The Desert Spear

shoulder. “An honor to meet one so brave. Come out with me tonight, and we will find a quake of rock demons to show the sun!”
    Keerin paled at the offer, his skin taking on a sickly pallor. The Painted Man smiled in the shadow of his hood. Perhaps he was not so far above such things after all.
    “I…er, thank you for the offer,” Keerin stammered. “And I would be honored, of course, but my duties to the duke would never allow for it.”
    “I understand,” the Painted Man said. “A good thing you were not so bound when you saved the life of that young boy in the song. What was his name again?”
    “Arlen Banes,” Keerin said, regaining his composure with a practiced smile. He moved in close, putting a hand around the Painted Man’s shoulder and speaking in a low voice.
    “One demon fighter to another,” he said, “I would be honored to immortalize your deeds in song, if you would grant a short interview when your business with His Grace is concluded.”
    The Painted Man turned to face him, lifting his head to allow the lectric lamplight to show into his hood. Keerin gasped and removed his arm, drawing away sharply.
    “I don’t kill demons for glory, Jongleur,” he growled, advancing on the poor herald who backed away until his back hit the bookshelf, causing it to rock unsteadily. “I kill demons,” he leaned in close, “because they
deserve
killing.”
    Keerin’s hand shook, spilling his wine. The Painted Man took a step back and smiled. “Write a song about that, perhaps,” he suggested.
    Keerin still did not leave, but the herald did not speak again, and for that the Painted Man was thankful.

    Euchor’s great hall was smaller than the Painted Man remembered, but still impressive, with soaring pillars holding up a ceiling that seemed impossibly high. It was painted to look like blue sky, with a yellow-white sunburst in the center. Mosaics covered the floor, and tapestries the walls. There was room for a crowd, as the duke held a great many balls and parties there, watching the proceedings from his high throne at the hall’s end.
    Duke Euchor was waiting on his throne as the Painted Man approached. Behind him on the royal dais stood three women whose uncomely faces, so like the duke’s, and expensive gowns covered in jewels made it clear they were his daughters. Mother Jone stood at the foot of the dais stairs holding a writing board and pen. Opposite her were Guildmasters Ragen and Malcum. The men, retired Messengers both, stood easily with each other. Ragen whispered something to Malcum, who snickered, drawing a glare from Jone.
    Next to Jone stood Tender Ronnell, the Royal Librarian. And Mery’s father.
    The Painted Man cursed himself. He should have expected to see Ronnell. If Mery had told him…
    But while Ronnell looked at him with interest, there was no recognition in his eyes. His secret was safe, at least for now.
    Two guards closed the door behind them and crossed their spears over it from the inside. “Servants,” all with writing boards, drifted on the far side of the pillars, unobtrusive as they watched him closely.
    Up close, Euchor had grown fatter and older by far than the Painted Man remembered. He still wore jewels on every stubby finger and a fortune in gold chains, but there were fewer hairs underneath his golden crown. Once an imposing figure, he now looked as if he could barely rise from his throne without help.
    “Duke Euchor, Light of the Mountains and Lord of Miln,” Keerin called, “may I present to you the Painted Man, Messenger on behalf of Duke Rhinebeck, Guardian of the Forest Fortress and Lord of Angiers.”
    Ragen’s voice came to him, as it always did when meeting a duke.
Merchants and Royals will walk all over you if you let them. You need to act like a king in their presence, and never forget who it is risking their life.
    With that in mind, he squared his shoulders and strode forward. “Greetings, Your Grace,” he called without waiting to be addressed. His robes whipped out as he sketched a graceful bow. There was a murmur from some at his audacity, but Euchor acted as if he did not notice.
    “Welcome to Miln,” the duke said. “We have heard much about you. I confess I was one of many who thought you a myth. Pray, indulge me.” He mimed removing a hood.
    The Painted Man nodded and removed his hood, drawing gasps from around the room. Even Ragen managed to look suitably awed.
    He waited, letting them all have a good look.