Tash jumped down into the pit and yelped as her ankle buckled again. Gravell ignored her, his attention purely on the smoke. The demon was a deep purple with ruddy red patches and a few streaks of orange. It was naked. It had a handsome face, narrow shoulders, narrow waist, long arms. No wonder it had been hard to outrun; its legs were twice the length of Tash’s. She looked at its private parts. She thought they were odd-looking, but from what she knew they were like any man’s. She’d seen Gravell’s private parts when he bathed in the lakes and streams, but she’d never been that close to Gravell and mostly what she’d seen of him was hair.
This demon, like all demons, had no hair. His skin was smooth. His eyes were half-closed, and Tash knelt to see the color of the eyes. In the demon world they’d looked purple, but now here in the moonlight they were a softer color, lilac. They were beautiful. His face was beautiful. He looked young, like a boy only a little older than her. Tash had to fight back that thought. He wasn’t a him; he was an it, a demon.
The first curl of smoke rose out of the demon’s mouth and Gravell held the bottle upside down, catching the tip of the curl. Demon smoke was their blood, but Tash thought it was also like their last breath, their spirit. The smoke left the demon’s body and rose steadily into the bottle, nothing escaping. If the first wisp went in, the rest followed, almost as if the smoke wanted to stay together. It was a dark plummy-red to start with, but then the rest was purple, like the smoke from the other demon they’d had trouble catching.
The color in the bottle was intense and darkening as still more smoke came, and somehow it fit into the bottle. Then the flow thinned, paled to lilac, and stopped. The bottle contained a swirling purple mass. Gravell took the cork from his mouth and, still holding the bottle upside down, he stoppered it. After doing that he kissed the bottle and said, “Perfect,” as he always did. Then he turned to Tash. “What the shitting shits were you doing?”
“Um . . .”
“He was almost on you. He was on you.”
“He was fast. Have you seen the length of his legs?”
“You came from the wrong direction!”
“He cut me off. I had to veer round. I told you he was fast.”
“So that’ll explain why you stopped then?”
“I thought he’d given up.”
Gravell shook his head. “Are you stupid? They don’t give up. Ever.”
“Look, I got the demon here, didn’t I? I jumped into the pit. The demon jumped in after me. You killed the demon. Sounds like it went well to me.”
Gravell swore under his breath. He stood up. “If that’s it going well . . .”
“And you’ve got the smoke.” Tash looked at the bottle and then at the dead demon. “He seems younger than normal. Maybe that’s why he acted a bit differently. Good job you bought me the spiked boots. Another pace closer and . . .”
“Another half pace and you wouldn’t have got out of his grasp.”
“You worried for me?”
“Huh. More like I was worried that two kroners on boots was wasted.”
Tash smiled and tapped her finger on the bottle. “Good smoke there. That should buy lots of boots.” She yanked her boot from the dead demon’s grasp.
“Boots is all you think about. You should be thinking of the job in hand before you think of boots. And you forgot to bring the ladder. You’re going to have to climb out.”
As she put on her boot, Tash looked at the walls of the pit, lined with blood and guts, and sighed.
“Give me a boost up then.”
Gravell bent down and made a cradle with his hands and she stepped on it, careful not to pierce his hand with her boot spikes. She needed to steady herself. The pit wall was covered with blood, but at least it was dead; who knew what nasty things were crawling in Gravell’s hair! She put one hand on the pit wall.
Gravell said, “Up you go,” as he flung Tash up and she flew over the edge of the pit, rolled to the side and onto her feet. She limped to the bushes and collected the ladder, which she dropped over the edge of the pit for Gravell. She then retrieved her pack and sat down to put some snow round her swollen ankle. Gravell came over and held out the demon smoke. “Just keep running next time.”
She took the bottle, which was warm round the top, and hot at the base. She’d use it to keep warm until Gravell got the fire going.
Gravell wandered away looking for firewood, all the time muttering and shaking his head. “You just don’t stop when a demon’s running after you. You just don’t. Who does that? Who?”
But Tash knew Gravell would calm down as he got back into his post-hunt routine. Tash would sit and Gravell would set up a fire, which on any other day was Tash’s job. Then Gravell would make the stew, which was never Tash’s job as Gravell made it the way he liked it and complained that Tash ruined it whenever she got involved. They had caught some rabbits and had some vegetables. It would be a good feast.
It was a dull night. The moon was full, but hidden by cloud. There was no color anywhere except for the bright purple smoke moving slowly in the bottle. The glow seemed much stronger than from any smoke she’d seen before.
Tash looked at her swollen ankle. It would take a few days to heal, but she’d survive. She prodded at the swelling and closed her eyes, trying to remember the touch of the demon again. He had been warm, not hot; not a hard grip but firm. The swelling was from going over on her ankle when she’d dropped out of the tree, not from the demon hurting her.
Gravell had always told Tash never to get caught by a demon, though he was rather vague on what would happen if she was, merely saying, “Well, it won’t be good, will it?”
She shivered. The night air was cold, so she held the bottle to her stomach and the warmth from it spread through her. She liked the warmth of the smoke. She’d never inhale it, of course. Gravell had taught her that much. “It ruins you, takes all your will and makes you a fool. A happy fool for a night, and that’s what people pay for, but they’re fools for all that.”
Tash set the bottle down between her feet to warm them and remembered the touch of the demon, remembered him running toward her. She’d never seen a demon run before, not properly. She’d seen demons sleep, wake, begin the chase, and she’d seen them get killed, but the most she’d seen of them running before today was a glimpse back through trees; she’d always been too busy running away from them. But the demon running toward her was . . . special. But that wasn’t the right word; she couldn’t think of the word that was right.
Gravell’s singing came through the trees. He dropped the wood for the fire. “Rabbit stew coming right up,” he said. “Well, maybe by midnight.” And he laughed and did a little jig on the spot. “We’ll stay here tonight and head to Dornan tomorrow.”
“My boots are at Dornan.”
“You’ve only just got those boots. You don’t need more boots.”
“I don’t need them but I want them. They’re the most beautiful things I ever saw. And they’re going to be mine.”
With all this smoke she could afford the best boots in the world.
It was only after she’d eaten her stew that Tash remembered her twisted ankle and went to put some more snow on it. But as she slipped off her boot she found the swelling had gone. She circled her foot. It wasn’t sore at all. She stood up and walked around. Her ankle felt strong. Obviously she hadn’t hurt it that badly after all.
CATHERINE
BRIGANE, BRIGANT
Passage of Arms is a modern form of hastilude, which has grown popular since the war with Calidor, and is used as a proof of manly honor. A knight or knights take possession of an access point, such as a bridge, and challenge other men of rank who wish to pass. If the challenge is accepted, there follows a joust or duel to assess the stronger man, though honor is preserved for both combatants. If the challenge is refused, the gentleman challenged must give up his spurs, and his honor, to be allowed to pass. Passage of Arms duels usually end at the drawing of first blood but occasionally result in serious injury or death.