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. Peter V. Brett

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      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.’

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