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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and as soon as they flared to life he thrust hard at the exposed eyes, the demon’s momentum adding power to his blow.

      Watching from above, the Krasians cheered.

      Arlen felt the spearpoint dig in, but not deeply enough before the thrust and the flare of magic threw the creature back across the pit, shrieking in pain. Arlen glanced at the spear, and saw the point had broken off. He saw it glinting in the moonlight from the demon’s eye as it shook off its pain and got its feet back under it. It clawed at its face, and the point came free. Already the bleeding had stopped.

      The coreling growled low and began to slither towards him, crawling on its belly across the pit’s floor. Arlen let it stalk, racing to complete his semicircle. The demon pounced again, and again the makeshift wards flared, stopping it cold. Arlen thrust again, this time attempting to drive the broken point of the spear down its maw to the more vulnerable flesh of its throat. The coreling was too quick, catching Arlen’s spear in its jaws and pulling it from his grasp as it was thrown back again.

      ‘Night,’ Arlen cursed. His circle was far from complete, and without the spear, he had no hope of finishing it.

      Recovering from the blow, the sand demon was completely unprepared as Arlen leapt from behind his wards and tackled it. Above, the spectators roared.

      The coreling scratched and bit, but Arlen was quicker, manoeuvring behind it to put his forearms under its armpits, locking his fingers behind its head. He drew himself up to his full height, lifting the demon from the ground.

      Arlen was larger and heavier than the sand demon, but he could not match the sinewy strength of the coreling as it thrashed. Its muscles felt like the cables used in the quarries of Miln, and its back claws threatened to cut his legs to ribbons. He swung the creature about, slamming it into the wall of the pit. Before it could recover from the impact, he drew back and slammed it again. His grip was weakening against the powerful creature’s onslaught, so he threw his weight about one more time, hurling it into his wards. Magic brightened the pit, jolting the demon on impact, and Arlen snatched up the spear and darted back behind his wards before it could recover.

      The enraged demon launched itself at the wards repeatedly, but Arlen quickly completed a makeshift semi-circle with the pit wall at his back. There were holes in the net, but he hoped they were too small for the demon to find and squeeze through.

      But hope failed a moment later, as the coreling leapt onto the pit wall, its talons digging into the clay. It moved along the side of the wall towards Arlen, bared fangs wet with drool.

      Arlen’s hasty wards were weak, with a short radius of protection, not much higher than the demon could jump. It wouldn’t take the coreling long to realize it could climb above them.

      Steeling himself, Arlen placed his foot over the ward nearest the wall, cutting off its magic. He kept his foot an inch off the floor, so as not to scuff the marking. He waited until the demon leapt, then stepped back, uncovering the ward.

      The demon was halfway across when the net reactivated, banishing coreling flesh from its line. Half the creature fell into the circle with Arlen. Half dropped with a thump outside.

      Even severed from its hindquarters, the coreling clawed and bit at Arlen as he scrambled away, keeping it back with his spear. He crossed the wards, trapping the sand demon’s torso in the semicircle, still twitching as it oozed black ichor into the sand.

      Arlen looked up, seeing the Krasians staring at him open mouthed. He scowled and snapped the spear over his knee. Inspired by the demon, he jabbed the broken end high into the soft clay of the pit wall. He pulled hard, his biceps bulging, and as he began to rise, he swung his other arm up, sticking the spear’s broken head further up the wall.

      Hand over hand, Arlen climbed the twenty-foot wall of the pit. He gave no thought to what lay behind, or what waited above. He focused only on the task at hand, ignoring the burning strain of his muscles, the tearing of his flesh.

      As he crested the edge of the pit, the Krasians backed away, their eyes wide. Many of them invoked Everam and touched their foreheads and hearts, while others drew wards in the air to protect them as if he were a demon himself.

      His limbs like jelly, Arlen struggled to his feet. He looked at the First Warrior through blurry eyes. ‘If you want me dead,’ he growled, ‘you’ll have to kill me yourself. There are no more corelings left in the Maze to do your work for you.’

      Jardir took a step forward, but hesitated at a murmur of disapproval from some of his men. Arlen had proven himself a warrior. Killing him now would not be honourable.

      Arlen was counting on that, but before the men had time to think it through, Jardir snapped forward, striking him on the temple with the butt of the warded spear.

      Arlen was knocked to the ground, his head ringing and the world spinning, but he spat and put his hands under himself, pushing hard against the ground to regain his feet. He looked up, only to see Jardir moving again. He felt the metal spear strike his face, and knew no more.

       22

       Play the Hamlets

      329 AR

      Rojer danced as they walked, four brightly painted wooden balls orbiting his head. Juggling standing still was beyond him, but Rojer Halfgrip had a reputation to maintain, and so he had learned to work around the limitation, moving with fluid grace to keep his crippled hand in position to catch and throw.

      Even at fourteen he was small, barely passing five feet, with carrot-red hair, green eyes, and a round face, fair and freckled. He ducked and stretched and turned full circles, his feet moving in tempo with the balls. His soft, split-toed boots were covered in dust from the road, and the cloud he kicked up hung around them, making every breath taste of dry soil.

      ‘Is it even worth it, if you can’t stay still?’ Arrick asked irritably. ‘You look like an amateur, and your audiences won’t care for breathing dirt any more than I do.’

      ‘I won’t be performing in the road,’ Rojer said.

      ‘In the hamlets you may,’ Arrick disagreed, ‘there are no boardwalks there.’

      Rojer missed a beat, and Arrick stopped as the boy frantically tried to recover. He regained control of the balls eventually, but Arrick still tsked.

      ‘With no boardwalks, how do they stop demons rising inside the walls?’ Rojer asked.

      ‘No walls, either,’ Arrick said. ‘Maintaining a net around even a small hamlet would take a dozen Warders. If a village has two and an apprentice, they count themselves lucky.’

      Rojer swallowed back the taste of bile in his mouth, feeling faint. Screams over a decade old rang out in his head, and he stumbled, falling on his backside as balls rained down on him. He slapped his crippled hand against the ground angrily.

      ‘Best leave juggling to me and focus on other skills,’ Arrick said. ‘If you spent half the time practising singing as you do juggling, you might last three notes before your voice СКАЧАТЬ