Peter Brett – Barren (страница 2)

Selia looked at her hands. The once-translucent skin was now thick and tough, spots of age melting away into sun-browned flesh.

She straightened, but there wasn’t so much as a twinge as her back aligned. No ache in her shoulders and knees. No sparks of pain as her knuckles flexed.

Next to the basin, within easy reach, was the spear Arlen Bales had given her. She brushed her fingertips over the delicate wards carved into its length, shivering in remembrance of the rush of magic that travelled up its shaft when she struck her first demon with it. The power was wild – intoxicating. In its grip she moved with strength and speed that were … inhuman, fighting with animal passion.

The feeling of invincibility faded soon afterwards, but a bit of the strength lingered. She woke the next day feeling stronger than she had in years.

Selia had killed many demons since, leading the Town Square militia to victory after victory. Corelings were slowly being cleansed from every yard and field in the Brook.

The rush of magic was addictive, as many folk were learning. Even Selia was caught in its grip. It did more than strengthen the body; it heightened passion as well.

She drew her hand back from the weapon as if it had suddenly grown hot, and looked back at Lesa, snoring contentedly.

Any fool who’d seen a Jongleur’s show knew magic came with a price.

‘Out of bed, lazy girl.’ Selia gave Lesa a shove. ‘Tea is hot and there will be the Core to pay if you let it get cold.’

Lesa flung back the covers, shameless as she slipped out of bed and bent to pick up her trousers. She glanced up, smiling as she caught Selia staring.

Selia snatched the blouse from her bedpost and threw it at the girl, but she was smiling too. ‘Get dressed while I take the butter cookies from the oven.’

Lesa entered the kitchen soon after. Even with her back turned, Selia could tell the young woman was reaching for the batter-covered spoon resting in the mixing bowl. Without looking up, Selia snatched the spoon and used it to swat the back of Lesa’s hand.

‘Ow!’ Lesa snatched her hand away.

‘Licking the spoon’s a reward, not a privilege.’ Selia laid a plate of cookies on the windowsill to cool. ‘Set the table and pour the tea. Yesterday’s batch is in the crock.’

Lesa held up a fist, turning it to show the batter splashed across the back. Then she deliberately licked it clean.

Selia raised the spoon threateningly, and Lesa laughed, darting to the cookie crock on the table. ‘Forget sometimes, you’re still Old Lady Barren.’

Selia raised a brow. ‘That what children call me now?’

Lesa coloured. ‘Din’t mean …’

Selia waved the apology away. ‘What will your young friends say, when they learn you’ve been sleeping in Old Lady Barren’s bed?’

Lesa winked. ‘Ent done much sleeping.’

‘Know what I mean,’ Selia said.

‘You say “when” like it’s written somewhere folk are gonna find out,’ Lesa said.

‘Live to be an old lady, you’ll learn folk find everything out eventually.’

Lesa threw up her hands. ‘So what if they do? You’re Speaker for the Brook, and every night you go out and kill corelings to keep folk safe. Town couldn’t do without you. And I done everything my parents ever asked, and got demon scars to show what I’ve given this town. Who cares, folk find out we’re square girls?’

Selia winced at the term. ‘Where did you hear that? Do you even know what it means?’

Lesa shrugged. ‘Everyone knows. Means girls who kiss girls.’

Selia bit her tongue. ‘Schoolyard talk’s changed since I was teaching.’

Lesa blinked. ‘You were schoolmam?’

‘No.’ Selia shook her head. ‘That was Lory, my mother.’

Lesa splashed tea as she dunked a cookie, cramming it into her mouth before it had time to soften. Crumbs sprayed as she spoke. ‘Want to hear all about her.’

Selia swatted the air with the wooden spoon. ‘Ent story time. Sun’s coming up. Finish your tea and head out the back before someone sees you. Take Dyer’s Way.’

Lesa wrinkled her nose. The alley behind Dyer’s shop where Jan kept his chemical vats stank, discouraging casual traffic. The perfect path for one wishing to be unseen.

‘Don’t want to go,’ Lesa said. ‘Just tell folk I came at dawn to escort you.’

‘Since when do I need an escort to walk down the street to Town Square?’ Selia gave Lesa the look. Her wrinkles might have smoothed away, but her grey hair still carried weight in the Brook.

‘Ay, Speaker.’ Lesa wiped her mouth and left without another word.

You’ll pay for that later. Selia let out a breath of relief when the door closed behind the girl. Another moment successfully stolen. How many more would they have?

Her appetite lost, Selia set the cookies aside and took out her writing kit, continuing a series of letters to kin in Fort Miln. There hadn’t been a Messenger for over a year, but sooner or later one would come, and her father taught her better than to be unprepared.

After an hour she packed the fresh cookies and went to the stable where Butter, her spirited gelding, waited. Her father’s old Messenger armour was stowed in the saddlebags she slung from Butter’s back. The Smiths removed some plates and shifted others, hammering until it all fit her, but the smell of oil, steel, and old sweaty leather still reminded Selia of Edwar. There was comfort knowing the same metal that succoured her father on his journeys now protected her.

His shield was goldwood covered in a layer of fine Milnese steel, defensive wards still strong after decades of use and fifty years above the mantel. Only his spear hung there now, the fine weapon no match for the one Arlen Bales gifted her.

Selia led her horse down the road to Town Square. She was thankful for her discretion when she saw Tender Harral, Meada Boggin and Coline Trigg already waiting in the square with the militias. It would not have done for so many to see her arrive with Lesa.

Meada’s son Lucik was with them, along with his wife Beni, and nearly a dozen men and women from Boggin’s Hill. Their round shields had two concentric rings of wards, with a frothing mug of ale painted at their centre. The Boggins wore boiled armour with wards burned into the leather, and kept their warded spears close to hand.

The change magic wrought on Selia was more pronounced, but any fool could see the power at work here, too. Folk she’d known their whole lives were changing in noticeable ways. Tender Harral’s armour was hung from an acolyte’s horse, but he kept spear and Canon close. Muscles strained the sleeves of his once-loose robe.

Meada’s grey hair was streaked with brown. She led the Boggin militia in clearing the demons from Boggin’s Hill, but had since given her spear to her son. Lucik was always a strapping boy, but he’d added fifty pounds of muscle in recent months. A quiet lad, he was fierce when fighting corelings.

‘Speaker.’ Lucik dropped his eyes when he noticed Selia’s gaze. Fierce in battle, yes, but still loyal as a pup.

‘Good boy.’ She resisted the urge to scratch him behind the ears.

Meada snorted as Lucik’s ears coloured. ‘Good to see you, Speaker.’

‘And you, Meada. Sorry I ent been up the hill recently.’ As she spoke, Selia’s eyes scanned the assembled Square militia, mounted five wide and five deep. Twenty-five of her best fighters to keep the peace and stand guard when the sun set. The wards on their wooden shields were a perfect square, a map of Tibbet’s Brook painted in the centre of its succour.

‘Don’t think on it,’ Meada said. ‘Creator knows you’ve been busy clearing corelings out of town, and it’s got everyone feeling sunnier.’

‘Credit for that goes to a lot of folk, you and your son included.’ Selia spotted Lesa in her assigned place in the second row of the formation – close enough to see, but far enough to mask any hint of favouritism. Normally Lesa would meet her eyes and give Selia a private smile, but today the girl had her eyes studiously forward.

She was still upset.

Perhaps that’s best, while the council meets.

‘Brine sent word not to wait on the Cutters,’ Harral said. ‘They’ll come in their own time. Hog left at dawn with a dozen store security.’

Selia harrumphed. ‘Store security’ Hog called them, but they were fast becoming his personal army. The Square militia was all volunteers, men and women with normal day lives, coming out to fight for their town when the sun set. Most made and warded their own weapons and equipment, with varying degrees of quality.

Hog’s store security all wore armour of thick leather, studded with warded silver. Their matching spears were of the finest quality, etched expertly with wards. The three concentric ward circles on their steel-covered shields had in their centre a painting of the original General Store Hog built when he first came to Tibbet’s Brook.

Store security pulled their weight in town, keeping the square clear of demons and aiding the militia in culling corelings from valuable land, but there was no illusion about whom they answered to.

‘Let’s not waste time, then.’ Selia mounted and they set off north.

Jeph’s farm was already bustling when they arrived. Hog’s pavilion was set, his thick-armed daughters, Dasy and Catrin, selling food and ale. Security was still unloading carts, and Hog himself carried a keg in each arm.