The Daylight War

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

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

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

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

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

  Six pillars to come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Arlen nodded. ‘Ay.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘You’re a lot like her,’ Thamos said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘Her Grace,’ Thamos corrected.

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

  Thamos frowned, but he took the letter.

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

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

  Leesha shook her head. ‘Of course not.’

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

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

  Thamos shook his head. ‘The Krasians will never take Lakton unless the desert rats suddenly become sailors. T
he Laktonians have port hamlets scattered over hundreds of miles of shoreline to dock for supplies. No force in the world could guard them all, and the crannogs and swamp demons would take a heavy toll if they tried. The Laktonians can turn their ships on a klat, and rain arrows on Docktown or the shores, but the dockmasters are cowards, and will see no gain in taking the fight any farther than the shoreline. A Laktonian off his ship is like a grounded wind demon. No match for anyone.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Beside him, Renna gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Renna touched him. ‘You okay?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘Ay,’ Arlen said.

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

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

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

  Here it comes, Arlen thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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