The Daylight War

22

333 AR Autumn

First Night of New Moon

The new moon left the cave mouth dark as pitch. Barely more than a fissure, it gaped like an open wound from a rocky outcropping on a forgotten hill. The space within narrowed tightly but never truly ended, leading to an endless maze of cracks and tunnels, some cramped and others opening into huge caverns, all the way down to the core of the world. Here, even starlight failed to give faint glow, and there was true darkness.

From out of that darkness came something darker still, a corruption beyond the absence of light. It flowed like ink, coating the cave floor in oily blackness and spilling out into the night. There along the hill, forms rose from the stain, growing tall as they branched out, solidifying into a stand of six trees that stood around the cave mouth like teeth.

A great stalagmite formed at the centre of the cave, coalescing into an enormous mimic demon. Row upon row of teeth formed along its massive jaws, and its limbs ended in great talons. The rest of its body, sharp in some places and smooth in others, flowed like the coils of a snake, never truly settling.

The coreling studied the area intently, then slithered to take up position at the rear of the cave. There it kept watch as the Royal Consort took form.

He was slight, and hunched as if weighed by the massive head atop his small and slender body. His horns were vestigial, and pulsed like the smooth bumps and ridges flowing up the charcoal skin of his cranium. His nails and teeth were sharp, but more like needles compared with the massive rending instruments of the mimic.

Not that the consort had need of such things. The bodies and senses of his mimics were mere extensions of his own. He saw through their eyes and killed with their claws, tasted the surface air through their nostrils. It was cold and bland, almost devoid of magic, burned clean each cycle by the hated day star. At court, the air was hot — thick and heavy with the magic radiating from the Core, every breath delicious and brimming with power.

Instinctively, the demon Drew magic from the fissure, a wellspring of power leading all the way to the source. He filled himself with it, suffused with power, then moved to the cave mouth. He squinted in the dim starlight, feeling a slight drain of power, like a soft breeze stealing the barest touch of heat.

The cave was high in the rocky hills, and afforded a wide view of the surface. To the southwest and northeast, humans were swarming, their breeding grounds overflowing as they relished their newfound strength. Even many miles away, the consort could sense the magic they were collecting. It took the barest effort to take over the rudimentary consciousness of wind drones in the areas, collecting more information.

The results were impressive. It usually took humans millennia to build back this kind of strength, especially with the drones culling them for sport. All this, in barely a turning.

He had thought the initial reports — culled from the less-than-trustworthy memories of drones — nothing more than an anomaly, and sent two minor princelings to deal with the matter. Their reports had been disturbing. Humans in three of the local breeding grounds had regained both the fighting wards and spirit, two things thought crushed beyond repair. With their drones strengthening, human minds were beginning to form. The Queen had no desire to make humans extinct — what would her minds feed upon? — but neither could this insurgence be tolerated.

But the princelings, eager for the favour of consort and Queen, had assured him they would have little trouble killing the minds and scattering their armies before their corruption could spread to the other breeding grounds. Their last report had them moving to strike.

And then, nothing.

The entire mind court had waited on their return, but there was only silence, and the growing realization of the unthinkable. That they failed was obvious, but that alone was not disgrace enough to prevent their return. Not when the Core could restore their power and replenish their drones, allowing them to return even stronger. The answer was far more ominous.

They had not simply failed, they had been destroyed.

The princelings had been young — weak by the standards of their brethren — but still cunning and cautious, in full control of their magic where the humans played with it like hatchlings drawing their first wards. How could they have been so utterly defeated?

The Queen had raged when the truth became clear. Every prince, from the weakest to the strongest, was a potential mate and precious to her, especially now. Her fury, and the incoherence with which she expressed it, made clear what his brethren had known for some time — she was close to laying, and soon the entire court would tear itself asunder as the princes fought for the right to imprint upon her egg sac.

The consort hated the surface, and hated more having to come here now. He should be at court, attending the Queen and keeping his rivals at bay, not up here tending stock that had forgotten it was food. But the Queen had demanded he go himself, and though her mind was confused this far in her cycle, it was still powerful enough to compel any demon fool enough to refuse her — if she did not kill them with a casual stroke of her claws. She owned him utterly, and he hated her for it.

He reached out, searching for the minds of the other coreling princes that had risen on the moonless night, many miles distant. Three to the north and three south; the consort had persuaded the Queen to send his greatest rivals to the surface with him to do his bidding as he put down the rebellion.

It was a risk. The farther the princes were from the Queen, the less her power over them. With every hour that passed, they would have more freedom to disobey her commands — and those of her consort. The fighting would make them stronger and more experienced, and amid the battle they might even take the opportunity to strike at one another. Feasting on the mind of a rival could double a prince’s power, perhaps even enough for one to grow bold enough to strike at him. They could even strike in unison. Few things could make the more powerful coreling princes work together, much less conspire to kill one of their own, but unseating a consort when a mating was near was one of them. The consort was stronger than any of them, but he was not stronger than all of them.

But for all the risks, it was better to remove them from court entirely. The Queen was bloated with eggs, and at any time she could croon her laying, sending them all into a frenzy to be the first to her side.

It was for this reason the consort had chosen the cave to direct the battle from. With the most direct path to the Core for a thousand miles, he could Draw powerfully enough to repel any assault, and march prisoners back down for its personal larder. If it came, he would hear the Queen’s call before the others on the surface, and be able to return to court faster.

He still would not be the first to her side, but the Queen would not choose instantly, and the consort had fought off challenges before. He was old, older than almost all the others combined, and the magic in his veins older still. He had fed on many minds, first his father, uncles, and brothers, then his sons and grandsons as subsequent matings came and went. He had cunning to match his raw power, and thousands of years of experience to draw upon.

He closed his eyes, cranium throbbing as he touched the minds of his generals. They were even less pleased than he, cut off from the Core’s magic — limited to what they could store within themselves and draw from vents and their subordinates. Enough to be a match for almost anything on the surface, but not without becoming vulnerable to their brethren. All were wary as they linked their surface thoughts with the consort.

He transmitted the senses of his wind drone spies, and immediately reports from the others began to flood his mind, feeding the results of their own drones’ reconnaissance. Battlegrounds were quickly chosen and preparations under way.

The consort withdrew from their minds, letting his generals conduct the details. A steady stream of information poured in as their efforts went on. The very air hummed with it.

Again he focused on the land in front of him, peering out from his guarded cave. How many centuries had passed since he last felt the need to visit the surface? He breathed in its stink with his own nostrils, and with it came a scent that moistened his teeth.

Humans.

It took only a moment for the consort to pinpoint them, not even needing the use of drones. The small village, far from the travelled paths, had hidden itself well from the bloodshed that came with any unification, but though its wards of protection were strong, there were no mind wards. He was able to slip into the consciousness of the villagers as easily as a mimic might take their shape.

With a pulse of command, every male, female, and juvenile in the village stopped whatever it was doing and quietly gathered as much food and water as they could carry, then walked out beyond the protection of the village’s wards, joining the others as they silently followed the demon’s call.

The path they followed was thick with drones, drawn to the consort’s presence like magic to a ward, but the humans marched unmolested through the thick forest and up the high hill. Soon they stood gathered before the cave mouth, staring blankly.

It was a simple matter to single out their leader, though this one was no mind. Unresistant, he stumbled towards his doom. One of the mimics grabbed him, growing a curved claw to sever the human’s neck, letting the rest of the body fall. It came forward, peeling open the skull to present it to its master.

The consort slipped his delicate talons into the skull, scooping out the sweet meat and shovelling it into his mouth. The meat was tough, veined with the meaningless needs and wants of its kind, traits long since bred from the consort’s personal larder. He had forgotten how different surface stock could taste, and savoured every thought and emotion of the man’s lifetime as he licked the sticky fluid from his teeth.

He looked to the other humans, over two hundred of them, and felt a rush of pleasure. What would his brethren at court pay for a taste of the surface?

His cranium pulsed as he impressed his will deeper into the minds of the humans, imparting upon them precise instructions. One by one, they shouldered their burdens and began squeezing into the fissure at the back of the cave. As they passed, he imparted a touch of his scent upon them so that no creature, demon or otherwise, would dare molest them on their long march down to the Core.

It was late in the afternoon, the last day before new moon, as Leesha watched Araine’s royal armourer go about Wonda’s final fitting.

Leesha had spent many sleepless nights working on it, adding to the already powerful forbidding wards of strength, speed, and misdirection. If she stood still, coreling eyes would slide off her the way men’s eyes slid off a woman’s face when her dress was cut low. The suit would Draw upon ambient magic as well as that of corelings that attacked her, and the slivers of demon bone she had worked into the lacquer would act as batteries when those other sources were lacking.

She had powered Wonda’s bow in the same way, as well as Gared’s gauntlets, his axe and machete. Whatever her feelings for the man, Gared would be in the thick of the fighting tonight, and she had no misconceptions of whose side she was on in the coming conflict. He would be able to crush diamonds in his fists, and his already formidable weapons would bite as never before.

But for all these wardings, she had used only the bones of common wood demons. The desiccated arm and stub of horn from the mind demon she kept safe, save for the tiny claws — little more than a pampered noblewoman’s fingernail — that she used to power the wards in their helms. No coreling prince would slip into their minds as had been done to her. She shuddered at the memory.

‘Truly breathtaking,’ Thamos said, coming into the fitting room. ‘My Wooden Soldiers will gnash their teeth in envy.’

Wonda blushed, dropping her eyes as she always did at the sight of the handsome count. Wonda was never far from Leesha’s side, and was privy to her every secret, including the nights she spent with the count. But more than that, Wonda was a girl unused to the kind of male attention that Thamos lavished on every woman in his presence, regardless of age or beauty.

Makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room, Leesha thought, looking at him and suppressing a shy smile herself.

‘Thanks, Yur Highness.’ Wonda attempted to bow, but the armourer pulled hard on her stays.

‘Keep still,’ he grunted.

Wonda blushed deeper, but Thamos pretended not to notice. ‘I am told to expect our mistress to be even bolder than Darsy Cutter in the night.’

‘I’ll keep her safe,’ Wonda promised.

‘Of that I have no doubt.’ Thamos smiled, but Leesha saw him tighten his lips. He did indeed have doubts, and had argued them long and hard with Leesha in private. His eyes flicked to a private alcove, and she moved off to speak with him alone.

‘I wish you would reconsider,’ he said. ‘Stay by my side in the battle. My Wooden Soldiers …’

‘Would form a ring around me five men thick, and keep me from my business,’ Leesha said. ‘They, and you, need their attention on the demons, not on protecting me.’ She smiled. ‘Wonda and I have been at this a lot longer than you.’

Thamos’ face soured, but he could not disagree. ‘It’s not just the demons I worry about. My spies report that since our … since the wedding night, many of the Krasians have been grumbling about you and making threats.’

‘That reminds me,’ Leesha said. ‘The Sharum will have their weapons returned when they arrive at muster tonight.’

‘What?!’ Thamos sputtered. ‘Did you not hear what I just-’

‘It is irrelevant,’ Leesha said. ‘We need every able-bodied warrior ready tonight, and the Sharum have already proven they can kill with or without their weapons. Their religion forbids they attack anyone during Waning. Only demons need fear them. After the moon begins to wax once more, they will surrender them again.’

‘I forbid it,’ Thamos said.

Leesha smiled. ‘It is already done, Highness. None of the Hollowers will support you if you try to disarm them again now.’

Thamos shook his head, laughing helplessly. ‘You are an impossible woman, Leesha Paper.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer one of the insipid ladies at court as your countess?’ Leesha asked.

Thamos’ predatory grin returned. ‘Not for an instant.’

Rojer watched as Hary Roller held his conductor’s wand aloft, holding the final note. The Jongleurs and apprentices had been practising the Song of Waning almost nonstop ever since they recovered from Arlen and Renna’s wedding. If Rojer’s performance at the celebration hadn’t been impetus enough, then his demonstration out beyond the greatwards the following night surely was.

Most of the players weren’t ready yet. Hary had proven a fine teacher, learning the song quickly and working tirelessly to pass it on, but only the most skilled of the Jongleurs had been able to master the more complex arrangements in the time given them.

They had tested their abilities last night with mixed results. Many of the Jongleurs could affect the demons much as Rojer once had — mesmerizing them; driving them to dance or follow him, to flee or attack. They could even walk unmolested in the night, so long as they kept the underlying tune.

But they could not improvise, nor could they actually hurt the demons in the way he, Amanvah, and Sikvah could.

Some of that power was the sheer volume that Rojer’s trio could produce with their hora magic, but Rojer could hear in the other Jongleurs’ music that however loud it might grow, a demon would recover instantly the moment the sound stopped. Only Kendall seemed to have anything approaching the knack, and even she still had a long way to go.

Hary closed a fist and the players stopped in perfect sync, then fell into disarray. Some began talking to their fellows, or tuning instruments, or packing them in cases. Hary came over to where Rojer was standing. ‘Sound great, don’t they?’

Rojer nodded. ‘Good enough for less than two weeks’ practice. Just pray it’s enough.’

Hary grunted. ‘Word of advice, if you want to be a teacher, Rojer. A pat on the back encourages more than a frowning nod.’

Not according to Arrick, Rojer thought, but he put a smile on his face and waved at the players as they rested. ‘Well done, all! Have a stretch. It’s going to be a long night.’

He turned back to Hary. ‘Sorry. Everyone is on edge today.’

‘Is this “Waning” really so bad?’ Hary asked. ‘Been through many a new moon without thinking twice. Even spent a couple on the road, back when I was making my name in the hamlets.’

Rojer shrugged. ‘Might be a big production for an empty house,’ he admitted. ‘Night, I hope so. But if what Leesha and the Painted Man say is true and those smart demons they killed have family that’s going to come looking for them tonight, we’re going to need every bit of help we can get.’ He tugged at the hood of his warded cloak. Leesha had stitched mind wards into the hem, but he had drawn one on his forehead with Jongleur’s paint regardless, and the other Jongleurs had followed suit.

‘This song of yours is that and more,’ Hary assured. ‘You act disappointed because we’re not shattering rock demons with it, but already we can protect ourselves and others, not to mention give the fighters a winning edge.’

Rojer shook his head, though the smile for the players’ benefit never left his face. ‘An edge perhaps, but not a winning one. No music is going to keep the demons fazed once someone hits one of them with an axe.’

‘Still,’ Hary said, ‘can’t believe you just gave the song out for nothing.’

‘What was I supposed to do?’ Rojer asked. ‘Hold it ransom while my friends die?’

Hary shook his head. ‘Of course not. But the count offered you a job as herald, and that’s no small thing. Lot of men would kill for that offer.’

Men have, Rojer thought, glancing at Hary. The Jongleurs in Angiers knew how to mind their manners when Royals were about, and were happy to take commissions when offered, but talk in the guild hall was seldom loyal to the ivy throne. Rhinebeck was generally reviled for his laws and taxes. ‘Being royal herald didn’t work out too well for my master, if you recall.’

‘It wasn’t Arrick that kept the duke from getting his pecker wet by sleeping in the bed of his favourite doxy,’ Hary reminded. ‘That’s apt to put a fire in any man, much less a Royal. You’re lucky you didn’t get the sticking meant for her.’

Rojer kept his mask in place. He wasn’t surprised Hary knew the details of Arrick’s fall from grace. Jongleurs were notorious gossips, especially when it came to one another.

‘You could have haggled like your man Gared, even if you didn’t want the herald job,’ Hary went on. ‘He got a barony just by asking. A barony! Duchy is on the rise, boy, you mark my words. And Hollow County’s going to be its centre. Don’t want to be late to the casting call.’

‘Ay,’ Rojer said, ‘but what’s Angiers ever done for me? Rhinebeck had one swelling go to waste, and threw my master away like garbage. Left us a performance away from starving on the street. Who’s to say he or this new count won’t do the same to Gared, or me, when the fighting’s done?’

‘Got no more love of the duke than you,’ Hary said, ‘but you’re young, and maybe you didn’t know your master as well as you’d like to think. I knew him long before you were born, and Arrick Sweetsong was never a man to care a whit for anyone other than himself. The drink made him sloppy, and his pride in his position made him quick to turn up his nose at anyone who had nothing to offer. Duke was looking for an excuse to break his contract long before you got caught in the brothel.’

Rojer opened his mouth, ready to angrily defend his master, but the words caught in his throat. He knew Arrick’s failings well.

‘To be honest,’ Hary said, ‘none of us could ever understand why he kept taking care of you.’

Rojer chuckled. ‘It wasn’t all dancing and song when the crowd broke.’

Hary nodded. ‘Ay, I’m sure he was a right coreling when he was in his cups, but he stood by you, even when it would have been better for his career to let you go. Remember when Tom Fiddle offered to take you on?’

‘Arrick broke his nose,’ Rojer said. He shook his head. ‘Didn’t want to go with Tom, anyway. Says he searches his apprentices’ pockets to make sure they’re not hiding klats, but everyone knows he’s just going for a grope.’

Hary nodded again. ‘Ay, but Tom had connections. That punch cost Arrick a lot of work. Like the one you gave Jasin Goldentone when he laughed that your master was dead.’

‘You heard about that?’ Rojer asked, his mask slipping in his shock.

Hary laughed. ‘Hear? Boy, it was the talk of the guild hall for months! You might not be Arrick’s blood, but in some ways you’re the spitting image.’

‘Don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult,’ Rojer said. Punching Jasin had got his guild sponsor, Master Jaycob, killed, and had left Rojer in Leesha’s hospit, beaten till he could taste death’s breath on his lips. She had pulled him back, but at the time, and several times since, he wished she had just let him go.

Hary shrugged. ‘Not sure how I meant it.’ He winked. ‘If he was in your motley right now, Arrick would be pushing for his own county.’

‘Why settle?’ Rojer asked. ‘I’m married to the daughter of the demon of the desert, and best friends with the ripping Deliverer. My firstborn should be king.’

Hary stared at him for a moment, trying to determine if he was serious. At last, he began to laugh, and Rojer joined him. It felt good to laugh in the face of death, and both men gave it free rein, howling till their sides hurt.

When it was over, Rojer sighed. ‘Let’s focus on keeping everyone alive for the next few nights. If we can do that, there’s twenty-seven more days to worry about how the Royals should reward me.’

Renna watched as Arlen moved for the Jongleurs’ sound shell. It had been days since he had slept, but he stubbornly refused her attempts to convince him of the necessity. Even today, when he needed to be at his best.

‘Ent resting while there’s work to be done,’ he told her, and she knew from his tone that he had his back up. Arlen Bales could set his heels as deep as any mule.

But there had been work aplenty, and now, with barely an hour to dusk and thanks in no small part to him, it was all done — or as done as it was going to be. The net of greatwards was weak in places, but it was active and linked, each ward distributing power to the others. No coreling, even a mind demon, could set foot in Hollow County, or fly less than a mile above it.

A hush went through the crowd as Arlen took centre stage. It wasn’t everyone in Hollow County — most were already at their posts, protecting workers who would be piling fortifications to strengthen the weaker sections of the greatwards right up to sunset and beyond. But the leaders were all there, waiting on Arlen’s final words.

Cutters, seasoned and raw, stood at attention. Most were the thick-armed men that grew so abundantly in the Hollow, but there were many with features that spoke of faraway places. There were also hundreds of women, many clad in tapered pantaloons and vests similar to the one Wonda wore beneath her armour. Most carried bows and stroked the fletching of their warded arrows the way they might caress a lover. All wore bandannas painted with mind wards.

Backs straight, the Wooden Soldiers sat mounted on sleek coursers. Their long spears had been fitted with special grips to allow them to be used as lances. Shorter stabbing spears hung from harnesses in easy reach. Count Thamos, resplendent in his enamelled armour, towered over them atop his heavy destrier, its barding warded glass over fitted wood.

Kaval’s Sharum, armed once more with spear and shield, stood in a neat square. Renna watched them, half expecting trouble, but they seemed the most disciplined of all.

A knot of Herb Gatherers, marked by their pocketed aprons, surrounded Leesha to one side, and the Jongleurs stood by Rojer and Hary Roller to the other. Even Inquisitor Hayes and his acolytes waited in silence to hear his words.

‘We done good work this month, getting ready for the demons.’ Even without magic, Arlen’s voice carried far and clear. There was clapping and cheering, and Arlen waited for it to die down before going on, his face grim. ‘But I ent gonna lie to you folk. Demons know we’re getting strong, and they’re going to rise in numbers like you never dreamed tonight, determined to stomp us back down into the mud. Worse, they’re gonna fight smart — attack where we’re weakest and they can do the most damage. All of you,’ he looked pointedly at the Krasians, ‘are gonna see fightin’ tonight like you never saw before.’ His eyes scanned the crowd, seeming to meet everyone at once. ‘And you can’t count on me to save you tonight.’

There was a murmur of shock at that, and Arlen let it sink in a moment before going on. ‘We can kill all the demons we want, but so long as their minds are out there, it’s slappin’ at raindrops. I’m huntin’ mind demons tonight, and ent always gonna have time for the little fights.’

His voice hardened, and his eyes flashed with intensity. ‘But if there’s anyone in all the world I trust can take care of themselves, it’s the folk of Hollow County. Can I count on you to do that?’

The crowd erupted in a roar, holding aloft their weapons.

‘Ent gonna let you down!’

‘Don’t you worry about us, we’ll still be cuttin’ wood demon when you get back!’

Arlen held up a fist, and they fell silent again, though the energy was thick in the air. ‘Had the honour of standing with a lot of you in this very place, shedding blood and more than our share of coreling ichor right on the cobbles beneath your feet. Lost some good people, and still more came out with wounds they carry to this day. But we gave better’n we got, beat those demons down and watched them burn when the sun rose.’ He looked back to the Krasians. ‘In Krasia, that makes this sacred ground, and it makes us all family.’

There were nods and grunts of agreement from the crowd, though none dared speak, hanging on Arlen’s words. ‘For more than three hundred years, we been waiting for a Deliverer to come and save us from the demons. And while we waited, we forgot that we, each and every one of us, was strong. Strong enough that together, ent nothing can stop us. But the Deliverers of old didn’t do it alone. They get the credit, ay, but they wouldn’t have had a chance without the thousands, nay, millions, of good folk like you at their sides.

‘So you stand up for you and yours tonight. You stand proud, and come Waxing, when Hollow County’s still standing tall, someone asks who the Deliverer is? You can give honest word when you say “Ay, that’s me.”’

The crowd cheered again, shouting, ‘Deliverers!’ again and again. The Krasians did not join the chant, but they clattered their spears against their shields to add to the cacophony, and seemed mollified by the words — a careful dance that avoided any claims that Arlen was the Deliverer, or that Jardir was not. Now was not the time for division.

Arlen let the energy flow through the crowd, driving away their fears, then held up his hands, patting the air until there was silence once more. ‘Don’t know where the attacks will come. The outer boroughs, I expect, but it’s hard to say. That’s why we’re staging here. Cutter’s Hollow is the centre of the net, and we’ll be able to move swift to support the folk that need it. Demons will be on the rise soon, but the minds won’t come till later, when the dark is long and full. For now, keep your weapons ready and look to your commanders. Be ready for a run.’

With that, he hopped lightly down from the stage to join Renna.

‘Hunting mind demons?’ Renna asked.

‘Much as I can,’ Arlen said. ‘Same goes for you as the Cutters, Ren. Can’t hold back tonight. Ent leaving you behind ’cause I think you ent got what it takes, but come night I’m gonna have to go where I’m needed, and fast. Maybe faster’n you can keep up.’

The words grated on Renna, a reminder of the warning Arlen had given her when they first left Tibbet’s Brook. You either keep up, or I’m dropping you at the next town we come to. Harsh words, but Renna had worked hard and sacrificed much to keep pace. It still wasn’t enough. Arlen could dematerialize and slip into the greatward, travelling to anywhere in Hollow County in the time it took to take a deep breath and let it out again.

‘Could if you’d teach me the trick,’ Renna said.

Arlen shook his head. ‘This ent like embracing pain or knowing how to twist a demon into a throw. Took me years of absorbing magic and eatin’ demon meat before I could even dissipate, and months from there to learn to do it at will and pull myself back together. And that’s just learning to tread water. This is swimming in current so strong it can sweep you along like a twig.’

Renna frowned. ‘Can’t say I like the sound of that.’

Arlen shrugged and smiled. ‘Can’t say I do, either. But I’ll do what needs to be done to keep the Hollow safe. Need to know you will, too. Cutters are strong, but with me out of the picture, you’re the strongest one in the Hollow. Without you to shore the line, they may break. No running off on your own tonight. They need you.’

‘Think I don’t know that?’ Renna snapped. ‘Hollowers been good to me. Good in ways I never knew folk could be. Die before I let ’em down.’

Arlen touched her face. ‘That’s the woman I promised. Just,’ he kissed her, ‘don’t forget to breathe.’

She stuck a finger in his chest. ‘And you don’t forget that you belong up here,’ she pointed to the cobbles, ‘and not down there taking on every demon in the world. You leave us, I’m coming down after you and dragging you back by the stones.’ She reached between his legs and squeezed tight for emphasis. Arlen let out a sound that was half squeak and half laughter.

‘Honest word,’ he said, his voice tightened to a squeak, and Renna laughed.

Easier than expected, Arlen thought as Renna released him. He could smell the emotions warring within her, heightened by the magic. For the last week, she’d kept better control of her temper than since she first tasted the magic on the road from Tibbet’s Brook, months ago.

His mam might have said, ‘Married life suits her’, but it had as much to do with the revelation that he knew all along that she was eating demon flesh. He felt lighter himself after letting go the weight of that lie. He kept silent at first out of respect, thinking she would tell him and was just waiting for the right chance. But as the days and weeks passed, he realized that wasn’t it at all.

It became a test to see if she ever admitted it without being caught. A test of her judgement, and her love. A test of how much he could trust her. Renna had a lifetime of bad decisions behind her. She was supposed to be starting fresh, but day by day she built on a lie.

It was only now, having confronted and forgiven her, that he understood how stubborn he had been. Too proud to reach out to someone that needed him until she proved … what? Arlen’s past was hardly without bad decisions, and he had never hesitated to keep his own counsel. What right did he have to judge her for doing the same?

‘What?’ Renna asked, and Arlen realized he’d been staring at her.

‘Nothing,’ he said, putting a hand to her cheek and moving in to kiss her deeply. ‘Think maybe married life just suits me.’ He smiled, and her scent filled with love.

He turned away quickly, wanting to hold that sight and scent in his mind. Even if he’d trusted himself not to spoil it, there was no more time.

He moved over to where Evin Cutter, Yon Gray, and a pair of Wooden Soldiers stood with the horses. Shadow paced nearby, and the horses, even Evin’s own, shifted nervously. Only Rockslide, Twilight Dancer, and Promise held their ground, watching the giant wolfhound the way a dog might watch a cat. Even a nightwolf was no match for an Angierian mustang.

Gared and Captain Gamon joined him, mounting up at his nod. Arlen was used to towering above everyone when mounted on Twilight Dancer, but now Gared loomed over even him. The baron and the giant stallion still regarded each other warily, but in battle they were a terror to behold. Arlen had seen in their auras how people looked up to Gared, trusted him, and whatever else he might see in the baron, Arlen did not think he would let them down in the days to come.

Leesha, Rojer, and the count came soon after, followed by Rojer’s wives and their silent bodyguard. They would wait in the graveyard with the others as scouting parties like Arlen’s patrolled the border, waiting to see where they would be needed.

Arlen could tell Thamos grated at that, and he smiled. The count was flawed as any man, but he had been a good leader to the Hollow. The prince was a skilled warrior when his courage was roused, but he would be more trouble than he was worth as a scout. There would be battle enough for him if a charge of his heavy horse was required.

‘Good luck,’ Leesha said. As hard as she was for him to read, he could see in Leesha, too, a fierce desire to come with them. She was unafraid, and thought herself better suited than most to assess the situation at the border. She was right, but her skills at healing were worth far more this night. He was ready to argue with her — for all the good it would do. When Leesha Paper decided to do a thing, all the Core couldn’t stop her.

But the argument never came. Whatever her heart wanted, Leesha knew she was of better use readying the hospit and waiting to see where the fighting was thickest.

Rojer stepped up next. ‘Still sure you don’t need me to come along?’ His voice had the same steel he used when playing the part of Marko Rover, the legendary fearless traveller. It sounded to all involved that this had been an ongoing argument between them over the last week, though in truth this was the first time they had spoken of it.

Arlen met Rojer’s eyes and shrugged, giving no sign that he saw the show for what it was. ‘Come if you want, but there ent much point. No telling which patrol will find something. Best you stay here and wait for the signal. Expect there’ll be plenty to keep us all busy soon enough.’

The signal was some of Leesha’s best flamework, given to each of the patrols. Rockets that would shriek and put a bright streak in the night sky, leading the reserves to where they were needed. The rockets were specially coloured and marked to dictate the size of the threat and if there were wounded in need.

But then Rojer surprised him. ‘No, I’ll come. Dancer’s carried the both of us before.’

Amanvah put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Husband …’

‘The jiwah will be silent!’ Rojer kept his back to the women, but turned his head halfway, addressing them in periphery in the manner Krasian men often did to remind women of their place. Arlen blinked, shocked at how quickly the Jongleur had assimilated their culture. ‘You will both wait here with the others while I join the patrol.’

Disciplined though they were, the women could not hide the flare of indignation in their scents at being spoken to like common dal’ting. Rojer’s scent said he knew he would pay for the words, but he was still just reciting lines.

Amanvah turned to Enkido, her fingers a blur. Arlen knew something of Krasian hand codes from his time in the Maze, but this was much more complex. Where Sharum used a few quick commands, Amanvah seemed to be having a whole conversation. The big eunuch occasionally gave the sign for nie, attempting to refuse, but Amanvah was insistent. At last, the eunuch bowed and walked over to Rojer. He knelt and put his head to the ground, then stood, the act of a warrior swearing his life to protect his kai’Sharum.

But Rojer shook his head. ‘The Damajah tasked you with protecting her blood, Enkido. You will stay with my wives.’

‘Kaval, then,’ Amanvah said through gritted teeth.

Rojer laughed, but it, too, was a calculated thing. ‘After he tried to kill me? Not a chance. I can take care of myself. Besides,’ he held up his fiddle, ‘if I get into trouble, you’ll know.’

Arlen had noted the connection before, like a sparkling thread in the air connecting the fiddle’s chinrest to one of Amanvah’s earrings. Once the sun set, she would hear whatever was spoken near Rojer, and apparently he knew it. Interesting.

Arlen leapt astride Twilight Dancer and held down a hand. Rojer took it, and he easily lifted the Jongleur up behind him.

Amanvah stepped forward, holding out a mask made from coloured silk stitched to match the shifting tones of his motley. There were mind wards embroidered into the silk, as well as those for wardsight.

‘It was to be a Waning gift,’ Amanvah said, ‘to help keep our honoured husband safe. Wear it always.’ Her scent was honest. Whatever motivations the Krasian women might have — and Arlen knew they had many — there could be no doubt they loved him.

As Rojer tied on the silk mask, his Jongleur’s mask slipped. ‘Was I supposed to get you something?’

Amanvah shook her head. ‘Wives give Waning gifts to their husband. His gift is to come home alive, honour and spear intact.’

Arlen could smell Rojer’s fear, but his Jongleur’s mask was back in place. He laughed, grabbing at his crotch. ‘Ay, I’ll keep it safe.’

Amanvah was not amused. She sniffed and turned on her heel, storming off with Sikvah and Enkido in tow. Rojer stared after them. Arlen turned Twilight Dancer sharply, whipping his eyes away as he led the group down the road.

‘You can apologize when you get back,’ he said, too low for the others to hear. ‘Ent nothing gonna hurt you with two Bales and Gared Cutter beside you.’

Rojer glanced at Gared, and something passed between them. Gared smelled angry and Rojer ashamed.

Wonderful, Arlen thought, and kicked Twilight Dancer’s flanks, leading the group to the border at a gallop.

‘Why here?’ Renna asked, as they rode into the borough of Newhaven.

Less than a month ago, Arlen and Renna had found the Cutters clearing this land of demons. Now the newest district of Hollow County held some twelve hundred settlers, most of them Rizonans who had gone north past the Hollow when they first fled the Krasians, hoping for succour in Angiers. They had found no welcome there — the city already choked with refugees and refusing entry to more.

When Prince Thamos rode south to take control of the Hollow, followed by hundreds of soldiers, carts laden with supplies, and herds of livestock, hundreds had packed up and followed. Some even left the crowded city and hamlets, hoping for a better life in the Hollow.

‘I was going to attack the Hollow, this is where I’d do it,’ Arlen said.

There were a few partially constructed homes, but the men and women of Newhaven had focused most of their labour building streets, walls, and fences to form its greatward — the last in the net surrounding Hollow County. Each greatward was a forbidding independent of the others, but when they linked their power was shared, allowing those boroughs under direct assault to Draw from those that were still safe, particularly the powerful greatward of Cutter’s Hollow, nestled protectively at the centre of the net.

The greatward had only come alive the past night. The Haveners cheered when the first demons tested it and were thrown back, folk dancing in the glowing streets.

Arlen knew it was a fragile thing. The greatward of Cutter’s Hollow was formed by cobbled streets, poured crete, thick stands of ancient trees, large buildings, and a diverted stream that formed a small lake. Newhaven’s greatward was formed by roads of packed soil, thick bushes, wooden fences, and freshly planted farmland. Partial buildings, walls of piled stone, dirt ramparts, and a few old stands of trees added strength to the ward, but it would be scant protection if the demons set fires to burn the wood away and hurled a few heavy stones at key structures. Even a small force of corelings led by a mind could penetrate the greatward and come pouring into the streets of Newhaven.

‘Maybe they know it,’ Renna said. ‘Maybe they’re counting on you being here while they strike the opposite side of the county.’

Arlen shrugged. ‘Won’t lie and say I’m not thinking the same, but what else can we do? Got scouts all over the county with flamework. They put up a signal and I can be there before the rockets burn out. Till then …’

‘We guard the weak spot,’ Gared said.

Arlen looked at the Haveners, many of them too young or too old to be much help in pitched battle, nonetheless standing with spears and hastily warded shields, ready to defend their new home. Others were ready in bucket lines to douse fires, and even as the sun set, the strongest men continued to bend their backs in the dirt, every shovelful they added to the ramparts strengthening the greatward.

There was a hush as the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon, sending a sweeping blanket of darkness over the land. The streets of Newhaven began to glow softly as the greatward began to Draw upon the power venting from the Core. It was easy enough to see in town, but the gloom crept right up to the border.

‘The corespawn could be rising right in front of us and we’d never know,’ Gamon said.

Gared shook his head. ‘They ent. Leesha warded up my helmet special to see in the dark. Can’t make heads or hinds of most of what I see, but demons glow like torches. They were there, I’d see ’em.’ Rojer nodded, his new mask telling him much the same.

‘Takes getting used to,’ Renna said, ‘but you’re right. Ent no demons close by.’

‘Maybe they ent comin’ this month,’ Evin ventured, but just then Shadow let out a low growl, and Arlen could see the fear creep into the auras of his companions. All save Renna, whose aura became eager — hungry.

‘They’re out there,’ she said, ‘but not close. Can smell ’em.’

‘They are weakest during the rising,’ Captain Gamon said. ‘It makes sense for them to rise out of range of our bows.’

Arlen nodded, though it gave him no comfort. He took a deep breath, Drawing a touch of magic from beyond his field of vision, tasting it. There were indeed demons massing in the distance. More than he had ever sensed in one place, but still less than expected.

A moment later the sounds of splintered trees and torn soil began to sound for all to hear. ‘They’re coming!’ someone shouted. The Haveners grew fearful, gripping their weapons and peering vainly into the darkness. Some lost their nerve entirely, fleeing for their homes and locking the doors … for all the good it would do.

‘Deserting traitors!’ Gamon growled. ‘I should …’

‘You should close your mouth and keep your eyes in front,’ Arlen said. ‘Fighting’s your job. These are just scared folk. Won’t help anyone to turn on our own with demons at the wards.’

The captain managed to keep his outward composure, but his aura showed outrage at being scolded by a commoner he — and many of the count’s most trusted advisors — believed was a threat to his master’s rule. Arlen had no desire to stoke that fire, but needed to make sure Gamon — and his men — knew their place. The captain’s aura said he would do his duty and obey. For now, that was enough.

‘Should we send out the signal?’ the captain asked.

Arlen shook his head. ‘Not yet. Could be a trick.’

The cacophony grew louder, becoming an ever-present background roar, much like the inside of a noisy tavern. It went on for some time, but still no demons approached. Rojer, Gared, and Renna leaned forward, straining their wardsight, but even Arlen could see no sign of their glow.

Are they using magic to mask their approach?

‘Wish they’d just attack and have done.’ The sound had grown so loud Rojer had to shout to be heard.

‘Just trying to rattle us,’ Gared said.

‘It’s working,’ Rojer said.

‘Keep calm.’ Arlen drew a ward so the words were clear without being shouted. The others relaxed slightly at his tone. He wished it was as simple to ease the writhing in his own gut.

His nostrils flared, catching an acrid scent. Moments later, smoke began to drift from the woods, choking the defenders and fogging their vision as it reflected a growing orange light from within the trees. Even Arlen’s wardsight became muddled and blurry.

‘Tryin’ to smoke us out?’ Gared coughed.

‘More likely cover for an attack,’ Gamon said.

Arlen said nothing as he Drew again, sensing a small number of flame demons approaching through the smoke, gleefully setting everything in their path alight.

Normally, wood demons would keep the flame demons in check, killing any that entered the forest. Under the influence of a mind, though, wood drones would instantly yield their territory, leaving the flame demons to create a blaze that could kill half the Hollow without the demons having to lift a talon.

Firespit could not penetrate the greatward, and there were firebreaks along the border against the non-magical fires it kindled in the heavily wooded area, but no warding could protect the Haveners from choking to death on the smoke.

‘Gared’s right.’ Arlen searched the sky, but there were no other signs of smoke. ‘They’re doing it here, because the wind’s right.

‘Ready bows!’ Arlen cried. The Haveners quickly complied. After living off the land for so long, most of the Hollowers could shoot, and many were skilled hunters. So many, in fact, that there hadn’t been enough warded arrows to go around. The smiths used moulds now, but could still only make them so quickly. In the end, each archer had been given a mere three warded arrowheads. Some had copied the symbols onto the heads of the rest of the arrows in their quivers, but the Hollowers’ warding skills varied widely. Arlen expected less than half of them would even work, and those that did at less than half strength.

Every shot had to count.

Yon, Evin, and the Wooden Soldiers dismounted, stringing their bows as well. They carried full warded quivers, with more arrows on their mounts. All were expert shots, but even their skill was useless in the smoke and darkness.

Arlen sketched wards of sound, making his voice carry all along the border. ‘Asking folk to trust me. Need to kill the flame demons out there before they choke us to death.’

He paused. ‘And that means stepping off the greatward and into the smoke. Everyone make sure your mind wards are in place, and your best arrows nocked.’

‘No ripping way!’ one man cried. Most of the Haveners echoed his sentiment. Their collective aura flared with fear.

Surprisingly, it was Gared who stepped in. ‘Din’t have no greatward in the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow!’ the giant Cutter boomed. ‘We start hidin’ behind them now, Hollow’s already lost. You want to fight for your homes, it means steppin’ out into the naked night! Otherwise, go hide in yur beds and wait to get et!’

Arlen smiled as the fear in the crowd’s aura began a shift to determination. He looked to Gared, filled with fanatical trust in Arlen. ‘Thank you, General. Couldn’t have said it better myself.’ Gared’s aura … blushed.

‘Need you to lead them out, Gar,’ he said. ‘I’ve a card up my sleeve, but ironically, I need to be standing on the greatward to play it.’

‘I-what-ically?’ Gared asked. Then he shook his head, the confusion in his aura vanishing. ‘Dun’t matter. You say march into the Core, I’ll do it double-time.’

He clapped a hand on Gared’s shoulder. ‘The flame demons are still a ways off in the woods. Need to get in close and take them by surprise. Ent got time nor arrows to waste.’

Gared coughed. ‘Bows ent gonna be much good in all that smoke. How are we supposed to see what we’re shootin’?’

Arlen slipped down from his own saddle, feeling the thrum of the greatward beneath his bare feet. ‘When you’re in place I’ll show you your targets. Make sure no one fires till I give the word.’

Gared nodded, leading the rest of the scouts and the best archers of Newhaven out into the gloom. They hadn’t gone far before, one by one, they vanished into the smoke.

Arlen breathed deeply and Drew more power than he had ever dared, pulling on the Hollow’s entire wardnet. He felt his insides burning with the power, and knew he could not contain it long without being consumed.

‘Brace yourselves,’ he told the Hollowers, his voice carrying to every ear. Then he lifted two fingers and wrote wards of heat and air, giving shape to the energy as he released it. A huge blast of wind sprang forth, sweeping the smoke away and huffing out the flames like born-day candles.

He felt dizzy as the magic swept through his body and left, but there was no time to waste. He Drew on the greatward again, this time drawing wards to cast brilliant white light into the air, momentarily turning night into day. There, revealed in the light, were the flame demons, eyes and mouths glowing as they stood frozen, frightened by the sudden glare.

This time when the magic left him, Arlen staggered. Renna was there in an instant, grabbing one of his arms. A moment later Rojer caught the other.

Arlen let them steady him, Drawing a touch more power to send his voice carrying to the archers.

‘Fire.’