Peter Brett - The Desert Spear

Elona burst out laughing, sloshing wine from her cup as she banged it on the table. Rojer joined her, and they clapped their cups together and drank.

Leesha scowled at them from the other end of the table where she and her father were talking. She honestly didn't know which she dreaded more: winning the bet with Rojer, or losing it. Perhaps bringing him was a bad idea. The bawdy stories were bad enough, but worse was the way Rojer's eyes kept flicking to her mother's cleavage, though she could hardly blame him, the way Elona had it on display.

The plates had long since been cleared. Erny sat leafing through the book Leesha had brought him, his eyes tiny behind the thin, wire-framed glasses that never seemed to leave the edge of his nose. Finally, he grunted and set it aside for later, gesturing at the stack of bound leather books in front of Leesha.

"Only had time to make a few more," he said. "You fill them faster than I can bind."

"Blame my apprentices," Leesha said, fetching the teakettle from the fire. "They make three copies for every book I fill."

"Still," Erny said. "I only had one grimoire of wards my entire life, and never filled it. How many is this you've made now? A dozen?"

"Seventeen," Leesha said, "but it's as much demonology as wards, and more comes from the Painted Man than me. Just copying the wards on his skin filled several books."

"Oh?" Elona asked, looking up. "And how much of his skin have you seen?"

"Mother!" Leesha cried.

"Creator knows, I'm not judging," Elona said. "You could do worse than bear the Deliverer's child, even if he's a horror to look at. But you'd best get to it, if that's your plan. Plenty younger and more fertile than you will soon be vying for the privilege."

"He's not the Deliverer, Mum," Leesha said.

"That's not how everyone else tells," Elona said. "Even Gared worships him."

"Oh, and if Gared Cutter thinks something, it mustbe right," Leesha said rolling her eyes.

Rojer whispered something in Elona's ear, and she laughed again, turning her attention back to him. Leesha blew out a sigh of relief.

"Speaking of the Painted Man," Erny said, "where has he got off to? Smitt tells me another Messenger's come from the duke, summoning him to an audience, but again he's nowhere to be found on Messenger day."

Leesha shrugged. "I doubt he much cares about an audience with the duke. He doesn't consider himself one of Rhinebeck's subjects."

"You'd best tell him to think twice," Erny said. "The Hollow isn't producing wood like it should, and Rhinebeck is getting angry. Ignoring Messengers may hold him off now, while the road is choked with snow and he can't send a sizable force, but come spring melt the duke will want answers, and assurance that Deliverer's Hollow remains loyal."

"Does it?" Rojer asked, looking up. "If the Painted Man sets himself at odds with Rhinebeck, the Hollow would likely flock to his banner in an instant."

"Yes," Erny agreed. "Other hamlets, as well, and probably a great many folk in Fort Angiers itself. The Painted Man could start a civil war with a word, which is why it's all the more important he declare his intentions before Rhinebeck does something rash."

Leesha nodded. "I'll talk to him. I have unfinished business in Angiers, myself."

"The only unfinished business you have is under your skirts," Elona muttered. Rojer choked and wine spilled from his nose. Elona smiled smugly as she sipped from her cup.

"At least I can keep mine around my ankles!" Leesha snapped.

"Don't you take that tone with me," Elona said. "I may not know anything about politics or demonology, but I know you're a winter away from becoming a spinster crone, and no matter how many corelings you leave dead behind you, you'll still go to your grave regretting not having addedlife to the world."

"I'm the town Herb Gatherer," Leesha said. "Saving those who would have otherwise died doesn't count as adding life to the world?"

"Vika saves lives," Elona said, referring to one of Leesha's fellow Gatherers. "Din't stop her raising a brood for Tender Jona. Midwife Darsy'd do the same in an instant, if she could find a man able to close his eyes and stiffen long enough to put a child in her homely womb."

"Darsy's done more for this town than you ever will, Mother," Leesha said. She and Darsy, both former apprentices of Hag Bruna, had been at odds once, but no longer. Darsy was now Leesha's most devoted student, if not her best.

"Nonsense," Elona said. "I did my duty, and gave the town you. You may be ungrateful for it, but I think the Hollow benefits well enough for my troubles."

Leesha scowled.

"Any fool watching you and the Painted Man together can tell there's been something between you," Elona pressed, "and that it's not to either of your satisfaction. Did he fail abed?" she asked. "Darsy gives me herbs for your father when he-"

"That's ridiculous!" Rojer cried as Erny flushed red. "Leesha would never-"

Elona cut him off with a snort. "Well she sure ent going with you. It's plain as day you got the eye for her, but you ent good enough, fiddle boy, and you know it." Rojer's face turned beet red. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"You've got no right to talk to him like that, Mother," Leesha said. "You don't know-"

"Always what I don't know!" Elona barked. "Like your poor mum is too dim to see the sun shining in her face!" She gulped her wine, and her face took on a cruel cast Leesha knew well, and feared.

"Like I know the boy's song about how the Painted Man found you after you was left for dead by bandits on the road," Elona said. "And I know how men treat women like us, when there ent no one to stop them."

"Mother," Leesha warned, her voice hardening.

"Not how I'd wanted you to lose your flower," Elona said, "but it was time it was done somehow, and I expect you're the better for it."

Leesha slapped her hand down on the table, glaring. "Get your cloak, Rojer," she said. "It's getting dark, and we're safer out among the demons." She shoved the blank books into her satchel and set it over her shoulder as she snatched her richly embroidered cloak from the peg by the door and threw it about her shoulders, clasping it at her throat with a silver ward pin.

Erny came over, hands spread in apology. Leesha embraced him as Rojer put on his cloak. Elona stayed at the table with the wine.

"I really wish you wouldn't walk around after dark, magic cloak or no," Erny said. "We can't exactly replace you."

"Rojer has his fiddle," Leesha said, "and I have more tricks than wards of unsight, if a coreling were to somehow find us. We 're quite safe."

"You can witch all the Core to your bidding, but not a simple man," Elona sneered into her glass.

Leesha ignored her, putting up her hood and stepping out into the dusk.

"Now do you believe me?" she asked Rojer as the door closed behind them.

"Seems I owe you a sun," Rojer admitted. The snow crunched under Leesha's booted feet as she and Rojer headed to the village proper. Their breath fogged in the crisp winter air, but their cloaks were lined with fur and kept them warm enough.

Rojer hadn't said a word since Elona's comment. His head was down, face buried under long locks of red hair. His fiddle was tucked in its case, slung beneath his motley cloak, but she could tell from the way his fingers flexed that he longed to hold it. He always played the fiddle when he was upset.

Leesha knew Rojer shined on her. Most everyone knew, really. Half the women in town thought she was mad for not snatching him up. And why not? Rojer had a boyishly pretty face and a quick wit. His music was beautiful beyond words, and he could bring a laugh from Leesha when she was at her lowest. He'd shown more than once that he was willing to die for her.