Messenger’s Legacy by Peter V. Brett
The bog demons began to choke, and when the boy backed towards them, they did not immediately follow.
‘Cories hate hog smoke,’ the boy rasped, never taking his eyes off the demons drifting through the fog and smoke. Words were awkward on his tongue, and Ragen had to strain to understand. ‘Makes ’em cough n’ slosh up. Watch and follow me.’
If there had been any doubt this was Relan’s son, it was gone in an instant as the boy began to do the rocking dance his dal’Sharum friend used to confuse corelings. Step to the right, step to the left … Half a dozen bog demons turned their heads back and forth in sync with his movements.
Ragen knew which direction the boy was headed long before he started moving. He took Elissa’s hand, and like strangers joining together in the steps of a familiar dance, they matched Briar’s calm, deliberate strides, four to the left, four to the right. The boy dropped the burning hogroot, obscuring them in the smoke as they walked six steps to the left, counting breaths. On the third, they broke into a run together. Ragen snatched up his spear as they ran past, handing off the shield to Elissa.
They quickly lost sight of the knot of bog demons, Briar leading them on a twisting path through the trees. The abrupt halts and sudden changes of direction seemed random at first, but Ragen was a pathfinder, and soon realized they were travelling a prepared route. A fallen tree, its roots reaching high to block out the moonlight, hid a change of direction. The shallow stream they splashed along washed away tracks and scent. Hunched, a low rise hid them almost completely for a hundred yards.
Ragen caught the scent of the dump well before it came in sight. They had come full circle. He’d been a fool to follow Briar into the bog. The boy had purposely led them away from his lair and left them lost in the swamp. If they’d only just waited …
‘Look out!’ Elissa cried, throwing up his shield. There was a flare of magic and she was knocked into him by the rebound. They went down with a splash into the reeds and mud.
Upside down amidst the tumble, Ragen caught sight of the charging swamp demon, a larger, deadlier cousin to the bog. It was low to the ground, with knobbed scales and short, stubby limbs ending in long, hooked claws perfect for climbing trees. A swamp demon’s snout could bite a man from head to crotch, its tail a heavy lash that could shatter a wooden fence.
Dizzy and with mud in his eyes, Ragen struggled to get his spear up, but Elissa rolled over him, covering them with the warded shield.
The swamp demon struck hard against it, but there was no telltale flare of magic, no rebound that threw the coreling back. Just a high-pitched whine as the demon clenched its talons, tearing through the steel. The wards on its surface were covered in mud – useless. Ragen peeked over the edge at the demon’s gaping maw and immediately wished he hadn’t.
But then a small gourd struck the shield, shattering and sending a cloud of hogroot powder right into the demon’s open mouth. Ragen’s eyes teared and he sneezed, but it was far worse for the demon. It fell onto its back, choking.
Briar appeared again, helping them to their feet. Twisted and useless, Elissa left the shield in the mud next to the demon as it convulsed, retching a vile mix of stomach fluids and bogspit onto itself.
‘Cory will be up quick,’ Briar said in his animal rasp. ‘Need to get to the briar patch.’
Ragen nodded, though he had no idea what the boy was talking about. He and Elissa followed as quickly as they were able as the boy darted into the mounds of the dump.
Behind, he heard the demon hiss and scrabble to its feet. His ankle was screaming again, his limp getting worse with each step. Elissa clutched him, taking more and more of his weight. Back to using his spear as a crutch, they ran like they meant to take a ribbon in the three-legged race at a Solstice festival.
But the demon ran faster, stub legs moving at terrifying speed. It closed, and Ragen knew they would not make it wherever the boy was leading before they were overtaken.
Briar saw it, too. He dropped back beside Ragen, pointing to a thick hogroot patch by one of the refuse mounds. ‘There. Don’t stop.’
With that, he stopped short, giving a cry to get the approaching demon’s attention. No imitation demon cry, this was the cry of a human child. Innocent. Vulnerable. For what could get a coreling’s attention more than that?
The sound tore at Ragen, but he limped on. By all rights the boy should be terrified, clinging to Ragen for leadership, but Briar spoke with the assurance of a Messenger speaking to travellers on their first overnight, and Ragen found he trusted him.
Elissa was half-dragging him now, supporting him as he put one pained foot in front of the other towards the safety of the hogroot patch. But Ragen’s eyes were not on the destination. He watched the demon spot Briar and hiss, giving chase. Focused on the prey at hand, it ran right past Ragen and Elissa, up the hill and away from them.
Ragen remembered the hill. It ended in the steep precipice where the town dumped its rot waste. If Briar didn’t change course soon, he would be trapped. The swamp demon saw this, too, putting on a burst of speed.
The sight was obscured as Ragen and Elissa stumbled into the hogroot patch. They stopped, watching from between the fronds.
It was too late. Silhouetted in the moonlight, they watched as the demon crashed into Briar, taking both of them over the edge.
‘Briar!’ they screamed in unison.
The demon dropped away, croaking as it tumbled down the shit- and garbage-covered slope, but Briar’s silhouette hung against the moon, then swung back to the ledge. Ragen could see the vine now, hung from a tree branch extending over the precipice. Briar had lured it there and tricked it over the edge.
‘Night,’ Elissa said.
Briar raced back to the safety of the hogroot patch, leading the way to a broken table leaning against the refuse mound. He pulled it aside, revealing a narrow opening. Elissa went in first, tugging Ragen along as he crawled inside. Briar came last, pulling the table back into place.
It was pitch dark in a space barely long enough for Ragen to lay prone. With his shoulder pressed against one wall, Ragen could easily touch the other, and even on his knees he had to duck his head. This was where Briar slept all these years? In a tiny dark hole beneath a mound of garbage?
Elissa shivered. ‘Colder than it is outside.’
‘No flue,’ the boy said. ‘Draughty.’ An orange glow lit his face as he blew a small coal to life on a pair of rusty tongs. He cradled the tiny light in his hand as he took it to the kindling laid in the fireplace. Soon a warm fire was burning, casting a flickering light over Briar’s dark hole.
They appeared to be underneath an old cart, its belly their roof. The back wheels were gone, but Briar had salvaged boards to prop the axle. The spokes of the front wheels formed little shelving nooks the boy had dug into the garbage mound. Ragged blankets lined the floor, and the walls were salvaged wood, cracks carefully filled. One wall was an old front door. The other was made of a barrel, part of a table and a dresser with mismatched drawers. There looked to be a working half-door on the far end.
More than one entrance, Ragen noted. He’s smart.
The walls were lined with little nooks. Some held a shiny bit of stone or glass, a bright feather or mended wooden toy. Elissa found a tiny rag doll amidst the blankets, stitched together from mismatched bits of refuse. Briar growled and snatched it from her, clutching it protectively, and Elissa stifled a sob.
Ragen shifted, and his arm struck the wall, causing a blast of pain. He groaned.
Elissa was holding the arm in an instant, pulling the torn sleeve aside to find a row of claw marks. The wound stank, and Ragen wondered if he would lose his arm before this was done. He reached for his herb pouch, but it was gone from his belt, lost somewhere in their desperate flight.
Briar handed Elissa a cloth, pointing to the barrel wall. ‘Water.’
She nodded, finding a spigot and fresh water within. As she cleaned the wound, Briar reached into one of the spoke-shelves, taking o
As they watched in wonder, Briar began cutting herbs with a bent, wrap-handled knife. Ragen had the Gatherer’s art enough to know Dawn had taught the boy well. Briar packed the wounds with a pungent hogroot paste and produced a bent needle he passed through the fire carefully before stitching them shut.
‘Thank you,’ Ragen said.
‘Not taking me away,’ the boy rasped. ‘Won’t let you.’
‘We’re not—’ Elissa began.
‘Heard you,’ Briar cut her off, turning his glare on Ragen. ‘Drag, you said.’
Ragen took a deep breath. He could feel the tension in the boy’s fingers as he worked. If he said the wrong thing, Briar would likely be out the door in an instant, and Creator knew if they’d ever find him again.
‘Do you remember me?’ he said at last. ‘I was a friend of your father.’
The boy’s eyes flicked over Ragen, the whites stark in the centre of his stained and muddy face. ‘Messenger. Brought candy.’
Ragen nodded. ‘I owe your father my life. Promised to look after you, if anything happened to him.’
‘Don’t need looking after,’ the boy said.
Ragen nodded. ‘Ay, you’re your own man. But I want to be your friend, if you’ll let me.’
‘Don’t have friends,’ the boy said. ‘No one wants Mudboy. Throw rocks. G’way, Mudboy! Getcher stinky hands off, Mudboy!’
Ragen shook his head. ‘That’s not true, Briar. I’m your friend.’ He gestured to his wife. ‘Elissa, too. Tender Heath, and Tami Bales. They asked us to find you.’
Briar’s eyes widened. He said nothing, but Ragen knew he had found a chink in the boy’s armour. ‘She’s worried about you, Briar. We all are.’
Briar shook, looking down to hide a choked sob. Ragen started to reach for him, but the boy glared at him, and he checked himself.
‘Don’t know what I done,’ he said. ‘Everam’s punishing me. Don’t deserve friends.’
‘Nonsense,’ Elissa said. ‘What could you possibly have done?’
Briar’s muddy face scrunched up, and this time he couldn’t choke down his sobs. He began weeping openly, and when Ragen reached for him again, he gave only token resistance. The boy stank of filth and hogroot, but Ragen held him as gently as he did his own infant son.
‘Din’t share,’ Briar said, when his convulsions began to fade. ‘Din’t listen.’
He began weeping again. ‘Din’t remember to open the flue.’
Ragen stared into the small fire, thinking back on the burned-out husk of the Damaj family home. In an instant he understood.
Creator.
‘Wasn’t your fault, Briar,’ he whispered. The boy gave no indication that he’d heard, but his sobs eased after a time, and at last he fell asleep.
Ragen woke with a start, alone in the tiny den. Panic shocked through him, fearing that Briar had run off again, gone like a wisp of dream. ‘Elissa!’ he called. ‘Briar!’
He needn’t have feared. They were waiting just outside the hogroot patch, Briar peeking into the pan as Elissa fried breakfast over a small fire. Nearby lay the portable circle they had lost in the swamp, the plates cleaned and the broken rope mended with stout cord.
‘Glad to see you back among the living,’ Elissa said. ‘Briar and I have been up for hours.’
‘We have to go,’ Ragen said. ‘The sooner, the better.’
Briar shook his head. ‘No go. Home.’
‘Men are coming,’ Ragen said. ‘Men like the ones your father left the desert to escape.’
Briar nodded. ‘Sharum. Seen them.’
‘Where?’ Ragen demanded. ‘How many?’
‘Two,’ Briar said, holding up a pair of fingers. ‘In woods, watching’
‘When?’ Ragen said.
Briar shrugged. ‘Firstday?’
Ragen spat.
‘What is it?’ Elissa asked.
‘If they had scouts here a week ago …’
The sound of galloping hoofbeats cut him off. Ragen looked up to see Derek riding hard their way. He was clad in his armour, but the helmet was missing, and there was blood in his hair.
Derek rode right up to them, pulling up hard. The horse was still rearing and kicking off its momentum when he vaulted from the saddle. ‘Thank the Creator you’re all right. We need to leave. Now.’
‘What’s happened?’ Ragen said.
‘Krasians,’ Derek said. ‘Advance guard rode in this morning to sack the town before refugees could succour there.’
‘Night,’ Ragen said. ‘How many?’
‘A score at least, all mounted on big mustang,’ Derek said. ‘We tried to help the Boggers fight. Had them outnumbered three to one …’ He swallowed. ‘They killed Robbert and Natan. Broke Stane’s leg.’
Ragen nodded. The Boggers were brave, but they were no fighters. But Krasian warriors … that was all they did. The town was lost. ‘Where are the others?’
‘Hiding in the bog with some of the townies,’ Derek said. ‘I came to find you and bring you there. If we can keep off the road for a few miles, we should be able to get them to the Hollow.’
‘How did you get away?’ Ragen asked.
‘They were after us but their captain blew a horn and called them back,’ Derek said. ‘Seemed more interested in plunder and the Holy House than killing or taking prisoners.’
‘The Holy House?’ Elissa asked.
‘Krasians are fanatics,’ Ragen said. ‘What they do with the townsfolk will depend on the mood of their Kai, but Tenders are heretics – an affront to Everam. They’ll claim the Holy House for the coming dama, and kill Heath, if they haven’t already.’
‘Creator,’ Elissa said.
‘We have to go,’ Derek said again. ‘Now.’
Ragen nodded. There was nothing else they could do. ‘Let’s be quick about it. Last thing we want is another night in the ripping bog.’
He turned to Briar. ‘You’ll need to come with us. It’s not safe here.’
But the boy was gone.
Briar’s heart thudded in his chest as he raced through the bog. He saw villagers fleeing through the bog, and could guess well enough where they would gather. The Sharum would have to give up their horses to follow. Even their scouts had avoided the bog.
None of them noticed his passing, too concerned with themselves. All the Boggers knew the mire, but none so well as Briar. There were infinite places to seek cover while moving at speed.
There were horses and men in the Holy House yard as Briar scaled the wall and dropped among the grave markers. Sharum warriors watching with hard eyes as Boggers, eyes down, piled plunder to one side of the yard – food and livestock, mostly.
There was a crash from inside the house, and two Sharum came out, carrying the Offering table. This they hurled into a pile with other broken symbols of the Creator. They seemed intent to gut the place, save for the barrels of Heath’s ale. These had been carefully set aside and tapped, warriors drinking heavily as they supervised the beaten Boggers surrendering their possessions.
One of the Sharum whipped his spear into the back of Aric Bogger. ‘Hurry up, chin, or you’ll go on the fire, as well!’
The other Sharum laughed. It had been many years since Briar last heard the language of his father, but he understood enough of their words to fill him with dread.
Not waiting to be noticed, Briar darted through the graveyard to the Holy House wall, climbing quickly to the roof. There was a Krasian in the horn tower, spear and shield leaning against the rail as he held a slender tube to his eye, looking out over the town.
The Watcher did not see or hear Briar as he slipped over the rail behind him, but the smells that hid and protected him at night in the bog did the opposite here. The warrior sniffed, turning just in time to catch the butt of his own spear between the eyes.
The seeing tube fell with a crack, but the warrior
Briar froze, listening, but it seemed none had heard them. He took off the stained and reeking rags he wore, putting on the Sharum’s blacks before creeping down the steps into the Holy House.
He wanted to pull up the veil to hide his face, but his father’s voice came to him, recounting stories of fabled Sharum.
No warrior hides his face in the day.
He left the veil down, simply tilting his face towards the wall as a warrior stumbled past carrying an ornately carved chair. The man barely gave Briar a glance, nodding and grunting as he went about his business.
There were others, but after years of hiding from the Tender as he made for the Offering, Briar knew the halls of the Holy House as well as he knew the briar patch. He moved unseen, searching until a cry of pain led him to the vestry.
Peeking into the room, Briar saw Tender Heath tied to a chair as two Sharum stood over him. Both wore black, but one had a white veil about his neck, the other a red. Kai and Drillmaster. The leaders.
Heath’s face was swollen, streaked with sweat and blood. His head lolled to the side, eyes closed, panting. His leg was still in a cast from his fall in the bog.
The Drillmaster wiped blood from his fist on the Tender’s robe. ‘Do we take him to the dama?’
The Kai shook his head. ‘He knows nothing. Kill him, and we will stake his body in the yard as a lesson to the chin.’
The Drillmaster nodded, producing a curved knife, but Briar was already moving. Before the man could take two steps towards the Tender, Briar drove his stolen spear into his back.
The other warrior whirled with a shout, but Briar reached into his robe, clutching a fistful of hogroot powder and hurling it into the man’s face. The powder would not affect a human the way it did corelings, but Briar knew from experience how the tiny particles could irritate the eyes.