The Desert Spear

absorb, and when they move on Lakton—”
    “This is ridiculous,” Prince Mickael cut him off. “At the very least, show your face when addressing the duke.”
    “Apologies, Highness,” the Painted Man said with a slight bow. He drew back his hood, and in the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the wards seemed to crawl across his skin like living things. Thamos and Janson, having seen this before, kept composure, but the other princes could not entirely hide their shock.
    “Creator,” Pether whispered, drawing a ward in the air before him.
    “Since you have no name, I suppose you’ll want us to call you Lord Ward?” Mickael asked, twisting the surprised look on his face into a sneer.
    The Painted Man shook his head, smiling wanly. “I’m as peasant as they come, Highness. No lord in any land.”
    Mickael snorted. “Circumstances of birth notwithstanding, I find it hard to believe a man who styles himself the Deliverer doesn’t think himself as much a lord as any of royal blood. Or do you think yourself above such things?”
    “I’m not the Deliverer, Highness,” the Painted Man said. “I’ve never claimed otherwise.”
    “That’s not what your Tender in Cutter’s Hollow believes, by his own reports,” Shepherd Pether noted, waving a sheaf of papers in the air.
    “He’s not my Tender,” the Painted Man said, scowling. “He can believe as he wishes.”
    “Actually, he can’t,” Janson interrupted, “if he is representing the Tenders of the Creator in Angiers, he owes his loyalty to His Grace the Shepherd and the Council of Tenders. If he is preaching heresy…”
    “That’s a fair point, Janson,” Pether said. “We ’ll have to look into that.”
    “You could perhaps have the Council of Tenders summon and inquisit Tender Jona, Your Grace,” Janson suggested.
    “Hear, hear,” Mickael said. He looked to his brother. “You should do that with all haste, brother.” Pether nodded.
    “Your former mentor, Tender Hayes, would be fit to replace him in the Hollow and minister the refugees, Your Grace,” Janson suggested. “He has experience working with the poor, and is loyal to the ivy throne. Perhaps you can convince the council to send him?”
    “Convince them?!” Pether demanded. “Janson, I am their Shepherd! You
tell
them I said to send Tender Hayes!”
    Janson bowed. “As you say, Your Grace.”
    “As for you,” Pether said, turning back to the Painted Man, “why did the Hollowers rename their hamlet Deliverer’s Hollow if you have no sway there?”
    “I never wanted the change,” the Painted Man said. “They did it against my wishes.”
    Mickael snorted. “Save that ale story for a taproom of drunks. Of course you wanted the change.”
    “To what end, Highness?” the Painted Man asked. “It does nothing but further a notion I would rather quash.”
    “If that is so, you will have no argument if His Grace sends the town council a royal decree commanding that they change it back, of course,” Janson said.
    The Painted Man shrugged.
    Rhinebeck nodded. “Do it.”
    “As you wish, Your Grace,” Janson said.
    “All this is neither East nor West,” Prince Thamos snapped, stamping his spear butt on the floor. He looked at the Painted Man. “We tested your wards. I killed a wood demon myself with that arrow. I want more. And the other combat wards you’ve developed, along with training for my men. What do you want in exchange?”
    “It matters not what he wants,” Rhinebeck said. “The Hollowers are my subjects, and I won’t pay for what they owe the ivy throne regardless.”
    “As I told Prince Thamos and the Lord Janson, Your Grace,” the Painted Man said, “the corelings are the real enemy. I won’t withhold warded weapons from any who want them.”
    Rhinebeck grunted, and Thamos’ eyes took on an eager light.
    “I can consult with the Warders’ Guild to select Warders to send to the Hollow, if Your Grace wishes,” Janson said. “Perhaps with a contingent of Wooden Soldiers to guard them?”
    “I’ll lead them personally, brother,” Prince Thamos said, turning to look at the duke.
    Rhinebeck nodded. “Very well,” he said.
    “What of the refugees from Rizon?” the Painted Man asked. “Will you take them in?”
    “My city has no room for thousands of refugees,” Rhinebeck said. “Let them succor in the hamlets. We can offer them…what was it again, Janson?” Rhinebeck asked.
    “Royal asylum,” Janson said, “and the