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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      Rojer held on tightly as they bounced along the road. Leesha had kicked into a gallop upon the seeing the smoke, and the Painted Man followed suit. Even in the damp, fires still burned hungrily in Cutter’s Hollow, casting billows of greasy black smoke into the air. The town was devastated, and again Rojer found himself reliving the destruction of Riverbridge. Gasping for breath, he squeezed his secret pocket before remembering that his talisman was broken and lost. The horse jerked, and he snapped his hand back to Leesha’s waist to keep from being thrown.

      Survivors could be seen wandering about like ants in the distance. ‘Why aren’t they fighting the fires?’ Leesha asked, but Rojer merely held on, having no answer.

      They pulled up as they reached the town, taking in the devastation numbly. ‘Some of these have been burning for days,’ the Painted Man noted, nodding towards the remains of once-cosy homes. Indeed, many of the buildings were charred ruins, barely smoking, and others still were cold ash. Smitt’s tavern, the only building in town with two floors, had collapsed in on itself, some of the beams still ablaze, and other buildings were missing roofs or entire walls.

      Leesha took in the smudged and tear-streaked faces as she rode deeper into town, recognizing every one. All were too occupied with their own grief to take notice of the small group as they passed. She bit her lip to keep from crying.

      In the centre of town, the townspeople had collected the dead. Leesha’s heart clenched at the sight: at least a hundred bodies, without even blankets to cover them. Poor Niklas. Saira and her mother. Tender Michel. Steave. Children she had never met, and elders she had known all her life. Some were burned, and others cored, but most had not a mark on them. Fluxed.

      Mairy knelt by the pile, weeping over a small bundle. Leesha felt her throat close up, but somehow managed to get down from her horse and approach, laying a hand on Mairy’s shoulder.

      ‘Leesha?’ Mairy asked in disbelief. A moment later she surged to her feet, wrapping the Herb Gatherer in a tight hug, sobbing uncontrollably.

      ‘It’s Elga,’ Mairy cried, referring to her youngest, a girl not yet two. ‘She … she’s gone!’

      Leesha held her tightly, cooing soothing sounds as words failed her. Others noticed her, but kept a respectful distance while Mairy poured out her grief.

      ‘Leesha,’ they whispered. ‘Leesha’s come. Thank the Creator.’

      Finally, Mairy managed to collect herself, pulling back and lifting her smudged and filthy apron to dab at her tears.

      ‘What’s happened?’ Leesha asked softly. Mairy looked at her, eyes wide, and tears filled them again. She trembled, unable to speak.

      ‘Plague,’ said a familiar voice, and Leesha turned to see Jona approaching, leaning heavily on a cane. His Tender’s robes had been cut away from one leg, the lower half splinted and wrapped tight in bandages stained with blood. Leesha embraced him, glancing meaningfully at the leg.

      ‘Broken tibia,’ he said, waving his hand dismissively. ‘Vika’s seen to it.’ His face grew dark. ‘It was one of the last things she did, before she succumbed.’

      Leesha’s eye’s widened. ‘Vika’s dead?’ she asked in shock.

      Jona shook his head. ‘Not yet, at least, but the flux has got her, and the fever has her raving. It won’t be long.’ He looked around. ‘It may not be long for any of us,’ he said in a low voice meant for Leesha alone. ‘I fear you’ve chosen an ill time for your homecoming, Leesha, but perhaps that too is the Creator’s plan. Had you waited another day, there might not have been a home for you to come to.’

      Leesha’s eyes hardened. ‘I don’t want to hear any more nonsense like that!’ she scolded. ‘Where is Vika?’ She turned a circle, taking in the small crowd. ‘Creator, where is everyone?’

      ‘The Holy House,’ Jona said. ‘The sick are all there. Those that have recovered, or been blessed not to fall prey at all, are out collecting the dead, or mourning them.’

      ‘Then that’s where we’re going,’ Leesha said, tucking herself under Jona’s arm to support him as they walked. ‘Now tell me what’s happened. Everything.’

      Jona nodded. His face was pale, his eyes hollow. He was damp with sweat, and had obviously lost a great deal of blood, suppressing his pain only with great concentration. Behind them, Rojer and the Painted Man followed silently, along with most of the other villagers who had seen Leesha’s arrival.

      ‘The plague started months ago,’ Jona began, ‘but Vika and Darsy said it was just a chill, and thought little of it. Some that caught it, the young and strong, mostly, recovered quickly, but others took to their beds for weeks, and some eventually passed. Still, СКАЧАТЬ