The Desert Spear

  Harl turned to face him and snorted. “Well, boy, don’t say you didn’t ask for this,” he said, and kicked Cobie hard in the crotch.

  His pants still around his ankles, Cobie had no protection whatsoever from Harl’s heavy boot, and he crumpled in a heap, clutching between his legs. Harl shoved Renna to the ground and raised his pitchfork, striking merciless blows as Cobie lay helpless.

  “Typical bully boy,” Harl spat. “Bet you never been in a real fight in your life.” Cobie let go his crotch and tried to get out of the way, but his pants were still a tangle, tripping him up, and he screamed as each blow struck home.

  Finally, as he lay gasping and bloody on the ground, Harl stuck the fork in the dirt and pulled his long knife from the sheath on his belt.

  “Told you what I’d do if I caught you with my daughter again,” he said, advancing. “Say goodbye to yer stones, boy.” Cobie’s eyes widened in terror.

  “No!” Renna screamed, leaping on Harl’s back and tangling him with her arms and legs. “Run, Cobie! Run!”

  Harl shouted, and the two of them struggled. A lifetime of hard work had made Renna strong, but Harl turned and kicked back, slamming her into the wall of the barn. The wind was knocked from her, and before she could take another breath Harl slammed her again. And again. Her grip loosened, and he caught her arm, flipping her over onto the ground.

  Pain flared through Renna on impact, but even through the haze she saw Cobie pulling up his pants and leaping onto his horse. Before Harl could snatch up his pitchfork, he had kicked Pinecone’s flanks and was galloping down the road.

  “This is yer last warning, boy! Stay away from my daughter or I ent gonna leave you an inch to piss with!

  “As for you, girlie,” Harl said, “I told you what we do to tramps around here!” He grabbed Renna’s hair in a fist and dragged her toward the house. She cried out in pain but, still dazed, she could do little more than stumble along.

  Halfway across the yard, she realized they weren’t going to the house at all. Harl was taking her to the outhouse.

  “No!” she screamed, accepting the pain from her pulled hair as she planted her feet and began to pull away. “Creator, please! No!”

  “Think the Creator’s gonna help you with you out sinnin’ in broad daylight, girl?” Harl asked. “I’m doing His corespawned work!” He yanked hard, keeping her moving.

  “Da! Please!” she cried. “I promise I’ll be good!”

  “You made that promise before, girl, and see where it’s got us,” Harl replied. “Shoulda done this right away; made sure you took me serious.”

  He shoved hard, and Renna fell into the outhouse, landing hard against the bench and wrenching her back. She ignored the pain and surged forward to escape, but Harl punched her right in the face as she charged, and everything went black.

  Renna came to a few hours later. At first, she forgot where she was, but the fire in her back where she had struck the bench, and the blinding pain in her cheek when she flexed her face, brought it all back. She opened her eyes in terror.

  Harl heard her screaming and pounding on the door, and came over, rapping sharply on the wall with the bone handle of his knife. “You quiet down in there! This is for your own good.”

  Renna ignored him, continuing to scream and kick at the door.

  “Wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Harl said, loudly enough to be heard over her tantrum. “Them boards’re old enough as is, and you’ll want ’em good and strong for when the sun sets. Keep kicking and you’ll knock the wards out of place.”

  Renna quieted immediately.

  “Please,” she sobbed through the door. “Don’t leave me out at night! I’ll be good!”

  “Corespawned right you will,” Harl said. “After tonight, you’ll chase that boy off yourself, he comes callin’!”

  It was hot in the tiny outhouse, and the air was thick with the stench of excrement. There was a vent, but Renna didn’t dare open it for fear of creating a hole in the wardnet. Flies buzzed noisily in the midden barrel in the pit below the crude waste bench.

  Through the cracks in the wood, Renna watched the light dim as the sun began to set. She kept hoping, praying, that Harl would come back, that it was just a scare, but as the last glimmer of light died, so too did her hopes. Outside, the corelings were rising. She felt in her apron pocket, clutching the polished stones of Cobie’s necklace tightly for strength.

  The demons came silently; the day’s heat drifting up from the ground gave them a path from the Core, it was said, and their misty forms even now would be coalescing into claws and scales and razor teeth. Renna could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

  There was a snuffling at the outhouse door. Renna stiffened, biting her lip in fear, and in the silence of her stillness she could hear claws digging at the dirt of the yard, quick sniffs as the coreling inhaled the sharp tang of her fear.

  Suddenly the demon shrieked and struck hard at the wards. There was a flare of magic, so bright it came through the cracks in the wood and illuminated the interior of the outhouse, and Renna screamed so hard it felt as if her throat would tear.

  The wards held, but the demon was undeterred. There was a flap of leathery wings, and another flare of magic from the roof. The entire outhouse shook with the impact, and Renna screamed again as dust and dirt clattered down on her, shaken loose by the blow.

  The wind demon tried again and again, shrieking its rage at the prey so near and yet so far. The wards threw the coreling back each time, but the rebounds shook the outhouse, and the old wood groaned in protest. How many blows could it withstand?

  At last, the coreling gave up. Renna heard the flap of wings and its receding cries as it soared off in search of easier prey.

  But the ordeal did not end there. Every coreling in the yard caught her scent before long. She endured the sparks of magic as flame demons raked at the wood with their tiny claws, shivering at the blasts of cold air as the wards converted their firespit. Worse were the wood demons, which drove off the others before long and pounded the wards so hard that the entire structure rocked with the force of each rebound. Renna felt every flare of the wards like a physical blow, and sank down to the floor, curling into a ball and sobbing uncontrollably.

  It seemed to go on for an eternity. After Creator only knew how many hours, Renna found herself praying for the wards to fail—as they surely must before the night was through—just to put an end to it. If she ’d been able to muster the strength to stand, she would have opened the door herself to let them in.

  More interminable time passed, and she found she lacked even the strength to cry. The flare of magic, the shrieks in the night, the stench of the midden pit, all faded as she sank deeper and deeper into a primal fear so powerful that the details ceased to exist.

  She lay curled tight, every muscle tensed at once, and tears flowed silently from her wide eyes as they stared into the darkness. Her breath came in short, sharp intakes, and her heart was a hummingbird’s wing. Her nails dug grooves into the wood of the floor, oblivious to the resulting blood and splinters.

  She didn’t even notice when the sounds and flashes ceased, and the demons returned to the Core.

  There was a thump as the outside bar was lifted, but Renna didn’t react until the door opened wide to the blinding light of the rising sun. After hours of staring into darkness, the light seared her eyes, snapping her mind from its retreat. She gasped deeply and bolted upright, throwing an arm up against the light, screaming as she kicked back until she was scrunched against the rear wall of the outhouse.

  Harl put his arms around her, soothing her hair. “There, there, girl,” he whispered, gentling her hair. “That hurt me as much as it did you.” He hugged her, firmly but gently, and rocked her from side to side as she sobbed.

  “That’s it, girl,” he said. “You have yerself a good cry. Get it all out.”

  And she did, clutching at him as she convulsed in sorrow, before she finally calmed.

  “
Think you can mind me now?” Harl asked when her composure began to return. “Don’t want to have to do this again.”

  Renna nodded eagerly. “I promise, Da.” Her voice was hoarse from screaming.

  “That a girl,” Harl said, and lifted her in his arms, carrying her into the house. He put her in her own bed, and made her a hot broth, bringing lunch and dinner to her on a board she could lay across her lap. It was the first time Renna had ever seen him prepare food, but it was warm and good and filling.

  “You sleep in tomorrow,” he said that night. “Rest up, and you’ll be right as rain by afternoon.”

  Indeed, Renna did feel better the next day, and better still the day after that. Harl did not come to her at night, and he let her work at her own pace by day. Time passed, and it became clear that Cobie wasn’t coming back. It was just as well, Renna thought.

  Sometimes, between chores, she remembered flashes of the night in the outhouse, but she blocked them quickly from her mind. It was over, and she would be a good daughter from now on, so she need not fear going back there again.

  CHAPTER 15

  MARICK’S TALE

  333 AR WINTER

  THE CROWD HAD GATHERED at Leesha’s hut early in the evening, while the sky was still awash in lavender and orange. At first it was just Darsy, Vika, and their apprentices, but then Gared and the other Cutters began to filter in, carrying their warded axes on their shoulders, and Erny and the rest of the Warders in the Hollow, along with their apprentices. Rojer arrived soon after, and Benn the glassblower. More and more came, until the yard was filled with onlookers, more than she could hope to house for the night. Some had brought tents to sleep in after the lesson.

  Many of the visitors shifted nervously as the sun set, but they trusted in Leesha and the strength of her wards. Lanterns were lit to illuminate the stone table at the center of the gathering.

  A few misty forms seeped from the ground as full dark came, but the corelings fled as soon as they solidified. They had learned that attempting to breach Leesha’s wards could bring more than simple forbiddance.

  Soon after, the Painted Man arrived, walking beside his giant stallion. Slung over the horse’s back were the carcasses of several demons.

  The Warders moved quickly, deactivating a portion of the wardnet long enough for the Painted Man to bring the coreling bodies through. The Cutters took over then, hauling the carcasses over to the stone table as the Warders reestablished the net.

  “That didn’t take you very long,” Leesha told the Painted Man as he drew close.

  The man shrugged. “You wanted one of each breed. It wasn’t exactly a challenge.”

  Leesha grinned and took up her warded scalpels. “Rapt attention, all,” she called loudly as she went to the wood demon and prepared to make the first incision. “Class is in session.”

  There was a communal breakfast in the morning for those who had remained at the hut. The Cutters had left soon after Leesha’s lesson with the Painted Man at their lead, looking to reinforce their learning with practical application, but most others had stayed safe behind her wards until dawn.

  Leesha had her apprentices cook a great vat of porridge, and brewed tea by the cauldron. They passed out the bowls and mugs as guests emerged from their tents, rubbing sleep from their eyes after the late night.

  Rojer sat away from the others, tuning his fiddle on the porch of Leesha’s hut.

  “It’s not like you to sit off by yourself,” Leesha said, handing him a bowl and sitting beside him.

  “Not really hungry,” Rojer said, swirling his spoon in the porridge halfheartedly.

  “Kendall is going to be all right,” Leesha said. “She’s recovering quickly, and she doesn’t blame anyone for what happened.”

  “Maybe she should,” Rojer said.

  “You have a unique gift,” Leesha said. “It’s not your fault it’s hard to teach.”

  “Is it?” Rojer asked. Leesha looked at him curiously, but he did not elucidate, instead turning away from her and looking out into the yard. “You could have told me.”

  “Told you what?” Leesha asked, knowing full well.

  “About you and ‘Arlen,’ ” Rojer said.

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” Leesha said.

  “But Kendall’s love potions are yours?” Rojer snapped. “Maybe my teaching’s not so bad after all. Maybe the girl just had her mind on sweet tea when it should have been on the demons.”

  “That’s not fair,” Leesha said. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

  Rojer snarled at her, a look she ’d never seen on his face outside of mummery. “No, you thought you were shoving me off on some other girl to make yourself feel better about not being interested yourself. You’re more like your mother than you know.”

  Leesha opened her mouth to respond, but no words came to her. Rojer set down his bowl and walked off, putting his fiddle under his chin and playing an angry melody that drowned out anything Leesha might have said to call him back.

  The Corelings’ Graveyard was in chaos when Leesha and the others returned to town. Hundreds of folk, many of them injured and none of them familiar, filled the square. All were filthy, ragged, and half starved. Exhausted, they rested in grim misery on the frozen cobbles.

  Tender Jona was running to and fro, shouting orders to his acolytes as they tried to give comfort to those in need. The Cutters were dragging logs out to the square so people would at least have a place to sit, but it seemed an impossible task.

  “Thank the Creator!” the Tender called when he caught sight of them. Vika, his wife, ran to embrace him as he hurried over.

  “What happened?” Leesha asked.

  “Refugees from Fort Rizon,” Jona said. “They just started pouring in this morning, a couple hours past dawn. More arrive at every moment.”

  “Where is the Deliverer?” a woman in the crowd cried. “They said he was here!”

  “The wards in the entire city failed?” Leesha asked.

  “Impossible,” Erny said. “Rizon has over a hundred hamlets, all individually warded. Why flee all this way?”

  “Wasn’t the corelings we fled,” a familiar voice said. Leesha turned, her eyes widening.

  “Marick!” she cried. “What are you doing here?” The Messenger was as handsome as ever, but there were yellowed bruises on his face only partially obscured by his long hair and beard, and he favored one leg slightly as he approached.

  “Made the mistake of wintering in Rizon,” Marick said. “Usually a good idea; the cold doesn’t bite so hard in the South.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Not this year.”

  “If it wasn’t demons, what happened?” Leesha asked.

  “Krasians,” Marick said, spitting in the snow. “Seems the desert rats got sick of eating sand and decided to start preying on civilized folk.”

  Leesha turned to Rojer. “Find Arlen,” she murmured. “Have him come in secret and meet us in the back room of Smitt’s Tavern. Go now.” Rojer nodded and vanished.

  “Darsy. Vika,” Leesha said. “Have the apprentices triage the wounded and bring them to the hospit in order of severity.”

  The two Herb Gatherers nodded and hurried off.

  “Jona,” Leesha said. “Have your acolytes fetch stretchers from the hospit and help the apprentices.” Jona bowed and left.

  Seeing Leesha giving direction, others drifted over. Even Smitt, the Town Speaker and innkeep, waited on her word.

  “We can hold on food a moment,” Leesha told him, “but these people need water and warm shelter immediately. Put up the wedding pavilions and any tents you can find, and have every spare hand you can find hauling water. If the wells and stream don’t provide fast enough, put cauldrons on a fire and fill them with snow.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Smitt said.

  “Since when does the whole Hollow hop to your commands?” Marick asked with a grin.

  Leesha looked at him. “I need to see to the wounded now, Master Marick,
but I’ll have many questions for you when I’m through.”

  “I’ll be at your disposal,” Marick said, bowing.

  “Thank you,” Leesha said. “It would help if you could gather the other leaders of your group who might have something to add to your story.”

  “Of course,” Marick said.

  “I’ll settle them in the inn,” Stefny, Smitt’s wife, said. “Surely you could use a cold ale and a bite,” she told the Messenger.

  “More than you could imagine,” Marick said.

  There were broken bones to set and infections to treat, many from blistered feet that had burst and been left untreated as folk spent more than a week on the road, knowing that to fall behind the main group meant almost certain death. More than a few of the travelers had coreling wounds, as well, from crowding into hastily put-together circles. It was a wonder any had made it to Deliverer’s Hollow at all. She knew from their tales that many had not.

  There were several Herb Gatherers of varying skill among the refugees, and after a quick check of their own state, Leesha put them to work. None of the women complained; it was ever the lot of the Herb Gatherer to put aside her own needs for those of her charges.

  “We would never have made it without Messenger Marick,” one woman said as Leesha treated her frostbitten toes. “He rode ahead each day and warded campsites for our group to succor when the corelings came. Wouldn’t have lasted a night without him. He even felled deer with his bow and left them on the road for us to find.”

  By the time Rojer reappeared, the worst of the wounds had been treated. She left control of the hospit to Darsy and Vika and went with him to her office.

  When the door closed behind them, Leesha slumped against Rojer, finally allowing her exhaustion to show. It was late in the afternoon, and she had been working for hours without a break, treating patients and fielding questions from apprentices and town elders alike. It would be dark in a few short hours.

  “You need to rest,” Rojer said, but Leesha shook her head, filling a basin with water and splashing it on her face.