The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy
time over the going rates for rice and salt. Finally, the merchant gave in, admitting that Ragen had gotten the better of Hog. He gave the Messenger a jingling pouch of coins to make up the difference.
‘Can Arlen drive the cart from here?’ Keerin asked. Ragen glanced at him and nodded. He tossed a purse of coins to Keerin, who caught it deftly and hopped off the cart.
Ragen shook his head as Keerin disappeared into the crowd. ‘Not the worst Jongleur,’ he said, ‘but he doesn’t have the stones for the road.’ He remounted, and led Arlen through the busy streets. Arlen felt suffocated by the press as they moved down a particularly crowded street.
He noticed some people dressed only in tattered rags despite the chill mountain air.
‘What are they doing?’ Arlen asked, watching them hold empty cups out to passers-by.
‘Begging,’ Ragen said. ‘Not everyone in Miln can afford to buy food.’
‘Can’t we just give them some of ours?’ Arlen asked.
Ragen sighed. ‘It’s not that simple, Arlen,’ he said. ‘The soil here isn’t fertile enough to feed even half the people. We need grain from Fort Rizon, fish from Lakton, fruit and livestock from Angiers. The other cities don’t just give all that away. It goes to those who work a trade and earn the money to pay for it, the Merchants. Merchants hire Servants to do for them, and feed, clothe and house them out of their own purse.’
He gestured at a man wrapped in rough, filthy cloth holding out a cracked wooden bowl to passers-by, who moved to avoid him, refusing eye contact. ‘So unless you’re a Royal or a Holy Man, if you don’t work, you end up like that.’
Arlen nodded as if he understood, but he didn’t really. People ran out of credits at the general store in Tibbet’s Brook all the time, but even Hog didn’t let them starve.
They came to a house, and Ragen signalled Arlen to stop the cart. It was not a large house compared to many Arlen had seen in Miln, but it was still impressive by Tibbet’s Brook standards, made entirely of stone and standing two full storeys.
‘Is this where you live?’ Arlen asked.
Ragen shook his head. He dismounted and went to the door, knocking sharply. A moment later, it was answered by a young woman with long brown hair woven into a tight braid. She was tall and sturdy, like everyone in Miln, and wore a high-necked dress that fell to her ankles and was tight across her bosom. Arlen couldn’t tell if she was pretty. He was about to decide that she was not when she smiled, and her whole face changed.
‘Ragen!’ she cried, throwing her arms around him. ‘You came! Thank the Creator!’
‘Of course I came, Jenya,’ Ragen said. ‘We Messengers take care of our own.’
‘I’m no Messenger,’ Jenya said.
‘You were married to one, and that’s the same. Graig died a Messenger, the guild’s ruling be damned.’
Jenya looked sad, and Ragen changed the subject quickly, striding over to the cart and unloading the remaining stores. ‘I’ve brought you good Marsh rice, salt, meat, and fish,’ he said, carrying the items over and setting them just inside her doorway. Arlen scurried to help.
‘And this,’ Ragen added, pulling the sack of gold and silver he had gotten from Hog out of his belt. He threw in the little pouch from the Duke’s merchant, as well.
Jenya’s eyes widened as she opened it. ‘Oh, Ragen,’ she said, ‘it’s too much. I can’t …’
‘You can and you will,’ Ragen ordered, cutting her off. ‘It’s the least I can do.’
Jenya’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I have no way to thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ve been so scared. Penning for the guild doesn’t cover everything, and without Graig … I thought I might have to go back to begging.’
‘There, there,’ Ragen said, patting her shoulder. ‘My brothers and I will never let that happen. I’ll take you into my own household before I let you fall so far,’ he promised.
‘Oh, Ragen, you would do that?’ she asked.
‘There’s one last thing,’ Ragen said. ‘A gift from Rusco Hog.’ He held up the ring. ‘He wants you to write him, and let him know you got it.’
Jenya’s eyes began to water again, looking at the beautiful ring.
‘Graig was well-loved,’ Ragen said, slipping the ring onto her finger. ‘Let this ring be a symbol of his memory. The food and money should last your family a good long while. Perhaps, in that time, you’ll even find another husband and become a Mother. But if things ever grow so dark that you feel you must sell that ring, you come to me first, you understand?’
Jenya nodded, but her eyes were down, still dripping as she caressed the ring.
‘Promise me,’ Ragen ordered.
‘I promise,’ Jenya said.
Ragen nodded, hugging her one last time. ‘I’ll look in on you when I can,’ he said. She was still crying as they left. Arlen stared back at her as they went.
‘You look confused,’ Ragen said.
‘I guess I am,’ Arlen agreed.
‘Jenya’s family were Beggars,’ Ragen explained. ‘Her father is blind and her mother sickly. They had the fortune, though, to have a healthy, attractive daughter. She brought herself and her parents up two classes when she married Graig. He took the three of them into his home, and though he never had the choicest routes, he made enough for them to get by and be happy.’
He shook his head. ‘Now, though, she has rent to pay and three mouths to feed on her own. She can’t stray far from home, either, because her parents can’t do for themselves.’
‘It’s good of you to help her,’ Arlen said, feeling a little better. ‘She was pretty when she smiled.’
‘You can’t help everyone, Arlen,’ Ragen said, ‘but you should make every effort to help those you can.’ Arlen nodded.
They wound their way up a hill until they reached a large manse. A gated wall six feet high surrounded the sprawling property, and the great house itself was three storeys high and had dozens of windows, all reflecting light from their glass. It was bigger than the great hall on Boggin’s Hill, and that could hold everyone in Tibbet’s Brook for the solstice feast. The manse and the wall around it were painted with brightly coloured wards. Such a magnificent place, Arlen decided, must be the home of the Duke.
‘My mam had a cup of warded glass, hard as steel,’ he said, looking up at the windows as a thin man came scurrying up from inside the grounds to open the gate. ‘She kept it hidden, but sometimes she took it out when company came, to show how it glittered.’ They rode past a garden untouched by coreling mischief, where several hands were digging vegetables.
‘This is one of the only manses in Miln with all glass windows,’ Ragen said proudly. ‘I’d pay a lot to ward them not to break.’
‘I know the trick,’ Arlen said, ‘but you need a coreling to touch the glass to charge it.’
Ragen chuckled and shook his head. ‘Maybe not, then.’
There were smaller buildings on the grounds as well, stone huts with smoking chimneys and people going to and fro, like a tiny village. Dirty children scampered about, and women kept watch over them while tending their chores. They rode to the stables, and a groom was there in a second to take Nighteye’s reins. He bowed and scraped, as if Ragen were a king in a story.
‘I thought we were going to stop by your house before visiting the duke,’ Arlen asked.
Ragen laughed. ‘This is my house, Arlen! Do you think I risk the open road for nothing?’
Arlen