night. He had to wait at the end for the innkeep’s attention, but when the man glanced his way, the Painted Man flashed another of his gold coins, and he came swiftly.
Mich had the look of a once burly man gone fat. Formidable enough to toss an unruly patron, perhaps, but success and middle age seemed to have sapped the strength of his youth.
“A room,” the Painted Man said, handing him the coin. He pulled another from his purse and held it up. “And news of the South, if you have it. Been out Tibbet’s Brook way.”
Mich nodded, but his eyes squinted. “Ent nothin’ passing for news out there,” he agreed, leaning in a bit to try to see under the Painted Man’s hood.
The Painted Man took a step back, and the innkeep immediately backed away, glancing nervously at the coin, afraid it might disappear.
“South’s all anyone talks about these days, Tender,” Mich said. “Ever since the desert rats stole the Hollow’s Herb Gatherer as a bride for their leader, the demon of the desert.”
“Jardir,” the Painted Man growled, clenching his fist. He should have snuck into the Krasian camp and killed him the moment they came out of the desert. He had once thought Jardir a man of honor, but he saw now it was all a facade to mask his lust for power.
“Word is,” Mich went on, “he came there lookin’ to kill the Painted Man, but the Deliverer’s up and disappeared.”
Rage welled up in the Painted Man, burning like bile. If Jardir harmed Leesha in any way, if he so much as touched her, he would kill him and scatter his armies back to the desert.
“You all right, Tender?” Mich asked. The Painted Man flicked him the mangled coin that had been in his clenched fist and turned away without waiting for a room key. He needed to get back to the Hollow with no delay.
Just then he heard Renna shout, and there was a cry of pain.
Renna sucked in her breath as they entered the tavern. She had never seen a place like this, where folk gathered in such a tight, uncomfortable press. The din was overwhelming, and the air was hot and stale, choked with pipe smoke and sweat. She felt her heart pounding, but when she glanced at Arlen, she saw he stood tall, his stride sure, and she remembered who he was. Who they were. She straightened as well, meeting the eyes of those who stared with cool indifference.
There were hoots and catcalls as some of the men caught sight of her, but she glared at them, and most quickly turned their eyes away. As they pushed through the crowd, though, she felt a hand paw at her behind. She whirled, gripping her knife handle tightly, but there was no sign of the offender; it could have been any of a dozen men, all studiously ignoring her. She gritted her teeth and hurried after Arlen, hearing a laugh at her back.
When the man at the table next to them slapped the barmaid’s bottom, Renna felt a rage fly through her like nothing she had ever felt. Arlen pretended not to see, but she knew better. Like her, he was probably fighting the urge to break the man’s arm.
After Arlen left to speak with the innkeeper, the man turned his chair to face her.
“Thought that Tender would never leave,” he said with a wide smile. He was a tall Milnese man, broad- shouldered, with a coarse yellow beard and long golden hair. His companions at the table all turned to look at Renna, pawing at her bare flesh with their eyes.
“Tender?” she asked, confused.
“Yer chaperone in the robes,” the man said. “Figure a girl as pretty as you needs a Holy Man to ’scort her about, ’cause no other man could keep his hands off.” He reached under the table, his large hand wrapping around her bare thigh and squeezing. Renna stiffened, shocked at his boldness.
“Figure you’re woman enough for all three of us,” the man husked. “Bet you’re already dripping for it.” His hand probed higher beneath her skirt.
Renna had had enough. She reached down and gripped his thumb with her left hand while putting the knuckle of her right hard into the pressure point between his thumb and forefinger. The big man’s grip weakened to nothing as he gasped in pain, and a sharusahk twist bent his wrist back and planted his hand firmly on the table.
Where her knife cut it off.
The man’s eyes bulged, and for a moment time seemed frozen as neither he nor his companions reacted. Then suddenly blood began to spurt from the wound, the man started screaming, and his friends all leapt to their feet, knocking back their chairs.
Renna was ready for them. She kicked the screaming man into one of his fellows and leapt onto the table, crouching with her feet set wide and her father’s knife in a downward grip beneath her forearm, hidden from most onlookers, but ready to slash out at any who came near.
“Renna?!” Arlen cried, grabbing her from behind. She kicked and twisted as he pulled her down from the table.
“What’s going on here?” Mich demanded, shoving through the gathering crowd carrying a heavy cudgel.
“The witch cut off my hand!” the blond man cried.
“Lucky I din’t cut off more ’n that!” Renna snarled at him over Arlen’s shoulder. “You had no right to touch me there! I ent promised to you!”
The innkeep whirled on her, but then caught sight of Arlen and his eyes widened. Arlen’s hood had fallen back as he struggled to hold her, revealing his warded flesh to all.
“The Painted Man,” the innkeep whispered, and the name was repeated as it spread through the crowd.
“Deliverer!” someone cried.
“Time to go,” Arlen murmured, grabbing her arm. She kept pace with him as he shoved past those who did not scurry out of his way. He tugged his hood back in place, but there was still a sizable crowd following them from the inn.
Arlen quickened his pace, dragging her to the stables where he flipped the hand another gold coin and headed for Twilight Dancer.
Moments later they burst from the stables and galloped from the town. The guards at the gate shouted after them as the crowd from the inn came running up behind, but dusk was falling, and no one dared follow them into the gloaming.
“Corespawn it, Ren, you can’t just go around cutting people ’s hands off!” Arlen scolded when they stopped for the night in a clearing not far from town.
“Deserved it,” Renna said. “Ent no man gon’ touch me there again, ’cept I want him to.”
Arlen made a face, but he gave no retort.
“Break his thumb next time,” he said at last. “No one ’ll look twice at you for that. After what you did, there ’ll be no going back to Riverbridge for some time.”
“Hated it there anyway,” Renna said. “This,” she spread her arms as if to embrace the night, “this is where we belong.”
But Arlen shook his head. “Deliverer’s Hollow’s where I belong, and with what the innkeep told me before you pulled your crazy stunt, ent got no time to waste gettin’ there.”
Renna shrugged. “So let’s go.”
“How can we, when you’ve just cut us off from the only ripping bridge in Thesa?” Arlen cried. “Dividing’s too deep to ford and too wide for Dancer to swim.”
Renna looked at her feet. “Sorry. Din’t know.”
Arlen sighed. “Done is done, Ren. We’ll figure something out, but you’re going to need to cover up a bit in towns. Fine to bare your wards to the night, but that much flesh will put ideas in the head of any man sees you in the light.”
“Any head but yours, it seems,” Renna muttered.
“All they see is bare legs and cleavage,” Arlen said. “I see the blooddrunk girl who thinks with her knife more than her head.”
Renna’s eyes widened. “Son of the Core!” she shrieked, and launched herself at him, knife leading. Arlen slid to the side effortlessly, grabbing her wrist and twisting the knife from her hand. He put his hand against her elbow and used her own force to throw her onto her back.
She tried to rise, but he fell on her, grabbing her wrists and pinning her. She tried to put her knee hard between his legs, but he was wise to the move, and moments later his knees were pinning her thighs with his full
