The Daylight War

14

333 AR Summer

20 Dawns Before New Moon

Rojer’s head was pounding when he was woken an hour before dawn. The novelty of Sikvah waiting on his every need — bathing him, picking his clothes, dressing him — had begun to wear thin, but he was thankful for it now. His head felt like it was kicked by a mule, and his mouth stuffed with cotton.

‘Haven’t gotten sauced like that since Angiers,’ he muttered.

Sikvah looked up. ‘Eh?’

He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Going to need you to entertain Erny and Elona in the carriage this morning. Need to talk to Leesha.’

‘That is not appropriate, husband,’ Amanvah said, sweeping in from her personal chamber carrying a small wooden box, varnished black and polished to a shine. Had she been in there all night? Rojer had no recollection of her coming to bed, but he had been far gone. ‘The daughter of Erny is unwed and my father’s intended, and you are a married man. You cannot …’

Sikvah was buttoning his shirt cuff, but Rojer yanked his hand away so fast she gasped. ‘Demonshit. I swore to be a good and loyal husband, and that was honest word, but that don’t mean I gave up my right to talk to my friends in private. If you think it does, we’ve got a problem.’

Sikvah seemed scandalized, and Amanvah was silent a long moment, looking down at the box she held, tapping it against one hand. Rojer knew that was as irritated as he would likely ever see her, even if she were about to put her knife in his eye, or have Enkido break his fingers.

But at that moment, Rojer didn’t care. ‘Marriage is the death of freedom,’ his master used to say. He shook his head, deliberately buttoning his own cuff. Not for me. Corespawn me if it is.

At last Amanvah looked up and met his eyes. ‘As you wish, husband.’

Leesha was a little surprised when Rojer asked to ride with her that morning, but did not question it. She told herself she was still annoyed with his decision to marry, but truer was she missed him terribly. Rojer had been her best friend and closest confidant for over a year, and she felt an emptiness when he was not close by.

Amanvah and Sikvah had put up an impenetrable wall with more than their singing and wailing. When they stopped for the night, they guarded Rojer like lions around a kill. This was the first time Leesha had been alone with him since the trip started, and even now they were forced to leave the curtains of the carriage open as a nod to Krasian decency. Sharum rode by regularly, not even bothering to hide their spying as they checked to ensure that she and Rojer remained clothed and on opposite benches.

But they had privacy nonetheless. Gared and Wonda rode to either side to keep everyone out of earshot, and Leesha had selected a driver she was sure did not speak a word of Thesan. Most of the Krasians who knew more than please and thank you in Thesan tended to keep it secret as Amanvah and Sikvah once had, but the Hollowers were wise to the trick now, and had ferreted most of those out over the last week. Elona had proven particularly adept at the game, making outrageous statements and watching closely for tics and tells.

‘I think my mother liked your carriage a little too much,’ Leesha said. ‘You may find her unwilling to trade back after we stop for lunch.’

‘It’s a bit cold at the moment,’ Rojer said. ‘Amanvah and Sikvah did not care for the idea of us being alone together.’

‘Well they’re just going to have to get over that.’ Leesha nodded out the window to where Kaval was passing by on his horse. ‘Ahmann as well. I didn’t agree to cut every man out of my life when I slept with him, regardless of what his people think.’

‘My point exactly,’ Rojer agreed, ‘but I think it will be an ongoing battle.’

Leesha smiled. ‘That’s marriage, as I understand it. Are you regretting the decision?’

Rojer shook his head. ‘No one gets to dance for free. I’ll put my coins in the hat, but corespawned if I’ll be overcharged.’

Leesha nodded. ‘So what was worth risking the wrath of your wives to discuss?’

‘Your intended,’ Rojer said.

‘He’s not-’ Leesha began.

‘You’re throwing your weight around with the Krasians like he is,’ Rojer cut in. ‘So which is it?’

Leesha felt a twinge in her temple and pretended to brush back her hair so she could rub it. ‘What business is it of yours? You didn’t consult me on your betrothal.’

‘My wives aren’t kidnapping every able-bodied boy under fifteen,’ Rojer said. ‘If just half of them make it through Hannu Pash …’

‘In a few years Ahmann will have an army of Thesan fanatics big enough to conquer everything from here to Fort Miln,’ Leesha finished. ‘I’m not blind, Rojer.’

‘So what are we going to do?’ Rojer asked.

‘Build our own,’ Leesha said. ‘The Hollow must keep expanding, and training Cutters in battle. Ahmann has named us tribesmen, and will not attack us if we do not attack him first.’

‘Do you really believe that?’ Rojer asked. ‘I’ll admit he’s not what I expected, but do you trust him?’

Leesha nodded. ‘Ahmann is many things, but he is honest. He has made no secret of his plans to conquer everyone who does not willingly join him in Sharak Ka, but that does not necessarily mean all must bow to him in the day.’

‘And if it does?’ Rojer asked.

‘Then perhaps he will take my hand as a symbolic conquest,’ Leesha said. ‘It’s not my first choice, but better than open war pitting neighbour against neighbour.’

‘That may save the Hollow,’ Rojer said, ‘but Lakton is still on the gibbet. The city might hold up better than Fort Rizon did, but the hamlets are indefensible. The Krasians will begin swallowing them soon.’

‘Agreed,’ Leesha said. ‘But there’s not a lot we can do about that.’

‘We can warn them,’ Rojer said. ‘And have them pass it on. Offer sanctuary and training in the Hollow now, while the roads are still passable.’

‘And how are we supposed to do that?’ Leesha asked.

Rojer smiled. ‘Play your princess act. Demand a roof over your head every night as we pass through Lakton, and no more kicking out everyone else at the inns. I am going to debut my new song, and need an audience.’

‘I do not think this is a good idea, mistress,’ Kaval said. He was the ranking Sharum, his red veil hanging loose about his throat in the midday sun. They had stopped briefly for lunch, and to allow folk to stretch their legs. The drillmaster’s tone was polite, but there was frustration under its veneer. He was not accustomed to explaining himself to women.

‘I do not care what you think, Sharum,’ Leesha said. ‘I will not sleep on the roadside with rocks for pillows when there are perfectly good inns until two days out from the Hollow.’

Kaval frowned. ‘We are no longer in the lands of Shar’Dama Ka. It is safer-’

‘To camp on the road where bandits can come on us at night?’ Leesha cut him off.

Kaval spat in the dust. ‘The chin cowards will not dare come at us on the road at night. The alagai would slaughter them.’

‘Bandits or demons, I don’t care to spend the night out with either,’ Leesha snapped.

‘Mistress has shown no fear of alagai before,’ Kaval pointed out. ‘I would worry more about hidden spears in some unknown chin village.’

‘What is this?’ Amanvah asked, coming over to them.

Kaval immediately went to one knee. ‘The mistress wishes to sleep in a chin village tonight, Dama’ting. I have told her this is unwise …’

‘She is correct, of course,’ Amanvah said. ‘I have no more desire to sleep in the naked night than she. If you’re afraid of a few local chin,’ she made a mockery of the word, ‘then by all means, leave us at the inn and put a tent out in the woods to hide till dawn.’

Leesha bit back a smile as she watched Kaval bow deeper to hide the grinding of his teeth.

‘We fear nothing, Dama’ting,’ the drillmaster said. ‘If this is your wish, we will commandeer-’

‘You will do nothing of the sort,’ Leesha interrupted. ‘As you say, this is not the Deliverer’s land. Our beds will be bought and paid for, not taken at spearpoint. We are not thieves.’

Leesha could swear she heard the grinding of teeth. Kaval’s eyes flicked to Amanvah, waiting for her to countermand the order, but the girl was wisely silent. She had regained something of her former haughtiness, but they both remembered what happened the last time she crossed Leesha.

‘Call the Sharum. All twenty-one, and have them sit there,’ Leesha pointed to a small clearing. ‘I will address them while they eat. I want no misconceptions about what is acceptable behaviour, both for the runners we send ahead and the bulk of the group when we reach town.’

She swept away, heading over to the cauldrons where the dal’ting prepared lunch for the caravan under Shamavah’s watchful eye. Most would receive a heavy brown soup of beef stock and flour with potatoes and vegetables, along with a half loaf of bread. The Sharum ate better, with spits of lamb and couscous in addition to their soup, which had large chunks of meat. Leesha, her parents, Rojer, and his wives all ate better still, herb-encrusted roast pheasant and rack of lamb, their couscous spiced and thick with butter.

Leesha came over to Shamavah. ‘I am addressing the Sharum over lunch. I will need you to translate for me.’

‘Of course, mistress.’ Shamavah bowed. ‘It would be my great honour.’

Leesha pointed to the place where the warriors were already beginning to gather. ‘See to it they are seated in a half-moon and given bowls.’ Shamavah nodded and hurried off.

Leesha went to the woman preparing the Sharum’s soup, taking the ladle from her and tasting it. ‘Needs more spice,’ she said, taking a few handfuls from the bowls of spice the cooks had laid out and tossing them into the soup. Along with a few herbs from her own apron.

She pretended to taste it again. ‘Perfect.’

Rojer held the last note of the Song of Waning for a long time, eyes closed, feeling the hum of the wood in his hands. He cut the note hard, and Amanvah and Sikvah followed him easily.

‘The hush before the roar,’ Arrick used to call it — that precious moment of silence between the last note of a brilliant performance and the applause of the crowd. With the heavy curtains pulled, even the myriad sounds of the caravan were muted.

Rojer felt his chest tighten, and suddenly realized he was holding his breath. There was no one to applaud, but he heard the sound anyway. He could say with no ego that as a trio, they exceeded anything he had ever done alone.

He let his breath out slowly, opening his eyes at the exact moment Amanvah and Sikvah opened theirs. Those beautiful eyes told him they, too, sensed the power of what they had wrought.

If you only knew, Rojer thought. Soon, my loves. Soon I will show you.

My loves. He had taken to calling them that, in his head if not aloud. He had meant it as a joke, calling women he barely knew ‘love’, but it had never been funny. There were times when it was passionate, and times, like last night and this morning, when it was bitter.

And there were times like right now, when the void left by the music’s end filled with a love as true as he could ever imagine. He looked at his wives and what he felt at the sight of Leesha Paper paled in comparison.

‘My master used to say there was no such thing as perfection in music,’ Rojer said, ‘but corespawn it if we aren’t close.’

The original Song of Waning had seven verses, each with seven lines, each with seven syllables. Amanvah had said that this was because there were seven pillars of Heaven, seven lands on the Ala, and seven layers to Nie’s abyss.

The translation made his previous crowning achievement, The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow, seem a cheap ditty. The Song of Waning had power over human and coreling both, music that could take a demon through the full range of reaction and words that would tell the Laktonians all they needed to know.

The Painted Man had asked for more fiddle wizards like him, but Rojer had failed at that, even questioning whether the talent could be taught at all. He had begun to feel like he was standing still, peaked at eighteen winters. But now he had stumbled onto something new, and felt his power building once more. It was not what he or the Painted Man had been seeking. It was something stronger still.

Provided, of course, his wives would perform it with him, and the Krasians didn’t realize what he was doing and have him killed.

Amanvah and Sikvah bowed. ‘It is an honour to accompany you, husband,’ Amanvah said. ‘Everam speaks to you, as my father says.’

Everam. Rojer was getting sick of the name. There was no Creator, by that name or any other. ‘Not much difference between Holy Men and Jongleurs, Rojer,’ Arrick used to say in his cups. ‘They spin the same old ale stories and tampweed tales over and over, bedazzling bumpkins and half-wits to help them forget the pain of life.’

Then he would laugh bitterly. ‘Only they’re better paid and respectable.’

An image flashed in Rojer’s mind — the evil red glow coming out from under the door to Amanvah’s private chamber each night. Had she spent the entire night there?

Your Jiwah Ka consults the dice to help guide your path.

Rojer didn’t pretend to understand the bone magic of the dama’ting, but Leesha had explained enough of it for him to grasp that there wasn’t anything divine about it. Hadn’t the science of the old world harnessed ‘the lightning in the sky and the wind and the rain’? He didn’t know what the dice were telling her, but it wasn’t the word of the Creator, and he didn’t like the idea of dancing to their bidding.

‘Do your dice agree?’ he asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral. Sikvah inhaled sharply, but Amanvah had her mask in place, giving not a hint to her true feelings. The Jongleur in him railed against that. It was a common pastime in the guild hall to try to make other Jongleurs laugh or otherwise break character while practising their routines. Rojer considered himself a master at it.

He cocked his head at her. Will I spend the rest of my life trying to trick a real reaction from you?

‘The alagai hora are never absolute, husband. They are a guide only.’

‘And what do they tell you about me?’ Rojer asked.

Sikvah hissed. ‘It is forbidden to ask …!’

‘The Core with that!’ Rojer asked. ‘I won’t dance to an imaginary tune.’

Amanvah turned to reach into a large velvet bag, the kind dama’ting kept their demon bones in. With the heavy curtains drawn, there was no natural light in the carriage, perfect for hora magic. He froze, wishing he’d kept a knife strapped to his wrist.

But Amanvah simply removed a wrapped package and handed it to him with a bow. ‘The dice tell much and little about you, husband. Your power is undeniable, but your life’s path is scattered with divergences. There are futures where hordes of alagai dance to your tune, and others where your gift is squandered. Greatness and failure.’

Rojer untied the bright cloth wrapping, discovering the small wooden box she had held early that morning. ‘But when I asked them if I should marry you, they told me yes, and when I asked what marriage gift could help you to greatness, they guided me to this.’

Suddenly Rojer felt boorish. She had been spending all that time alone making him a marriage present? Creator, was he expected to provide presents as well? No one had told him that. He made a mental note to ask Shamavah the custom when they stopped for the night, and get her advice on a gift, if need be.

Amanvah bowed as deeply as he had ever seen, her head nearly touching the carpeted floor of the carriage. ‘Please accept my apologies, for taking so long presenting it to you. I began the work two weeks ago, thinking I would have months to prepare. The dice did not predict that you would move to speaking our vows so quickly.’

Rojer ran the three fingertips of his right hand over the smooth surface of the box, feeling the wards that had been burned into the wood before it was lacquered. Some were wards of protection, but most he did not know. Rojer had never had any skill at warding.

What’s inside? he wondered. What did the demon dice command her to make him? An image flashed in his mind of Enkido. If it’s a pair of golden shackles, I am grabbing my bag of marvels and going straight out the door, moving carriage or no.

He opened the box and his eyes widened. Inside, on a bed of silk, was a fiddle’s chinrest of polished rosewood with a moulded gold centre, affixed to a golden tail clamp. The piece was covered in wards, etched into the gold and cut sharply into the lacquer of the wood, filled with gold filigree. It was beautiful.

Like all modern instruments, Arrick and Jaycob’s fiddles had chinrests, but the ancient instrument Rojer had taken from the Painted Man’s treasure room did not, perhaps dating back to days before the innovation. A chinrest allowed the player to hold the fiddle in place with just his neck, freeing his hands for other things if necessary.

‘The piece comes from Duke Edon’s instrument maker, designed for the royal herald.’ Rojer reached out reverently to touch the object as Amanvah spoke. ‘It has taken me many nights to ward it and infuse it with hora.’

Rojer recoiled, snatching his hand back as if from a hot kettle. ‘Hora? There’s a demon bone in that?’

Amanvah laughed, a musical sound he heard all too infrequently. Is that real, Rojer wondered, or just part of the mask?

‘It cannot harm you, husband. The evil will of Nie dies with the alagai, but their bones continue to carry the magic of Ala, made by Everam long before Nie created the abyss to pervert it.’

Rojer pursed his lips. ‘Still …’

‘The bone is little more than a thin slice,’ Amanvah said. ‘Bound in wards and solid gold.’

‘What does it do?’ Rojer asked.

Amanvah smiled so widely Rojer could see it through her translucent veil, and even to his practised eye, it seemed truly genuine and sent a thrill through him.

‘Try it,’ Amanvah whispered, lifting his fiddle and handing it to him.

Rojer hesitated a moment, then shrugged and took the instrument, affixing the clamp to the tail piece where the resonance would be greatest. He turned the threaded barrels carefully to tighten it without damaging the wood, then set it beneath his chin, holding the instrument without the use of his hands. There was a slight tingle where it touched his chin, like a limb gone to pins and needles.

Rojer waited a moment. ‘What’s supposed to happen?’

Amanvah laughed again. ‘Play!’

Rojer took the bow in his crippled hand and the frets in the other, playing a quick tune. He was shocked at the resonance. The instrument had become twice as loud. ‘That’s amazing.’

‘And that is with most of the wards covered by your chin,’ Amanvah said. ‘Lift away and the sound will only grow.’

Rojer cocked an eyebrow at her, then went back to playing. At first, he kept the wood covered, and the instrument seemed little louder than normal. Slowly, he lifted his chin, revealing some of the wards, and the volume began to increase. He lifted more, and the sound doubled, and doubled again, rattling his teeth even as his wives moved to cover their ears. Finally, he had to stop from sheer pain, with much of the rest still covered.

‘This will drown out your beautiful voices,’ Rojer said.

Amanvah shook her head, lifting her veil to show a golden choker with a warded ball at its centre, resting in the hollow of her throat. Sikvah revealed a similar bit of jewellery at her own neck. ‘We will match you, husband.’

Rojer shook his head, stunned. Perhaps bone magic and dice ent so bad after all.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ he managed at last. ‘This is the most amazing gift anyone has ever given me, but I haven’t anything to give in return.’

Amanvah and Sikvah laughed. ‘Have you already forgotten the song we just sang?’ Amanvah said. ‘It was your marriage gift before our holy father.’ She laid a hand on his arm. ‘We will sing it with you tonight for the chin.’

Rojer nodded, suddenly racked with guilt. They had no idea what the song would say to the Laktonians.

The village of Greenmeadow appeared deserted when their caravan arrived, fields empty of humans and livestock. The few fleeting glimpses of movement vanished quickly over hills and into the woods. They left the caravan on the Messenger road while the carriages headed into the village proper. Even then they saw no one.

‘I do not like this,’ Kaval said. Coliv said something to him in Krasian, and he grunted.

‘What’s that?’ Leesha asked.

‘He says the chin make only slightly less noise than thunder. They are all around us, watching from every window and around every street corner. I will dispatch him to scout our path …’

‘You won’t,’ Leesha said.

‘He is a Krevakh Watcher,’ Kaval said. ‘I assure you, mistress, the greenlanders will never even know he is there.’

‘I’m not worried about them,’ Leesha said. ‘I want him where I can see him. These people have reason for caution, but we aren’t going to do anything to threaten them.’

A moment later the town square came into view, surrounded by homes and shopfronts. There were five men waiting on the inn steps, two with nocked hunting bows, and two more with long pitchforks.

Leesha called a halt and stepped out of her carriage. Immediately she was joined by Rojer, Gared, Wonda, Amanvah, Enkido, Shamavah, and Kaval. ‘Let me do the talking,’ Leesha said as they approached the inn.

‘They do not appear interested in talking, mistress,’ Kaval said, nodding to both sides, where she saw bowmen at every window around the town square.

‘They will not shoot unless we give them cause,’ Leesha said, wishing she was as confident as her words. She spread her pocketed apron so that all could see she was a Herb Gatherer. Rojer’s patchwork cloak announced him as a Jongleur — another point in their favour.

Rojer and Enkido placed themselves between the bows and Amanvah, with Gared in turn protecting Rojer. Leesha was similarly surrounded by Kaval and Wonda.

‘Ay, the inn!’ Rojer cried. ‘We mean no harm, seeking only safe succour, for which we can pay. May we approach?’

‘Leave your spears right there!’ one of the men cried.

‘I’ll do no such-’ Kaval began.

‘Your spear or yourself, Drillmaster,’ Leesha cut in. ‘It’s a fair request, and they could as easily drop you where you stand.’ Kaval let out a low growl, but he bent and laid down his spear, as did Enkido.

‘Who’re you, then?’ the lead man asked when they made it to the porch.

‘Leesha Paper,’ Leesha said.

The man blinked. ‘Mistress of the Hollow?’

Leesha smiled. ‘The same.’

The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you doing so far south? And with the likes of them?’ He nodded at the Krasians.

‘We are returning from a meeting with the Krasian leader,’ Leesha said, ‘and wish to spend the night in Greenmeadow.’

‘Since when do Herb Gatherers go on diplomacy missions?’ the man asked. ‘That’s Messenger work.’

Rojer stepped forward, extending a hand with a sweep of his motley cloak. ‘I am the herald of Deliverer’s Hollow. Rojer Halfgrip, former apprentice to Arrick Sweetsong, one-time herald of Duke Rhinebeck of Angiers.’

‘Halfgrip?’ the man asked. ‘The one they call the fiddle wizard?’ Rojer smiled widely at that, nodding.

‘You have our names, but have not given yours,’ Leesha said. ‘I’m guessing you are Havold, the Town Speaker?’

‘Ay, how d’you know that?’ the man demanded.

‘Your Herb Gatherer, Mistress Ana, once wrote to me for advice on curing your daughter Thea of the gasping cough,’ Leesha said. ‘She is well, I take it?’

‘That was ten years ago,’ Havold said. ‘She has children of her own now, and I don’t care for the thought of them sleeping not half a mile from a bunch of murdering Krasians. We heard the stories from those that passed through last winter, running from them.’ His bearded lip curled at Kaval and Enkido, showing the tip of one of his canines.

Leesha prayed the drillmaster would not rise to the bait, and breathed a sigh when he remained silent. ‘I cannot speak for the people as a whole, but I can vouch for the men in my caravan. If left alone, they will keep to themselves and harm no one. Most will remain in their carts on the road, but my parents are elderly and I would dearly appreciate a few beds for the night. As my herald told you, we can pay, in both gold and entertainment.’

Havold’s mouth was a hard line, but he nodded.

Leesha sat in the taproom with her parents, Gared, Wonda, Kaval, and Enkido as Rojer tuned his fiddle. He sat in a plain hard-back chair in a dimly lit corner, Amanvah and Sikvah kneeling on clean cloth to either side of him. Leesha could tell the drillmaster and eunuch were uneasy with Amanvah and Sikvah on the stage — such things were unheard of in Krasia — but they kept their peace after a few harsh whispers from the dama’ting. The other tables and bar stools were packed with Meadowers, with more standing at the back. A Jongleur would draw a crowd in any event, but Leesha could see as many eyes on the Krasians at her table as on the stage, not all of them friendly. The general din kept her from making out details, but there was angry murmuring throughout the room.

At least until the music began.

Rojer had done nothing to warm the crowd as he had the day before. No acrobatics or juggling, no magic tricks, jokes, or stories. With his wives on stage, he played and nothing more.

As he had in Ahmann’s dining hall, Rojer began with a slow, quiet melody, building in complexity and volume until the sound filled the room, wrapping everyone in its spell. The crowd fell silent, eyes glazing. In her heart, Leesha knew his playing was not truly magic, but the way human and demon both were moved by it belied that fact. He had a gift none could deny.

When the music built to a crescendo, Amanvah and Sikvah began to sing, wordlessly at first, but then in perfect Thesan:

Leesha felt an ache in her hand, and realized she had been clutching her teacup so hard her knuckles showed white. She forced herself to relax and glance around a room holding its collective breath. At the last verse she expected the Krasians to suddenly produce weapons — though those had all been left in their rooms — or the Meadowers to riot. Instead, all burst into a cacophony of sound. Kaval and Enkido roared and stomped their feet, sending bits of dust drifting down from the rafters. The clapping of the Thesans was like an entire box of festival crackers.

Not for the first time, she had underestimated Rojer. He seemed a boy, eighteen summers old, with only the barest whisper of hair on his face. Often his actions made him seem younger still — petulant, impetuous, and downright foolhardy. Leesha was forever fretting when he ignored her advice, sure she knew better than he, sure she could solve all his problems if he would only listen and do as he was told.

But Rojer had done more with a song than she could have ever imagined, telling the Meadowers everything they needed to know about the Krasians and their beliefs, warning them about the danger of the coming new moon, and telling them in no uncertain terms that Ahmann’s army was coming their way.

Most of all, he had done it right under the Krasians’ noses, revealing nothing their dama did not shout from their pedestals and minarets. He might as well have said the sky was blue. Amanvah and Sikvah thought they were singing their father’s glory, when in fact they were telling folk to pack their things and run as fast and far as they could.

Leesha was accustomed to knowing best, but suddenly it was she who felt directionless, and Rojer the one who could see the net for its wards.

‘That was beautiful, Rojer,’ she said, rising as they took their bows and returned to the table. Kaval and Enkido were on their feet instantly, moving to surround the women protectively.

‘Thank you,’ Rojer said, ‘but it was a group effort. I could never have done it without Amanvah and Sikvah.’

‘My husband is too modest,’ Amanvah said. ‘We taught him a song everyone knows, and helped him understand the meaning of its words, but it was he who put it in your language, finding rhymes and words we could never have hoped to.’

Leesha smiled. ‘I think you, too, are being modest, Amanvah.’ She looked at Rojer. ‘But it’s true Rojer added … subtle touches that were nothing short of brilliant.’

Just for an instant, Rojer shot her a glare, too fast for the others to notice. Amanvah looked at her curiously, and Leesha realized Rojer wasn’t the only one she was underestimating. The dama’ting might be young, but she was no fool.

Havold came over after the performance, and Leesha taught him the mind demon ward, and how to make headbands with it for use on new moon.

‘You mean those things are real?’ Havold gaped.

‘Every threat in that song is real, Speaker,’ Leesha said. ‘Every one.’

Rojer woke the next morning at the gentle rebound of the feathered mattress as Amanvah and Sikvah slipped to the floor. They were making an effort not to wake him, but after many nights among the skilled pickpockets of the Jongleurs’ Guild, he had learned to sleep lightly.

He kept his breathing even, pretending to shift in his sleep to give himself a better view as the women lit oil lamps and began their morning ritual. It was not yet dawn, and Rojer could likely sleep another hour before needing to rise and rejoin the caravan, but some things were preferable to sleep.

Watching his wives exercise was one of them.

Amanvah and Sikvah were clad only in loose diaphanous pants and tops, leaving little to the imagination as they moved through their sharusahk poses. Rojer felt himself stiffen and shifted under the blankets to put a bit of pressure on himself, swallowing a groan of pleasure as he mused about how lucky he was.

As always, the women seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to his arousal. They turned to regard him, and Rojer was not quick enough to close his eyes. Immediately, they ceased their exercise and moved towards him.

‘No, please,’ Rojer said. ‘Don’t let me interrupt. I enjoy watching.’

Sikvah looked to Amanvah, who shrugged, and the women resumed their posing.

‘Your sharusahk is nothing like what Gared and Wonda are learning from Kaval,’ Rojer noted.

Amanvah snorted. ‘Sharum sharusahk is like wolves howling at the moon. Even the dama are only a cricket’s song. This,’ she fell into a series of poses, ‘is music.’

Rojer concentrated, thinking of Darsy Cutter, the homely Herb Gatherer of Deliverer’s Hollow. He undressed the woman in his mind’s eye until his arousal faded, then rose from the bed, moving over to face Amanvah, imitating her as she shifted from stance to stance.

It was surprisingly difficult, even for one trained to the stage. Rojer could walk on his hands, tumble, flip, and dance every dance from royal ballrooms to country reels, but the sharukin tested muscles he didn’t even know he had, forcing him to hold more balance than it took to walk a ball while fiddling.

Sikvah laughed. ‘That is quite good, husband.’

‘Don’t lie to me, jiwah,’ Rojer said, smirking to let her know it was only teasing. ‘I know it was awful.’

‘Sikvah does not lie,’ Amanvah said, moving to adjust his pose. ‘Your form is good, it is only your centre that is off.’

‘My centre?’

‘Imagine yourself a palm tree, swaying in the wind,’ Amanvah said. ‘You bend, but do not break.’

‘I would,’ Rojer said, ‘but I have never seen a palm tree. You might as well tell me to imagine myself a fairy pipkin.’

Amanvah did not frown, but neither did she offer him a smile. In her eyes, there was no humour in sharusahk. He swallowed his smirk and let her guide his stance.

‘Your centre is the invisible line that connects you, the Ala, and Heaven,’ Amanvah said. ‘It is balance, but also so much more than that. It is the calm place of silence, the deep place you fall into when you embrace music, the soothing place where you ignore pain.’ She grabbed his crotch. ‘It is the hard place you use to seed your wives, and the safe place you use to sway with the wind.’

Rojer groaned at her touch, and this time, Amanvah did smile. She took a step back, signalling to Sikvah. Both women reached into pouches at their waists, slipping their fingers into the tiny cymbals used for the pillow dance.

For the next few days, the scene was repeated in one Laktonian village after another, talking the townsfolk down from their fear of the Sharum, and then performing for them. Rojer felt a bit of guilt for duping his wives about the message they were giving, but since they hadn’t even bothered to tell him they spoke his language at first, he managed to keep the feeling at bay. It wasn’t a betrayal. He was just spreading news they already thought common knowledge.

Each morning, Amanvah and Sikvah continued his sharusahk training while Enkido looked on the proceedings, his face carved from stone. It seemed more a lark than a concerted effort, but it was pleasurable enough. Leesha had told him of the deadly nerve strikes Inevera had attempted, and the ease with which the woman had wrestled her into a choke hold. There was none of that in his wives’ lessons. He improved slightly, but not enough to even attempt some of the more difficult poses.

‘You must walk before you dance,’ Amanvah said.

They were moving at a faster pace now as they moved farther from the Krasians’ control. Once, their caravan was attacked — a quick strike on horseback by a dozen bandits with throwing spears and short bows, meant to distract as another group raided one of the baggage carts. The Sharum were not fooled. They killed four of the bandits and injured several more before they broke and ran. The caravan was unmolested after that.

Less than a week out from Deliverer’s Hollow, they were beginning to feel more comfortable, with Leesha’s familiarity with the local Gatherers growing with proximity to home. Some were women she had corresponded with for years but never met. In the village of Northfork, there were actually tears and hugging, but all Rojer could feel was a growing tension. The folk here felt safer from the Sharum, and that made them bold.

That night in the taproom, after he finished the Song of Waning, there was polite applause, but then the barkeep called, ‘Ay, play The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow!’ The request was followed by a chorus of ays, with much hooting and stomping of feet.

Rojer suppressed a furrow of his brow that threatened to mar his Jongleur’s mask. Two months ago, he was touting that song from every rooftop, and had sold it dear to the Jongleurs’ Guild.

He looked to Amanvah. ‘Please play if that is your wish, husband. Sikvah and I will return to our table. We would be honoured to hear a song of our new tribe’s heroism in the night.’

They smoothly rolled back onto their heels and stood. Rojer wanted to kiss them as they passed, but while they seemed to be growing more comfortable with Northern customs, that was too far for any Krasian woman short of the Damajah herself to be expected to go in public.

Our new tribe. Rojer gritted his teeth. Did they really know what they were asking for? He had not been fool enough to sing The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow while in the confines of Everam’s Bounty — it bordered on blasphemy.

But they weren’t in Everam’s Bounty. They were in Laktonian lands now, and surrounded by Thesans who deserved to know that their cousins in the North were growing in power, and had their own saviour to rally to. Rojer didn’t really think Arlen Bales was the Deliverer any more than he did Ahmann Jardir, but if folk needed to look to one for strength in the night and a way forward, he would still take the Painted Man over the Shar’Dama Ka. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life lying about it and hiding that fact from his wives.

Now was as good a time as any.

Slowly, he began to play. As he fell into the music, his fear and anxiety began to drift away like demon ashes in the morning breeze. He had been so proud of the song when he had written it, and as his fingers danced across the familiar notes, he found he still was. The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow might not have the sheer power of the Song of Waning, but he could weave a shell of protection in the night with it, keeping corelings at bay, and it had power over the hearts of all good folk. It was already sung far and wide, and would likely outlive him, lasting into the ages like the ancient sagas.

He fell into the trance that playing always brought, blocking out his wives, the Sharum, Leesha, and the patrons. When he was ready, he began to sing.

He had kept the song simple, both so country folk could clap and sing along, but also for his own benefit. His voice was nothing compared with Amanvah’s and Sikvah’s, or with that of his famed master, Arrick Sweetsong. Even in his cups, when folk laughed and called him ‘Soursong’ and he could forget lyrics midsong, Arrick still had levels of vocal ability Rojer could never match.

But he had been trained by the best, and while he lacked the lungs and natural talent, Rojer could carry a tune well enough, his voice high and clear.

‘The true Deliverer!’ someone in the crowd shouted, and there was a cheer of agreement.

There was the sound of a chair hitting the floor, and Rojer opened his eyes to see Kaval moving his way, seething with anger. Gared leapt to his feet, putting himself between them. The giant Cutter was eight inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier. He grabbed Kaval and for a moment seemed to have control, but the drillmaster gave his great log of an arm a twist and Gared roared in pain just before he was thrown halfway across the room. Kaval gave him no further notice, picking up speed as he went after Rojer.

Wonda had instinctively reached for her bow, but when she realized it was in her room, she did not hesitate to attack the drillmaster unarmed. She kept to the balls of her feet, guard up as she threw quick, economical punches and kicks, wisely refusing to grapple. She lasted a few seconds longer than Gared, but then Kaval diverted one of her punches and chopped her in the throat with the edge of one hand. He grabbed her arm as she choked and twisted in close, sending her crashing onto the centre of a table, cracking it in half with the impact. Wonda hit the floor under a spray of splinters, ale, and shattered glass.

The barkeeper had produced a cudgel and people were shouting all over the room, but none of them was close enough to aid Rojer. He flicked his wrist to produce a throwing knife, but fumbled in his panic and dropped it as Kaval closed in.

Then Enkido was there, hooking Kaval’s armpit and turning his momentum into a throw. The drillmaster was wise to the move, quickstepping around and managing to keep his feet. He shouted something in Krasian as he came back in with a kick, followed by a snapping punch. Neither blow landed, Enkido slipping the kick and catching Kaval’s wrist to divert the punch. His free arm snapped out, punching the drillmaster hard in his shoulder joint. Enkido let the limb go and it fell limp. Kaval struck with his other fist, but it was like hitting at smoke. Enkido flowed out of its path and then struck Kaval’s other shoulder, rolling smoothly around to kick at the back of Kaval’s knee.

With frightening ease he got behind the drillmaster, locking his limp arms and forcing him down to the floor. Kaval’s face was agonized as his tendons screamed, but he did not cry out. Enkido was silent as always, his face expressionless.

‘Enough,’ Amanvah said, and the eunuch immediately released the drillmaster and took a step back. Kaval turned to the dama’ting, speaking through his teeth in Krasian. Rojer could not understand what he was saying, but the meaning was clear in the fanatical look in his eyes.

Amanvah responded in Thesan, her voice cold. ‘If you or any Sharum lays so much as a finger on my husband, Drillmaster, you will spend eternity sitting outside the gates of Heaven.’ Kaval’s eyes widened at that. He put his forehead on the floor, but there was still rage on his face.

Amanvah turned to Rojer. ‘And you, husband, will not play that song ever again.’

Rojer did not need to touch his medallion for strength. The flare of anger was enough and more. No one was going to tell him what he could and couldn’t play. ‘The Core I won’t. I’m no Holy Man. It’s not for me to tell folk what to believe. All I do is tell stories, and both of these are true.’

The little vein on Amanvah’s forehead throbbed, signalling anger that did not touch her eyes. She nodded.

‘Then my father will hear of this. Kaval, select your strongest, fastest dal’Sharum. I shall write a letter he is to put in the hand of Shar’Dama Ka and no other. Tell him to take two horses, kill no alagai but those that would hinder him, and that Sharak Ka itself may depend upon his swiftness.’

Kaval nodded and rolled back onto his heels to rise and comply, but Leesha stood and moved in front of him, crossing her arms. ‘He won’t make it,’ she warned.

‘Eh?’ Amanvah asked.

‘I’ve poisoned your Sharum,’ Leesha said, ‘with something that far outlasts the weak antidote I’ve been putting in their soup. You are several days from the nearest ally, and without the antidote, your man won’t last half that time.’

Amanvah stared at Leesha a long time, and Rojer wondered if it was honest word. Surely not. Leesha was capable of many things, but killing with poison? Impossible.

Amanvah’s eyes narrowed. ‘Kaval, do as I command.’

‘I’m not bluffing,’ Leesha warned.

‘No,’ Amanvah agreed, ‘I do not believe you are.’

‘But you will send a man to his death anyway?’ Leesha asked.

‘It is you who have served him death,’ Amanvah said. ‘I am doing what I must to protect his brothers in Everam’s Bounty. I will throw the dice and prepare herbs for him to take, but if you have truly poisoned him and I do not guess the cure, he will go to glory as a martyr, and his soul will weigh against you when you are judged by the Creator at the end of the lonely road.’

‘Neither of us will go to him clean after this,’ Leesha said.

‘You make no difference to these people by frightening them and confusing them with lies and half-truth. When my father chooses to take their lands, they will be taken. These people will be stronger for it, and have a chance at glory and Heaven.’ Amanvah flicked a finger, and the drillmaster was off. A few of the men in the taproom looked like they might hinder him, but Kaval bared his teeth and they wisely stepped from his path.

With a final glare at Rojer, Amanvah and Sikvah stormed off, heading up to their rooms with Enkido in tow. Rojer watched them sadly as they ascended the steps and vanished from sight. It was true he would never stop playing The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow, but he need not have sprung it on them onstage. He knew what it was like, to feel left out in the middle of an act.

When the shock wore off, Rojer realized he and the other Hollowers were completely alone for the first time since the journey began. Wonda and Gared seemed to have more injury to their pride than their bodies, and kept watch as the others spoke.

‘Well that was terrifying,’ Rojer said.

‘You were lucky,’ Leesha said. ‘It’s one thing to use the Song of Waning to tell the locals to get out of the Krasians’ path without their realizing what you’re doing, but quite another to sing of another Deliverer right under their noses. You may as well have spit on everything they believe in.’

‘So we should pretend the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow never happened?’ Wonda demanded. ‘That we fought for nothing? That my da just up and died, rather than went down taking a copse of woodies with him? That the Painted Man didn’t do just what happened in the song?’

‘Gettin’ sick of pretending up is down and black is white,’ Gared said.

‘Of course not,’ Leesha said. ‘But we’re vulnerable on the road. We’ll be back in the Hollow soon enough. Between now and then, I suggest we tread carefully.’

‘Ay, everyone all right?’ the innkeeper asked, bringing over a fresh tray of drinks. He was accompanied by Gery, the Speaker for Northfork, and Nicholl, the Herb Gatherer.

‘Ent been better,’ Rojer said, motioning for them to sit. ‘Night’s got no flavour if I don’t almost get killed.’

Gery blinked, but he and Nicholl took the offered seats. ‘Just what in the Core is going on? You said they were with you, but it looks to me like you’re with them. They holding you prisoner?’

Rojer knew they were expecting him to reply, but he felt numb and cloudy and had no answers. Leesha shook her head, and he was happy to let her have the floor, at least until she spoke.

‘It’s more complicated than that, Speaker,’ Leesha said, ‘and not your concern. We’ll be safe enough. The woman in white is the daughter of the Krasian leader …’

Rojer stiffened and leaned forward. Be careful, he thought.

‘… and married to Rojer. After tonight, none of the warriors will dare harm us without word from the Shar’Dama Ka, and that won’t come quickly. We’ll be safe in the Hollow by then, and better prepared for what’s coming than the people of Northfork.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ the Speaker demanded. ‘You tell us one thing, sing another, and show us a third.’

‘It means the Krasians are coming this way,’ Leesha said. ‘They may not be as brutal as they were with the Rizonans if you aren’t stupid enough to fight, but the effect will be the same. Every boy taken to be trained in demon fighting, every man made a second-class citizen, every woman a third. Your village will be put under an overseer and you will all be subject to Evejan law.’

‘You’re telling us we shouldn’t fight that?’ Gery asked. ‘We should just take it like a mare when they come to stick us?’

‘She’s telling you to run while you can,’ Erny said. ‘You’re right on the road they will march their army through. You’re smart, you’ll harvest whatever’s still growing, pack up everything you can, and get out of their path.’

‘And go where?!’ Gery demanded. ‘My family’s been in Northfork long as anyone can remember, and the same goes for most of the folk here. We should just abandon the place?’

‘Yes, if you value your lives more than the land,’ Leesha said. ‘If you want to keep to your duke, head for Lakton proper, if they’ll have you. I sent word of the threat to them months ago. The city on the lake should be safe, at least for a while.’

‘Only seen the lake once, and it scared the piss out of me,’ Gery said. ‘Don’t think any of us’re suited to living on that much water.’

‘Then come to the Hollow,’ Leesha said. ‘We’re not yet able to extend this far, but our reach is growing. Any who come will not be turned away, and allowed to keep their community and leaders. Good land will be allotted you, safely warded, and we’ll give you warded weapons and training to use them. It will soon be the safest place short of Duke Euchor’s fortress in Miln.’

‘And either way, every able-bodied man’ll be drafted to fight that which ent meant to be fought.’ Gery spat on the taproom floor.

‘Ay!’ the innkeeper shouted.

‘Sorry, Sim,’ Gery said. ‘All due respect, Mistress Paper, but we’re simple folk in Northfork, and not lookin’ to be demon killers like you Hollowers.’

‘Might be easier to just kidnap this Krasian princess,’ Sim said. ‘Ransom the town for her. Those black-robed bastards are tough, but we got ’em outnumbered.’

‘You don’t want to do that,’ Rojer said.

‘He’s right,’ Leesha said. ‘You lay a hand on her, and the Krasians will kill every man, woman, and child in Northfork and burn it to the ground. It is death to lay hands on a dama’ting.’

‘They gotta catch us first,’ Sim said.

The knife was in Rojer’s hand in a blink, and he had Sim by the collar, pinning him to the table, the blade drawing a thin line of blood on his throat.

‘Rojer!’ Leesha shouted, but he ignored her.

‘Forget the Krasians,’ Rojer growled. ‘You don’t want to do that because she’s my ripping wife.’

Sim swallowed hard. ‘Just ale talk, Master Halfgrip. Din’t mean it for real.’

Rojer snarled, but he released the man, his knife vanishing.

Gery gave Sim a hand up. ‘Go wipe the bar down and keep your fool mouth shut.’ Sim nodded quickly and scurried off. Gery turned back to Rojer. ‘Apologies for that, Master Halfgrip. Got a couple woodbrains in every village.’

‘Ay.’ Rojer was still caught in the rush of adrenaline, seething, but his Jongleur’s mask was back in place, and he returned to his seat.

‘No one’s pushing you to go one place over another,’ Leesha told the Speaker. ‘But staying here puts you right in the path of a storm you’re not prepared for. You saw what one angry Sharum was capable of. Imagine ten thousand of them bearing down on you, along with forty thousand Rizonan slaves.’

Gery paled, but he nodded. ‘I’ll think on it. Rest easy tonight. Ent no one going to be fool enough to cause trouble between now and you leaving for the morning.’ With that, he pushed up from his seat and gave Nicholl a hand as they left the inn.

‘That one’s got nightmares waiting in his bed tonight,’ Elona said.

‘Why should he be different from the rest of us?’ Leesha asked.

Just then a young Sharum in full armour entered the inn with Kaval, carrying spear and shield. The two men headed up to Amanvah’s chambers. The young warrior came back down at a run a few minutes later, shooting out the door like an arrow.

‘You didn’t really poison the Sharum, did you?’ Rojer asked.

Leesha looked at him a moment, then took a deep breath and stood, heading down the hall beside the bar towards her room, Wonda at her heel.

Rojer sighed, taking the full mug of ale before him and throwing it back in three gulps, the cool liquid leaking from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. ‘Best I go face the music.’

Erny looked over at him, using the reproachful look he sometimes used to check his daughter. ‘You’re a fine fiddler, Rojer, but you have a lot to learn about being a husband.’

Gared walked Rojer up to his room, expecting to see Enkido guarding the door, but the eunuch was not in sight, which meant he was inside. Not comforting.

‘Want I should go in with ya?’ Gared asked.

Rojer shook his head. ‘No, that’s all right. You just stand by in case some other fool takes Sim’s suggestion and tries to kidnap Amanvah. I have this.’

Gared nodded. ‘I’ll be out here in the hall. But I hear a commotion, I’ll be through that door in a second.’

An image flashed in Rojer’s mind, the splintering of wood as the rock demon had smashed through the door of his father’s inn, fifteen years past. Rojer had no doubt Gared could break through the heavy wood with similar ease.

He left unvoiced what they both knew. Kaval had taken Gared down like he was a child, and Enkido had done the same to Kaval. Infuriating as the burly Cutter was at times, Rojer had no desire to see him killed in a fight he had no hope of winning. If he couldn’t get out of this without fighting, he wasn’t getting out.

Rojer pretended to adjust his tunic, needing to touch his medallion. Immediately he felt calmer. ‘We all need something for the pains of life,’ Arrick said when Rojer asked why he drank so much wine, ‘and I’m too old for Jongleur’s tales.’ He reached for the door handle.

Inside, Rojer immediately noticed Enkido standing off to one side of the door, arms crossed. As always, the eunuch seemed to take no notice of Rojer.

Amanvah and Sikvah had changed into their coloured silks, which Rojer took as a good sign, but they glowered at him as he entered.

‘You and Leesha are working against us,’ Amanvah said.

‘How?’ Rojer asked. ‘Your father knows we do not bow to him. He offered us a pact, and we are considering it. I made no oath to serve his every interest.’

‘There is a difference between not supporting his interests and opposing them, husband,’ Amanvah said. ‘My father does not know you are telling tales of false Deliverers, or that Mistress Leesha has poisoned his warriors.’

‘Your father knows all about the Painted Man and his connection to the Hollow. We told him as much when he first visited.’ Rojer lowered his eyebrows. ‘And you’re in no position to lecture anyone about poison.’

Amanvah did not let her mask slip, but the pause before her retort was enough to let him know he had struck a nerve.

‘But you tell your people to flee us,’ Amanvah said, ‘though we have no plans to march. You tell them to pack and go to the great oasis city, or come to your Hollow to strengthen your own tribe to stand against us.’

Rojer felt his temper flare again. ‘And how do you know that? Are you spying on me?’

‘The alagai hora tell me much, son of Jessum,’ Amanvah said.

‘Creator, I am so sick of your cryptic answers and your ripping dice!’ Rojer snapped. ‘You put more stock in the bones of demons than you do in people’s lives.’

Amanvah paused again, holding her calm. ‘Perhaps we can’t stop your blasphemy when you return to the Hollow, husband, but there will be no more village stops on the road. And even when we reach the Hollow, Sikvah and I will never sing your infidel song, or suffer it in our presence.’

Rojer shrugged. ‘Never asked you to. But I was in the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow, wife. I lived it and know it for true. I’m not going to pretend those things never happened just because it hurts your father’s case. If he’s really the Deliverer, it doesn’t matter. And if he’s not …’

‘He is,’ Amanvah hissed.

Rojer shrugged and smiled. ‘Then you’ve got nothing to fret over, do you?’

‘My father is the chosen of Everam,’ Amanvah said, ‘but Nie is strong. He can still fail, if his people are not true.’

Again Rojer shrugged. ‘These are not his people, at least not yet. If he wishes them to be, he must earn it. I will fight against the demons when Sharak Ka comes. Who I fight for is yet to be determined.’

Amanvah snorted. ‘You are many things, son of Jessum, but a fighter is not one of them.’

It was an unexpected slap in the face, and Rojer felt his Jongleur’s mask slip. His face showed his true anger as he got to his feet, such that even Amanvah flinched.

‘As your husband, I order you to come with me,’ he said, taking his bow and fiddle and turning to leave the room.

Enkido stepped smoothly to block his way.

Rojer walked right up to him, tilting his head back to look into the eunuch’s dead eyes. ‘Wife, remove your gelding from my path.’

Rojer caught the flash of understanding, though it was gone in an instant. ‘Don’t speak our tongue, my red shorthairs. You big ball-less bastard. You’re getting every word. So either kill me or move aside.’

For the first time, the eunuch began to show emotion — a simmering anger that rivalled the look Kaval had shown when he came for Rojer. But Rojer was past caring, matching the stare with one of his own.

‘Enkido, step aside,’ Amanvah said. The eunuch looked surprised, but he did as commanded immediately. Rojer opened the door and stormed into the hall, making Gared jump.

Amanvah and Sikvah followed after as he strode towards the steps. ‘Just where do you think you are going?’ Amanvah demanded, but he did not bother to reply.

The taproom was mostly empty as they descended the steps, just a small cluster of townies left at the bar. They looked at Rojer in surprise, their eyes widening as they saw the Krasian women in their coloured silks.

‘Husband!’ Sikvah cried. ‘We are not dressed!’

Rojer ignored her, crossing the room and unbarring the front door.

‘Ay, what in the Core are you doing?’ Sim cried, but Rojer ignored him as well, stepping outside.

As in most Thesan towns, the inn was right at the edge of the cobbled town square. There were interconnected warded porchways between many of the buildings on the perimeter to allow folk to gather at the inn after dark, but the main square was too large to ward effectively. The cobbles prevented demons from rising there, but wind demons knew to watch the spot, and would swoop on anything they saw moving. Other demons would occasionally wander into the area from the road.

Outside on the inn porch stood Kaval and two other Sharum, all fully armed and armoured.

‘Out of my way.’ Rojer pushed past them as if their obedience was expected and his due, and the Sharum backed away as he stepped out into the square. Rojer spotted two small wood demons prowling the far end, testing the wards of the buildings, searching for an opening. They froze in place at the commotion, looking like nothing more than a pair of twisted trees.

Rojer heard the warriors gasp as his wives followed him onto the porch, and smiled as they all turned to avert their eyes. His wives were blood of the Deliverer and married. Looking lustfully upon them was asking to have one’s eyes put out.

Without his warded cloak, the woodies caught sight of him as he moved beyond the protection of the wards and began to stalk slowly his way. Rojer ignored them, not even bothering to raise his fiddle. Above, a wind demon’s cry split the night.

Amanvah and Sikvah stopped at the porch rail. ‘Enough of this foolishness!’ Amanvah snapped. ‘Come back inside!’

Rojer shook his head. ‘You don’t give me orders, jiwah. Come to me.’

‘The Evejah forbids women to enter the naked night,’ Amanvah said.

‘And to let other men see us unveiled and in colour! The Damajah has women stoned for this,’ Sikvah cried. He glanced back and saw her hunched over, trying to cover herself.

The demons were closer now, tamping their legs, muscles bunched as they prepared to spring. Unafraid, Rojer finally turned to them and lifted the bow in his crippled hand.

Demons were creatures of primal emotion. Manipulating those emotions was the key to controlling them. Right now, their entire attention was fixed on him. Rojer took hold of that feeling and enhanced it, projecting concentration in his music.

Here I am! he told them. Focus on this spot!

Then he stopped playing and took two quick steps to the side. The demons shook their heads, confused at the way he had vanished, and Rojer began to play once more, enhancing that feeling as well.

Where did he go? I don’t see him anywhere! he told the demons. They began to frantically scan the area, but even as their gaze swept over him, their frustration at being unable to find him remained. Rojer stepped carefully around them, keeping a casual air to his Jongleur’s mask.

‘I could say the Evejah also commands you to obey your husband,’ he told his wives, ‘but the Evejah hasn’t been where we’re going. Female Jongleurs wear bright colours, and you are in the green lands now. Inevera would have to stone every woman outside Everam’s Bounty.’

A crowd was forming at the porch rail. Gared was there, weapons in hand, as was Leesha and Wonda with her warded bow, a cluster of townies, and the three Sharum. The women hesitated, but then Amanvah huffed, drawing herself to her full height, and strode out to join him, Sikvah at her heels.

‘Dama’ting, no!’ Kaval cried.

‘Silence!’ Amanvah snapped. ‘It is your rash action that has brought us to this point!’

Gared and the warriors moved to follow them onto the square, including Enkido, who now held a spear and shield.

‘Stay behind the rails, Gar,’ Rojer called. ‘That goes for the rest of you, as well. We need no spears tonight.’ The Sharum ignored him until Amanvah whisked a hand at them. They retreated, but looked ready to ignore her command and leap into the night if the demons got too close.

The woodies did fix on the women, but they had tested the wards around the square and knew they were out of reach. Rojer took that feeling, and held it. He tilted his head, taking his chin off the wards in the demons’ direction to aim the music their way.

They are warded, he told the demons, even as his wives crossed into the open, unprotected area. You cannot touch them. There will be light and pain if you try. Seek other prey.

The demons did as instructed, and as Amanvah and Sikvah came to him, Rojer led his melody into the opening notes of the Song of Waning. Immediately they began to sing, accompanying Rojer’s lead in harmony, an echo and a highlight that increased the effect of his playing manifold. With that power, he wove a spell of music around the three of them that made them invisible to the corelings. The demons could smell them in the air, hear them, even catch fleeting glimpses, but the source of their senses was gone, their eyes slipping away from them again and again.

Safe from assault, Rojer added another layer to the tune, and Amanvah and Sikvah picked it up immediately, sending a call out into the night. Slowly, Rojer lifted his chin, revealing more of Amanvah’s wards. His wives put hands to their throats, manipulating their chokers in some way, and matched him as his volume increased.

The sound carried far, drawing first the locals around the square to their windows and porches. Lanterns appeared, shedding dim light over the cobbles. The folk looked on in stunned silence as the song did its work, drawing every demon in the area.

They came slowly at first, but soon there were more than a dozen corelings in the square. Five wood demons stalked, snuffling the air, seeking victims that could not be found. Two flame demons shrieked and cavorted, trailing orange fire as they raced from one end of the square to the other, unable to pinpoint the source of the music, but unable to resist its call. Above, three wind demons circled in the sky, their raptor calls echoing in the night. Two field demons prowled low to the ground, bellies scraping the cobbles as they tried to stay invisible for the hunt. There was even a stone demon — a smaller cousin of the rock, but still bigger than Gared, who was near to seven feet. It stood as still as its name, but Rojer knew it was extending every sense to seek them, and that it would explode into motion if he were to allow them to be seen.

Leesha had described the power of the mind demons, the vibrations in her mind forcing her to act at their bidding. Perhaps music had a similar effect, Rojer mused. Perhaps an attempt to mimic that power was why music was first created, why some melodies brought forth the same emotions in any who heard them.

Such was the power of the Song of Waning. Rojer had sensed it the first time his wives had sung it for him, a power akin to his, but … faded. Lost in the thousands of years since it was last needed.

But now Rojer brought that power back to life. Under his direction, the song’s insistent call kept the demons’ attention on something they could never find, to the ignorance of all else. If they had wanted, Gared or the Sharum could have walked right up and struck at them. A blow would break the spell and give the demons an immediate threat to respond to, but from a Sharum spear or Gared’s axe, a single blow could easily cripple or kill.

But Rojer had spoken true when he told them weapons were not needed this night.

He began the first verse of the song, Amanvah and Sikvah singing of the glory of Everam, and threaded in his first spell, one he and his wives had practised many times in their carriage. By the time the refrain came, the women wordlessly calling to the Creator, the demons had forgotten their hunt, dancing to his tune like villagers spinning a reel at solstice.

They carried that on into the next verse, when Rojer changed his tune to another practised melody. He began to stroll casually about the square, his wives following him. The demons trailed them like ducklings following their mother to water.

He let this go on through the refrain and the verse that followed, but added a note to signal his wives to the abrupt change about to come. As the verse ended, the demons were in the position he wished, and the three of them spun, hitting the demons with a series of piercing shrieks that had them howling and running from the square like whipped dogs.

They were almost out of range when he began the next verse. The corelings stopped short and froze in place like hunters trying not to be seen, lest they frighten off their prey. With contemptuous ease, he raised their tension until they could not bear it any longer, running about the square slashing and snarling, desperate to find the source of the music and put an end to it.

Rojer continued to lead them, offering false hints of where their quarry lay. There was an old hitching post outside the wardnet. He draped music over it.

There I am! Attack now!

Immediately, the demons shrieked and charged. The field demons leapt first, claws digging great furrows in the wood. A wind demon swooped out of the sky to strike the post, knocking one of the field demons free. The two corelings hit the cobbles in a tumble, biting and clawing. Black ichor splattered the square, and the wind demon barely escaped alive, taking to the air again with multiple tears in its leathern wings. The flame demons spat fire on the hitching post, and in moments it was ablaze.

Next Rojer laid the music over the stone demon. The field demons leapt at it as well, but the stone demon caught one by the head in its talons and crushed its skull against the cobbles. It took the other by the tail, swinging it like a man might swing a cat. Another wind demon swooped in, but veered off as the stone swung the field demon at it, then threw the field demon so hard it smashed against one of the porch wardnets in a lightning flare and fell to the ground, smoking and still. A flamer spat on the stone demon’s feet, setting them ablaze, but that did not save it from being kicked clear across the square to strike the wardnet with a flash of magic. When the flame died, the stone demon’s feet were unharmed.

Rojer allowed himself a smile. It was all teachable. All these refrains, these ‘spells’ he had cast on the demons, were melodies they had practised and written down. Other players might not be able to bring the power and harmony of their trio to bear, but they could learn by rote how to call demons or repel them, how to hide from them or send them into a frenzy.

But that was only the barest surface of the power Rojer felt with the women at his side. The truly subtle work he could never hope to write down. It had to be lived and felt in the moment, dependent not only on the demon breeds, but local variables as well, building on the very atmosphere.

This was what he had never been able to teach. He looked back at his jiwah, seeing awe in their wide eyes, and a little fear. Even Amanvah had lost her mask, her dama’ting serenity overwhelmed. They could imitate him, but not innovate.

There’s more, my loves, Rojer thought, turning back to regard the demons again. He took on a predatory demeanour, stalking the corelings as he and his wives herded them, separating them by breed. The song was done now, but Rojer kept on playing, building the final refrain louder and stronger, adding shifts and changes as quickly as Amanvah and Sikvah could pick them up. The demons backed into tight knots, hissing and clawing at the air, terrified of the power that was building but afraid to run lest they turn their backs on whatever hunted them.

And then Rojer began to hurt them, driving the music into them in jarring, discordant waves that seemed to strike the creatures like physical blows. They screamed, some falling to the cobbles, clawing at their own heads as if they could tear the sound out and be free of it. Even the wind demons above shrieked in agony, but the music held them fast, and they could not flee, circling endlessly.

Rojer looked up and changed his tune again, calling the wind demons down from the night sky. The source of your pain is here! Strike now and silence it!

The windies dived with terrifying speed, but Rojer and his wives were not where the music led — off to the side, and several feet low. The wind demons struck the cobbles with incredible force, their hollow bones crunching and splintering on impact. In seconds, the square was littered with their corpses.

He turned to the wood demons next, howling like trees bent near to breaking in a gale. Rojer thought of the fire-eaters, Jongleurs in Angiers who pretended to swallow fire, then spat it back out again with a spark and a mouthful of alcohol. It was generally thought a ‘low’ act — dangerous flash used to hide a lack of talent. Jongleurs who did it often got hurt, and in the forest fortress, spitting fire was against the law save in very specific circumstances. It was usually an opening act for a Jongleur of more renown.

I have flame demons to open my act now, Rojer thought as he made the flamers spit fire on the wood demons, aiming them as easily as Wonda might her bow.

The wood demons caught fire immediately, and unlike the stone they were not immune to its effects. They shrieked and flailed, snatching up the flame demons and crushing the life from them, but it was too late. Black smoke billowed into a thick stinking cloud as they collapsed to the ground, immolated.

Only the stone demon remained, close to eight feet of muscle and sinew, covered in indestructible knobs like river stones. It stood silent as a statue, but Rojer knew it was desperately seeking them, a killing rage barely contained. He smiled.

The trio began to circle, intensifying the refrain, notes going ever higher even as they revealed more and more of the wards of amplification. The demon began to shriek, covering its head in its talons and looking frantically about for an escape, but they tightened their circle, and it seemed the pain came from all sides. The demon wobbled, then dropped to one knee, letting out a roar of agony as sweet as any music.

Even the folk around the square were covering their ears now. Rojer’s own head was ringing, ears aching, but he ignored the pain, taking his chin from the fiddle entirely.

The stone demon gave a final twist, and there was a crack! like an old oak snapping in a windstorm. Fissures spiderwebbed through the demon’s armour, and it fell to the ground, dead.

Rojer stopped playing instantly, and his wives followed. The square fell silent, and Rojer inhaled the hush before the roar.