Peter Brett - The Painted Man

Arlen retrieved his weapon and ran on, the wild magic of the spear sweeping him along like a berserker out of legend. As his band scoured the Maze, their numbers grew, and as Arlen slew demon after demon, more and more took up the chant of, 'Par 'chin! Par 'chin!'

Forgotten were the warded ambush pockets and escape pits. Gone was the fear and respect of the night. With his metal spear, Arlen seemed invulnerable, and the confidence he exuded was like a drug to the Krasians.

Flushed with the thrill of victory, Arlen felt as if he had broken from a chrysalis, made anew by the ancient weapon. He felt no fatigue, though he had been running and fighting for hours. He felt no pain, though he bore many scrapes and cuts. His thoughts were focused only on the next encounter, the next demon to kill. Each time he felt the surge of magic punch through a corelings' armour, the same thought rang in his head. Every man must have one.

Jardir appeared before him, and Arlen, covered in demon ichor, thrust the spear high to salute the First Warrior. 'Sharum Ka! he cried. 'No demon will escape your Maze alive tonight!'

Jardir laughed, thrusting his own spear into the air in response. He came and embraced Arlen like a brother.

'I underestimated you, Par'chin,'' he said. 'I won't do so again.'

Arlen smiled. 'You say that every time,' he replied.

Jardir nodded to the two sand demons Arlen had just slain. 'This time, for sure,' he promised, returning the grin. Then he turned to the men following Arlen.

'Dal'Sharum!' he called, gesturing to the dead corelings. 'Gather up these filthy things and haul them on top of the outer wall! Our sling teams need target practice! Let the corelings beyond the walls see the folly of attacking Fort Krasia!'

A cheer rose from the men, and they hastened to his bidding. As they did, Jardir turned to Arlen. 'The Watchers report there is still battle in one of the eastern ambush points,' he said. 'Have you any fight left in you, Par'chin?'

Arlen's smile was feral. 'Lead the way,' he replied, and the two men ran off, leaving the others to their work.

They sprinted for some time, out to one of the furthest edges of the Maze. 'Just ahead,' Jardir called, as they banked around a sharp corner into an ambush point. Arlen gave no thought to the quiet, his head filled with the stomp of his feet and the pounding of his blood.

But as he turned the corner, a leg shot out from the side, hooking his foot and sending him sprawling to the ground. He rolled as he struck, keeping a grip on his precious weapon, but by the time he regained his feet, men had blocked the point's only exit.

Arlen looked around in confusion, seeing no sign of demons or fighting. He had found an ambush, but it was not for the corelings.

328 AR

'What is this?' Arlen asked.

'The Spear of Kaji belongs in the hands of the Shar'Dama Ka,' Jardir replied as he approached. 'You are not he.'

Arlen clutched the spear as if afraid it might fly from his hands. The men that closed on him were the same warriors he had supped with a few hours before, but there was no friendship in their eyes now. Jardir had done well in separating him from his supporters.

'It doesn't have to be this way,' Arlen said, backing away until the demon pit at the point's centre was at his heels. Distantly, he noted the hiss of a sand demon trapped within.

'I can make more of these,' he went on. 'One for every dal'Sharum. That's why I came.'

'We're capable of doing that ourselves,' Jardir smiled, a cold split to his bearded face. His teeth flashed in the moonlight. 'You cannot be our saviour. You are only a chin.'

'I don't want to fight you,' Arlen said.

'Then don't, my friend,' Jardir said softly. 'Give me the weapon, take your horse, and go with the dawn, never to return.'

Arlen hesitated. He had no doubt Krasia's Warders could replicate the spear as well as he. In no time at all, the Krasians could turn the tide of their holy war. Thousands of lives saved, thousands of demons killed. Did it matter who took the credit?

But Arlen knew this was wrong. The spear was a gift not for Krasia, but for ALL men. Would the Krasians share? If this scene was anything to go by, Arlen thought not.

'No,' he said. 'I think I'll have to keep it a little longer. Let me make one for you, and I'll go. You'll never see me again, and you'll have what you want.'

Jardir snapped his fingers, and the men closed in on Arlen.

'Please,' Arlen begged. 'I don't want to hurt any of you.'

Jardir's elite warriors, laughed at that. They had all devoted their lives to the spear.

But so had Arlen.

'The corelings are the enemy!' he screamed as they charged. 'Not me!' But even as he protested, he exploded into motion, diverting two speartips with a twist of his weapon and kicking hard into the ribs of one of the men, sending him crashing into another. He dove into the rush, coming up in their midst, whirling his spear like a staff, refusing to use the point.

He cracked the end across one warrior's face, feeling his jaw break, and dropped low as he followed through, smashing the metal spear like a club into another man's knee. A spear thrust cut the air just above him as the warrior dropped screaming to the ground.

The weapon felt heavy in Arlen's hands, unlike when he fought the corelings. Against men, it was just a spear. Arlen planted it on the ground and leapt into the air in a high kick to a man's throat. The butt of the spear struck another's stomach, doubling him over. The point gashed a third man's thigh, making him drop his weapon to clutch the wound. Arlen retreated from the responding press, putting the demon pit at his back so they could not surround him.

'Again I underestimate you, though I promised I would not,' Jardir said. He waved, and more men came forward to add to the press.

Arlen fought hard, but the outcome was never in doubt. A shaft struck the side of his head, knocking him down, and the warriors fell on him savagely, raining blows upon him until he let go of the spear to cover his head with his arms.

As quickly as that, the beating stopped. Arlen was hauled to his feet, his hands pinned behind him by two thickly muscled warriors, as he watched Jardir bend over and pick up his spear. The First Warrior clutched his prize tightly and looked Arlen in the eyes.

'I am truly sorry, my friend,' he said. 'I wish there could be another way.'

Arlen spat in his face. 'Everam is watching your betrayal!' he shouted.

Jardir only smiled, wiping the spittle away. 'Do not speak of Everam, chin. I am his Sharum Ka, not you. Without me, Krasia falls. Who will miss you, Par 'chin? You will not fill so much as a single tear bottle.'

He looked to the men holding Arlen. 'Throw him into the pit.'

Arlen had not recovered from the shock of impact when Jardir's own fine spear dropped down to stick quivering in the dirt in front of him. Looking up the sheer twenty-foot walls of the pit, he saw the First Warrior looking down on him.

'You lived with honour, Par'chin,' Jardir said, 'and so you may keep it in death. Die fighting, and you will awaken in paradise.'

Arlen snarled, looking at the sand demon on the other side of the pit as it rose into a crouch. A low growl issued from its muzzle as it bared rows of razor sharp teeth.

Arlen rose to his feet, ignoring the pain in his bruised muscles. He reached slowly for the spear, keeping his eyes locked with the demon's. His stance, neither threatening nor fearful, confused the creature, and it paced back and forth on all fours, unsure.

It wasn't easy, but it was possible to kill a sand demon with an unwarded spear. Their small lidless eyes, normally protected by the bony ridges of their brow, went wide when they pounced. A precise thrust to that one vulnerable spot, if driven hard into the brain beyond, could kill the creature instantly. But demons healed with magical speed, and an imprecise thrust, or one that did not penetrate fully, would only enrage it further. Without a shield, in the dim light of the moon and oil lamps above, it was a nearly impossible task.