And Woodsend would be no better than the Dale. Or Cricket Run, for that matter. Sooner or later, he would get some woman with child, or worse, fall in love, and before he knew it, he would only be taking his fiddle from its case on festival days. Until he needed to barter it to fix the plough or buy seed, that was. Then he would be just like everyone else.

Or you could go home.

Rojer often thought of returning to Angiers, but was forever coming up with reasons to put it off another season. After all, what did the city have to offer? Narrow streets, choked with people and animals, wooden planks infused with the stench of manure and garbage. Beggars and thieves, and the ever-present worry about money. People who ignored each other as an art.

Normal people, Roger thought, and sighed. Villagers were always seeking to know everything about their neighbours, and opened their homes to strangers without a thought. It was commendable, but Rojer was a city boy at heart.

Returning to Angiers would mean dealing with the Guild again. An unlicensed Jongleur's days were numbered, but a guildsman in good standing's business was assured. His experience in the hamlets should be enough to win him a license, especially if he found a guildsman to speak for him. Arrick had alienated most of those, but Rojer might find one to take pity on him upon hearing of his master's fate.

He found a tree that gave some shelter from the rain, and after setting up his circle, managed to collect enough dry tinder from beneath its boughs to start a small fire. He fed it carefully, but the wind and wet extinguished it before long.

'Bugger the hamlets,' Rojer said as the darkness enveloped him, broken only by the occasional flare of magic as a demon tested his wards.

'Bugger them all.'

 

Angiers hadn't changed much since he'd been gone. It seemed smaller, but Rojer had been living in wide open places for some time, and had grown a few inches since he had been there last. He was sixteen now, a man by anyone's standards. He stood outside the city for some time, staring at the gate and wondering if he was making a mistake.

He had a little coin, sifted carefully from his collection hat over the years and hoarded against his return, and some food in his pack. It wasn't much, but it would keep him out of the shelters for a few nights at least.

If all I want is a full belly and a roof, I can always go back to the hamlets, he thought. He could head south to Farmer's Stump and Cutter's Hollow, or north, to where the duke had rebuilt Riverbridge on the Angierian side of the river.

If he told himself again, mustering his courage and walking through the gate.

He found an inn that was cheap enough, and unpacked his best motley, heading back out as soon as he was changed. The Jongleur's Guildhouse was located near the centre of town, where its residents could easily make engagements in any part of the city. Any licensed Jongleur could live in the house, provided they took the jobs assigned to them without complaint, and paid half their earnings to the Guild.

'Fools,' Arrick called them. 'Any Jongleur willing to give half his take for a roof and three communal servings of gruel isn't worthy of the name.'

It was true enough. Only the oldest and least skilled Jongleurs lived in the house, ready to take the jobs others turned down. Still, it was better than destitution, and safer than public shelters. The wards on the guildhouse were strong, and its residents less apt to rob one another.

Rojer headed for the residences, and a few inquiries soon had him knocking on a particular door.

'Eh?' the old man asked, squinting into the hall as he opened his door. 'Who's that?'

'Rojer Halfgrip, sir,' Rojer said, and seeing no recognition in the rheumy eyes, added, 'I was apprentice to Arrick Sweetsong.'

The confused look soured in an instant, and the man moved to close the door.

'Master Jaycob, please,' Rojer said, placing his hand on the door.

The old man sighed, but made no effort to close the door as he moved back into the small chamber and sat down heavily. Rojer entered, closing the door behind them.

'What is it you want?' Jaycob asked. 'I'm an old man and don't have time for games.'

'I need a sponsor to apply for a guild license,' Rojer said.

Jaycob spat on the floor. 'Arrick's become a dead weight?' he asked. 'His drinking slowing down your success, so you're leaving him to rot and striking out on your own?' He grunted. 'Fitting. S'what he did to me, twenty-five years ago.'

He looked up at Rojer. 'But fitting or no, if you think I'm to help in your betrayal...'

'Master Jaycob,' Rojer said, holding up his hands to forestall the coming tirade, 'Arrick is dead. Cored on the road to Woodsend, two years gone.'

'Keep your back straight, boy,' Jaycob said as they walked down the hall. 'Remember to look the guildmaster in the eye, and don't speak until you're spoken to.'

He had already said these things a dozen times, but Rojer only nodded. He was young to get his own license, but Jaycob said there had been some in the guild's history who were younger still. It was talent and skill that would win a license, not years.

It wasn't easy to get an appointment with the guildmaster, even with a sponsor. Jaycob hadn't had the strength to perform in years, and while the guildsmen were politely respectful of his advanced years, he was more ignored than venerated in the office wing of the guildhouse.

The guildmaster's secretary left them waiting outside his office for several hours, watching in despair as other appointments came and went. Rojer sat with his back straight, resisting the urge to shift or slump, as the light from the window slowly crossed the room.

'Guildmaster Cholls will see you now,' the clerk said at last, and Rojer snapped back to attention. He stood quickly, lending Jaycob a hand to help the old man to his feet.

The guildmaster's office was like nothing Rojer had seen since his time in the duke's palace. Thick warm carpet covered the floors, patterned and bright, and elaborate oil lamps with coloured glass hung from the oak walls between paintings of great battles, beautiful women, and still lives. His desk was dark polished walnut, with small, intricate statuettes for paperweights, mirroring the larger statues on pedestals throughout the room. Behind the desk was the symbol of the Jongleur's Guild, three coloured balls, in a large seal on the wall.

'I don't have a lot of time, Master Jaycob,' Guildmaster Cholls said, not even bothering to look up from the sheaf of papers on his desk. He was a heavy man, fifty summers at least, dressed in the embroidered cloth of a merchant or noble, rather than Jongleur's motley.

'This one is worth your time,' Jaycob said. 'The apprentice of Arrick Sweetsong.'

Cholls looked up at last, if only to glance askew at Jaycob. 'Didn't realize you and Arrick were still in touch,' he said, ignoring Rojer entirely. 'Heard you broke on bad terms.'

'The years have a way of softening such things,' Jaycob said stiffly, as close to a lie as he was willing to go. 'I've made my peace with Arrick.'

'It seems you're the only one,' Cholls said with a chuckle. 'Most of the men in this building would as soon throttle the man as look at him.'

'They'd be a little late,' Jaycob said. 'Arrick is dead.'

Cholls sobered at that. 'I'm saddened to hear that,' he said. 'Every one of us is precious. Was it the drink, in the end?'

Jaycob shook his head. 'Corelings.'

The guildmaster scowled, and spat into a brass bucket by his desk that seemed there for no other purpose. 'When and where?' he asked.

'Two years, on the road to Woodsend.'

Cholls shook his head sadly. 'I recall his apprentice was something of a fiddler,' he said at last, glancing Rojer's way.

'Indeed,' Jaycob agreed. 'That and more. I present to you Rojer Halfgrip.' Rojer bowed.

'Halfgrip?' The guildmaster asked, with sudden interest. 'I've heard tales of a Halfgrip playing the western hamlets. That you, boy?'

Rojer's eyes widened, but he nodded. Arrick had said that reputations carried quickly from the hamlets, but it was still a shock. He wondered if his reputation was good or ill.

'Don't let it go to your head,' Cholls said, as if reading his mind. 'Yokels exaggerate.'

Rojer nodded, keeping eye contact with the guildmaster. 'Yes, sir. I understand.'

'Well then, let's get on with this,' Cholls said. 'Show me what you have.'

'Here?' Rojer asked doubtfully. The office was large and private, but with its thick carpets and expensive furniture, it hardly seemed suited to tumbling and knife throwing.

Cholls waved at him impatiently. 'You performed with Arrick for years, so I'll accept that you can juggle and sing,' he said. Rojer swallowed hard. 'Earning a license means showing a focus skill beyond those basics.'

'Fiddle him, boy, just like you did me,' Jaycob said confidently. Rojer nodded. His hands shook slightly as he took his fiddle from its case, but when his fingers closed about the smooth wood, the fear washed away like dust in a bath. He began to play, the guildmaster forgotten as he fell into the music.

He played a short while before a shout broke the music's spell. His bow slipped from the strings, and in the silence that followed, a voice thundered outside the door.

'No, I will not wait for some worthless apprentice to finish his test! Move aside!' There were sounds of a scuffle before the door burst open and Master Jasin stormed into the room.

'I'm sorry, guildmaster,' the clerk apologized, 'he refused to wait.'

Cholls waved the clerk away as Jasin stormed up to him. 'You gave the Duke's Ball to Edum?' he demanded. 'That's been my performance for 10 years! My uncle will hear of this!'

Cholls stood his ground, arms crossed. 'The Duke himself requested the change,' he said. 'If your uncle has a problem, suggest he take it up with His Grace.'

Jasin scowled. Everyone else in Angiers might know that First Minister Janson was the true power in the city, but Duke Rhinebeck did not, and it was doubtful even Janson would change that over a performance for his nephew.

'If that's all you came to discuss, Jasin, you'll have to excuse us,' Cholls went on. 'Young Rojer here is testing for his license.'

Jasin's eyes snapped over to Rojer, flaring with recognition. 'I see you've ditched the drunk,' he sneered. 'Hope you didn't trade him for this old relic,' he thrust his chin at Jay cob. 'The offer stands, you want to work for me. Let Arrick beg for your scraps for a change, eh?'

'Master Arrick was cored on the road two years ago,' Cholls said.

Jasin glanced back at the guildmaster, then laughed out loud. 'Fantastic!' he cried. 'That news makes up for losing the Duke's Ball, and to spare!' Then Rojer hit him.

He didn't even realize what he'd done until he was standing over the master, his knuckles tingling and wet. He'd felt the brittle crunch as his fist struck Jasin's nose, and he knew his chances of winning his license were now gone, but at that moment, he didn't care.

Jaycob grabbed him and pulled him back as Jasin surged to his feet, swinging wildly.

'I'll kill you for thad, you little..!'

Cholls was between then in an instant. Jasin thrashed in his grasp, but the guildmaster's bulk was more than enough to restrain him. 'That's enough, Jasin!' he barked. 'You're not killing anyone!'

'You saw whad he did!' Jasin cried, as blood streamed from his nose.

'And I heard what you said!' Cholls shouted back. 'I was tempted to hit you myself!'

'How ab I subbosed to sig tonide?' Jasin demanded. His nose had already begun to swell, and his words became less understandable with every moment.

Cholls scowled. 'I'll get someone to perform in your stead,' he said. 'The guild will cover the loss. Daved!' The clerk stuck his head in the door. 'Escort Master Jasin to an Herb Gatherer, and have the bill sent here.'

Daved nodded, moving to assist Jasin. The master shoved him away. 'Thid idn't ober,' he promised Rojer as he left.

Cholls blew out a long breath as the door closed. 'Well, boy, you've gone and done it now. That's an enemy I wouldn't wish on anyone.'

‘He was already my enemy,' Rojer said. 'You heard what he said.'

Cholls nodded. 'I did,' he said, 'but you still should have restrained yourself. What will you do if a patron insults you next? Or the duke himself? Guildsmen can't go around punching anyone that angers them.'

Rojer hung his head. 'I understand,' he said.

'You've just cost me a fair bit of coin, though,' Cholls said. ‘I’d be throwing money and prime performances at Jasin for weeks to keep him and the First Minister appeased, and with that fiddling of yours, I'd be a fool not to make you earn it back.'

Rojer looked up hopefully.

'Probationary license,' Cholls said, taking a sheet of paper and a quill. 'You're only to perform under the supervision of a master of the Guild, paid from your take, and half of your gross earnings will come to this office until I consider, your debt closed. Understood?'

'Absolutely, sir!' Rojer said eagerly.

'And you'll hold your temper,' Cholls warned, 'or I'll tear up this license and you'll never perform in Angiers again.'

Rojer worked his fiddle, but out of the corner of his eye, he was watching Abrum, Jasin's burly apprentice. Jasin usually had one of his apprentices watching Rojer's performances. It made him uneasy, knowing that they were watching him for their master, who meant him only ill, but it had been months since the incident in the guildmaster's office, and nothing had ever seemed to come of it. Master Jasin had recovered quickly and was soon performing again, raking in accolades at every high society event in Angiers.

Rojer might have dared to hope the episode was behind them, save that the apprentices came back almost every day. Sometimes it was Abrum the wood demon lurking in a crowd, and others it was Sali the rock demon sipping a drink at the back of a tavern, but however innocuous they might seem, it was no coincidence.

Rojer ended his performance with a flourish, whipping the bow from his fiddle into the air. He took his time to bow, straightening just in time to catch it. The crowd burst into applause, and Rojer's sharp ears caught the clink of metal coins in the hat as Jaycob moved about the crowd with it. Rojer couldn't suppress a smile. The old man looked almost spry.

He scanned the dispersing crowd as they collected their equipment, but Abrum had vanished. Still, they packed up quickly and took a roundabout path to their inn to make sure they could not be easily followed. The sun was soon to set, and the streets were emptying rapidly. Winter was on the wane, but the boardwalks still held patches of ice and snow, and few stayed out unless they had business to.

'Even without Cholls' cut, the rent is paid with days to spare,' Jaycob said, jingling the purse with their take. 'When the debt's paid, you'll be rich!'

'We'll be rich,' Rojer corrected, and Jaycob laughed, kicking his heels and slapping Rojer on the back.

'Look at you,' Rojer said, shaking his head. 'What happened to the shuffling and half-blind old man that opened his door to me a few months gone?'

'It's performing again that's done it,' Jaycob said, giving Rojer a toothless grin. 'I know I'm not singing or throwing knives, but even passing the hat has gotten my dusty blood pumping like it hasn't in twenty years. I feel I could even...' he looked away.

'What?' Rojer asked.

'Just...' Jaycob said, 'I don't know, spin a tale, perhaps? Or play dim while you throw punchlines my way? Nothing to steal your shine...'

'Of course,' Rojer said. 'I would have asked, but I felt I was imposing too much already, dragging you all over town to supervise my performances.'

'Boy,' Jaycob said, 'I can't remember the last time I've been so happy.'

They were smiling broadly as they turned a corner and walked right into Abrum and Sali.

Behind them, Jasin smiled broadly.

'It's good to see you, my friend!' Jasin said, as Abrum clapped Rojer's shoulder. The wind suddenly exploded from Rojer's stomach, the punch doubling him over and knocking him to the frozen boardwalk. Before he could rise, Sali delivered a heavy kick to his jaw.

'Leave him alone!' Jaycob cried, throwing himself at Sali. The heavy soprano only laughed, grabbing him and swinging him hard against the wall of a building.

'Oh, there's plenty for you too, old man!' Jasin said, as Sali landed heavy blows to his body. Rojer could hear the crunch of brittle bone, and the weak, wet gasps that escaped the master's lips. Only the wall held him upright.

The wooden planks beneath his hands were spinning, but Rojer wrenched himself to his feet, holding his fiddle by the neck with both hands, swinging the makeshift club wildly. 'You won't get away with this!' he cried.

Jasin laughed. 'Who will you go to?' he asked. 'My uncle has already assured me the city magistrates will turn a deaf ear to your obviously false accusations... if you should even live to tell tales. Go to the guard, and it's you they'll hang.'

Abrum caught the fiddle easily, twisting Rojer's arm hard as he drove a knee into his crotch. Rojer felt his arm break even as his groin caught fire, and the fiddle came down hard on the back of his head, shattering as it hammered him to the boardwalk again.

Even through the ringing in his ears, Rojer heard Jaycob's continued grunts of pain. Abrum stood over him, smiling as he lifted a heavy club.

26

Hospit

332AR

 

 

 

 

'Ay, Jizell!' Skot cried as the old Herb Gatherer came to him with her bowl. 'Why not let your apprentice take the task for once?' He nodded at Leesha, changing another man's dressing.

'Ha!' Jizell barked. She was a heavyset woman, with short grey hair and a voice that carried. 'If I let her give the rag baths, I'd have half of Angiers crying plague within a week.'

Leesha shook her head as the others in the room laughed, but she was smiling as she did. Skot was harmless. He was a Messenger whose horse had thrown him on the road. Lucky to be alive, especially with two broken arms, he had somehow managed to track down his horse and get back in the saddle. With no wife to care for him, the Messenger's Guild had produced the klats to put him up in Jizell's hospit until he could do for himself.

Jizell soaked her rag in the warm, soapy bowl and lifted the man's sheet, her hand moving with firm efficiency. The Messenger gave a yelp as she was finishing up, and Jizell laughed. 'Just as well I give the baths,' she said loudly, glancing down. 'We wouldn't want to disappoint poor Leesha.'

The others in their beds all had a laugh at the man's expense. It was a full room, and all were a little bed-bored.

'I think she'd likely find it in different form than you,' Skot grumbled, blushing furiously, but Jizell only laughed again.

'Poor Skot has a shine on you,' Jizell told Leesha later, when they were in the pharmacy grinding herbs.

'A shine?' laughed Kadie, one of the younger apprentices. 'He's not shining, he's in loooove!' The other apprentices and stripers in earshot burst into giggles.

'I think he's cute,' Roni volunteered.

'You think everyone is cute,' Leesha said. Roni was just flowering, and boy-crazed. 'But I hope you have better taste than to fall for a man that begs you for a rag bath.'

'Don't give her ideas,' Jizell said. 'Roni had her way, she'd be rag-bathing every man in the hospit.' The girls all giggled, and even Roni didn't disagree.

'At least have the decency to blush,' Leesha told her, and the girls tittered again.

'Enough! Off with you giggleboxes!' Jizell laughed. 'I want a word with Leesha.'

'Most every man that comes in here shines on you,' Jizell said when they were gone. 'It wouldn't kill you to talk to one apart from asking after his health.'

'You sound like my mum,' Leesha said.

Jizell slammed her pestle down on the counter. 'I sound like no such thing,' she said, having heard all about Elona over the years. 'I just don't want you to die an old maid to spite her. There's no crime in liking men.'

'I like men,' Leesha protested.

'Not that I've seen,' Jizell said.

'So I should have jumped to offer Skot a rag bath?' Leesha asked.

'Certainly not,' Jizell said, '...at least not in front of everyone,' she added with a wink.

'Now you sound like Bruna,' Leesha groaned. 'It will take more than crude comments to win my heart.' Requests like Skot's

were nothing new to Leesha. She had her mother's body, and that meant a great deal of male attention, whether she invited it or not.

'Then what does it take?' Jizell asked. 'What man could pass your heart wards?'

'A man I can trust,' Leesha said. 'One I can kiss on the cheek without him bragging to his friends the next day that he stuck me behind the barn.'

Jizell snorted. 'You'll sooner find a friendly coreling,' she said.

Leesha shrugged.

'I think you're scared,' Jizell accused. 'You're waited so long to lose your flower that you've taken a simple, natural thing every girl does and built it up into some unscalable wall.'

'That's ridiculous,' Leesha said.

'Is it?' Jizell asked. 'I've seen you when ladies come asking your advice on bed matters; grasping and guessing as you blush furiously. How can you advise others about their bodies when you don't even know your own?'

'I'm quite sure I know what goes where,' Leesha said wryly.

'You know what I mean,' Jizell said.

'What do you suggest I do about it?' Leesha demanded. 'Pick some man at random, just to get it over with?'

'If that's what it takes,' Jizell said.

Leesha glared at her, but Jizell met the gaze and didn't flinch. 'You've guarded that flower so long that no man will ever be worthy to take it in your eyes,' she said. 'What good is a flower hidden away for no one to see? Who will remember its beauty when it wilts?'

Leesha let out a choked sob, and Jizell was there in an instant, holding her tightly as she cried. 'There, there, poppet,' she soothed, stoking Leesha's hair, 'it's not as bad as all that.'

After supper, when the wards were checked, the stripers sent home to their mothers, and the apprentices to their studies, Leesha and Jizell finally had time to brew a pot of herb tea and open the satchel from the morning Messenger. A lamp sat on the table, full and trimmed for long use.

'Patients all day and letters all night,' Jizell sighed. 'Thank light Herb Gatherers don't need sleep, eh?' She upended the bag, spilling parchment all over the table.

They quickly separated out correspondence meant for the patients, and then Jizell grabbed a bundle at random, glancing at the hail. 'These are yours,' she said, passing the bundle to Leesha and snatching another letter off the pile, which she opened and began to read.

'This one's from Kimber,' she said after a moment. Kimber was another of Jizell's apprentices sent abroad, this one to Farmer's Stump, a days ride to the south. 'The cooper's rash has gotten worse, and spread again.'

'She's brewing the tea wrong; I just know it,' Leesha groaned. 'She never lets it steep long enough, and then wonders at her weak cures. If I have to go to Farmer's Stump and brew it for her, I'll give her such a thumping!'

'She knows it,' Jizell laughed. 'That's why she wrote to me this time!'

The laughter was infectious, and Leesha soon joined in. Leesha loved Jizell. She could be as hard as Bruna when the occasion demanded, but she was always quick to laugh.

Leesha missed Bruna dearly, and the thought turned her back to the bundle. It was Fourthday, when the weekly Messenger arrived from Farmer's Stump, Cutter's Hollow, and points south. Sure enough, the hail of the first letter in the stack was in her father's neat script.

There was a letter from Vika, as well, and Leesha read that one first, her hands clenching as always until she was assured that Bruna, older than ancient, was still well.

'Vika's given birth,' she noted. 'A boy, Jame. Six pounds eleven ounces.'

'Is that the third?' Jizell asked.

'Fourth,' Leesha said. Vika had married Child Jona - now Tender Jona - not long after arriving in Cutter's Hollow, and wasted no time in bearing him children.

'Not much chance of her coming back to Angiers, then,' Jizell lamented.

Leesha laughed. 'I thought that was given after the first,' she said.

It was hard to believe seven years had passed since she and Vika exchanged places. The temporary arrangement was proving permanent, which didn't entirely displease Leesha.

Regardless of what Leesha did, Vika would stay in Cutter's Hollow, and seemed better liked there than Bruna, Leesha, and Darsy combined. The thought gave Leesha a sense of freedom she never dreamt existed. She'd promised to return one day to ensure the Hollow had the Gatherer it needed, but the Creator had seen to that for her, Her future was hers to choose.

Her father wrote he had caught a chill, but Vika was tending him, and he expected to recover quickly. The next letter was from Mairy; her eldest daughter already flowered and promised, Mairy would likely be a grandmother soon. Leesha sighed.

There were two more letters in the bundle. Leesha corresponded with Mairy, Vika, and her father almost every week, but her mother wrote less often, and oftentimes in a fit of pique.

'All well?' Jizell asked, glancing up from her own reading to see Leesha's scowl.

'Just my mum,' Leesha said, reading. 'The tone changes with her humours, but the message stays the same: 'Come home and have children before you grow too old and the Creator takes the chance from you." Jizell grunted and shook her head.

Tucked in with Elona's letter was another sheet, supposedly from Gared, though the missive was in her mother's hand, for Gared knew no letters. But whatever pains she took to make it seem dictated, Leesha was sure at least half the words were her mother's alone, and most likely the other half as well. The content, as with her mother's letters, never changed. Gared was well. Gared missed her. Gared was waiting for her. Gared loved her.

'My mother must think me very stupid,' Leesha said wryly as she read, 'to believe Gared would ever even attempt a poem, much less one that didn't rhyme.'

Jizell laughed, but it died prematurely when she saw Leesha had not joined her.

'What if she's right?' Leesha asked suddenly. 'Dark as it is to think Elona right about anything, I do want children one day, and you don't need to be an Herb Gather to know that my days to do it are fewer ahead than behind. You said yourself I've wasted my best years.'

'That was hardly what I said,' Jizell replied.

'It's true enough,' Leesha said sadly. 'Even after Gared and Marick, I always felt the right man would just... come along one day. That I'd see him and know...'

'We all dream that sometimes, dear,' Jizell said, 'and it's a nice enough fantasy once a while, when you're staring at the wall, but you can't hang your hopes on it.'

Leesha squeezed the letter in her hand, crumpling it a bit.

'So you're thinking of going back and marrying this Gared?' Jizell asked.

'Oh, Creator, no!' Leesha cried. 'Of course not!'

Jizell grunted. 'Good. You've saved me the trouble of thumping you on the head.'

'Much as my belly longs for a child,' Leesha said, 'I'll die a maid before I let Gared give me one. Problem is, he'd have at any other man in the Hollow that tried.'

'Easily solved,' Jizell said. 'Have children here.'

'What?' Leesha asked.

'Cutter's Hollow is in good hands with Vika,' Jizell said. I trained the girl myself, and her heart is there now in any event.' She leaned in, putting a meaty hand on top of Leesha's. 'Stay,' she said. 'Make Angiers your home and take over the hospit when I retire.'

Leesha's eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

'You've taught me as much as I've taught you these years,' Jizell went on. 'There's no one else I trust to run my business, even if Vika returned tomorrow.'

'I don't know what to say,' Leesha managed.

'No rush to say anything,' Jizell said, patting Leesha's hand. 'I daresay I don't plan to retire any day soon. Just think on it.'

Leesha nodded. Jizell opened her arms, and she fell into them, embracing the older woman tightly. As they parted, a shout from outside made them jump.

'Help! Help!' someone cried. They both glanced at the window. It was past dark.

Opening one's shutters at night in Angiers was a crime punishable by whipping, but Leesha and Jizell gave it no thought as they threw open the bar, seeing a trio of city guardsmen running down the boardwalk, two of them each carrying another man.

'Ay, the hospit!' the lead guard called, seeing the shutters open on the lamplit room. 'Open your doors! Succour! Succour! Succour and healing!'

As one, Leesha and Jizell bolted for the stairs, nearly tumbling down in their haste to get to the door. It was winter, and though the city's Warders worked diligently to keep the wardnet clear of snow, ice, and dead leaves, a few wind demons invariably found their way in each night, hunting homeless beggars and waiting for the occasional fool that dared defy curfew and the law. A wind demon could drop like a silent stone and then spread its taloned wings in a sudden snap, eviscerating a victim before grasping the body in its rear claws and swooping away with it.

They made it to the landing and threw open the door, watching as the men approached. The lintels were warded; they and their patients were safe enough even without the door.

'What's happening?' Kadie cried, sticking her head out over the balcony at the top of the stairs. Behind her, the other apprentices were pouring out of their room.

'Put your aprons back on and get down here!' Leesha ordered, and the younger girls scrambled to obey.

The men were still a ways off, but running hard. Leesha's stomach clenched as she heard shrieks in the sky. There were wind demons about, drawn to the light and commotion.

But the guards were closing the distance fast, and Leesha dared to hope that they would make it unscathed until one of the men slipped on a patch of ice and went down hard. He screamed, and the man he was carrying tumbled to the boardwalk.

The guard still with a man over his shoulder shouted something to the other, and put his head down, picking up speed. The unburdened man turned and rushed back to his fallen comrade.

A sudden flap of leathery wings was the only warning before the head of the hapless guard flew free of his body, rolling across the boardwalk. Kadie screamed. Before blood even began to spurt from the wound, the wind demon gave a shriek and launched skyward, hauling the dead man's body into the air.

The laden guard passed the wards, hauling his charge to safety. Leesha looked back to the remaining man, struggling to rise, and her brow set.

'Leesha, no’ Jizell cried, grabbing at her, but Leesha stepped nimbly aside and bolted out onto the boardwalk.

She ran in sharp zigzag as the shrieks of wind demons rang out in the cold air above. One coreling attempted a dive attack anyway and missed her completely, if only by a few inches. It

tumbled into the boardwalk with a crash, but quickly righted itself, its thick hide unharmed by the impact. Leesha spun away, hurling a fistful of Bruna's blinding powder into its eyes. The creature roared in pain, and Leesha ran on.

'Save him, not me!' the guard called as she drew near, pointing to the still form lying on the boardwalk. The guard's ankle was at an odd angle, clearly broken. Leesha glanced at the other form, prone on the boardwalk. She could not carry them both.

'Not me!' the guard called again as she drew close.

Leesha shook her head. 'I've a better chance of getting you to safety,' she said, in a tone that brooked no debate. She got under his arm and heaved.

'Keep low,' the guard gasped. 'Windies are less apt to dive at things low to the ground.'

She hunched as much as she could, staggering under the big man's weight, and knew they were not going to make it at the shuffling pace, low or not.

'Now!' Jizell cried, and Leesha looked up to see Kadie and the other apprentices run out onto the boardwalk, holding the edges of white sheets above their heads. The fluttering cloth was almost everywhere, making it impossible for the wind demons to pick a target.

Under this cover, Mistress Jizell and the first guard came rushing up to them. Jizell helped Leesha as the guard fetched the unconscious man. Fear gave them all strength, and they covered the remaining distance quickly, retreating into the hospit and barring the door.

'This one's dead,' Jizell said, her voice cold. 'I'd wager he's been gone over an hour.'

'I almost sacrificed myself for a dead man?' the guard with the broken ankle exclaimed. Leesha ignored him, moving over to the other injured man.

With his round, freckled face and slender form, he seemed more a boy than a man. He had been badly beaten, but he was breathing, and his heart was strong. Leesha inspected him swiftly, cutting away his bright patchwork clothes as she probed for broken bones and searched for the sources of the blood that soaked his motley.

'What happened?' Jizell asked the injured guard, as she inspected the break in his ankle.

'We were headin' in from last patrol,' the guard said through gritted teeth. 'Found these two, Jongleurs by their look, lyin' on the walk. Must'a been robbed after a show. They was both alive, but in a bad way. It was dark by then, but neither of them looked like they'd last the night without a Gatherer to tend them. I remembered this hospit, and we ran hard as we could, tryin' to stay under eaves, outta sight from windies.'

Jizell nodded. 'You did the right thing,' she said.

'Tell that to poor Jonsin,' the guard said. 'Creator, what will I tell his wife?'

'That's a worry for the morrow,' Jizell said, lifting a flask to the man's lips. 'Drink this.'

The guard looked at her dubiously. 'What is it?' he asked.

'It will put you to sleep,' Jizell said. 'I need to set your ankle, and I promise you, you don't want to be awake when I do.'

The guard nodded, and quaffed the potion quickly.

Leesha was cleaning out the younger one's wounds when he started awake with a gasp, sitting up. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but the other was a bright green, and darted about wildly. 'Jaycob!' he cried.

He thrashed wildly, and it took Leesha, Kadie, and the last guard to wrestle him back down. He turned his one piercing eye on Leesha. 'Where is Jaycob?' he asked. 'Is he all right?'

'The older man who was found with you?' Leesha asked, and he nodded.

Leesha hesitated, picking her words, but the pause was answer enough, and he screamed, thrashing again. The guard pinned him hard, looking him in the eyes.

'Did you see who did this to you?' he asked.

'He's in no condition...' Leesha began, but the man cut her off with a glare.

'I lost a man tonight,' he said. 'I don't have time to wait.' He turned back to the boy. 'Well?' he asked.

The boy looked at him with eyes filling with tears. Finally, he shook his head, but the guard didn't let up. 'You must have seen something,' he pressed.

'That's enough,' Leesha said, grabbing the man's wrists and pulling hard. He resisted for a moment, and then let go. 'Wait in the other room,' she ordered. He scowled, but complied.

The boy was weeping openly when Leesha turned back to him. 'Just put me back out into the night,' he said, holding up a crippled hand. 'I was meant to die a long time ago, and everyone that tries to save me ends up dead.'

Leesha took the crippled hand in hers and looked him in the eye. 'I'll take my chances,' she said, squeezing. 'We survivors have to look out for one another.' She put the flask of sleeping draught to his lips, and held his hand, lending him strength until his eyes slipped closed.

The sound of fiddling filled the hospit. Patients clapped their hands, and the apprentices and stripers danced as they went about their tasks. Even Leesha and Jizell had a spring in their step.

'To think young Rojer was worried he had no way to pay,' Jizell said as they prepared lunch. 'I've half a mind to pay him to come entertain the patients after he's back on his feet.'

'The patients and the girls love him,' Leesha agreed.

'I've seen you dancing when you think no one is looking,' Jizell said.

Leesha smiled. When he wasn't fiddling, Rojer spun tales that had the apprentices clustered at the foot of his bed, or taught the stripers makeup tricks he claimed came from the duke's own courtesans. Jizell mothered him constantly, and the apprentices and stripers all shined and doted on him.

'An extra-thick slice of beef for him, then,' Leesha said, cutting the meat and laying it on a platter already over-laden with potatoes and fruit.

Jizell shook her head. 'I don't know where that boy puts it,' she said. 'You and the others have been stuffing him for a full moon and more, and he's still thin as a reed.'

'Lunch!' she bellowed, and the girls filtered in to collect the trays. Roni moved directly for the over-laden one, but Leesha swept it out of reach. 'I'll take this one myself,' she said, smiling at the looks of disappointment around the kitchen.

'Rojer needs to take a break and eat something, not spin private tales while you girls cut his meat,' Jizell said. 'You can all fawn on him later.'

'Intermission!' Leesha called as she swept into the room, but she needn't have bothered. The bow slipped from the fiddle strings with a squeak the moment she appeared. Rojer smiled and waved, knocking over a wooden cup as he tried to set his fiddle aside. His broken fingers and arm had mended neatly, but his leg casts were still on strings, and he could not easily reach the bedstand.

'You must be hungry today,' she laughed, setting the tray across his lap and taking the fiddle. Rojer looked at the tray dubiously, smiling up at her.

'I don't suppose you could help me cut?' he asked, holding up his crippled hand.

Leesha raised her eyebrows at him. 'Your fingers seem nimble enough when you work your fiddle,' she said. 'Why are they deficient now?'

'Because I hate eating alone,' Rojer laughed.

Leesha smiled, sitting on the side of the bed and taking the knife and fork. She cut a thick bite of meat, dragging it through the gravy and potatoes before bringing it up to Rojer's mouth. He smiled at her, and a bit of gravy leaked from his mouth, making Leesha titter. Rojer blushed, his fair cheeks turning as red as his hair.

'I can lift the fork myself,' he said.

'You want me to just cut up the meat and leave?' Leesha asked, and Rojer shook his head vigorously. 'Then hush,' she said, lifting another forkful to his mouth.

'It's not my fiddle, you know,' Rojer said, glancing back to the instrument after a few moments of silence. 'It's Jaycob's. Mine was broken when...'

Leesha frowned as he trailed off. After more than a month, he still refused to speak of the attack, even when pressed by the guard. He'd sent for his few possessions, but so far as she knew, he hadn't even contacted the Jongleur's Guild to tell them what had happened.

'It wasn't your fault,' Leesha said, seeing his eyes go distant. 'You didn't attack him.'

'I might as well have,' Rojer said.

'What do you mean?' Leesha asked.

Rojer looked away. 'I mean... by forcing him from retirement. He'd still be alive if...'

'You said he told you coming out of retirement was the best thing that had happened to him in twenty years,' Leesha argued. 'It sounds like he lived more in that short time than he would have in years spent in that cell in the guildhouse.'

Rojer nodded, but his eyes grew wet. Leesha squeezed his hand. 'Herb Gatherers see death often,' she told him. 'No one, no one, ever goes to the Creator with all their business complete. We all get a different length of time, but it needs to be enough, regardless.'

'It just seems to come early for the people who cross my path,' Rojer sighed.

'I've seen it come early for a great many who have never heard of Rojer Halfgrip,' Leesha said. 'Would you like to shoulder the blame for their deaths, as well?'

Rojer looked at her, and she pressed another forkful into his mouth. 'It doesn't serve the dead to stop living yourself, out of guilt,' she said.

Leesha had her hands full of linens when the Messenger arrived. She slipped the letter from Vika into her apron, and left the rest for later. She finished putting away the laundry, but then a striper ran up to tell her a patient had coughed blood. After that, she had to set a broken arm, and give the apprentices their lesson.

Before she knew it, the sun had set, and the apprentices were all in bed. She turned the wicks down to a dim orange glow, and made a last sweep through the rows of beds, making sure the patients were comfortable before she went upstairs for the night. She met Rojer's eyes as she passed, and he beckoned, but she smiled and shook her head. She pointed to him, then put her hands together as if praying, leaned her cheek against them, and closed her eyes.

Rojer frowned, but she winked at him and kept on, knowing he wouldn't follow. His casts had come off, but Rojer complained of pain and weakness despite the clean mend.

At the end of the room, she took the time to pour herself a cup of water. It was a warm spring night, and the pitcher was damp with condensation. She brushed her hand against her apron absently to  dry  it,  and there was  a crinkle  of paper.   She remembered Vika's letter and pulled it out, breaking the seal with her thumb and tilting the page towards the lamp as she drank.

A moment later, she dropped her cup. She didn't notice, or hear the ceramic shatter. She clutched the paper tightly and fled the room.

Leesha was sobbing quietly in the darkened kitchen when Rojer found her.

'Are you all right?' he asked quietly, leaning heavily on his cane.

'Rojer?' she sniffed. 'Why aren't you in bed?'

Rojer didn't answer, coming to sit beside her. 'Bad news from home?' he asked.

Leesha looked at him a moment, then nodded. 'That chill my father caught?' she asked, waiting for Rojer to nod his recollection before going on. 'He seemed to get better, but it came back with a vengeance. Turns it was a flux that's run from one end of the Hollow to the other. Most seem to be pulling through it, but the weaker ones...' she began to weep again.

'Someone you know?' Rojer asked, cursing himself as he said it. Of course it was someone she knew. Everyone knew everyone in the hamlets.

Leesha didn't notice the slip. 'My mentor, Bruna,' she said, fat teardrops falling onto her apron. 'A few others, as well, and two children I never had the chance to meet. Over a dozen in all, and more than half the town still laid up. My father worst amongst them.'

'I'm sorry,' Rojer said.

'Don't feel sorry for me; it's my fault,' Leesha said.

'What?' Rojer asked.

'I should have been there,' Leesha said. 'I haven't been Jizell's apprentice in years. I promised to return to Cutter's Hollow when my studies were done. If I had kept my promise, I would have been there, and perhaps...'

'I saw the flux kill some people in Woodsend once,' Rojer said. 'Would you like to add those to your conscience? Or those that die in this very city, because you can't tend them all?'

'That's not the same and you know it,' Leesha said.

'Isn't it?' Rojer asked. 'You said yourself that it does nothing to serve the dead if you stop living yourself out of guilt.'

Leesha looked at him, her eyes round and wet.

'So what do you want to do?' Rojer asked. 'Spend the night crying, or start packing?'

'Packing?' Leesha asked.

'I have a Messenger's portable circle,' Rojer said. 'We can leave for Cutter's Hollow in the morning.'

'Rojer, you can barely walk!' Leesha said.

Rojer lifted his cane, set it on the counter, and stood. He walked a bit stiffly, but unaided.

'Been faking to keep your warm bed and doting women a bit longer?' Leesha asked.

'I never!' Rojer blushed. 'I'm... just not ready to perform yet.'

'But you're fit to walk all the way to Cutter's Hollow?' Leesha asked. 'It would take a week without a horse.'

'I doubt I'll need to do any backflips on the way,' Rojer said. 'I can do it.'

Leesha crossed her arms and shook her head. 'No. I absolutely forbid it.'

'I'm not some apprentice you can forbid,' Rojer said.

'You're my patient,' Leesha shot back, 'and I'll forbid anything that puts your healing in jeopardy. I'll hire a Messenger to take me.'

'Good luck finding one,' Rojer said. 'The weekly man south will have left today, and at this time of year, most of the others will be booked. It'll cost a fortune to convince one to drop

everything and take you to Cutter's Hollow. Besides, I can drive corelings away with my fiddle. No Messenger can offer you that.' '        I'm sure you could,' Leesha said, her tone making it clear she was sure of no such thing, 'but what I need is a swift Messenger's horse, not a magic fiddle.' She ignored his protests, ushering him back to bed, and then went upstairs to pack her things.

'So you're sure about this?' Jizell asked the next morning.

'I have to go,' Leesha said. 'It's too much for Vika and Darsy to handle alone.'

Jizell nodded. 'Rojer seems to think he's taking you,' she said.

'Well he's not,' Leesha said. 'I'm hiring a Messenger.'

'He's been packing his things all morning,' Jizell said.

'He's barely healed,' Leesha said.

'Bah!' Jizell said. 'It's near three moons. I haven't seen him use his cane all morning. I think it's been nothing more than a reason to be around you for some time.'

Leesha' s eyes bulged. ' You think that Rojer... ?'

Jizell shrugged. 'I'm just saying, it isn't every day a man comes along who'll brave corelings for your sake.'

'Jizell, I'm old enough to be his mother!' Leesha said.

'Bah!' Jizell scoffed. 'You're only twenty-seven, and Rojer says he's twenty.'

'Rojer says a lot of things that aren't so,' Leesha said.

Jizell shrugged again.

'You say you're nothing like my mum,' Leesha said, 'but you both find a way to turn every tragedy into a discussion about my love life.'

Jizell opened her mouth to reply, but Leesha held up a hand to stay her. 'If you'll excuse me,' she said, 'I have a Messenger to hire.' She left the kitchen in a fume, and Rojer, listening at the door, barely managed to get out of her way and out of sight.

Between her father's arrangements and her earnings from Jizell, Leesha was able to acquire a promissory note from the Duke's Bank for one hundred fifty Milnese suns. It was a sum beyond the dreams of Angierian peasantry, but Messengers didn't risk their lives for klats. She'd hoped it would be enough, but Rojer's words proved prophetic, or a curse.

Spring trade was on in full, and even the worst Messengers had assignments. Skot was out of the city, and the secretary at the Messenger's Guild flat out refused to help her. The best they could offer was next week's man south, a full six days away.

'I could walk there in that time!' she shouted at the clerk.

'Then I suggest you get started,' the man said dryly.

Leesha bit her tongue and stomped off. She thought she would lose her mind if she had to wait a week to leave. If her father died in that week...

'Leesha?' a voice called. She stopped short, turning slowly.

'It is you!' Marick called, striding up to her with his arms outspread. 'I didn't realize you were still in the city!' Shocked, Leesha let him embrace her.

'What are you doing in the guildhouse?' Marick asked, backing up to eye her appreciatively. He was still handsome, with his wolf eyes.

'I need an escort to take me back to Cutter's Hollow,' she said. 'There's a flux sweeping the town, and they need my help.'

'I could take you, I suppose,' Marick said. 'I'll need to call a favour to cover my run to Riverbridge tomorrow, but that should be easy enough.'

'I have money,' Leesha said.

'You know I don't take money for escort work,' Marick said leering at her as he swept in close. 'There's only one payment that interests me.' His hand reached around to squeeze her buttock,

and Leesha resisted the urge to pull away. She thought of the people that needed her, and more, she thought of what Jizell had said about flowers no one saw. Perhaps it was the Creator's plan that she should meet Marick this day. She swallowed hard and nodded at him.

Marick swept Leesha into a shadowed alcove off the main hall. He pushed her against the wall behind a wooden statue and kissed her deeply. After a moment, she returned the kiss, putting her arms around his shoulders, his tongue warm in her mouth.

'I won't have that problem this time,' Marick promised, taking her hand and placing it on his rigid manhood.

Leesha smiled timidly. 'I could come to your inn before dark,' she said. 'We could... spend the night, and leave in the morning.'

Marick looked from side to side, and shook his head. He pushed her against the wall again, reaching down with one hand to unbuckle his belt. 'I've waited for this too long,' he grunted. 'I'm ready now, and I'm not letting it get away!'

'I'm not doing it in a hallway!' Leesha hissed, pushing him back. 'Someone will see!'

'No one will see,' Marick said, pressing in and kissing her again. He produced his stiff member, and started pulling up her skirts. 'You're here, like magic,' he said, 'and this time, so am I. What more could you want?'

'Privacy?' Leesha asked. 'A bed? A pair of candles? Anything!'

'A Jongleur singing outside the window?' Marick mocked, his fingers probing between her legs to find her opening. 'You sound like a virgin.'

'l am a virgin!' Leesha hissed.

Marick pulled away, his erection still in his hand, and looked at her wryly. 'Everyone in Cutter's Hollow knows you stuck that ape Gared a dozen times at least,' he said. 'Are you still lying about it after all this time?'

Leesha scowled and drove her knee hard into his crotch, storming out of the guild house while Marick was still groaning on the ground.

'No one would take you?' Rojer asked that night.

'No one I didn't have to bed,' Leesha grunted, leaving out that she had indeed been willing to go that far. Even now, she worried that she'd made a huge mistake. Part of her wished she had just let Marick have his way, but even if Jizell was right and her maidenhead wasn't the most precious thing in all the world, it was surely worth more than that.

She scrunched up her eyes too late, only serving to squeeze out the tears she sought to prevent. Rojer touched her face, and she looked at him. He smiled and reached out, producing a brightly coloured handkerchief as if from her ear. She laughed in spite of herself, and took the kerchief to dry her eyes.

'I could still take you,' he said. 'I walked all the way from here to Shepherd's Dale. If I can do that, I can get you to Cutter's Hollow.'

'Truly?' Leesha asked, sniffing. 'That's not just one of your Jak Scaletongue stories, like being able to charm corelings with your fiddle?'

'Truly,' Rojer said.

'Why would you do that for me?' Leesha asked.

Rojer smiled, taking her hand in his crippled one. 'We're survivors, aren't we?' he asked. 'Someone once told me that survivors have to look out for one another.'

Leesha sobbed, and hugged him.

Am I going mad? Rojer asked himself as they left the gates of Angiers behind. Leesha had purchased a horse for the trip, but Rojer had no riding experience, and Leesha little more. He sat behind her as she guided the beast at a pace barely faster than they could walk.

Even then, the horse jarred his stiff legs painfully, but Rojer did not complain. If he said anything before they were out of sight of the city, Leesha would make them turn back.

Which is what you should do anyway, he thought. You're a Jongleur, not a Messenger.

But Leesha needed him, and he knew from the first time he saw her that he could never refuse her anything. He knew she saw him as a child, but that would change when he brought her home. She would see there was more to him; that he could take care of himself, and her as well.

And what was there for him in Angiers, anyway? Jaycob was gone, and the Guild likely thought he was dead, as well, which was probably for the best. 'If you go to the guard, it's you they'll hang,' Jasin had said, but Rojer was smart enough to know that if Goldentone ever learned he was alive, he would never get the chance to tell tales.

He looked at the road ahead, though, and his gut clenched. Like Cricket Run, Farmer's Stump was just a day away on horseback, but Cutter's Hollow was much further, perhaps four nights even with the horse. Rojer had never spent more than two nights outside, and that just the once. Arrick's death flashed in his mind. Could he handle losing Leesha, too?

'Are you all right?' Leesha asked.

'What?' Rojer replied.

'Your hands are shaking,' Leesha said.

He looked at his hands on her waist, and saw that she was right. 'It's nothing,' he managed. 'I just felt a chill out of nowhere.'

'I hate that,' Leesha said, but Rojer barely heard. He stared at his hands, trying to will them to stillness.

You're an actor! he scolded himself. Act brave!

He thought of Marko Rover, the brave explorer in his stories. Rojer had described the man and mummed his adventures so many times, every trait and mannerism was second nature to him. His back straightened, and his hands ceased to shake.

'Let me know when you get tired,' he said, 'and I'll take over the reins.'

'I thought you've never ridden before,' Leesha said.

'You learn things by doing them,' Rojer said, quoting the line Marko Rover used whenever he encountered something new.

Marko Rover was never afraid to do things he'd never done before.

With Rojer at the reins, they made better time, but even so, they barely made it to Farmer's Stump before dusk. They stabled the horse and made their way to the inn.

'You a Jongleur?' the innkeep asked, taking in Rojer's motley.

'Rojer Halfgrip,' Rojer said, 'out of Angiers and points west.'

'Never heard of you,' the innkeep grunted, 'but the room's free if you put on a show.'

Rojer looked to Leesha, and when she shrugged and nodded, he smiled, pulling out his bag of marvels.

Farmer's Stump was a small cluster of buildings and houses, all connected by warded boardwalks. Unlike any other village Rojer had ever been to, the Stumpers went outside at night, walking freely - if hastily - from building to building.

The freedom meant a full taproom, which pleased Rojer well. He performed for the first time in months, but it felt natural, and he soon had the entire room clapping and laughing at tales of Jak Scaletongue and the Painted Man.

When he returned to his seat, Leesha's face was a little flushed with wine. 'You were wonderful,' she said. 'I knew you would be.'

Rojer beamed, and was about to say something when a pair of men came over, bearing a handful of pitchers. They handed one to Rojer, and another to Leesha.

'Just a thanks for the show,' the lead man said. 'I know it ent much...'

'It's wonderful, thank you,' Rojer said. 'Please, join us.' He gestured to the empty seats at their table. The two men sat.

'What brings you through the Stump?' the first man asked. He was short, with a thick black beard. His companion was taller, burlier, and mute.

'We're heading to Cutter's Hollow,' Rojer said. 'Leesha is an Herb Gatherer, going to help them fight the flux.'

'Hollow's a long way,' the man with the black beard said. 'How'll you last the nights?'

'Don't fear for us,' Rojer said. 'We have a Messenger's circle.'

'Portable circle?' the man asked in surprise. 'That must'a cost a pretty pile.'

Rojer nodded. 'More than you know,' he said.

'Well, we won't keep you from yer beds,' the man said, he and his companion rising from the table. 'You'll want an early start.' They moved away, going to join a third man at another table as Rojer and Leesha finished their drinks and headed to their room.

27

Nightfall

332 AR

 

 

 

 

'Look at me! I'm a Jongleur!' said one of men, plopping the belled motley cap on his head and prancing around the road. The black-bearded man barked a laugh, but their third companion, larger than both of them combined, said nothing. All were smiling.

'I'd like to know what that witch threw at me,' the black-bearded man said. 'Dunked my whole head in the stream, and it still feels like my eyes are on fire.' He held up the circle and the reins of the horse, grinning. 'Still, an easy take like that only comes along once a'life.'

'Be months before we need t'work again,' the man in the motley cap agreed, jingling the purse of coins, 'and not a scratch on us!' He jumped up and clicked his heels.

'Maybe not a scratch on you," chuckled the black-bearded man, 'but I've a few on my back! That arse was worth nearly as much as the circle, even if that dust she threw in my eyes made it so I could barely see what went where.' The man in the motley cap laughed, and their giant mute companion clapped his hands with a grin.

'Should've taken her with us,' the man in the motley cap said. 'Gets cold in that miserable cave.'

'Don't be stupid,' the black-bearded man said. 'We got a horse and a Messenger circle, now. We don't need to stay in the cave no more, and that's best. Word in the Stump's that the duke's noticin' them just leaving the town gettin' hit. We go south first thing come morning, before we've got Rhinebeck's guards on our heels.'

The men were so busy with their discussion, they didn't notice the man riding down the road towards them until he was just a dozen yards away. In the waning light, he seemed wraithlike, wrapped in flowing robes and astride a dark horse, moving in the shadow of the trees beside the forest road.

When they did take note of him, the mirth on their faces fell away, replaced with looks of challenge. The black-bearded man was squat and thickly set, with thinning hair above his long, unkempt beard. He dropped the portable circle to the ground and pulled a heavy cudgel from the horse, advancing on the stranger. . Behind him, the mute raised a club the side of a small tree, and the man in the motley cap brandished a spear, the head nicked and burred.

'This here's our road,' the black-bearded man explained to the stranger. 'We're fine to share, like, but there's a tax.'

In answer, the stranger stepped his horse from the shadows.

A quiver of heavy arrows hung from his saddle, the bow strung and in easy reach. A spear as long as a lance rested in a harness on the other side, a rounded shield beside it. Strapped behind his seat, several shorter spears jutted, their points glittering wickedly in the setting sun.

But the stranger reached for no weapon, merely letting his hood slip back a bit. The men's eyes widened, and their leader backed away, scooping up the portable circle.

'Might let you pass just the once,' he amended, glancing back at the others. Even the giant had gone pale with fear. They kept their weapons ready, but carefully edged around the giant horse and backed down the road.

'We'd best not see you on this road again!' the black-bearded man called, when they were a safe distance away. The stranger rode on, unconcerned.

Rojer fought his terror as their voices receded. They had told him they would kill him if he tried to rise again. He reached into his secret pocket to take hold of his talisman, but all he found were some broken bits of wood and a clump of yellow-grey hair. It must have broken when the mute kicked him in the gut. He let the remnants fall from his numb fingers into the mud.

The sound of Leesha's sobs cut into him, making him afraid to look up. He had made that mistake before, when the giant had gotten off his back to take his turn with Leesha. One of the others had quickly taken his place, using Rojer's back as a bench to watch the fun.

There was little intelligence in the giant's eyes, but if he lacked the sadism of his companions, his dumb lust was a terror in itself; the urges of an animal in the body of a rock demon. If Rojer could have removed the image of him on top of Leesha from his mind by clawing out his eyes, he would not have hesitated.

He had been a fool, advertising their path and valuables like that. Too much time spent in the western hamlets had dulled his natural, city-bred distrust of strangers.

Marko Rover wouldn't have trusted them, he thought.

But that wasn't entirely true. Marko was forever getting tricked or clubbed on the head and left for dead. He survived by keeping his wits afterwards.

He survives because it's a story and you control the ending, Rojer reminded himself.

But the image of Marko Rover picking himself up and dusting himself off stuck with him, and eventually, Rojer gathered his strength and his nerve, forcing himself to his knees. Pain shot through him, but he did not think they had broken any bones. His left eye was so swollen he could barely see out of it, and he tasted blood in his mouth from his thickened lip. He was covered in bruises, but Abrum had done worse.

But there were no guardsmen, this time, to haul him to safety. No mother or master to put themselves in a demon's path.

Leesha whimpered again, and guilt shook him. He had fought to save her honour, but they had been three, all armed and stronger than him. What could he have done?

I wish they'd killed me, he thought to himself, slumping. Better dead than to have seen...

Coward, a voice in the back of his head snarled. Get up. She needs you.

Rojer staggered to his feet, looking around. Leesha was curled up in the dust of the forest road, sobbing, without even the strength to cover her shame. There was no sign of the bandits.

Of course, it hardly mattered. They had taken his portable circle, and without it, he and Leesha were as good as dead. Farmer's Stump was almost a full day behind them, and there was nothing ahead on the road for several days' walk. It would be dark in little more than an hour.

Rojer ran to Leesha's side, falling to his knees beside her. 'Leesha, are you all right?' he asked, cursing himself for the crack in his voice. She needed him to be strong!

'Leesha, please answer me,' he begged, squeezing her shoulder.

Leesha ignored him, curled up tight, shaking as she wept. Rojer stroked her back and whispered comfort to her, subtly tugging her dress back down. Whatever place her mind had retreated to in order to withstand the ordeal, she was reluctant to leave it. He tried to hold her in his arms, but she shoved him violently away, curling right back up, wracked with tears.

Leaving her side, Rojer picked through the dirt, gathering what few things had been left them. The bandits had dug through their bags, taking what they wanted and tossing the rest, mocking and destroying their personal effects. Leesha's clothing lay scattered in the road, and Rojer found Arrick's brightly coloured bag of marvels trampled in the muck. Much of what it had contained was taken or smashed. The painted wooden juggling balls were stuck in the mud, but Rojer left them where they lay.

Off the road where the mute had kicked it, he spied his fiddle case, and dared to hope they might survive. He rushed over to find the case broken open. The fiddle itself was salvageable with a little tuning and some new strings, but the bow was nowhere to be found.

Rojer looked as long as he dared, throwing leaves and underbrush in every direction with mounting panic, but to no avail. It was gone. He put the fiddle back in its case and spread out one of Leesha's long skirts, bundling the few salvageable items within.

A strong breeze broke the stillness, rustling the leaves of the trees. Rojer looked up at the setting sun, and realized suddenly, in a way he had not before, that they were going to die. What did it matter if he had a bowless fiddle and some clothes with him when it happened?

He shook his head. They weren't dead yet, and it was possible to avoid corelings for a night, if you kept your wits. He squeezed his fiddle case reassuringly. If they lived through the night, he could cut off a lock of Leesha's hair and make a new bow. The corelings couldn't hurt them if he had his fiddle.

To either side of the road, the woods loomed dark and dangerous, but Rojer knew corelings hunted men above all other creatures. They would stalk the road. The woods were their best hope to find a hiding place, or a secluded spot to prepare a circle.

How? that hated voice asked again. You never bothered to learn.

He moved back to Leesha, kneeling gently by her side. She was still shuddering, crying silently. 'Leesha,' he said quietly, 'we need to get off the road.'

She ignored him.

'Leesha, we need to find a place to hide.' He shook her.

Still no response.

'Leesha, the sun is setting!'

The sobbing stopped, and Leesha raised wide, frightened eyes. She looked at his concerned, bruised face, and her face screwed up as her crying resumed.

But Rojer knew he had touched her for a moment, and refused to let that go. He could think of few things worse than what had happened to her, but getting torn apart by corelings was one of them. He gripped her shoulders and shook her violently.

'Leesha, you need to get a hold of yourself!' he shouted. 'If we don't find a place to hide soon, the sun is going to find us scattered all over the road!'

It was a graphic image, intentionally so, and it had the desired effect as Leesha came up for air, gasping but no longer crying. Rojer dried her tears with his sleeve.

'What are we going to do?' Leesha squeaked, gripping his arms painfully tight.

Again, Rojer called upon the image of Marko Rover, and this time it came readily. 'First, we're going to get off the road,' he said, sounding confident when he was not. Sounding as if he had a plan when he did not. Leesha nodded, and let him help her stand. She winced in pain, and it cut right through him.

With Rojer supporting Leesha, they stumbled off the road and into the woods. The remaining light dropped dramatically under the forest canopy, and the ground crackled beneath their feet with twigs and dry leaves. The place smelled sickly sweet with rotting vegetation. Rojer hated the woods.

He scoured his mind for the tales of people who had survived the naked night, sifting for words with a ring of truth, searching for something, anything, that could help them.

Caves were best, the tales all agreed. Corelings preferred to hunt in the open, and a cave with even simple wards across the front was safer than attempting to hide. Rojer could recall at least three consecutive wards from his circle. Perhaps enough to ward a cave mouth.

But Rojer knew of no caves nearby, and had no idea what to look for. He cast about helplessly, and caught the sound of running water. Immediately, he pulled Leesha in that direction. Corelings tracked by sight, sound, and smell. Barring true succour, the best way to avoid them was to mask those things. Perhaps they could dig into the mud on the water's bank.

But when he found the source of the sound, it was only a trickling stream with no bank to speak of. Rojer grabbed a smooth rock from the water and threw it, growling in frustration.

He turned back to find Leesha squatting in the ankle-deep water, weeping again as she scooped up handfuls and splashed herself. Her face. Her breasts. Between her legs.

'Leesha, we have to go...' he said, reaching out to take her arm, but she shrieked and pulled away, bending for more water.

'Leesha, we don't have time for this!' he screamed, grabbing her and yanking her to her feet. He dragged her back into the woods, having no idea what he was looking for.

Finally he gave up, spotting a small clearing. There was nowhere to hide, so their only hope was to ward a circle. He let Leesha go and moved quickly into the clearing, brushing away a bed of rotting leaves to find the soft, moist soil beneath.

Leesha's blurry eyes slowly came into focus as she watched Rojer scraping leaves from the forest floor. She leaned heavily on a tree, her legs still weak.

Only minutes ago, she had thought that she would never recover from her ordeal, but the corelings about to rise were too immediate a threat, and she found, almost gratefully, that they took her mind away from what had happened.

Her pale cheeks were smudged with dirt and streaked with tears. She tried to smooth her torn dress, to regain some sense of dignity, but the ache between her legs was a constant reminder that her dignity was scarred forever.

'It's almost dark!' she moaned. 'What are we going to do?'

'I'll draw a circle in the soil,' Rojer said. 'It will be all right. I'll make everything all right,' he promised.

'Do you even know how?' she asked.

'Sure... I guess,' Rojer said unconvincingly. 'I had that portable one for years. I can remember the symbols.' He picked up a stick, and started to scratch lines on the ground, glancing up to the darkening sky again and again as he worked.

He was being brave for her. Leesha looked at Rojer, and felt a stab of guilt for getting him into this. He claimed to be twenty, but she knew that for a lie with years to spare. She should never have brought him along on such a dangerous journey.

He looked much like he had the first time she had seen him, his face puffy and bruised, blood oozing from his nose and mouth. He wiped at it with his sleeve and pretended it did not affect him. Leesha saw through the act easily, knew he was as frantic as she, but his effort was comforting, nonetheless.

'I don't think you're doing that right,' she said, looking over his shoulder.

'It'll be fine,' Rojer snapped.

'I'm sure the corelings will love it,' she shot back, annoyed by his dismissive tone, 'since it won't hinder them in the least.' She looked around. 'We could climb a tree,' she suggested.

'Corelings can climb better than we can,' Rojer said.

'What about finding someplace to hide?' she asked.

'We looked as long as we could,' Rojer said. 'We barely have time to make this circle, but it should keep us safe.'

'I doubt it,' Leesha said, looking at the shaky lines in the soil.

'If only I had my fiddle...' Rojer began.

'Not that pile of dung again,' Leesha snapped, sharp irritation rising to drive back her humiliation and fear. 'It's one thing to brag to the stripers in the light of day that you can charm demons with your fiddle, but what do you gain in carrying a lie to your grave?'

'I'm not lying!' Rojer insisted.

'Have it your way,' Leesha sighed, crossing her arms.

'It will be all right,' Rojer said again.

'Creator, can't you stop lying, even for a moment?' Leesha cried. 'It's not going to be all right and you know it. Corelings aren't bandits, Rojer. They won't be satisfied with just...' She looked down at her torn skirts, and her voice trailed off.

Rojer's face screwed up in pain, and Leesha knew she had been too harsh. She wanted to lash out at something, and it was easy to blame Rojer and his inflated promises for what happened. But in her heart, she knew it was more her fault than his. He left Angiers for her.

She looked at the darkening sky and wondered if she would have time to apologize before they were torn to pieces.

Movement in the trees and scrub behind them sent them both whirling around in fear. A man, swathed in grey robes, stepped into the clearing. His face was hidden in the shadows of his hood, and though he carried no weapons, Leesha could tell from his bearing that he was dangerous. If Marick was a wolf, this man was a lion.

She steeled herself, ravishment fresh in her mind, and honestly wondered for a moment which would be worse: another rape, or the demons.

Rojer was up in an instant, grabbing her arm and thrusting her behind him. He brandished the stick before him like a spear, his face twisted in a snarl.

The man ignored them both, moving over to inspect Rojer's circle. 'You have holes in your net there, there, and there,' he said, pointing, 'and this,' he kicked the ground by one of the crude symbols, 'this isn't even a ward.'

'Can you fix it?' Leesha asked hopefully, pulling free from Rojer's grasp and moving towards the man.

'Leesha, no,' Rojer whispered urgently, but she ignored him.

The man didn't even glance her way. 'There's no time,' he replied, pointing to the corelings already beginning to rise at the edge of the clearing.

'Oh, no,' Leesha whimpered, her face draining of colour.

The first to solidify was a wind demon. It hissed at the sight of them and crouched as if to spring, but the man gave it no time. As Leesha watched in amazement, he leapt right at the coreling, grabbing its arms to prevent it from spreading its wings. The demon's flesh hissed and smoked at his touch.

The wind demon shrieked and opened its maw, filled with needle sharp teeth. The man snapped his head back, flipping off his hood, then drove forward, slamming the top of his bald head into the coreling's snout. There was a flash of energy, and the demon was thrown backwards. It struck the ground, stunned. The man stiffened his fingers, driving them into the coreling's throat. There was another flash, and black ichor erupted in a spray.

The man turned sharply, wiping the ichor from his fingers as he strode past Rojer and Leesha. She could see his face now, though there was little human about it. His head was completely shaved, even his eyebrows, and in place of the lost hair were tattoos. They circled his eyes and rested on top of his head, lined his ears and covered his cheeks, even running along his jaw and around his lips.

'My camp is near,' he said, ignoring their stares. 'Come with me if you want to see the dawn.'

'What about the demons?' Leesha asked, as they fell in behind him. As if to accentuate her point, a pair of wood demons, knobbly and barklike, rose up to block their path.

The man pulled off his robe, stripping down to a loincloth, and Leesha saw that the tattoos were not limited to his head. Wards ran along his rippling arms and legs in intricate patterns, with larger ones on his elbows and knees. A circle of protection covered his back, and another large tattoo stood at the centre of his muscular chest. Every inch of him was warded.

'The Painted Man,' Rojer breathed. Leesha found the name dimly familiar.

'I'll handle the demons,' the man said. 'Take this,' he ordered, handing Leesha his robe.

He sprinted at the corelings, tumbling into a somersault and uncoiling to strike both demons in the chest with his heels. Magic exploded from the blow, blasting the wood demons from their path.

The race through the trees was a blur. The Painted Man set a brutal pace, unhindered by the corelings that leapt at them from all sides. A wood demon sprang at Leesha from the trees, but the man was there, driving a warded elbow into its skull with explosive force. A wind demon swooped in to slash its talons at Rojer, but the Painted Man tackled it away, punching right through one of its wings, grounding it.

Before Rojer could thank him, the Painted Man was off again, picking their path through the trees. Rojer helped Leesha keep up, untangling her skirts when they caught in the brush.

They burst from the trees, and Leesha could see a fire across the road; the Painted Man's camp. Standing between them and succour, though, was a group of corelings, including a massive, eight-foot tall rock demon.

The rock demon roared and beat its thick, armoured chest with gigantic fists, its horned tail lashing back and forth. It knocked the other corelings aside, claiming the prey for itself.

The Painted Man showed no fear as he approached the monster. He gave a high-pitched whistle, and set his feet, ready to spring when the demon attacked.

But before the rock demon could strike, two massive spikes burst from its breast, sizzling and sparking with magic. The Painted Man struck quickly, driving his warded heel into the coreling's knee and collapsing the monster to the ground.

As it fell, Leesha saw a monstrous black form behind it. The beast kicked away, pulling its horns free, and then reared up with a whinny, driving its hooves into the coreling's back with a thunderclap of magic.

The Painted Man charged the remaining demons, but the corelings scattered at his approach. A flame demon spat fire at him, but the man held up his spread hands, and the blast became a cool breeze as it passed through his warded fingers. Shaking with fear, Rojer and Leesha followed him into his camp, stepping into his circle of protection with enormous relief.

'Twilight Dancer!' the Painted Man called, whistling again. The great horse ceased its attack on the prone demon and galloped after them, leaping into the ring.

Like its master, Twilight Dancer looked like something out of a nightmare. The stallion was enormous, bigger by far than any horse Leesha had ever seen. Its coat was thick, shining ebony, and its body was armoured in warded metal. The barding about its head had been fitted with a long pair of metal horns, etched with wards, and even its black hooves had been carved with the magic symbols, painted silver. The towering beast looked more demon than horse.

Hanging from its black leather saddle were various harnesses for weapons, including a yew bow and a quiver of arrows, long knives, a bola, and spears of various lengths. A polished metal shield, circular and convex, was hooked over the saddle horn, ready to be snatched up in an instant. Its rim was etched with intricate wards.

Twilight Dancer stood quietly as the Painted Man checked it for wounds, seeming unconcerned with the demons that lurked just a few feet away. When he was assured that his mount was unharmed, the Painted Man turned back to Leesha and Rojer, who stood nervously in the centre of the circle, still reeling from the events of the last few minutes.

'Stoke the fire,' the man told Rojer. 'I've some meat we can put on, and a loaf of bread.' He moved towards his supplies, rubbing at his shoulder.

'You're hurt,' Leesha said, coming out of her shock and rushing over to inspect his wounds. There was a cut on his shoulder, and another, deeper gash on his thigh. His skin was hard, and crisscrossed with scars, giving it a rough texture, but not unpleasant to the touch. There was a slight tingle in her fingertips as she touched him, like static from a carpet.

'It's nothing,' the Painted Man said. 'Sometimes a coreling gets lucky and catches a talon on flesh before the wards drive it away.' He tried to pull away, reaching for his robe, but she was not to be put off.

'No wound from a demon is 'nothing',' Leesha said. 'Sit down and I'll dress these,' she ordered, ushering him over to sit against a large stone. In truth, she was almost as frightened of the man as she was of the corelings, but she had dedicated her life to helping the injured, and the familiar work took her mind away from the pain that still threatened to consume her.

'I've an herb pouch in that saddlebag,' the man said, gesturing. Leesha opened the bag and found the pouch. She bent to the fire's light as she rooted through the contents.

'I don't suppose you have any pomm leaves?' she asked. The man looked at her. 'No,' he said. 'Why? There's plenty of hogroot.'

'It's nothing,' Leesha mumbled. 'I swear, you Messengers  to think that hogroot is a cure for everything.' She took the pouch, along with a mortar and pestle and a skin of water, and knelt beside the man, grinding the hogroot and a few other herbs into a paste.

'What makes you think I'm a Messenger?' the Painted Man usked.

'Who else would be out on the road alone?' Leesha asked.

I haven't been a Messenger in years,' the man said, not flinching at all as she cleaned out the wounds and applied the stinging paste. Rojer narrowed his eyes as he watched her spread the salve on his thick muscles.

'Are you an Herb Gatherer?' the Painted Man asked, as she passed a needle through the fire and threaded it.

Leesha nodded, but kept her eyes on her work, brushing a thick lock of hair behind her ear as she set to stitching the gash in his thigh. When the Painted Man made no further comment, she   flicked her eyes up to meet his. They were dark, the wards around the sockets giving then a gaunt, deep-set look. Leesha couldn't hold that gaze for long, and quickly looked away.

'I'm Leesha,' she said, 'and that's Rojer making supper. He's a Jongleur.' The man nodded Rojer's way, but like Leesha, Rojer could not meet his gaze for long.

'Thank you for saving our lives,' Leesha said. The man only grunted in response. She paused briefly, waiting for him to return the introduction, but he made no effort to do so.

'Don't you have a name?' she asked at last.

'None I've used in some time,' the man answered.

'But you do have one,' Leesha pressed. The man only shrugged.

'Well then what shall we call you?' she asked.

'I don't see that you need to call me anything,' the man replied. He noted that her work was finished, and pulled away from her touch, again covering himself from head to foot in his grey robes. 'You owe me nothing. I would have helped anyone in your position. Tomorrow I'll see you safely to Farmer's Stump.'

Leesha looked to Rojer by the fire, then back at the Painted Man. 'We just left the Stump,' she said. 'We need to get to Cutter's Hollow. Can you take us there?' The grey hood shook back and forth in a negative.

'Going back to the Stump will cost us a week at least!' Leesha cried.

The Painted Man shrugged. 'That's not my problem.'

'We can pay,' Leesha blurted. The man glanced at her, and she looked away guiltily. 'Not now, of course,' she amended. 'We were attacked by bandits on the road. They took our horse, circle, money, even our food.' Her voice softened. 'They took... everything.' She looked up. 'But once I get to Cutter's Hollow, I'll be able to pay.'

'I have no need of money,' the Painted Man said.

'Please!' Leesha begged. 'It's urgent!'

'I'm sorry,' the Painted Man said.

Rojer came over to them, scowling. 'It's fine, Leesha,' he said. 'If this cold heart won't help us, we'll find our own way.'

'What way is that?' Leesha snapped. 'The way of being killed while you attempt to hold off demons with your stupid fiddle?'

Rojer turned away, stung, but Leesha ignored him, turning back to the man.

'Please,' she begged, grabbing his arm as he, too, turned away from her. 'A Messenger came to Angiers three days ago with word of a flux that spread through the Hollow. It's killed a dozen people so far, including the greatest Herb Gatherer that ever lived. The Gatherers left in the town can't possibly treat everyone. They need my help.'

'So you want me to not only put aside my own path, but to go into a village rife with flux?' the Painted Man asked, sounding anything but willing.

Leesha began to weep, falling to her knees as she clutched at his robes. 'My father is very sick,' she whispered. 'If I don't get I here soon, he may die.'

The Painted Man reached out, tentatively, and put a hand on her shoulder. Leesha was unsure of how she had reached him, but she sensed that she had. 'Please,' she said again.

The Painted Man stared at her for a long time. 'All right,' he said at last.

Cutter's Hollow was six days ride from Fort Angiers, on the southern outskirts of the Angierian forest. The Painted Man told  them it would take four more nights to reach the village. Three, if they pressed hard and made good time. He rode alongside them, slowing his great stallion to their pace on foot.

'I'm going to scout up the road,' he said after a while. 'I'll be back in an hour or so.'

Leesha felt a stab of cold fear as he kicked his stallion's flanks and galloped off down the road. The Painted Man scared her almost as much as the bandits or the corelings, but there was no denying that in his presence, she was safe from those other threats.

She hadn't slept at all, and her lip throbbed from all the times she had bitten it to keep from crying. She had scrubbed every inch of herself after they fell asleep, but still she felt soiled.

'I've heard stories of this man,' Rojer said. 'Spun a few myself. I thought he was only a myth, but there can't be two men painted like that, who kill corelings with their bare hands.'

'You called him the Painted Man,' Leesha said, remembering.

Rojer nodded. 'That's what he's called in the tales. No one knows his real name,' he said. 'I heard of him over a year ago when one of the duke's Jongleurs passed through the western hamlets. I thought he was just an ale story, but it seems the duke's man was telling true.'

'What did he say?' Leesha asked.

'That the Painted Man wanders the naked night, hunting demons,' Rojer said. 'He shuns human contact, appearing only when he needs supplies and paying with ancient gold stamped with forgotten faces. From time to time, you hear tale of him rescuing someone on the road.'

'Well, we can bear witness to that,' Leesha said. 'But if he can kill demons, why has no one tried to learn his secrets?'

Rojer shrugged. 'According to the tales, no one dares. Even the dukes themselves are terrified of him, especially after what happened in Lakton.'

'What happened?' Leesha asked.

'The story goes that the Dockmasters of Lakton sent spies to steal his combat wards,' Rojer said. 'A dozen men, all armed and armoured. Those he didn't kill were crippled for life.'

'Creator!' Leesha gasped, covering her mouth. 'What kind of monster are we travelling with?'

'Some say he's part demon himself,' Rojer agreed, 'the result of a coreling raping a woman on the road.'

He started suddenly, his face colouring as he realized what he'd said, but his thoughtless words had the opposite effect, breaking the spell of her fear. 'That's ridiculous,' she said, shaking her head.

'Others say he's no demon at all,' Rojer pressed on, 'but the Deliverer himself, come to lift the plague. Tenders have prayed to him and begged his blessings.'

'I'd sooner believe he's half-coreling,' Leesha said, though she sounded less sure than her words told.

They travelled on in uncomfortable silence. A day ago, Leesha had been unable to get a moment's peace from Rojer, the Jongleur constantly trying to impress her with his tales and music, but now he kept his eyes down, brooding. Leesha knew he was hurting,until part of her wanted to offer comfort, but a bigger part needed comfort of her own. She had nothing to give.

Soon after, the Painted Man rode back to them. 'You two walk too slow,' he said, dismounting. 'If we want to save ourselves a fourth night on the road, we'll need to cover thirty miles today. You two ride. I'll run alongside.'

'You shouldn't be running,' Leesha said. 'You'll tear the stitches I put in your thigh.'

'It's all healed,' the Painted Man said. 'Just needed a night's rest.'

'Nonsense,' Leesha said, 'that gash was an inch deep.' As if to prove her point, she went over to him and knelt, lifting the loose robe away from his muscular, tattooed leg.

But when she removed the bandage to examine the wound, her eyes widened in shock. New, pink flesh had already grown to knit the wound together, her stitches poking from otherwise healthy skin.

'That's impossible,' she said.

'It was just a scratch,' the Painted Man said, sliding a wicked blade through the stitches and picking them out one by one. Leesha opened her mouth, but the Painted Man rose and went back to Twilight Dancer, taking the reins and holding them out to

her.

'Thank you,' she said numbly, taking the reins. In one moment, everything she knew about healing had been called into question. Who was this man? What was he?

Twilight Dancer cantered down the road and the Painted Man ran alongside in long, tireless strides, easily keeping pace with the horse as the miles melted away under his warded feet. When they rested, it was from Rojer and Leesha's desire and not his. Leesha watched him subtly, searching for signs of fatigue, but there were none. When they made camp at last, his breath was smooth and regular as he fed and watered his horse, even as she and Rojer groaned and rubbed the aches from their limbs.

There was an awkward silence about the campfire. It was well past dark, but the Painted Man walked freely about the camp, collecting firewood and removing Twilight Dancer's barding, brushing the great stallion down. He moved from the horse's circle to their own without a thought to the wood demons lurking about. One leapt at him from the cover of the brush, but the Painted Man paid no mind as it slammed into the wards barely an inch from his back.

While Leesha prepared supper, Rojer limped bowlegged around the circle, attempting to walk off the stiffness of a day's hard riding.

'I think my stones are crushed from all that bouncing,' he groaned.

'I'll have a look, if you like,' Leesha said. The Painted Man snorted.

Rojer looked at her ruefully. 'I'll be all right,' he managed, continuing to pace. He stopped suddenly a moment later, staring down the road.

They all looked up, seeing the eerie orange light of the flame demon's mouth and eyes long before the coreling itself came into sight, shrieking and running hard on all fours.

'How is it that the flame demons don't burn the entire forest down?' Rojer wondered, watching the trailing wisps of fire behind the creature.

'You're about to find out,' the Painted Man said. Rojer found the amusement in his voice even more unsettling than his usual monotone.

The words were barely spoken before howls heralded the approach of a pack of wood demons, three strong, barrelling down the road after the flame demon. One of them had another flame demon hanging limply from its jaws, dripping black ichor.

So occupied was the flame demon with outrunning its pursuers, it failed to notice the other wood demons gathering in the scrub at the edges of the road until one pounced, pinning thehapless creature and eviscerating it with its back talons. It shrieked horribly, and Leesha covered her ears from the sound.

'Woodies hate flame demons,' the Painted Man explained when it was over, his eyes glinting in pleasure at the kill.

'Why?'Rojer asked.

'Because wood demons are vulnerable to demonfire,' Leesha said. The Painted Man looked up at her in surprise, then nodded.

'Then why don't the flame demons set them on fire?' Rojer asked.

The Painted Man laughed. 'Sometimes they do,' he said, 'but llammable or no, there isn't a flame demon alive that's a match in a fight with a wood demon. Woodies are second only to rock demons in strength, and they're nearly invisible within the borders of the forest.'

'The Creator's Great Plan,' Leesha said. 'Checks and balances.'

'Evolution,' the Painted Man countered. 'If the flame demons burned everything away, there would be nothing left for them to hunt. Nature found a way to solve the problem.'

'You don't believe in the Creator?' Rojer asked.

'We have enough problems already,' the Painted Man answered, and his scowl made it clear that he had no desire to pursue the subject.

'There are some that call you the Deliverer,' Rojer dared.

The Painted Man snorted. 'There's no Deliverer coming to save us, Jongleur,' he said. 'You want demons dead in this world, you have to kill them yourself

As if in response, a wind demon bounced off Twilight Dancer's wardnet, filling the area with a brief flash of light. The stallion dug at the soil with his hooves, as if eager to leap from the circle and do battle, but he stayed in place, waiting for a command from his master.

'How is it the horse stands so unafraid?' Leesha asked. 'Even Messengers stake down their horses at night to keep them from bolting, but yours seems to want to fight.'

'I've been training Twilight Dancer since he was foaled,' the Painted Man said. 'He's always been warded, so he's never learned to fear corelings. His sire was the biggest, most aggressive beast I could find, and his dam the same.'

'But he seemed so gentle when we rode him,' Leesha said.

'I've taught him to channel his aggressive urges,' the Painted Man said, pride evident in his normally emotionless tone. 'He returns kindness, but if he's threatened, or I am, he'll attack without hesitation. He once crushed the skull of a wild boar that would have gored me for sure.'

Finished with the flame demons, the wood demons began to circle the wards, drawing closer and closer. The Painted Man strung his yew bow and took out his quiver of heavy-tipped arrows, but he ignored the creatures as they slashed at the barrier and were thrown back. When they finished their meal, he selected an unmarked arrow and took an etching tool from his warding kit, slowly inscribing the shaft with wards.

'If we weren't here...' Leesha asked.

'I would be out there,' the Painted Man answered, not looking up at her. 'Hunting.'

Leesha nodded, and was quiet for a time, watching him. Rojer shifted uncomfortably at her obvious fascination.

'Have you seen my home?' she asked softly.

The Painted Man looked at her curiously, but made no reply.

'If you've come from the south, you must've come through the Hollow,'Leesha said.

The Painted Man shook his head. 'I give the hamlets a wide berth,' he said. 'The first person to see me runs off, and before long I'm met by a cluster of angry men with pitchforks.'

Leesha wanted to protest, but she knew the people of Cutter's Hollow would act much as he described. 'They're only afraid,' she said lamely.

'I know,' the Painted Man said. 'And so I leave them in peace. There's more to the world than hamlets and cities, and if the price of one is losing the other...' he shrugged. 'Let people hide in their homes, caged like chickens. Cowards deserve no better.'

'Then why did you save us from the demons?' Rojer asked.

The Painted Man shrugged. 'Because you're human and they're abominations,' he said. 'And because you struggled to survive, right up to the last minute.'

'What else could we have done?' Rojer asked.

'You'd be amazed how many just lay down and wait for the end,' the Painted Man said.

They made good time the fourth day out from Angiers. Neither the Painted Man nor his stallion seemed to know fatigue, Twilight Dancer easily pacing his master's loping run.

When they finally made camp for the night, Leesha made a thin soup from the Painted Man's remaining stores, but it barely filled their bellies. 'What are we going to do for food?' she asked him, as the last of it vanished down Rojer's throat.

The Painted Man shrugged. 'I hadn't planned for company,' he said as he sat back, carefully painting wards onto his fingernails.

'Two more days of riding is a long way to go without food,' Rojer lamented.

'You want to cut the trip in half,' the Painted Man said, blowing on a nail to dry it, 'we could travel by night, as well. Twilight Dancer can outrun most corelings, and I can kill the rest.'

'Too dangerous,' Leesha said. 'We'll do Cutter's Hollow no good if we all get killed. We'll just have to travel hungry.'

'I'm not leaving the wards at night,' Rojer agreed, rubbing his stomach regretfully.

The Painted Man pointed to a coreling stalking the camp. 'We could eat that,' he said.

'You can't be serious!' Rojer cried in disgust. 'Just the thought is sickening,' Leesha agreed. 'It's not so bad, really,' the man said. 'You've actually eaten demon?' Rojer asked. 'I do what I have to, to survive,' the man replied. 'Well, I'm certainly not going to eat demon meat,' Leesha said.

'Me neither,' Rojer agreed.

'Very well,' the Painted Man sighed, getting up and taking his bow, a quiver of arrows, and a long spear. He stripped off his robe, revealing his warded flesh, and moved to the edge of the circle. 'I'll see what I can hunt up.'

'You don't need to...!' Leesha called, but the man ignored her. A moment later, he had vanished into the night.

It was more than an hour before he returned, carrying a plump pair of rabbits by the ears. He handed the catch to Leesha, and returned to his seat, picking up the tiny warding brush.

'You make music?' he asked Rojer, who had just finished restringing his fiddle and was plucking at the strings, adjusting the tensions.

Rojer jumped at the comment. 'Y-yes,' he managed. 'Will you play something?' the Painted Man asked. 'I can't remember the last time I heard music'

'I would,' Rojer said sadly, 'but the bandits kicked my bow into the woods.'

The man nodded and sat in thought a moment. Then he stood suddenly, producing a large knife. Rojer shrank back, but the man just stepped back out of the circle. A wood demon hissed at him, but the Painted Man hissed right back, and the demon shied away.

Me returned soon after with a supple length of wood, shearing I he bark with his wicked blade. 'How long was it?' he asked.

'E-eighteen inches,' Rojer stuttered.

The Painted Man nodded, cutting the branch to the appropriate length and walking over to Twilight Dancer. The stallion did not react as he cut a length of hair from its tail. He notched the wood ;md tied the horsehair flat and thick on one side. He knelt next to Rojer, bending the branch. 'Tell me when the tension is right,' he said, and Rojer laid the fingers of his crippled hand on the hair. When he was satisfied, the Painted Man tied the other end and handed it to him.

Rojer beamed at the gift, treating it with resin before taking up his fiddle. He put the instrument to his chin and gave it a few strokes with the new bow. It wasn't ideal, but he grew more confident, pausing to tune once more before beginning to play.

His skilful fingers filled the air with a haunting melody that took Leesha's thoughts to Cutter's Hollow, wondering at its fate. Vika's letter was almost a week gone. What would she find when she arrived? Perhaps the flux had passed with no more loss, and this desperate ordeal had been for nothing.

Or perhaps they needed her more than ever.

The music affected the Painted Man as well, she noticed, for his hands stopped their careful work, and he stared off into the night. Shadows draped his face, obscuring the tattoos, and she saw in his sad countenance that he had been comely once. What pain had driven him to this existence, scarring himself and shunning his own kind for the company of corelings? She found herself aching to heal him, though he showed no hurt.

Suddenly, the man shook his head as if to clear it, startling Leesha from her reverie. He pointed off into the darkness. 'Look,' he whispered. 'They're dancing.'

Leesha looked out in amazement, for indeed, the corelings had ceased to test the wards, had ceased even to hiss and shriek. They circled the camp, swaying in time to the music. Flame demons leaped and twirled, sending ribbons of fire spiralling away from their knotted limbs, and wind demons looped and dove through the air. Wood demons had crept from the cover of the forest, but they ignored the flame demons, drawn to the melody.

The Painted Man looked at Rojer. 'How are you doing that?' he asked, his voice awed.

Rojer smiled. 'The corelings, they have an ear for music,' he said. He rose to his feet, walking to the edge of the circle. The demons clustered there, watching him intently. He began to walk the circle's perimeter, and they followed, mesmerized. He stopped and swayed from side to side as he continued to play, and the corelings mirrored his movements almost exactly.

'I didn't believe you,' Leesha apologized quietly. 'You really can charm them.'

'And that's not all,' Rojer boasted. With a twist and a series of sharp strokes of the bow, he turned the melody sour; once pure notes ringing out discordant and tainted. Suddenly, the corelings were shrieking again, covering their ears with their talons and scrambling away from Rojer. They drew back further and further as the musical assault continued, vanishing into the shadows beyond the firelight.

'They haven't gone far,' Rojer said. 'As soon as I stop, they'll be back.'

'What else can you do?' the Painted Man asked quietly.

Rojer smiled, as content to perform for an audience of two as he was for a cheering crowd. He softened his music again, the chaotic notes smoothly flowing back into the haunting melody. The corelings reappeared, drawn to the music once more.

'Watch this,' Rojer instructed, and changed the sound again, the notes rising high and grating, causing even Leesha and the Painted Man to grit their teeth and lean away.

The reaction of the corelings was more pronounced. They grew enraged, shrieking and roaring as they threw themselves at the barrier with abandon. Again and again the wards flared and

threw them back, but the demons did not relent, smashing themselves against the wardnet in an insane attempt to reach Rojer and silence him forever.

Two rock demons joined the throng, shoving past the others and hammering at the wards as yet more added to the press. The Painted Man rose silently behind Rojer and lifted his bow.

The string hummed, and one of the heavy, thick-headed arrows exploded into the chest of the nearest rock demon like a bolt of lighting, brightening the area for a moment. Again and again the Painted Man fired into the horde, his hands a blur. The warded bolts blasted the corelings back, and the few that rose again were quickly torn to pieces by their fellows.

Rojer and Leesha stood horrified at the slaughter. The Jongleur's bow slipped from the fiddle's strings, hanging forgotten in his limp hand as he watched the Painted Man work.

The demons were screaming still, but it was pain and fear now, their desire to attack the wards vanished with the music. Still the Painted Man fired, again and again until his arrows were all gone. He grabbed a spear, throwing it and striking a fleeing wood demon in the back.

There was chaos now, the few remaining corelings desperate to escape. The Painted Man stripped off his robe, ready to leap from the circle to kill demons with his bare hands.

'No, please!' Leesha cried, throwing herself at him. 'They're running!'

'You would spare them?!' the Painted Man roared, glaring at her, his face terrible with wrath. She fell back in fear, but she kept her eyes locked on his.

'Please,' she begged. 'Don't go out there.'

Leesha feared he might strike her, but he only stared at her, his breath heaving. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he calmed and took up his robe, covering his wards once more.

'Was that necessary?' she asked, breaking the silence.

'The circle wasn't designed to forbid so many corelings at once,' the Painted Man said, his voice again a cold monotone. 'I don't know that it would have held.'

'You could have just asked me to stop playing,' Rojer said.

'Yes,' the Painted Man agreed, 'I could have.'

'Then why didn't you?' Leesha demanded.

The Painted Man didn't answer. He strode out of the circle and began cutting his arrows from the demon corpses.

Leesha was fast asleep later that night, when the Painted Man approached Rojer. The Jongleur, staring out at the fallen demons, gave a startled jump when the man squatted down next to him. 'You have power over the corelings,' he said. Rojer shrugged. 'So do you,' he said. 'More than I ever will.' 'Can you teach me?' the Painted Man asked. Rojer turned, meeting the man's gimlet eyes. 'Why?' he asked. 'You kill demons by the score. What's my trick compared to that?'

'I thought I knew my enemies,' the Painted Man said, 'but you've shown me otherwise.'

'You think they may not be all bad, if they can enjoy music?' Rojer asked.

The Painted Man shook his head. 'They are no patrons of art, Jongleur,' he said. 'The moment you ceased to play, they would have killed you without hesitation.'

Rojer nodded, conceding the point. 'Then why bother?' he asked. 'Learning the fiddle is a lot of work to charm beasts you can just as easily kill.'

The Painted Man's face hardened. 'Will you teach me or not?' he asked.

'I will...' Rojer said, thinking it through,''but I want something in return.'

'I have plenty of money,' the Painted Man assured him.

Rojer waved his hand dismissively. 'I can get money whenever I need it,' he said. 'What I want is more valuable.'

The Painted Man said nothing.

‘I want to travel with you,' Rojer announced.

The Painted Man shook his head. 'Out of the question,' he said.

'You don't learn the fiddle overnight,' Rojer argued. 'It'll take weeks to become even passable, and you'll need more skill than that to charm even the least discriminating coreling.'

'And what do you get out of it?' the Painted Man asked.

'Material for stories that will fill the duke's amphitheatre night after night,' Rojer said.

'What about her?' the Painted Man asked, nodding back towards Leesha. Rojer looked at the Herb Gatherer, her breast gently rising and falling as she slept, and the Painted Man did not miss the significance of that gaze.

'She asked me to escort her home, nothing more,' Rojer said at last.

'And if she asks you to stay?'

'She won't,' Rojer said quietly.

'My road is no fun adventure, boy,' the Painted Man said. 'I've no time to be slowed by one who hides at night.'

'I have my fiddle now,' Rojer said with more bravery than he felt.'I'm not afraid.'

'You need more than courage,' the Painted Man said. 'In the wild, you kill or be killed, and I don't just mean demons.'

Rojer straightened, swallowing the lump in his throat. ‘Everyone who tries to protect me ends up dead,' he said. 'It's time I learned to protect myself.'

The Painted Man leaned back, considering the young Jongleur.

'Come with me,' he said at last, rising.

'Out of the circle?' Rojer asked.

'If you can't do that, you're no use to me,' the Painted Man said. When Rojer looked around doubtfully, he added, 'Every coreling for miles heard what I did to their fellows. It's doubtful we'll see more tonight.'

'What about Leesha?' Rojer asked, rising slowly.

'Twilight Dancer will protect her, if need be,' the man said. 'Come on.' He moved out of the circle and vanished into the night.

Rojer swore, but he grabbed his fiddle and followed the man down the road.

Rojer clutched his fiddle case tightly as they moved through the trees. He made to take it out at first, but the Painted Man had waved for him to put it away.

'You'll draw attention we don't want,' he whispered.

'I thought you said we weren't likely to see any corelings tonight,' Rojer hissed back, but the Painted Man ignored him, moving through the darkness as if it were broad day.

'Where are we going?' Rojer asked for what seemed the hundredth time.

They climbed a small rise, and the Painted Man lay flat, pointing downwards.

'Look there,' he told Rojer. Below, Rojer could see three very familiar men and a horse sleeping within the tight confines of an even more familiar portable circle.

'The bandits,' Rojer breathed. A flood of emotions washed over him; fear, rage, and helplessness, and in his mind's eye, he relived the ordeal they put him and Leesha through. The mute stirred in his sleep, and Rojer felt a stab of panic.

'I've been tracking them since I found you,' the Painted Man said. 'I spotted their fire while I was hunting tonight.'

'Why did you bring me here?' Rojer asked.

' I thought you might like a chance to get your circle back,' the I tinted Man said.

Rojer looked back at him. 'If we steal the circle while they're sleeping, the corelings will kill them before they know what's happening.'

'The demons are thin,' the Painted Man said. 'They'll have hotter odds than you did.'

'Even so, what makes you think I'd want to risk it?' Rojer asked.

‘I watch,' the man said, 'and I listen. I know what they did to you... and to Leesha.'

Rojer was quiet a long while. 'There are three of them,' he said at last.

'This is the wild,' the Painted Man said. 'If you want to live in safety, go back to the city.' He spat the last word like a curse.

But Rojer knew there was no safety in the city, either. Unbidden, he saw Jay cob crumple to the ground, and heard Jasin's laughter. He could have sought justice after the attack, but he chose to flee, instead. He was forever fleeing, and letting others die in his stead. His hand searched for a talisman that was no longer there as he stared down at the fire.

'Was I wrong?' the Painted Man asked. 'Shall we go back to our camp?'

Rojer swallowed. 'As soon as I have what belongs to me,' he decided.

28

Secrets

332 AR

 

 

 

 

Leesha awoke to a soft nickering. She opened her eyes to see Rojer brushing down the russet mare she had purchased in Angiers, and for a moment, she dared think the last two days a dream.

But then Twilight Dancer stepped into view, the giant stallion towering over the mare, and it all came rushing back.

'Rojer,' she asked quietly, 'where did my horse come from?'

Rojer opened his mouth to reply, but the Painted Man strode into the camp then, with two small rabbits and a handful of apples. 'I saw your friends' fire last night,' he explained, 'and thought we would travel faster all a'horse.'

Leesha was quiet a long time, digesting the news. A dozen emotions ran through her, many of them shameful and unsavoury. Rojer and the Painted Man gave her time, and she was thankful for that. 'Did you kill them?' she asked at last.

The Painted Man looked her in the eye. 'No,' he said, and an immense relief flooded through her. 'I scattered them long enough to steal the horse, but that was all.'

Leesha nodded. 'We'll send word of them to the duke's magistrate with the next Messenger to pass through the Hollow.'

Her herb blanket was rolled crudely and strapped to the saddle. She pulled it off and examined it, relief washing over her as she found most of the bottles and pouches intact. They had smoked all her tampweed, but that was easy enough to replace.

After breakfast, Rojer rode the mare while Leesha sat behind The Painted Man on Twilight Dancer. They travelled swiftly, for I here were clouds gathering, and threat of rain.

Leesha felt like she should have been afraid. The bandits were alive and ahead of them. She remembered the leering face of the black-bearded man and the raucous laughter of his companion. Worst of all, she remembered the terrible weight and dumb, violent lust of the mute.

She should have been afraid, but she wasn't. Even more than Bruna, the Painted Man made her feel safe. He did not tire. He did not fear. And she knew without a doubt that no harm could ever come to her while she was under his protection.

Protection. It was an odd feeling, needing protection, like something out of another life. She had been protecting herself for so long, she had forgotten what it was like. Her skills and wits were enough to keep her safe in civilized places, but those things meant little in the wild.