The Desert Spear
Page 76
Harl put his arms around her, soothing her hair. “There, there, girl,” he whispered, gentling her hair. “That hurt me as much as it did you.” He hugged her, firmly but gently, and rocked her from side to side as she sobbed.
“That’s it, girl,” he said. “You have yerself a good cry. Get it all out.”
And she did, clutching at him as she convulsed in sorrow, before she finally calmed.
“Think you can mind me now?” Harl asked when her composure began to return. “Don’t want to have to do this again.”
Renna nodded eagerly. “I promise, Da.” Her voice was hoarse from screaming.
“That a girl,” Harl said, and lifted her in his arms, carrying her into the house. He put her in her own bed, and made her a hot broth, bringing lunch and dinner to her on a board she could lay across her lap. It was the first time Renna had ever seen him prepare food, but it was warm and good and filling.
“You sleep in tomorrow,” he said that night. “Rest up, and you’ll be right as rain by afternoon.”
Indeed, Renna did feel better the next day, and better still the day after that. Harl did not come to her at night, and he let her work at her own pace by day. Time passed, and it became clear that Cobie wasn’t coming back. It was just as well, Renna thought.
Sometimes, between chores, she remembered flashes of the night in the outhouse, but she blocked them quickly from her mind. It was over, and she would be a good daughter from now on, so she need not fear going back there again.
CHAPTER 15
MARICK’S TALE
333 AR WINTER
THE CROWD HAD GATHERED at Leesha’s hut early in the evening, while the sky was still awash in lavender and orange. At first it was just Darsy, Vika, and their apprentices, but then Gared and the other Cutters began to filter in, carrying their warded axes on their shoulders, and Erny and the rest of the Warders in the Hollow, along with their apprentices. Rojer arrived soon after, and Benn the glassblower. More and more came, until the yard was filled with onlookers, more than she could hope to house for the night. Some had brought tents to sleep in after the lesson.
Many of the visitors shifted nervously as the sun set, but they trusted in Leesha and the strength of her wards. Lanterns were lit to illuminate the stone table at the center of the gathering.
A few misty forms seeped from the ground as full dark came, but the corelings fled as soon as they solidified. They had learned that attempting to breach Leesha’s wards could bring more than simple forbiddance.
Soon after, the Painted Man arrived, walking beside his giant stallion. Slung over the horse’s back were the carcasses of several demons.
The Warders moved quickly, deactivating a portion of the wardnet long enough for the Painted Man to bring the coreling bodies through. The Cutters took over then, hauling the carcasses over to the stone table as the Warders reestablished the net.
“That didn’t take you very long,” Leesha told the Painted Man as he drew close.
The man shrugged. “You wanted one of each breed. It wasn’t exactly a challenge.”
Leesha grinned and took up her warded scalpels. “Rapt attention, all,” she called loudly as she went to the wood demon and prepared to make the first incision. “Class is in session.”
There was a communal breakfast in the morning for those who had remained at the hut. The Cutters had left soon after Leesha’s lesson with the Painted Man at their lead, looking to reinforce their learning with practical application, but most others had stayed safe behind her wards until dawn.
Leesha had her apprentices cook a great vat of porridge, and brewed tea by the cauldron. They passed out the bowls and mugs as guests emerged from their tents, rubbing sleep from their eyes after the late night.
Rojer sat away from the others, tuning his fiddle on the porch of Leesha’s hut.
“It’s not like you to sit off by yourself,” Leesha said, handing him a bowl and sitting beside him.
“Not really hungry,” Rojer said, swirling his spoon in the porridge halfheartedly.
“Kendall is going to be all right,” Leesha said. “She’s recovering quickly, and she doesn’t blame anyone for what happened.”
“Maybe she should,” Rojer said.
“You have a unique gift,” Leesha said. “It’s not your fault it’s hard to teach.”
“Is it?” Rojer asked. Leesha looked at him curiously, but he did not elucidate, instead turning away from her and looking out into the yard. “You could have told me.”
“Told you what?” Leesha asked, knowing full well.
“About you and ‘Arlen,’ ” Rojer said.
“I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” Leesha said.
“But Kendall’s love potions are yours?” Rojer snapped. “Maybe my teaching’s not so bad after all. Maybe the girl just had her mind on sweet tea when it should have been on the demons.”
“That’s not fair,” Leesha said. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”
Rojer snarled at her, a look she’d never seen on his face outside of mummery. “No, you thought you were shoving me off on some other girl to make yourself feel better about not being interested yourself. You’re more like your mother than you know.”
Leesha opened her mouth to respond, but no words came to her. Rojer set down his bowl and walked off, putting his fiddle under his chin and playing an angry melody that drowned out anything Leesha might have said to call him back.
The Corelings’ Graveyard was in chaos when Leesha and the others returned to town. Hundreds of folk, many of them injured and none of them familiar, filled the square. All were filthy, ragged, and half starved. Exhausted, they rested in grim misery on the frozen cobbles.
Tender Jona was running to and fro, shouting orders to his acolytes as they tried to give comfort to those in need. The Cutters were dragging logs out to the square so people would at least have a place to sit, but it seemed an impossible task.
“Thank the Creator!” the Tender called when he caught sight of them. Vika, his wife, ran to embrace him as he hurried over.
“What happened?” Leesha asked.
“Refugees from Fort Rizon,” Jona said. “They just started pouring in this morning, a couple hours past dawn. More arrive at every moment.”
“Where is the Deliverer?” a woman in the crowd cried. “They said he was here!”
“The wards in the entire city failed?” Leesha asked.
“Impossible,” Erny said. “Rizon has over a hundred hamlets, all individually warded. Why flee all this way?”
“Wasn’t the corelings we fled,” a familiar voice said. Leesha turned, her eyes widening.
“Marick!” she cried. “What are you doing here?” The Messenger was as handsome as ever, but there were yellowed bruises on his face only partially obscured by his long hair and beard, and he favored one leg slightly as he approached.
“Made the mistake of wintering in Rizon,” Marick said. “Usually a good idea; the cold doesn’t bite so hard in the South.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Not this year.”
“If it wasn’t demons, what happened?” Leesha asked.
“Krasians,” Marick said, spitting in the snow. “Seems the desert rats got sick of eating sand and decided to start preying on civilized folk.”
“That’s it, girl,” he said. “You have yerself a good cry. Get it all out.”
And she did, clutching at him as she convulsed in sorrow, before she finally calmed.
“Think you can mind me now?” Harl asked when her composure began to return. “Don’t want to have to do this again.”
Renna nodded eagerly. “I promise, Da.” Her voice was hoarse from screaming.
“That a girl,” Harl said, and lifted her in his arms, carrying her into the house. He put her in her own bed, and made her a hot broth, bringing lunch and dinner to her on a board she could lay across her lap. It was the first time Renna had ever seen him prepare food, but it was warm and good and filling.
“You sleep in tomorrow,” he said that night. “Rest up, and you’ll be right as rain by afternoon.”
Indeed, Renna did feel better the next day, and better still the day after that. Harl did not come to her at night, and he let her work at her own pace by day. Time passed, and it became clear that Cobie wasn’t coming back. It was just as well, Renna thought.
Sometimes, between chores, she remembered flashes of the night in the outhouse, but she blocked them quickly from her mind. It was over, and she would be a good daughter from now on, so she need not fear going back there again.
CHAPTER 15
MARICK’S TALE
333 AR WINTER
THE CROWD HAD GATHERED at Leesha’s hut early in the evening, while the sky was still awash in lavender and orange. At first it was just Darsy, Vika, and their apprentices, but then Gared and the other Cutters began to filter in, carrying their warded axes on their shoulders, and Erny and the rest of the Warders in the Hollow, along with their apprentices. Rojer arrived soon after, and Benn the glassblower. More and more came, until the yard was filled with onlookers, more than she could hope to house for the night. Some had brought tents to sleep in after the lesson.
Many of the visitors shifted nervously as the sun set, but they trusted in Leesha and the strength of her wards. Lanterns were lit to illuminate the stone table at the center of the gathering.
A few misty forms seeped from the ground as full dark came, but the corelings fled as soon as they solidified. They had learned that attempting to breach Leesha’s wards could bring more than simple forbiddance.
Soon after, the Painted Man arrived, walking beside his giant stallion. Slung over the horse’s back were the carcasses of several demons.
The Warders moved quickly, deactivating a portion of the wardnet long enough for the Painted Man to bring the coreling bodies through. The Cutters took over then, hauling the carcasses over to the stone table as the Warders reestablished the net.
“That didn’t take you very long,” Leesha told the Painted Man as he drew close.
The man shrugged. “You wanted one of each breed. It wasn’t exactly a challenge.”
Leesha grinned and took up her warded scalpels. “Rapt attention, all,” she called loudly as she went to the wood demon and prepared to make the first incision. “Class is in session.”
There was a communal breakfast in the morning for those who had remained at the hut. The Cutters had left soon after Leesha’s lesson with the Painted Man at their lead, looking to reinforce their learning with practical application, but most others had stayed safe behind her wards until dawn.
Leesha had her apprentices cook a great vat of porridge, and brewed tea by the cauldron. They passed out the bowls and mugs as guests emerged from their tents, rubbing sleep from their eyes after the late night.
Rojer sat away from the others, tuning his fiddle on the porch of Leesha’s hut.
“It’s not like you to sit off by yourself,” Leesha said, handing him a bowl and sitting beside him.
“Not really hungry,” Rojer said, swirling his spoon in the porridge halfheartedly.
“Kendall is going to be all right,” Leesha said. “She’s recovering quickly, and she doesn’t blame anyone for what happened.”
“Maybe she should,” Rojer said.
“You have a unique gift,” Leesha said. “It’s not your fault it’s hard to teach.”
“Is it?” Rojer asked. Leesha looked at him curiously, but he did not elucidate, instead turning away from her and looking out into the yard. “You could have told me.”
“Told you what?” Leesha asked, knowing full well.
“About you and ‘Arlen,’ ” Rojer said.
“I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” Leesha said.
“But Kendall’s love potions are yours?” Rojer snapped. “Maybe my teaching’s not so bad after all. Maybe the girl just had her mind on sweet tea when it should have been on the demons.”
“That’s not fair,” Leesha said. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”
Rojer snarled at her, a look she’d never seen on his face outside of mummery. “No, you thought you were shoving me off on some other girl to make yourself feel better about not being interested yourself. You’re more like your mother than you know.”
Leesha opened her mouth to respond, but no words came to her. Rojer set down his bowl and walked off, putting his fiddle under his chin and playing an angry melody that drowned out anything Leesha might have said to call him back.
The Corelings’ Graveyard was in chaos when Leesha and the others returned to town. Hundreds of folk, many of them injured and none of them familiar, filled the square. All were filthy, ragged, and half starved. Exhausted, they rested in grim misery on the frozen cobbles.
Tender Jona was running to and fro, shouting orders to his acolytes as they tried to give comfort to those in need. The Cutters were dragging logs out to the square so people would at least have a place to sit, but it seemed an impossible task.
“Thank the Creator!” the Tender called when he caught sight of them. Vika, his wife, ran to embrace him as he hurried over.
“What happened?” Leesha asked.
“Refugees from Fort Rizon,” Jona said. “They just started pouring in this morning, a couple hours past dawn. More arrive at every moment.”
“Where is the Deliverer?” a woman in the crowd cried. “They said he was here!”
“The wards in the entire city failed?” Leesha asked.
“Impossible,” Erny said. “Rizon has over a hundred hamlets, all individually warded. Why flee all this way?”
“Wasn’t the corelings we fled,” a familiar voice said. Leesha turned, her eyes widening.
“Marick!” she cried. “What are you doing here?” The Messenger was as handsome as ever, but there were yellowed bruises on his face only partially obscured by his long hair and beard, and he favored one leg slightly as he approached.
“Made the mistake of wintering in Rizon,” Marick said. “Usually a good idea; the cold doesn’t bite so hard in the South.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Not this year.”
“If it wasn’t demons, what happened?” Leesha asked.
“Krasians,” Marick said, spitting in the snow. “Seems the desert rats got sick of eating sand and decided to start preying on civilized folk.”
