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.
The Painted Man shifted, and she realized she had tightened her hands around his waist, pressing close to him with her head resting on his shoulder. She pulled away, so caught up in her embarrassment that she almost didn’t see the hand, lying in the scrub at the side of the road.
When she did, she screamed.
The Painted Man pulled up, and Leesha practically fell off the horse, rushing to the spot. She brushed the weeds aside, gasping as she realized the hand wasn’t attached to anything, bitten clean off.
‘Leesha, what is it?’ Rojer cried, as he and the Painted Man ran to her.
‘Were they camped near here?’ Leesha asked, holding up the appendage. The Painted Man nodded. ‘Take me there,’ Leesha ordered.
‘Leesha, what good could …’ Rojer began, but she ignored him, keeping her eyes locked on the Painted Man.
‘Take. Me. There.’ she said. The Painted Man nodded, putting down a stake and tying the mare’s reins to it.
‘Guard,’ he said to Twilight Dancer, and the stallion nickered.
They found the camp soon after, awash in blood and half-eaten bodies. Leesha lifted her apron to cover her mouth against the stench. Rojer retched and ran from the clearing.
But Leesha was no stranger to blood. ‘Only two,’ she said, examining the remains with feelings too mixed for her to begin to sort.
The Painted Man nodded. ‘The mute is missing,’ he said. ‘The giant.’
‘Yes,’ Leesha said. ‘And the circle as well.’
‘The circle, as well,’ the Painted Man agreed after a moment.
The heavy clouds continued to gather as they made their way back to the horses. ‘There’s a Messenger cave ten miles up the road,’ the Painted Man said. ‘If we press hard and skip lunch, we should make it there before the rain comes. We’ll have to take refuge until the storm passes.’
‘The man who kills corelings with his bare hands is afraid of a little rain?’ Leesha asked.
‘If the cloud is thick enough, corelings might rise early,’ the Painted Man said.
‘Since when are you afraid of corelings?’ Leesha pressed.
‘It’s stupid and dangerous to fight in the rain,’ the Painted Man said. ‘Rain makes mud, and mud obscures wards and ruins footing.’
They were barely settled in the cave before the storm struck. Drenching sheets of rain turned the road to mud and the sky went dark, save for the sharp strikes of lightning. The wind howled at them, punctuated by roaring thunder.
Much of the cave mouth was warded already, symbols of power etched deeply into the rock, and the Painted Man quickly secured the rest with a cache of wardstones left within.
As the Painted Man predicted, a few demons rose early in the false dark. He watched grimly as they crept out from the darkest parts of the wood, relishing their early release from the Core. The brief flashes of light outlined their sinuous forms as they frolicked in the wet.
They tried to break into the cave, but the wards held strong. Those that ventured too close regretted it, greeted with a jab from the scowling Painted Man’s spear.
‘Why are you so angry?’ Leesha asked, drawing bowls and spoons from her bag as Rojer worked to light a small fire.
‘Bad enough they come at night,’ the Painted Man spat. ‘They’ve no right to the day.’
Leesha shook her head. ‘You’d be happier if you could accept what is,’ she advised.
‘I don’t want to be happy,’ he replied.
‘Everyone wants to be happy,’ Leesha scoffed. ‘Where’s the cookpot?’
‘In my bag,’ Rojer said. ‘I’ll get it.’
‘No need,’ Leesha said, rising. ‘Mind the fire. I’ll fetch it.’
‘No!’ Rojer cried, but even as he leapt to his feet, he saw he was too late. Leesha drew forth his portable circle with a gasp.
‘But …’ she stammered, ‘… they took this!’ She looked at Rojer, and saw his eyes flick to the Painted Man. She turned to him, but could read nothing in the shadows of his cowl.
‘Is someone going to explain?’ she demanded.
‘We … got it back,’ Rojer said lamely.
‘I know you got it back!’ Leesha shouted, whipping the coil of rope and wooden plates to the cave floor. ‘How?’
‘I took it when I took the horse,’ the Painted Man said suddenly. ‘I didn’t want it on your conscience, so I kept it from you.’
‘You stole it?’
‘They stole it,’ the Painted Man corrected. ‘I took it back.’
Leesha looked at him for a long time. ‘You took it at night,’ she said quietly.
The Painted Man said nothing.
‘Were they using it?’ Leesha demanded through gritted teeth.
‘The road is dangerous enough without such men,’ the Painted Man replied.
‘You murdered them,’ Leesha said, surprised to find her eyes filling with tears. Find the worst human being you can, her father had said, and you’ll still find something worse by looking out the window at night. No one deserved to be fed to a coreling. Not even them. ‘How could you?’ she asked
‘I murdered no one,’ the Painted Man said.
‘As good as!’
The man shrugged. ‘They did the same to you.’
‘That makes it right?’ Leesha cried. ‘Look at you! You don’t even care! Two men dead at least, and you sleep no worse! You’re a monster!’ She sprang at him, trying to beat him with her fists, but he caught her wrists, and watched impassively as she struggled with him.
‘Why do you care?’ he asked.
‘I’m an Herb Gatherer!’ she screamed. ‘I’ve taken an oath! I’ve sworn to heal, but you,’ she looked at him coldly, ‘all you’re sworn to do is kill.’
After
