The Daylight War

  ‘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 dou
bt 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.’