The Desert Spear
Page 78
“How did you escape?” the Painted Man asked.
“At first I didn’t think any of the desert rats spoke a civilized tongue,” Marick said. “I know a couple of sand words I picked up from other Messengers, but it’s mostly curses, not much to start a conversation with. I figured I was done for, but after a day, a fat one came who spoke Thesan like a native. He started rounding up the royals, landowners, and skilled laborers, bringing them to the Krasian duke. I was among those.”
“You saw their leader?” the Painted Man asked.
“Oh, I saw that big bastard all right,” Marick said. “They brought me before him, bound and battered, and when he heard I was a Warder, he set me free like nothing had happened. Even gave me a purse of gold for my troubles! I think he meant for me to teach them our wards, but I was over the wall and out of the city at dawn the next morning.”
“Their leader,” the Painted Man pressed. “What was he wearing?”
Marick blinked. “Open white robe and head rag,” he said, “with black underneath, like their warriors wear. And he wore a crown; that’s how I knew he was their duke.”
“A crown?” the Painted Man asked. “Are you sure? He didn’t just have a jewel set in his turban?”
Marick nodded. “I’m sure. It was gold, and covered in jewels and wards. Ripping thing must have been worth more than every other duke’s crown combined.”
“And this duke, did he speak our tongue?” the Painted Man asked.
“Better than some Angierians I know,” Marick said.
“What was his name?” the Painted Man asked.
Marick shrugged. “Don’t think anyone said it. They all called him some sand word. Shamaka, or somesuch. I figured it meant ‘duke.’ ”
“Shar’Dama Ka?” the Painted Man asked.
“Ay.” Marick nodded. “That was it.”
The Painted Man swore under his breath.
“What is it?” Leesha asked, but he ignored her, leaning in to the Messenger.
“Was he about this tall?” he asked, holding up a hand above his own head. “With a forked, oiled beard and a sharp, hooked nose?”
Marick nodded.
“Did he carry a warded spear?” the Painted Man asked.
“They all carried warded spears,” Marick said.
“You would remember this one,” the Painted Man said.
Marick nodded again. “Metal, it was, point-to-butt. And covered in etched wards.”
The growl that issued from the Painted Man’s throat was so feral that even Marick, usually fearless, took a step back.
“What is it?” Leesha asked again.
“Ahmann Jardir,” the Painted Man said. “I know him.”
“What does this mean?” she asked, but the Painted Man waved the question away.
“It makes no difference now,” he said. “Go on,” he told Marick. “What happened next?”
“As I said, I scaled the wall and fled the city the moment they set me free,” Marick said. “The hamlets I passed through were half deserted by the time I arrived. When word of the attack reached them, the smart folk grabbed what they could and were on the road before the blood on the cobbles of the central city was dry. Those too weak to travel or too scared of the night stayed behind. I think more stayed than left, but there were still tens of thousands on the road.
“I bought a horse from an old fellow got left behind, and galloped off. I caught up to the folk on the road soon after. The groups were too large to stick together; no city could absorb so many. Most went to Lakton and its hamlets, where any with a hook and line can fill their belly, but the Jongleurs have had a lot to say about you,” he pointed to the Painted Man, “and them that believed you were really the Deliverer come again flocked here. I needed to get back to Angiers and report to the duke, but I couldn’t just leave folk on the road with so few to ward for them, so I offered up my services.”
“It was a good thing you did, Marick,” Leesha said, laying a hand on his arm. “These people never would have made it without you. Go and take your ease out into the taproom while we discuss your news.”
“I have a room reserved for you upstairs,” Smitt added. “Stefny will see you there.”
The Painted Man put his hood up as soon as the Messenger left. “Daylight is fading. If there are more on the road, I need to make sure they see the dawn.”
Leesha nodded. “Take Gared and as many Cutters as can sit a horse.”
“Get your cloak,” the Painted Man told Rojer. “You’re coming with us.” Rojer nodded, and they headed for the rear exit.
“You’ll need Warders,” Erny said, pushing back his wire-framed glasses and rising from his seat. “I’ll go.”
Elona was on her feet instantly grabbing his arm. “You’ll do no such thing, Ernal.”
Erny blinked. “You’re always complaining I’m not brave enough. Now you want me to hide when people need my help?”
“You’ll prove nothing to me by getting yourself killed,” Elona said. “You haven’t sat a horse in years.”
“She has a point, Da,” Leesha said.
“Stay out of this,” Erny said. “The town may hop at your word, but I’m still your father.”
“There’s no time for this,” the Painted Man said. “Are you coming or not?”
“Not,” Elona said firmly.
“Coming,” Erny said, pulling his arm from her grasp and following the other men out.
“That idiot!” Elona shrieked as the door slammed shut. Everyone else glanced at one another.
“Take as long back here as you like,” Smitt said, “I need to get out front.” He, Stefny, and Jona quickly filed out of the room, leaving Leesha alone with her fuming mother.
“He’ll be all right, Mum,” Leesha said. “There’s nowhere in all the world safer than traveling with Rojer and the Painted Man.”
“He’s a frail man!” Elona said. “He can’t ride with young men, and he’ll catch his death of cold! He’s never been the same after the flux took him last year.”
“Why, Mother,” Leesha said, surprised, “it sounds like you truly care.”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” Elona snapped. “Of course I care. He’s my husband. If you knew what it was like to be married almost thirty years, you wouldn’t say such things.”
Leesha wanted to snap back, to shout out all the horrible things her mother had done to her father over the years, not the least of which being her repeated infidelity with Gared’s father, Steave, but the sincerity in her mother’s voice checked her.
“You’re right, Mum, I’m sorry,” she said.
Elona blinked. “I’m right? Did you just say I was right?”
“I did.” Leesha smiled.
Elona opened her arms. “Hug me now, child, while it lasts.” Leesha laughed and embraced her tightly.
“He’ll be fine,” Leesha said, as much for herself as her mother.
Elona nodded. “You’re right, of course. He may look a terror, but no demon can stand up to your tattooed friend.”
“At first I didn’t think any of the desert rats spoke a civilized tongue,” Marick said. “I know a couple of sand words I picked up from other Messengers, but it’s mostly curses, not much to start a conversation with. I figured I was done for, but after a day, a fat one came who spoke Thesan like a native. He started rounding up the royals, landowners, and skilled laborers, bringing them to the Krasian duke. I was among those.”
“You saw their leader?” the Painted Man asked.
“Oh, I saw that big bastard all right,” Marick said. “They brought me before him, bound and battered, and when he heard I was a Warder, he set me free like nothing had happened. Even gave me a purse of gold for my troubles! I think he meant for me to teach them our wards, but I was over the wall and out of the city at dawn the next morning.”
“Their leader,” the Painted Man pressed. “What was he wearing?”
Marick blinked. “Open white robe and head rag,” he said, “with black underneath, like their warriors wear. And he wore a crown; that’s how I knew he was their duke.”
“A crown?” the Painted Man asked. “Are you sure? He didn’t just have a jewel set in his turban?”
Marick nodded. “I’m sure. It was gold, and covered in jewels and wards. Ripping thing must have been worth more than every other duke’s crown combined.”
“And this duke, did he speak our tongue?” the Painted Man asked.
“Better than some Angierians I know,” Marick said.
“What was his name?” the Painted Man asked.
Marick shrugged. “Don’t think anyone said it. They all called him some sand word. Shamaka, or somesuch. I figured it meant ‘duke.’ ”
“Shar’Dama Ka?” the Painted Man asked.
“Ay.” Marick nodded. “That was it.”
The Painted Man swore under his breath.
“What is it?” Leesha asked, but he ignored her, leaning in to the Messenger.
“Was he about this tall?” he asked, holding up a hand above his own head. “With a forked, oiled beard and a sharp, hooked nose?”
Marick nodded.
“Did he carry a warded spear?” the Painted Man asked.
“They all carried warded spears,” Marick said.
“You would remember this one,” the Painted Man said.
Marick nodded again. “Metal, it was, point-to-butt. And covered in etched wards.”
The growl that issued from the Painted Man’s throat was so feral that even Marick, usually fearless, took a step back.
“What is it?” Leesha asked again.
“Ahmann Jardir,” the Painted Man said. “I know him.”
“What does this mean?” she asked, but the Painted Man waved the question away.
“It makes no difference now,” he said. “Go on,” he told Marick. “What happened next?”
“As I said, I scaled the wall and fled the city the moment they set me free,” Marick said. “The hamlets I passed through were half deserted by the time I arrived. When word of the attack reached them, the smart folk grabbed what they could and were on the road before the blood on the cobbles of the central city was dry. Those too weak to travel or too scared of the night stayed behind. I think more stayed than left, but there were still tens of thousands on the road.
“I bought a horse from an old fellow got left behind, and galloped off. I caught up to the folk on the road soon after. The groups were too large to stick together; no city could absorb so many. Most went to Lakton and its hamlets, where any with a hook and line can fill their belly, but the Jongleurs have had a lot to say about you,” he pointed to the Painted Man, “and them that believed you were really the Deliverer come again flocked here. I needed to get back to Angiers and report to the duke, but I couldn’t just leave folk on the road with so few to ward for them, so I offered up my services.”
“It was a good thing you did, Marick,” Leesha said, laying a hand on his arm. “These people never would have made it without you. Go and take your ease out into the taproom while we discuss your news.”
“I have a room reserved for you upstairs,” Smitt added. “Stefny will see you there.”
The Painted Man put his hood up as soon as the Messenger left. “Daylight is fading. If there are more on the road, I need to make sure they see the dawn.”
Leesha nodded. “Take Gared and as many Cutters as can sit a horse.”
“Get your cloak,” the Painted Man told Rojer. “You’re coming with us.” Rojer nodded, and they headed for the rear exit.
“You’ll need Warders,” Erny said, pushing back his wire-framed glasses and rising from his seat. “I’ll go.”
Elona was on her feet instantly grabbing his arm. “You’ll do no such thing, Ernal.”
Erny blinked. “You’re always complaining I’m not brave enough. Now you want me to hide when people need my help?”
“You’ll prove nothing to me by getting yourself killed,” Elona said. “You haven’t sat a horse in years.”
“She has a point, Da,” Leesha said.
“Stay out of this,” Erny said. “The town may hop at your word, but I’m still your father.”
“There’s no time for this,” the Painted Man said. “Are you coming or not?”
“Not,” Elona said firmly.
“Coming,” Erny said, pulling his arm from her grasp and following the other men out.
“That idiot!” Elona shrieked as the door slammed shut. Everyone else glanced at one another.
“Take as long back here as you like,” Smitt said, “I need to get out front.” He, Stefny, and Jona quickly filed out of the room, leaving Leesha alone with her fuming mother.
“He’ll be all right, Mum,” Leesha said. “There’s nowhere in all the world safer than traveling with Rojer and the Painted Man.”
“He’s a frail man!” Elona said. “He can’t ride with young men, and he’ll catch his death of cold! He’s never been the same after the flux took him last year.”
“Why, Mother,” Leesha said, surprised, “it sounds like you truly care.”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” Elona snapped. “Of course I care. He’s my husband. If you knew what it was like to be married almost thirty years, you wouldn’t say such things.”
Leesha wanted to snap back, to shout out all the horrible things her mother had done to her father over the years, not the least of which being her repeated infidelity with Gared’s father, Steave, but the sincerity in her mother’s voice checked her.
“You’re right, Mum, I’m sorry,” she said.
Elona blinked. “I’m right? Did you just say I was right?”
“I did.” Leesha smiled.
Elona opened her arms. “Hug me now, child, while it lasts.” Leesha laughed and embraced her tightly.
“He’ll be fine,” Leesha said, as much for herself as her mother.
Elona nodded. “You’re right, of course. He may look a terror, but no demon can stand up to your tattooed friend.”
