The Core

  “Please,” Gaims said. “Can’t just let him die. Woron and I been together fifteen years now.”

  “Perhaps we can use hora magic,” Elissa said.

  Gaims gaped. “Honest word?”

  Elissa nodded and Gaims forgot himself, wrapping her in a hug. “Creator bless you, Mother!”

  Ragen cleared his throat, and the guard backed away quickly. Ragen leaned in so only she could hear. “Are you sure you’re not giving the man false hope?”

  “False hope is better than none at all.” Elissa pulled out the grimoire of healing ward circles they were given at Gatherers’ Academy.

  “If we yank that spear out and mix up our lessons, he’s going to die,” Ragen said.

  “He’s going to die anyway,” Elissa said. “Along with the rest of us, if we can’t find a way to get these men on their feet.”

  They covered the windows, then cut Lieutenant Woron’s clothes and armor away. Ragen detached the bayonet from the barrel of the mountain spear, leaving the blade in as Elissa cleaned the skin around the wound.

  She set the book open in front of her and took her silver stylus, drawing each ward with precision as she worked her way around the entry and exit wounds. She imparted only a trickle of magic from the nib until the circles were complete.

  “Ready?” Ragen asked.

  “No,” Elissa said, “but yes.”

  “Hold him still,” Ragen told Gaims and yanked the bayonet out.

  The moment the blade pulled free, Elissa opened the nib of her stylus and fed power into the circles. They glowed and seemed to swirl around the wounds, the wards drawing hungrily at the stylus’ magic. Before long the item had nothing left to give and the wards faded, leaving an angry scar.

  “Incredible.” Strength returned to Woron’s voice.

  “Don’t…!” Gaims said, but he steadied Woron as he grit his teeth and rose.

  “Thank you, Mother Elissa,” Woron said.

  “You’re welcome, Lieutenant.” Elissa slipped hora stones into a silver box and slipped the nib of her stylus into a slot, activating a Draw to refill the item’s reservoir. “Now let’s see about getting the rest of your men on their feet.”

  —

  Elissa could hear Keerin tuning his lute as she climbed into the watchtower. It was nearing dusk, and she had depleted much of the hora they brought from the Hollow, but all twenty of the station guards were again contributing to the defense.

  “Master Keerin, how are you feeling?”

  “Wretched, if I’m to give honest word,” Keerin said.

  “It’s going to be another long night, I’m afraid.” Elissa looked out from the watchtower to the men and women moving about the walls and yard.

  “I’m no stranger to sleeping through days and performing at night.” Keerin rubbed at his bandaged fingertips. “You can count on me to do my part.”

  “I never doubted it,” Elissa said. “Last night was the performance of a lifetime, but you must outdo yourself tonight.” She produced a thin piece of demon bone etched with sound wards and slipped it into the sound hole of Keerin’s lute.

  “Is that…” Keerin began.

  “Ay,” Elissa cut in. “Do not expose it to sunlight. It will lose its charge, and likely burst into flame.”

  Keerin gaped, looking at the lute like a loved one. “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

  “We’re all taking risks tonight, Keerin.” Elissa handed the Jongleur a velvet pouch. “So you remember to fish it out and tuck it in here before sunup. Now play.”

  Keerin strummed the instrument, and the sound shook the very air. He nearly dropped his precious instrument in surprise, and Elissa had to cover her ears.

  “I have some wax,” Elissa said, “to plug our ears while you play.”

  “Our?” Keerin asked.

  “Of course.” Elissa took out her stylus. “Someone has to keep you safe.”

  —

  The repaired wardnet forced the demons to rise outside the walls, and the Mountain Spears opened fire as they did. Ragen warded many of the rounds personally, watching with satisfaction as they flared on impact. The lesser demons put down did not heal as they had the night before.

  Even rock demons avoided concentrated fire. They could only throw at a third the range of the flamework weapons, and learned quickly they could not survive long in the kill zone.

  Those demons quick or lucky enough to get past the missile fire were turned back by Keerin’s music. For hours, they held a stalemate with the corelings.

  But then a rock demon came charging into range, moving too quickly for the Mountain Spears to track. More shots than not missed the mark, and Ragen saw the great stone clutched in the crook of its arm like a tackleball.

  He raised his silver stylus, but Elissa beat him to it. There was a flare of magic from the tower, and the ground exploded at the demon’s feet, tripping it. The rock demon tumbled hard into the ground, the stone falling harmlessly from its grip.

  “Now, while it’s prone!” Ragen cried, but the Mountain Spears knew their work, concentrating fire on the demon’s head and chest. The demon tried to claw its way back out of reach but soon kicked its last.

  “Mother Elissa!” Ragen cried, and the men gave a cheer.

  Another rock demon rushed the wall with a huge stone held overhead. This time Ragen was quicker, drawing a deft rock ward in its path. The demon struck the ward like a man running full-speed into a wall. Magic flared at the powerful impact, and the demon was knocked onto its back, the heavy stone landing hard on its head.

  “Ha!” Ragen heard Elissa laugh from the tower. “Guildmaster Ragen!” The men cheered.

  “Next one’s mine!” Derek called, and Ragen began to hope they might last the night without close fighting.

  But the next one proved to be six, and it was all the three of them could do to halt the onslaught. Their script, so smooth and precise before, became sloppy and desperate, trying to keep up.

  Stones began to breach the defenses. Some smashed into the wall, and others arched over it into the yard, but Ragen quickly saw they were concentrating fire. He drew a sound ward. “Abandon the watchtower!”

  Keerin’s music cut off abruptly, and a moment later a stone smashed into the top of the tower. “Elissa!” Ragen screamed, but there was no reply. Had they made the stairs in time?

  Ragen and Derek warded with new desperation, knocking away some stones before they struck, but another slipped through, hitting the base of the tower. The structure seemed to fold on itself, and collapsed.

  Ragen screamed a mindless fury, drawing heat and impact wards that exploded in the demon ranks, but the enemy was moving in unison, charging the walls now that the music had stopped. So many that the protections overloaded and the demons pushed through, climbing the walls and squeezing through the breaches.

  Ragen was almost glad to have to abandon his stylus for his spear and his shield. Rage gave him power as he skewered, kicked, or shield-bashed any demon that showed its face over the walltop.

  All along the wall, Mountain Spears lost time to reload and resorted to bayonet fighting, bolstered by Ragen, Derek, and the Cutter women.

  In the yard, Yon led men with axes to hold one of the breaches. Woron and a group of Mountain Spears held another. There was blood and ichor in equal measure, but the corelings had the numbers, and Ragen knew it was only a matter of time.

  An explosion in the yard caught Ragen’s attention, and he feared flame demons had gotten into the ammunition bunker. He saw instead a smoking hole in the rubble of the tower, and Keerin emerged. His head was wrapped in a bloody bandage, but he began to play, and the demons in the yard screamed.

  Elissa emerged at the Jongleur’s back, stylus aglow, and Ragen breathed for what felt like the first time since the tower fell.

  —

  “We can’t keep that up night after night.” Lieutenant Woron was pale and sweating.

  “We won’t,” Ragen said. “At dawn, we head to the next station.”
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  “And if the demons have hit that one, too?” Derek asked.

  “Then we keep moving,” Ragen said. “I won’t be trapped like a nightwolf in its den.”

  Woron nodded. “I’ll give the order to my men to load as much ammunition and supply as we can carry.” He got to his feet but grimaced and clutched at his side. Gaims hurried to support him.

  “Were you wounded in the fighting?” Elissa asked.

  Woron shook his head. “Not done healing, I suppose. I can still feel the bayonet.”

  “Let me have a look,” Elissa said, and the lieutenant opened his breastplate and lifted his shirt. Woron’s abdomen was distended, the scar angry and red, but it had not ruptured. It was nothing like the complete healings she had seen the Hollow Gatherers perform, but she had only studied with them a few weeks. She painted a fresh set of wards and fed them from her stylus, easing the swelling. “Rest as you can today.”

  Woron nodded. “Thank you, Mother.”

  Again Keerin crawled into the hora wagon and collapsed at dawn, but not without the Cutters and Mountain Spears raising a cheer. Elissa caught a hint of smile on his face before he disappeared behind the curtains.

  Their company was doubled in size, but fear lent them speed, and they made the next station by midday.

  This time, the demons had left no survivors, shattering the walls and tearing up the cobbles in the yard so they could rise inside the station when the sun set.

  They pushed on instead of trying to hold the walls.

  —

  There were a dozen way stations between Riverbridge and Harden’s Grove. The demons struck six, those farthest from the cities and hope of succor. Sometimes there were survivors and sometimes not. Ragen and Elissa’s company swelled to five times its original size, grouped close at night to shelter within the sound of Keerin’s lute.

  The first nights he simply held the demons at bay, but as he became more accustomed to Halfgrip’s music, Keerin’s powers grew. Soon he was playing from horseback, cloaking their party like wards of unsight as they rode on through the night, eventually losing the pursuit.

  The way stations closest to the city were intact, oblivious to the attacks. Even with Woron and other officers giving testimony, the commanders refused to abandon their posts without orders.

  Ragen left them with warnings and kept his company moving until they came to the town of Harden’s Grove.

  “Night,” Yon spat over the side of his saddle. “I could step right over that wall.”

  It was an exaggeration, but not by much. Harden’s Grove was a close-knit farming community. Its five hundred residents were divided into several large families, their farmhouses clustered together behind a five-foot stone wall set with tall wardposts.

  Each family tended the plots of land behind their houses, forming an outer ring to the town, protected by an even lower wall, again set with wardposts at regular intervals. Ragen could see the posts standing in neat, even rows throughout the fields, protecting them from wind demons.

  “On a clear day you can see all the way to Miln.” Ragen pointed at the mountains, where the great walls of Miln were tiny in the distance. “I’ve been to the Grove a hundred times. There are good folk here, even if you could search all day and not find two who aren’t related.”

  It was odd, hearing an old man’s cackle from Yon’s young lips. “Ay, know what that’s like! Any o’ their ladies need new trees planted, send ’em my way.”

  Amon Grove, who had been Speaker for Harden’s Grove since Ragen’s Messenger days, was waiting for them at the gates. He leaned on a rake he hadn’t pulled in years, hands spotted and shaking, but his mind still sharp.

  Amon was no more receptive than the station officers. “Harden’s Grove has stood for a hundred years, Ragen. We’re not going to abandon everything we’ve built over some demon attacks a week’s ride to the south.”

  “Then check your wards three times, Speaker,” Ragen said, “and the Creator watch over you.”

  Amon nodded. “And you.”

  —

  Keerin looked skeletal by the time they reached the city. There were great dark circles around his sunken eyes, and his hair hung in limp tangles. His motley was scorched, bloodstained, and torn.

  Few of them were without some wound. One of Yon’s arms was textured like melted wax after taking a splash of firespit. Lary Cutter walked with a limp. Cal Cutter lost an eye, and his wife, Nona, part of her foot. Even Elissa had three lines across her chest, the remains of demon talons that nearly laid her open.

  But it was Woron who worried them the most. He was passing blood in his urine and stool, abdomen distended again. He looked more haggard than Keerin. Ragen glanced at the lieutenant and the man noticed, nodding in return. Then his eyes rolled back and he fell from his horse.

  Ragen leapt from Twilight Dancer’s back, checking the man’s pulse. He was alive, but weak. “Take him back to the manse and summon a Gatherer,” Ragen told Elissa. “I’ll go to the palace and give our report to the duke.”

  Keerin shook his head. “Go home and rest. I am royal herald. Time I started acting like it. I’ll give first report to His Grace.”

  Ragen smiled. “Time to tell everyone of your heroism.”

  Keerin shook his head. “I’m through claiming more than my due. Without Halfgrip’s music and Mother Elissa’s hora stone, I would have been worthless. And without the Cutters and Mountain Spears buying me time with their lives, it would have made little difference.”

  Ragen looked at him, hardly recognizing the man as the one he had ridden to Tibbet’s Brook with, all those years ago. “Are you certain you wish to go alone? Euchor may not be pleased…”

  “After this past week, there is little His Grace can do to frighten me.” Keerin put out a hand, but Ragen clasped his wrist, pulling him in for an embrace.

  “Creator bless you,” Elissa said, hugging the Jongleur next.

  “Made Halfgrip’s spirit proud,” Yon said, slapping the Jongleur on the back so hard he coughed. “Doubt Rojer could’ve done much better himself.”

  “Yes. Well.” Keerin nodded to the others and kicked his horse, riding for the palace with their contingent of Mountain Spears as Ragen led the Hollowers up the hill toward his great walled manse.

  “Night.” Yon’s voice was awed. “This is where ya live? It’s big as Mistress Leesha’s keep.”

  “Bigger.” The wall around Ragen’s manse was fifteen feet tall and reinforced with warded glass, sheltering great gardens, Warders and smiths, Servants’ housing, and stores enough to last a month.

  But even as Ragen looked it over, he knew it wouldn’t be enough, if Arlen’s predictions came to pass.

  “Mother! Father!” The Servants were pouring into the yard, but the children left them all behind, sprinting from the house as if there were flame demons on their heels.

  Ragen’s throat tightened at the sight. He and Elissa had been in near-constant danger in the months they were away, but he had taken solace that his children were safe, never allowing himself to question for a moment that belief. Now, seeing them full of energy and joy, he was overwhelmed with the months of worry he had bottled away.

  Ragen barely had time to dismount before Marya, not yet ten and already as beautiful as her mother, leapt into his arms. He laughed, crushing her to him until she squealed. As he loosened his grip, she tightened hers in response, and suddenly his legs felt like water and he dropped to one knee, weeping as he held her to him. The last nine months apart from his children had been an eternity for him. What must it have been like for them?

  Little Arlen, who had turned six while they were away, was hopping up and down as Elissa swung from her saddle. He scampered up her leg and into her arms like a rodent, burrowing into her bosom as she, too, held him close and began to weep.

  “We’re safe,” he murmured to Marya. “And I swear by the sun, we’re going to stay that way.”

  The rest of the household stayed back, giving them space f
or this moment. Mother Margrit took over the scene, putting the stable hands to work taking the animals and welcoming their guests.

  “Send for Gatherers,” Ragen called to her. “The best. Our escort will stay as our guests.”

  Margrit nodded, sending runners. The big woman came over to them just as the children relaxed their grips and slid to the ground, only to sweep Ragen and Elissa both into a crushing embrace.

  “Thank the Creator you’ve returned,” she whispered.

  —

  “I don’t know how the wound healed so fully with bleeding still inside.” Mistress Anet tied off the last stitch in the long line on Woron’s abdomen. “I had to cut into the scar tissue and repair the damage underneath. He’s lucky to be alive.” Woron remained unconscious, kept under by fumes pumped into a mask over his nose and mouth.

  Elissa wrung her hands. “It’s my fault.”

  “Nonsense. How can that be?” Anet was headmistress of the Gatherers’ School, perhaps the finest Herb Gatherer in Miln. Accustomed to tending Royals and the wealthy, she was not drawn from the Library campus easily, but there was prestige as well as coin in a visit to the guildmaster’s manse.

  “I used demon bone to close the wound,” Elissa said. “I thought the magic would heal the damage beneath.” The Gatherer looked at her as if she were insane, but Elissa was wealthy and of royal blood, two qualities known to foster eccentricity.

  “Bandage.” The old woman left her apprentices to dress the wound as she went to the basin and began scrubbing blood from her hands and forearms. A line of red streaked her otherwise spotless white apron.

  “Well whatever happened, he should recover, given time. He shouldn’t leave his bed for a few weeks, and it may be months before he can walk any distance.”

  The tolerant tone irritated Elissa. She hadn’t spent the last week fighting for her life to be spoken down to by a woman who had likely never seen a coreling outside a book. “That will not do.”

  The old woman looked as if she was losing patience, but Elissa did not give her time to respond, taking the silver stylus from her belt. “No doubt you’ve heard of the effect feedback magic has on men and women who fight demons.”