Peter Brett - The Desert Spear

But she needed him, and that kept the call of the Core away. Today was the first dawn he had looked forward to since Miln. In his heart, the Painted Man knew he would never survive if he tried to enter the demon world, but seeing his own people put Renna out at night made him want to leave humanity behind forever. If he left Tibbet's Brook alone, he might.

"All right," he said at last, "so long as you keep the pace. You slow me down, and I'll leave you at the first town we come to."

Renna looked around the barn, spotting a beam of sunlight streaming in through the hayloft doors above. She stepped carefully into the sunlight and met his eyes. "I ent gonna slow you," she promised, drawing Harl's knife, "sun as my witness."

"You clutch that knife like it could help you against a coreling," the Painted Man said. "Let me ward it for you." Renna blinked, looking at the knife, then held it out. He reached for it, but she drew it back suddenly, clutching it protectively.

"Knife's one of the only things in the world that's mine," she said. "Like to ward it myself, if you'll teach me."

The Painted Man looked at her doubtfully, remembering her poor warding when they were children. Renna noted the look and scowled.

"I ent nine years old anymore, Arlen Bales," she snapped. "Been warding my property nigh ten years now and ent no demon ever got past, so you quit looking down. Reckon I can draw a ripping circle or a heat ward good as you."

Shocked, the Painted Man shook his head to clear it. "Sorry. The Warders in the Free Cities treated me the same way when I left the Brook. Forgot how insulting it was."

Renna went over to where his gear was stored, pulling a warded knife from a sheath on his saddle. "Here," she said, coming over to him. "What's this'un do?" She pointed to the single ward at the tip. "And why's the rest of the edge just a repeat of this other ward, only rotated? How's it form a net without connectors?" She turned the weapon over in her hands, running her finger over the dozens of wards on the flat.

The Painted Man pointed to the tip. "This is a piercing ward, to break the armor. Those on the side are cutting wards, to let the blade slide in once the armor is broken. Cutting wards are self-linking, if you rotate them proper."

Renna nodded, her eyes dancing along the lines. "And these?" She pointed to the symbols inside the cutting edge. After supper, Jeph hitched his cart, and the whole family climbed in to head to Town Square. Renna rode with the Painted Man, seated behind him on Twilight Dancer.

They arrived scant minutes before sunset. If the square had been packed the day before, it was near bursting now. Every borough of Tibbet's Brook was represented in full, man, woman, and child. They filled the street and most of the square, more than a thousand souls in all, succored only by hastily hauled and painted wardstones.

Everyone looked up when they rode in, ignoring Jeph's family entirely as they stared at the hooded stranger on his enormous warded stallion, and the girl who rode behind him. The crowd parted as the Painted Man rode through to the center of the square, turning Twilight Dancer back and forth a few times so all could see them. He reached up and pulled his hood down, drawing a collective gasp from the crowd.

"I came from the Free Cities to teach the good people of Tibbet's Brook to kill demons!" he shouted. "But so far, I've seen no 'good people.' Good people do not feed helpless girls to the corelings! Good people do not stand by while someone is cored!" As he spoke, he continued to turn his horse back and forth, meeting as many eyes as possible.

"She wern't no helpless girl, Messenger!" Raddock Lawry shouted, coming to the fore of those from Fishing Hole. "She's a cold killer, and the council voted to have her staked for it."

"Ay, they did," the Painted Man agreed loudly. "And none stood up against them for it."

"Folk trust in their Speakers," Raddock said.

"That true?" the Painted Man asked the crowd at large. "You folk trust your Speakers?"

There was a chorus of passionate Ays from every section. The folk of Tibbet's Brook were proud of their boroughs and the surnames they shared.

The Painted Man nodded. "Then I reckon it's your Speakers I'll test." He leapt down from the horse and, from the harnesses on Twilight Dancer's saddle, selected ten light spears he stuck point-down to stand quivering in the dirt.

"Every man or woman of the town council who stands with me and fights tonight, or their heir if they're killed, will get a battle-warded spear," he said, raising one of the weapons, "and the secrets of combat warding, so they can make their own."

There was a shocked silence as everyone looked to their Speaker.

"Kin we have some time to think on it?" Mack Pasture asked. "Don't care to be hasty."

"Of course," the Painted Man said, looking at the sky. "I'd say you have…ten minutes. By this time tomorrow, I intend to be back on the road to the Free Cities."

Selia Barren came out of the crowd. "You expect us, the Brook's elders, to stand in the naked night with naught but them spears?"

The Painted Man looked at her, still tall and intimidating after all these years. She 'd switched his backside more than once, and always for his own good. The idea of standing up to Selia Barren was more alien to him than staring down a rock demon, but this time it was her that needed a switching.

"It's a sight more'n you gave Renna Tanner," he said.

"Not all of us voted her out, Messenger," Selia said.

The Painted Man shrugged. "You let it happen, all the same."

"Ent no one above the law," Selia said. "When the council voted, we had to put the town first, no matter how we felt."

The Painted Man spat at her feet. "The Core with your law, if it says to throw your neighbor to the night! You want to put town first, come out here and show you can get as you give. Elsewise, I'll take my spears and go."

Selia's eyes narrowed, and then she picked up her skirts, striding firmly into the square. There were gasps of shock from all sides, but Selia ignored them, taking up one of the spears. She was followed immediately by Tender Harral and Brine Broadshoulders. The giant Cutter took up his spear with a hungry look in his eyes. The Squares and Cutters gave a cheer.

"Anyone else have a question?" the Painted Man asked, looking around. As a boy in Tibbet's Brook, he'd had no voice, but now he finally meant to speak his mind. The crowd had suddenly become animated, but he picked the Speakers out easily, islands in the brook.

"Reckon I do," Jeorje Watch said.

The Painted Man faced him. "Ask, and I'll answer with honest word."

"How are we to know you're really the Deliverer?" Jeorje asked.

"Like I said, Tender," the Painted Man said, "I ent. Just a Messenger."

"The Messenger of whom?" Jeorje asked.

The Painted Man hesitated, seeing the trap. If he said no one, many would assume it was because he was a Messenger of the Creator. His best choice would be to name Euchor as his patron. Tibbet's Brook was technically part of Miln, and the people would assume the combat wards were a gift of his. But he had promised to speak honest word.

"No patron for this message," he admitted. "Found the wards in a ruin of the old world, and took it upon myself to spread them to all good folk, so we can start fighting back."

"The Plague cannot end without the coming of the Deliverer," Jeorje said, as if the Painted Man were caught in a logic trap.

But the Painted Man simply shrugged, handing Jeorje a warded spear. "Could be it's you. Kill a demon and find out."

Jeorje dropped his walking stick and took the weapon, a hard glint in his eyes.

"Seen a hundred years and more of the Plague," he said. "Seen everyone I know pass on, even my own grandkin. Always wondered why it was, Creator kept me alive so long when he called so many others to his side. Reckon it was on account of me having something left to do."