Peter Brett - The Desert Spear

"Don't see why he couldn't meet us in town," Rojer muttered. "Hemight not feel the cold, but I do."

"Some things are best said in private," Leesha said, "and he tends to draw a crowd."

The Painted Man was waiting for them on the warded path leading to Leesha's cottage. Twilight Dancer, his enormous black stallion, was in full barding and horns, nearly invisible in the darkness. The Painted Man himself wore only a loincloth, his tattooed skin bare to the cold.

"You're late," the Painted Man said.

"Had some problems at the hospit," Leesha said. "An accident while we were charging glass. Why aren't you wearing your cloak?" She tried to make the question seem casual, but it hurt her that for all the hours she spent on it, Leesha had never seen him wear the garment apart from the one time she threw it across his shoulders to check the fit.

"It's in my saddlebag," the Painted Man said. "Not looking to hide from corelings. They want to come at me, let them. World could do with a few less."

They tied Twilight Dancer to a hitching post in the yard and went inside. Leesha took a match from her apron and lit the fire, filling a kettle and hanging it over the blaze.

"How are the fiddle wizards coming along?" the Painted Man asked Rojer.

"More fiddle than wizard, I'm afraid," Rojer said. "They're not ready."

The Painted Man frowned. "Cutter patrols would be stronger with a fiddler who can manipulate the demons' emotions."

"I can patrol with them," Rojer said. "I have my cloak to keep me safe."

The Painted Man shook his head. "Need you teaching."

Rojer, blew out a breath, glancing at Leesha. "I'll do what I can."

"And the Hollow?" the Painted Man asked when Leesha joined them at the table.

"Expanding quickly," Leesha said. "Already we have twice as many people as we had before the flux last year, and more come in daily. We planned the new town to accommodate growth, but not at this rate."

The Painted Man nodded. "We can have the Cutters clear more land and plot another greatward."

"We need the lumber, anyway," Leesha agreed. "We haven't sent a shipment to Duke Rhinebeck in over a year."

"Had to rebuild the entire village," the Painted Man said.

Leesha shrugged. "Perhaps you'd like to explain that to the duke. He sent another Messenger, requesting an audience. They fear you, and your plans for the Hollow."

The Painted Man shook his head. "Ent got any plans, beyond making the Hollow secure from corelings. When that's done, I'll be on my way."

"But what about the Great War on demonkind?" Rojer asked. "You have to lead the people to it."

"Corespawn it, boy, I'm not the ripping Deliverer!" the Painted Man growled. "This isn't some fantasy from a Tender's Canon, and I wasn't sent from Heaven to unite mankind. I'm just Arlen Bales of Tibbet's Brook, a stupid boy with more luck than he deserved, most of it bad."

"But there's no one else!" Rojer said. "If you don't lead the war, who will?"

The Painted Man shrugged. "Not my problem. I won't force war on anyone. All I aim to do is make sure that anyone who wants to fight, can. Once that boulder shifts, I mean to get out of the way."

"But why?" Rojer asked.

"Because he doesn't think he's human," Leesha said, reproach clear in her tone. "He thinks he's so tainted by coreling magic that he's as much a danger to us as they are, even though there 's not a shred of proof."

The Painted Man glared, but Leesha glared right back. "There 's proof," he said finally.

"What?" Leesha asked, her voice softening but still skeptical.

The Painted Man looked at Rojer, who shrank back under the glare. "What I say stays in this cottage," he warned. "If I hear even a hint of it in a song or tale…"

Rojer held his hands up. "Swear by the sun as it shines. Not a whisper."

The Painted Man eyed him, finally nodding. His eyes dropped as he spoke. "It's…uncomfortable for me, in the forbidding."

Rojer's eyes went wide, and Leesha inhaled a sharp breath, holding it as her mind raced. Finally, she forced herself to exhale. She had sworn to find a cure for the Painted Man, or at least the details of his condition, and she meant to keep that vow. He'd saved her life, and that of everyone in the Hollow. She owed him that much and more.

"What are the symptoms?" she asked. "What happens when you step onto the ward?"

"There's…resistance," the Painted Man said. "Like I'm walking against a strong gust of wind. I feel the ward warming beneath my feet, and myself getting cold. When I walk through the town, it's like wading through hip-deep water. I pretend otherwise, and no one seems to notice, but I know."

He turned to Leesha, his eyes sad. "The forbiddance wants to expel me, Leesha, as it would any demon. It knows I don't belong among men any longer."

Leesha shook her head. "Nonsense. The ward's siphon is just drawing away some of the magic you've absorbed."

"It's not just that," the Painted Man said. "The Cloaks of Unsight make me dizzy, and I can feel warded blades warm and sharpen at my touch. I fear I become more demon every day."

Leesha took one of the warded glass vials from her apron pocket and handed it to him. "Crush it."

The Painted Man shrugged, squeezing as hard as he could. Stronger than ten men, he could easily shatter glass, but the vial resisted even his grip.

"Painted glass," the Painted Man said, examining the vial. "So what? I taught you that trick myself."

"That wasn't charged till you touched it," Leesha said. The Painted Man's eyes widened.

"Proof of what I'm saying," he said.

"The only thing it proves is that we need more tests," Leesha said. "I've finished copying your tattoos and studying them. I think the next step is to start experimenting on volunteers."

"What?!" Rojer and the Painted Man asked in unison.

"I can make a stain from blackstem leaves that will stay in the skin no more than two weeks," Leesha said. "I can perform controlled tests and mark the results. I'm certain we can-"

"Absolutely not," Arlen said. "I forbid it."

"You forbid?" Leesha asked. "Are you the Deliverer, to order folk about? You can forbid me nothing, Arlen Bales of Tibbet's Brook."

He glared at her, and Leesha wondered if perhaps she had pushed him too far. His back arched like a hissing cat, and for a moment she was afraid he would leap at her, but she stood fast. Finally, he deflated.

"Please," he said, his tone softening. "Don't risk it."

"People are going to imitate you," Leesha said. "Already Jona is drawing wards on people with charcoal sticks."

"He'll stop if I tell him to," the Painted Man said.

"Only because he thinks you're the Deliverer," Rojer noted, and flinched at the look the Painted Man gave him in return.

"It won't make any difference," Leesha said. "It's only a matter of time before your legend draws a tattooist to the Hollow, and then there will be no stopping it. Better we experiment now, in control."

"Please," the Painted Man said again. "Don't curse anyone else with my condition."

Leesha looked at him wryly. "You're not cursed."

"Oh?" he asked. He looked at Rojer. "Do you have one of your throwing knives?"

Rojer flicked his wrist, and a knife appeared in his hand. He spun it deftly and moved to give it to the Painted Man, handle-first, but the Painted Man shook his head. He rose and took a few steps back from the table. "Throw it at me."

"What?" Rojer asked.

"The knife," the Painted Man said. "Throw it. Right at my heart."

Rojer shook his head. "No."

"You throw knives at people all the time," the Painted Man said.

"As a trick," Rojer said. "I'm not going to throw one at your heart, are you insane? Even if you can use your demon speed to dodge…"

The Painted Man sighed and turned to Leesha. "You, then. Throw something-"