The Demon Cycle Series Books 1 and 2. Peter V. Brett
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the town square, watching the apprentices of the Jongleurs’ guild cartwheel and mum, building excitement for the morning’s lead performer.
Arlen’s jaw dropped when he saw Keerin enter the square. Tall and thin like a redheaded lamppost, the Jongleur was unmistakable. The crowd erupted into a roar.
‘It’s Keerin!’ Jaik said, shaking Arlen’s shoulder in excitement. ‘He’s my favourite!’
‘Really?’ Arlen asked, surprised.
‘What, who do you like?’ Jaik asked. ‘Marley? Koy? They’re not heroes like Keerin!’
‘He didn’t seem very heroic when I met him,’ Arlen said doubtfully.
‘You met Keerin?’ Jaik asked, his eyes widening.
‘He came to Tibbet’s Brook once,’ Arlen said. ‘He and Ragen found me on the road and brought me to Miln.’
‘Keerin rescued you?’
‘Ragen rescued me,’ Arlen corrected. ‘Keerin jumped at every shadow.’
‘The Core he did,’ Jaik said. ‘Do you think he’ll remember you?’ he asked. ‘Can you introduce me after the show?’
‘Maybe,’ Arlen shrugged.
Keerin’s performance started out much as it had in Tibbet’s Brook. He juggled and danced, warming the crowd before telling the tale of the Return to the children and punctuating it with mummery, backflips, and somersaults.
‘Sing the song!’ Jaik cried. Others in the crowd took up the cry, begging Keerin to sing. He seemed not to notice for a time, until the call was thunderous and punctuated by the pounding of feet. Finally, he laughed and bowed, fetching his lute as the crowd burst into applause.
He gestured, and Arlen saw the apprentices fetch hats and move into the crowd for donations. People gave generously, eager to hear Keerin sing. Finally, he began:
The night was dark
The ground was hard
Succour was leagues away
The cold wind stark
Cutting at our hearts
Only wards kept corelings at bay
‘Help me!’ we heard
A voice in need
The cry of a frightened child
‘Run to us!’ I called
‘Our circle’s wide,
The only succour for miles!’
The boy cried out
‘I can’t; I fell!’
His call echoed in the black
Catching his shout
I sought to help
But the Messenger held me back
‘What good to die?’
He asked me, grim
‘For death is all you’ll find
‘No help you’ll provide
’Gainst coreling claws
Just more meat to grind’
I struck him hard
And grabbed his spear
Leaping across the wards
A frantic charge
Strength born of fear
Before the boy be cored
‘Stay brave!’ I cried
Running hard his way
‘Keep your heart strong and true!’
‘If you can’t stride
To where it’s safe
I’ll bring the wards to you!’
I reached him quick
But not enough
Corelings gathered round
The demons thick
My work was rough
Scratching wards into the ground
A thunderous roar
Boomed in the night
A demon twenty feet tall
It towered fore
And ’gainst such might
My spear seemed puny and small
Horns like hard spears!
Claws like my arm!
A carapace hard and black!
An avalanche
Promising harm
The beast moved to the attack!
The boy screamed scared
And clutched my leg
Clawed as I drew the last ward!
The magic flared
Creator’s gift
The one force demons abhor!
Some will tell you
Only the sun
Can bring a rock demon harm
That night I learned
It could be done
As did the demon One Arm!
He ended with a flourish, and Arlen sat shocked as the audience burst into applause. Keerin took his bows, and the apprentices took in a flood of coin.
‘Wasn’t that great?’ Jaik asked.
‘That’s not how it happened!’ Arlen exclaimed.
‘My da says the guards told him a one-armed rock demon attacks the wards every night,’ Jaik said. ‘It’s looking for Keerin.’
‘Keerin wasn’t even there!’ Arlen cried. ‘I cut that demon’s arm off!’
Jaik snorted. ‘Night, Arlen! You can’t really expect anyone to believe that.’
Arlen scowled, standing up and calling, ‘Liar! Fraud!’ Everyone turned to see the speaker, as Arlen leapt off his stone and strode towards Keerin. The Jongleur looked up, and his eyes widened in recognition. ‘Arlen?’