Peter Brett - The Desert Spear

"Wonda," Leesha said. "The Painted Man will need ammunition for his ride north. Please fetch a few bundles of warded arrows."

"Ay, mistress," Wonda said, bowing, and headed inside.

"Five minutes at court, and everyone's bowing to everyone else," Rojer muttered.

"Rojer, would you ask Mistress Jizell to have the girls pack food for his saddlebags?" Leesha asked.

Rojer looked at them and scowled. "Might be best I stay and chaperone."

Leesha gave him such a withering glare that he shrank back. He bowed with a sarcastic flourish and headed off. Leesha and the Painted Man went to the stables, and he fetched his warded saddle and the stallion's barding.

"You will be careful, won't you?" Leesha asked him.

"I wouldn't have survived so long if I wasn't," he said.

"Fair point," Leesha said, "but I didn't just mean with the corelings. Duke Euchor has a…harder reputation than Rhinebeck."

"You mean he's not led around by the nose by his councilors?" the Painted Man asked. "I know. I've met Euchor before."

Leesha shook her head. "Is there anywhere you haven't been?"

The Painted Man shrugged. "Over the eastern mountain range. Through the western wood. Past the Krasian Desert to the seashore." He looked at her. "But I'll see all those places one day, if I can."

"I'd like to see them as well, Creator willing," Leesha said.

"Nothing stopping you or anyone from going anywhere, now," the Painted Man said, holding up a tattooed hand.

I meant with you, she wanted to say, but swallowed it. His words said it all. She was his Rojer. There was no point in pretending otherwise any longer.

The Painted Man reached out his hand. "You be careful, too, Leesha."

Leesha slapped his hand away and embraced him. "Goodbye."

An hour later, he was galloping north from the city, and though her eyes were wet, Leesha felt as if a great weight had lifted from her. Leesha fell into her old patterns at the hospit, giving the apprentices a lesson and doing rounds while Jizell caught up on her correspondence. Part of her thought hungrily of the books of warding in the satchel in her room upstairs, but she resisted the temptation to immerse herself in Arlen's lore, for she knew once she did, she would be able to think of nothing else. Learning was as addictive to Leesha as the jolt of magic that came with killing a coreling with his warded axe was to Gared. But for a few hours, at least, she decided to take comfort in the simple pleasure of grinding herbs and treating patients with nothing worse than a broken bone or a bad chill.

When last rounds were completed and the apprentices shooed off to bed, Leesha brewed a pot of tea and took a cup to Jizell's sitting room. The room would be empty at this time of night, and there was a warm hearth and a small writing desk there. Leesha had her own correspondence to catch up on, Herb Gatherers throughout the duchy that she kept in touch with, many of whom had yet to be informed of Bruna's passing last year. Like grinding herbs, keeping in touch with old friends was another thing Leesha had not had time for since she and Rojer met the Painted Man.

But as she drew near the sitting room, she heard the sound of breaking glass. She entered the room to see Rojer behind Jizell's desk, a carafe of brandy open in front of him. The fire hissed and popped angrily, and there were wet shards of glass on the stone of the fireplace.

"Are you trying to burn the whole building down?" Leesha shouted, pulling a rag from her apron and running to wipe up the alcohol before it caught flame.

Rojer ignored her, taking another glass and filling it.

"Mistress Jizell won't be pleased at you shattering her glass, Rojer," Leesha said.

Rojer reached into the motley bag he carried everywhere. It was old, stained, and weather-worn, but Rojer still referred to it as his "bag of marvels." Indeed, he could reach into it at will and pull forth something to widen the eyes of even the most skeptical audience.

He threw a handful of the Painted Man's ancient gold coins on the desk. They bounced with a clatter, and half of them fell to the floor. "She can buy a hundred more now."

"Rojer, what is the matter with you?" Leesha demanded. "If this is about sending you away before…"

Rojer waved his hand dismissively, taking a pull from his glass. Leesha could tell he was already very drunk. "Don't care how you and Arlen said goodbye in the stable."

Leesha glared. "I didn't stick him, if that's what you're implying."

Rojer shrugged. "Your business if you did."

"Then what is it?" Leesha asked softly, coming over to him. Rojer looked at her a moment, then reached into his bag of marvels again, producing a slim wooden box he opened to reveal a heavy gold medallion.

"Minister Janson gave this to me," Rojer said. "It's a Royal Medal of Valor. The duke gave it to Arrick for saving me the night Riverbridge fell. I never knew."

"You miss him," Leesha said. "It's only natural. He saved your life."

"The Core he did!" Rojer cried, grabbing the chain and hurling the medal across the room. It struck the wall with a heavy thunk and dropped to the floor with a clatter.

Leesha put her hands on Rojer's shoulders, but his lips curled and for a moment, she thought he might strike her. "Rojer, what happened?" she asked softly.

Rojer pulled away from her hands and turned away. For a moment she thought he would remain silent, but then he began to speak.

"I used to think it was just a nightmare." His voice was strained and tight, as if it might break at any moment. "We were dancing, my mother and I, while Arrick played the fiddle. My father and a Messenger, Geral, were clapping along. It was off-season, and there was no one else in the inn that night."

He drew a deep breath, swallowing hard. "There was a crash, as something hit the door. I remember my father had been arguing that morning with Master Piter, the Warder, but he and Geral said not to worry." He chuckled mirthlessly, sniffling. "I guess we should have, because as we all turned to the sound, a rock demon burst through the door."

"Oh, Rojer!" Leesha said, covering her mouth, but Rojer did not turn.

"The rock was followed by a blaze of flame demons, pouring in around its legs as it smashed the lintel and jambs of the doorway to fit through. My mother snatched me up in her arms, and everyone started shouting at once, but I don't remember what was said, except…" He sobbed, and Leesha had to fight the urge to go to him.

Rojer composed himself quickly. "Geral threw his warded shield to Arrick and told him to get my mother and me to safety. Geral took his spear and my father an iron poker from the fireplace, and they turned to hold off the corelings."

Rojer was silent a long time. When he spoke again, it was a cold monotone, lacking any emotion at all. "My mother ran to him, but Arrick shoved her aside, snatched up his bag of marvels, and ran from the room."

Leesha gasped, and Rojer nodded. "Honest word. Arrick only helped me because my mother shoved me into the bolt-hole with him, just before the demons took her. Even then, he tried to leave me."

He reached out to Arrick's bag of marvels, running his fingers across the worn velvet and cracked leather patches. "It wasn't threadbare and faded then. Arrick was the duke's man, and this bag was bright and new, as befit a royal herald.

"That's the truth of Arrick's valor," he said through clenched teeth. "Saving a bag of toys!" He snatched up the bag in his good hand, clenching it so tightly his knuckles showed white. "A bag I carry around with me everywhere, like it's just as important to me!" He shook the bag in Leesha's face, then his eyes flicked to the fire roaring in the hearth, and he moved around the desk toward the fireplace.

"Rojer, no!" Leesha shouted, moving to intercept him and grabbing the bag. Rojer held on tightly so she could not pull it away, but he did not try to push past her. They locked stares, Rojer's eyes wide like a cornered animal. Leesha put her arms around him, and he buried his face in her bosom, weeping for some time.