His cold eyes glinted, stopping the words in Simon's mouth. Holding them like a clutch of long-stemmed flowers, he picked up his bow in the other hand and paused to stare at Simon. He rolled away from the mute hulk immediately, as though burned, and began gathering up his scattered arrows. The Sitha fell to the ground, legs buckling, and tumbled forward onto the motionless woodsman. He held it over his head.Īfter a long moment of scraping and rubbing, the slippery knot parted.
#Painter of the night book free
He heaved, and it broke free from the clinging soil. An instant later his hand closed on a half-buried rock. Groping, he found the bow, but it was even lighter than it had looked, as though strung on marsh reed. Simon dropped down to his sore knees, looking for something to stop this ghastly struggle, to halt the man's grunting and cursing, and the scratchy snarl of the beleaguered prisoner that punished his ears. The man advanced again.īy the Tree, they got fight in 'em they do. A ribbon of all too human-looking blood dribbled down the slender jaw and neck. The cotsman's first blow went awry, grazing the bony cheek and digging a jagged furrow down the arm of the strange, shiny garment. This timber, though, suddenly heaved, became a struggling, kicking, snarling beast fighting for its life. The woodsman contemptuously turned his back on Simon and moved toward the Sitha, axe raised as though to split timber. I know what these creatures are a-gettin' up to. You're in my bit o' garden, as it were, an' you got no call to be. What he's not is no natural creature, that's sure Get away from here, stranger.
It signifies a debt, and the Sithi are conscientious folk. It is a Sithi White Arrow, and it is very precious. Please excuse my suggestions, but you should be taking this arrow. If this little man had come out of the trees snarling and waving a knife, he did not think he could have reacted any differently. He was wrung out, beaten flat like a shirt pounded dry on a rock. Who are you? Simon asked around another hiccough.
I'm I'm just a traveler I heard a noise here in the trees He waved his hand toward the odd tableau. Simon looked down at the pitted axe-blade. The little house crouched as silently and tidily as if nothing had happened. The tiny man was already on the march, climbing back up the hillside above the cottage. He levered the arrow loose from the tree. It was too much effort to not trust, for the moment he no longer had the strength to stay on guard-a part of him wanted only to lie down and quietly die. Mistrustful and wary, Simon nevertheless found himself rising to his feet. I am very shocked He turned and continued into the close-knit trees. The small man turned on the hillcrest to stare down at the struggling youth. He pressed his dizzy head against the damp ground and felt the forest sway and rock about him.īut Simon gasped as he scrambled up after the stranger, who moved with surprising quickness, but what about the cottage? I am I am so hungry and there might be food Staring down at the bloody wreckage, Simon felt his insides heave he fell to his knees retching, bringing up nothing but a sour strand of spittle. He pitched heavily forward onto his knees and then his face, a surge of red welling up through his matted hair. A dull smack reverberated through the trees the man seemed to go boneless in an instant. Setting free the howl that had been coiling itself within him through all the interminable, terrifying days of his exile, he sprang forward, crossing the tiny clearing in a bound to bring the rock down on the back of the cotsman's head. Simon could not stand the cruel spectacle any longer. This fellow, he indicated the woodsman with a sweep of his stick, will reliably not become more alive, but he may have friends or family who will be unsettled to find him so extremely dead. I will be happy to explain more things at a later time, but now we should go.
Me? the stranger asked, pausing as though giving the question much thought. The Sitha's thin chest was heaving like a bellows he was weakening quickly. The woodsman now stood at arm's length, swiping at his swirling target, landing only glancing blows but continuing to draw blood. Stop Neither combatant gave him even a flicker of notice. It is also my feeling that it will not accomplish much-at least for this dead fellow. He turned from kneeling Simon to briefly survey the fallen cotsman. This is not a good place for crying, the stranger said. You're going to but you can't He's he's a He tried to marshal his straggling thoughts. Kill him? Simon, ill and weak as he was, still felt a cold wash of shock.
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