The Daylight War

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

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

  ‘Idiot,’ Rojer whispered for her ears only.

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

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

  Gared did, his eyes closed.

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

  ‘Ay,’ Gared said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘Chambers?’ Rojer asked. ‘Servants?’

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

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

  In other words, almost every night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘It’s so light,’ Wonda marvelled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Rojer sighed. This was not going to go well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Amanvah nodded. ‘As it should be.’

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘First War?’ Thamos asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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