The Desert Spear

no matter how we felt.”
    The Painted Man spat at her feet. “The Core with your law, if it says to throw your neighbor to the night! You want to put town first, come out here and show you can get as you give. Elsewise, I’ll take my spears and go.”
    Selia’s eyes narrowed, and then she picked up her skirts, striding firmly into the square. There were gasps of shock from all sides, but Selia ignored them, taking up one of the spears. She was followed immediately by Tender Harral and Brine Broadshoulders. The giant Cutter took up his spear with a hungry look in his eyes. The Squares and Cutters gave a cheer.
    “Anyone else have a question?” the Painted Man asked, looking around. As a boy in Tibbet’s Brook, he’d had no voice, but now he finally meant to speak his mind. The crowd had suddenly become animated, but he picked the Speakers out easily, islands in the brook.
    “Reckon I do,” Jeorje Watch said.
    The Painted Man faced him. “Ask, and I’ll answer with honest word.”
    “How are we to know you’re really the Deliverer?” Jeorje asked.
    “Like I said, Tender,” the Painted Man said, “I ent. Just a Messenger.”
    “The Messenger of whom?” Jeorje asked.
    The Painted Man hesitated, seeing the trap. If he said no one, many would assume it was because he was a Messenger of the Creator. His best choice would be to name Euchor as his patron. Tibbet’s Brook was technically part of Miln, and the people would assume the combat wards were a gift of his. But he had promised to speak honest word.
    “No patron for this message,” he admitted. “Found the wards in a ruin of the old world, and took it upon myself to spread them to all good folk, so we can start fighting back.”
    “The Plague cannot end without the coming of the Deliverer,” Jeorje said, as if the Painted Man were caught in a logic trap.
    But the Painted Man simply shrugged, handing Jeorje a warded spear. “Could be it’s you. Kill a demon and find out.”
    Jeorje dropped his walking stick and took the weapon, a hard glint in his eyes.
    “Seen a hundred years and more of the Plague,” he said. “Seen everyone I know pass on, even my own grandkin. Always wondered why it was, Creator kept me alive so long when he called so many others to his side. Reckon it was on account of me having something left to do.”
    “They say in Fort Krasia that a man can’t get to Heaven, ’less he takes a coreling with him,” the Painted Man said.
    Jeorje nodded. “Wise folk.” He went to stand beside Selia, and the Watches all drew wards in the air as he passed.
    Rusco Hog stomped into the square next, rolling his sleeves up thick and meaty arms. He grabbed a spear of his own.
    “Da, what are you doing?” his daughter Catrin cried, running out to grasp his arm.
    “Use your head, girl!” Hog snapped. “Anyone selling warded weapons is gonna make a fortune!” He yanked his arm away and went to stand by the other Speakers.
    There was movement from the Marsh contingent, where Coran Marsh sat in a hard-back chair. “My da can’t even stand without his cane,” Keven Marsh called. “Let me fight for him.”
    The Painted Man shook his head. “Spear’s as good a cane as any for a man thinks he can sit in council and play Creator.” The Marshes began to shake their fists and shout angrily at him, but the Painted Man ignored them, keeping his eyes on Coran, daring him to step forward. The aged Marsh Speaker scowled, but he stood up from his chair and hobbled slowly over to take a spear. He left his cane on the ground beside Jeorje ’s walking stick.
    The Painted Man’s eyes came to Meada Boggin as she broke an embrace with her son and strode out of the cluster from Boggin’s Hill. She looked to Coline as she passed, but the Herb Gatherer shook her head. “I got sick to tend,” she said, “not to mention any of you lucky enough to make it back out of there.”
    Mack Pasture shook his head as well. “Ent fool enough to step over them wards,” he said. “Got folk and livestock dependin’ on me. Din’t come here to be cored.” He stepped back, and there was a roar of discontent from Baleses and Pastures alike.
    “Let us call a new Speaker, if this one ent got the sack!” someone cried.
    “Why should I?” the Painted Man shot back at them. “None of you had the sack to stand up for Renna Tanner!”
    “That ent true!” Renna called, and the Painted Man turned to her in surprise. She met his eyes with a hard look. “Jeph