The Daylight War

21

333 AR Summer

11 Dawns Before New Moon

The party went on for hours after Arlen and Renna emerged, somewhat dishevelled, from the wedding pavilion. He had thought their consummation would be gentle, but his bride had pounced like an animal the moment the flap fell, her aura lit up with lust.

My bride. Renna Tanner. The thought made his head spin as much as their lovemaking. The girl he ran away from home to avoid marrying was the one he was meant for.

Meant for? He snorted. Spent your whole life believing there’s no Creator, no Deliverer, but you and a girl get along, and that’s proof of divine plan?

But much as he wanted to dismiss the thought as ludicrous, he could not.

They stumbled on watery legs back out into the cheering crowd, and Arlen was amazed once more at its aura.

Arlen had thought magic evil once, but it was beyond such definitions, no more evil than wind or rain or lectrics. It pulsed within all living things, defining them inside and out with a wealth of information. Human auras were dimmer and far more complex than those of demons, but there was a great deal of ambient magic here at the centre of Hollow County’s greatwards. Without even realizing it, the Hollowers were imprinting that magic with their joy, and it danced happily around them, powerful and infectious.

Arlen had been seeing auras since he had first painted wards of sight around his eyes, but had never understood what the subtle variations of colour, brightness, and texture had meant until his encounter with the coreling prince. For an instant their minds had touched, and he had seen the world as the demons did.

Now even a peripheral glance could tell him much about a person’s emotional state, and a full stare fed him a constant stream of information. He knew when people spoke truth to him and when lie, when they were ready to fight and when they would flee. He could see every single emotion a person was feeling at any given time, though he had to guess at the reasons.

He could not see into minds as the coreling princes had … yet. But if he concentrated, Arlen could draw a touch of magic through people, imprinting it with their essence, and then absorb it himself, Knowing them more intimately than lover and Herb Gatherer both — every scar, every ache, every feeling. A firespit burn here, a cat scratch there, telling the body’s tale.

Sometimes images would flash in his mind — people, places, and things that held strong emotional connections to whomever he was Knowing, but it was up to him to interpret them.

Even plants could yield secrets. Simply inhaling a current passing through a tree, Arlen could peel back the years more clearly than a woodcutter reading rings. When there had been flood, and when drought. When there had been fire, and when deep freeze. The types of demon claws that had gouged its bark. Everything since the nut had cracked, grasped in an instant.

Shamavah was waiting for them as they returned to the party, along with Rojer, Kendall, and his new wives.

Rojer’s aura was particularly interesting. When the Jongleur was playing, be it his fiddle or the part in a drama, a mask fell over his aura that was impossible for Arlen to read.

At other times, though, his young friend was an open book. Images floated around him, some dim, others distinct, all connected to Rojer with complex webs of emotion.

Arlen could make out himself and Renna, as well as Amanvah, Sikvah, and Leesha. Arlen could see Rojer had doubts about Renna and the marriage, but he’d made his own questionable choices in that regard, and felt no right to preach. The deed was done, and as Arlen’s friend, Rojer was going to support him.

He put a hand on the Jongleur’s shoulder. ‘Stand by you, too, Rojer. Honest word. Nothing about Renna lessens what I owe you.’

Rojer blinked. ‘How did you know what I was …’

There was a flare in Amanvah’s aura as she focused on him. She was quick, that one, catching her husband’s meaning before he even finished speaking.

For an instant, he saw images floating around her, most prominently her parents. Amanvah walked deep in their shadow. Hovering between their images was a book.

‘You are thinking it is said in the Evejah that only the Deliverer can read the hearts of men,’ Arlen guessed.

Shock rippled along Amanvah’s aura, but then the young dama’ting went … serene, the surface of her emotions buried under the gentle rhythm of her breath. She stared at him with no less intensity, but his ability to read her vanished.

‘It is said,’ Amanvah agreed. ‘But you are not him.’

He glanced at Sikvah, surprised to note that her mind had the same sharp discipline as Amanvah’s. She was more than she seemed. Perhaps it was something to do with her white veil.

But while Rojer’s wives hid their auras, they could not mask the magic of the items they carried. Bound and warded bones in Amanvah’s and Sikvah’s chokers made it seem like their throats were ablaze. Arlen scanned the wards, similar to the ones on Rojer’s fiddle. He had seen the amplifying effect onstage. Useful magic.

Other jewellery shone with similar fire. The hora pouch at Amanvah’s waist veritably throbbed with it, and even Shamavah wore a few bits of demon bone among her rings and bracelets, though he could only guess at the effects.

‘You don’t trust me,’ Arlen said.

‘Is there any reason why we should?’ Amanvah asked.

Arlen concentrated, drawing a touch of magic through the young women, Knowing them.

‘No, but I trust you, Amanvah vah Ahmann.’ He nodded to Sikvah. ‘You and your sister-wife both. I can see that you are no ally of Nie, and your intentions toward my friend are true.’

‘Ay?’ Rojer asked.

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Arlen told him. ‘They may follow the letter of your commands, but they won’t hesitate to disobey the spirit if they think it best for you.’

Amanvah did not seem perturbed by the comment. ‘Our honoured husband sometimes requires … guidance.’

Arlen chuckled. ‘Fair and true.’

‘Ay!’ Rojer shouted.

Arlen smirked. ‘I don’t think I’m the Deliverer, Amanvah. Don’t think your da is, either. Don’t believe the Deliverer exists at all, save perhaps as a symbol all may aspire to.’

‘An unbeliever, rather than a heretic?’ Amanvah asked. ‘Is that better?’

Arlen bowed. ‘That is for you to decide, Princess.’

The corners of Amanvah’s eyes crinkled. ‘A decision for another day. Thank you for honouring us by allowing us to share in your celebration.’

Shamavah stepped up then. She held the same writing tablet Arlen had seen her with a hundred times, bringing back a rush of warm memories of Abban’s pavilions in the Great Bazaar.

Arlen could see images in her aura, connected to her in ledger lines of black and red, calculating debts paid and debts owed. Amanvah had sent her as a peace offering, and Shamavah was happy for the chance to ingratiate herself with Amanvah and Arlen both. She would do whatever was necessary to make tonight perfect, no matter whom she had to bribe or shout at, but it was a loan that would one day be called to account.

Arlen smiled. ‘You are so much like your husband, it makes my heart ache to see my friend Abban again.’

Shamavah bowed. ‘The son of Jeph is too kind.’ She gave no outward sign, but her aura was truly touched at the words.

And they were honest. Arlen missed his khaffit merchant friend deeply, but Abban had proven many times that while he could occasionally be trusted, he could never be trusted. He lied when needed, but more often there was simply something he wasn’t telling you. Usually something important.

Arlen had replayed the events of his last visit to Krasia ten thousand times in his mind, always with a lingering sense of doubt. It was Abban, after all, who procured the map that took Arlen to the ruins of Anoch Sun and the tomb of Kaji, where he had found the warded spear. He had revealed the prize to Abban first, verifying its authenticity. Later that night, Jardir, once Abban’s best friend, tried to kill him for it.

And now they were working together. Even if Marick hadn’t confirmed it months ago, much of the Krasian conquest had Abban’s stamp on it. This was better than the alternative, as Abban was never so brutal or wasteful as Jardir. After the initial crushing of Fort Rizon, huge swathes of the southland were conquered with houses and fields and daughters left intact, keeping the trade routes open, if under dama rule and Evejan law. That was Abban whispering mercy in Jardir’s ear, if only for profit’s sake.

Whose side are you on, Abban? he wondered. Do you not know your friend tried to murder me? Simply accept it? Or was it your idea all along?

He sighed. Did it even matter? There was no point wasting thought on it now. Soon, he would confront both men and learn the truth. But first, they had to survive new moon.

The line of well-wishers resumed the moment they returned to the party. The next to come before them was an older woman, leading a middle-aged man along beside her. His white clouded eyes staring off at nothing. There was something familiar about them, and Arlen saw in the woman’s aura that she had met him before, and felt she owed him a debt.

‘Lorry Shepherd, Mr and Mrs Bales,’ the woman said with a stiff bow. ‘This is my son, Ken. We have nothing to give but our respects and our thanks, but hope you’ll accept them. Corelings took the rest of our family on the road while we fled the Krasians. Would have taken me and Kenny, too, if you hadn’t come.’ She patted the man’s arm. ‘Things ent been easy, but the Hollow opened its heart to us when you brought our caravan in, and we ent been cold or hungry, even though Kenny can’t work. We’re grateful for that.’

‘Whole Hollow deserves the credit for that,’ Arlen said. ‘And you, for being so strong when times were tough.’

He looked at Ken Shepherd, standing silently by his mother’s side. The man’s aura was one of quiet shame, hating himself for his dependence on his aging mother, and for his inability to help his family. But she leaned on him a bit in her dotage, and in that there was a spark of pride. ‘You always been blind?’

Ken nodded. ‘Ay, since before I can remember.’

‘’Twas a fever took his eyes, while he was still in swaddling,’ Lorry said.

Arlen drew a breath of magic through him, Knowing Ken’s eyes and finding the source of disharmony. He reached out instinctively, drawing a touch of power from the greatward as he traced wards with a finger along the man’s forehead and around his eyes.

There were gasps as the clouds left Ken’s eyes and they became a vibrant hazel, widening as he sputtered, swinging his head this way and that. His aura flared brightly with joy for an instant, then shifted to disorientation and a crushing fear. Finally he squeezed his eyes shut tight, putting his hands over them as his entire body shook.

Arlen put a steadying hand on his shoulder. ‘It’ll get a bit easier every day, Ken Shepherd. Honest word. Know exactly what you’re going through.’

Soon after the hubbub over the Shepherds moved off, a lone kha’Sharum arrived. He did not hesitate in his approach, but Arlen could see fear in his aura. Fear and shame. He caught Amanvah’s sharp intake of breath, too low for anyone else to hear, and her aura flashed anger a moment before returning to dama’ting calm.

The warrior knelt before Arlen, pressing his forehead to the cobbles. Arlen didn’t need to Know the man to understand what he was feeling. He’d spent enough time with Sharum to know when he was being insulted, and not by the poor kha’Sharum forced to deliver it.

No doubt Drillmaster Kaval thought it a masterful political statement to send a khaffit warrior to make obeisance and present the first gift to Heaven. It was a passive insult that conveniently kept the so-called Spears of the Deliverer — men who had all helped Jardir pull Arlen down and rob him of the Spear of Kaji — far away from him.

But the sight of a khaffit warrior was no insult to Arlen. How many times had he seen khaffit mistreated in Krasia, denied any rights or social mobility? It had been thus since the Return, but within a few short years of his reign, Jardir had changed that. Was this more whisperings from Abban — a quick way to gain warriors — or was his traitorous ajin’pal growing a conscience?

The kneeling warrior set a pair of wood demon horns at Arlen and Renna’s feet. Arlen could see the magic slowly leaching from the item to feed the greatward’s power.

‘Jaddah.’ Arlen drew the symbol for the first pillar of Heaven in the air. Amanvah looked at him in surprise, but he ignored her, smiling at the warrior.

‘Jaddah,’ the warrior agreed. His eyes flicked to Amanvah, and his fear intensified.

‘Rise and stand tall,’ Arlen said in Krasian. When the man did, Arlen bowed. ‘Have no fear, brother. Kaval may not see the irony of sending a khaffit to deliver an insult he fears to bring in person, but it is not lost on me. The kha’Sharum bring honour to the dal’Sharum, not the other way around.’

The warrior bowed deeply, and the shift in his aura was beautiful to behold, shame becoming pride and fear becoming elation. ‘Thank you, Par’chin.’ He bowed again to Renna, and last to Amanvah, then turned and ran back into the night.

Six pillars to come.

‘I will discipline Kaval,’ Amanvah said when the warrior was gone. ‘Please understand his insult is not mine.’

‘Spoke honest word,’ Arlen said. ‘Ran with Sharum in the night, but never had much patience for ones apt to start a blood feud over every slight. Kaval only insults himself.’

Amanvah tilted her head at him, and her aura gave off a sense of respect, though her eyes said nothing. He gave a shallow nod in return.

A moment later Wonda Cutter arrived, laying out the long curved horn of a wind demon, still with its dorsal wing membrane attached. ‘Woulda been first, but these things are harder to carve than they are to kill.’

Arlen smiled. Her aura was one of fierce pride, but with a touch of fear. He probed deeper, Knowing her. She was going to ask him for something. Something selfish that she was afraid he might not be able to — or worse, might not want to — give.

‘Blessings upon you, Wonda Cutter,’ Amanvah said, ‘first of the Sharum’ting.’

Sharum’ting? Arlen was startled. Jardir was giving rights to women now, as well? Would the wonders ever cease?

‘Proud of you, Wonda,’ Arlen said, raising his voice so others could hear. ‘Being the first woman warrior in Krasia is no small deed. There’s ever a thing I can do for you, you just name it.’

Wonda smiled, and relief washed over her aura. ‘They say you gave Ken Shepherd his eyes back.’

Arlen nodded. ‘Ay.’

Wonda had cut her hair to fall over the side of her face the demon had clawed, but she brushed it back, revealing deep puckered lines. Her voice dropped low. ‘Can you take away my scars?’

Arlen hesitated. He could do it in an instant, but looking into Wonda’s aura, he wasn’t sure he should. He drew a ward in the air to keep his reply for her alone.

‘I can.’ Her eyes lit up and her aura surged in both elation and fear. ‘But come new moon, what are you going to be worried about, Wonda Cutter? Your neighbours, or your face?’

Shame filled her aura, and Arlen gestured to his own face, covered in hundreds of tattoos. ‘Scars can protect us, Wonda. Remind us what’s really important.’

The girl nodded, and he took her shoulders, squeezing. He had to tilt his head up to look in her eyes. ‘You think on it. After new moon, you still want this, all you have to do is ask.’

Her aura shifted to a more neutral colour and texture, but a slow swirl began within as she considered his words.

‘I suppose this means you’re not likely to accept the demon of the desert’s proposal, then?’ Thamos asked, chewing on the last of his bacon.

Leesha smiled at him. Her own appetite had returned, and she was feeling strong for the first time in weeks. ‘It’s unlikely.’

‘Mother says you can be trusted to do what’s best for Hollow County,’ Thamos said, ‘but that I shouldn’t mistake that for following my commands.’

Leesha laughed, rising to clear the plates. ‘The Duchess Mum has the right of that.’

‘You’re a lot like her,’ Thamos said.

Leesha cocked a hip at him. ‘Not too much like her, I hope, or else last night was something I don’t want to think on. I know you Royals like to keep your bloodlines pure.’

Thamos laughed. ‘Not that much, though I’ll have you know my mother was a great beauty in her day.’

‘Of that, I have no doubt,’ Leesha said.

‘As for bloodlines …’ Thamos shrugged. ‘Ours was a minor house a century ago. My grandfather was the first of us to sit the ivy throne, and it was more money than blood that put him there.’

He stood swiftly, sweeping her into his arms. ‘You’re the closest thing the Hollow has to royalty in any event. Have you ever thought of what you might accomplish as countess?’

Leesha snorted, gently pushing the count back to arm’s length. ‘Your Highness has a reputation for bedding every young thing that winks at him. Am I supposed to believe you’ll stay true?’

Thamos smiled, and kissed her. ‘For you, I might be willing to try.’

‘If any of us are still around next week, I’ll think on it,’ Leesha promised, giving him a peck on the lips in return and pulling away to resume her cleaning. She didn’t doubt the offer was sincere, but it was more politics than affection. A union between them would cement Thamos’ control of the Hollow, and Rhinebeck’s control of his duchy, and Araine knew it.

Would that be such a bad thing? She honestly didn’t know.

‘Is it true you also encountered one of these mind demons Mr Bales speaks of?’ Thamos asked.

Leesha nodded. She went to her writing desk, taking an envelope sealed with wax and pressed with her sigil, a mortar and pestle. She handed it to the count. ‘For your mother.’

Thamos raised an eyebrow. ‘My brother, you mean.’

Leesha raised a brow in return. ‘Must we play that game, even alone and intimate?’

‘It’s not a game,’ Thamos said. ‘Rhinebeck is duke, and he is paranoid and proud. If you disrespect him openly, there will be consequences.’

Leesha nodded. ‘Ay, but he will get his report from you, and I have no doubt you can get a message to Araine-’

‘Her Grace,’ Thamos corrected.

‘… Her Grace,’ Leesha allowed, ‘without interception. You said yourself that Herb Gatherers were still her purview. There is no disrespect here.’

Thamos frowned, but he took the letter.

‘I’ll be honest, Highness,’ Leesha said. ‘I don’t know how far I can trust you, either inside my bed or out. Are you here because you care, or because you want to consolidate your hold on Hollow County?’

Thamos smiled. ‘Why, both, of course. Cutter’s Hollow was always part of Angiers, and depended on the throne for many things, including the Messenger road that kept you connected to the rest of the world. It was a minor hamlet not long ago, but oaths of fealty are not things you can just break when you come into power. Would you have expected the throne to just let you go if you discovered gold or coal on your lands?’

Leesha shook her head. ‘Of course not.’

‘These wards Mr Bales brought you are no different,’ Thamos said. ‘And what have we done that is so terrible? Have we not brought food and seed, livestock and warm clothing to your people in their hour of need, as you asked? Helped build them homes and construct the greatwards you helped design? My keep may look imposing, mistress, but it is meant to hold against the Krasians, not to terrorize the people under my protection.’

Leesha nodded. ‘For all the good it will do. In two years, the Krasians will have more warriors than there are men, women, and children in Angiers. Even now, they could crush the Hollow in a day if it was their wish, though they would have to leave Everam’s Bounty weak and enemies in Lakton at their back to do it. But once the Hollow was theirs, we could do little to take it back, and they would have Lakton caught like a tooth between pliers.’

Thamos shook his head. ‘The Krasians will never take Lakton unless the desert rats suddenly become sailors. The Laktonians have port hamlets scattered over hundreds of miles of shoreline to dock for supplies. No force in the world could guard them all, and the crannogs and swamp demons would take a heavy toll if they tried. The Laktonians can turn their ships on a klat, and rain arrows on Docktown or the shores, but the dockmasters are cowards, and will see no gain in taking the fight any farther than the shoreline. A Laktonian off his ship is like a grounded wind demon. No match for anyone.’

‘I agree,’ Leesha said. ‘I’ve been telling the Laktonians in the hamlets to flee to the Hollow.’

Thamos’ eyes narrowed. ‘Already acting the countess? You had no right to extend such invitation. We are already at capacity.’

‘Nonsense,’ Leesha said. ‘Our only chance to resist the Krasian advance is to grow as quickly as possible. We must fill the Hollow.’ She sighed. ‘If there’s a Hollow left to fill, once the moon has waned.’

Thamos took her hands, leaning in close. ‘We don’t need to be at odds, Leesha Paper. I will let every louse-ridden peasant from here to the Krasian desert camp on my doorstep if you’ll give me the answers I need.’

‘Answers?’ Leesha asked, though she knew full well what he meant.

Thamos nodded. ‘How many warriors do the Krasians have, and where are they stationed? What did you learn of the mind demons that has you so terrified? Can we trust Mr Bales to not waste lives as he combats them? Will you endorse my rule?’

The sun was beginning to rise, and both of them perked up at the sound of the count’s coach approaching. She sighed. ‘I’ll consider your questions, Highness, and have answers for you soon.’

Thamos stood with military precision, dipping into a tight bow. The sudden formality would have seemed cold, but his eyes never left hers, and he had a mischievous grin splitting his handsome bearded face. ‘Dinner, then. Tonight.’

Leesha smiled. ‘Your reputation as a hunter is not unwarranted, it seems.’

Thamos winked at her. ‘I’ll send my coachman at gloaming.’

It was nearly sunrise when the receiving line dwindled, and many of the Hollowers were still dancing. The Cutters and Sharum had returned infused with magical energy, leaving a pile of demon bones as tall as a man in the centre of the Corelings’ Graveyard and breathing new life into the celebration.

Arlen drew a deep breath and went to the Jongleur’s sound shell. He sprang lightly onstage without the need of steps, though the platform was six feet high. The performers ceased their playing and gave him the floor. The crowd cheered, and Arlen held his hand out to Renna. She, too, leapt onstage effortlessly, and he wrapped an arm around her.

‘Know it sounds crazy,’ Renna said, ‘but swear I can see the love these people have for you like a halo around ’em. Ent never seen anything so beautiful.’

‘For us,’ Arlen corrected, giving her a squeeze. ‘And ay, it’s like looking at the sunrise.’

‘Can’t last, can it?’ Renna said. ‘Not with what’s coming.’

Love you, Renna Tanner. Arlen shook his head. ‘Gonna be a bloody honeymoon.’

Renna leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘Glad we got to dance first.’

‘Ay,’ Arlen agreed, giving one last squeeze before letting go to raise his hands and pat the air. The crowd quieted, though it didn’t really matter. Arlen sketched a couple of sound wards in the air and his voice carried far and clear.

‘Want to thank everyone for this amazing night,’ Arlen called. ‘Me and Renna din’t tell anyone our plans, yet the Hollow threw us the best party any couple could hope for.’ There was a roar with that, people cheering and stamping their feet.

The sky was lightening now, stinging and burning Arlen’s skin. He was no stranger to pain at dawn, but now he knew how to pull the power away from the surface of his skin, shielding it from the light and preserving as much as he could hold.

Still, the sun burned the excess that clung to his wards, making them feel etched in flame. There had been a time — not so long ago — when he took the pain to mean he was being rejected by the sun. But now he understood the truth, and gloried in it.

Beside him, Renna gasped.

Pain teaches, Par’chin, Jardir had once told him, and so we give it freely. Pleasure teaches nothing, and so must be earned.

Arlen took her hand. ‘Pain’s the price of walking in the sun, Ren. Earn it.’ She nodded, breathing deeply. The warriors felt the sun’s effect as well, but with no wards on their flesh or ichor in their blood, the magic burned off them quickly. They paced a bit, scratching at their exposed flesh as if they had a rash. Sparks flew here and there as spots of demon ichor on their thick leathers ignited with flashes and pops. One Cutter who had been well doused in the stuff had his leathers actually catch fire. Arlen was about to go to him when the man picked up a half-empty cask of ale and dumped it over himself. Around him, folk jeered.

‘Next time, save the ale and we’ll just piss on you!’ one Cutter cried. Laughter.

‘Hollow’s been good to us,’ Arlen went on, ‘but now it’s time I was alone with my wife.’ Renna squeezed his hand at the word, and a thrill ran through him. ‘And time we were all back to our business. A night’s dancing did us a world of good, but new moon’s ten dawns away, and there’s work to be done. Demons are gonna be out in force, and Hollow County needs to be prepared to stomp them right back down to the Core where they belong.’

He pointed to the great mound of demon horns just as the sunlight struck it. The pile burst into a bonfire so bright it hurt to look at, and the Cutters roared, lifting their axes. Even the Sharum gave a shout, thrusting fists in the air.

With that sound, Arlen knew the demon princes were right to be afraid. But he had seen, too, what the Core could bring to bear. When he thought on it too much, it was he that feared.

Renna touched him. ‘You okay?’

Arlen placed his hand over hers. ‘Fine, Ren. I’m fine.’

‘Everything has been delivered,’ Shamavah said as she escorted them back to their rooms at Smitt’s tavern. She opened the door to show their marriage gifts placed neatly around their room. The roses had been cut properly and arranged in the ancient painted pot, the fresh food laid out in buffet. Other treasures were placed atop dressers and nightstands.

Arlen had lived in the Hollow more than a year now, getting to know the Cutters well as he trained them to defend themselves against demons. He knew how prized the possessions arrayed around the room were. But he had seen, too, the fierce pride in the auras of the givers. The sincere gratitude and love. The … faith.

It was the last that struck him the most. These people would do anything he asked of them, not out of worship, but out of trust. He had proven himself to them, fighting by their sides, and they honestly believed he would never let them down.

And I won’t, he silently promised. Demons take the Hollow at new moon, it’ll be because I died trying to stop them.

Shamavah went to the roses, holding up a string around the pot with a slip of paper attached. ‘Each is tagged with the name of the giver. I will consult with Ernal Paper and have the appropriate letters of appreciation drawn up for your signatures.’

Renna stiffened, and her scent changed. It was primitive compared with reading auras, but even in daylight, Arlen’s enhanced senses gave him a never-ending stream of information about everything around him. He could smell her fear like dung on a boot.

He felt a pang of sympathy, not needing to see an image to know the cause. Like most folk from Tibbet’s Brook, Renna couldn’t read or write.

Arlen turned from Shamavah, speaking so softly only Renna, her hearing as enhanced as his own, could hear. ‘Don’t worry, Ren. Teach you to write your name before then, and have you reading soon enough.’

Renna’s eyes flicked to him and she smiled, her scent giving off gratitude and love. ‘Oughta do somethin’ nice for Gared, too. For standing for us.’

‘Ay,’ Arlen said.

‘I would be honoured to select a gift for the baron,’ Shamavah said.

Arlen shook his head. ‘Got this one myself, thanks.’

Shamavah bowed. ‘The necklace the count gave you is very beautiful,’ she told Renna. ‘Are you certain you wish to part with it?’

Here it comes, Arlen thought.

Renna went to the mirror, admiring the necklace as she stroked the jewels with the tips of her fingers. Arlen could smell the pleasure it gave her, hear her quiet sigh.

It was a last caress. Renna nodded and removed the necklace. ‘Ent right to flaunt something like this when so many are wanting.’

‘Do not underestimate the inspiration people may draw from a leader bedecked in finery,’ Shamavah said. ‘But if that is truly your most generous wish, I would be happy to purchase it. I can pay you in coin or, if you prefer, food and livestock delivered directly to those in need.’

Renna looked up at her, and Arlen was shocked when her scent told him she actually believed the woman was being kind. ‘You’d do that for us?’

Ent her fault, he told himself. Same as readin’. If folk in the Brook could haggle, Hog wouldn’t own over half the town.

Shamavah smiled, whisking a hand as if it was nothing. ‘It is no trouble. The necklace is a pretty trinket, one I should have little trouble selling to some wealthy Damaji as a gift for one of his wives.’

Arlen looked away as he rolled his eyes. ‘No trouble,’ he murmured for Renna’s ears alone, ‘and an opportunity for the Krasians to establish trading contacts throughout Hollow County on an errand using our good name.’

He could smell Renna’s disbelief as she regarded Shamavah, followed quickly by disappointment. She pretended to examine the necklace once more as she murmured back, keeping the exchange for their ears alone. ‘Should I not sell it?’

‘Sell, but demand coin,’ Arlen whispered. ‘Payment on delivery.’

Renna turned, smiling widely for Shamavah. ‘Appreciate the help. Coin on delivery will be fine.’

Shamavah nodded as if she had expected no other answer. ‘May I hold the piece?’ Renna handed it to her and she examined it closely, putting a lens in her eye as she held the gems to the light.

‘Now she’ll find flaws and try to haggle you down,’ Arlen murmured. ‘Whatever she says, tell her she’s crazy and threaten to sell to Smitt. She’ll double her offer. Ask for five times that.’

‘Honest word?’ Renna breathed through her smile. ‘Don’t want to insult her.’

‘You won’t,’ Arlen murmured. ‘Krasians don’t respect a person who can’t haggle. Settle for half as much.’

Renna grunted and waited for Shamavah to finish her inspection.

‘More pretty than anything.’ Abban’s wife put just the right hint of disappointment in her tone. ‘The diamonds are clouded and there is a flaw along the edge of the emerald. The gold isn’t as pure as we have in Krasia. But perhaps the novelty of having once been the possession of a greenland count will help fetch a buyer. I’ll give you a hundred draki for it.’

Renna barked a laugh, though the sum was likely meaningless to her. ‘Think you need your lens fixed. Ent a thing wrong with those gems, and that gold is pure as snow. You don’t want to pay what it’s worth, I’m sure Smitt …’

Shamavah laughed, and she bowed. ‘I underestimated the Jiwah Ka of the Par’chin. You have a sharp eye. Two hundred draki.’

Renna shook her head. ‘Thousand.’

Shamavah gasped in perfect indignation. ‘I could buy three such necklaces for that. Three hundred, and not a klat more.’

‘Five, or I sell to Smitt,’ Renna said, her voice cool.

Shamavah regarded her, and Arlen didn’t need extra senses to know she was considering a last press. At last she bowed. ‘I can deny the new Jiwah Ka nothing on her wedding day. Five hundred.’

‘’Preciate it,’ Renna said. ‘That’ll put livestock in a lot of yards and clothes on a lot of backs.’

‘You haggle well,’ Shamavah said. She turned to Arlen, and the corners of her eyes crinkled, her scent amused. ‘Soon, you will no longer need the Par’chin to advise you.’

‘All right, Wonda, I’ve waited long enough,’ Leesha said. ‘Come on out.’

‘Don’t wanna,’ Wonda said.

‘Wonda Cutter,’ Leesha warned, ‘if you’re not out here in-’ She gasped as Wonda stepped into the room in the clothes from Duchess Araine.

‘Oh, my,’ she said.

‘Look stupid, don’t I?’ Wonda said bitterly. ‘Knew it.’

‘Not at all,’ Leesha said. ‘You look magnificent. Once you’re seen about town and folk hear this comes from the Duchess Mum’s own dressmaker, every woman in the Hollow is going to want a set.’

And it was true. Much as Leesha hated to admit it, the royal dressmaker had outdone herself, crafting an outfit as modest and practical as any a male soldier might wear, yet with a distinctly feminine style.

The blouse was dark green silk with embroidered ivy and wards in thread-of-gold to add texture to her flat front. The sleeves were loose from shoulder to elbow, but laced tight along her forearms to keep from catching on a bowstring and to slip easily into her wooden bracers. Over the blouse was a thick vest of brown leather, padded on the inside and buttoned snug. It was meant to serve as a buffer between blouse and breastplate, but the vest’s fine and stylish cut made it equally suitable when she was unarmoured.

From her waist to her knees, the pantaloons of fine brown wool brought to mind the divided skirts many of the fighting women of the Hollow favoured — loose enough to appear a dress if the woman was standing still. In battle, Wonda would wear an over-skirt of flexible goldwood slats, designed to retain freedom of movement and speed while offering the protection of powerful wards.

The pantaloon legs tapered quickly from the knee, coming to a lace buttoned cuff that slid easily into the soft doeskin knee boots that cushioned her wooden greaves and shoes. With those shoes, Wonda could withstand the full force of a wood demon’s bite on one foot while kicking its skull in with the other.

Under her arm Wonda carried her open-faced helm of polished wood, carved with more ivy scrollwork wards. If her boots didn’t bash in the demon’s skull, Wonda could just as easily do it with her head. It would be simple for Leesha to add a mind ward and wards of sight around the eyes.

‘What about the doublet?’ Leesha asked.

‘Gave those away, like the count said,’ Wonda said.

‘You didn’t keep one for yourself?’ Leesha asked.

Wonda shook her head. ‘Don’t work for the Duchess Mum, so I don’t feel right wearing her crest. You give me a doublet with a mortar and pestle, I’ll wear it. If not, this is enough.’ She took her warded cloak off its peg by the door, throwing it over her shoulders.

Leesha blinked. She pretended to fetch her teacup for the chance to subtly dab her eyes. ‘I’ll have the additional wards for your armour ready by new moon. Your bow as well, if you’ll let it out of your sight for ten seconds.’

Wonda looked at the weapon where it leaned unstrung against the wall by the door. ‘Don’t see what you need to do with the bow. Painted Man made it himself.’

‘I’m not going to change a single ward,’ Leesha said. ‘I’m just going to slip a sliver of demon bone into the grip.’

Wonda made a face. ‘Why?’

‘Because while Arlen can charge the bow’s wards with his hands, you cannot,’ Leesha said. ‘The bone will keep the wards active all the time. Even unwarded arrows will bite at demons when launched from it.’

Wonda’s eyebrow lifted. ‘Ay? Like the sound of that-’ Suddenly she tensed, moving instantly for the window, a hand on her knife. She relaxed once she had a look.

‘Just Darsy.’ She looked back at Leesha. ‘Sure I don’t look stupid?’

Leesha ignored her. ‘Open the door, please, while I put the kettle back on.’

A moment later Darsy walked into the room, wringing her hands. ‘Something you need to know, Leesha, and you ent gonna like it.’

Leesha sighed. ‘Good afternoon to you too, Darsy.’

When Darsy just stood there, kneading her hands like tough dough, Leesha rolled her fingers. ‘Out with it, then, if it’s got you in such a twist.’

Darsy nodded. ‘Count’s coachman came back to the Corelings’ Graveyard after dropping you off last night and had a mug or six of ale. Told a few folk there was no point in heading off to bed, as you told him to come back and pick up the count at dawn.’

‘Creator,’ Leesha said. ‘How many is a few?’

Darsy shrugged. ‘Folk talk, Leesh. You know that better’n anyone. And even the new ones in town know your name. You’d have to go ten miles to find someone who hasn’t heard by now.’

‘What business is it of anyone’s who Mistress Leesha spends the night with?’ Wonda demanded.

‘No one’s,’ Darsy agreed, ‘but try convincing anyone of that.’

Leesha slipped a hand to her belly, stroking. Do it quick, Elona had said. Do it public.

She gave Darsy a dramatic sigh. ‘Just ignore the talk, so long as it’s kept out of the hospit. It wouldn’t be the Hollow without folk gossiping over my love life.’

Darsy snorted. ‘Least you have one.’

‘Ay,’ Wonda agreed.

Darsy looked at the girl as if noticing her for the first time. ‘Love the outfit. You get that down south?’

Wonda shook her head. ‘Duchess Araine sent it. Had tea with her last spring. Guess she liked me.’

Arlen looked down at Renna, peaceful as she drifted into her customary afternoon nap. He kissed her temple. ‘Back before you wake, love.’ She gave a contented whimper and gripped at his arm, a smile on her face. He snuggled in close a moment, then pulled free. Exhausted, he would have loved to collapse beside her, but there was no time for resting. He Drew on the magic in his blood, strengthening himself, and moved out the door and down the steps, quickly leaving the inn behind. Folk pointed as he passed, but he was moving too fast for any to intercept.

Arlen liked to think there was nothing under the sun that could frighten him any more, but he felt his serenity fading with every step he drew closer to Leesha’s cottage. Of everyone in the Hollow, Leesha’s aura was the hardest for him to read. On the surface, she was as serene as a dama’ting, but just below, she was a rage of conflicting emotions. It was one of the reasons he had been so drawn to her in the first place. He often felt the same.

Never had it been worse than last night, when she presented the flowered wreath to Renna. It had been an incredibly kind gesture — one that had mollified Ren considerably — but Arlen knew the struggle beneath the surface. With anyone else, he would have thought nothing of Drawing a touch of magic through her and Knowing her feelings fully, but with Leesha it seemed a violation. It was one thing to Know people in order to heal them or help them, to lead or to inspire. It was another to root around in the soul of a woman he wasn’t married to that he might glean her feelings about him.

Arlen wanted to explain himself to her, but how could he? Objectively, Leesha Paper was everything a man could want in a woman. Beautiful, brilliant, kind, rich, selfless. But when the time came, it wasn’t enough. He was too far gone down a dark path, and felt he didn’t deserve her. He’d needed a woman to pull him from that path, but it hadn’t been her. That was something no old lover wanted to hear. No more than he wanted to hear about how Jardir had bedded her.

An image flashed in his mind of the two of them entwined, and he grimaced.

Get past it, he told himself. Leesha made her choices, and I made mine. Don’t change what’s coming, or how little time we have left.

The door to her cottage was ajar, and he heard the women’s voices long before he made the porch. It wasn’t his intention to spy, but his ears did not ask permission, catching every word.

Leesha slept with Thamos? The notion seemed ludicrous, but Leesha was making no effort to deny it, so it must be true.

He shook his head. Don’t matter. Nothing matters other than new moon.

He was barefoot, but clomped all the same as he went up the porch steps, announcing his presence before he reached the doorway. He knocked loudly, waiting for permission to enter.

Darsy, Wonda, and Leesha all stared at him, frozen. Darsy and Wonda had a whiff of fear, but Leesha’s scent was as hard to decipher as her aura. There was something different about it since her return, something he could not make out. The urge to Know her took him again, and he was thankful for the sunlight streaming into the cottage, banishing magic.

The air in Leesha’s cottage was filled as always with myriad scents — spices, herbs, growing plants and dried ones, damp soil and fresh food. Bacon, most of all, hung deliciously over the room. But none of that could mask the scent of sex coming from her bedroom, or the sour tang of vomit in the air.

Guess it’s true, he thought, trying not to clench a fist. Leesha was free to do as she pleased, but Thamos had a reputation with women that wasn’t terribly positive. If he were to hurt her, or her reputation, Arlen would break that handsome nose of his.

He took a deep breath. That’s just the magic talking. He tried hard to believe it.

‘Morning, ladies,’ he said, putting a cheerful smile on his face. ‘Visit was cut short last night.’ He looked to Leesha. ‘Mind if we talk a spell?’

Leesha blinked, then shook her head. ‘Of course not. Walk with me in the gardens? They’ve gone untended too long.’

Arlen nodded, and Leesha took a basket of gardening tools and led the way out into the yard. As they walked into the garden maze, he caught a last exchange between Darsy and Wonda, still back in the cottage.

‘What I wouldn’t give to be a bee buzzing in the garden right now,’ Darsy said.

‘They got enough people buzzing about them right now, Darsy Cutter,’ Wonda said. ‘Best not be hearing talk about them walking in the garden alone, next time I’m in town.’

‘You threatening me, girl?’ Darsy demanded, her voice rising with her short temper.

‘Ay,’ Wonda replied quietly. ‘And you’d best take heed.’

Arlen smiled to himself. If anyone else had said those words, Darsy would have made them eat them. But even Darsy wasn’t fool enough to swing a fist at Wonda Cutter.

Leesha stopped by the hogroot patch, pulling out a weeding tool. ‘I swear, Darsy should have been a woodcutter. She’s far better at killing plants than growing them.’

Arlen nodded. ‘She’s also as much a gossip as any in town. Wonda just cowed her into keeping quiet about our stroll.’

Leesha smelled of amusement. ‘Love that girl.’ She began to dig. ‘Guess it wouldn’t do for your new bride to know you were here.’

‘I told her where I was going,’ Arlen said. ‘Not interested in starting my marriage with lies.’

‘Came on sudden,’ Leesha said.

Arlen shrugged. ‘Strange night.’

‘Ay,’ Leesha agreed.

‘Sorry about how I acted with you,’ Arlen said. ‘Didn’t have a right to get mad like I did.’

‘You did,’ Leesha said. Arlen looked at her in surprise, and she held up her spade, coated with rich, fresh soil that smelled of life. ‘I’m not apologizing for anything I’ve done, or saying I’d act differently if I had it to do over. But if what you say about Ahmann is true, then you had right to be as mad as the Core. I’m sorry for that. I never meant to hurt you.’

‘It’s true,’ Arlen said.

‘I know,’ Leesha said. ‘Can’t say I approve of your choices sometimes, but you’re as honest a man as I’ve ever met.’ She shrugged. ‘For what little that’s worth.’

‘So we’re both sorry, but not sorry,’ Arlen said. ‘Where do we go from here?’

‘To business, of course,’ Leesha said. ‘Waning is ten dawns away. Do you have a plan?’

Arlen frowned. Waning. The Krasian name for it. For some reason, that rankled.

‘Have a lot of little plans,’ Arlen said. ‘Don’t know what the demons will do, so it’s a fool’s choice to make a big one.’

‘Agreed,’ Leesha said. ‘They’re smart. Maybe smarter than us.’

‘Ay, maybe,’ Arlen said, ‘but they look down on us, and don’t understand our ways half as well as they think. Gut tells me they’ll try to overwhelm us right away. Come with a host to make a mountain quake, kill me and Jardir, scatter our armies, and leave the rest of the world cowed.’

Leesha shuddered. ‘Do you think they can do that?’

Arlen shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He held up a finger. ‘But if they fail, folk’ll take heart and rally. We’ll be stronger in six months than we are now.’

‘So we hit back with everything we have,’ Leesha said.

Arlen nodded. ‘And they won’t be ready for half of what I can do.’

Leesha toured the town later in the day, meeting with old friends and patients, asking after their health. It was as Darsy said. Arlen had cleared the hospit of even the most minor injuries and sicknesses, putting all the Hollowers back to work when they were needed most.

The Gatherers kept busy, though, recruiting every man and woman with skill with a needle to make headbands with mind wards and embroider crude but serviceable versions of the Cloaks of Unsight.

She met with the town council, though they were mostly symbolic now, with little real power. Thamos had appointed magistrates and tax collectors who would now report to Gared, of all people.

She shook her head. Gared Cutter, Baron of Cutter’s Hollow, capital of Hollow County. That would take more than a little getting used to.

The rest of the town seemed puffed with pride about the appointment. The Hollow had never had a lord, and they quickly forgot Gared the town bully from just a few short years back. He had been popular as a child, handsome and strong as an ox; promised to Leesha Paper, whose father spun paper into gold. But after their split, his reputation had been as ruined as hers, for Bruna made him publicly recant his lies about bedding her.

Without a bride or the esteem of the town, Gared had turned to his strength to gain respect, with mixed success. No one was fool enough to cross him, but they gave him a wide berth all the same.

All that changed with the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow. Gared had just lost his father, and all agreed Steave had been a bad influence on the boy from the start. Steave’s affair with Elona was common knowledge. But Gared had emerged from the battle a hero, and had put his life at risk every night since, keeping the town safe. It had been easy to forget the old him. Many of the Cutters had found their calling thus, and all the town had come together, forgiving one another’s failings in their need to survive the night.

Leesha couldn’t even say Gared would be a poor lord. He had the count to keep him from abusing his power, and seemed content to delegate responsibility and keep his focus on leading the Cutters. If Arlen was right, and the people needed real heroes to look to, Gared fitted the description perfectly.

But again the image of him and her mother flashed in her mind, and she shook her head, trying to clear it.

It seemed nothing could banish the sight.

As promised, Thamos’ carriage came for her at gloaming. Leesha was in the hospit, and many saw her climb in. Folk leaned in to whisper to one another, and Leesha could only imagine what they were saying. Was it scorn, or were they hoping for another grand wedding in the near future?

Knowing the Hollow, probably a little of both. Leesha resigned herself to it and sat back in the plush carriage. It would only get worse when her belly began to swell, and better people think the child Thamos’ for the nonce.

The count’s new keep was impressive, she had to admit. Only a skeleton of what it would become if the corelings and Krasians didn’t tear it down first, but already it was a powerful defensive position, built on high ground with a temporary palisade of sharpened stakes to protect the workers who dug the foundation and hauled stone for a more permanent wall.

Leesha was met in the courtyard by Lord Arther, who escorted her through the yard, past pavilions set to house workers, servants, and men-at-arms. The keep at its centre was a skeletal maze, but Arther guided her to the small livable section that housed Thamos’ personal quarters, which would probably become guest quarters once the count’s proper rooms were appointed.

Nevertheless, the dining room was richly furnished, as befitted a prince of Angiers. Thamos waited at the head of the long table, conferring with Captain Gamon, but the moment Leesha arrived both men rose and the captain bowed deeply. ‘A pleasure to see you again, Mistress Paper. Please excuse me.’ Gamon was out the door as soon as Leesha nodded.

Thamos himself pulled out her chair, and then sat himself as a servant filled their wineglasses. He dismissed the woman with a wave, and she scurried from the room.

‘Alone at last,’ Thamos said. ‘I’ve been thinking of you all day.’

‘You and the whole town,’ Leesha said. ‘Your coachman told tales to half the Hollow after dropping us off last night.’

The count raised an eyebrow. ‘Shall I have his tongue cut out?’

Leesha’s eyes bulged, and Thamos broke out laughing. ‘A jest, only!’ He patted the air to placate her. ‘Though he should be punished.’

‘What did you have in mind?’ Leesha asked.

‘A week of digging refuse pits without pay should make him think twice,’ Thamos said. ‘I can’t have loose tongues in my servants.’ He winked. ‘At least not when it doesn’t suit my purpose.’

‘And this doesn’t suit your purpose?’ Leesha asked. ‘You wouldn’t be parading me through town in your coach and dangling your title if you didn’t think marrying me would bring you advantage in the Hollow.’

‘Courting you properly brings me advantage,’ Thamos agreed. ‘Bedding you like a tavern wench does not.’ He shook his head. ‘I can already hear what my mother is going to say when she finds out.’

‘I see no reason why she needs to know,’ Leesha said.

Thamos chuckled. ‘Don’t fool yourself. My mother has more spies in the Hollow than you can count.’

‘So what do we do about it?’ Leesha asked.

Thamos held up his glass. ‘You accept the position as Royal Gatherer, and we work together to benefit Hollow County. In the meantime, I will invite you to dinners, send you flowers, and shower you with expensive gifts while entertaining you with witty conversation and playful banter. After that … we’ll see.’

‘And are you expecting these dinners to end in your bedchamber?’ Leesha asked.

Thamos smiled. ‘I will remind you, Miss Paper, that it was you who took advantage of me last night.’

Leesha clinked her glass with his. ‘So it was.’

Gared was overseeing the Cutters’ muster in the Corelings’ Graveyard when Arlen found him.

‘Evening, Baron,’ he said.

Gared looked at him, embarrassment in his aura. ‘Don’t feel right, you callin’ me that, sir.’

‘General?’ Arlen asked, smiling.

‘Night, I think that’s worse,’ Gared said.

‘No better than you callin’ me sir,’ Arlen said. ‘Think you got half a decade on me. So how about we drop the formalities? I’ll call you Gared and you call me Arlen.’

The embarrassment turned to actual fear. Gared started to shake his head, but Arlen put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’ve got demons on one side and corelings on the other, Gar. Either I’m just folk and ent too good to be called my proper name, or I’m the ripping Deliverer and you got to do as I say.’

Gared rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Guess when you put it that way, ent got a choice.’

‘Arlen,’ Arlen said.

‘Arlen,’ Gared repeated.

Arlen slapped his shoulder. ‘Didn’t burn your tongue, did it? Walk with me a spell. Got something to show you.’

Gared nodded, and they set off to the private spot where Renna waited with Rockslide. She kept a firm hold on the stallion’s thick braided leather reins, though he seemed to have stopped struggling, at last. It had taken a long time, and several broken reins, before Rockslide came to accept that Renna, who was a tenth his mass, was strong enough to hold him immobile.

Gared stopped short at the sight of the magnificent animal, letting out a low whistle. ‘He’s even bigger’n Twilight Dancer.’

‘Rockslide is Dancer’s sire,’ Arlen said. ‘Only horse I ever saw built on your scale, Gared Cutter, and I don’t think there’s anyone else strong enough to break him. Cutters managed to get him into a saddle, but none of them has been able to keep the seat.’

‘Don’t let Arlen scare you,’ Renna said, handing Gared the reins. ‘Rocky’s sweet as can be. Just gotta understand him.’

‘Ay?’ Gared asked. He reached out to stroke the horse’s neck, but Rockslide turned a glare his way, and he thought better of it.

‘Ay,’ Renna said. ‘Rocky’s been locked behind the wards for years, but he was meant to run free in the night.’

‘Know what that’s like,’ Gared said.

Renna nodded. ‘Don’t put him behind walls or tolerate him acting the fool and he’ll friend you. And with the wards I cut into his hooves, he’ll kick in the skull of any demon so much as looks at you funny.’

‘Like the sound of that.’ Gared met Rockslide’s eyes. The horse tried to pull back, but though Gared was not as strong as Renna, he was still the strongest man Arlen had ever met. His thick arm bunched and the reins creaked, but Rockslide’s head did not move as Gared laid a hand on his neck. After a moment, the stallion relaxed again.

‘Don’t deserve this,’ Gared said.

‘Ent for you to decide what folk give you,’ Arlen said. ‘You earned that horse ten times over.’

‘Din’t just mean the horse,’ Gared said. ‘All of it. Count has men making me a coat of arms. Me! Gared rippin’ Cutter.’ He shook his head. ‘Feels like I’m about to be caught in a lie and sent back to choppin’ trees. Need you to tell me what you want me to do.’

‘Want you to man up and think for yourself,’ Arlen said. ‘Like it or not, you’re Baron of Cutter’s Hollow now. Your job is to look out for the people under you first, and be the count’s man second. He asks you to do something you don’t think is right, you follow your conscience.’

‘Don’t want all that responsibility,’ Gared said. ‘Ent clever or anything, and my conscience gets me into trouble, oft as not.’

‘Don’t need to be clever to know right from wrong,’ Arlen said, ‘and I know all about being saddled with responsibilities you don’t want. But life ent fair, Gared Cutter. Won’t always be someone around to tell you what to do.’