The Daylight War

18

333 AR Summer

11 Dawns Before New Moon

Leesha felt the roiling in her stomach calm as the familiar outskirts of the Hollow came into sight. It was good to be home. The refugee villages, each on its own greatward, were coming together with incredible speed.

But then a shout, and the caravan came to an abrupt halt. Leesha stuck her head out the window and saw a company of Wooden Soldiers at the border of the central greatward. Fifty of them stood blocking the road on heavy destriers, their lacquered wooden armour polished and shining in the sun. A rustling in the scrub to the side of the road heralded archers, lightly armoured in leather, each with a drawn bow and two more arrows in hand.

Behind them were hundreds of Cutters, some with spears, but others with the original implements of their craft. Some were faces she knew. Most were not.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Kaval shouted, and Leesha knew the idiot was reaching for his spear. She wrenched the door to her carriage open, tripping in her haste and ending up sprawled on the ground. She momentarily clutched her stomach in fear, but gritted her teeth and pushed herself up.

‘Mistress Leesha!’ Wonda cried, vaulting down from her horse. Leesha made her feet before the girl reached her and waved her off. As she expected, the Krasian men all had spears in hand, and the bowmen looked ready to cut them down and ask questions later.

‘Put up your weapons!’ she shouted. Her voice did not have hora magic to augment it, but the ability to boom was another thing Leesha had got from her mother. All eyes turned her way. No one made a move to disarm.

‘Who are you, to order the soldiers of Count Thamos?’ one of the mounted soldiers asked. He rode a fine destrier rather than one of the sleek Angierian coursers that carried the other Wooden Soldiers, and his cloak was held in place with gold chain. There was a captain’s tuft on his helm.

‘I am Mistress Leesha Paper, Herb Gatherer of Deliverer’s Hollow,’ Leesha said, ‘and I’d appreciate being spared the trouble of sewing up wounds from overeager men with itchy bow fingers.’

‘Cutter’s Hollow,’ the captain corrected. ‘And you’re late. Your sand Messenger arrived over a week ago, and said nothing about you bringing half the Krasian army with you.’

Kaval chuckled at that. ‘If one hundredth of the Deliverer’s army was on the road, the thunder of our footsteps alone would knock you off your horse, boy.’

The captain bared his teeth, and Leesha stormed into the road to stand between them. ‘Keep your tongue still, Drillmaster, I won’t have you shame my homecoming.’

Gared and Wonda moved to flank her, Wonda on foot, and Gared towering above the biggest mounted soldiers atop his heavy garron. The Wooden Soldiers began to whisper among themselves at the sight of him. Gared’s reputation preceded him. Another thing her mother had been right about. She wished she could get the sight of them stuck together like dogs out of her head.

‘Who in the Core are you?’ Gared demanded of the captain. The big man’s anger was palpable. ‘Don’t care to have spears pointed at me and mine on ground we bled for. You’d best lower them before they get shoved up your arse.’

The captain smiled. ‘You’re in no position to make threats, Mr Cutter. You don’t command here any more.’

‘Ay?’ Gared put his fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle. The Cutters standing behind the Wooden Soldiers broke ranks at the sound, flowing to either side around the count’s men. They were led by Dug and Merrem Butcher, and Leesha saw others she knew in the van. Yon Gray and his son and grandsons, all looking of an age with one another. Samm Saw, Ande Cutter, Tomm Wedge and his sons. Evin Cutter and his gigantic wolfhound.

The Cutters didn’t threaten, but they didn’t need to. The shortest of them was a head taller than any of the count’s footmen. Even the mounted men in armour looked cowed. Shadow was almost of a size with the horses, and they whinnied and pranced in fear as he passed. If the beast got any bigger, Evin would soon be riding it instead of his garron.

The Wooden Soldiers hesitated, glancing at their captain for instructions. By then it was too late and they were encircled, cutting the captain off from his men.

More Cutters appeared in the trees, and bowstrings were eased back under their glare. Dug and Merrem saluted as they came to stand next to Gared.

‘You were sayin’?’ Gared asked smugly.

The captain’s face had gone slack, but he shook his head, regaining his composure. He raised a hand and gave his men a complex series of gestures. They lowered their spears, seeming relieved, but looked ready to raise them again in an instant.

The soldier dismounted, removing his helmet and giving a curt bow to Leesha. ‘My name is Squire Gamon, captain of the count’s guard. We are here to escort you to His Highness.’

‘And you need seventy men to do that, Captain Gamon?’ Leesha asked. ‘Is the very heart of the Hollow so dangerous now?’

‘You have nothing to fear here, mistress,’ Gamon said, ‘but by order of Count Thamos, no Krasian is to enter the city bearing arms.’

‘Nie take me first,’ Kaval growled in Krasian. Leesha turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

‘Forgive me, mistress,’ the drillmaster said, ‘but my spear was a gift from the Deliverer himself, and I will not surrender it to some soft greenland chi’Sharum.’

‘You will,’ Gamon told him, ‘or we have orders to take them, no matter who stands in our way.’ He looked to Gared and Leesha. ‘You may have us outnumbered here, but the count commands a thousand Wooden Soldiers. Do you wish to spill blood over His Highness’s efforts to keep his people safe from known invaders?’

Leesha rubbed her temple. ‘If that was his goal, he has a funny way of showing it.’ She shook her head. ‘But no, we’re not.’ She turned to Kaval. ‘You will not surrender your weapons to him, Drillmaster, you will surrender them to me.’

‘I’m afraid that will not be good enough, mistress,’ Gamon said.

Leesha looked down her nose at him. ‘They’re disarmed, Captain. Don’t insist on taking the coreling by the horns.’

Gamon’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. It was answer enough. She turned back to Kaval. ‘Collect the spears from your men, dal and kha’Sharum both, and stow them underneath my carriage. You have my word they will be returned to you when you leave the Hollow.’

Kaval hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. Leesha hissed at him. ‘Don’t look for the dama’ting,’ she said in Krasian. ‘Ahmann gave your command to me, not her. Do as you’re told. Now.’

The drillmaster curled his lip, but he bowed and complied, taking the weapons from his men and stowing them safely out of reach. Doubtless they still had knives, and Coliv a host of other hidden weapons, but there was a limit to Krasian honour. If she or Captain Gamon tried to search them, there would be blood.

Darsy appeared out of the crowd to stand at her side. She didn’t curtsy, but gave Leesha a hug that blew the wind from her. ‘No idea how glad I am you’re back.’ Leesha returned the embrace, remembering how greatly Darsy had once resented her. The shift was not new, but it continued to surprise her.

‘Now, Captain,’ she said, ‘if you’d care to escort us to His Highness, I would very much like to speak with him.’

The soldier nodded, replacing his helm and climbing back atop his horse. The Cutters opened their ring, allowing him to rejoin his men, but kept close, giving Leesha a sense of safety and protection she had not felt in months. It was good to be home.

Darsy moved to take the reins from the Krasian driving Leesha’s carriage, and the man hopped down as she and Leesha took the bench so they could speak privately as the caravan began to move once more. Wonda kept close on her horse, while Gared led his garron so he could consult with the Cutters.

‘You get my last message?’ Darsy asked. ‘Never got a reply.’

Leesha shook her head. ‘We’ve been on the road for weeks. Must have missed the Messenger. What’s been happening? I knew Thamos would be looking to flex his muscles when we returned, but I didn’t expect an armed welcome. Have things soured?’

Darsy shook her head. ‘Truer is the count’s been good to the Hollow. Been fair to the people, and brought a steady stream of supplies from the North. His engineers have done a lot to speed along the new greatwards and put roofs over people’s heads. New Tender’s much the same. Bit stricter than Jona, but folk like him well enough. Things keep on as they’ve been, and we’ll be bigger than Angiers in a year.’

‘It’s not surprising,’ Leesha said. ‘It was bold of the duke to give him the Hollow outright, and even if he does have a thousand men, he’s still outnumbered. Best not to give us any reason to oppose him till his power’s secure. He’s going to need all the goodwill he can get when the Painted Man returns.’

Darsy cleared her throat. ‘That’s what my message was about. He’s been back for two weeks. But he’s … different.’

Leesha looked at her sharply. ‘Different how?’

‘Calls himself Arlen Bales now,’ Darsy said, ‘and changed his Tender’s robes for clothes like regular folk. Says he’s from a place called Tibbet’s Brook, a town on the arse end of nowhere in Miln.’

‘Honest word?’ Leesha felt a wide smile break out on her face. Had Arlen finally faced his demons and found himself again? She thought of their last awkward parting, how much she had wanted him to go, but how safe she had felt in that final embrace.

‘Ay, seen it myself,’ Darsy said. ‘But there’s more. He has … powers now.’

Leesha looked at her. ‘He’s always had powers, Darsy. The wards-’

‘More’n that,’ Darsy cut in. ‘First night he came back, Ande Cutter was laid open like a butchered pig during a demon purge. I was there, and ready to let him go to the Creator. Wern’t nothing I could’ve done. You neither. But Painted Man just waved a hand, and the wounds closed up right before my eyes. Ande was up and about like nothing happened the next day.’

‘He just waved his hands?’ Leesha asked. ‘He didn’t draw wards on Ande’s flesh in demon ichor?’

‘Course not!’ Darsy was aghast. ‘What kind of sick soul would put demon ichor near a wound?’

‘Never mind that,’ Leesha said. ‘Was he just gesturing, or was he drawing wards in the air?’

Darsy thought a moment. ‘Might’ve been drawing wards, I guess. But not ones I know.’

Leesha nodded. ‘I’d like to speak to Ande later.’

‘Speak to half the town,’ Darsy said. ‘Next night he went to the hospit, and cleared it out. Not so much as a hangnail left to treat.’

‘Creator,’ Leesha said. She had learned some secrets of healing with hora magic while in Everam’s Bounty, but nothing on such a scale. The mind demon she and Inevera faced had cast spells by drawing wards in the air, but it hadn’t worked for her, even when she did it with the demon’s own horn in hand. Where was Arlen getting the power? The amount of magic he must have expended was staggering.

‘Ay,’ Darsy agreed, ‘and he’s been out to the refugee towns each night since, doing the same. All over there are tales of those at death’s door back on their feet. Still claims he ent the Deliverer, but less and less folk believe him. Night, startin’ to believe it myself.’

Leesha frowned. ‘How is the count handling it?’

‘Same as with Gared just now,’ Darsy said. ‘Tried to throw his weight around a bit, and got put in his place. Painted Man ent opposing Thamos openly, but any fool can see he’s got the count and new Tender cowed behind closed doors and pickin’ their words careful where others can hear.’

Leesha rubbed the ache in her temple, wishing Arlen were there to cure her headache the way he had every other ill in the Hollow. ‘Anything else I need to know?’

‘He fought some kind of smart demon last new moon,’ Darsy said. ‘Gets inside your head, and makes other corespawn fight like they got a good general. He’s got everyone making warded headbands before the moon goes dark again.’ She held out a strip of cloth, and Leesha took it, examining the mind ward there, same as the one she had been passing around the hamlets on her way home.

She nodded. ‘That all?’

Darsy shook her head, lowering her voice. ‘He ent alone.’

The ache became a stabbing pain. Darsy hadn’t given detail, but it was there in her tone. ‘Oh?’

‘Got a girl with him,’ Darsy confirmed. ‘Renna Tanner. Says she’s from back home in the Brook.’ Darsy paused, fixing her gaze on some far-off point. Her voice went flat. ‘Says they’re promised.’

Darsy kept her eyes staring off into nothing, waiting for Leesha to react. Almost everyone in the Hollow whispered about how Arlen had charged into the Holy House during the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow bellowing her name when he thought she was in danger. They whispered of how he had first appeared at her side and how he was seen coming and going from her cottage at all hours. They whispered, and speculated. It was no secret the whole town was praying they would just get on with it and wondering what was taking so long. Leesha had often wondered herself.

Leesha realized she was holding her breath, and forced herself to blow it out. It was ridiculous for her to be upset. She had long since tired of waiting for Arlen and begun looking for other prospects. Night, the sickness that came on her each morning confirmed how she had moved on. Yet she’d wanted him. If he’d wanted her in return, she would have given herself to him without reservation.

But he hadn’t wanted her. He claimed it was his curse. That he could not create a family with his blood tainted by demon magic. Somehow, that only made her love him more, his sacrifice so noble, so proud. She felt weak for having sought the arms of others in the light of it.

But had it been honest word? Now, a scant few months later, he had gone from swearing off love to promising himself to another. Had all his claims just been an act? The thought filled her with anger. How dare he? Did he think her so weak, so desperate for his love, that she couldn’t handle the truth? That she required a lie to sugar the medicine as he rebuffed her? Coward.

All this went through her head, but she had learned her lessons from the dama’ting, and her face showed none of it. ‘That’s well,’ she managed at last. ‘He deserves to be happy, and a good woman will help keep his feet on the ground.’

‘Not this one,’ Darsy muttered. Leesha looked at her curiously, but the big woman rubbed at her throat and did not elaborate further.

To Leesha’s surprise, they did not head for the Corelings’ Graveyard, turning instead to another area of the greatward. She was wondering at the destination when Thamos’ keep came into view.

The fort was still under construction, but already a huge palisade wall had been erected, tarred logs lashed tightly together, thick and high enough for soldiers to patrol the ramparts with crank bows, and crenellated to give them cover while firing.

The palisade gate swung open, showing a courtyard more than large enough to accommodate their entire caravan. As the soldiers waved for them to enter, it became clear Thamos intended just that, taking everyone inside the walls and shutting the gates behind them. Leesha worried that once inside, the Krasians might never emerge. She had always known they were hostages and spies both, freely given by Ahmann as a show of good faith, but her intent had been to treat them as any other folk, letting them see the goodness of her people up close.

She doubted Count Thamos would do the same. He had made a show of benevolence thus far, but his mission had always been clear: get control of the Hollow, learn the secrets of demon killing, and draw Angiers’ line in the sand against the Krasians. The attitude at court had been one of loathing for the desert people. It was not undeserved after their attack on Rizon, but escalation was the last thing they needed right now. Ahmann could crush the Hollow — and likely Angiers itself — if given cause.

‘Stop the carriage,’ she told Darsy, and the woman complied immediately. The rest of the caravan stopped with them, and Leesha got down and opened the door to the carriage.

Elona looked out, taking in the count’s keep. She let out a low whistle. ‘Prince has been busy these last months. Is he married?’

Leesha sighed. Even now, she could not bear to look at her mother. ‘I hope not. Court gossip has him bedding every young thing bats a lash at him.’

‘Just needs the right one to spin his head a bit,’ Elona said.

‘I said young, Mother,’ Leesha said. ‘I don’t think you’re his type.’

‘Ay, don’t talk to your mother that way!’ Erny said. Leesha looked at him and wanted to scream. Even now, he defended her. It would likely be the same even if he knew about Gared. Night, he probably did. Erny wasn’t half the fool people thought he was when it came to his wife, but Elona had been right about his courage.

Leesha pretended her father had not spoken. ‘I am going in for an audience with His Highness now. I’ll have some of the Cutters escort you back home. When you’re there and no one is looking, take the Krasian spears and hide them in the paper shop. Somewhere no one will find them.’

Erny seemed nonplussed at both Leesha’s and Elona’s lack of response, and nodded after a moment. ‘Ay, I know just the place. I’ve a slurry vat with a false bottom.’

‘Oh, really?’ Leesha asked. ‘And what, might I ask, did you need that for?’

Erny smiled. ‘To keep inquisitive young girls poking around my papermaking chemicals from getting themselves hurt.’

‘I’ve been mixing worse for fifteen years,’ Leesha said.

‘Ay,’ Erny agreed. ‘But I haven’t had reason to bring up since.’ He raised a finger. ‘And you’ll know my secrets when I decide it, young lady, and not before. You mind your tone if you ever want to know where the gold’s hid.’

‘He ent bluffing,’ Elona muttered. ‘Been with him near thirty years, and still ent got a clue.’

Captain Gamon rode back to where they stood. ‘The count is waiting,’ he said impatiently. ‘What is the delay?’ With the count’s seat of power — and crank bowmen — at his back, he seemed to regain something of the haughtiness he had first shown on the road.

‘I am sending my parents home while I meet with His Highness,’ Leesha said. ‘And the rest of the caravan could use a bit of ease.’

‘They can have that inside the count’s keep,’ Gamon said. ‘Accommodations have been made. They will be safer inside.’

‘Safer from whom?’ Leesha asked.

‘Many of His Highness’s new subjects come from the south, and remember what these people did to their homes,’ Gamon reminded her.

‘I am aware of that,’ Leesha said, ‘but these are guests and not prisoners.’

She turned to Gared and the Cutters, who had come to stand beside her. ‘I think the Cutters can keep peace with a group of unarmed Krasians, don’t you?’

‘Don’t you worry none, girlie,’ Yon Gray said, slapping his axe handle against his palm. ‘Anyone woodbrained enough to start trouble’ll soon regret it.’ It was eerie, hearing the old man’s voice come from a man now in his prime. She had been documenting Yon’s slow shedding of years for some time, but the sudden change after months apart was still a little jarring. Most of the grey had fled his hair, and he looked a man of forty rather than one in his seventies.

‘Ay,’ Dug said. ‘We’ll see to it.’

Gamon shook his head. ‘The royal summons mentions you and your wife by name, Mr Butcher, along with Captain Cutter, Master Inn, and Miss Cutter.’ He indicated Wonda.

‘Me?’ Wonda asked. ‘What’s the count want to see me for?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know.’ Gamon’s tone was derisive. Angierians gave their women more rights than Krasians, but not by much. They didn’t approve of women involving themselves in politics or military matters. Leesha opened her mouth to fire off an acid response, but Gared beat her to it.

‘Mind yur manners,’ Gared growled. ‘She’s got more coreling corpses to her name than yur whole runty company combined.’

Gamon’s eyebrow became a hard V. Here beside the keep the Wooden Soldiers were more numerous, but more and more Cutters arrived by the moment. He pursed his lips, saying nothing.

Gared grunted and turned to Yon. ‘Keep watch on the caravan while we’re inside. No one bothers ’em, but no one leaves, either. Extra eyes on the ones in black.’

Yon nodded. ‘Ay, boy. Don’t fret on it.’

Rojer appeared a moment later. In the Krasian fashion, Amanvah followed a step behind him; Kaval, Coliv, and Enkido a step behind her; Shamavah a step behind them.

‘Where is Sikvah?’ Leesha asked. ‘Is she well?’

Amanvah shook her head with a tsk. ‘You play at understanding our ways, Mistress Paper, but your knowledge is obviously lacking if you think a man should bring his Jiwah Sen to court.’

Amanvah’s tone was haughty as ever, but Leesha could sense the anger beneath. She bowed. ‘I meant no insult.’ Amanvah did not reply.

‘His Highness has not summoned you,’ Captain Gamon told her. ‘You and your savages can wait in the courtyard.’

Amanvah’s gaze snapped to him, her dama’ting serenity broken at the rudeness. Kaval and Enkido tensed, but she flicked a hand to calm them. ‘My father is Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji. Shar’Dama Ka and Deliverer, who will unite mankind. He will take it a grave insult if I am left rotting on the pillows by some minor princeling.’

‘I don’t care if your father is the Creator Himself,’ Gamon snapped. ‘You’ll wait until you’re called for.’

Amanvah’s delicate eyebrows seemed to thread together, but she did not argue further.

Leesha felt the situation deteriorating and turned to Evin, absently stroking the back of his wolfhound, its massive shoulders almost as high as his. She had disliked Evin when they were young — he had been cruel and selfish and never one to be counted — but like so many folk, the coming of the Painted Man had changed him. ‘Evin, will you see my parents home, please?’

Evin nodded, springing into the driver’s seat of their carriage himself. Shadow followed alongside the carriage, and the horses stamped and pulled at their harnesses, whinnying in fear.

Evin gave a shrill whistle. ‘Ay, Shadow! Go and find Callen!’ The wolfhound gave a bark that sounded like a thunderclap and ran off. Evin pulled hard at the reins, getting the horses under control, then gave them a crack and the carriage rode off. The rest of the caravan was left at loose ends under the watchful eyes of the Cutters and Wooden Soldiers as she and the others passed through the gates.

The count’s keep was still under construction, but the foundations were laid and portions of his manse were already raised and functional. A group of Wooden Soldiers gathered at the main entrance, spears and shields at the ready.

Leesha moved over to Gared, dropping her voice. ‘Gared, if the count tries to give you a title and a uniform, don’t accept right away.’

‘Why not?’ Gared said, not bothering to keep her hushed tones.

‘Because you’d be giving away our army, you idiot,’ Rojer said, coming up on his other side. His voice, too, was too low for the others to hear.

Gared turned an angry glare the Jongleur’s way. ‘Just a big joke to you, too, ent I? Painted Man told me to keep you safe while he was gone, Rojer. I swore by the sun and promised I would. Stood in the way of charging demons and Krasians and Creator knows what else to keep it.’

He loomed forward suddenly, and the smaller man, his bearing so proud a moment before, shrank back from the sheer menace of his presence. ‘But he never told me I had to eat yur shit, and you been takin’ a lot of liberty. Way I see it, him back in town means my promise is kept and done. Watch yur own back from now on, you crippled little runt. And next time you call me idiot? Gonna put your teeth out.’ He licked two fingers and held them up high enough to catch the sun topping the count’s walls. ‘Swear by the sun.’

‘Gared,’ Leesha said carefully, as Rojer stood shocked. ‘You have every right to be angry about how we’ve taken you for granted, and for my part, I’m sorry. I blame you for everything wrong in my life sometimes, but truer is, you didn’t do anything a million other boys haven’t done. I forgive you. You’ve made up for it many times over.’

Gared grunted. ‘Corespawned right.’

‘But Rojer has the right of it,’ Leesha said. ‘If you let the count give you a title, it’s the same as saying the Cutters are part of the Angierian army.’

Gared shrugged. ‘Ent we? You two act like I’m the dim one, but it seems to me like you’ve forgotten whose side we’re on, carrying on in the sheets with Krasians and forgetting who was there for us when we needed them.’

‘It sure as the Core wasn’t Duke Rhinebeck,’ Rojer said.

Gared nodded. ‘Know that. Was the Deliverer done it. Painted Man’s letting the count lead the Hollow for now, that’s good enough for me. Tomorrow he says chop the count’s head off, I’ll do that, too.’

‘And all the Cutters with you,’ Leesha said in disgust.

‘Ay, that’s right. They follow me. Not you, Leesh.’ He nodded to Rojer. ‘And not fiddle-boy here, either. You two can go back to pickin’ herbs and spinning reels. The men got this.’

‘Creator help us,’ Leesha muttered as he turned his back and strode ahead.

‘The Hollow has changed since you were last here, mistress.’

Thamos sat on a heavy throne atop a raised dais at the head of his receiving hall. Still under construction, the walls and high ceiling were partly bare wood and partly beams covered in heavy tarp. The air was thick with dust and the smell of mixing crete, amplified by her headache. Freshly swept sawdust crunched beneath her shoes. Still the room was daunting in its sheer size, and would likely be breathtaking when fully appointed.

Adding to the trappings of power, the count was dressed in full armour, his spear close to hand. His beard was impeccably groomed to accentuate a sharp, handsome jaw, his waistline trim, and his shoulders broad. He looked every inch a noble soldier. A servant stood behind him, holding the count’s helm and shield as if he might be called to battle at any moment.

At Thamos’ right hand was Tender Hayes, the man Araine had promised in their meeting those months ago. Honest in his faith and fair, she said, but Angierian in his heart.

The Duchess Mum was behind everything the Angierians did, whether they knew it or not. Leesha had witnessed the woman’s power first-hand on her last visit to court. The duke and elder princes were kept in line by her first minister, Janson, but Leesha had long suspected that the youngest reported directly to her.

In that meeting, Araine had promised to send Thamos and his soldiers as well, but left out the part about making him count.

I should have seen this coming, Leesha thought. The woman’s played me for a fool again, even after scolding me to keep up with the dance.

In front of the throne, Lord Arther stood at a small writing podium, pen in hand with an open ledger and a fresh pot of ink. Captain Gamon stood to the left, straight-backed with his spear planted firmly on the floor. Behind him, a footman held his helm and shield.

‘Changed quite a bit it seems, Your Highness,’ Leesha said with a curtsy. ‘We don’t normally surround our citizens with drawn bows on their return from a journey.’

‘Our citizens did not used to go off into our enemies’ midst without permission from the crown,’ Thamos said.

‘Perhaps that’s because we never had enemies before,’ Leesha said. ‘I had fifty Krasian warriors in my town with an army at their backs, and did the best I could to keep my people safe. We didn’t have a week and more to wait on a response from the crown, and there’s nothing in the town charter that says I can’t come and go as I please in any event.’

Thamos sighed. ‘You’ve gotten used to having your own way in Cutter’s Hollow, mistress. Well enough when all you were good for was a few caravans of wood each year, but all that has changed. I am lord of the Hollow and its environs now. Your town council answers to me, and not the other way around. I can wipe my arse with your charter.’

Leesha smiled. ‘Do as you please, Highness, but do not be surprised to find the Hollowers don’t take it kindly if you do.’

‘Threats, mistress?’ Thamos asked. ‘After the ivy throne has answered your plea for aid, sending food, supplies, engineers, Warders, and soldiers to succour the refugees and fortify against the Krasians?’

‘No threat,’ Leesha said. ‘We are thankful for your aid and grateful to His Grace for the consideration he has given. I am simply offering a piece of advice.’

‘And what “advice” do you have regarding the company of enemy soldiers you brought with you?’ Thamos asked. ‘Can you give me a reason not to arrest and execute the lot of them?’

‘I have seen the Krasian army,’ Leesha told him. ‘Harming my escort, sent in good faith to keep us safe on the road and open relations between our peoples, would be tantamount to starting a war we cannot hope to win.’

‘You’re a fool if you think we will surrender an inch of ground to them,’ Thamos growled.

Leesha nodded. ‘Which is why you should smile and bide your time while the Hollow gets its feet under it. Treat our guests with courtesy. Show them our way of life is a good one, and that we, too, are strong.’

Thamos shook his head. ‘I will not have Krasian spies living and moving freely about the greatwards of the Hollow.’

Leesha shrugged. ‘Then you shall not. I will let them stay on my land.’

‘Your land?’ Thamos asked.

‘Bruna was given a thousand acres of hereditary land by your father, Duke Rhinebeck the Second.’ She smiled. ‘A gift for midwifing Your Highness, I believe.’

Thamos’ face reddened, and Leesha let the grin slip from her face. ‘When Bruna died, she left me the land in her will. I have deliberately kept every acre off the greatwards.’

‘The land around the cottage Darsy keeps?’ Thamos asked. ‘You doubt my sincerity in offering my walls to these people, and then suggest instead they live on unwarded land?’

‘My lands are safer than you might expect, Highness,’ Leesha said. ‘Without their spears, there aren’t enough of them to cause a real problem, especially with their wives and children in tow. The Krasians bring gifts and goods to trade, with the promise of more. Let them do business, and send merchant spies of your own in return. If we cannot avert war, it is in our best interest to delay it while we build our forces and learn our enemies’ ways.’

Thamos wiped the frustration from his face, losing most of the tension in his shoulders. ‘Mother said you’d be like this.’

Leesha smiled. ‘The Duchess Mum knows me well. She is in good health, I presume?’

Thamos seemed to brighten a bit at the mention of his mother. ‘Not as vital as she once was, but I think in the end she will outlive us all.’

Leesha nodded. ‘Some women have too much will to die before their work is done.’

‘Mother sends her regards,’ Thamos went on. ‘And gifts.’

‘Gifts?’ Leesha asked.

‘First things first,’ Thamos said, turning his gaze on Gared. ‘Gared Cutter?’

Gared stepped forth. ‘Ay, Yur Highness?’

Arther took a small scroll from his podium and broke the seal, unrolling it to read: ‘“Gared Cutter, son of Steave of the village of Cutter’s Hollow, in the name of His Grace, Duke Rhinebeck the Third, Wearer of the Ivy Crown, Protector of the Forest Fortress and Duke of Angiers, you are hereby requested and required, in the year three hundred and thirty-three after the Return, to assume the rank of captain of the Cutters in service to His Grace, and the title of Squire at court. You will be given a district of the Hollow to oversee and tax for the upkeep of your household, and report only to His Highness Lord Thamos, Marshal of the Wooden Soldiers.” Do you accept this honour, and this duty?’

A wide grin split Gared’s face. ‘Captain, eh? Squire?’

‘Do. Not. Accept,’ Leesha said through gritted teeth. It was a meaningless title. Gared was already the leader of the Cutters. This was all just a ploy to get him to swear fealty to the crown, and admit that the Cutters were part of Rhinebeck’s army and not a private force.

Gared chuckled. ‘Don’t worry. Not gonna.’

He looked up at the count. ‘Thanks all the same, Yur Highness, but there’s a lot more Cutters in the Hollow than Wooden Soldiers.’

Everyone in the room tensed. Thamos’ hand found the haft of his spear. ‘And just what are you saying, Mr Cutter?’

Gared thrust his chin at Gamon. ‘Corespawned if I’ll be the same rank as that pissant. Wanna be general. And … ay, like a baron or something.’

Gamon scowled, but Thamos nodded. ‘Done.’ Leesha put her face in her hand, feeling her temple throb again.

‘Idiot,’ Rojer whispered for her ears only.

Thamos rose and pointed his spear at Gared. ‘Kneel.’

Gared gave Leesha a triumphant grin and stepped forward, falling to one knee. Thamos laid his speartip on the Cutter’s burly shoulder. Tender Hayes came forward as well, holding out a worn but beautiful leather-bound book, its cover illuminated in gold leaf. ‘Place your right hand on the Canon, my son.’

Gared did, his eyes closed.

‘Do you swear fealty to His Highness, Count Thamos of Hollow County, answering to him and no other, from now until your death?’

‘Ay,’ Gared said.

‘Do you swear to uphold his law,’ Hayes went on, ‘to administer fair justice to your subjects, the people of Cutter’s Hollow, and to smite its enemies?’

‘Ay,’ Gared said. ‘And twice for the last.’

Thamos gave a grim smile. ‘By the power given me by my brother, Duke Rhinebeck, Wearer of the Ivy Crown, Protector of the Forest Fortress and Lord of All Angiers, I name you General Gared of the Cutters, Baron of Cutter’s Hollow. You may rise.’

Gared got to his feet, taller than the count even with Thamos standing on his dais. The count gestured to the Butchers. ‘A uniform and armour will be provided for you. Please confer with your lieutenants after the audience and prepare your troops for muster and inspection. The Butchers have handled elevating most of the petty officers, but you of course can change their decisions if you feel it necessary.’ His tone made that sound like a terrible idea.

‘Ay,’ Gared nodded, sticking his hand out. ‘Thanks.’

Thamos looked at the hand as if Gared had just wiped himself with it, but he shrugged and shook it all the same. ‘I know you will do great honour to the ivy throne, General Cutter.’

Gared smiled a wide grin. ‘General Cutter. Like the sound of that.’

Thamos grunted. ‘And so, General, what is your assessment of the Krasian army?’

‘Big, like Leesha says,’ Gared said, ‘but scattered. They’ll get here eventually, but it’ll be a while. Got time to get ready for ’em.’

‘So you agree with Mistress Leesha that they should have free run of the Hollow?’

Gared shook his head. ‘I’d keep an eye on ’em, sure. But I seen ’em fight, corelings and men, and there’s no denyin’ they got a lot more practice at it than us. They sent men to teach us tricks to killin’ demons. Think we’d be fools not to let ’em.’

‘Very well,’ Thamos said. ‘Have your men escort the caravan to Mistress Paper’s land. Keep men posted on the border. Train with the Sharum, but they are to be under watch at all times, two to one.’

‘Three to one, we’re smart,’ Gared said.

Thamos nodded. ‘Do as you think best, General.’

How do I keep getting myself into messes like this? Rojer thought.

But he had no choice but to speak. He’d be corespawned if he was going to start camping in Leesha’s backyard when there was a fine room waiting for him at Smitt’s.

Rojer cleared his throat loudly, and all eyes turned to him. ‘What about my wives? Can they at least stay in town?’

‘Your heathen marriage means nothing here,’ Tender Hayes cut in. ‘Taking more than one wife is an abomination. The Creator will not recognize it.’

Rojer shrugged. ‘It may mean nothing to you, Tender, but that doesn’t mean a corespawned thing to me. I said my vows.’

‘And failing to recognize the union would insult the Krasians beyond measure,’ Leesha added.

Hayes looked ready to retort, but Thamos silenced him with a wave. ‘You get one wife in Angiers, Mr Inn. Pick one. If you want the other to live in your chambers and warm your bed, the servants won’t ask any questions.’

‘Chambers?’ Rojer asked. ‘Servants?’

Thamos nodded. ‘I ask that you serve me as your master did my brother, as royal herald of the Hollow.’

Rojer kept his Jongleur’s mask in place, though his shock could not have been more complete if Thamos had turned a somersault and broken into song. He remembered what it was like, back when Arrick had been royal herald of Duke Rhinebeck. Gold and wine flowed in equal measure, and he and Rojer wore the finest silks and suede. Lords and ladies alike had bowed to Arrick as an equal, and his voice carried the power of the throne behind it as he ranged far and wide. They had rich apartments in the duke’s own manse, and access to his exclusive brothel. Arrick had spent almost every night there, and left young Rojer in the ladies’ care when he was away, or drunk, or with a woman.

In other words, almost every night.

But all of that had ended in an instant, when Rhinebeck had stumbled drunk into the bed of his favourite whore, where Rojer was fast asleep. In his inebriated state, the man hadn’t known the difference, yanking down Rojer’s bedclothes and casually overpowering his struggles.

‘Like to play the unwilling, eh, lass?’ the duke had slurred, his breath reeking of alcohol. He chuckled. ‘It will do you no good. Best bend and take it. Be over quick.’

It was only when Rojer cried out and elbowed him in his fat stomach, leaping from the bed, that the duke had roused and lit the lamp. He found Rojer quivering across the room, holding a small knife as he yanked his bedclothes back up.

The duke had roared, and Arrick had returned from the hamlets to find his royal commission torn to shreds. He was given barely an hour to remove his possessions and himself from the duke’s manse. The duke had never spoken publicly of the reasons for his expulsion, and there had been a few patrons to take him in at first, but Arrick began drinking more and more, alienating one after another until he and Rojer seldom knew during the day where they would stay that night. They owed money to every bartender and innkeep in the city.

Rojer relived all that in an instant, and looked at Thamos, wondering if he was as fickle as his brother. Not that it mattered. Arrick, for his part, had been the duke’s man, happy to tell people of new taxes or privations, secure in his own position. Rojer had no such desire to speak for Thamos, a man he knew only for his reputation as a short-tempered womanizer.

He made his best leg, his face calm. ‘You honour me, Highness, but I fear I must refuse.’

Arther and Gamon both tensed, but kept silent. Tender Hayes shook his head as if Rojer were a fool.

‘Think carefully about this, Mr Inn,’ Thamos said. ‘With your heathen bride, you would be an ideal ambassador to the court of the desert demon, and your own mistress advises that we need just that. The throne would be most generous. You could even take lands and a title, as General Gared has.’

Rojer shrugged. ‘Leesha Paper isn’t my mistress, and I want none of what Gared has. I want only to train my apprentices and the Jongleurs who came to the Hollow with you to charm corelings.’

Thamos’ eyes became hard. ‘I see no reason to allow my Jongleurs to train with someone who will not swear fealty to me.’

Rojer bowed. ‘With all due respect, Highness, they’re not your Jongleurs. They are mine, bought and paid for legally from Guildmaster Cholls. I have the writs. If you deny me those men, not only will you be wasting power to save lives, but every performer in Angiers will soon be singing that Count Thamos of the Hollow does not honour other men’s debts.’

For the first time, Thamos looked truly angry, but Tender Hayes laid a gentle hand on his arm, calming him.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Your little entourage can stay at the inn if Speaker Smitt will still have you. But I will not forget this.’

Rojer made another leg. ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’

Thamos took a calming breath. ‘Now, as for the gifts from my mother …’

Thamos gestured to Arther, who produced a small scroll bound in green ribbon, handing it to Leesha. ‘Her Grace still controls the affairs of women in Angiers, and has appointed you Royal Gatherer of Hollow County.’

Leesha fought to keep her face calm. The Duchess Mum had her in check and she knew it, for she could not sidestep as Rojer had. Legally, a Royal Gatherer outranked all others. Leesha couldn’t refuse without having someone else take the spot and begin to leach away at her own power in the Hollow, but accepting it was little different than Gared accepting a title. She would be legitimizing Thamos’ rule and accepting his dominance. Also, her position would effectively make her his personal Gatherer. The idea of having to see the count unclothed sickened her, though that was becoming her natural state these days. She stroked her bodice, imagining the life taking root beneath.

The room was deathly quiet, waiting for her response. Thamos looked as if he expected her to refuse as Rojer had. She wasn’t sure if that would please him or not.

‘Maybe you’ll get a uniform to go with that fancy title,’ Gared said smugly, and she wanted to throw a dash of pepper in his face.

At last she curtsied, a slight tug at her skirts and a shallow dip. ‘I’m honoured to consider the offer, Highness. You’ll have my answer within the week.’

Thamos pursed his lips, then shrugged. ‘We look forward to your response. Please have it by Seventhday, in case I need to send to Angiers for another to take the position instead.’

Leesha nodded her assent, and Thamos turned to Wonda. ‘As for you, Miss Cutter, I have no lands or titles to offer you, no rank or station, but my mother has taken an especial liking to you, and has sent you a gift.’ A servant wheeled in a clothing rack holding dozens of doublets, each emblazoned with Duchess Araine’s seal, a wooden crown set over an embroidery hoop.

‘Women cannot hold rank in the military, but the bow-women of the Hollow are legendary, and Mother wishes to be your patroness.’

The servant selected one of the doublets and approached Wonda. ‘May I?’

Wonda nodded numbly. The man removed her warded cloak, and she bent as he lifted the thick doublet over her head. Wonda stroked it in wonder. She bowed. ‘Ent ever had clothes so fine. Please thank Her Grace.’

Thamos smiled. ‘The doublets are a trifle. You may give them to other women you deem worthy, but Mother was adamant that the first go to you. The crown will also give purse for a team of bowyers, fletchers, and their materials.’ He gestured again, and the guards opened a wall flap, allowing in a middle-aged man, thin, with wiry muscles and a doublet emblazoned with the hammer and chisel of the Artisans’ Guild. He was followed by three young men who carried bundles of oiled cloth they carefully laid on the floor. They unrolled them to reveal fine wooden armour, beautifully warded and shining with enamel just like that worn by the Wooden Soldiers. Wonda gasped.

‘A proper fitting can be arranged later, but indulge us and try the breastplate, at least,’ Thamos said.

Wonda nodded, and the artisan took the piece and began strapping it on. Leesha had half expected it to give her a woman’s shape, implying breasts where there were none to speak of, but the duchess was cannier than that, and the breastplate fit perfectly. She looked magnificent.

‘It’s so light,’ Wonda marvelled.

The artisan nodded, smiling. ‘We had first thought to make you a proper metal mesh, but archers must be quick and agile. Wooden armour will protect you as well as the finest Milnese steel at a fraction the weight.’

Leesha sighed. It was another ploy by the Duchess Mum to leach at her power. Wonda had made her loyalties clear at their tea, and Araine had not been pleased by it. Leesha wanted to tell Wonda to send the armour back with her regrets. The girl would do it in an instant if Leesha told her to, but looking at her face, beaming with happiness as it so seldom did since the demons took her father and left her scarred, Leesha did not have the heart.

Rojer had begun to relax while everyone cooed over Wonda’s new breastplate, but Thamos met his eyes again and he felt his muscles clench right back up.

‘Now,’ Thamos said, rubbing his hands together. ‘I suppose we should see to our guests.’ Arther signalled the door guards, who admitted Amanvah, Enkido, Kaval, and Coliv.

‘Princess Amanvah of Krasia,’ Arther called loudly, his voice easily filling the great hall, ‘His Royal Highness Count Thamos, Prince of Angiers, Marshal of the Wooden Soldiers, and Lord of Hollow County, bids you and your counsellors welcome to his court.’

‘There had best be a good reason why I have been kept waiting,’ Amanvah said, ‘and for the rudeness of your chi’Sharum when we came to your court in peace and goodwill.’ She flicked a derisive finger at Captain Gamon. ‘In Krasia, we have men whipped for showing such poor manners to their betters.’

Rojer sighed. This was not going to go well.

Thamos seemed caught off guard by her aggressive posture. ‘Apologies, Princess, if you were treated rudely upon your arrival.’ He glanced at Gamon. ‘I assure you I will school my man in proper etiquette in the future. As to the delay, surely you cannot begrudge me a brief audience alone with my subjects before receiving you.’

‘Made Gared a general,’ Rojer said, ‘and offered me a commission as his royal herald.’

Amanvah glanced at Rojer and laughed, a sharp bark that echoed in the chamber.

‘This amuses you?’ Thamos asked. His voice was hardening as his patience grew thin.

Amanvah looked back at the count, her eyes narrowing. ‘As if my husband would refuse the patronage of the ruler of all that is and give himself instead to a minor princeling. The very notion is ridiculous.’

‘Minor princeling?’ Thamos asked, his voice a razor.

Amanvah turned to Rojer. ‘Count. This is beneath a duke in your culture?’

‘His Highness is third in line to the ivy throne,’ Rojer supplied.

Amanvah nodded and turned back to Thamos. ‘My father met one of your Northland dukes — Edon the Fourth, of Rizon. When Duke Edon knelt with his head pressed to the floor and tearfully begged for his life, he was made to swear utter fealty to Shar’Dama Ka, and lick the dirt from the sandals of all twelve Damaji. He would have sucked their cocks, if my father had even hinted that it would have pleased him.’

Thamos’ look of impatience turned to one of rage. His face reddened, and Rojer could almost hear the sound of his teeth grinding. His hand gripped his spear so tightly it looked like the shaft would break in half.

‘It doesn’t matter!’ Rojer snapped. ‘I have no patron, and want none! I will write what I want to write and sing what I want to sing, and to the Core with anyone who says otherwise!’

Amanvah nodded. ‘As it should be.’

Rojer looked curiously at the comment, but shrugged it off. ‘And you, wife, will keep a civil tongue behind your veil.’

‘Your husband speaks wisdom,’ Thamos said. ‘Your father will not find Angiers as weak as Rizon. We are ready for him.’

‘The Rizonans were weak once,’ Amanvah said. ‘My father is making them strong. He sees the Hollow is already strong, and offers to make you an independent tribe, autonomous and with your own leaders. In return, he asks only two things.’

‘And what are those?’ Thamos demanded. ‘What is a fair price to buy back what we already have?’

‘First,’ Amanvah said, ‘that you accept that he is Shar’Dama Ka, and follow him when the First War begins.’

‘First War?’ Thamos asked.

Tender Hayes leaned in to him. ‘The Final Battle, Your Highness. When the Deliverer unites mankind and leads us to drive the demons back to the Core.’

Amanvah nodded. ‘It is foretold in your Canon much as in the Evejah, is it not, Tender?’

Tender Hayes nodded. ‘Indeed. But we have seen nothing to hint that your father is the one foretold. The Deliverer may already be among us, or come tomorrow, or a thousand years from now. Nothing in the Canon tells us that he will bring rape, murder, and heathen religion with him.’

‘All wars bring bloodshed and loss,’ Amanvah said. ‘It is the price of unity, and a fair one. But my father is offering you peace, and you would be wise to take it.’

Thamos scowled. ‘And what is the second price of this generous peace?’

Amanvah smiled. ‘That Mistress Paper agree to be his bride, of course.’

There was a rustling from off to the side, and the Painted Man stepped out from behind the heavy tarp that served as a wall. ‘That ent gonna happen.’

Everyone stood shocked. It had only been a few months since Leesha had seen him last, but as Darsy said, Arlen had changed greatly in that time. Gone were his Tender’s robes — he was clad now in simple dungarees and a faded white shirt, unlaced at the front to show part of the great ward tattooed there. His warded feet were bare as he padded on the cold floor.

But rather than humanizing him as she might have expected, the change only made Arlen stand out more, the hundreds of intricate wards on his neck and shaved head marking him in ways the Tender’s robes and hood had kept hidden.

A step behind him stood the one Darsy had spoken of. Renna Tanner. His promised. Leesha scanned her critically, but the young woman’s looks were so outlandish she was nearly impossible to judge. She was perhaps in her early twenties, her hair roughly hewn on top with a long, thick braid hanging down her back. She was barely clad, wearing only a tight vest and a rough homespun skirt slit almost to the waist on either side. At her belt was a heavy knife, a leather pouch, and a long beaded necklace. Like Arlen, she was covered from head to toe in wards, though they had the faded look of blackstem about them rather than true tattoos.

Corespawn him, Leesha thought. This after making me swear an oath not to do the same.

‘What makes you think you have a right to tell me who I will or will not marry?’ she demanded as Arlen approached her.

‘Know your prospective bridegroom a lot better than you,’ Arlen said. ‘You were gone much longer, I was coming to save you.’

Leesha felt another flare of anger and didn’t bother to hide it. ‘I didn’t need saving.’

‘This time,’ Arlen said. ‘Don’t be fooled by the silk pillows and fancy manners. Krasians come to you with smiles, but there are fangs beneath. Ahmann Jardir most of all.’

‘Who are you, to speak so familiarly of my holy father?’ Amanvah demanded.

Arlen turned to the dama’ting, dipping a shallow bow and switching smoothly to Krasian so flawless he sounded like a native. ‘He is my ajin’pal. I am Arlen asu Jeph am’Bales am’Brook, known to your people as …’

‘Par’chin!’ Kaval growled. He turned to Coliv and made a quick gesture across his throat.

The Watcher reacted instantly, reaching into his black robes and flinging out an arm, sending a spray of sharpened metal triangles flying at Arlen. Leesha feared he would be killed, but Arlen didn’t even flinch or step aside. His arm was a blur as he batted the spinning blades away as easily as leaves borne on a gentle breeze. They clattered to the ground harmlessly, but the drillmaster and Watcher were already moving to attack him from opposite flanks. Both had produced hidden weapons — Coliv a sickle with a long, weighted chain attached, and Kaval two short staves.

‘I taught you to fight, Par’chin,’ Kaval said. ‘Do you honestly think yourself the match of true Sharum?’

Arlen smiled as he set his feet in a fighting stance. ‘I’ve come a long way since the last time you and Coliv tried to murder me, Drillmaster. And you had more men then.’

Murder? Leesha thought, but before the full weight of it sank in, Coliv hurled the weighted end of his chain at Arlen from behind. It wrapped around one of Arlen’s wrists, but Arlen grabbed it and yanked hard, pulling Coliv off balance. Kaval attempted to use the distraction to launch his own attack, spinning the staves in a blur of motion, but Arlen had grabbed a length of chain in his free hand, pulling it taut to block the first two blows. The third he caught fast in a twist of chain and heel-kicked the drillmaster onto his back.

Leesha heard ribs crack with the blow, but the drillmaster rolled to his feet instantly, tossing the remaining staff to his left hand as he pulled a knife with his right.

‘Stop this madness!’ Leesha shouted, but no one was listening. Thamos’ guards looked ready to intervene, but the count gave no command, watching the battle with great interest. Gared and Wonda, too, looked on in dumbfounded amazement.

Coliv had managed to keep his feet, detaching the sickle from its chain and using a short punch-dagger in his free hand. His attacks were quick and precise, full of feints and reversals, but Arlen blocked them casually, toying with him as Kaval moved back into the fight, knife leading for Arlen’s back.

Renna rushed to stop him, but she passed too close to Amanvah, and Enkido moved to intercept her. He grabbed at her but she was too quick, slipping out of reach then coming back in fast with a roundhouse kick that connected solidly with his solar plexus.

The eunuch made no sound and never lost control, rolling with the blow and spinning to place himself back-to-back with her. He caught her trailing braid and pulled it hard over his shoulder.

Leesha thought the fight would end there, but the young woman surprised her, springing with the pull to somersault right over the eunuch, placing them face-to-face again as she punched him in the gut.

This time Enkido gave a slight grunt, but he did not release his grip on her braid, yanking her head into his fist, sending a spray of blood from her mouth. Before she could recover, he stabbed stiffened fingers into a nerve cluster that collapsed her leg. He caught her wrists and twisted hard, forcing her down to one knee.

Both Leesha and Enkido thought it done, but Renna Tanner was full of surprises. She let out a feral growl, arresting her downward momentum. Leesha would have sworn she would not be able to use her leg again for several minutes and Enkido outweighed her more than twice over, but, gritting her teeth, Renna slowly forced herself to her feet against his straining muscles. The eunuch’s cold eyes widened in disbelief as their positions reversed and he was the one forced back, his spine bending like a bow and his legs quivering with strain.

She has powers in daylight, Leesha realized. Like Arlen.

Suddenly Renna twisted her arms, easily breaking Enkido’s grip on her wrists. She caught one of his, so thick her hand could not close even halfway, and yanked the man towards her, grabbing his belt. The eunuch landed a few more flailing blows as she lifted him clear over her head, but the girl ignored them, hurling him across the room to smash through one of the wood-panelled walls. Dazed, he struggled to rise from the wreckage.

The battle between Arlen and the Sharum continued to rage. Kaval and Coliv attacked as fiercely as Leesha had ever seen, but Arlen dodged and blocked easily, his expression one of calm focus. Occasionally, he returned a blow, simply to show he could do so with impunity. He took the knife from Kaval, slapping the drillmaster on the side of his head with the flat of the blade, knocking him into Coliv. When the Watcher next came at him, there was a brief tussle that ended with Coliv’s own punch-dagger stuck in his buttock as Arlen danced out of reach.

Leesha didn’t pretend to understand how warriors thought, but she knew enough of Krasian culture to understand that Arlen was intentionally humiliating the men. To charge into battle against a more powerful foe and be killed with honour was the dream of every warrior. But to be defeated and survive was the stuff of nightmares. She could feel the shame and helpless rage radiating off them, and felt almost pity.

Almost.

But they had tried to murder Arlen. She had it from his lips now, and despite her other doubts, this she knew to be true.

The Painted Man was born on the Krasian desert, four years ago, Arlen had told her, when she asked his age on the road last year.

And the man beneath the wards? Leesha had asked. How old was he when he died?

He was killed, Arlen said, though he had never said by whom.

Leesha watched as Arlen fought the two Sharum, and knew she was looking at two of the killers. Two of the men who had kicked him onto the path that led to the madness of warding his own flesh. Had Ahmann been one as well? Probably, if Abban’s warning had been true.

If you know the son of Jeph, if you can get word to him, tell him to run to the end of the world and beyond, because that is how far Jardir will go to kill him. There can only be one Deliverer.

Whatever he had done to her, Arlen was a good man. A good man these men had tried to murder, and very nearly succeeded. A shameful part of her wanted to see them hurt, and to spare the anaesthetic when she splinted their broken bones.

The two Sharum were positioning for another pass when a piercing ululation filled the air. They froze as Amanvah shouted, ‘Stop this at once!’ in Krasian.

Kaval and Coliv stayed their next attacks, but they did not stand down. The drillmaster spared a glance to the dama’ting, keeping one eye on Arlen. ‘Holy Daughter, there is much about this one you do not know. He is a blood traitor, laying false claim to the title of Shar’Dama Ka. Honour demands his death.’

Coliv nodded. ‘The drillmaster speaks true, Holy Daughter.’

Arlen smiled. ‘Tell me, Sharum, if Everam exists, how will He punish your lies?’

Amanvah turned to regard him. ‘So you do not claim to be the Deliverer?’

‘The Deliverer is all of us,’ Arlen said. ‘Everyone who stands tall in the night instead of hiding behind their wards … or underground.’ He looked at her pointedly.

‘My people no longer do that, Par’chin,’ Amanvah said.

‘Nor do mine,’ Arlen said. ‘All of us work to deliver humanity from the alagai.’

‘Holy Daughter, do not listen to this lying chin,’ Kaval said. ‘Justice and your father’s safety demand that we kill him now.’

‘As if you could,’ Arlen growled. ‘We have a blood debt, true, but it is you who owe. I could have collected today, but I kill only alagai.’

‘Why is this man such a threat?’ Amanvah asked Kaval. ‘From his own lips, he makes no claim on my father’s title.’

‘He diminishes it with his words,’ Kaval said. ‘Leaching your father’s honour with his heathen talk while he bides his cowardly time, waiting for the moment to strike.’

Amanvah’s face was unreadable. ‘It is you who attacked first, Drillmaster. My father used to speak often of the Par’chin, and never as anything except a man of honour.’

‘His honour was lost when he betrayed your father in the Maze,’ Kaval said.

Arlen stepped forward, his eyes seething. ‘Shall we speak of the Maze, Kaval? Shall I tell all gathered what happened that night, and let them judge who lost their honour?’

The drillmaster did not answer, exchanging a look with Coliv. Amanvah stared at him. ‘Well, Drillmaster? What have you to say?’

Kaval cleared his throat. ‘It is not a matter we may speak of. We have sworn an oath of silence to the Shar’Dama Ka. You must trust my judgement in this.’

‘Must?’ Amanvah asked, her voice a quiet lash. ‘Dal’Sharum, do you presume to tell a Bride of Everam what she must or must not do?’ The men stiffened, but still they held their aggressive posture, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

‘Please, Par’chin,’ Amanvah said. ‘Enlighten us about the night of which you speak.’

Arlen shook his head. ‘You want to know? Ask the Spears of the Deliverer. Ask your father. And if they won’t tell you, perhaps you ought to wonder why.’

Amanvah squinted at him, then turned to Kaval. ‘Stand down and heel me. You will pursue this matter no further without my blessing, and I do not give it now.’ When the men still hesitated, she added, ‘I will not ask again.’

There was a finality in her tone that shook even the warriors, and they complied at last, weapons disappearing as they glided to stand at the young dama’ting’s back.

‘It appears your new neighbours will keep you entertained, Miss Paper,’ Thamos said, and Leesha couldn’t help but feel that perhaps his smug tone was justified.

Arlen came over to stand next to Leesha, his voice dropping to a murmur. ‘Glad to see you back safe.’

‘And you,’ Leesha said.

‘Ought to talk,’ Arlen said. ‘Tonight after dusk. Just the four of us at your cottage.’

‘Four?’ Leesha asked before she could stop herself. Clandestine meetings with Arlen were nothing new, but it had always been three. Herself, Arlen, and Rojer.

It was a pointless question, only confirming what she already knew. ‘Renna and I are promised. Where I go, she goes.’

She was surprised to find the words, though expected, still cut at her. ‘Rojer and Amanvah are married,’ Leesha noted. ‘Yet you would deny his bride the same right?’

Arlen shrugged. ‘It’s your house, Leesha. You keep whatever company you like, but you want the whole story, it’s just us four.’

Leesha gestured at Renna with her chin. The young woman caught the look, her eyes fierce. ‘Didn’t you beg me not to paint blackstem wards on anyone?’

Arlen sighed. ‘Ent the first time I been wrong about somethin’, Leesha Paper. Don’t reckon it’s the last, either.’

‘How far to your palace?’ Amanvah asked, as their carriage trundled along the road into Deliverer’s Hollow.

‘Palace?’ Rojer asked.

Amanvah bowed. ‘Forgive me, husband, I forget you have no palaces in the North. Your … manse?’

‘Ah …’ Rojer said. ‘I don’t exactly have one of those, either. I live at Smitt’s.’

‘I do not know this word,’ Amanvah said. ‘What is smitz?’

‘Smitt,’ Rojer said. ‘Is a person. He owns the inn.’

‘And you live at this … roadhouse Waxing and Wane?’ Amanvah was incredulous.

‘What?’ Rojer asked. ‘They change the sheets for me once a week and I never have to cook a meal.’

‘Unacceptable,’ Amanvah said.

‘Well it’s going to have to be,’ Rojer snapped, ‘because it’s all I’ve got! I told your father I had no money, and I meant it. Bad enough you picked a fight with the count, but now you need to piss on how I live?’

Amanvah bowed. ‘Apologies, husband. It was not my intent to offend. I meant only that one so touched by Everam should live in a home worthy of his greatness.’

Rojer smiled. It was hard to argue with that.

Much of the town had gathered by the time they reached the inn, but Rojer paid them little mind. He wanted his wives settled as soon as possible so he could meet the Painted Man after dusk and find out just what in the Core was going on.

‘Going to need a few extra rooms,’ he told Smitt.

Sikvah took his hand, gently pulling him back. ‘Please, husband. Such transactions are beneath you. If you will allow me …’ She stepped ahead of him, beginning to negotiate in much the same manner Shamavah had on the road. Smitt looked shocked at first, then exasperated, then conciliatory. In the end, Sikvah counted out a number of gold coins into his hand, and Smitt turned, calling to one of his sons. Haggling seemed to be something Krasians had in their blood.

‘The merchant must eject some of his residents and prepare our rooms,’ Sikvah said on her return. ‘We are invited to wait here or in our husband’s old room.’

‘Old?’ Rojer asked. ‘I loved that room. Best acoustics in the whole ripping inn.’

‘It was not fitting, husband,’ Sikvah said, and Rojer sighed. This was not an argument he could hope to win.

The front door opened, and a group of Jongleurs entered, easily visible by their instrument cases and bright motley. A young woman was with them, and the sight of her filled him with a horrible guilt. Kendall, his apprentice who had nearly lost her life to his stupidity.

A memory flashed in his mind, Gared carrying Kendall, cut and bloody, from the battlefield. He shook his head to clear it.

‘Rojer!’ Kendall cried, rushing over to him and wrapping him in a hug. ‘They said you were back! We were so worrieAUGH!’

She was pulled away from him, and Rojer saw Sikvah twisting the young woman’s wrist with two fingers, immobilizing her as easily as she might an impudent toddler. ‘Who are you, to lay hands on my husband?’

Kendall looked at her, and even through her grimace of pain, a look of surprise took her. ‘Husband?’

‘Sikvah!’ Rojer snapped. ‘Release her! This is Kendall, one of my apprentices.’

Sikvah let go of Kendall’s wrist immediately and the young woman snatched it back, rubbing. Sikvah and Amanvah began circling her like wolves, appraising her from every angle.

‘You greenlanders allow your slaves great liberty,’ Amanvah noted, ‘but she seems fit enough. How many others do you own?’

‘Ent his slave,’ Kendall snapped. ‘Nobody owns me.’

‘She’s right,’ Rojer said. ‘She and the other apprentices are all free folk, and Kendall is the most talented of the lot.’

His wives continued to circle the girl as the other Jongleurs came over. Rojer knew them all by reputation if not personally. Their leader was Hary Roller. Once, early in his career, Hary had played while standing upon a great ball. He hadn’t done the trick since, but the name Roller had forever stuck.

Hary was old now, retired from performance and teaching, but he was respected both as a composer and a cellist. Guildmaster Cholls had promised masters, but it seemed the established ones had little interest in risking themselves in the Hollow. Sly Sixstring was even older, the guitar over his shoulder worn and weathered. Rojer had seen him perform once and was stunned at the nimbleness of Sly’s wrinkled fingers, but that was a decade ago at least.

The others were younger, performers Rojer had been competing with for street corners little more than a year ago. Wil Piper had still been an apprentice then. Rojer wondered if he’d been elevated just for agreeing to this assignment.

Hary shook Rojer’s hand. ‘We’re happy to see you returned, Master Halfgrip. In your absence, I have been following your agreement with the guildmaster and teaching sound signs to your apprentices. They were … undisciplined, but I have made some progress …’

Undisciplined. Rojer snorted. That was one way to put it. They were a bunch of bumpkins he had sat in a circle and taught to play by ear. There had been none of the formal training of the guild, something Roller was known to be a stickler for.

But those days were coming to a close.

‘Forget all that,’ Rojer said, reaching into his satchel for the pages of music he had prepared, outlining the Song of Waning. He slapped them against the man’s chest, and Roller reflexively took them. ‘New song I need everyone to learn. Ask your apprentices to make lots of copies.’

Roller looked at the pages, startled. ‘A theory …?’

‘Tested,’ Rojer said. ‘Worked for my trio. Let’s see if it works for others.’

Rojer’s room was just as he’d left it, but after so much time in the Palace of Mirrors and the best rooms of every inn from here to the Bounty, he saw it in a new light. It was small and cramped, just a bed to flop on and a sundry trunk.

Always keep your bags packed, Arrick used to say.

Rojer went to the trunk and began rummaging in it, but Sikvah put a hand on his arm. ‘Please, husband. Let the servants handle that. Your labour shames us.’

‘Don’t have servants,’ Rojer said.

‘Then I will have Smitt’s people move your things when the new rooms are prepared.’ Sikvah pulled at him until he relented and went to sit on the bed.

He looked at Amanvah. ‘What did you mean, “As it should be”?’

‘Eh?’ she asked.

‘Back in the count’s hall,’ Rojer said. ‘When I said I had no patron, and needed none.’

Amanvah bowed. ‘I have cast the bones since our … disagreement, husband. They tell me you must be free of fealty if your power is to remain pure. I apologize for doubting you. Sikvah and I are yours now. Whatever path you take in your battle with the alagai, we will follow. This is why my father wed us to you, and we will no longer forsake you. If you command we strip to our coloured silk and sing in the night, we will do this.’

‘And if I command you sing The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow?’ Rojer asked.

‘We will do as you command, and find ways to make you regret it.’ Amanvah winked. ‘We are your wives, not slaves.’

Rojer was stunned a moment, then laughed out loud.

‘Do you trust this Painted Man?’ Amanvah said. ‘Do you know what happened between him and my father?’

‘Yes, I trust him, but no,’ Rojer shook his head, ‘I don’t know what happened. I will speak with him tonight. Maybe I’ll learn something.’

‘Will you share what he tells you with us?’ Amanvah asked.

Rojer looked at her a long time. ‘If he asks me to keep his counsel private, I will.’ He frowned, then shrugged. ‘Unless I decide I shouldn’t.’ He smiled at her. ‘Gotta be free, don’t I?’