her, and not Mery? Mery, whom he would have married, had she consented to be a Messenger’s wife. He would have tied himself to Miln for love, just as Ragen had. He would have been better off if he had married Mery. He saw that now. Ragen was right. He had Elissa …
An image of Elissa flashed in his mind as he pulled the top of Leesha’s dress down, exposing her soft breasts. The time he’d seen Elissa free her breast to nurse Marya, and Arlen wished just for a moment that he could suckle there rather than the child. He had felt ashamed afterwards, but that image always remained fresh in his mind.
Was Leesha the one meant for him? Did such a thing exist? He would have scoffed at the notion an hour ago, but he looked at Leesha, so beautiful and so willing, so understanding of who he was. She would understand if he was clumsy, if he didn’t know quite where to touch or how to stroke. A muddy bit of ground in the predawn light was no fit marriage bed, but at the moment it seemed better than the feathered mattress in Ragen’s manse.
But doubt niggled at him.
It was one thing to risk himself in the night, he had nothing left to lose, no one left to mourn him. If he died, he would not fill so much as a single tear bottle. But could he take those risks, if Leesha was waiting for him in safe succour? Would he give up the fight; become like his father? Become so accustomed to hiding that he could not stand up for his own?
Children need their father, he heard Elissa say.
‘What if I get you with child?’ he whispered between kisses, not knowing what he wanted her to say.
‘I hope you do,’ she whispered back.
She pulled at him, threatening to pull apart his entire world, but she was offering something more, and he grasped at it.
And then he was inside her, and he felt whole.
For a moment, there was nothing in the world but the pounding of blood and the slide of skin on skin; their bodies easily managing the task as soon as their minds let go. His robe was flung aside. Her dress was a crumple around her midsection. They squirmed and grunted in the mud without a thought for anything but one another.
Until the wood demon struck.
The coreling had stalked them quietly, drawn by their animal sounds. It knew dawn was close, the hated sun soon to rise, but the sight of so much naked flesh aroused its hunger, and it leapt, seeking to return to the Core with hot blood on its talons and fresh meat in its jaws.
The demon struck hard at the Painted Man’s exposed back. The wards there flared, throwing the coreling back and slamming the lovers’ heads together.
Agile and undeterred, the wood demon recovered quickly, coiling as it struck the ground and springing again. Leesha screamed, but the Painted Man twisted, grasping the leading talons in his warded hands. He pivoted, using the creature’s own momentum to hurl it into the mud.
He did not hesitate, pulling away from Leesha and pressing the advantage. He was naked, but that meant nothing. He had been fighting naked since he first warded his flesh.
He spun a full circuit, driving his heel into the coreling’s jaw. There was no flare of magic, his wards covered in mud, but with his enhanced strength, the demon might as well have been kicked by Twilight Dancer. It stumbled back, and the Painted Man roared and advanced, knowing full well the damage it could do if given a moment to recover.
The coreling was big for its breed, standing near to eight feet, and strength for strength, the Painted Man was over-matched. He punched and kicked and elbowed, but there was mud everywhere, and almost all his wards were broken. Barklike armour tore his skin, and his blows were to no lasting effect.
The coreling spun, whipping its tail into the Painted Man’s stomach, blasting the breath from his body and throwing him down. Leesha screamed again, and the sound drew the demon’s attention. With a shriek, it launched itself at her.
The Painted Man scrambled after the beast, grabbing its trailing ankle just before it could reach her. He pulled hard, tripping the demon, and they wrestled frantically in the mud. Finally, he managed to hook his leg under its armpit and around its throat, locking with his other leg as he squeezed. With both hands, he held one of its legs bent, preventing the demon from rising.
The coreling thrashed and clawed at him, but the Painted Man had leverage now, and the creature could not escape. They rolled about for long moments, locked together, before the sun finally crested the horizon and found a break in the clouds. The barklike skin began to smoke, and the demon thrashed harder. The Painted Man tightened his grip.
Just a few moments more …
But then something unexpected happened. The world around him seemed to grow misty; insubstantial. He felt a pull from deep below the ground, and he and the demon began to sink.
A path opened to his senses, and the Core called to him.
Horror and revulsion filled him as the coreling dragged him down. The demon was still solid in his grip, even if the rest of the world had become only a shadow. He looked up, and saw the precious sun fading away.
He grasped at the lifeline, releasing his leglock and pulling hard on the demon’s limb, dragging it back up towards the light. The coreling struggled madly, but terror gave the Painted Man new strength, and with a soundless cry of determination, he hauled the creature back to the surface.
The sun was there to greet them, bright and blessed, and the Painted Man felt himself become solid again as the creature burst into flames. It clawed at the ground, but he held it fast.
When he finally released the charred husk, he was oozing blood everywhere. Leesha ran to him, but he pushed her away, still reeling in horror. What was he that he could find a path down into the Core? Had he become a coreling himself? What kind of monster would a child of his tainted seed turn out to be?
‘You’re hurt,’ she objected, reaching for him again.
‘I’ll heal,’ he said, pulling away. The gentle, loving voice he had used just minutes before had changed back to the cold monotone of the Painted Man. Indeed, many of his smaller cuts and scrapes were already crusting over.
‘But …’ Leesha protested, ‘what about …?’
‘I made my choice a long time ago, and I chose the night,’ the Painted Man said. ‘For a moment I thought I could take it back, but …’ He shook his head. ‘There’s no going back now.’
He picked up his robe, heading for the small cold stream nearby to wash his wounds.
‘Corespawn you!’ Leesha cried at his back. ‘You and your mad obsession!’
332 AR
Rojer
