The Daylight War

  ‘The roads aren’t warded,’ Renna noted.

  ‘The roads are the ward,’ Arlen said. ‘Or part of one, anyway. After the corelings razed most of the town, we rebuilt even bigger on a plan for a series of interconnected greatwards, like the one the Cutters were clearing up north. Each ring will take longer than the last, but a decade from now no corespawn will be able to set talon anywhere within a hundred miles of the Hollow.’

  ‘That’s … incredible,’ Renna said.

  ‘It will be,’ Arlen agreed. ‘If it can be done while the Core spews forth an army to knock us back into the Age of Ignorance.’

  Even this early, the roads and paths were well travelled with regular folk going about their business. Arlen nodded to some as they passed, but said nothing and never stopped. All of them stared wide-eyed, some even bowing or drawing wards in the air. Almost all dropped whatever they were doing and followed. They kept a respectful pace, but the din grew as numbers increased, and more than once Renna caught the word ‘Deliverer’.

  Arlen seemed to pay it no mind, his face serene as he guided them towards the centre of town.

  There were dozens of homesteads and cottages, all freshly built, and hundreds more under construction. The twists of the greatward left huge swathes of unmolested forest throughout, letting the Hollow retain a simple village feel quite unlike the crete streets, stone walls, and huge buildings of Riverbridge.

  ‘Place almost feels like home,’ Renna said. ‘Like we could turn this corner and see Town Square and Hog’s General Store.’

  Arlen nodded. ‘Here they call it the Corelings’ Graveyard, and it’s Smitt instead of Hog, but you squint a bit, it’s hard to tell the difference. Think maybe it’s why I settled in the Hollow awhile. Wasn’t ready to go home, and this was the next best thing.’

  They turned a corner, and the graveyard came into view. The cobbled central area was much like that of Town Square. At one end stood a stone Holy House that could as easily have been Tender Harral’s on Boggin’s Hill, but it was dwarfed by the foundation being laid around it, hundreds of men digging trenches and hauling stones.

  Arlen stopped short, and for a moment, the serenity left his face. ‘That Angierian Tender din’t waste any time. Looks like he’s building a cathedral to swallow Jona’s Holy House like a frog does a fly.’

  ‘You talk like that’s a bad thing,’ Renna said. ‘Town’s growin’ as much as you say, ent they going to need the extra pews?’

  ‘Reckon,’ Arlen said, but he sounded unconvinced.

  There was a great platform at the far end of the cobbled square with a large stage and a shell to amplify sound. Renna was drawn to the chatter of a huge crowd, but one voice rose above the din. She saw Jow Cutter standing onstage, showing no sign that he had been injured near to death just a few hours before. Renna caught sight of a now familiar set of robes, and saw Tender Hayes standing at the edge of the crowd with one of his acolytes, leaning on his crooked staff and watching with cold eyes.

  ‘Saw Him with my own eyes!’ Jow cried. ‘Woodie laid me clean open, an’ I heard Darsy Gatherer say there wan’t nothing she could do! But then the Painted Man came and waved His hands, and now I barely got a mark on me!’

  ‘Get off that stage, Jow Cutter!’ someone shouted. ‘You may be a fool, but you’re no Jongleur! Spin your tampweed tales somewhere else!’

  ‘Swear by the sun!’ Jow cried, and he held up his torn and bloody jerkin, showing the faded scars where the wood demon had mauled him. When the crowd still looked sceptical, he pointed at a man in the crowd. ‘Evin Cutter, you seen it, too!’

  All eyes turned to Evin, but his great wolfhound bristled, keeping them back.

  ‘Din’t see no magic healing,’ he said after a moment. ‘Leastways not with my two eyes. But ay. The Deliverer’s returned.’

  Arlen groaned, putting his face in his hand as the crowd turned back to Jow with renewed interest.

  ‘Ay!’ Jow cried. ‘The real Deliverer’s come back to bring Mistress Leesha home and put that desert rat down!’ The crowd roared in approval.

  ‘Dumb as a pile of rocks, but he ent all wrong,’ Arlen muttered.

  Just then Jow looked up, seeing Arlen and Renna at the edge of the crowd. ‘There He is!’ he cried, pointing. ‘The Deliverer!’

  Arlen put his hands on his hips as the entire crowd turned to him at once, looking at Jow like a dog that had shit inside the house.

  And then suddenly the crowd closed in, everyone reaching, grabbing. Hundreds of people crushing inward, all shouting at once.

  ‘Deliverer!’

  ‘Bless you!’

  ‘Bless me!’

  ‘I need—!’

  ‘You must—!’

  Renna struggled in the press, even her new strength overwhelmed by the swarm of people. ‘Get back!’ she screamed, but they seemed not to hear, and Renna felt her blood come to a boil, her vision going red as she reached for her knife.

  In that instant, Renna saw a bottle flying through the air at Arlen’s head, but she was in no position to stop it.

  She needn’t have worried. Arlen’s hand moved faster than her eyes could see, snatching the bottle out of the air. Everyone gasped, and a path opened up in the crowd along its trajectory, all those innocent of the deed stepping quickly away to reveal a group of three men glaring at Arlen. Their clothes were patched and threadbare, and there was a hollow look about them that bespoke hard times. They had thrown their bottle, but Renna knew drinkers when she saw them, and knew it could spur all sorts of mean. Again, her hand fell to the handle of Harl’s knife.

  ‘Deliverer!’ one of the men spat on the ground. ‘If you’re the ripping Deliverer, where were you when the Krasians took my daughter?!’

  ‘And my son!’ another shouted.

  ‘And my farm!’ the third added.

  ‘Show some ripping respect,’ Linder Cutter growled, punching the lead man in the face. He went down heavily, and in response the other two tackled the giant Cutter. They struggled back and forth, the men’s legs swinging freely off the ground as they tried to pull Linder down. The man he had punched was shaking his head and struggling to get back to his feet with murder in his eyes.

  ‘Ay, he asked a fair question!’ someone else in the crowd cried, and there were grumblings of assent and argument. Half a dozen Cutters were racing to the scene.

  Arlen was there in an instant, crossing the distance inhumanly fast. ‘Enough!’ He picked the men off Linder by their shirt collars, holding them like insolent children. Linder looked smug until Arlen glared at him as well.

  ‘Next time you punch someone in my name, Linder, I’ll crack your skull.’ Linder suddenly looked his age, the overgrown boy’s face reddening.

  Arlen tossed the other two men aside gently enough for them to land on their feet and reached out to the man on the ground, helping him up. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, but it carried as easily as Jow’s in the sound shell so all could hear.

  ‘Know you’re hurtin’, friend, and I’m sorry for your daughter, but throwing bottles and acting the fool ent helping her, and I’m not the one you ought to be mad at. Never claimed to be the Deliverer. I may be painted up, but I’m just folk like you.’

  ‘But you Delivered the Hollow,’ the man said, almost pleading.

  Arlen shook his head, scanning the crowd as he did. Everyone was quiet, hanging on his words. ‘Didn’t deliver the Hollow. Hollowers did that themselves, bleeding right here on the cobbles under our feet. I threw in when they had a bad patch, ay, but so did Leesha Paper and Rojer Inn. So did Linder and Evin Cutter, and a hundred other folk. Even Jow, though it seems he’s got it in his head to act the fool as well.’ He glanced at Jow, who looked sheepish as he leapt down from the stage.

  Arlen put his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Know what it’s like to lose people. Apt to make you crazy and mad as the Core. But there’s more storms comin’. I’m here to help, but what I do won’t mean spit if I’m doing it alone. It’s your c
hoice if you want to throw in or drink and point fingers, but I don’t owe you any explanations.’

  He turned, taking in the crowd as his voice rose to a boom. ‘Got more useful things to do than rabble-rousing in the Corelings’ Graveyard! Wager that goes for the rest of you, too!’

  Suddenly everyone was studying their feet and muttering about unfinished business. They left in a steady flow.

  Jow Cutter came rushing up to them as Arlen turned to go. ‘I’m sorry. Din’t mean—’

  Arlen cut him off. ‘Ent mad at you, Jow. Had it comin’ for being so mysterious last time and keepin’ to myself.’

  Jow seemed relieved until Arlen raised a finger. ‘But that sound shell is for Tenders and Jongleurs and fiddle wizards, not any fool wants to shout. Don’t want to see you up there again, ’less you’re doing a song and dance. You ent got wood to chop, go ask the Butchers for something to do.’

  Jow nodded eagerly and ran off.

  Renna looked back to where the Inquisitor had stood, but he, too, was gone.

  ‘Place is more like the Brook than I care for,’ Renna said. ‘They gonna stake us, we don’t save them?’

  ‘Everyone needs the fool slapped out of ’em now and again, Ren,’ Arlen said as they led their horses into the stable behind the newly built inn. ‘Times ent been easy, and we can forgive if folk’re a bit excitable. Don’t need to reach for your knife every time.’

  Renna stiffened at that. ‘Din’t know I was that obvious.’

  Arlen shrugged. ‘It’s a big knife.’

  A young man, thin but well muscled, came to take their horses. He took one glance at Twilight Dancer and his gaze snapped to Arlen.

  ‘Ay, Keet, it’s me,’ Arlen said. ‘Know space is tight, but my promised Renna and I need a room for a few weeks.’

  Keet nodded. He quickly stabled the horses and led them through a small side entrance to a mudroom. ‘Wait here while I fetch my da.’

  ‘His da, Smitt, is the innkeeper and Town Speaker,’ Arlen said when he was gone. ‘Good man, you don’t cross him. More honest than Hog, but tough enough, time comes to haggle. His wife, Stefny, ent a bad sort in small doses, but she’s always got a look like she ent been to the outhouse in a week and wants to take it out on any who come too close. Quick to get preachy, too, tellin’ you this and that about how the Creator wants you to live, like someone out of Southwatch.’

  Renna bristled. The Watches had been quick to condemn her to death and call it Creator’s will.

  Moments later a big man, thickly bearded and strong at around sixty summers, came into the mudroom followed by a small, thin woman with grey hair pulled back in a tight bun. Arlen was right about her face. She looked like she’d just eaten a bitter and was ready to spit it out.

  ‘Thank the Creator you’re back,’ Smitt said, after the introductions were made.

  ‘Creator ent got anything to do with it,’ Arlen said. ‘Got business in the Hollow.’

  ‘Creator’s hand is in everything, great and small,’ Stefny said. The edge of a demon scar peeked from the high neck of her dress, and there was a hardness about her that recalled Selia Barren, Speaker of Tibbet’s Brook, who had defended Renna when no one else would. Renna had never met a woman stronger than Selia.

  Without thinking about it, Renna reached out to her, brushing the scar lightly. ‘You fought, didn’t you?’ she asked. ‘When the wards failed last year.’

  The woman’s eyes widened, but she nodded. ‘Couldn’t just stand by.’

  ‘Course not,’ Renna said, squeezing her shoulder. ‘Can’t ask any to do what you ent willing to do yourself.’

  The pinched look left the woman’s face and she smiled. It was an awkward gesture, twisting against the set lines of her face. ‘Come. The inn’s busy, but we keep a couple rooms open for Messengers. Let’s get you settled and put some food in your bellies.’ She turned and led the way up a back stairwell as Arlen and Smitt gaped.

  They had barely settled in their room and finished the breakfast Stefny sent up when there was a knock at the door. Arlen opened it to find one of Tender Hayes’ acolytes – the one who was always at his side.

  He wore only plain sandals and tan robes, his warded surplice reserved for night. His trim brown beard was flecked with grey.

  ‘I am Child Franq, aide to Tender Hayes, High Inquisitor and spiritual advisor to His Highness, Count Thamos of Cutter’s Hollow,’ he said with a minimal bow. ‘Apologies for the interruption, Mr Bales,’ he nodded to Renna, ‘Miss Tanner, but His Holiness was most impressed by your words this morning, and requests the honour of your presence at dinner at six o’clock this evening in the dining hall of the Holy House. Formal dress.’

  He turned to go, but Arlen’s reply checked him before he could leave. ‘You’ll have to extend our regrets.’

  Franq froze for a moment, and when he turned back, he still had a touch of surprise on his face. He gave another shallow bow. ‘You mean to say you have … ah, more important plans on your calendar than seeing His Holiness?’

  Arlen shrugged helplessly. ‘Afraid my calendar is quite full. Perhaps after the new moon.’

  This time, Franq could not hide his incredulity. ‘That … that is your reply to His Holiness?’

  ‘Shall I put it in writing?’ Arlen asked. When Franq did not reply, he strode to the door, taking hold of it pointedly. Franq shuffled out, his face a mix of outrage and shock.

  ‘Ent he a bit old to be a Child?’ Renna asked when she heard his footsteps recede down the hall.

  Arlen nodded. ‘Looked close to forty summers. Tenders usually take orders by thirty even if the council ent found them a flock.’

  ‘So what, he failed the test?’

  Arlen shook his head. ‘Means Hayes is powerful, as Tenders go. So powerful that being a Child and his aide is loftier than tending your own flock. Politics.’ He spat the word.

  ‘Then what’s all this calendar business?’ Renna asked. ‘Din’t seem neighbourly. We just walked into town an hour ago. Ent planned so much as our next privy visit.’

  ‘Don’t care.’ Arlen waved irritably at the door. ‘Corespawned if I’m going to be bullied into a ripping formal dinner just so some Tender can look important. Got no patience for posturing.’

  He dropped his voice to Franq’s low tenor. ‘“… mean to say you have … ah, more important plans than seeing His Holiness?” Bah!’

  ‘Do we have more important plans?’ Renna asked.

  ‘Thought we might spend a few hours knocking our heads against a wall,’ Arlen said. ‘That’s about the same as talkin’ to a Tender. They’ve all got that book memorized, but each one reads it different.’

  ‘Tender Harral from back in the Brook was a good man,’ Renna said. ‘Stood by me when the town was out for my blood.’

  ‘But not in front of you, Ren,’ Arlen said. ‘Best remember that. And Jeorje Watch, who was full of righteous fire at your staking, was a Tender, too.’

  ‘You don’t talk bad about the old Hollow Tender,’ Renna said.

  Arlen shrugged. ‘Jona’s as fool as the rest of them. Maybe more, in some ways. But he always done right by folk. Earned his respect. Hayes ent earned anything.’

  ‘Ent given him much chance,’ Renna noted.

  Arlen was silent a few moments, but at last he grunted. ‘Fine, I’ll send Keet to let him know we found space in our “calendar”. But ent no way we’re goin’ in formal dress.’

  There wasn’t precisely a crowd outside the inn when Arlen and Renna emerged late in the afternoon to head to the Holy House for dinner with Tender Hayes, but there were hundreds of folk milling about the shops and street corners, attempting to look as if they had reason to be there. A frantic buzz began as they caught sight of the pair.

  Renna sighed. It seemed nothing Arlen could say would change the minds of some folk, even those who hung on his every word like it was Canon.

  There had been a steady stream of knocks at their door through the day. Smitt and Stefny did their
best to keep the petitioners from swarming, but they did not deny access to any they deemed important, and there were many of those. The Butchers came with heavy ledgers and rolled maps they spread on the floor, showing their progress in recruiting and clearing land. Dozens of southern hamlets had fled the Krasians as they spread out to overtake Rizon, many of them resettling entirely on their own greatwards in Hollow County. There were six greatwards surrounding the Hollow proper now, though only two, New Rizon and Journey’s End, were fully active. More were still in the early stages.

  A glassblower named Benn brought beautiful warded items for Arlen to inspect, and Kendall had snuck in to talk about Angierian Jongleurs that had arrived with Count Thamos’ caravan.

  ‘Five masters from the Jongleurs’ Guild,’ Kendall said, ‘and a dozen apprentices. Claim they’re here to help Rojer get us better at controlling demons, but they seem more interested in gathering stories about you.’

  And so it went. Warders, Messengers, Herb Gatherers, Speakers from refugee towns; one by one and in pairs, they came and went until Renna thought she might scream.

  Arlen took it better, greeting many as friends and offering suggestions most folk seemed to take as commands. Still, it was a relief to be out of the room, even though it meant weathering the stares of countless eyes as they passed down the street.

  Tender Hayes and Child Franq were waiting for them when they reached the Holy House. Hayes was clad in brown robes, but these were of a finer material than Renna had ever seen apart from her warded cloak. Over this the Tender wore a white chasuble, trimmed with green ivy needlework with a crooked staff stitched in glittering gold in the centre, surrounded by a circle of wards, many of which Renna did not recognize. His stole and skullcap were forest green, embroidered with wards in shining gold thread. His hands glittered with gold rings, one of which held a green stone the size of a cow’s eye.

  Franq, too, was formally outfitted with a green warded skullcap and a white surplice over his tan robe, stitched in green-and-gold thread with the same ivy-and-staff design as Hayes. A gold necklace set with a large red stone hung at his throat.