight Dancer opened up his stride, and they flew up the road. The wind whipped through Renna’s hair, and he joined her as she gave a laugh of exhilaration.
True to his word, Arlen remembered every path and pasture of the local farms in the north of Tibbet’s Brook. Before Renna knew it, they were on the main road out of town, past even Mack Pasture’s farm.
They rode hard for the rest of the day and were well on the way to the Free Cities when he finally pulled up, with barely a quarter hour before sunset.
“Ent we cutting it close?” she asked.
Arlen shrugged. “Got time enough to set the circles. I was alone, might not stop at all.”
“Then don’t,” Renna said, swallowing her fear at the thought of the naked night. “Promised I wan’t gonna slow you.”
He ignored her, dismounting and pulling two portable circles from the saddlebags. He threw one over Twilight Dancer and the other in a small clearing, quickly aligning the wards.
Renna swallowed, but she did not protest. Stiffening, she clutched her knife and looked around, waiting for the demon mist to rise. Arlen glanced up and noticed her discomfort. He straightened from his work, going over and rummaging through his saddlebags.
“Ay, there it is,” he said at last, opening a cloak with a snap and throwing it over Renna’s shoulders. He tied it in place and put up the hood.
The cloth against her cheek was impossibly soft, like a kitten’s fur. Used to rough homespun, the fabric was finer than she imagined possible. She looked down and gasped again. There were wards sewn into the fabric with stitches impossibly small. Hundreds of them.
“That’s a Cloak of Unsight,” Arlen said. “So long as you keep wrapped in it, no demon will even know you’re there.”
“Honest word?” she asked, amazed.
“Swear by the sun,” Arlen said, and suddenly she realized that she was still clutching her knife. Her knuckles ached from the grip when she finally relaxed and let go. She took her first full breath in what seemed like an hour.
Arlen bent back to the circles and quickly had them ready, while she laid a firepit and took out Ilain’s basket. They sat together a time, sharing cold meat pies and ham, fresh vegetables, bread, and cheese. Corelings threw themselves at the wards occasionally, but Renna trusted in Arlen’s warding and paid them no mind.
“You sit the saddle awkward in that big dress,” Arlen said.
“Eh?” Renna said.
“Can’t give Dancer his full head with you not seated right,” he explained.
“He goes even faster?” Renna asked in disbelief.
Arlen laughed. “Much.”
She leaned over to him, putting her arms around his shoulders. “If you’re looking to get me out of my dress, Arlen Bales, just say so.” She smiled, but Arlen recoiled, putting his hands on her waist and lifting her off him like she might lift Mrs. Scratch from her lap. He was on his feet immediately.
“Din’t bring you for that, Ren,” he said, backing away.
“You ent takin’ advantage,” she said, confused.
“Ent about that,” Arlen said, taking a sewing kit out of a saddlebag. He threw it to her, turning away. “Divide your skirts, and do it quick. We have business yet tonight.”
“Business?” Renna asked.
“You’re killing a demon by dawn,” Arlen said, “or I’m dropping you in the next town.”
“Done,” Renna called. She’d removed her petticoat and shortened the skirt, slitting it high on each side. Arlen looked up from where he sat warding an arrow at the edge of the circle, and his eyes danced across her bared thighs.
“Like what you see?” she asked, and smirked at his discomfort as he started and quickly met her eyes. “Come into the firelight, you want a better look.”
Arlen looked at his hand for a moment, slowly rubbing his warded fingers together, his eyes in distant thought. Finally he shook his head and got to his feet, coming over to her.
“You trust me, Ren?” he asked.
She nodded, and he took out a brush and some thick, viscous ink. “This is blackstem,” he said. “It will stain your skin for a few days; perhaps a week.”
Carefully, almost lovingly, he brushed her long hair from her face and painted wards around her eyes. When he was finished, he blew gently on them to dry the ink. His lips were inches from hers, and she wanted to put her mouth against them, but she still felt the sting of his rejection and dared not.
When his warding was done, he looked at her. “What do you see beyond the firelight?”
Renna looked around. The night was near pitch dark. “Nothing.”
Arlen nodded and laid his hands on her eyes. They were rough hands, scarred and callused, but gentle, as well. There was a soothing tingle in her skin where he touched, and she shivered in pleasure. He took his hands away, and the sensation faded, but the wards around her eyes felt warm now.
“What do you see now?” he asked.
Renna looked around, amazed. Trees and plants now glowed of their own accord, and there was a glowing mist seeping about her feet like a low and lazy fog. “Everything,” she said in wonder. “More’n I see in the sun. It’s all glowing.”
“Light’s wasting,” he said, not even bothering to dismount. He held a hand out to her.
“You’re not even going to say goodbye?” Renna asked.
“Life’s about to get real interesting in the Brook,” he said. “Best no one have cause to think I got anything more to do with Jeph and Lainie Bales than stealing you.”
But Renna shook her head. “Your da deserves better than you’ve given him.”
He glared at her. “Ent gonna tell him who I am,” he growled.
Renna was uncowed. “Least tell him his son ent dead, or you got no call judgin’ which folk are good enough for your wards and which ent.” The Painted Man scowled, but he dismounted. Renna was right and he knew it, much as he hated to admit it.
“We’re off!” she cried, and everyone came running from all over the yard. The Painted Man looked at his father and nodded away from the press. Jeph followed.
“Rode caravan with an Arlen Bales in the Messengers’ Guild,” he said when they were alone. “Mighta been your son. Bales name is common everywhere, but Arlen not so much.”
Jeph’s eyes lit up. “Honest word?”
The Painted Man nodded. “It was years ago, but I recall he worked for Cob’s Warding Company in Fort Miln. Might be you can still get word of him there.”
Jeph reached out, grabbing one of the Painted Man’s hands in both of his own. “Sun shine on you, Messenger.”
The Painted Man nodded and pulled away, going over to Renna. “Light’s wasting,” he said again. She nodded this time and let him lift her into Twilight Dancer’s saddle. He climbed in ahead of her, and she held his waist as he trotted to the road and turned north.
“Ent the road to the Free Cities south?” Renna asked.
“Know a shortcut,” he said. “Faster, and we avoid the town altogether.” Twilight Dancer opened up his stride, and they flew up the road. The wind whipped through Renna’s hair, and he joined her as she gave a laugh of exhilaration.
True to his word, Arlen remembered every path and pasture of the local farms in the north of Tibbet’s Brook. Before Renna knew it, they were on the main road out of town, past even Mack Pasture’s farm.
They rode hard for the rest of the day and were well on the way to the Free Cities when he finally pulled up, with barely a quarter hour before sunset.
“Ent we cutting it close?” she asked.
Arlen shrugged. “Got time enough to set the circles. I was alone, might not stop at all.”
“Then don’t,” Renna said, swallowing her fear at the thought of the naked night. “Promised I wan’t gonna slow you.”
He ignored her, dismounting and pulling two portable circles from the saddlebags. He threw one over Twilight Dancer and the other in a small clearing, quickly aligning the wards.
Renna swallowed, but she did not protest. Stiffening, she clutched her knife and looked around, waiting for the demon mist to rise. Arlen glanced up and noticed her discomfort. He straightened from his work, going over and rummaging through his saddlebags.
“Ay, there it is,” he said at last, opening a cloak with a snap and throwing it over Renna’s shoulders. He tied it in place and put up the hood.
The cloth against her cheek was impossibly soft, like a kitten’s fur. Used to rough homespun, the fabric was finer than she imagined possible. She looked down and gasped again. There were wards sewn into the fabric with stitches impossibly small. Hundreds of them.
“That’s a Cloak of Unsight,” Arlen said. “So long as you keep wrapped in it, no demon will even know you’re there.”
“Honest word?” she asked, amazed.
“Swear by the sun,” Arlen said, and suddenly she realized that she was still clutching her knife. Her knuckles ached from the grip when she finally relaxed and let go. She took her first full breath in what seemed like an hour.
Arlen bent back to the circles and quickly had them ready, while she laid a firepit and took out Ilain’s basket. They sat together a time, sharing cold meat pies and ham, fresh vegetables, bread, and cheese. Corelings threw themselves at the wards occasionally, but Renna trusted in Arlen’s warding and paid them no mind.
“You sit the saddle awkward in that big dress,” Arlen said.
“Eh?” Renna said.
“Can’t give Dancer his full head with you not seated right,” he explained.
“He goes even faster?” Renna asked in disbelief.
Arlen laughed. “Much.”
She leaned over to him, putting her arms around his shoulders. “If you’re looking to get me out of my dress, Arlen Bales, just say so.” She smiled, but Arlen recoiled, putting his hands on her waist and lifting her off him like she might lift Mrs. Scratch from her lap. He was on his feet immediately.
“Din’t bring you for that, Ren,” he said, backing away.
“You ent takin’ advantage,” she said, confused.
“Ent about that,” Arlen said, taking a sewing kit out of a saddlebag. He threw it to her, turning away. “Divide your skirts, and do it quick. We have business yet tonight.”
“Business?” Renna asked.
“You’re killing a demon by dawn,” Arlen said, “or I’m dropping you in the next town.”
“Done,” Renna called. She’d removed her petticoat and shortened the skirt, slitting it high on each side. Arlen looked up from where he sat warding an arrow at the edge of the circle, and his eyes danced across her bared thighs.
“Like what you see?” she asked, and smirked at his discomfort as he started and quickly met her eyes. “Come into the firelight, you want a better look.”
Arlen looked at his hand for a moment, slowly rubbing his warded fingers together, his eyes in distant thought. Finally he shook his head and got to his feet, coming over to her.
“You trust me, Ren?” he asked.
She nodded, and he took out a brush and some thick, viscous ink. “This is blackstem,” he said. “It will stain your skin for a few days; perhaps a week.”
Carefully, almost lovingly, he brushed her long hair from her face and painted wards around her eyes. When he was finished, he blew gently on them to dry the ink. His lips were inches from hers, and she wanted to put her mouth against them, but she still felt the sting of his rejection and dared not.
When his warding was done, he looked at her. “What do you see beyond the firelight?”
Renna looked around. The night was near pitch dark. “Nothing.”
Arlen nodded and laid his hands on her eyes. They were rough hands, scarred and callused, but gentle, as well. There was a soothing tingle in her skin where he touched, and she shivered in pleasure. He took his hands away, and the sensation faded, but the wards around her eyes felt warm now.
“What do you see now?” he asked.
Renna looked around, amazed. Trees and plants now glowed of their own accord, and there was a glowing mist seeping about her feet like a low and lazy fog. “Everything,” she said in wonder. “More’n I see in the sun. It’s all glowing.”
