The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy

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 dived 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 lightning, 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 said.

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?’