Messenger’s Legacy

  Copyright

  HarperVoyager

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

  77-85 Fulham Palace Road,

  Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

  www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2014

  Copyright © Peter V. Brett 2014

  Cover texture © www.Shutterstock.com

  Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2014

  Map by Andrew Ashton.

  Peter V. Brett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008114701

  Ebook Edition © December 2014 ISBN: 9780008114718

  Version: 2014-11-11

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Map

  1. Burning True

  2. Briarpatch

  3. Ragen

  4. Mudboy

  5. A Last Run

  6. Cories

  Ward Grimoire

  Introduction

  By the Same Author

  About the Publisher

  Dedication

  For Myke and Joshua, who read all the versions.

  Introduction

  Like the other Demon Cycle novellas, The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold, this story grew out of the main series, a stunted branch that put down roots and flourished when planted on its own.

  The first chapter, ‘Burning True’, was originally written as the opening chapter of my third novel, The Daylight War. It quickly became clear that telling Briar’s story fully would require far more space than I had to spare in a series already known for its ever-increasing number of point-of-view characters. The chapter was excised, but I always knew I would come back to it when the time was right.

  Some time later, the chapter was published in Shawn Speakman’s charity anthology Unfettered, under the title Mudboy. Still only a piece of Briar’s story, I’m grateful to Subterranean Press for giving me the chance now to finally tell the story in full.

  Look for Briar to make appearances in The Skull Throne, the fourth book of the Demon Cycle next year.

  Peter V. Brett

  July, 2014

  www.petervbrett.com

  1

  Burning True

  324 AR Summer

  Briar started awake at the clanging.

  His mother was banging the porridge pot with her metal ladle, the sound echoing through the house. ‘Out of bed, lazeabouts!’ she cried. ‘First Horn sounded a quarter past and breakfast is hot! Any who ent finished by sunup get an empty belly till luncheon!’

  A pillow struck Briar’s head. ‘Open the slats, Briarpatch,’ Hardey mumbled.

  ‘Why do I always have to do it?’ Briar asked.

  Another pillow hit Briar on the opposite side of his head. ‘Cause if there’s a demon there, Hardey and I can run while it eats you!’ Hale snapped. ‘Get goin’!’

  The twins always bullied him together … not that it mattered. They had twelve summers, and each of them towered over him like a wood demon.

  Briar stumbled out of the bed, rubbing his eyes as he felt his way to the window and turned up the slats. The sky was a reddish purple, giving just enough light for Briar to make out the lurking shapes of demons in the yard. His mother called them cories, but Father called them alagai.

  While the twins were still stretching in bed waiting for their eyes to adjust to the light, Briar hurried out of the room to try and be first to the privy curtain. He almost made it, but as usual, his sisters shouldered him out of the way at the last second.

  ‘Girls first, Briarpatch!’ Sky said. With thirteen summers, she was more menacing than the twins, but even Sunny, ten, could muscle poor Briar about easily.

  He decided he could hold his water until after breakfast, and made it first to the table. It was Sixthday. The day Relan had bacon, and each of the children was allowed a slice. Briar inhaled the smell as he listened to the bacon crackle on the skillet. His mother was folding eggs, singing to herself. Dawn was a round woman, with big meaty arms that could wrestle five children at once, or crush them all in an embrace. Her hair was bound in a green kerchief.

  Dawn looked up at Briar and smiled. ‘Bit of a chill lingering in the common, Briar. Be a good boy and lay a fire to chase it off, please.’

  Briar nodded, heading into the common room of their small cottage and kneeling at the hearth. He reached up the chimney, hand searching for the notched metal bar of the flue. He set it in the open position, and began laying the fire. From the kitchen, he heard his mother singing.

  When laying the fire, what do you do?

  Open the flue, open the flue!

  Then leaves and grass blades and kindle sticks strew

  Pile bricks of peat moss, two by two

  Bellow the embers till the heat comes through

  And watch the fire, burning true.

  Briar soon had the fire going, but his brothers and sisters made it to the table by the time he returned, and they gave him no room to sit as they scooped eggs and fried tomatoes with onions onto their plates. A basket of biscuits sat steaming on the table as Dawn cut the rasher of bacon. The smells made Briar’s stomach howl. He tried to reach in to snatch a biscuit, only to have Sunny slap his hand away.

  ‘Wait your turn, Briarpatch!’

  ‘You have to be bold,’ said a voice behind him, and Briar turned to see his father. ‘When I was in Sharaj, the boy who was too timid went hungry.’

  His father, Relan asu Relan am’Damaj am’Kaji, had been a Sharum warrior once, but had snuck from the Desert Spear in the back of a Messenger’s cart. Now he worked as a refuse collector, but his spear and shield still hung on the wall. His children all took after him, dark-skinned and whip thin.

  ‘They’re all bigger than me,’ Briar said.

  Relan nodded. ‘Yes, but size and strength are not everything, my son.’ He glanced to the front door. ‘The sun will rise soon. Come watch with me.’

  Briar hesitated. His father’s attention always seemed to be on his older brothers, and it was wonderful to be noticed, but he remembered the demons he had seen in the yard. A shout from his mother turned both their heads.

  ‘Don’t you dare take him out there, Relan! He’s only six! Briar, come back to the table.’

  Briar moved to comply, but his father put a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. ‘Six is old enough to be caught by alagai for running when it is best to keep still, beloved,’ Relan said, ‘or for keeping still when it is best to run. We do our children no favours by coddling them.’ He guided Briar onto the porch, closing the door before Dawn could retort.

  The sky was a lighter shade of indigo now, dawn only minutes away. Relan lit his pipe, filling the porch with its sweet, familiar scent. Briar inhaled deeply, feeling safer with his father’s smoke
around him than he did with the wards.

  Briar looked about in wonder. The porch was a familiar place, filled like the rest of their home with mismatched furniture Relan had salvaged from the town dump and carefully mended.

  But in the false light before dawn everything looked different – bleak and ominous. Most of the demons had fled the coming sun by now, but one had turned at the creak of the porch door and the light and sound that came from the house. It caught sight of Briar and his father, stalking towards them.

  ‘Keep behind the paint,’ Relan warned, pointing with his pipe stem to the line of wards on the planks. ‘Even the boldest warrior does not step across the wards lightly.’

  The wood demon hissed at them. Briar knew it – the one that rose each night by the old goldwood tree he loved to climb. The demon’s eyes were fixed on Relan, who met its gaze coolly. The demon charged, striking the wardnet with its great branchlike arms. Silver magic spiderwebbed through the air. Briar shrieked and ran for the house.

  His father caught his wrist, yanking him painfully to a stop. ‘Running attracts their attention.’ He pulled Briar around to see that, indeed, the demon’s gaze was turned his way. A thin trickle of drool, yellow like sap, ran from the corner of its mouth as it gave a low growl.

  Relan squatted and took Briar by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes. ‘You must always respect the alagai, my son, but you should never be ruled by your fear of them.’

  He gently pushed the boy back towards the wards. The demon was still there, stalking not ten feet away. It shrieked at him, maw opening to reveal rows of amber teeth and a rough brown tongue.

  Briar’s leg began to twitch, and he ground his foot down to try and still it. His bladder felt about to burst. He bit his lip. His brothers and sisters would never tire of teasing if he went back inside with a wet pant leg.

  ‘Breathe, my son,’ Relan said. ‘Embrace your fear and trust in the wards. Learn their ways, and inevera, you will not die on alagai talons.’

  Briar knew he should trust his father, who had stood out in the night with nothing but his shield and spear, but the words did nothing to stop the churning in his stomach, or the need to pee. He crossed his legs to help hold back his water, hoping his father wouldn’t notice. He looked at the horizon, but it was still orange, with no hint of yellow.

  Already, he could see his brothers rolling on the floor with laughter as his sisters sang, ‘Pissy pants! Pissy pants! Water in the Briarpatch!’

  ‘Look to me, and I will teach you a Baiter’s trick,’ Relan said, allowing the boy to step back. His father toed the wards instead, looking the wood demon in the eye and returning its growl.

  Relan leaned to the left, and the demon mimicked him. He straightened and leaned to the right, and the wood demon did the same. He began to sway slowly from side to side, and like a reflection in the water, the demon followed, even as Relan took a step to the left, then went back to his original position, then took a step to the right. The next time he took two steps in either direction. Then three. Each time, the demon followed.

  His father took four exaggerated steps to the left, then stopped, leaning his body back to the right. Instinctively, the demon began stepping to the right, following the pattern, even as Relan broke it, resuming his steps to the left. He reached the far side of the porch before the demon caught on, letting out a shriek and leaping for him. Again the wards flared, and it was cast back.

  Relan turned back to Briar, dropping to one knee to meet the boy’s eyes.

  ‘The alagai are bigger than you, my son. Stronger, too. But’, he flicked Briar’s forehead with his finger, ‘they are not smarter. The servants of Nie have brains as tiny as a shelled pea, slow to think and easy to dazzle. If you are caught out with one, embrace your fear and sway as I have taught you. When the alagai steps the wrong way, walk – do not run – towards the nearest succour. The smartest demon will take at least six steps before growing wise to the trick.’

  ‘Then you run,’ Briar guessed.

  Relan smiled, shaking his head. ‘Then you keep walking the span of three slow breaths. It will be that long at least before the demon reorientates.’ He smacked Briar’s thigh, making him wince and clutch at his crotch, trying to hold the water in. ‘Then you run. Run as if the house were on fire.’

  Briar nodded, grimacing.

  ‘Three breaths,’ Relan said again. ‘Take them now.’ He sucked in a breath, inviting Briar to follow. He did, filling his lungs, then breathing out with his father. Again Relan drew, and Briar followed.

  He knew it was meant to calm him, but the deep breathing only seemed to make the pressure worse. He was sure his father must be able to see it, but Relan gave no sign. ‘Do you know why your mother and I named you Briar?’

  Briar shook his head, feeling his face heat with the strain.

  ‘There was once a boy in Krasia who was abandoned by his parents for being weak and sickly,’ Relan said. ‘He could not keep up with the herds they followed to survive, and his father, who already had many sons, cast him out.’

  Tears began to stream down Briar’s cheeks. Would his father cast him out as well, if he wet himself in fear?

  ‘A pack of nightwolves that had been following the herd were frightened of the family’s spears, but when they caught the boy’s scent, alone and unprotected, they began to stalk him,’ Relan continued. ‘But the boy led them into a briar patch, and when one of the wolves followed him in, it became stuck in the sharp thorns. The boy waited until it was caught fast, then dashed its head in with a stone. When he returned to his father with the wolf’s pelt around his shoulders, his father fell on his knees and begged Everam’s forgiveness for doubting his son.’

  Relan squeezed Briar’s shoulders again. ‘Your brothers and sisters may tease you for your name, but wear it proudly. Briar patches thrive in places no other plants can survive, and even the alagai respect their thorns.’

  The need to empty his water did not go away, but Briar felt the urgency fade, and he straightened, standing with his father as they watched the sky fill with colour. The remaining demon faded into mist, sinking into the ground before the first sliver of the sun crested the horizon. Relan put his arm around Briar as they watched sunrise shimmer across the surface of the lake. Briar leaned in, enjoying the rare moment alone with his father, without the shoving and teasing of his siblings.

  I wish I didn’t have any brothers and sisters, he thought.

  Just then, the sunlight struck him.

  The others were stacking their dishes, but Dawn had left plates for Briar and Relan. Briar sat alone with his father, and felt very special.

  Relan bit into his first strip of bacon and closed his eyes, savouring every chew. ‘The dama used to tell me pig-eaters burned in Nie’s abyss, but by the Creator’s beard, I swear it a fair price.’

  Briar mimicked him, biting into his slice and closing his eyes to savour the grease and salt.

  ‘How come Briarpatch gets to eat after sunup?’ Sky demanded.

  ‘Yeah!’ the twins echoed at once. If there was one thing they agreed with Sky about, it was bullying Briar.

  The smile fell from Relan’s face. ‘Because he eats with me.’ His tone made it clear further questions would be answered with his strap. The old strip of leather hung on the wall by the mantle, a warning all the Damaj children took very seriously. Relan used the strap to whip his mule when it refused a heavy load, but he had not hesitated to take it to Hardey’s backside the time he threw a cat in the lake to see if it could swim. They all remembered their brother’s howls, and lived in terror of that strap.

  Relan paid his other children no further mind, taking a second slice of bacon on his fork and laying it on Briar’s plate.

  ‘Boys, feed the animals and get the dump cart hitched,’ Dawn said, breaking the tension. ‘Girls, get the laundry soaking.’ The children bowed and quickly filed out, leaving Briar alone with his father.

  ‘When a boy first stands before the alagai in Krasia, he
is sent to spend the following day in prayer,’ Relan said. He laughed. ‘Though I admit, when I tried it, I soon grew bored. Still, it is wise to think on the experience. After prayers, you may take the rest of the day to walk in the sun.’

  A day to do whatever he wished. Briar knew what to say, though the words seemed insufficient. ‘Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.’

  The Damaj family walked single file to the Holy House. Relan was in the lead, followed by Dawn. Hale came next, a quarter-hour older than Hardey. Sky was a year older than them both, but she was a girl and came after, followed by Sunny. When Briar was nine, he would move ahead of his sisters, but that was years away. He always came last, hurrying to keep up with the brutal pace Relan set.

  They walked double-time today because of their late start. Briar could see in his siblings’ eyes that they would make him pay for that, and for being excused from chores.

  Even with the delay, the Damajes passed through Town Square as many folk were first opening their shutters to greet the morning. The Holy House was nearly empty.

  ‘Disgusting,’ Relan said, taking in the empty pews. A handful of Boggers, mostly elders, had come to pray, but it was only a fraction of those that came on Seventhday, and even that was not everyone in Bogton.

  Briar knew his father’s words before they were said. Relan was apt to rant on this topic for his children’s benefit.

  ‘It is an insult to Everam, that His children pray but once a week.’ Normally, when Relan invoked insult to the Creator, he was apt to spit, but never in the Holy House. ‘In Krasia, the dama would have the other townsfolk given a taste of the alagai tail. The next dawn, the temple would be full again.’

  Aric Bogger, one of the greybeards from Town Square, turned and glared angrily at them. ‘We disgust you so much, mudskin, why don’t you go back to the desert?’

  Relan grimaced, shoulders bunching. He claimed to have been no great warrior in Krasia, but in Bogton he was feared by all, and known to beat men for using that word. No one had dared insult his heritage since Masen Bales and his three brothers had called him a desert rat on Winter Solstice. Relan wasn’t even breathing hard by the time all men were on the ground, moaning in submission.