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

‘She won’t,’ Rojer said quietly.

‘My road is no Marko Rover tale, boy,’ the Painted Man said. ‘I’ve no time to be slowed by one who hides at night.’

‘I have my fiddle now,’ Rojer said with more bravery than he felt. ‘I’m not afraid.’

‘You need more than courage,’ the Painted Man said. ‘In the wild, you kill or be killed, and I don’t just mean demons.’

Rojer straightened, swallowing the lump in his throat. ‘Everyone who tries to protect me ends up dead,’ he said. ‘It’s time I learned to protect myself.’

The Painted Man leaned back, considering the young Jongleur.

‘Come with me,’ he said at last, rising.

‘Out of the circle?’ Rojer asked.

‘If you can’t do that, you’re no use to me,’ the Painted Man said. When Rojer looked around doubtfully, he added, ‘Every coreling for miles heard what I did to their fellows. It’s doubtful we’ll see more tonight.’

‘What about Leesha?’ Rojer asked, rising slowly.

‘Twilight Dancer will protect her, if need be,’ the man said. ‘Come on.’ He moved out of the circle and vanished into the night.

Rojer swore, but he grabbed his fiddle and followed the man down the road.

Rojer clutched his fiddle case tightly as they moved through the trees. He had made to take it out at first, but the Painted Man had waved for him to put it away.

‘You’ll draw attention we don’t want,’ he whispered.

‘I thought you said we weren’t likely to see any corelings tonight,’ Rojer hissed back, but the Painted Man ignored him, moving through the darkness as if it were broad daylight.

‘Where are we going?’ Rojer asked for what seemed the hundredth time.

They climbed a small rise, and the Painted Man lay flat, pointing downwards.

‘Look there,’ he told Rojer. Below, Rojer could see three very familiar men and a horse sleeping within the tight confines of an even more familiar portable circle.

‘The bandits,’ Rojer breathed. A flood of emotions washed over him – fear, rage, and helplessness – and in his mind’s eye, he relived the ordeal they had put him and Leesha through. The mute stirred in his sleep, and Rojer felt a stab of panic.

‘I’ve been tracking them since I found you,’ the Painted Man said. ‘I spotted their fire while I was hunting tonight.’

‘Why did you bring me here?’ Rojer asked.

‘I thought you might like a chance to get your circle back,’ the Painted Man said.

Rojer looked back at him. ‘If we steal the circle while they’re sleeping, the corelings will kill them before they know what’s happening.’

‘The demons are thin,’ the Painted Man said. ‘They’ll have better odds than you did.’

‘Even so, what makes you think I’d want to risk it?’ Rojer asked.

‘I watch,’ the man said, ‘and I listen. I know what they did to you … and to Leesha.’

Rojer was quiet a long while. ‘There are three of them,’ he said at last.

‘This is the wild,’ the Painted Man said. ‘If you want to live in safety, go back to the city.’ He spat the last word like a curse.

But Rojer knew there was no safety in the city, either. Unbidden, he saw Jaycob crumple to the ground, and heard Jasin’s laughter. He could have sought justice after the attack, but he chose to flee, instead. He was forever fleeing, and letting others die in his stead. His hand searched for a talisman that was no longer there as he stared down at the fire.

‘Was I wrong?’ the Painted Man asked. ‘Shall we go back to our camp?’

Rojer swallowed. ‘As soon as I have what belongs to me,’ he decided.

28 (#)

Secrets (#)

332 AR

Leesha awoke to a soft nickering. She opened her eyes to see Rojer brushing down the russet mare she had purchased in Angiers, and for a moment, she dared think the last two days a dream.

But then Twilight Dancer stepped into view, the giant stallion towering over the mare, and it all came rushing back.

‘Rojer,’ she asked quietly, ‘where did my horse come from?’

Rojer opened his mouth to reply, but the Painted Man strode into the camp then, with two small rabbits and a handful of apples. ‘I saw your friends’ fire last night,’ he explained, ‘and thought we would travel faster all ahorse.’

Leesha was quiet a long time, digesting the news. A dozen emotions ran through her, many of them shameful and unsavoury. Rojer and the Painted Man gave her time, and she was thankful for that. ‘Did you kill them?’ she asked at last. A cold part of her wanted him to say yes, even though it went against everything she believed; everything Bruna had taught her.

The Painted Man looked her in the eye. ‘No,’ he said, and an immense relief flooded through her. ‘I scattered them long enough to steal the horse, but that was all.’

Leesha nodded. ‘We’ll send word of them to the Duke’s magistrate with the next Messenger to pass through the Hollow.’

Her herb blanket was rolled crudely and strapped to the saddle. She pulled it off and examined it, relief washing over her as she found most of the bottles and pouches intact. They had smoked all her tampweed, but that was easy enough to replace.

After breakfast, Rojer rode the mare while Leesha sat behind the Painted Man on Twilight Dancer. They travelled swiftly, for there were clouds gathering, and threat of rain.

Leesha felt like she should have been afraid. The bandits were alive and ahead of them. She remembered the leering face of the black-bearded man and the raucous laughter of his companion. Worst of all, she remembered the terrible weight and dumb, violent lust of the mute.

She should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. Even more than Bruna, the Painted Man made her feel safe. He did not tire. He did not fear. And she 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.