Peter Brett - The Desert Spear

"How is this possible?" Leesha asked.

"Corelings care little for riches," the Painted Man said. "Messengers picked the easily accessible ruins clean, but there are countless places they've never been, whole cities lost to demons and swallowed up by the land. I've tried to preserve whatever survived the elements."

"You're richer than all the dukes combined," Rojer said in awe.

The Painted Man shrugged. "I have little use for it. Take whatever you like."

Rojer gave a whoop and ran through the room, running his fingers through piles of coins and jewelry, picking up statuettes and ancient weapons. He played a tune on a brass horn, then gave a cry and ducked behind a broken statue, reappearing with a fiddle in his hands. The strings had rotted away, but the wood was still strong and polished. He laughed aloud, holding the prize up in delight.

Gared looked around the room. "Liked the other room better," he told Wonda, and she nodded her agreement. The gates of Fort Angiers were closed.

"During the day?" Rojer asked in surprise. "They're usually open wide for the loggers and their carts." He sat now in the driver's seat of the cart from the Painted Man's keep, pulled by Leesha's horse. She sat beside him, in front of several bags of books and other items used to disguise the cart's false bottom. The hidden hold was filled with warded weapons and more than a little gold.

"Maybe Rhinebeck's taking the Krasian threat more seriously than we thought," Leesha said. Indeed, as they drew closer to the city, they saw guards armed with loaded crank bows patrolling the walltop, and woodworkers carving arrow slits at the lower levels of the wall. Where the gate had once had a single pair of guards, now there were several, standing alert with their spears at the ready.

"Marick's tale likely set things in a frenzy," the Painted Man agreed, "but I'll wager those guards are there more to prevent thousands of refugees from pouring into the city than they are to ward off any Krasian attack."

"The duke couldn't possibly refuse all those people succor," Leesha said.

"Why not?" the Painted Man said. "Duke Euchor lets the Beggars of Miln sleep on the unwarded streets every night."

"Ay, state your business!" a guard called as they approached. The Painted Man pulled his hood lower and drifted toward the back of the group.

"We come by way of Deliverer's Hollow," Rojer said. "I'm Rojer Halfgrip, licensed to the Jongleurs' Guild, and these are my companions."

"Halfgrip?" one guard asked. "The fiddler?"

"The same," Rojer said, lifting the newly strung fiddle the Painted Man had given him.

"Saw you play once," the guard grunted. "Who are the others?"

"This is Leesha, Herb Gatherer of Deliverer's Hollow, formerly of the hospit of Mistress Jizell in Angiers," Rojer said, gesturing to Leesha. "The others are Cutters come to guard us on the road; Gared, Wonda, and, er…Flinn."

Wonda gasped. Flinn Cutter was her father's name, a man killed in the Battle of Cutter's Hollow less than a year earlier. Rojer immediately regretted the improvisation.

"Why's he all covered?" the guard asked, pointing his chin at the Painted Man.

Rojer leaned in close, dropping his voice to a whisper. "He's badly demon-scarred, I'm afraid. Doesn't like people looking on his deformity."

"It true what they say?" the guard asked. "Do they kill corelings in the Hollow? They say the Deliverer has come there, bringing with him the battle wards of old."

Rojer nodded. "Gared here has killed dozens himself."

"What I wouldn't give to have my spear warded to kill demons," one guard said.

"We 've come to trade," Rojer said. "You'll have your wish soon enough."

"That what you got in the cart?" the guard asked. "Weapons?" As he spoke, a few other guards walked back to inspect the contents.

"No weapons," Rojer said, his throat tightening at the thought of them discovering the hidden compartment.

"Just looks like warding books," one of the guards said, opening one of the sacks.

"They're mine," Leesha said. "I'm a Warder."

"Thought he said you was an Herb Gatherer," the guard said.

"I'm both," Leesha said.

The guard looked at her, then at Wonda, then shook his head. "Women warriors, women Warders," he snorted. "They'll let 'em do anything out in the hamlets." Leesha bristled at that, but Rojer laid a hand on her arm and she calmed.

One of the guards had moved back to where the Painted Man sat atop Twilight Dancer. Much of the stallion's magnificent warded barding was hidden away, but the giant animal himself stood out, as did his cloaked rider. The guard moved in, trying to peek under the Painted Man's hood. The Painted Man obliged him, lifting his head slightly so a sliver of light could reach under the shadows of his cowl.

The guard gasped and backed away, hurrying over to his superior, who was still speaking to Rojer. He whispered in the lieutenant's ear, and his eyes widened.

"Clear the way!" the lieutenant shouted to the other guards. "Let them pass!" He waved them through, and the gate opened, allowing them passage into the city.

"I'm not sure if that went well or not," Rojer said.

"What's done is done," the Painted Man said. "Let's move quickly before word spreads."

They headed into the bustling city streets, boardwalked to prevent corelings from finding a path to rise within the city's wardnet. They had to dismount and lead the horses, which slowed things considerably, but it also allowed the Painted Man to virtually disappear between the horses and behind the cart.

Still, their passage did not go unobserved. "We 're being followed," the Painted Man said at one point when the boardwalk street was wide enough for him to come up alongside the cart. "One of the guards has been drifting along in our wake since we left the gate."

Rojer looked back and caught a glimpse of a city guard's uniform just before the man ducked behind a vendor's stall.

"What should we do?" he asked.

"Not much we can do," the Painted Man said. "Just thought you should know."

Rojer knew the mazelike streets of Angiers well, and took them on a circuitous route through the most crowded areas to their destination, hoping to shake the pursuit. He kept glancing over his shoulder, pretending to look appreciatively at passing women or vendors' wares, but always the guard was there, just on the edge of sight.

"We can't keep circling forever, Rojer," Leesha said at last. "Let's just get to Jizell's before it starts to get dark."

Rojer nodded and turned the cart directly for Mistress Jizell's hospit, which quickly came in sight. It was a wide, two-story building, made almost entirely of wood, as were all the buildings in Angiers. There was a small visitors' stable around the side. "Mistress Leesha?" the girl minding the stable asked in surprise, seeing them pull up.

"Yes, it's me, Roni." Leesha smiled. "Look how you've grown! Have you been keeping to your studies while I was gone?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am!" Roni said, but her eyes had already flicked to Rojer, and then drifted on to Gared, where they lingered. Roni was a promising apprentice, but she was easily distracted, especially by men. Fifteen and full-flowered, she would already be married and raising children of her own if she had grown up in the hamlets, but women married later in the Free Cities, and Leesha was thankful for that.

"Run and tell Mistress Jizell we 've arrived," Leesha said. "I didn't have time to write, and she may not have room for all of us."

Roni nodded and ran off, and before they were done brushing down the horses, a woman shouted "Leesha!" Leesha turned, only to find herself smothered against Mistress Jizell's prodigious bosom as the older woman swept her into a tight hug.

Just shy of sixty, Mistress Jizell was still strong and robust despite the heavy frame under her pocketed apron. A former apprentice of Bruna much as Leesha was, Jizell had been running her hospit in Angiers for more than twenty years.