The Demon Cycle Series Books 1 and 2. Peter V. Brett

      But Marick didn’t flinch, or move at Gared’s poke. He stood stark still, his wolf eyes never leaving Gared’s. Leesha prayed he had the sense not to engage.

      ‘Not according to her,’ Marick replied, and Leesha’s hopes fell. She started moving towards them, but already a crowd was forming around the men, denying her a clear path. She wished she had Bruna’s stick to help her clear the way.

      ‘Did she say words of promise to you, Messenger?’ Gared demanded. ‘She did to me.’

      ‘So I’ve heard,’ Marick replied. ‘I’ve also heard you’re the only fool in the Hollow who thinks those words mean a coreling’s piss after you betrayed her.’

      Gared roared and grabbed at the Messenger, but Marick was quicker, stepping smoothly to the side and snapping up his spear, thrusting the butt right between the woodcutter’s eyes. He whipped the spear around in a smooth motion, striking behind Gared’s knees as he staggered backwards, dropping him hard on his back.

      Marick planted his spear back on the ground, standing over Gared, his wolf eyes coldly confident. ‘I could have used the point,’ he advised. ‘You would do well to remember that. Leesha speaks for herself.’

      Everyone in the crowd was gawking, but Leesha continued her desperate push forward, knowing Gared, and knowing that it was not over.

      ‘Stop this idiocy!’ she called. Marick glanced at her, and Gared used that moment to grab the end of his spear. The Messenger’s attention snapped back, and he gripped the shaft with both hands to pull the spear free.

      It was the last thing he should have done. Gared had a wood demon’s strength, and even with him lying prone, none could match it. His corded arms flexed, and Marick found himself flying through the air.

      Gared rose, and snapped the six-foot spear in half like a twig. ‘Let’s see how ya fight when yer not hiding behind a spear,’ he said, dropping the pieces to the ground.

      ‘Gared, no!’ Leesha screamed, pushing past the last of the onlookers and grabbing his arm. He shoved her aside, never taking his eyes off Marick. The simple move sent her reeling back into the crowd, where she crashed into Dug and Niklas, going down in a tangle of bodies.

      ‘Stop!’ she cried helplessly, struggling to find her feet.

      ‘No other man will have you,’ Gared said. ‘You’ll have me, or you’ll end up shrivelled and alone like Bruna!’ He stalked towards Marick, who was only just getting his legs under him.

      Gared swung a meaty fist at the Messenger, but again, Marick was quicker. He ducked the blow smoothly, landing two quick punches to Gared’s body before retreating well ahead of Gared’s wild return swing.

      But if Gared even felt the blows, he showed no sign. They repeated the exchange, this time with Marick punching Gared full in the nose. Blood spurted, and Gared laughed, spitting it from his mouth.

      ‘That your best?’ he asked.

      Marick growled and shot forward, landing a flurry of punches. Gared could not keep up and hardly tried, gritting his teeth and weathering the barrage, his face red with rage.

      After a few moments, Marick withdrew, standing in a catlike fighting stance, his fists up and ready. His knuckles were skinned, and he was breathing hard. Gared seemed little the worse for wear. For the first time, there was fear in Marick’s wolf eyes.

      ‘That all ya have?’ Gared asked, stalking forward again.

      The Messenger came at him again, but this time, he was not so quick. He struck once, twice, and then Gared’s thick fingers found purchase on his shoulder, gripping hard. The Messenger tried to pull back out of reach, but he was held fast.

      Gared drove his fist into the Messenger’s stomach, and the wind exploded out of him. He struck again, this time to the head, and Marick hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.

      ‘Not so smug now, are ya!’ Gared roared. Marick rose to his hands and knees, struggling to rise, but Gared kicked him hard in the stomach, flipping him over onto his back.

      Leesha was darting forward by then, as Gared knelt on top of Marick, landing heavy blows.

      ‘Leesha is mine!’ he roared, ‘And any what says otherwise will …!’

      His words were cut short as Leesha threw a full fist of Bruna’s blinding powder in his face. His mouth was already open, and he inhaled reflexively, screaming as it burned into his eyes and throat, his sinuses seizing and his skin feeling as if burned with boiling water. He fell off Marick, rolling on the ground choking and clawing at his face.

      Leesha knew she had used too much of the powder. A pinch would stop most men in their tracks, but a full fist could kill, causing people to choke on their own phlegm.

      She scowled and shoved past the gawkers, snatching a bucket of water Stefny had been using to wash potatoes. She dumped it over Gared, and his convulsions eased. He would be blind for hours more, but she would not have his death on her hands.

      ‘Our vows are broken,’ she told him, ‘now and forever. I will never be your wife, even if it means dying shrivelled and alone! I’d as soon marry a coreling!’

      Gared groaned, showing no sign he had heard.

      She moved over to Marick, kneeling and helping him to sit up. She took a clean cloth and dabbed at the blood on his face. Already he was starting to swell and bruise.

      ‘I guess we showed him, eh?’ the Messenger asked, chuckling weakly and wincing at the pain it brought to his face.

      Leesha poured some of the harsh alcohol Smitt brewed in his basement onto the cloth.

      ‘Aahhh!’ Marick gasped, as she touched him with it.

      ‘Serves you right,’ Leesha said. ‘You could have walked away from that fight, and you should have, whether you could have won or not. I didn’t need your protection, and I’m no more likely to give my affection to a man who thinks picking a fight is going to gain the favour of an Herb Gatherer than I am the town bully.’

      ‘He was the one that started it!’ Marick protested.

      ‘I’m disappointed in you, Master Marick,’ Leesha said. ‘I thought Messengers came smarter than that.’ Marick dropped his eyes.

      ‘Take him to his room at Smitt’s,’ she said to some nearby men, and they moved quickly to obey. Most folk in Cutter’s Hollow did, these days.

      ‘If you’re out of bed before tomorrow morning,’ Leesha told the Messenger, ‘I’ll hear of it and be even more cross with you.’

      Marick smiled weakly as the men helped him away.

      ‘That was amazing!’ Mairy gasped, when Leesha returned for her basket of herbs.

      ‘It was nothing but stupidity that needed stopping,’ Leesha snapped.

      ‘Nothing?’ Mairy asked. ‘Two men locked together like bulls, and all you had to do to stop them was throw a handful of herbs!’

      ‘Hurting with herbs is easy,’ Leesha said, surprised to find Bruna’s words on her lips, ‘it’s healing with them that’s hard.’

      It was well past high sun by the time Leesha finished her rounds and made it back to Bruna’s hut.

      ‘How are the children?’ Bruna asked, as Leesha set her basket down. Leesha smiled. Everyone in Cutter’s Hollow was a child in Bruna’s eyes.

      ‘Well enough,’ she said, coming to sit on the low stool by Bruna’s chair so the ancient Herb Gatherer could see her clearly. ‘Yon Grey’s joints still ache, but his mind is as young as ever. I gave him fresh sweetsalve. Smitt remains abed, but