The Daylight War

23

333 AR Autumn

First Night of New Moon

Rojer heard the collective hum of bowstrings and the cries of the flame demons as the Hollowers exterminated them.

Rojer was still getting used to the wardsight his mask imparted, but a moment earlier he had seen Arlen glowing as bright as the sun. Now he was dim. Dimmer even than normal folk.

‘Back to the greatward,’ Arlen commanded after a moment. ‘Now.’ The light he conjured began to fail, and he slumped further, suddenly putting his full weight on Renna and Rojer. Rojer stumbled, but Renna tugged them both back upright as effortlessly as she might a small child. Quick as a cat, Rojer had his feet back under him.

He glanced up and saw the first of the Haveners returning, a triumphant look on their faces.

‘Pull yourself together,’ he said through his teeth. ‘I don’t know what that did to you, but these people need to see you on your feet.’

‘Don’t you tell him …!’ Renna began, but Arlen cut her off.

‘No, he’s right,’ Arlen said. ‘I just need a moment to …’ The luminescent mist at his feet began to rush into him, restoring his glow. He stood again, pulling free of their support. ‘There.’

The Haveners took their positions around the border once more, and Gared and the rest of the scouting party returned to where Arlen, Renna, and Rojer stood, oblivious to his moment of weakness. In the distance, the crashing sound of falling trees and ground-shaking rumble of torn stone continued unabated.

‘What in the Core are they doing?’ Gared shouted above the din.

‘It’s a trap,’ Rojer said. ‘Trying to lure us out farther.’

Arlen shook his head. ‘Why make so much noise if it’s a trap? They’re doing something. Bet my stones on it.’

‘What do we do?’ Gared asked.

‘We aren’t going to do anything,’ Arlen said. ‘I am going out to have a look.’

Renna shook her head. ‘We are going for a look.’

Arlen looked at her, and she shot him a hard glare in return. ‘Arlen Bales, don’t you think for one second I’m letting you go out there alone.’

‘Sure as spit ent asking anyone else to,’ Arlen said. ‘Drones can’t hurt me, Ren. I’ll be fine.’

‘That mimic demon hurt you,’ Renna said. ‘And the mind did worse.’

‘Ay, but now I know how to hurt ’em right back,’ Arlen said.

‘You hurt one of them,’ Renna reminded him, ‘and only after I snuck up in your warded cloak and stabbed it in the back. Who knows how many are out there tonight?’

‘Maybe it’s not a trap for us,’ Rojer said. ‘I think maybe it’s a trap for you.’

Arlen looked at him blankly.

‘He’s right,’ Renna said. ‘Second you step off the greatward, you’ll stand out like a lantern in the dark. They’ll be on you in an instant.’

Rojer bit his lip. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.

‘I’ll go,’ he said, and cursed himself. Everyone looked at him in surprise, and Rojer couldn’t blame them. He was not known for his bravery, but there was no other way. He was proud of the power he had brought back to the world with the Song of Waning, but after seeing what Arlen had just done, there was no doubt which of them was more expendable.

Arlen shook his head. ‘Don’t know your power will even work on a mind demon. Can get a cat to chase a bit of reflected light all afternoon, and drones ent much smarter, but you don’t try that trick on people.’

Rojer shrugged. ‘Even people can be blinded when you shine a light in their eyes. And didn’t I just hear Renna say Leesha’s cloak fooled it?’ He grabbed the hem of his warded motley cloak, turning a spin to let it spread out.

‘Rojer, I can’t let you-’ Arlen began.

‘No, I can’t let you,’ Rojer said. ‘I may not be able to put out forest fires with a wave of my hand, but I can do this.’

‘We can do this,’ Gared said, coming over to stand beside him. ‘Goin’ with you. Cloak Darsy made me ent as fine as yurs, but it ent ever failed me.’

‘That’s because you rarely ever use it.’ Rojer shook his head. ‘Your place is with your troops, General.’

Gared spat at his feet. ‘You may be a right little prick sometimes, Rojer, but I’ll be corespawned before I let you go out there alone.’

Rojer felt his throat tighten, but swallowed the feeling behind his Jongleur’s mask. He wanted to argue further, but in truth he felt safer with Gared than he’d ever admit.

‘Coming too,’ Renna said, pulling her own Cloak of Unsight from the bag slung over Promise’s harness and throwing it around her shoulders.

‘Ren.’ Arlen’s voice was pleading as he caught her arm.

She turned and locked stares with him. ‘Said it yourself. You can’t fret the small stuff. You’ve got mind demons to hunt, and I need to protect folk when you can’t.’

He stared at her, and she put a gentle hand on his cheek. ‘I’ll be careful, and bring them back alive.’ At last he nodded, then swept her into a hug, kissing her deeply.

‘Ay!’ Gared said. ‘Spare us the newlywed display!’

Leesha eyed Amanvah as she and Sikvah lounged on a silk couch in Thamos’ tent, their silent guardian standing over them protectively.

The count had erected the pavilion at the edge of the Corelings’ Graveyard to wait for reports and direct his forces. As usual, he had furnished the tent with all the trappings of his royal station and wealth. Inside, the walls hung with lavish tapestries, and the rugs were thick fur, soft as a kitten. The furniture was heavy polished wood, ornate, with gold inlays and filigree. And, of course, he had brought a throne.

But with those trappings of royalty came the responsibilities of etiquette. Amanvah and Sikvah might be enemies, but they were princesses in their own right, blood of the Krasian leader. Their station demanded nothing less than proper royal treatment, including access to Thamos’ tent and his every courtesy. The boy set to serve them was of noble birth, and he scurried to and fro in terror as Sikvah snapped orders at him and cursed his slowness. Amanvah knelt silently beside her, head cocked to one side.

Listening to Rojer.

The thought galled Leesha. Amanvah had tried to murder her, yet still Rojer trusted her with everything that was happening, while Leesha and Thamos were left in the dark. Wives or no, Leesha had been with him every day for almost two years. How could he trust them more than her?

I should have warded Gared’s helmet the same way and not told him, she thought, and immediately felt a pang of guilt. What right did she have to invade even Gared’s privacy that way?

No. She shook her head. That’s the dama’ting way. I’d sooner become Elona than take up their methods.

But Creator, how she wished she could hear what was happening!

Suddenly Amanvah hissed and began speaking quickly in Krasian, many of the words curses. She spoke far too quickly for Leesha to follow, but the anger in her tone was clear, with no dama’ting artifice. Sikvah looked at her in shock as Amanvah got to her feet, pacing back and forth as the string of epithets continued.

Leesha could bear it no longer. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

Amanvah looked at her for a moment, considering her words. ‘My honoured husband is brave, but a fool.’

‘We all have a little of each in us, at times,’ Leesha said.

Amanvah nodded, drawing a steadying breath as her dama’ting calm returned. ‘It is inevera.’

‘Is he all right?’ Leesha said.

Amanvah whisked a hand. ‘For now. He has volunteered to go into the night.’

‘Why?’ Leesha asked. That didn’t sound like the Rojer she knew.

‘They apparently believe the demons will sense the Par’chin’s power if he leaves the greatward,’ Amanvah said. ‘And so the Par’chin has sent my honoured husband, the oaf Gared, and his own Jiwah Ka out into the night to do his scouting.’ One of Amanvah’s eyebrows curled, but with her veil in place Leesha could not tell what the gesture signified. ‘His very name means bravery, but he commands others to leave the greatward when he fears to do so himself. He is a coward after all.’

‘And what does that make me, waiting here in the centre?’ Thamos demanded. All eyes turned to the count, and Leesha could see the tension in his face. Leesha remembered how he had been abed that first night, and the tales Darsy had told of the count’s fear of demons, and how his need to conquer that fear led to erratic acts of bravery. He was terrified of being labelled a coward and losing the respect of his people. ‘A leader must be free to direct his forces.’

Amanvah snorted, sparing him a dismissive glance. ‘My holy father does not sit on his throne after the sun sets, and he is the greatest leader the world has ever seen. You are chin, and your cowardice is expected, but the Par’chin was said to be different.’

Thamos looked enraged, what little temper was left to him quickly evaporating. In a moment, he would begin shouting, and it would go poorly for everyone.

Leesha stepped between them, locking stares with Amanvah. ‘With respect, Amanvah, I have seen your honoured father send men, even his own sons, far into the night to do his scouting. I know you worry for your husband, but Rojer has gone into the night hundreds of times. He’ll be all right.’

‘How can you claim to know what even the dice will not say?’ Amanvah asked.

‘I can’t,’ Leesha admitted. ‘But I have faith.’

Amanvah blinked, then nodded. ‘It is inevera.’ She breathed to calm herself, moving back to her corner of the tent and kneeling once again in meditation as she listened.

Rojer held his fiddle and bow in his good left hand as they stepped out into the naked night, trusting in the cloaks to protect them. His right hand he kept free. Even with just three fingers, he could flick a warded knife into it and throw in seconds.

‘I’ll lead,’ Renna said. ‘Used to seeing in the dark.’ Neither Rojer nor Gared cared to argue. He was still adjusting to the mask Amanvah had given him. He could see well enough that he wasn’t apt to run into anything or miss a passing demon, but the swirls of coloured magic clinging to everything were distracting and confusing, making him feel as unsure as if in a thick morning fog.

As Renna moved ahead, right at the edge of their wardsight, Rojer turned to Gared. ‘You’re right I took you for granted. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Sometimes I get so caught up in my own drama I forget I’m not the only one in the play.’

Gared grunted. ‘It’s a fallen tree. No point climbing it.’

Rojer turned to face him. ‘I know, I just-’

‘We’re out in the naked night, Rojer,’ Gared cut in, ‘and I feel like I’m caught inside a ripping rainbow cloud. Ent mad at you any more. Now eyes in front.’

Rojer nodded, turning his gaze this way and that, but as he did, something unclenched inside him. One less thing to fret over. Now all I need to worry about is being eaten by demons.

The walk was agonizingly slow. Leesha’s Cloaks of Unsight had never failed, but needed to be wrapped close around the wearer, and they could not move too quickly. Rojer and Renna were more practised, setting the pace for Gared.

Just beyond the tree line they began to see signs of the flame demons’ play: blackened trunks and scorched ground that had once been the fertile forest bed. Their boots and the hems of their cloaks became black with ash.

Ahead, the sounds of ongoing destruction were like nothing Rojer had ever heard. Instinct screamed at him to turn and run in the other direction, but he steeled himself and kept putting one foot in front of the other as they picked their way through the trees.

They did not have to go far. The woods ended abruptly, violently, in a place of utter devastation. All the thundersticks Leesha had ever made could not have done a fraction of the damage. The ground was blackened and blasted, with great piles of loose soil next to huge gaping holes where whole trees and heavy stones had been torn free.

There was something repellent about the place. A wrongness Rojer could sense in every fibre of his body. They did not belong here.

Field demons, sleek and low to the ground, prowled the area, climbing atop the piles and sniffing the air. Above, wind demons circled.

Renna drifted back to them. ‘Too many places for demons to hide. We stay close from here on.’

Rojer and Gared nodded, the three of them moving deeper into the destruction. Huge piles of stones stood twenty feet high, as did stacks of trees. Rojer looked at one of the stone piles, then back the way they had come. ‘How far do you think a rock demon could throw one of those?’

Gared considered the pile, then he, too, glanced back. ‘A big one? Too far for my liking.’

‘They’re stockpiling,’ Rojer said. ‘We should go back and-’

‘Not yet,’ Renna interrupted. ‘If that’s all they’re doing, where are all the rock and wood demons?’

Rojer swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing she was right. They kept on, skirting around the piles of wood and rock that might soon be hurtling at Newhaven. At last, they peeked around a giant mound of dirt and saw the demons at work.

The land had been cleared, and huge trenches were being dug by wood and rock demons, as well as some other breeds Rojer could not recognize. The trenches were twenty feet wide and over ten deep, but the demons swept the dirt away with their great claws as if it were nothing more than dry leaves. When they came to a large stone, it was torn free of the ground and carried to one of the many piles.

‘What are they doing?’ Gared asked, looking at the seemingly random series of trenches. ‘Building a defensive perimeter? That don’t sound like demons.’

‘These are smart demons,’ Renna reminded him. ‘There’s a mind, or more than one, nearby directing them.’

‘Still don’t make sense,’ Gared said. ‘Demons flee with the sun. What’s the point of taking and holding ground?’

Rojer looked, his eyes running over the precise shapes forming in the ground, and felt his face go cold, suddenly putting a name to the feeling of repulsion he had been feeling steadily increase as they approached.

‘They’re building a greatward.’

Gared and Renna both snapped their gazes at him, and Rojer felt a sudden pressure in his bladder. Creator, I’m about to piss myself.

Wordlessly, he ran back around the great pile of dirt, throwing open his cloak and yanking the drawstrings of his motley trousers. He barely had his member in hand before the stream came pouring out.

‘Ahhh,’ he gasped, but his relief was short-lived as a low growl sounded a few feet away. Rojer looked up and saw a field demon tamping its feet to spring.

He fell back with a cry as it launched itself at him, getting tangled in his still-undone trousers and landing heavily on his back. He fumbled, trying to free a knife, but could not flick his arm properly from the prone position.

But then Gared was there, roaring as he swung his heavy axe with two hands. Warded by Arlen himself, the blade split the demon’s head from the tip of its snout to the base of its neck, covering Rojer in a spray of ichor.

The demon still kicked as Gared bore it to the ground, tearing at his cloak in its death throes. Rojer was up in an instant, retying his trousers and readying his fiddle and bow just as a reap of field demons appeared, surrounding them. Renna had her long, sharp knife in hand and was growling like a demon herself. She looked hungry for the fight, though they had little hope against so many.

This one’s nuttier than Arlen, Rojer thought, and that’s saying something.

‘No one move,’ he said, putting bow to string. He played a few sharp notes to surprise the demons and drive them back, then wove in a melody to mesmerize them before he caused the distraction that would allow them to disappear.

But the demons were not mesmerized. They had leapt back from his first shrieking notes, but it didn’t last. One darted in to snap at Renna, but a quick slash of her knife drove it back. They began to circle hungrily, growling and clawing at the soil, searching for an opening.

Uh-oh, Rojer thought.

‘We can’t stay here,’ Renna said. ‘If they’re under the control of a mind, half the Core will be on us in a minute.’

Rojer glanced at Gared’s torn cloak, and his own, covered in coreling ichor. There was no escape there, and fighting was madness. He gritted his teeth and deepened the melody, adding layer after layer of complexity. There was a telltale drooping in the demons’ eyelids, but still they circled.

‘I need a distraction,’ Rojer said. ‘Renna, your cloak is intact. Can you draw them off for a moment?’

‘Ay,’ Renna said, ‘but they won’t all follow me.’

‘I can make them,’ Rojer said.

‘Spit on that plan,’ Gared said. ‘I ent running and letting you …’ But before he could finish the sentence, Renna leapt at the ring, tackling one of the field demons and stabbing it repeatedly as they rolled across the ground. She sprang to her feet unharmed, while the demon laboured for breath on the ground. Already it was healing.

‘Run!’ Rojer called to her, and she did, dashing barefoot to one of the piles of rocks, leaping nimbly from stone to stone until she made the top.

Rojer changed his music accordingly. She’s getting away, it said, chase her! There are plenty to take the others!

With that command, the demons all leapt after Renna, claws scrabbling on the hard stone as they climbed after her. A few paused, looking back with something that went beyond their normal instinct, but the distraction had done its job as Rojer herded Gared to another spot and laid down layer after layer of confusion. He brought more and more of the enchanted fiddle to bear, increasing the volume until the music thrummed in the air, making himself and Gared impossible to pinpoint.

Renna waited atop the pile of stones as long as she could, delivering warded kicks that sent demons flying off the pile with explosions of magic. They landed hard, but quickly rolled back to their feet, shaking off the blows and attempting to regain their wits.

When she saw them safe, Renna crouched and sprang, leaping an amazing thirty feet to land atop one of the massive dirt mounds the rock demons had created with their digging. She sank slightly into the loose soil on impact, but seemed none the worse for wear.

But before she could cloak herself once more, a wind demon gave a shriek, plummeting out of the sky at her. Renna turned to face it, tensed and ready, but the demon did something Rojer had never seen. It threw open its wings against the dive, pulling up short, and spat a bolt of lightning at her.

The night lit up with the blinding flash. Rojer snapped his eyes shut, but not fast enough to prevent himself from being dizzied. He struggled to keep playing as bright flashes of colour danced across the inside of his eyelids. When he opened them again, he saw Renna lying on the ground, having fallen more than a dozen feet. There was smoke drifting from her, and the air smelled of burned flesh and ozone. Amazingly, she was struggling to her feet, growing steadier as she did. Her glow was still bright to his warded eyes, and he imagined she was healing in the same way demons had.

Got to learn that trick, he thought.

Two field demons pounced on Renna before she could recover fully. Gared gave a roar, charging to her aid. Once he was more than a few feet from Rojer and his fiddle, the demons took note of him, but not in time to avoid his first deadly swings. Axe in one hand and machete in the other, he batted the demons away from the fallen woman, leaving deep gashes in their scaled flesh. He was standing protectively over her in an instant, carving out room for her to get her feet under her.

Already the demons Gared had struck were back on their feet, healing quickly, much as Renna had. More came running, but these kept safely out of the range of Gared and Renna’s weapons. More and more field demons arrived, the reap encircling the two. Soon the entire area swarmed with them, a mass of writhing, scaled flesh, glowing bright with magic.

But even with these overwhelming odds, the demons did not attack. They kept in constant motion, forcing Gared and Renna to stand back-to-back, weapons at the ready, waiting for an assault that never came.

Trapped.

But trapped for what? Rojer looked around. Winged demons circled overhead, but did not seem inclined to dive. The rock and wood demons continued to dig, oblivious.

Something worse is coming. Rojer had all too good an idea what that might be.

He considered. Even with the hora magic amplifying his music, he was not sure he could drive off so many demons, but even if he could manage it despite their increased resistance tonight, the fleeing corelings would trample right over his friends in the process.

He took a deep, calming breath, thankful he had ordered his wives to stay behind.

‘Amanvah,’ he said into the chinrest of his fiddle. ‘I know I haven’t been the best husband, but never once have I regretted taking you and Sikvah to wife. You have honoured me as wives should, and helped show me my own worth. If I don’t make it back, remember me when you sing.’

She could not reply, but perhaps that was just as well. Rojer dropped the melody that made him invisible and began a new one, his enchanted fiddle carrying the tune to every coreling ear.

Here I am, the music told them. Weak and defenceless. And you are so very, very hungry.

For a moment, nothing happened; then suddenly every coreling face snapped his way. Hundreds of black eyes fixed on him. Whatever influence the mind demon had over the drones, they could not deny their nature. They shrieked and leapt his way, long claws extended and teeth snapping the air.

Rojer turned and ran, faster than he ever had in his life. All the while he kept playing, calling the demons after him.

Arlen stood still as stone, watching the woods. He tried to Draw, but the ambient magic was faint, and the current flowed away from him, pulled by some unseen force. His Knowings yielded nothing.

They seemed to have been gone an eternity, but in truth he knew it was only minutes. His sharp ears caught the roaring of demons over the background noise and he tensed, but the sound was followed quickly by Rojer’s music. He waited.

Long as that music’s playing, they’re safe, he thought. But if it stops …

There was a great flash in the cloudless sky. Arlen knew the signature of a lightning demon when he saw it. Even in the places they ranged most people thought the rare demons just a tampweed tale, and Arlen had never seen one in Angiers. Local Warders didn’t even bother including lightning wards in their circles.

The minds can summon any breed, he realized, and felt their chances of survival dip still further. How would the Cutters fare against the blunt, butting heads of clay demons, or the coldspit of snow demons that could shatter steel? The acid muck of swamp demons? Those whose shields and armour Arlen or Leesha had warded personally would have some protection, but he knew all too well how poorly common warded armour withstood the talons and spit of those rare breeds.

But Gared and Renna had the right wards, and Rojer was still playing …

In fact, the music was getting louder, the sound rapidly approaching, accompanied by the roaring of what seemed a thousand corelings. He saw Rojer appear from the woods, running as fast as his legs could carry him. His aura was one of pure terror, held in tight check by the rhythm of his playing. An instant later Arlen saw why as a seemingly endless stream of field demons raced out of the trees after him.

They put on speed when they reached open ground, but Rojer stopped short before they could overtake him, changing his tune to the harsh, jarring sounds Arlen had heard him use so many times before. Amplified by the fiddle’s magic, the sound struck the reap like a physical blow, scattering the demons in a wave around him.

Arlen dematerialized, and for the split second he was in the between-state, he felt the thrumming of mind demons’ power in the air, and knew Renna had been right. He might meet the will of one of them in that state, but two or more could well prove his undoing.

But there was no time for the coreling princes to attack him as he re-formed an instant later at Rojer’s side and the mind wards around his shaved head reactivated. Arlen picked up the Jongleur like a toddler and leapt, clearing the distance back to the greatward in two great bounds.

‘Where are the others?’ he demanded, but before Rojer could answer, there was a cry, and Arlen looked up to see Renna, covered in demon ichor and glowing bright with magic, leaping through the swarm of field demons, Gared Cutter slung over her shoulder like a sack of flour.

Renna landed on a field demon’s back with a flash of magic, and when she leapt away, the demon did not rise again. Arlen rushed out again, drawing field wards in the air as he cleared a path for them. After a moment they crossed, Renna leaping onto the open way as Arlen got behind her to cover their retreat. He caught the nearest field demon by its hind leg and used it as a club to bash away its fellows. The demon’s flailing claws cut into their scales like no mortal weapon could.

The smell of ichor was thick in the air, and Arlen had to suppress a wave of hunger such as he had not felt in years. He wanted to bite down on the demon sizzling in his warded grasp, tearing through its armour to taste the soft meat beneath.

He shook his head violently, resisting the base instinct long enough to hurl the demon into the reap and run back to the greatward where Renna was gently laying Gared on the ground. The giant Cutter’s aura was flat. He was alive but unconscious.

‘What happened?’ Arlen asked.

‘Just a knock to the head,’ Renna said, easing Gared’s helmet off. ‘He saved my life.’

‘Or delayed you dying,’ Rojer said. Arlen turned to him and saw the Jongleur’s mask had slipped, the terror that still coloured his aura evident in his expression. ‘The demons are building a greatward of their own.’

So that was why the ambient magic had been drawn away. ‘Corespawn me for a fool!’ Arlen shouted. He let his atoms slide apart and leapt skyward, floating at the upper edge of the greatward’s protection as he looked out over the land. As Rojer had said, there, barely a mile away, glowed a greatward unlike any symbol Arlen had ever seen. It wasn’t anywhere near the size of one of the Hollow’s greatwards, but already the demon ward was active.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arlen saw something more and turned, his horror growing. Flickering lines of connection were forming as the demon greatward linked to another off to the southeast, near New Rizon. He turned a full circle and saw demons digging a third, off to the southwest by the fledgling borough of Lakdale. This demon ward was incomplete, but already it was beginning to Draw. It would link with the others in only minutes.

Even Arlen’s new senses could not pierce the veil of the demon wards — magic flowed in, but not back out. And yet he could feel the three coreling princes, perched like spiders at the centre of a web. And all the while, the rock and wood demons continued to dig, strengthening the wards and making them increasingly permanent.

Arlen dropped back down, landing easily beside Renna and Rojer. ‘Not just one. There’s three of the ripping things, each with a mind at its centre.’

‘Creator,’ Rojer muttered.

‘Need to tell the count,’ Arlen said.

Renna nodded. ‘I’ll get the horses.’

Arlen shook his head. ‘Too slow.’

Renna looked at him, worry on her face. ‘Floating and healing the sick is bad enough. You do this …’

‘Can’t be helped, Ren,’ Arlen said. ‘The rest of you ride hard back to the graveyard. Maybe we’ll have something resembling a plan by then.’ With that, he dissipated.

Immediately Arlen felt the pull of the greatward. Like blood pumping through a heart, all the power of the wardnet flowed to and from the keyward of Cutter’s Hollow. Instead of drawing on that power, he allowed himself to fall into its stream, instantly materializing at the centre of the Corelings’ Graveyard.

It happened in the blink of an eye, easy for anyone to miss, but with the crowds gathered in the graveyard, there were still many who saw, and Arlen could hear their shouts of surprise flowing through the rest of the assembly.

Thamos paced the tent like a caged nightwolf. Every so often, his eyes flicked to the throne and his scowl deepened, looking like he might kick it over in a rage. If Amanvah and her entourage had not been present, he likely would have. The dama’ting’s harsh words had cut him deeply. She had retreated to her couch and been silent since, but the damage was done.

Leesha laid a hand on the count’s arm, feeling the tension he was holding even through his armour. He turned to her and she reached out, tracing the line of fresh enamel on his breastplate where it had been repaired. ‘No one in the Hollow thinks you a coward,’ she said, her voice too low for the others to hear. ‘The scars on your armour tell how you have stood between them and the naked night. I don’t like waiting here any more than you do, but there will be work for us both soon enough.’

Thamos nodded. ‘It is just those women. They are …’

‘Simply impossible, I know,’ Leesha said. ‘But they were right about one thing.’

‘Eh?’ Thamos asked.

‘The throne was too much to bring,’ Leesha said. ‘It says you think you’re better than folk, but that’s not the man they need.’

‘Is that why they so love your Painted Man?’ Thamos asked, a trace of bitterness in his voice.

Leesha smiled. ‘That, and he can kick a hole through a rock demon.’

Thamos laughed. ‘Ay, I should learn that trick.’

For a moment, there was warmth between them, but then Amanvah spoke again, and Leesha’s blood ran cold.

‘The alagai are building a greatward of their own.’

‘Night, are you certain?’ Leesha asked.

Thamos strode over to the table with his great map of the Hollow. ‘What kind of ward?’ he demanded. ‘How big? Where?’

Amanvah shrugged, her head cocked as she continued to listen. ‘I only know what I’ve heard.’ She paused. ‘I am not certain my honoured husband and his companions can see any more from their vantage.’

Inquisitor Hayes drew a ward in the air, mouthing prayers. Part of Leesha wanted to join him, but she had learned long ago that the Creator did not intervene on His children’s behalf. If they were to be saved, they would have to save themselves.

Amanvah gasped and gave a shriek. Everyone tensed, waiting for more news, but the dama’ting said nothing. There was real fear in her eyes, and Leesha was reminded again that for all her training, she was still little more than a girl. Sikvah, normally the more emotionally demonstrative of the two, was strangely calm. She laid a hand on her sister-wife’s shoulder, offering silent strength.

After a few moments, Amanvah let out a breath. ‘He was attacked, but he is playing now.’ The pride was evident in her voice. ‘Even on Waning, the alagai cannot resist my honoured husband so long as he plays.’

Sikvah nodded. ‘Everam speaks to him.’

But then Amanvah fell to her knees. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, no, no. Please, husband, do not …’

She did not finish the sentence. Sikvah dropped to her knees behind her sister-wife, gentling her shoulders. Amanvah’s face was blank and she said nothing, but Leesha could imagine what was going through her mind.

Leesha pulled at her skirts as she got to her knees in front of Amanvah. She reached out, taking Amanvah’s soft hands in her own and squeezing, trying to lend strength as Sikvah did.

‘Amanvah,’ she said, not bothering to hide the desperation in her voice, ‘please tell me what’s happened. Is Rojer …?’

‘Not yet,’ Amanvah said. ‘He is still playing, but he is no longer driving back the alagai. He is calling them to him, that his companions may live.’

There was a patter, and a spot appeared on the perfect white silk on her lap. Sikvah slipped a tiny bottle from somewhere in her black robes and reached out, catching Amanvah’s tears as they fell. ‘His honour knows no bounds, and Everam will seat him in His great hall on the sixth pillar of Heaven,’ she said. Amanvah nodded, weeping all the harder.

This went on for several minutes, but then Amanvah’s eyes lit up and she straightened. ‘He fights again! All Nie’s forces at his heel, and he stands to face them!’

Sikvah swiftly stoppered the now full bottle and produced another, ready to catch more tears if they fell. ‘Can even he-’

‘Of course he can!’ Amanvah snapped, her strength returned. ‘He is Rojer, son of Jessum, disciple of Arrick of the sweetest song and son-in-law to Shar’Dama Ka.’ She paused, clenching a fist. ‘But the alagai will be the least of his worries when I see him again.’

‘Honest word,’ Leesha agreed.

‘The Par’chin is with him now,’ Amanvah said a moment later. ‘He is …’ She furrowed her brow. ‘The alagai, they …’

Just then there was a shout, and all eyes turned to see Arlen suddenly standing in the centre of the graveyard. Even Leesha, who understood something of Arlen’s powers, gaped. He had been miles away in Newhaven just a moment before.

But there could be no doubt he was here now as his voice boomed like thunder. ‘Mount and stand ready! We ride into the night in minutes!’

He turned, striding purposefully towards the count’s tent, and the crowd parted around him, some whispering in awe, others shouting.

‘He just appeared like a demon!’ one woman cried.

Inquisitor Hayes blocked his path as Arlen reached the tent. ‘How is this possible?’ he demanded. ‘The Canon states we must not take the corelings’ methods as our …’

Arlen reached out, brushing the Inquisitor aside like a child, never slowing. ‘Ent got time to argue scripture now, Tender.’

Hayes looked outraged, and Child Franq moved to block Arlen’s path, but Thamos banged a gauntleted fist on the table. ‘Holy Men out! See that our fighters have the Creator’s blessing!’ The Inquisitor and his entourage looked at him, but the count met their eyes with a hard look, and they moved quickly to comply.

‘What’s happened?’ Thamos asked as Arlen came over to where he stood by the map. Arlen did not immediately answer, considering the map a moment before taking a brush and dipping it in the bowl of ink, expertly drawing thick wards over areas that had once been virgin woodland.

‘The mind demons have built greatwards, here, here, and here,’ Arlen said, pointing to New Rizon, Newhaven, and Lakdale. ‘Already they are activating.’ He lightened pressure on the brush to draw the thinner lines of connection. When he was done, the great wardnet of Hollow County was a circle within the triangle of the mind demons’ wards. ‘The net will only get stronger as the rock demons continue to dig, cutting off the Hollow and draining power from our wardnet.’

The wards were elegant, and Leesha knew at a glance that they were powerful. There was a slight similarity in their shape to wards she had seen when Inevera trapped her in Jardir’s palace.

‘They’re human wards,’ she guessed. ‘We will no more be able to set foot across their lines than they can ours.’

Thamos shook his head. ‘That only creates an impasse. There must be more to their plan.’

Arlen nodded. ‘They are stockpiling every boulder and tree trunk as they clear the wards. Soon the rock demons will begin throwing, and it won’t be long before they destroy enough to break the circuit and short out our net.’

‘Circuit?’ Thamos asked.

‘The link that joins our greatwards,’ Leesha supplied. ‘It needs to form a closed shape to operate at full power.’

Arlen nodded. ‘They do that, we’ll have demons in the streets of the outer boroughs, and the rock demons will be able to move in close enough to heave boulders anywhere in Hollow County.’

‘Creator,’ Thamos said. ‘But if these demon wards repel us the way ours do them, how can we destroy them?’

‘We can’t,’ Arlen said. ‘Not tonight, or even during the daylight hours if we make it till tomorrow.’

‘We could set fire to the woods.’ Thamos’ face was grim. He knew the cost, but he would do it if necessary.

This is why we keep the secrets of fire from men, she heard Bruna say. They would curse the world and think they’re saving it.

Arlen shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t work. The wards are more than just the shape of cleared-out trees, Highness. We’re dealing with trenches dug by rock demons. Twenty feet wide and ten feet deep. Takes a lot to fill in a trench like that, even with thousands of strong backs and an endless supply of flamework, neither of which we’ll have by morning.’

‘We don’t need to destroy the wards,’ Amanvah said, coming over. ‘Only mar them.’

Leesha looked at her, then nodded. ‘The fangs.’

‘Ay,’ Arlen said.

‘What are the fangs?’ Thamos demanded. Leesha could hear the desperation in his voice. He wanted to take command as he would in any other instance, but he was out of his depth.

Leesha took a scrap of paper and the brush Arlen had used, quickly drawing a ward. She pointed to two small, curved teardrop shapes next to the main symbol. ‘These are the fangs. Almost every ward has them hidden somewhere in its design. They are the place where the ward Draws magic — without them, it will quickly burn out.’

She looked at Arlen. ‘You take your clothes with you.’

‘Eh?’ Arlen asked. Thamos turned to regard Leesha curiously as well.

‘When you turn to mist and move as the corelings do,’ Leesha said. ‘You take your clothes with you. Can you take more?’

‘Ay,’ Arlen said, ‘but nothing heavy, and nothing alive. Breaking things down is easy enough. Putting them back together properly is harder.’

‘Can you carry a crate of thundersticks?’ Leesha asked.

Arlen considered. ‘For a short hop, perhaps, if I have time to study their pattern.’ Arlen smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘Won’t be easy, but easier than hauling one up a frozen mountain.’

Leesha cocked her head. ‘What’s that?’

Arlen waved the thought away. ‘Long story.’

Leesha made a mental note to ask about it later and pressed on. ‘Can you materialize out beyond the greatward?’

Arlen shrugged. ‘Can, but it’s easy to get lost. Simple to skate along the greatward because I know its every twist and turn. Out beyond, I’ll need to go deeper into the Ala, and then find a path of magic leading back up to the surface closer to where I want to be. Might need to hop once or thrice to triangulate, but I know the woods well.’

‘How is this possible?’ Amanvah asked. ‘Even my father does not have such powers.’

Arlen ignored her. ‘If I knock out the fangs of the centre ward, their net will fail, but expect I’ll only have a moment to do it before they sense me. Need a distraction.’

Thamos straightened at that. ‘Then you shall have one.’ He pointed to the greatward the minds were building near New Rizon. The second oldest of the Hollow’s boroughs, it was also the most populous. ‘New Rizon has the most open ground, where our horses and archers can inflict maximum damage. If we attack there …’

‘You ent thinkin’ straight,’ Renna said as Arlen headed for the tent, well away from the troops and horses, where the crates of Leesha’s thundersticks were stacked. The foot soldiers had already begun a march to the east while the horses were readied.

Behind them, Rojer’s wives berated his recklessness, shifting back and forth between their heavily accented Thesan and rapid-fire Krasian. Arlen smiled. It was probably for the best Rojer could not understand most of what they were saying. The Jongleur wasn’t known for his temper, but he could be as stubborn and cutting as any when his back was up.

‘Straight or not, it’s the only plan we’ve got, Ren,’ Arlen said. ‘Hollow will be destroyed, we don’t get this done.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Maybe even if we do. But I ent the type to lie down and wait for the end.’

Renna shook her head. ‘Me either. Not any more, at least. But do you have to go alone?’

Arlen nodded. ‘Need to be quick. All goes to plan, I should be gone and back in an instant. Time you hear the blast, I should be back on the greatward, covering your retreat.’

‘Should,’ Renna said, not sounding convinced. Her aura was petulant, but resolved.

‘Don’t like you fighting without me any better,’ Arlen said. ‘But you seen what the count is like in a fight. Reckless. Hollow needs him right now. Trustin’ you to bring him back alive.’

Renna nodded. ‘Will. Swear by the sun.’

Arlen saw magic respond to her natural strength, flowing into her and brightening her aura. She had never looked so beautiful. He took her in his arms, kissing her deeply. ‘Love you, Renna Bales.’

Renna smiled, and even her beauty from a moment ago was eclipsed. ‘Love you, Arlen Bales.’

She turned and went to join the others. A moment later, a horn sounded and they galloped off. Arlen concentrated, pulling magic through one of the crates, Knowing its contents down to the tiniest particle. The materials were surprisingly simple, and he was confident that when the time came he would be able to reassemble them.

He turned back, taking in the graveyard, now almost empty. Leesha had moved her Gatherers to form a temporary hospit in near the fighting, and Rojer’s wives had gone with him to add their power to the attack.

They’re all going to die, you don’t time this right, his father’s voice said in his head. Should have kept ’em safe behind the wards.

Arlen gritted his teeth. Would that voice ever go away? Even now, having seen his da stand and spear a demon before his very eyes, the voice of Jeph Bales continued to counsel cowardice as wisdom in his head.

But the voice was right that the timing would be key. Arlen could sense the troops readying for their charge and knew he must wait long enough for them to draw the mind demons’ attention, but not enough for them to get fully involved. From their greatward net, they could launch a devastating counteroffensive if they felt their loss of drones was becoming too costly.

Time to be seen, he thought, and dropped into the greatward, instantly materializing behind the mustered Cutters and Wooden Soldiers. He leapt into the air, continuing upward unaffected by gravity until he reached the desired height and stopped there, taking in Hollower and demon both. He cast bright light into the night sky, startling the demons and signalling the attack.

Thamos had insisted on leading the charge. His aura had said it had something to do with Rojer’s wives, but the cause was irrelevant. No words would sway the count, so Arlen wasted none trying.

To one side of the count galloped Captain Gamon, and to the other, Gared Cutter. Gared had never been the most proficient rider, but he’d apparently taken training among the Krasians, and managed to keep his seat even as Rockslide trampled corelings, the magic in his hooves making him wild with power. Gared, too, was drinking in the magic, laying about him with his huge axe. With a single swing, he took the head from a field demon that would have taken the count’s horse out from under him.

Slightly off to the side, Renna paced them easily on Promise. The horse would still not be saddled, but Renna had got the mare to consent to a few warded harnesses to let her keep her seat and add some protection to the wards painted on the horse’s dappled coat.

The cavalry skewered or trampled dozens of field demons, killing few but leaving all dazed and unprepared for the foot soldiers who swept in behind, led by Dug and Merrem Butcher. The pair earned their name as they cut corelings apart with the same practised ease they sectioned a pig.

But then the lightning demons came down, strafing the battlefield with uniform precision, and Arlen knew the nearby mind demon had taken control.

An instant later he was back in the graveyard, performing a second Knowing on the crate to hold in his mind as he carried it down into the greatward, then deeper still, into the crust of the Ala.

All around, paths opened to his senses. Many led to the surface, while others tempted to take him farther down towards the Core, where all the magic in the world flowed from.

He ignored them, focusing on those heading upward. None were truly straight, but some reached the surface quickly, while others drifted for miles before making their way to the open air. He tasted these, sensing where they led. It was easy in the between-state — sending tendrils of himself out to explore while he stayed in one place — but there were thousands of intersecting paths, a maze one could get lost in for a lifetime and more.

Despite the confusion, the demon wards were easy to find after a few moments of concentration. The keyward of their net drew power like a whirlpool, starting at the fangs. He let the current pull him along, and was surprised at its power. For a moment he feared being sucked into it fully, his entire being devoured by the demon warding’s power. He gathered his will and pulled back just in time, finding the closest outlet to the surface and solidifying. Once on the surface he again felt the mind’s presence for an instant, but then his protective wards re-formed and his mind was cut off. He hoped it was too brief for them to notice him in turn. He pulled his personal magic as deep within himself as possible, and drew wards of confusion in the air around him to mask his presence.

He approached the greatward, feeling its power of repulsion. His part-demon nature allowed him to get closer than a normal human might, but he was still kept a good twenty yards from its border. Within, he could see the rock and wood demons working tirelessly to deepen and strengthen the lines. Other corelings patrolled the area.

He placed the crate as close to the fangs as he could, then put a foot on it and shoved hard enough to carry it much of the remaining distance without detonating. He might have thrown it, but he was getting stronger all the time, and didn’t trust his aim. If he overshot, or the crate fell into a trench and didn’t detonate on impact, it would all be for nothing.

The crate skidded to a stop perhaps ten feet from the edge. Close enough. Arlen raised a hand to draw a heat ward.

But then there was a roar, and he turned to see dozens of field demons charging his way. Arlen frowned. Despite his efforts to mask his presence, he obviously could not evade detection fully this close to the demons’ centre of power. The local mind might not have been able to pinpoint him, but it sensed enough to make it worth sending a reap to sweep the area. Whether they saw him or not, there was nowhere to hide on the open ground.

As the first talons reached him, Arlen dematerialized, meaning to let them pass, re-form, and set off the thundersticks before it was too late.

But in the instant he entered the between-state, the local mind was on him.

He felt the pressure of the demon’s will, but Arlen had faced this struggle for dominance before. He gathered his will and struck back, only to run into an impenetrable wall.

The greatward.

Too late, Arlen realized his mistake. The ward was more than just a physical defence and a source of power. It also protected the coreling prince’s mind from unwanted intrusion much as Arlen’s own mind wards did for him.

He threw himself at the barrier again and again, suddenly understanding for the first time in his life precisely how One Arm and the other demons that had tried to claw through Arlen’s Messenger circles over the years must have felt. Angry. Frustrated. Desperate.

Vulnerable.

In that moment of first despair, the demon struck back at him, reaching beyond the wards with no real exposure to himself, like Wonda Cutter standing at the edge of the greatward picking off corelings with her bow.

The coreling prince batted his defences aside effortlessly, seizing control of Arlen’s mind and teaching him how arrogant he had been to think himself a fair match for one of these creatures.

Renna was right. He’d been lucky in the last contest, and even so the demon would have defeated him if not for her. For all he’d learned, he was still a novice at a form of combat the mind demons trained to all their lives.

Arlen pulled all his strength and will together, trying desperately to solidify. If he could do that, his mind wards would activate, and he would only have a few hundred corelings between him and the safety of the Hollow’s wardnet.

Only.

But the mind demon kept his atoms dispersed. Arlen found a path to the Core and tried to flee out of range, but that, too, was in vain. The demon held him fast, forcibly draining the excess magic from him. Even as mist, Arlen discovered he could know pain, and if he’d had voice, he would have screamed as the power was sucked out of him.

He thought the demon meant to kill him then and there, but it relented just before the last of his energy was depleted, leaving him weak as if he had lost too much blood, helpless as he heard the demon in his mind.

A fool, to leave his centre of power and confront us, the coreling thought to the others of its kind.

He must have thought his drones would distract us in their futile assault, another replied.

Fool, the third agreed. Arlen could sense their mental presence drawing closer, adding their own power to the already overwhelming press of his original assailant.

Must get free. He struggled again. Others don’t stand a chance without me.

He fears for his drones! The thought brought amusement from the three minds. How did one such as this defeat one of our brethren?

We shall soon Know. The thought was punctuated by a hunger greater than anything Arlen had ever felt. Knowledge and experience were power to these creatures, and all of them were eager for the feast as they laid open his mind, reading through his thoughts the way Arlen might thumb through a history book.

They walked through his memories, forcing him to relive every powerful experience and sipping his emotions in his moments of deepest pain, weakness and degradation, savouring them like fine Angierian brandy.

Suddenly he was ten years old again, lying on the ground with his arms covering his head as Cobie Fisher literally kicked the piss out of him. Cobie, Gart, and Willum Fisher had taken it in turns kicking him for talking to Willum’s sister Aly, who was twelve. Arlen had secretly shined on her, thinking her kinder than the Fisher boys who regularly tormented him.

But Aly had proven him wrong that day, laughing right along with the others as Arlen gripped his piss-soaked overalls and ran off in tears.

The mind demons held on to that moment, vibrations of pleasure resonating in the air. There is no sweeter taste than humiliation, one thought.

I enjoy rage, another thought, as they watched Arlen take his violent revenge a few weeks later. It is so … primitive.

Arlen felt derision from the demon that held him. Enraging a human is as easy as making a flame drone burn. It is their nature. A more refined taste is anguish.

Suddenly Arlen was eleven, watching again as his father stood frozen behind the porch wards while his mother and Marea were torn to pieces. He tried to scream, but he had neither mouth nor lungs in the between-state.

He felt the demons feeding on his pain, but there was nothing he could do to stop their invasion of his memories. Like children with a bag of honey nuts at the Jongleur’s show, they forced him to relive the night Mery broke with him, riding his shoulders as he wandered the streets of Fort Miln alone at night, raindrops mixing with the tears on his face.

Instead of kicks, the demons tormented him with every secret shame of his life, every failure, every mistake or loss of control. Some were memories that had haunted him all his life, others all but forgotten until the corelings lifted them out of his mind to examine like trinkets in the bazaar.

He was back in Abban’s guest pavilions, trying desperately to pull up his trousers after one of Abban’s unwed daughters ‘accidentally’ walked in on him masturbating. She offered coyly to help, and Arlen did not know what terrified him more, giving his Krasian friend — who had likely orchestrated the event — an excuse to claim offence and force him to take her to wife, or the thought of her laughing at his lack of experience. His erection had vanished in an instant, but in some ways that only made things worse.

He is given a chance to mate and fails, a demon thought, and Arlen’s shame doubled, feeding the demons further.

They continued to dissect his mind, reaching the point when he and Abban stole the map to the lost city of Anoch Sun from Sharik Hora. The mind demons drank deeply of his guilt over the theft, surprising even Arlen with its depth and intensity. He had rationalized the crime at the time, but it never sat well with him, especially because the crime had led to his finding the Spear of Kaji and starting the world down a road it might not be ready for.

Suddenly the coreling princes became deadly serious, delving deeper into his memories, sifting every sight and sound and smell as he examined the map and made his trek through the desert. When he opened the sarcophagus of Kaji, finding the spear, they hissed in his mind.

We must see the place razed, the local mind thought. There may be other secrets locked there.

Agreed, thought the others.

The more they chattered among themselves, seemingly oblivious — or uncaring — of the fact Arlen could hear them, the more the demons became three distinct entities in his mind. The one at the centre of the net who held him prone was older, stronger, having earned his place in the keyward. The others were not subordinates precisely, but they deferred like young men to a greybeard.

Demon manners, Arlen thought, forgetting the pain for an instant.

The local mind demon sensed his amusement and increased the pressure again, jarring Arlen out of lucidity and back to unembraceable agony as they clawed deeper into his mind, consuming Jardir’s betrayal in the Maze.

If this one’s memories are true, the unifier in the south may not yet understand the full power of the artefacts, the local mind thought.

There was assent. With the unifiers dead, the rest of the stock can be contained. We can leave the cursed surface and return to the mind court triumphant.

Only to have the consort claim the victory as his own, the eldest mind thought.

We should kill this one as soon as we are done Knowing him, the youngest ventured, before the consort can feed on his memories. Arlen could sense the treason in the thought, and for a moment all were silent.

With the Queen about to lay, we must offer the consort no advantage, the eldest agreed.

They resumed stripping his memories like tearing pages from a book. There was understanding when Arlen relived the night he tattooed himself, followed by shock and disbelief when, a few weeks later, he began to eat the flesh of demons.

He is unlike the other unifiers. He steals our power for his own.

By accident only, the eldest thought. The secret will die with him.

They continued to stride through his mind, and again there was a vibration of amusement as they witnessed Arlen’s time in the mud with Leesha. Again this one fails at mating!

There was less amusement as they watched the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow, but neither was there great concern. The coreling princes were taking the humans’ measure and finding them wanting.

But they hissed as they watched Arlen and Renna kill the mind that had come for them last new moon. He felt their rage, and — for just an instant — fear as they watched him scatter the defeated mind’s essence by casting it off a path to the Core.

But the feeling was short-lived. The demons resumed their cold search, watching the events of the last few weeks.

The female knows the secret to power, the local mind thought. She must be killed as well.

Arlen, who had thought his own will broken, suddenly felt the strength to resist again. He struggled against the overwhelming press, not seeming to shift it at all, but it was enough for the mind demons to take note.

He cares about her. There was surprise and amusement at the thought.

His anguish upon her death will be exquisite.

A fitting punishment for the trouble he has caused among the stock.

They probed.

His thoughts say she is out in the night even now …

For a moment the pressure eased as their thoughts turned out through the senses of their drones, searching for a sign of a woman with warded flesh, glowing bright with stolen magic.

Renna! Arlen focused all his strength in that instant, not trying to break free, but only to solidify the barest fingertip. The mind that held him kept him from re-forming enough to render his painted wards, but he managed just enough to draw one in the air. He had only a slight spark of power to give, but a spark was all that was required as the crate of thundersticks detonated.

The night sky lit up in a flash of intense heat. Roaring filled the air and the ground shook as trenches collapsed onto the demons digging them. The wave of pressure splintered trees and crumpled field demons like wads of paper.

Trapped by the will of his captors, Arlen was caught in the blast, though it could not harm him in his ethereal state. He tried to ignore the distraction, waiting for what seemed an eternity, but a moment later the link among the demons shattered along with their wardnet.

In that instant of shock, Arlen broke free of the mind that held him and fled down the nearest path. He felt the pull of the Hollow’s wardnet and in an eyeblink was there, Drawing magic like a drowning man breaking the surface would gasp air. Strength washed over him, driving away the pain and despair, but Arlen wasted no time enjoying it. Immediately he leapt skyward, seeking his former captor.

The mind demon, still reeling in shock from the loss of its greatward, was easily spotted by his power — a beacon in the night. His brothers had never left their own greatwards and remained safe, but deferential though they might have been to the elder mind when the odds were in their favour, Arlen knew the demons would not risk themselves to help him. Altruism was as alien a concept to them as love.

The elder mind demon’s mimic, in the form of a gigantic field demon, was loping towards its master at incredible speed, but wasn’t there to protect it yet. Arlen Drew hard on the Hollow wardnet, tracing heat and impact wards to send a huge blast of magic at the coreling prince. It had none of the subtlety of their assault upon him, but subtlety was not needed here.

The demon saw the attack coming and dematerialized with the speed of thought, but the magic travelled faster than thought and he was still mostly solid when the blast struck, killing both mimic and mind.

As before, the death scream of the mind demon sent psychic waves through the air more potent than any crate of thundersticks. Drones for more than a mile in every direction dropped dead from the shock of it, and even Arlen put his hands to his head to try to massage out the pain.

The other minds must have felt it, too, for the demons fighting the Hollowers, while not killed, fell into disarray. Arlen looked at his people and realized the price of his arrogance. In the minutes he had been trapped, the organized drones had taken a heavy toll.

Boulders and tree trunks lay scattered about the field amid the broken bodies of dozens of men and horses. There was no sign of Captain Gamon, and Thamos, his armour spattered with ichor, had lost his horse and was fighting spear and shield against a rock demon. Promise ran free, trampling field demons into the ground as Renna fought at his side.

Gared had kept his seat, but Rockslide now had Dug Butcher slung unconscious across his back as well. The Hollowers had killed their share, but the Core could spew an endless stream, whereas every human life was precious and irreplaceable if they hoped to win.

The sight of the dead and wounded filled Arlen with anger and he Drew again, ignoring the burning in his skin as he sent a blast of power into a knot of field demons, clearing a path back to safety.

‘Retreat,’ he called, sending his voice far and wide. ‘Keep your heads, but move back to the greatward quick as you can. Work’s done for now.’

Twice more he drew wards of heat and impact, incinerating groups of demons to help his people back to safety. He used the same wards Leesha used to pull moisture from the air to water her garden to drown a pack of flame demons that tried to give chase. They fell to the ground, steaming and writhing as they gurgled water, glowing eyes going dark.

When the Hollowers were safe, Arlen turned to the stockpiles of boulders and trees the corelings had built, pulling more and more power as he began destroying them.

He Drew so hard, the entire wardnet began to flicker and dim. Arlen’s throat and nose were on fire like he had eaten a handful of Krasian firepeppers. His muscles ached and his fingernails grew hot. His eyes were dry and stung when he blinked.

But there were stockpiles still, so he pulled yet more, until suddenly everything went black, and he felt himself falling.

Forgot to breathe again, he thought just before he hit the ground.