The Core

  Then one tentacle, appearing from the midst of half a dozen just like it, folded back at the last instant to produce a hidden stone. The rock shattered against Jardir’s brow, knocking the crown from his head. It flew through the air, clattering to the tunnel floor several feet back.

  The instant the item slipped free, the demon’s attacks ceased. Tentacles retracted and the mimic leapt, shifting in midair to a large field demon. It hit the ground running, racing down the tunnel.

  Jardir glanced at the crown, but there was no time to retrieve it. He lifted his spear and took off after the demon.

  Renna shook herself, focusing magic to strengthen her stride as she gripped her knife and bolted after them.

  Jardir was gaining on the demon, and she on him, when a tentacle extended from the demon’s back, drawing a ward in the air. There was an explosion, and the tunnel ahead collapsed. Renna lost sight of Jardir, unsure if the falling stone had missed him or buried him alive.

  “Ahmann!” She was surprised at the passion in her voice. She stuck her knife in its sheath, coughing at the falling dust, but did not hesitate to reach for the nearest stone and tear it away. And the stone after that, and the one after that. But with every stone, her fears grew. The demon’s magic was precise. Even with her strength it would take too long to dig through.

  Shanjat and Shanvah were likely dead, and perhaps Arlen with them. Was Jardir buried under all this stone? Was she the last one left alive?

  “Sorry, love.” She put a hand on her belly as she prepared to dissipate. “Whole world’s countin’ on us.” It was just a short hop through the rubble. Too quick to pull her down to the Core.

  She hoped.

  “Ren, wait!” Arlen caught her arm, and relief flooded her. He held the Crown of Kaji gripped in his fist. “I’ll go after him. Shanvah’s alive, but she ent gonna be for long. Do what you can and I’ll be back.”

  “You better be!” she screamed, but he was already mist, flowing through the barrier.

  Renna hesitated. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to follow, to help Arlen. But the babe was shifting in her belly, and Shanvah’s aura was dim and flickering.

  Gotta trust him to save himself. Like he done for me.

  Renna rushed over to Shanvah, laying the young woman flat as she pulled magic through her and Read it. There were breaks and bleeding everywhere—it was a miracle she had lasted so long.

  “I…” Shanvah gasped.

  “Don’t try’n talk,” Renna said.

  “I am…” Shanvah breathed again, “ready for the…lonely…path…”

  Renna spat. “Core, you are. Got work to do, girl. Dyin’ ent no excuse for shirkin’ chores.”

  Renna wished she had a Gatherer’s training, or Arlen’s skill at healing magic, but there was no time for lament. Power rushed into her as she Drew, holding Shanvah’s hand as she extended her magic into the Sharum’ting.

  Her hands worked along with the power, massaging bones and flesh back into place as infusions of magic sped the body’s healing. She focused on Shanvah’s chest first, securing her heart and lungs, then repaired the fractures in her skull, drained the swelling from her brain.

  She worked outward from there, losing track of time as she worked. She blinked, eyes dry and burning, and knew it was time to stop. She had seen how healing drained Arlen. If she weakened herself too much…

  Shanvah’s eyes were closed, but she was breathing comfortably now, her broken body whole, if still weak. Renna drew back, still holding an excess of power despite the burn that was beginning to seep into her muscles. At any moment, Arlen, Jardir, or a thousand demons could burst through that cave-in.

  She waited long, tense moments, straining her senses, but there was nothing, no sign of life up ahead.

  A wheezing startled her, and she whirled, knife in hand, to find Shanjat, lying exactly where she had left him in the struggle. With no one to tell him to rise, the warrior would lie there until he died.

  It wouldn’t be long. Renna’s punch had shattered his sternum, and his hand was a crumpled ruin. The mind had been heedless of Shanjat’s injuries, interested only in escape.

  She could save him, even now. His injuries were not as extensive as Shanvah’s. But to what end? Jardir at a dizzying height of power had not been able to fix the man. If Arlen did not return with the demon, then what use was Shanjat? And if Arlen did bring Alagai Ka back, would it only give the demon another chance to use Shanjat to escape? To try to kill her child?

  Renna’s hand found the comforting grip of her knife. Her gaze flicked to Shanvah and found the girl watching her, eyes wide behind her scarf and veil. They locked stares, and no other words were needed.

  Shanvah struggled onto her side, pushing onto an elbow, working a knee under her. “If it must be done, sister, I should be the one to do it.”

  Renna moved to help her, but the girl waved her off. She struggled to her feet, wobbling slightly until she found her balance. A knife of curving glass appeared in her hand, and she stalked forward.

  She stood over her father a long time, then knelt beside him, cradling his head in her lap.

  “Is your soul prepared for the lonely path?” she whispered.

  “Only Everam can judge a soul.” Shanjat’s voice was devoid of emotion.

  Shanvah blinked, pain and confusion in her aura. The question had been rhetorical.

  “Do you wish to go?” Shanvah asked. Renna saw tears in her eyes but made no move to try and catch them. This moment was too private. Again she turned her senses outward. How long had Arlen been gone? Minutes? An hour? More?

  There was no way to tell, and no way to ignore the last words of father and daughter.

  “I no longer wish anything,” Shanjat said in the dull monotone.

  “What would you have wished, before?” Shanvah asked.

  “To serve Shar’Dama Ka, who will deliver us from Nie,” Shanjat said. “To protect my daughter, greater than any son.”

  The words were cold, but Shanvah sobbed, clutching him to her.

  “Sister,” Shanvah begged, and Renna rushed to her side. “I cannot bear this burden. You must…must…”

  Renna gently took the glass knife from Shanvah’s limp hand. Their eyes met, and Renna slid the knife unused back into its hidden sheath in Shanvah’s robe.

  “You heard the man.” Renna ignored the burn as she Drew more power to heal Shanjat. “Dyin’ ent no excuse for shirkin’ chores.”

  —

  It was hours before Renna could clear the rubble enough to squeeze through, but there was no sign of the others on the far side.

  They were buried, woulda been signs, she told herself. Woulda sensed it.

  They were alive. Or had been, when they passed this point. But had the demon killed Jardir? Had Arlen been sucked down into the Core? Was Alagai Ka on his way back right now with an army of demons?

  She climbed back to the chamber where Shanvah and Shanjat lay. Their bodies had been repaired, but food was required for full healing.

  For her, as well. The baby kicked and squirmed as it often did when too much time passed without a meal. She found their packs, producing the bowls Jardir used and filling them with soil, packing it down and smoothing the surface.

  “Sister, what are you doing?” Shanvah asked.

  “Makin’ food,” Renna said.

  “That is one of the most difficult wardings of the dama’ting,” Shanvah warned. “To prepare the holy food and drink incorrectly is said to create a poison that can kill with a single crumb or drop.”

  Renna felt a churning in her gut, but she forced a shrug to her shoulders. “Ent gonna let us starve down here.”

  She drew the wards as she had seen Jardir do so many times. The magic burned as it passed through her, but it seemed to work. The soil in one bowl became steaming couscous, and in the other, clear water.

  Still, she looked at them doubtfully, Shanvah’s warning repeating itself endlessly in her mind. But what alternative was ther
e? Finally she grunted, reaching out.

  “Sister, let me!” Shanvah cried. “You are with child. There is no need to risk two lives. I should taste the food.”

  “What difference does it make?” Renna asked. “If it’s poison, we’re both dead anyway.”

  “If I die you could make for the Spear of Ala,” Shanvah said. “The wards for food and drink remain there, and the temple is secure.”

  “Great,” Renna said. “Fight through Creator only knows how many war dogs to die of old age in some forgotten fort.”

  “Only if the Deliverer does not return,” Shanvah said.

  “Ent waitin’ out the war,” Renna said. “Meant to do that, would’ve stayed home. Got a better reason why I shouldn’t eat the food?”

  “I am more expendable.” Shanjat’s voice was flat as he answered the rhetorical question.

  Renna and Shanvah exchanged a look. At last, Shanvah nodded, taking the tiny bowl, cup, and eating sticks from her pack. She knelt with her father as she had so many times before, and they prayed together before Shanjat, at her command, drained the cup and took up the eating sticks, swallowing a mouthful.

  Renna realized she was holding her breath. She blew it out, and when Shanjat did not drop writhing to the floor, she fell on the food like a demon over a fresh kill.

  Later, refreshed by the food and drink, the three of them shouldered their packs and squeezed through the rubble, following the tunnel down until it came to another cavern. A great hole had been blown in the floor, with a drop of hundreds of feet to a great underground canyon below.

  Had they all fallen through? Was it a trap Arlen or Jardir avoided? A shortcut to the Core? There was no way to know. Renna tried Reading the currents of magic, but there was too much information for her to sort out.

  “Demonshit,” she growled, her legs dangling over the terrifying drop. In addition to the hole, there were several tunnels branching off from here, and she didn’t remember the map they had seen. The only copy was in Arlen’s notebook, gone now, along with her husband. “Even if they didn’t fall, which tunnel leads to the hive?”

  There was a shuffling of feet, and Shanjat began walking away from them. The warrior picked the third tunnel to the left with no hesitation, and began making his way down it.

  Renna and Shanvah met each other’s eyes for a long moment, then turned and followed.

  CHAPTER 36

  SMOKE AND MIST

  334 AR

  Leesha looked back from atop Pestle, seeing her mother holding Olive, receding in the distance. Not for the first time, she wondered if she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

  Wonda noted the movement as Leesha shook her head to banish the thought. “All right, mistress?”

  “I’m fine,” Leesha said. “Just wasting thoughts on death and failure.”

  “Such thoughts are not wasted, mistress,” Micha said. Leesha glanced at the girl, usually so silent it was easy to forget she was there. Even now, she refused to doff her disguise, dressed in common dal’ting robes. She rode sidesaddle behind Kendall, her spears and shield hidden in their baggage.

  “What is there to gain, dwelling on failure?” Leesha asked.

  “My master taught my sisters and I to visualize our deaths every day in meditation,” Micha said. “Glory on alagai talons, murdered in the night, poisoned by a rival. Thrown from a cliff. Pulled under to drown by a water demon. Every possible death we can imagine.”

  “That’s horrid,” Leesha said. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “A Sharum must always be ready to die, mistress,” Micha said. “We keep thoughts of it close to remember to always be prepared, to keep our spirits pure. To know that life is a fleeting gift of Everam, and death comes for us all. Inevera, when the lonely path opens to me, I will walk it without looking back.”

  “There is wisdom in what you say,” Leesha chose her words carefully, “but I prefer to visualize success, and strive to make that vision reality.”

  Micha bowed. “Of course, mistress. We are your instruments. The blade does not question the carver.”

  Leesha blinked. Was that what she had become? A carver of fate? She thought back to her foretellings, and the plans she formed from them. Plans that put thousands of lives in danger for what was never more than a slim chance of success. “Is that all you wish to be? A knife in someone else’s hands?”

  “Better the knife than the wood.” Young Pawl rode beside Kendall and Micha on a nimble pony. “Father always said true power came from working in unison as part of something bigger.”

  Gared was waiting for them as they rode down from Leesha’s keep to Cutter’s Hollow proper, along with Headmistress Darsy, Captain Gamon, and Inquisitor Hayes.

  “Any word from Stela or Franq?” Leesha knew the answer but needed to ask.

  “Ent been sign o’ any of the Warded Children in days,” Gared said. “Camp’s deserted.”

  Wonda spat. “Knew we couldn’t count on ’em.”

  “Don’t need ’em,” Gared said. “Got two hundred lancers, five hundred Cutters, and near ten thousand Hollow Soldiers. Warders and Gatherers, too. Ent nothin’ the demons can throw at us we can’t handle.”

  “Aw, Gar,” Wonda said. “Why’d you have to go and say a thing like that?”

  —

  Angiers was close to a week’s ride by Messenger, but the Hollow Soldiers were on foot and could only march as fast as the supply trains. They sang Keep the Hearthfire Burning to lock their steps in daylight and guard the camp at night.

  But the demons did not attack the first night. Or the second.

  “We’re cutting it too close,” Leesha said over dinner after a week on the road. “Waning is just four nights away.”

  “Makin’ good time,” Gared said. “Trip’s been quiet. Too quiet, you want honest word. Demons been gatherin’ at the edge of Hollow Country for months, but then we walk off the greatward and they just leave us be?”

  “Maybe they weren’t expecting us to advance so aggressively,” Darsy said.

  Minds’re selfish, Leesha remembered Arlen saying. Never in a million years occur to them you might risk your own neck for someone else.

  “Gar’s got a point, mistress,” Wonda said. “You ever know demons not to attack somethin’ right in front of ’em? On new moon, ay, but they been like this a week.”

  “There’s a mimic with them,” Leesha said.

  “So what’re they waitin’ for?” Wonda asked.

  “Rather be fightin’ than waitin’ for it,” Gared said.

  “Well I ent complaining,” Kendall said. “I’ll take waiting over fighting any day.”

  “I expect we’ll all have our fill of fighting soon enough.” Leesha sniffed the air, acrid and thick from cookfires for ten thousand men and women.

  Darsy noticed it, too. She went to the tent flap, and her eyes widened just as cries of alarm began to ring through the camp. “Night.”

  “What is it?” Leesha rushed to the flap, seeing smoke thick in the air, an evil orange glow coming from the woods. “Creator. Gared! They’ve set the woods on fire! Give the order to pull stakes and move before it runs through the camp!”

  Gared was out of the tent in moments barking orders, but Leesha knew it would not be enough. They kept underestimating the cunning of corelings. Why waste drones attacking their forces when a handful of flame demons could do the work with smoke and fire?

  “Darsy, round up as many hora users as you can, and be quick about it.”

  —

  The Hollowers stumbled down the road for half the night.

  Leesha felt dizzy and her lungs burned, but not from smoke. She and the other hora users depleted much of their supply of demon bone creating firebreaks and wind to keep the worst of the smoke and embers away.

  The strain was telling. More than one fainted, and others were forced to stop channeling when the pain became too great. Only Leesha and Darsy managed to keep on, and it was hours before the sun.

&nbs
p; Greasy ash smudged everything, weakening wards up and down the line. Leesha passed a ragged squad of Hollow Soldiers, out of step with their company. Some soldiers still sang Keep the Hearthfire Burning, but choked with smoke and ash, it was hard to keep the beat.

  Kendall worked Rojer’s fiddle instead, using the hora embedded in the chinrest to amplify the sound a hundredfold. She still wore the headscarf Amanvah had given her, and kept the silk veil pulled over her mouth to filter the smoky air.

  “Wind demon!” Wonda raised her bow, loosing an arrow. In an eyeblink she had another nocked and drawn.

  Leesha looked up, seeing the flight of demons descending on them. The lead demon banked, dodging Wonda’s first arrow, and her second. The third struck, and the demon veered off, crashing to the ground beside Kendall’s horse.

  Raising her hora wand, Leesha drew a powerful wind ward that flared in the air as the other wind demons struck it.

  But then Kendall screamed, and Leesha turned to see the wind demon had become a rock, rising before her horse. Before she or Micha could react, the coreling spun and lashed out with its heavy tail, smashing the legs of their horse out from under them. Fiddle and bow fell from Kendall’s grasp as they tumbled to the ground.

  The mimic gave a distinctive cry, and from all around demons rushed out of the smoky haze to attack the road. Some of the wards flared, throwing them back, but many were compromised, and demons penetrated the exhausted ranks of the Hollow Soldiers.

  The ragged squad nearby rushed in to help Leesha and the others, but she didn’t like their chances against a mimic. “Stay back!” she cried as Gared charged the demon.

  The mimic lashed out with an arm that extended to a whipping tentacle, but Gared was ready, hacking the limb free with his machete, never losing speed in his charge. Over his shoulder, Wonda kept firing, heavy wooden arrows thudding into the demon.