Книга - The Core

The Core
Peter V. Brett


Sunday Times and New York Times bestselling author Peter V. Brett brings one of the most imaginative fantasy sagas of the twenty-first century to an epic close.The war has begun…For time out of mind, bloodthirsty demons have stalked the night, culling the human race to scattered remnants dependent on half-forgotten magics to protect them.Two heroes arose—men as close as brothers, yet divided by bitter betrayal. Arlen Bales became known as the Painted Man, tattooed head-to-toe with powerful magic symbols that enable him to fight demons in hand-to-hand combat—and emerge victorious. Ahmann Jardir, armed with magically warded weapons, called himself the Deliverer, a figure prophesied to unite humanity and lead them to triumph in Sharak Ka—the final war against demonkind.But in their efforts to bring the war to the demons, Arlen and Jardir have set something in motion that may prove the end of everything they hold dear—a Swarm. Now the war is at hand, and humanity cannot hope to win it unless Arlen and Jardir, with the help of Arlen’s wife, Renna, can bend a captured demon prince to their will and force the devious creature to lead them to the Core, where the Mother of Demons breeds an inexhaustible army.Trusting their closest confidantes, Leesha, Inevera, Ragen, and Elissa, to rally the fractious people of the Free Cities and lead them against the Swarm, Arlen, Renna, and Jardir set out on a desperate quest into the darkest depths of evil—from which none of them expects to return alive.























Copyright (#ulink_63d0cccd-1b64-509c-960d-71e2203c56a1)


HarperVoyager

an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2017

Copyright © Peter V. Brett 2017

Cover illustration © Larry Rostant. Demon model by Millenium FX Ltd.

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

Ward artwork designed by Lauren K. Cannon, copyright © Peter V. Brett

Peter V. Brett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007425723

Ebook Edition © September 2017 ISBN: 9780007425747

Version: 2018-09-24




Dedication (#ulink_db91e8ee-3c90-5e3c-91fa-808ffef2b604)


For Sirena Lilith, who is already changing my life in countless ways.


Contents

Cover (#u6e0d4f49-6184-566b-ab3a-1520ae743e8c)

Title Page (#u7c5caf1e-b5e8-5daa-8542-899f4fa97872)

Copyright (#ua203cb58-440c-5a70-89a8-8cf96b304d00)

Dedication (#ubf17bfec-dd4b-5950-bfe8-71cbd84e5f6a)

Map (#u72c3b105-5b5a-5a5d-a17d-dfbe12aee512)

Prologue: Gaolers

Chapter 1: Both (#u0578f131-2042-5abf-ae41-0f2f7d287af5)

Chapter 2: Olive (#u1d100ac8-1280-5698-9edf-80a2af66e89c)

Chapter 3: Countess Paper (#u25cf6779-67e3-558d-9029-85bc5ce54e5e)

Chapter 4: Ragen and Elissa (#u9e817b79-168b-5970-8580-53492911bfe8)

Chapter 5: The Pack (#uc1e25085-66e7-5f04-92ce-98cf2696a81b)

Chapter 6: Everam Is a Lie (#u1b097d32-b8b0-54e3-ad2f-fa22832fd334)

Chapter 7: The Eunuchs (#ua0fe7023-8293-53c1-9dff-702fd2ee1f76)

Chapter 8: Monastery (#udc7403ac-c03b-5853-91f8-6127f8988019)

Chapter 9: The Majah (#udc07155d-a38f-54e7-87e1-c6ee40cc5630)

Chapter 10: Family Matters (#ufac832c7-7b1d-50e5-b5bc-a48fec1aa39b)

Chapter 11: Sorcerers (#u17755790-d181-5a54-8e0d-b6ee762ff503)

Chapter 12: Drained (#u7abfb380-1da1-5595-b000-6725817a70b8)

Chapter 13: The Last Will and Testament of Arlen Bales (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14: Spankin’ (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15: Sisters Return (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16: Beloved (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17: Forest Fortress (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18: Homestead (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19: Hunted (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20: The Escort (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21: Neocounty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22: The Edge of Nie’s Abyss (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23: Sharum’s Lament (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24: First Steps (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25: The Mouth of the Abyss (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26: The Dark Below (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27: Bedfellows (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28: Araine’s Tale (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29: Wolves (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30: Everam’s Reservoir (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31: Harden’s Grove (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 32: Blizzard and Quake (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 33: Evil Gives Birth (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 34: Spear of Ala (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35: Severed (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 36: Smoke and Mist (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 37: Jessa’s Girls (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 38: Sharak Ka (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 39: Whistler’s Mind (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 40: Alamen Fae (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 41: Light of the Mountains (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 42: The Hive (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 43: The Core (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 44: Born in Darkness (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 45: The Pact (#litres_trial_promo)

Ward Grimoire (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Map (#ulink_c23f3758-4856-52f6-8581-517d72e6e005)

















Prologue (#ub52cfb92-6edb-5787-96ed-d371393f7a96)

Gaolers (#ub52cfb92-6edb-5787-96ed-d371393f7a96)

334 AR


‘There will be swarm.’

Alagai Ka, the demon Consort, spoke with the lips of the human drone, the one they called Shanjat. The Consort lay bound within a circle of power, but he had shattered one of the locks and taken the drone before his captors could react.

His will crushed, Shanjat was little more than a puppet now, and the Consort took pleasure in the pain that caused his captors. He shifted the drone’s feet, getting a sense of the body. Not as useful as a mimic, but strong, armed with the primitive weapons of the surface stock and an emotional connection to his captors the Consort could exploit.

‘What in the Core is that supposed to mean?’ the Explorer demanded. The one the others called Arlen or Par’chin. He held influence over the others, but it was not true dominance.

The Consort accessed the drone’s language centre, growing in fluency with the primitive grunts that passed for communication among humans. ‘The queen is close to laying.’

The Explorer met the drone’s eyes and crossed his arms. The wards inked into his flesh throbbed with power. ‘Know that. What’s it got to do with a swarm?’

‘You have imprisoned me and killed my strongest brethren,’ the Consort said. ‘There are none left in the mind court with power enough to keep the young queens from draining their mother of magic and maturing.’

The Explorer shrugged. ‘Queens’ll kill each other, won’t they? Right there in the whelping room, with the strongest one taking over the hive. Better a hatchling queen than a fully matured one.’

The Consort kept the drone’s eyes fixed on the Explorer as he watched the auras of the others in the room with his own eyes.

Armed with the cloak and spear and crown of the Mind Killer, the Heir – the one called Jardir – was easily the most dangerous. Chained in a warding circle, the Consort had few options if the Heir decided to kill him, and the subjugation of Shanjat enraged the Heir beyond measure.

But the Heir’s aura betrayed him. Much as he wanted to kill the Consort, he needed him alive.

More interesting was the web of emotions connecting the Heir to the Explorer. Love and hate, rivalry and respect. Anger. Guilt. It was a heady mix, and the Consort took pleasure as he studied it. The Heir was impatient for information. There was much the Explorer had not told him, and irritation crackled along his aura at having to follow another’s lead.

Less predictable was the Hunter, the one called Renna. The fierce female was hot with stolen core magic, her flesh stained with wards of power. She was less skilled in the use of her power, apt to lash out unless kept in check. She was tamped down, weapon in hand, ready to spring at the first break in the stalemate.

The last was a female drone, Shanvah. Like the puppet, she had no great magic about her. If she had not killed a demon prince with her weapons, the Consort would have dismissed her as irrelevant.

But while Shanvah was the weakest of his captors, her aura was exquisite. The puppet was her sire. Her will was strong, keeping her surface aura still, but beneath, her spirit was wracked with pain. The Consort would savour the memory of it when he sliced open her skull and bit into the soft meat of her mind.

The Consort made the puppet laugh, keeping the humans’ attention on the drone instead of him. ‘The young queens won’t have a chance to fight. With none of my brethren strong enough to dominate the others, each will steal an egg and flee.’

The Explorer paused at that, understanding dawning. ‘Start nests all over Thesa.’

‘No doubt it has already begun.’ He made the puppet wave its spear, and predictably the eyes of the humans followed. ‘You doom your own kind, keeping me here.’

Delicately, the Consort shifted its chains, probing for a weakness. The wards etched into the metal burned, pulling at his magic, but the Consort kept a tight grip on his power. Already he had shattered one of the locks and freed a limb. If he could break another, the puppet might disable the circles enough for the Consort to escape.

‘How many minds are left in the hive?’ the Explorer demanded. ‘We killed seven so far, not counting you. Reckon that ent nothing.’

‘In the hive?’ the Consort asked. ‘None, by now. No doubt they have already divided the breeding grounds and seek to pacify their new territories before the laying.’

‘Breeding grounds?’ the Hunter asked.

The puppet smiled. ‘The people of your Free Cities will soon find their walls and wards less secure than they have been led to believe.’

‘Bold words, Alagai Ka,’ the Heir said, ‘as you lie bound before us.’

The Consort found what he sought, at last. The tiny flaw in one of the locks, eroded slowly over the months of his imprisonment. Breaking it would allow the demon to slip the chain, but the power required would be bright, and his captors might notice before it was done.

‘You were allowed your breeding grounds against this time.’ The puppet took a step to the side, and their eyes went with it. ‘Hunting preserves for my brethren. They will take their drones and crack your walls like eggs, stocking their larders to satiate their hatchling queens.’

‘And doom for Ala grow in their wombs,’ the Heir said. ‘We must not allow this.’

‘Free me,’ the Consort said.

‘Not a chance,’ the Explorer growled.

‘It is your only real choice,’ the Consort said. ‘My return can still prevent swarm.’

‘You are the Prince of Lies,’ the Heir said. ‘We are not fools enough to trust your words. There is another choice. We will go to the abyss and kill Alagai’ting Ka once and for all.’

‘You claim not to be fools,’ the Consort said, ‘yet you believe you can survive the path to the hive? You will not even get as far as Kavri before he broke and fled back to the surface.’

The words had the intended effect as the Heir stiffened, tightening his grip on the spear. ‘More lies. Kaji defeated you.’

‘Kavri killed many drones,’ the Consort said. ‘Many princes. It took centuries to repopulate the hive, but his attempts to breach our domain failed. That is the best your kind can hope for. This is not the first cycle, nor shall it be the last.’

‘Said you’d guide us to the Core,’ the Explorer said.

‘You might as well ask to go to the surface of the day star,’ the Consort said. ‘You would be consumed long before you reached it. You know this.’

‘To the hive, then,’ the Explorer said. ‘The mind court. The ripping whelping room of the demon queen.’

‘That will destroy you, as well.’ The Consort edged the puppet another step.

‘Take our chances,’ the Hunter said.

At last, they were in position. The puppet raised its spear and threw it at the Explorer’s heart. As expected, he dissipated and it passed harmlessly through, flying straight at the Heir, who spun his weapon to bat it aside.

The puppet flung the shield with all its strength, the hard edge shattering one of the wardstones keeping the Consort imprisoned. The Hunter was moving fast to attack, but the female drone gave a cry, blocking the Hunter’s path to her sire.

It was time enough for the puppet to turn, taking the warded chain in hand as the Consort focused a burst of magic to shatter the weakened link. Like a spider picking apart a damaged web, the puppet unwove the chain. The silver wards burned the Consort’s skin, but the pain was a small price to pay for freedom.

He flicked a claw, using a burst of magic to fling a tiny piece of the shattered metal link through the air, striking the Heir’s crown and knocking it from his head, preventing him from raising the shield that had first trapped the Consort.

The Hunter cast the female drone aside, leaping to try to stop the puppet, but it was too late. The Consort dissipated even as she swung her weapons, leaving solid only a single claw to lay open her bowels as they passed. He slipped through the gap the puppet had made in the circle, rematerializing at the edge of the outer warding.

The Explorer rushed to his mate as she gasped, trying desperately to keep her intestines from spilling onto the floor. The Hunter did not have the focus to dissipate and heal herself, and the Explorer would waste valuable time and power healing her.

The Consort drew an impact ward in the air, and the stones at the Heir’s feet exploded, sending him stumbling as he scrambled for his crown. The puppet kicked the crown across the room, then attacked to stall the Heir just a few seconds more.

Turning, the Consort raised the stub of his tail, sending a spray of magic-dead faeces to disable the wards.

He was about to dissipate again when the Heir cried, ‘Enough!’ He slammed the butt of his spear to the floor, and a wave of magic knocked everyone from their feet. The Consort recovered quickly, dematerializing and moving for the gap in the wards, but not before the Explorer threw magic of his own, pulling back a curtain to cast dawn twilight over the gap in the wards. The day star had not yet crested the horizon, but already the light burned at his magic – unspeakable agony. The demon dare not approach.

The Hunter dissipated, re-forming with her wounds healed. She and the Explorer drew wardings in the air with practised hands, sending shocks of pain through the demon’s cloud even as he fled the light. In his non-corporeal form, the Consort could not control the puppet, and the female drone quickly put him in a submission hold. The Heir recovered his crown, raising the shield, trapping the Consort once more.

There was no choice but to surrender and negotiate. They still needed him alive. The Consort solidified, claws retracted and teeth covered, arms held high in the human sign of submission.

The Hunter struck him hard in the side of his head, impact wards rattling his skull. She was impulsive. The others would be more restrained.

But as the Consort rolled with the blow, the Explorer struck him from the opposite side, cracking his skull and bursting an eye from its socket.

The demon stumbled, only to take a third blow from the shaft of the Heir’s spear, striking harder than a rock drone.

The beating continued, and the Consort thought surely they would kill him in their primitive savagery. He attempted to dissipate, but like the Hunter moments before, he found it impossible to focus enough to trigger the transformation.

Then it became hard to focus on who delivered which blow, and there was only the sound and shock as each fell.

And then it became hard to focus at all. Blackness filled his vision.






The Consort woke in agony. He attempted to Draw power from his inner reserve to heal, but there was little remaining. Unconscious, he must have Drawn deeply to recover from the worst of his injuries. The rest would have to heal naturally.

He remained free of the cursed chain. Perhaps they were rushing to repair it, even now. Perhaps they expected him to remain disabled for longer.

If so, they were greater fools than even he had believed. The curtain had been drawn, and the Consort could sense the darkness beyond the thick cloth. Escape again felt within reach. He raised a claw, siphoning a bit of his remaining magic to power a ward he drew in the air.

But the power dissipated before it reached the tip of his talon, and a shock of pain ran through his body, causing him to hiss.

Again he Drew, and again the power failed, even as his flesh burned.

The Consort looked down at his skin, realization dawning even as he saw the glow of the wards.

They had inked his flesh with needles, much as the Explorer had done to himself. He was covered with wards.

Mind wards, keyed to his own caste. The symbols put him in a prison of his own flesh, preventing him from dissipating or reaching out with his mind. Worse, if the Consort – or one of his captors – fed the wards with enough magic, they would kill him.

It was worse by far than the chain. An indignity beyond anything the Consort could imagine.

But every problem had its solution. Every warding its weakness. He would bide his time, and find it.











1 (#ulink_4329e62a-8347-5686-a1ef-21bf7a8f818e)

Both (#ulink_4329e62a-8347-5686-a1ef-21bf7a8f818e)

334 AR


The cramping startled Leesha awake.

Ten days on the road with an escort of five thousand Cutters had gotten her used to discomfort. She could only sleep on her side now, something the carriage bench was not designed for. She had taken to curling on the floor like Amanvah and Sikvah in their carriage full of pillows.

Waves of pain washed over her as uterine muscles tightened and contracted, readying themselves for the task to come. Leesha wasn’t due for another thirteen weeks, but it was common for women to experience this.

And every one of them panics the first time, Bruna used to say, thinking they’ll birth early. Even me, though I’d smacked dozens of squalling babes into the world before I grunted out one of my own.

Leesha began breathing in a quick steady rhythm to calm herself and help endure the pain. Pain was nothing new these days. The skin of her stomach was blackened and bruised from powerful foetal blows.

Several times during her pregnancy, Leesha had been forced to channel powerful ward magic. Each time, the baby reacted violently. Feedback from magic could grant inhuman strength and stamina. It made the old young again, and brought the young to primacy before their time. It heightened emotions and lessened control. Folk in the throes of magic could be violent. Dangerous.

What might such power do to a child not fully formed? Not even at seven months, Leesha looked and felt full term. She anticipated an early delivery, even welcomed it, lest the child grow too large for natural birth.

Or punch through my womb and crawl out on its own. Leesha breathed and breathed, but she did not calm, nor did the pain subside.

All sorts of things can bring a set of contractions, Bruna taught. Like the brat kicking a full bladder.

Leesha found the chamber pot, but relieving herself did little to ease the spasming. She glanced at the porcelain. Her water was clouded and bloody.

She froze, mind racing as she stared at the pot. But then the baby kicked hard. She cried out in pain, and she knew.

It was coming.






Leesha was propped on the bench by the time Wonda came to report. It was nearly dawn.

Wonda handed off her reins, rolling off her horse nimbly as a cat. She landed on the lip of the moving carriage and opened the door, effortlessly swinging onto the bench across from Leesha.

‘Almost home, mistress, if ya wanna warsh a bit,’ Wonda said. ‘Gar rode on ahead while ya slept. Just got word back.’

‘How bad is it?’ Leesha asked.

‘Bad,’ Wonda said. ‘Whole staff’s turned out. Gar tried to stop it like ya asked. Said it was like trying to pull up a stump bare-handed.’

‘Angierians and their ripping ceremony.’ Leesha grimaced. She was beginning to understand how Duchess Araine could walk past a cloud of bowing and curtsying servants while pretending not to see them at all. Sometimes it was the only way to get where you meant to go.

‘Ent just maids and guards,’ Wonda said. ‘Half the town council’s turned up.’

‘Night.’ Leesha put her face in her hands.

‘Give the word and I can have a wall of Cutters shuttle you right inside,’ Wonda said. ‘Tell everyone yu’ll see them when yu’ve had yur rest.’

Leesha shook her head. ‘This is my homecoming as countess. I won’t begin it by shunning everyone.’

‘Ay, mistress,’ Wonda said.

‘I need to tell you something, Wonda,’ Leesha said. ‘But you must remain calm when I do.’

Wonda gave a confused look, then her eyes widened. She began to rise.

‘Wonda Cutter, you keep your bottom on that bench.’ Leesha swung her finger like a lash, and the girl fell back.

‘The contractions are sixteen minutes apart,’ Leesha continued. ‘It may be hours before the baby comes. I’m going to be quite dependent on you today, dear, so I need you to listen carefully and stay focused.’

Wonda swallowed heavily, but she nodded. ‘Ay, mistress. Tell me what ya want and I’ll make it happen.’

‘I will exit the carriage at a stately pace and head for the door,’ Leesha said. ‘I will speak to one person at a time as I walk. At no time do we stop or slow.’

‘Ay, mistress,’ Wonda said.

‘I will openly appoint you head of my household guard,’ Leesha said. ‘If everyone’s mustered in the yard as you say, that should be enough for you to take command and send Cutter women to secure the royal manse. Once they have the royal chambers secure, no one gets in save you, me, and Darsy.’

‘Vika?’ Wonda asked.

Leesha shook her head. ‘Vika will be seeing her husband for the first time in months. I won’t take that from them. There’s nothing she can do that Darsy can’t.’

‘Ay, mistress,’ Wonda said.

‘You’re not to tell anyone what is happening,’ Leesha said. ‘Not the guards, not Gared, not anyone.’

‘But mistress …’ Wonda began.

‘No one.’ Her words came out in a growl as Leesha gritted her teeth through another contraction. It was like a serpent wrapped around her belly, squeezing. ‘I won’t have loose talk turning this into a Jongleur’s show. I’m giving birth to Ahmann Jardir’s baby. Not everyone will wish it well, and after the birth we’ll both be … vulnerable.’

Wonda’s eyes hardened. ‘Not while I’m around, mistress. Swear it by the sun.’






Wonda gave no sign anything was amiss when she exited the carriage, stepping easily into the stirrup of her moving horse.

The wardlight inside the carriage dimmed in the early-morning light, but it brightened as the door clicked shut. With it, the wards of silence reactivated, and Leesha let out a groan of pain.

She put one hand on the small of her back and the other under her heavy belly as she heaved herself upright. Heat wards had the kettle hot in seconds. Leesha poured steaming water on a cloth and pressed it to her face.

The reflection in the mirror was pale and hollow, dark circles beneath her eyes. Leesha longed to reach into her hora pouch, Drawing a bit of magic to give her strength through the ordeal to come, but it was too dangerous. Magic was known to send the child into wild fits. It was the last thing she wanted now.

She glanced at the powder kit, but she’d never had the skill painting her face that she had painting wards. That was her mother’s talent. She made do as best she could, brushing her hair and straightening her dress.

The roads of Cutter’s Hollow’s outer boroughs twisted and turned, following the curving shape of the greatwards she and Arlen Bales designed. The Hollow had over a dozen boroughs now, an ever-expanding net of interconnected greatwards that pushed the demons back farther every night. Leesha knew the shape as intimately as a lover, not needing to glance out the window to know they were passing through Newhaven.

Soon they would enter Cutter’s Hollow, the capital of Hollow County and the centre of the greatwards. Just two years ago, the Hollow had been a town of less than three hundred souls – barely large enough for a dot on the map. Now it was equal to any of the Free Cities.

Another contraction took her. They were getting closer – just six minutes apart now. She was dilating and could feel the child sitting lower. She breathed. There were herbs that could ease her pain, but she dare not take them until she was safely ensconced in her chambers.

Leesha peeked from the curtain, immediately regretting it as a cheer went up in response. She’d hoped to keep her homecoming quiet by arriving before dawn, but there was no quieting an escort of such size. Even at the early hour, folk crowded the streets and watched from windows as the procession wound its way home.

It was strange, thinking of Thamos’ keep as home, but it belonged to her now as Countess of Hollow County. In her absence, Darsy had turned Leesha’s cottage in the Gatherers’ Wood into the headquarters for Gatherers’ Academy, hopefully the first of many establishments of learning in the Hollow. Leesha would rather be there training apprentices, but there was far more she could accomplish if she took up residence in the keep.

She wrinkled her nose as the fortress came into view. It was a blocky, walled structure, built more for defence than aesthetics – at least on the outside. The inside was worse in some ways, lavish as a palace in a land struggling to rebuild. Both problems would have to be addressed now that the place was hers.

The great gates of the keep were open, the road lined on either side by the remains of the Wooden Lancers, Thamos’ cavalry. There were barely fifty of them now, the others lost with the count himself in the Battle of Docktown. They were resplendent on their great Angierian mustangs, man and horse equally stone-faced at attention. All were armed and armoured, as if expecting Leesha to command them into battle at any moment.

The courtyard, too, looked mustered as much for a war as a homecoming. To the left, Captain Gamon was mounted with his lieutenants before hundreds of men-at-arms, straight-backed with eyes forward, heavy polearms planted on the ground, points all at precisely the same angle.

Courtyard right, the entire keep’s staff – an army in its own right – lined up no less sharply than the infantry, uniforms clean and pressed.

It will be interesting to see what happens to those perfect ranks if I give birth in the courtyard. The thought was wry, but then the child kicked, and it ceased to amuse.

As Wonda warned, a knot of people stood at the base of the steps to the keep. Lord Arther was at their front, rigid in his dress uniform and spear. Beside him was Tarisa, the count’s childhood nurse who had become lady’s maid to Leesha. Gared was waiting with Rosal, his promised, and Rosal’s mother. With him were Inquisitor Hayes; Gatherers Darsy and Vika; her father, Erny; and … night, even Leesha’s mother, Elona, glaring daggers at Rosal’s back. Leesha prayed the early hour would succour her from that demon, at least, but as usual it went unanswered.

Wonda poked her head in the door. ‘Ready, mistress?’

A fresh contraction ripped through her. She felt hot, sweating even in the cold winter air.

Leesha smiled, showing none of it. Her legs shook as she got to her feet, and she felt the child inch lower. ‘Yes, dear. Swiftly now.’

Gamon dismounted as the carriage arrived. He, Arther, and Gared nearly tripped over one another in the scramble to offer their hands as she stepped down. Leesha ignored them all, clutching Wonda’s arm as she carefully descended the steps. It would not do to fall in front of the entire assembly.

‘Welcome back to the Hollow, Countess Paper,’ Arther said with a courtly bow. ‘It is a great relief to see you well. When we heard of the attack on Angiers, we feared the worst.’

‘Thank you,’ Leesha said as she steadied herself. All around the courtyard, there were bows and curtsies. Leesha kept her back straight, acknowledging it all with a dignified nod that would have done Duchess Araine proud.

Then she began walking. Wonda angled herself to take the lead even as she lent her support. Close behind, two meaty Cutter women followed.

Caught off guard, the men stumbled out of their path, but they recovered swiftly, scurrying after. Gamon was the first to match her pace. ‘My lady, I have prepared a roster of the house guards …’

‘Thank you, Captain Gamon.’ Leesha’s insides were churning. She clenched her thighs, terrified her water might break before she reached the house. ‘Be a dear and give it to Captain Wonda, please.’

Gamon’s eyes widened, and he stopped in his tracks. ‘Captain Wonda?’

‘I hereby appoint Wonda Cutter captain of my house guard,’ Leesha said loudly, continuing to walk. ‘A long-overdue promotion.’

Gamon hurried to catch back up. ‘If my command has been in some way unsatisfactory …’

Leesha smiled, wondering if she might vomit. ‘Not at all. Your service was exemplary, and your valour on behalf of the Hollow is without question. You will retain command of the Wooden Soldiers, but my house security will report to Captain Wonda alone. Order the men to fall out and return to their duties. We’re not expecting an attack.’

Gamon looked like he was trying to swallow a stone, but after months in Angiers not knowing if she was captive or guest, Leesha was tired of seeing Wooden Soldiers everywhere. Wonda had already hand-selected Cutters to take over the house guard, and signalled them to secure the entrance and sweep the manse.

Arther moved quickly to take the empty place as Gamon fell back, stunned. ‘The house staff …’

‘… looks crisp and ready to start the day,’ Leesha cut him off. ‘Let’s not keep them.’ She whisked a hand, dismissing the assemblage.

‘Of course, my lady.’ Arther gave a signal, and the crowd began to disperse. He looked ready to say more, but Leesha’s mother pushed her way in front, Erny trailing after. Elona was six months pregnant, though she hid it well with low-cut gowns that masked her belly and drew eyes elsewhere. The men fell back like she was a coreling.

‘My daughter, Countess of the Hollow!’ Elona spread her arms, face glowing with … was that what pride looked like on her? It was terrifying if so.

‘Mother, Father.’ Leesha allowed each a brief embrace, trying to keep from shaking.

Elona sensed it, but she had the decency to drop her voice. ‘You look terrible. What’s wrong?’

‘I just need to get inside and rest.’ Leesha gave Wonda’s arm a squeeze, and they started moving again. Others might fear to impede Elona, but Wonda was implacable as a falling tree. Elona moved to follow, but pulled up as Erny held her back. She glared at him, but like Wonda Cutter, Leesha’s father was always on her side.

‘Welcome home, Countess.’ Rosal dipped a practiced curtsy, her mother following suit.

‘Emelia,’ Leesha said, careful to use the woman’s proper name. ‘Mrs Lacquer. I’m surprised to find you here at such an early hour.’

Gared swept in, the three of them following Leesha up the steps. ‘Count had the ladies staying here in his keep on account of propriety. We can find another place …’

‘Nonsense.’ Leesha winked at Rosal. ‘We’ve plenty of room. How would it look for an upstanding young woman like yourself to move into the baron’s household before the wedding? A scandal!’

Gared blushed. ‘’Preciate it. Got some papers for you to look at when you have time …’

‘Send them over in the morning.’ Leesha was almost to the steps now.

Inquisitor Hayes appeared next, bowing deeply. His acolyte Child Franq, usually inseparable from his master, was conspicuously absent. ‘Countess. Praise be to the Creator that you are well.’

The next carriage in line pulled up and opened its door. Hayes’ eyes widened as Tender Jona stepped out. Vika gave a cry, breaking from the receiving line to hurry down the steps to her husband.

Hayes looked at her in shock, but even shaking with pain, Leesha’s smile was genuine. ‘You’ll be pleased to know, Inquisitor, that your interim assignment to the Hollow has ended. Jona will resume leading services in Hollow County.’

‘Preposterous,’ the Inquisitor sputtered. ‘I’m not going to just hand my cathedral over …’

Leesha raised an eyebrow. ‘Your cathedral, Inquisitor? The one in my county?’ She was still moving. The doors to the keep were closer, but still so far.

Hayes was forced to sacrifice dignity, lifting his robes to scuttle after her. ‘Only Duke Pether can relieve me …’

Leesha cut him off, producing a letter bearing the royal seal. ‘Your inquisition is over.’

‘The inquisition was about more than one heretic Tender,’ Hayes argued. ‘The question of Arlen Bales …’

‘Is one you and the Council of Tenders can debate all you wish back in Angiers,’ Leesha said. ‘Shepherd Jona will minister to the Hollow’s flock.’

Hayes’ gawp was greater even than Gamon’s. ‘Shepherd?!’

‘His Grace gave up the title when he became duke,’ Leesha said, ‘and there are more people in the Hollow than Angiers in any event. The Pact of the Free Cities gives our Tenders the right to form a new order.’

Unsure how to respond, the Inquisitor took the letter and fell back from Leesha’s determined march. The duke’s decree gave her the power to choose the spiritual leader of Hollow County, but she was testing the limits by promoting Jona to Shepherd. It was a declaration of independence that would not please the ivy throne, but there was little they could do to stop it now that Leesha was ensconced in the Hollow once more.

Darsy moved in quickly at a signal from Leesha, the woman’s bulk effectively dismissing the Inquisitor as she moved between them. ‘Creator be praised, it’s good to see you, mistress.’

‘You have no idea.’ Leesha pulled her into an embrace, dropping her voice. ‘Contractions are coming every two minutes. If I’m not inside soon, I’ll be giving birth on these steps. Wonda’s sent women to secure the royal chambers.’

Darsy nodded, not missing a beat. ‘Want me to go on ahead, or walk you?’

Leesha felt a rush of relief. ‘Walk me, please.’

Darsy took her other arm, she and Wonda guiding Leesha along as the next carriage pulled up and Amanvah, Sikvah, and Kendall made their solemn exit. Darsy watched them curiously.

‘Mistress,’ Darsy said. ‘Where’s Rojer?’

Leesha kept her breath a deep, steady rhythm as she pointed to the coffin a group of Cutters were pulling from the carriage.

Darsy let out a strangled cry and pulled up short. Leesha would have overbalanced and stumbled if not for Wonda.

‘Bottle it, Darsy,’ Wonda growled. ‘Ent got time right now.’ Darsy nodded, recovering herself and getting them back in motion.

Amanvah glided up the steps swiftly, ignoring the glares of Wonda and Darsy. One look in her eyes was all Leesha needed.

She knows.

‘Countess Leesha,’ the dama’ting began.

‘Not now, Amanvah,’ Leesha breathed.

Amanvah ignored her, stepping in close. Wonda reached out to bar her way, but Amanvah put a knuckle into the arm and it fell away long enough for her to pass.

‘I must assist the birth,’ she said without preamble.

‘Core you will,’ Darsy growled.

‘I have cast the dice, mistress,’ Amanvah said quietly. ‘If I am not with you in the coming hours, you will die.’

‘That some kinda threat?’ Wonda’s voice was low and dangerous.

‘Stop it, all of you,’ Leesha said. ‘She comes.’

‘I can do anything …’ Darsy began.

Leesha groaned, feeling the need to bear down. ‘There’s no time.’ She put a foot on the steps. Such a short climb, but it felt like a mountain.

Tarisa was waiting at the top. Leesha managed the climb unassisted, but still the woman needed only a glance to see what was happening.

‘This way,’ she said, turning on her heel and opening the doors, snapping her fingers at a group of maids. They scurried to her as she walked, and like a general, Tarisa sent them running off with instructions.

Leesha knew word would spread quickly now, but there was nothing to be done for it. She kept all her focus on breathing and putting one foot in front of the other.

The moment they left the great hall, Wonda signalled the guards. They closed ranks as the big woman swept Leesha up into her arms like a child, carrying her the rest of the way.






‘Push,’ Darsy said.

It was a pointless request. Leesha could feel the baby moving the moment they had her propped on the edge of the bed. It was coming whether she pushed or not. She was fully dilated, her water broken all over Wonda’s fine wooden armour. It would be over in moments.

But then the child thrashed, and Leesha cried out in pain. Darsy, too, gave a cry, seeing Leesha’s stomach distend as tiny hands and feet thrust into the lining. It felt like a demon inside her, trying to claw its way free. Fresh bruises were forming atop the faded ones all over her abdomen.

‘Can you see it?’ Leesha demanded.

Darsy sucked a breath and moved back in between the makeshift stirrups. ‘No, mistress.’

Corespawn it. She was so close.

‘Help me up,’ she said, gripping Wonda’s hand. ‘It will be easier if I squat.’ She bore down, trying to squeeze the child free.

Again the child struck, hitting her like a horse’s kick. Leesha screamed and stumbled, but Wonda caught her, easing her back to the pillows.

‘It is as I feared,’ Amanvah said. ‘Mistress, I must cut the child free.’

Wonda immediately interposed herself. ‘Not a chance.’

Darsy rose, the large woman towering over tiny Amanvah. ‘Not if you were the last Gatherer in the world.’

‘Leesha vah Erny am’Paper am’Hollow,’ Amanvah said. ‘By Everam and my hope of Heaven, I swear to you, the only chance you have to survive this night is for me to cut you.’

Wonda had her knife in hand now, and Leesha knew how fast the woman could use it.

But then Amanvah did something Leesha could never in a thousand years have imagined. She dropped to her knees, putting her hands on the floor and pressing her forehead between them.

‘By the blood we share, mistress. Please. Ala needs you. Sharak Ka needs you. You must believe me.’

‘Blood you share?’ Darsy asked. ‘What in the Core …?’

‘Do it,’ Leesha growled as the thrashing continued.

‘You can’t mean …’ Darsy began.

‘I can and I do, Darsy Cutter,’ Leesha snapped. ‘She’s better with the knife than you and you know it. Swallow your pride and assist.’

Darsy scowled, but she nodded as Amanvah produced stones from her hora pouch. ‘I will put you both to sleep …’

Leesha shook her head. ‘Calm the child, but I’m staying awake.’

‘There is no time to take herbs for the pain,’ Amanvah said.

‘Then get me something to bite on,’ Leesha said.

Amanvah’s eyes crinkled as she smiled behind her veil. She nodded. ‘Your honour is boundless, daughter of Erny. Pain is only wind. Bend as the palm, and let it blow over you.’






The child’s cries filled the room, the babe wrapped in swaddling and thrust into Wonda’s arms while Amanvah and Darsy finished their work. Darsy was suturing the wound as Amanvah prepared hora magic to speed the healing.

Wonda stood stiff as any new father, terrified she might squeeze the child too hard and crush it. She looked down at the tiny olive-skinned face, and Leesha knew the young woman would die to keep the baby safe.

Leesha’s arms twitched, wanting to reach out, but she needed to remain still until the work was done. For the moment, it was almost enough to know the child was healthy and safe.

Almost.

‘What is it?’ Leesha asked.

Wonda’s head snapped up like an apprentice caught daydreaming. ‘Mistress?’

‘My child,’ Leesha begged. ‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ So much rode on the question. A male greenland heir to Ahmann Jardir might provoke outright war with Krasia, but a daughter would be no less a target. That the Krasians would come for the child was never in doubt, no matter what Amanvah swore. But when they came – now or over a decade hence – hinged on Wonda’s next words.

Wonda cradled the babe in one arm as she opened the swaddling. ‘It’s a b …’ She frowned, looking closer.

At last she looked up, face twisted. ‘Core if I know, mistress. Ent no Gatherer.’

Leesha stared at her, incredulous. ‘You don’t need to be a Gatherer, Wonda, to know what parts a boy has and what parts a girl.’

‘That’s just it, mistress.’ Wonda looked terrified.

‘Babe’s got both.’











2 (#ulink_8dd44c4e-5189-5edd-a3fc-052506927f2c)

Olive (#ulink_8dd44c4e-5189-5edd-a3fc-052506927f2c)

334 AR


For perhaps the first time in her life, words failed Leesha. She stared open-mouthed, mind racing as the child’s screams rang through the room.

A babe born with both sets of parts was not unheard of. There were documented cases in her books of old world science, but it was another thing to find it in a live child.

Her child.

Tarisa peeked over Wonda’s shoulder and gasped, turning away.

Leesha reached out. ‘Let me see.’

Darsy caught her arm, pulling it back to the table. ‘Leesha Paper, you move again ’fore we’re done and I’m strapping you down.’

A shout came from the doorway, and Leesha looked up into a nightmare: one of Wonda’s guards stumbling back to keep out of the path of a very angry Elona Paper.

‘Ay, Bekka!’ Wonda cried. ‘Said no one was to get in!’

‘Sorry, Won!’ Bekka cried. ‘She pinched my pap and shoved by!’

‘I’ll pinch more than that, you try to keep me away from my daughter,’ Elona warned. ‘Why wasn’t I …’

The words caught in her throat as Wonda turned and Elona caught sight of the child in her arms. She ran to it, arms reaching, but Wonda deftly sidestepped. The glare Elona threw her would frighten a coreling, but Wonda bared her teeth right back.

‘It’s all right,’ Leesha said, and Wonda relented, reluctantly letting Elona take the child.

There were tears in her mother’s eyes. ‘Skin like the father, but those eyes are yours.’ Elona pulled back the blanket. ‘Is it a boy or a …’

She froze, illuminated in the wardlight as Amanvah activated her healing magic.

The rush of power was like air to a drowning person. It jolted through Leesha’s torso, repairing the damage and filling her with new strength. When the light died down, she began to rise.

‘Now, don’t go …’ Darsy began.

Leesha ignored her. ‘Wonda, help me to the bed, please.’

Wonda picked her up effortlessly, carrying her to the great feathered bed. Leesha reached out, and Elona slid the baby into her arms. It looked up at her with bright blue eyes, and Leesha fell in love so utterly it shook her.

Wonda Cutter’s not the only one who would die for you, darling. Pity human and demon alike, if they try to come between us.

She kissed the beautiful, perfect face and freed the child from its swaddling, laying it skin-to-skin on her chest, sharing her warmth. The child began to root, and Leesha massaged her breast, readying it as the babe reached the nipple. The little mouth opened wide, and she pulled it in quickly to ensure a tight latch.

How many mothers had she guided through this milestone? How many newborns had she brought to the pap? It was nothing compared with experiencing it firsthand, seeing her perfect child begin to suckle. She gasped at the force of its pull.

‘Everything all right?’ Darsy asked.

Leesha nodded. ‘So strong.’ She felt herself express, and knew she could endure any pain to feed her child. So many times in recent months, she had feared desperately for the child’s life, but now it was here. Alive. Safe. She wept for the joy of it.

Tarisa appeared with a damp cloth, blotting away the tears and sweat. ‘Every mother cries at first latch, my lady.’

Her sobs were a needed relief, but there were too many unanswered questions for Leesha to succumb for long. When her breathing calmed, she let Tarisa clear her eyes one last time and drew back the swaddling.

Wonda hadn’t been wrong. At first glance the child was a healthy boy, with fully formed penis and testicles. It was only when Leesha lifted the scrotum that she could see the perfectly formed vagina beneath.

She breathed, pulling back and beginning a full examination. The baby was large, too large to have passed through her birth canal without damage to her and risk to the child. Amanvah had been right. The surgery saved both their lives.

It was strong, too, and hungry. By all accounts, the baby was perfectly healthy, with no other distinct feature to mark it boy or girl.

She slipped on her warded spectacles, inspecting deeper. The child’s aura was bright – brighter than any Leesha had seen short of Arlen and Renna Bales. It was strong, and … joyful. The child took as much emotional pleasure in nursing as she. Tears welled in Leesha’s eyes again, and she had to brush them away before she could continue her examination.

A glance down confirmed her initial diagnosis. Male and female organs, both healthy and functional.

She gave Wonda a nod. ‘Both.’

‘How in the Core’s that even possible?’ Elona asked.

‘I’ve read about it,’ Leesha said, ‘though I’ve never witnessed it. It means there were two eggs at fertilization, but one absorbed …’ The words choked off as Leesha’s throat tightened.

‘It’s my fault,’ she gasped.

‘How’s that?’ Darsy asked.

‘The magic.’ Leesha felt like the walls of the great chamber were closing in on her. ‘I’ve been using so much. Starting when Inevera and I fought the mind demon that first night after Ahmann and I …’ Her face stretched as the full horror of it dawned on her.

‘I fused them.’

‘Demonshit,’ Elona said. ‘Ent no way to know that. Said yourself you seen it in books.’

‘Ent every day I agree with Elona, mistress,’ Darsy said, ‘but your mum has the right of this. Ent no reason to think magic had anything to do with it.’

‘It did,’ Leesha insisted. ‘I felt it happen.’

‘What if it did?’ Wonda demanded. ‘Should yu’ve let yurself get et by a demon, instead?’

‘Of course not,’ Leesha said.

‘No point laying blame when you’ve a fever to fight, Bruna used to say,’ Darsy said. ‘Everyone’s got perfect vision—’

‘—when they’re looking back,’ Leesha finished.

‘I read the same books you did,’ Darsy went on. ‘There’s notes on how to treat this.’

‘Treat it, how?’ Elona asked. ‘Some herb is going to close its slit or make its pecker dry up and fall off?’

‘Course not.’ Darsy shrugged as she stared at the child. ‘We just … pick one. A girl that handsome could easily pass for a boy.’

‘And a boy that pretty could pass for a girl,’ Elona countered. ‘That don’t treat anything.’

‘Ay,’ Darsy nodded to the operating table where Amanvah still worked, ‘but that combined with a few snips and stitches …’

‘Wonda,’ Leesha said.

‘Ay, mistress?’ Wonda said.

‘If anyone other than me ever tries to perform surgery on this child, you are to shoot them,’ Leesha said.

Wonda crossed her arms. ‘Ay, mistress.’

Darsy held up her hands. ‘I only …!’

Leesha whisked her fingers. ‘I know you mean no harm, Darsy, but that practice was barbaric. We will not be pursuing surgical options any further unless the child’s health is in danger. Am I clear?’

‘Ay, mistress,’ Darsy said. ‘But folk are going to ask if it’s a boy or girl. What do we tell them?’

Leesha looked to Elona. ‘Don’t look at me,’ her mother said. ‘I know better than any that we don’t get a say in these things. Creator wills as the Creator will.’

‘Well said, wife of Erny,’ Amanvah said. She had come last from the operating table, hands still red with birthing blood. She raised them to Leesha. ‘Now is the time, mistress. There is no casting stronger than the moment of birth.’

Leesha considered. Letting Amanvah cast her alagai hora in the mixed blood and fluid of the birth would open her vision to the futures of Leesha and the child both. Even if she was fully forthcoming – something dama’ting were not known for – there would be too much for her to convey in words. She would always have secrets, secrets that Leesha might desperately need.

But Amanvah’s concern for the child, her half sibling, was written in gold through her aura. She was desperate to throw for the child’s protection.

‘There are conditions,’ Leesha said. ‘And they are not negotiable.’

Amanvah bowed. ‘Anything.’

Leesha raised an eyebrow. ‘You will speak your prayers in Thesan.’

‘Of course,’ Amanvah said.

‘You will share everything you see with me, and me alone,’ Leesha went on.

‘Ay, I want to see!’ Elona said, but Leesha kept her eyes on Amanvah.

‘Yes, mistress,’ Amanvah said.

‘Forever,’ Leesha said. ‘If I have a question twenty years from now about what you saw, you will reply fully and without hesitation.’

‘I swear it by Everam,’ Amanvah said.

‘You will leave the dice in place until we can make a copy of the throw for me to keep.’

Amanvah paused at this. No outsider was allowed to study the dama’ting alagai hora, lest they attempt to carve their own. Inevera would have Amanvah’s head if she acquiesced to this request.

But after a moment, the priestess nodded. ‘I have dice of clay we can cement in place.’

‘And you will teach me to read them,’ Leesha said.

The room fell silent. Even the other women, unschooled in Krasian custom, could sense the audacity of the request.

Amanvah’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes.’

‘What did you see, when you cast the bones for the child in Angiers?’ Leesha asked.

‘The first thing my mother ever taught me to look for,’ Amanvah said.






Leesha set warded klats around the antique royal heirloom that had been used as an operating table. The wards activated, barring sound from both directions as she and Amanvah bent over the operating table, studying the glowing dice.

Amanvah pointed one of her long, painted nails at a prominent symbol. ‘Ka.’ The Krasian word for ‘one’ or ‘first.’

She pointed to another. ‘Dama.’ Priest.

A third. ‘Sharum.’ Warrior.

‘First … priest … warrior …’ Leesha blinked as her breath caught. ‘Shar’Dama Ka?’

Amanvah nodded.

‘Dama means “priest”,’ Leesha said. ‘Does that mean the child is male?’

Amanvah shook her head. ‘Not necessarily. “First Warrior Cleric” is a better translation. The words are neutral, that they might call either gender in Hannu Pash.’

‘So my child is the Deliverer?’ Leesha asked incredulously.

‘It isn’t that simple,’ Amanvah said. ‘You must understand this, mistress. The dice tell us our potentials, but most are never reached.’ She pointed to another symbol. ‘Irrajesh.’

‘Death,’ Leesha said.

Amanvah nodded. ‘See how the tip of the die points northeast. An early death is the most common of the child’s futures.’

Leesha’s jaw tightened. ‘Not if I have a say in it.’

‘Or I,’ Amanvah agreed. ‘By Everam and my hope of Heaven. There could be no greater crime in all Ala than to harm one who might save us all.

‘Ala.’ She pointed to another die, angled diagonally toward the face with irrajesh. ‘Even if we risk she doom the world instead.’

Leesha tried to digest the words, but they were too much. She put them aside. ‘What will your people do, if they learn the child is without gender?’

Amanvah bent closer, studying not just the large symbols at the centre of the dice but dozens of smaller ones around the edges, as well. ‘The news will tear them apart. It is too dangerous to announce the child’s fate now, but without it, many will take this as a sign of Everam’s displeasure with the Hollow Tribe.’

‘Giving them excuse to break the peace Ahmann and I forged,’ Leesha said.

‘The few who still need excuse, after the son of Jeph cast the Deliverer from a cliff.’ Amanvah bent to look closer at the dice.

‘See here,’ she noted, pointing to a symbol facing into the cluster. ‘Ting.’ Female. She slid her finger along the edge of the die, continuing to show how the line intersected irrajesh. ‘There is less convergence if you announce the child as female.’






The child was bathed and changed by the time Leesha and Amanvah finished. Elona dozed in a chair with the sleeping baby in her arms. Wonda stood protectively over her, while Darsy paced the room nervously. Tarisa had stripped the bloodied bed and put down fresh linens, now busying herself readying a bath.

‘She,’ Leesha said loudly, stepping beyond the wards of silence.

Darsy stopped in her tracks. Elona started awake. ‘Ay, whazzat?’

Leesha squinted into her warded spectacles, searching the auras of the women as they gathered before her. ‘So far as anyone outside this room is concerned, I just gave birth to a healthy baby girl.’

‘Ay, mistress,’ Wonda said. ‘But said yurself, babe needs guards day an’ night. Sooner or later, one’ll catch an eyeful while we change the nappy.’ Her aura coloured with worry. ‘Speakin’ of which …’

Leesha laughed. ‘By order of the countess, you’re relieved of nappy duties, Wonda Cutter. Your talents would be wasted wiping bottoms.’

Wonda blew out a breath. ‘Thank the Creator.’

‘I will personally read the aura of every member of the house staff and guard with access to my daughter.’ Leesha looked at Tarisa. ‘Any who cannot be trusted will need to find employment elsewhere.’

Her maid’s aura flashed with fear, and Leesha sighed. She had known this was coming, but it made things no easier.

‘We’ll tell Vika and Jizell as well,’ Leesha said. ‘We’ll all need to watch as she develops in case her condition causes unforeseen health problems.’

‘Course,’ Darsy agreed.

‘You tell Jizell, you’re tellin’ Mum,’ Wonda warned. Jizell was Royal Gatherer to Duke Pether now, reporting directly to Duchess Araine.

Leesha met Tarisa’s eyes. ‘I expect she’ll find out, regardless. Better it come from me.’

‘That go for her, too?’ Darsy jerked a finger at Amanvah.

‘It does.’ Amanvah’s aura stayed cool and even. It was a fair question. ‘I will not lie or withhold information from my mother, but our interests align. The Damajah will have a vested concern for the safety of the child, and will be essential in keeping my brother from trying to claim or kill her.’

Elona opened her mouth, but Leesha cut off the debate. ‘I trust her.’ She looked back at Amanvah. ‘Will you and Sikvah stay here with us?’

Amanvah shook her head. ‘Thank you, mistress, but enough rooms have been finished in my honoured husband’s manse for us to move in. After so long in captivity, I wish to be under my own roof, with my own people …’

‘Of course.’ Leesha put a hand on Amanvah’s belly. Shocked, the woman fell silent. ‘But please understand that we are your people now, too. Thrice bound by blood.’

‘Thrice bound,’ Amanvah agreed, putting her own hand over Leesha’s in an act so intimate it would have been unthinkable just a few months ago. It was strange, how sharing pain could sometimes do what good times could not.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Darsy asked when Amanvah left the room.

‘It means Amanvah and Sikvah are carrying Rojer’s children,’ Leesha said. ‘Anyone doesn’t hop when one of them wants something had better have a good corespawned reason.’

Darsy’s eyebrows shot up into her hair, but she nodded. ‘Ay, mistress.’

‘Now if everyone will excuse me,’ Leesha said, ‘I’d like to put my daughter in her crib and have that bath.’

Darsy and Wonda made for the door, but Elona lingered, her aura showing her unwillingness to let go of the baby.

‘Night, Mother,’ Leesha said, ‘you’ve imprinted more on that child in an hour than you did in my entire life.’

‘This one ent got your mouth, yet.’ Elona looked down at the sleeping baby. ‘Lucky little bastard. Could’ve run this town, I’d been born with a pecker.’

‘You’d have made a wonderful man,’ Leesha agreed.

‘Not a man,’ Elona said. ‘Never wanted that. Just wanted a pecker, too. Steave made me a wooden one, once. Polished it to a shine and said it was to do when there was no wood at home.’

‘Creator,’ Leesha said, but Elona ignored her.

‘Meant it for me, but it was your father that liked when I …’

‘Corespawn it, Mother!’ Leesha snapped. ‘You’re doing this on purpose.’

Elona cackled. ‘Course I am, girl. Keeping the stick from your arse requires constant maintenance.’

Leesha put her face in her hand.

Elona finally relented and handed Leesha the child. ‘I’m just sayin’, Paper women are fierce even without peckers.’

Leesha smiled at that. ‘Honest word.’

‘What are you going to call her?’ Elona asked.

‘Olive,’ Leesha said.

‘Always wondered why that was a girl’s name,’ Elona said. ‘Olives got stones.’











3 (#ulink_2cecbe73-21df-5766-836e-3ccf6ef2bb4e)

Countess Paper (#ulink_2cecbe73-21df-5766-836e-3ccf6ef2bb4e)

334 AR


Tarisa was waiting when Leesha finally managed to pull her gaze away from Olive, fast asleep in her crib. The older woman’s aura still looked like a rabbit backed into a corner, but she did not show it. ‘My lady must be exhausted. Come sit and I’ll brush out your hair.’

Leesha reached up, realizing her hair was still pinned from her homecoming, half the pins loose or missing. She wore only a sweaty and bloodstained shift with a silk dressing gown pulled over it. Dried tears crusted her cheeks. ‘I must look a horror.’

‘Anything but.’ Tarisa led her to the bedroom vanity, unpinning and brushing Leesha’s hair. It was a ritual they had performed so many times, it gave Leesha a pang of nostalgia. These were Thamos’ chambers, his servants, his keep. She had meant to share it all with him, a storybook tale, but her prince’s part in the story was ended.

Everywhere, there were signs of him, active pieces of a life cut short in its prime. Hunting trophies and spears adorned the walls, along with ostentatious portraits of the royal family. Three suits of lacquered armour on stands like silent sentries around the room.

Leesha dropped her eyes to the floor, but her nose betrayed her, catching the scented oils the count had used, fragrances that triggered thoughts of love, lust, and loss.

Tarisa caught the move. ‘Arther wanted to sweep it all away so you wouldn’t have to look at it. Spare you the pain.’

Leesha’s throat was tight. ‘I’m glad he didn’t.’

Tarisa nodded. ‘Told him I’d have his seedpods if he moved a single chair.’ Leesha closed her eyes. There were few pleasures in life as soothing as Tarisa brushing her hair. Suddenly she remembered how tired she was. Amanvah’s healing magic had given her a burst of strength, but that had faded, and magic was no true replacement for sleep.

But there were matters to settle first.

Leesha cracked an eye, watching Tarisa’s aura. ‘How long have you been a spy for the Duchess Mother?’

‘Longer than you’ve been alive, my lady.’ Tarisa’s aura spiked, but her voice was calm. Soothing. ‘Though I never thought of it as spying. Thamos was still in swaddling when I was brought in to nurse him. It was my duty to report on him to his mother. Her Grace loved the boy, but she had a duchy to run, and her husband was seldom about. Every night as the young prince slept, I filled her in on his day’s activities.’

‘Even when the boy became a man grown?’ Leesha asked.

Tarisa snorted. ‘Especially then. You’ll see as Olive grows, my lady. A mother never truly lets go.’

‘What sorts of things did you tell her?’ Leesha asked.

Tarisa shrugged. ‘His love life, mostly. Her Grace despaired of ever settling the prince down, and wanted an account of every skirt to catch his eye.’ Tarisa met Leesha’s eyes. ‘But there was only one woman who ever held Thamos’ attention.’

‘And she had a shady past,’ Leesha guessed. ‘Childhood scandal, and talk of bedding the demon of the desert …’

Tarisa dropped her eyes again, never slowing the steady, soothing stroke of her brush. ‘Folk talk, my lady. In the Corelings’ Graveyard and the Holy House pews. In the Cutter ranks and, Creator knows, the servants’ quarters. Many spoke of how you and the Painted Man looked at each other, and how you went to Krasia to court Ahmann Jardir. None could prove they’d taken you to bed, but folk don’t need proof to whisper.’

‘They never have,’ Leesha said.

‘Didn’t tell Her Grace anything she wasn’t hearing from others,’ Tarisa said. ‘But I told her not to believe a word of it. You and His Highness were hardly discreet. When your laces began to strain, I assumed the child was the prince’s. We all did. The servants all loved you. I wrote my suspicions to Her Grace with joy, and waited on my toes for you to tell His Highness.’

‘But then we broke,’ Leesha said, ‘and you realized your love for me was misplaced.’

Tarisa shook her head. ‘How could we stop, when our lord did not?’

‘Thamos cast me out,’ Leesha said.

‘Ay,’ Tarisa agreed. ‘And haunted these halls like a ghost, spending hours staring at his portrait of you.’

A lump formed in Leesha’s throat, and she tried unsuccessfully to choke it down.

‘Some may be holding out hope you’ll announce Thamos has an heir tomorrow,’ Tarisa said, ‘dreaming there might still be a piece of the prince to love and cherish in this house. But none of them will turn from you when they meet Olive.’

‘I wish I could believe that,’ Leesha said.

‘I never knew my own son,’ Tarisa said. ‘I was kitchen maid to a minor lord and lady, and when she failed to give him children, they paid me to lie with him and give up the child.’

‘Tarisa!’ Leesha was horrified.

‘I was treated fairly,’ Tarisa said. ‘Given money and reference to take a commission from the Duchess Mum, wet-nursing and helping rear young Prince Thamos. He was like the son I never knew.’

She reached out, laying a gentle hand on Leesha’s belly. ‘We don’t get to say which children the Creator gives us. There’s love enough in this house for any child of yours, my lady.’

Leesha laid a hand over hers. ‘Enough with my lady. Call me mistress, please.’

‘Ay, mistress.’ Tarisa gave the hand a squeeze and got to her feet. ‘Water ought to be hot by now. I’ll go see about that bath.’

She left, and Leesha allowed herself to raise her eyes once more, taking in the reminders of her lost love.

And she wept.






Leesha kept the curtains pulled through the day, staring at Olive with her warded spectacles, glorying in the strength and purity of the child’s aura. Olive ate hungrily and slept little, staring up at Leesha with her bright blue eyes. The magic in her shone with an emotion beyond love, beyond adoration. Something more primal and pure.

There was a knock at the door, startling Leesha from the trance of it. Wonda went over to answer it, and there was muffled conversation. The door clicked as Wonda closed and locked it again, then came back to the sleeping chamber.

‘Arther’s waitin’ outside,’ Wonda said. ‘Been tellin’ him yur busy, but he keeps coming back. Wants to talk to ya somethin’ fierce.’

Leesha pushed herself upright. ‘Very well. He’s seen me in dressing gowns before. Tarisa? Please take Olive into the nursery while we talk.’

Olive clutched Leesha’s finger painfully in her little fist as Tarisa pulled her away. Her aura made Leesha’s heart ache.

Lord Arther stopped a respectful distance from the bed and bowed. ‘I apologize for the intrusion, Countess Paper.’

‘It’s all right, Arther,’ Leesha said. ‘I trust you would not have done so if it wasn’t important.’

‘Indeed,’ Arther said. ‘Congratulations on the birth of your daughter. I understand this was … earlier than expected. I trust all are in good health?’

‘Thank you, we are,’ Leesha said, ‘though I expect Wonda has already told you as much.’

‘She has, of course,’ Arther agreed. ‘I came with another rather urgent matter.’

‘And that is?’ Leesha asked.

Arther drew himself up straight. He wasn’t a tall man, but he made up for it in posture. ‘With respect, Countess, if my command of the house staff has been relieved and I am dismissed, I do not think it too much to ask that I be informed directly.’

Leesha blinked. ‘Has someone informed you indirectly?’

‘Lady Paper,’ Arther said.

‘Lady … Night, my mother?’ Leesha asked.

Arther bowed again. ‘Lady Paper moved into the keep a week ago, when news of your new title reached the Hollow. She has been … difficult to please.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Leesha said.

‘It is her right, of course,’ Arther said. ‘Without word from you, she and your father are the ranking members of your household. I assumed you had sent them to ready the keep.’

Leesha shook her head. ‘It meant only the keep has richer furnishing than my father’s house.’

‘It is not for me to say,’ Arther said. ‘But this afternoon, after announcing your daughter’s birth, she told me my services were no longer required, and that house staff would be reporting to her directly.’

Leesha groaned. ‘I am going to strangle that woman.’ She looked at Arther. ‘Be assured the Core will freeze before I give my mother dominion over my household. I will make it clear to her before the end of the day.’

‘That is a relief,’ Arther said. ‘But with the dismissal of Gamon and Hayes, I cannot help but wonder if I am next in any event. Do you wish my resignation?’

Leesha considered the man. ‘Is it your wish to remain in my employ, with Thamos dead?’

‘It is, my lady,’ Arther said.

‘Why?’ Leesha asked bluntly. ‘You’ve never approved of my policies, particularly entitlements for refugees.’

Indignation shocked through the man’s aura, but Arther only raised an eyebrow. ‘My approval is irrelevant, my lady. It was my responsibility to keep the prince’s accounts balanced and see his funds spent wisely. I questioned every spending policy proposed by the council because I would have been remiss in my duties not to. Nevertheless, when His Highness made a decision, it was carried out diligently and without delay. You may have every confidence that I will do the same for you, if you will have me.’

There was no lie in his aura, but her question remained unanswered. ‘Why?’ Leesha asked again. ‘I expected you would volunteer your resignation soon after my arrival and return to your family holdings in Angiers.’

An image flashed across Arther’s aura. It was distorted, but Leesha could make out a once great Angierian townhouse, fallen into disrepair. It linked to Arther with shame, and with fierce pride.

‘My family’s holdings were mortgaged to buy my commission in the Wooden Soldiers,’ Arther said. ‘That and a bit of luck saw me squire for young Prince Thamos. My life was his. Gamon is no different.’

Another image. Thamos, Arther, and Gamon, inseparable as brothers.

‘But now the prince is gone.’ Arther gave no outward sign of the pain tearing across his aura. ‘As is the Angiers we left. Euchor’s Mountain Spears occupy the city now, with their flamework weapons. The Wooden Soldiers will soon be relegated to policing the boardwalk, breaking up domestic disturbances and illegal Jongleur shows. There is no longer anything for us there, even if we wished to return.’

Leesha had not considered that. ‘Where would you go, if I asked you to resign?’

‘I remain quartermaster for the Hollow’s Wooden Soldiers, unless you relieve me of that as well,’ Arther said. ‘I would return to the barracks while I sought employment among the barons. Baron Cutter, perhaps.’

‘I am still not certain of your loyalties, Arther. I fear I must be quite blunt,’ she tapped her spectacles, ‘and see the answers in your aura.’

Arther looked at her a long moment, eyes flicking to the lamps and curtained windows, and then to her warded spectacles. His aura was active, but it was too complex for Leesha to read, as if he was still sorting his own feelings about this invasion of privacy.

At last he sniffed, pulling himself up straight. ‘You are forgiven, my lady, for any blunt questions you put to me. As it was my due diligence to question your policies, it is yours to question my loyalty before taking me into your service.’

‘Thank—’ Leesha began.

‘But,’ Arther cut in with a raised hand. ‘If we are to work in good faith, you must agree that you will never again subject me to this …’ he waved a hand at Leesha’s spectacles, ‘… undue scrutiny without just cause and evidence.’

Leesha shook her head. ‘If you feel I have invaded your privacy I apologize, but my spectacles are a part of me now. I won’t take them off every time you enter the room. There are going to be changes in the Hollow, Arther. If anyone in my employ is uncomfortable about ward magic, I will of course provide excellent references and generous severance.’

‘Very well, my lady. I shall inform the staff. As for myself, if you have additional questions regarding my integrity, pray ask and let us have it done.’ Arther’s aura roiled with growing indignation. He considered himself above reproach and was offended by her mistrust.

Leesha knew she must step carefully. She might find Arther loyal, only to drive him away by refusing to give trust in kind.

Leesha crossed her arms. ‘The child is Ahmann Jardir’s.’

Arther’s aura did not change. ‘I am not a fool, my lady. Even if my lord had not informed me months ago, your mother would be shouting it from the turrets if the child belonged to Thamos.’

‘And still, you would remain in my service?’ Leesha asked.

‘Ahmann Jardir is dead,’ Arther said. ‘Whatever might have gone before, I think any ties you had to the Krasians died with him. After the Battle of Docktown, there can be no doubt that the new Krasian leader sees the Hollow as his enemy, and I know you well enough to trust you will not surrender it to him.’

‘Corespawned right,’ Wonda said.

‘My lord is dead as well,’ Arther said, the indignation in his aura gnawed away by a growing emptiness. ‘I know you loved him, and he you. Both of you were … free with your affections before you met. It is not my place to judge.’

‘You sent regular reports to Minister Janson,’ Leesha said.

‘We all did, including His Highness,’ Arther said. ‘Thamos hid nothing from the ivy throne.’

‘Janson is dead now, too,’ Leesha said. ‘And the ledgers of the Hollow are closed. You said yourself, the Angiers we knew is gone. The Hollow must find its own path.’

‘You mean to be Duchess of the Hollow,’ Arther guessed.

‘And if I do?’ Leesha asked. ‘Is your loyalty to me – to the Hollow – or to the ivy throne?’

Arther took a step back, unsheathing the ceremonial fencing spear on his back. Wonda twitched, but Leesha stayed her with a hand as Arther laid the weapon on the floor before the bed and knelt. ‘To you and the Hollow, my lady. I swear it by the Creator, and will swear again in the sun.’

Leesha held out a hand, and Arther took it. ‘And I swear to be worthy of your trust, First Minister.’

Arther kissed her hand. ‘Thank you, my lady.’

He rolled back on his heels, getting smoothly to his feet as he took a writing board from the satchel at his waist. ‘In that case, I’ve received dozens of requests for your calendar already, and there are a number of pressing matters …’

Leesha sighed, but felt much of her stress wash away with it. She glanced at the nursery. ‘You have until Olive begins to cry, Minister.’






Leesha Paper, Mistress of the Hollow

Leesha’s back spasmed as she scrawled the words for what seemed the thousandth time. Thamos’ chair was a great carved monstrosity, chosen more for intimidation than comfort. Magic helped speed her recovery, but she did not want to grow dependent upon it, especially with Olive suckling hungrily a dozen times a day.

She put one hand on the writhing muscles at the small of her back and stretched. She’d been signing since midmorning. Outside the office window, the sky was darkening.

Minister Arther snatched up the paper, laying it atop the completed pile even as he placed another in front of her. ‘Fifty thousand klats for horse barding bearing Baron Cutter’s arms.’ Arther swept the pertinent numbers with the end of his pen before drawing a quick X at the bottom. ‘Sign here.’

Leesha scanned the page. ‘This is ridiculous. I’m not approving that. The baron can spend his own money dressing up his horses. There are hungry mouths to feed.’

‘Your pardon, mistress,’ Arther said, ‘but the order was completed a month ago. The baron has his barding, and the vendor is owed payment.’

‘How did it go through without approval?’ Leesha asked.

‘His Highness left Baron Cutter in charge, and the man would rather box a wood demon than pick up a pen.’ Arther sniffed. ‘Apparently among the Hollowers, spitting on your hand is considered a binding contract.’

‘Most of them can’t read, anyway.’ Leesha gritted her teeth as she bent and signed, then glanced at the tall, unruly stack of papers the baron’s clerk had sent over. ‘Are they all like this?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ Arther said. ‘The people needed a symbol to rally to in the absence of the count and yourself. Especially after Mr and Mrs Bales disappeared. In that, Baron Cutter was a great success. As an administrator, he … left much to be desired.’

Leesha nodded. She could not pretend this was news to her; she had known Gared all her life. The people loved and trusted him. He was one of them – first of the Cutters to answer Arlen Bales’ call to take their axes into the night. He’d put himself between the Hollowers and the demons every night since, and they all knew it. Folk slept better, knowing Gared Cutter was in charge.

But he was much better at spending money than he was at counting it. Leesha could stamp an endless number of klats, but they were only worth as much as the people believed them to be.

‘Would you still seek his employ if I asked for your resignation?’ Leesha asked.

Arther blew a breath through his nose. ‘That was an empty threat, mistress. Baron Cutter goes through clerks faster than mugs of ale. Squire Emet resigned after the baron threatened to tear his arms off.’

Leesha sighed. ‘And if I ordered you to go, and him to take you?’

‘I might break my oath and defect to Krasia,’ Arther said, and Leesha laughed so hard it rasped her throat.

Her eyes moved back to the pile of papers, and the humour left her. She rubbed her temple, massaging the dull ache that would soon blossom into pain if she didn’t have something to eat and an hour alone in her garden. ‘Gared needs a clerk that’s not afraid of him.’

‘I don’t know where you’ll find such a man, this side of Arlen Bales,’ Arther said.

‘I wasn’t thinking of a man,’ Leesha said. ‘Wonda?’

‘Don’t look at me, mistress,’ Wonda said. ‘I’m worse with papers than Gar.’

‘Be a dear and fetch Miss Lacquer, then,’ Leesha said.

Wonda smiled. ‘Ay, mistress.’






‘Thank you for coming, Emelia.’ Leesha swept a hand at one of the chairs by her desk. ‘Please, take a seat.’

‘Thank you, Countess.’ Rosal dipped a smooth, practised curtsy, snapping her skirts as she rose so that when she seated herself, not a fold was out of place.

‘Please just call me mistress,’ Leesha said. ‘Tea?’

Rosal nodded. ‘Yes, please, mistress.’

Leesha signalled to Wonda. The woman could thread a needle with her bow, and she had an equally adept pour, carrying two steaming cups and saucers in one hand like a pair of klats.

‘How have you found the Hollow thus far?’ Leesha asked as she took her cup.

‘Wonderful.’ Rosal dropped a sugar in her tea, stirring. ‘Everyone’s been so welcoming. They’re all excited about the wedding. Even your mother has offered to help with the planning.’

‘Oh?’ This was the first Leesha had heard of it. It seemed unthinkable that Elona might offer to help anyone out of the goodness of her heart, Emelia Lacquer most of all.

Rosal nodded. ‘She’s introduced me to the best florists and seamstresses, and offered some … interesting advice on the dress.’

‘My mother isn’t one to waste excess cloth,’ Leesha said. ‘Especially on top.’

Rosal lifted her cup with a wink. ‘I’ve worn worse than anything your mum can dream up. But not this time. Rosal was for other men. Gared’s going to get a bride out of a Jongleur’s tale.’

‘Gared’s not getting anything until his paperwork gets done,’ Leesha said, indicating the pile on her desk.

Rosal nodded. ‘Papers aren’t Gar’s strength. After the wedding I can …’

‘That’s not going to do, dear,’ Leesha said. ‘Need I remind you of your debt to me?’

Rosal shook her head. Leesha had kept the Duchess Mum from throwing her in prison after the scandal at court. ‘Of course not, mistress.’

‘Good,’ Leesha said. ‘Amanvah’s dice said I could trust you to be loyal to the Hollow, and I need someone like that on my side right now.’

Rosal set down her saucer and sat up straight, hands in her lap. ‘How can I help?’

Leesha pointed to the stack. ‘Tell your promised he doesn’t get his seedpods drained until you sit him down and make him balance his ledgers.’

Rosal raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk twitching at her mouth. ‘Why, mistress, I have never once drained the baron’s seedpods. We are unwed! Think of the scandal!’

The smirk spread into a smile. ‘But I keep his tree at attention. Told him I won’t have it out of his breeches unless he’s tied down. Now whenever we’re alone he runs for the shackles.’

‘Creator,’ Leesha said. ‘You’re as bad as my mother. Be careful he doesn’t have his night strength, or he might break those shackles.’

Rosal’s eyes glittered. ‘Deep down, mistress, he doesn’t want to.’

‘All right I wait outside, mistress?’ Wonda cut in.

Rosal smiled at her. ‘Why, Wonda Cutter, you’re blushing!’

‘Like listenin’ to you talk about my brother,’ Wonda said.

‘I’ve two brothers myself,’ Rosal said. ‘I know more than I’d ever wish about their love lives.’ She winked. ‘But I won’t say the information wasn’t useful.’

‘Can I assume, then, you will quickly have the problem … ah,’ Leesha smiled in spite of herself, ‘… in hand?’

All three women shared a laugh.

‘Think no more on it, mistress,’ Rosal said. ‘I’ll put the shackles under his desk.’






‘The sun is set, mistress,’ Tarisa said.

Leesha pried Olive from her breast, handing her to Elona. ‘Is everyone arrived and given tea?’ Tarisa moved to fix her neckline, adding deft pats of powder.

‘Lot of ’em been waiting over an hour, now,’ Wonda said.

Leesha nodded. Keeping the councillors waiting was something Thamos had done to show his power, and it seemed apt to keep the practice for her first council meeting since she returned.

More, by calling the meeting late in the day, Leesha could wait out the sun, which flooded the western windows of the council chamber in the evenings. She slipped on her warded spectacles and rose, gliding out into the hall. She’d been home a week now and couldn’t put this off any longer.

‘Leesha Paper, Mistress of the Hollow,’ Arther said simply as he ushered her in through the royal entrance to the council chamber, all but hidden behind Thamos’ monstrosity of a throne. Eventually Leesha meant to be rid of the thing, but for now it served its purpose well, looming over the council.

Leesha had purposely removed the title from her name. Countess was something given to her by the throne of Angiers, but she had no intention of remaining beholden to them. It was high time the Hollow stood on its own.

Everyone rose, bowing and curtsying. She nodded in acknowledgement and swept a hand for them to take their seats. Only Arther kept his feet, taking up position beside the throne.

Leesha looked over the councillors. Her father, Erny, spoke for the Warders’ Guild. Smitt for the Merchants’. Shepherd Jona had taken Inquisitor Hayes’ great wooden chair, but Hayes had found another nearly as grand and sat next to him. Likewise, Baron Gared had Captain Gamon beside him. Darsy and Vika had the far end of the table, Darsy in the great padded chair Leesha once occupied. Next to them sat Amanvah, Kendall, and Hary Roller, master of the Jongleurs’ Guild.

‘Thank you all for coming,’ Leesha said. ‘I know there are many preparations to make for tonight’s ceremony, so we’ll keep this first meeting brief. First, as you all know, Lord Arther will retain his position as first minister.’ She nodded to the man. ‘Minister?’

Arther stepped forward, writing board ready. ‘The Hollow has sixteen baronies now, mistress, not counting Gatherers’ Wood. Eleven have active greatwards. Four have begun to pay taxes. The others remain … unstable as the people settle into their new lives.’

Most of those baronies were formed of refugees from the Krasians, a steady flow over the last year. The Hollow had grown exponentially to accommodate them, printing klats to start their economies and providing structure and materials to rebuild their lives.

‘All of ’em are sendin’ folk to join the Cutters,’ Gared noted. ‘Got recruits comin’ in every day, which is good. Demons are getting pushed out by the greatwards, but it ent thinnin’ their ranks. Anythin’, it’s gettin’ worse.’

‘We’re using moulds and stencils to ward their weapons and shields,’ Erny said. ‘Not as effective as those warded by hand, but it’s allowed us to keep up with demand. We’re working on bolts of cloth, as well, to mass-produce Cloaks of Unsight.’

Leesha nodded. ‘What are we doing to rebuild the cavalry?’

‘Jon Stallion has more horses coming,’ Smitt said. ‘The Wooden Lancers …’

‘Hollow Lancers,’ Leesha said, looking at Gamon.

‘Eh?’ Smitt asked.

‘The Wooden Soldiers are dissolved as of today,’ Leesha said. ‘Any who wish to join the Hollow Soldiers shall be automatically enrolled and keep their rank and pay, upon oath of allegiance to the Hollow. The rest …’

Gamon held up a hand. He and Arther had already discussed this. ‘I have spoken to the men, mistress. There are none who wish to return to Angiers.’

Leesha gave a nod. ‘We will see them back to strength soon, Captain.’

She looked to Jona, sitting with the rigid Inquisitor Hayes. ‘And your Tenders, Shepherd?’

‘It will be some time before they are returned to strength,’ Jona said. ‘The Krasian invaders executed Tender and Child alike, whenever they found them. We have only a handful to minister to many. I wish your blessing to appoint Inquisitor Hayes to speak for the Hollow’s first Council of Tenders.’

Leesha and the inquisitor eyed each other. He, too, had worn spectacles to the meeting. Leesha could see wardlight dance across them, and knew he was watching her aura as she did his.

This, too, had been agreed in advance. A way for both of them to keep face as they followed their script before the council.

‘How do you think Duke Pether will react,’ Leesha asked, ‘if you renounce the Church of Angiers and swear oath to an independent Church of the Hollow, with Jona as Shepherd?’

Hayes sketched a quick warding in the air. Leesha could see the script ripple across the ambient magic, impressed at his skill. His own eyes were drawn to it as well.

Leesha smiled at the dawning understanding in his aura. The Tenders have more power than they know.

Hayes shook off his surprise. ‘I trained Pether. He will take this as a personal betrayal. The Church of Angiers will declare me a heretic and likely issue a warrant for me to be burned alive if I set foot on Angierian soil ever again.’

‘And still you wish to do this?’ Leesha asked.

‘I was sent here to quell heresy,’ Inquisitor Hayes said. ‘To bring the Hollow back under the control of Shepherd Pether and the Church of Angiers. But in the months I have served here, I have seen people of tremendous faith and courage, and witnessed things the Angierian Council of Tenders can only imagine.

‘I do not pretend to know the Creator’s Plan, but I know that He put me here for a reason, to stand between these people and the Core. To let them know the Creator is watching, and He is proud.’

His aura shone with conviction, and Leesha gave a bow of her head to Jona. ‘You do not need my blessing, Shepherd, but you have it.’

‘Thank you, mistress,’ Jona said. ‘We will begin promoting Tenders and bringing in new Children, but it may be years before our ranks are secure.’

‘Of course,’ Leesha said. ‘Perhaps it is time to promote Child Franq?’

The auras of both men coloured. They cast nervous glances at each other, and Gared. Slowly the colour rippled around the table, until it was clear everyone else knew something Leesha did not. Even Darsy.

‘What?’ she demanded.

‘Franq’s a small part of a bigger problem,’ Darsy said. ‘One growin’ like chokeweed in the middle of the Hollow.’

‘The Painted Children,’ Leesha said.

‘Can’t tell ’em anythin’ any more!’ Gared slapped one of his giant hands on the table, and the whole thing shook, rattling everyone’s tea. ‘Don’t show up to muster, don’t listen to anyone but their own.’

‘They live in the Gatherers’ Wood,’ Smitt said. ‘They refuse to sleep inside walls.’

‘Like they ent folk any more,’ Gared said. ‘Becomin’ … somethin’ else.’

It was Leesha’s turn to slap the table. ‘Enough of that, Baron. These are not demons we’re talking about. These are brothers, sisters, and children of the Hollow. We’re talking about Evin and Brianne’s son Callen.’ She looked to Smitt. ‘Your son Keet and granddaughter, Stela.’

‘Callen broke Yon Gray’s arm,’ Gared said.

‘I caught Keet and Stela stealing from one of my warehouses,’ Smitt said. ‘Food, weapons, tools. My own son knocked me down when I tried to stop them. I put a new lock on the warehouse, and the next time they came they kicked in the six-inch goldwood door like it was kindling.’

‘What does all this have to do with Child Franq?’ Leesha asked.

‘It came to my attention that the Children had begun to self-train, forming their own rituals,’ Hayes said. ‘Fearing a growing risk of heresy, I sent Franq to minister to them. Reports indicated they were hungry to learn warding, and Franq is a skilled Warder. He used it to gain access.’

‘And?’ Leesha asked.

Hayes blew out a breath. ‘He has … joined them, mistress.’

Leesha blinked. ‘You’re telling me that Child Franq, a man made entirely of starch, has joined the Painted Children?’

Hayes nodded grimly. ‘The last time I saw him, mistress, he had taken to wearing a simple brown robe.’

‘That isn’t unusual,’ Leesha said.

‘His sleeves were cut away to show the wards tattooed on his arms,’ Hayes said. ‘And he stank of sweat and ichor.’

‘I’ll need to meet with them,’ Leesha said. ‘And soon.’

‘Ent a good idea, mistress,’ Wonda said.

‘She’s right, Leesh,’ Gared said. ‘Children’re dangerous.’

‘I trained ’em,’ Wonda said. ‘Listen to me. Know they will.’

Leesha shook her head. ‘I need to see for myself. I assure you, we will go prepared and do nothing to provoke them until we have their measure.’

‘Must be someone you can send,’ Wonda said, ‘just to feel things out.’

‘Normally that would be a job for my herald,’ Leesha said, ‘but with Rojer gone, that position is empty.’ She looked to Kendall. ‘The job is yours, Kendall, if you want it.’

Kendall blinked. ‘Me, mistress? Ent much more’n an apprentice …’

‘Nonsense,’ Leesha said. ‘Rojer himself told me you are the only one he’s ever met with his talent for charming demons. The Hollow needs that with him gone, and Rojer’s word is more than good enough for me. Guildmaster?’

Hary Roller smiled, producing a scroll and handing it to the young woman. ‘Your Jongleur’s licence, Kendall Demonsong.’

‘Ay, like the sound of that,’ Kendall said, taking the scroll.

‘So will you take the job?’ Leesha pressed. ‘The licence is yours regardless, but there is no one else I would have in the position.’

Kendall looked to Amanvah, who nodded. ‘Yes, mistress, of course.’

Hayes harrumphed. Leesha raised an eyebrow his way. ‘Something on your mind, Inquisitor?’

Hayes pursed his lips. ‘Only that your new herald appears to answer to an Evejan priestess first and her countess second.’

Amanvah’s brows knit together, aura spiking. Hayes saw it, too, and flinched. Leesha raised a hand before she could retort. ‘I trust Kendall implicitly, Inquisitor, which is more than I can say for your judgement at the moment. As for Amanvah …’ She looked to the dama’ting. ‘You might as well tell them.’

Amanvah drew a breath, returning to serenity. ‘Sikvah and I will be returning to Everam’s Bounty after our husband’s funeral. The Damaji’ting of the Kaji was slain in my brother’s coup. I am to take her place.’

There were gasps around the table. ‘Damaji’ting …’ Jona began.

‘“Shepherdess” is the closest translation,’ Amanvah said, ‘though it falls short, as it is a secular title as well. I will have direct control of the dama’ting and women of the Kaji, Krasia’s largest tribe.’

‘Shepherdess and duchess both, then,’ Jona said, bowing to her. ‘Congratulations, Your Highness.’

Similar sentiments echoed around the table. Amanvah acknowledged them with regal nods before turning to meet Leesha’s eyes. ‘I cannot speak for my mother and brother, mistress, but know by the blood we share that you and the Hollow will always have an ally in me.’

Leesha nodded. ‘Of that I have no doubt.’ She turned back to Arther. ‘What news from Lakton?’

Arther eyed Amanvah warily. ‘Mistress …’

‘There’s nothing you can say that Amanvah won’t learn on her return, Minister,’ Leesha said.

Arther pursed his lips, choosing his words carefully. ‘The island remains free, though the waters now host a growing number of Krasian privateers.’

‘And the mainland?’ Leesha asked.

‘Still under Krasian control,’ Arther said, ‘but their positions are weaker. The remains of Prince Jayan’s army have not returned. Half have deserted, preying like wolves on any settlements they come upon. The rest have taken refuge behind the walls of the Monastery of Dawn.’

‘And the refugees who took succour there?’ Leesha had sent Briar Damaj to find any that might have escaped the slaughter.

‘Briar’s been in and out,’ Gared said. ‘Brought in a group already. Due this evening with the last of ’em, includin’ a couple of Milnese dignitaries he wants you to meet.’

Leesha took a sip of her tea. ‘Have rooms ready for them, and an invitation to call on me once they’ve had a day or two to refresh themselves.’

She set down her cup. ‘Amanvah, let us discuss tonight’s service.’






Elona was pacing the hall outside when the meeting ended, but she wasn’t waiting for Erny. Her eyes, and her aura, remained fixed on Gared as she gave her husband a peck on the cheek and sent him on down the hall with a shove.

None of the councillors noticed Elona’s fixation, not even Hayes with his warded eyes. All were simply grateful she was not focused on them, and hurried past. But Gared lingered, talking with Arther and Gamon. When Elona entered the room, the two men scampered away as quickly as their dignity would allow. By the time Gared saw her, Elona had closed the door and he was trapped.

Elona turned to Leesha, who saw the same frightened urge to flee ripple through her own aura. She liked to think she had better control of her mother, but auras didn’t lie.

‘Bit of privacy, dear?’ Elona’s voice held a dangerous edge. Gared looked at Leesha in panic.

‘Sorry, Gar, this is overdue. You and my mother have things to discuss.’

Leesha turned and Wonda opened the door to the royal entrance. The two of them swept through, closing the heavy door behind them.

‘That’ll be all for now, Wonda,’ Leesha said.

‘Mistress?’ Wonda asked.

‘I may need to step back into this,’ Leesha said. ‘Do you want to be anywhere near it when I do?’

The panic rushed through Wonda’s aura now. Night, was there anyone in all the world not terrified of Elona? ‘No, mistress.’

‘Off you go, then,’ Leesha said. ‘Run and find Rosal. Ask her to fetch her promised from the council room.’ Relief flooded Wonda’s aura as she turned and sprinted down the hall.

Since returning to the Hollow, Leesha had forgone wearing the pocketed apron of a Herb Gatherer. Araine had told her it was not dignified or proper for a countess, and much as Leesha resented it, the woman was right.

But neither was it dignified or proper for Leesha to hide who she was. She had everyone address her as mistress, and her gowns were covered in stylish pockets, filled with herbs and warded items.

She selected a delicate warded silver ball dangling from the end of a fine silver chain. She set the ball into one ear, pulling the chain over and behind her ear to hold it in place. Inside the ball was a broken piece of demon bone. Leesha had left its twin on her throne, and through it she could hear everything occurring in the council room.

‘Been avoiding me, boy,’ Elona said, but it wasn’t the snappish tone she took with others. This was the purr of a cat sleeping atop the mousehole.

‘Just been busy,’ Gared said.

‘Ay, you were always busy,’ Elona agreed. ‘Until you had a stiff tree in your pants, and then you were at my door, beggin’ like a wolfhound.’

‘Ent gonna do that any more.’ Gared’s words sounded more a plea than an order. ‘Promised Leesha and swore by the sun.’

‘Easy to make an oath like that,’ Elona said. ‘Lot harder to keep it – believe me. Easy now, with that Angierian skink draining your seedpods night and day. Always like that at first. Think you’ll never need another woman. But she’ll tire of the chore, and untie your breeches less and less. Then one day, when your pods are fit to burst, you’ll come looking for me, knowin’ I’ll take you leaves-to-root and use tricks that young debutante of yours never heard of.’

Gared gasped. Was she touching him?

‘What do you think, boy?’ Elona asked. ‘She empty you like I can?’

‘W-we ent …’ Gared stuttered, ‘done that yet.’

‘Must be backed up to your eyeballs!’ Elona laughed, and it sounded triumphant. ‘What say I do your young promised a favour and skim some off the top for old times’ sake?’

There was a sound of stumbling and shifting furniture.

Elona laughed. ‘Want me under the table, ay? Let me take care of you in secret while folk buzz about?’

More shifting furniture. ‘Ent happenin’ again, Mrs Paper,’ Gared growled. ‘Deliverer said I could be a better man, and I aim to.’

‘You’re bein’ an idiot, boy,’ Elona snapped. ‘You can do better than that girl.’

‘Ya don’t even know her!’ Gared said.

‘Had enough tea with that simpering girl and her idiot mum to drown a water demon,’ Elona said. ‘She’s got nothing to offer now that my daughter’s single again.’

Night, Mother! Leesha thought. Still?!

But Gared surprised her. ‘Don’t want Leesha. Shined on her, I know, but that wern’t ever gonna work.’

Honest word, Leesha agreed.

‘It’s not just Leesha, you idiot,’ Elona snapped. ‘You marry her, you could be Duke of the Hollow. Night, one day you might be king of Thesa!’

Her voice turned back to a purr. ‘Now that she’s had a few spears, she’s ready for a real tree. And when she’s not climbing it, I’ll keep the fruit plucked.’

‘W-what about Erny?’ Gared squeaked.

‘Pfagh,’ Elona said. ‘He’ll hide in the closet and pull at himself until you’re gone, like always.’

Leesha had enough, slipping off the warded earpiece and opening the door. Gared was using the council table like a shield, frozen as a deer on the far side.

‘Creator be praised.’ Gared hurried over. Leesha wanted to laugh at the sight of Gared Cutter, seven feet of pure muscle, cowering behind her.

‘Fine, keep it in your pants!’ Elona growled. ‘That don’t change what it’s left behind!’

‘Ay, what’s that supposed to mean?’ Gared asked over Leesha’s shoulder.

‘It means I’ve got your babe in my belly, woodbrain,’ Elona snapped.

‘What?!’ Gared demanded. ‘Just thought you put on a few pounds.’

It was the worst thing he could have said. Elona’s aura went red, her eyes bulging.

But then the council room door opened and Rosal stepped in.

‘Night!’ Elona threw up her hands. ‘Does everyone in this ripping keep have an ear to the door?’

Rosal smiled. ‘I was just looking for Gared.’ She threw him a wink. ‘He’s got paperwork to do.’

Gared looked pale as Rosal looked back to Elona. ‘It’s not as if this is news to me. Gared has tells whenever your name is mentioned.’

‘I do?’ Gared asked.

Rosal’s eyes flicked over, holding his. ‘You’re not in trouble for anything past, so be smart and keep quiet now. I’ll handle this.’

Gared blew out a breath. ‘Ay, dear.’

Elona put her hands on her hips, fixed on Rosal now. ‘Smarter’n I gave you credit for, girl.’

Rosal gave a mocking curtsy. ‘I know you’re something special here in the Hollow, Lady Paper, but I went to school with dozens like you. I don’t mind that you broke Gared in, but on our wedding night I’m going to do things that will make him forget all about your bumpkin wife’s tricks.’

Elona’s hand darted out, reaching for Rosal’s long, thick hair, but Rosal was ready for it, slapping the hand aside and stepping out of reach. She had a dancer’s balance, and Leesha knew she could strike back if she wished.

But Rosal kept control. Her voice was quiet, smile still in place. ‘He’s not yours any more.’

‘Core he ent,’ Elona said. ‘Got his brat in me.’

‘You’ve got a child in you,’ Rosal agreed. ‘But is it Gared’s? Who can say? You’re a married woman.’

‘And when the babe don’t look like Erny?’ Elona asked.

Rosal shrugged. ‘I doubt any will be surprised. You have quite the reputation. “What’s Lady Paper done now?” is a drinking game among the servants, did you know?’

Elona’s aura darkened again, but she stood frozen.

‘But … what if it really is mine?’ Gared squeaked. All eyes turned to him.

‘Told the Deliverer I’d be a better man,’ Gared said, his voice slowly gaining strength. ‘Ent lookin’ for scandal, but I ent any kind of man, I can’t stand by my babe.’

Rosal went over to him. He flinched as she reached for him, but she only laid a gentle hand on his arm. ‘Of course not, my love. I would never ask that of you. But there are many ways to stand by the child, if we learn it’s yours.’

‘Ay?’ Gared asked.

‘By the time the babe comes, we’ll be married,’ Rosal said. ‘And our marriage contract will put our issue first in your succession. After that, you’re free to claim the child if you wish.’

She put a hand on his face. ‘But you may find it easier for all to simply visit often and shower the child with gifts.’

Elona crossed her arms. ‘And if I start the scandal, myself?’

‘You won’t,’ Rosal said. ‘Not without proof, and likely not even then. You’re not as smart as you think you are, Lady Paper, but you’re smarter than that. You have more to lose than Gared.’

Leesha spoke up at last. ‘I can call Amanvah if you wish, Mother. With a drop of your blood and a throw of her dice, she can give you proof. We can settle this all here and now.’

‘You, too, girl?’ Elona spat on the rug, turning on a heel to storm from the room.

Gared let out a groan, and Rosal patted his arm. ‘Breathe, love. You did well. We haven’t heard the last of this, but the worst is over. You just keep your distance and leave Elona to me.’

She turned to him, catching his eyes and holding them with her own. ‘And come our wedding day, you’ll never want her to climb your tree again.’

‘Don’t want it now,’ Gared said.

Rosal caught his beard, pulling his face down for a peck on the cheek. ‘Smart boy.’

Gared put his hand over hers. ‘Thought ya’d never understand, ya knew what I done.’

Rosal smiled. ‘Past is past, we agreed. Yours and mine.’

She looked to Leesha. ‘Thank you, mistress.’

‘Ay, Leesh,’ Gared said. ‘Came in like the Deliverer just then.’

‘Hardly,’ Leesha said.

‘Demonshit,’ Gared said. ‘Ent the first time. Yu’ve always been there when folk need ya most, Leesh. You an’ Rojer an’ Arlen Bales. Came to the Hollow together when we were beaten, and turned it around. Ent no one whose life ent changed by ya.’

‘Now Arlen is gone,’ Leesha said. ‘And Rojer. People are going to realize I’m no Deliverer when they see the foolish choices I’ve made.’

‘Ent gonna see any such thing.’ Gared waved an arm dismissively. ‘Broken folk come to the Hollow, lookin’ for the Deliverer, but the first thing they see is Leesha Paper, takin’ care of ’em.’

Leesha shook her head. ‘You’re the first thing they see, Gar.’

‘Ay, on the road, maybe,’ Gared agreed. ‘Cutters make ’em feel safe, but safe don’t give them a place to sleep and a full belly. Safe don’t heal the cored. Safe don’t put clothes on their backs and put ’em right back to work. Don’t give ’em a new life before losing the old one even has time to set in. You do that, Leesh. Time ya stopped bein’ so guilty about it.’

‘Guilty?’ Leesha asked.

‘That yur alive and Rojer ent,’ Gared said. ‘That ya had to kill those Krasians came to murder the duke. Poisoned them Sharum last summer so they couldn’t turn on us. Stuck the demon of the desert. Ya done what ya done to help people, every time. Wern’t selfish, or evil. Quit tellin’ yurself otherwise.’

Leesha looked at Gared, trying to peel back the years to their childhood romance, or the young man she had hated for so many years. The man who had ruined her reputation and arguably her life. The man in front of her was both those men, and neither. The mistakes of youth had cast both of them onto new paths.

Those paths had been difficult, but they’d led inexorably to them becoming the most powerful people in Hollow County.

And somewhere along the way, he had become like a brother to her. He was a woodbrained oaf even now, but he was a good man, and she loved him still. Leesha reached out, taking Gared’s and Rosal’s hands in hers. ‘I am truly happy for the two of you.’











4 (#ulink_f5bea2b1-02e9-52a8-8c13-c5b7fceebaa3)

Ragen and Elissa (#ulink_f5bea2b1-02e9-52a8-8c13-c5b7fceebaa3)

334 AR


‘Night.’ Ragen pulled up short as the thick woods to either side of the warded Messenger road ended abruptly. It was nearing dusk, but there was light still. ‘We passed through less than a year ago, and this was miles of woodland.’

‘Cutters’ axes swing day and night,’ Briar said. The boy was on foot, somehow keeping pace with the horses.

Even atop his saddle, Ragen could smell Briar. Elissa had him bathing now, but all the hogroot the boy ate had gotten into his sweat. The scent protected him from demons at night, but it made him stand out to everyone else.

‘They didn’t just clear the land,’ Elissa said. ‘There are entire towns that weren’t there before.’

‘Greatwards, too,’ Briar said. ‘Cories can’t touch the Hollow.’

‘Creator be praised.’ Elissa blew out a breath. ‘I set out from Miln to have a taste for once of the naked night. Now I’ve had my fill. I’m ready for walls, a bath, and a feathered bed.’

‘Walls make you soft,’ Briar said. ‘Forget what’s out there.’

‘I daresay I’ll have no trouble remembering,’ Ragen said. They had been making their way out of Lakton for weeks via ill-used Messenger ways. Ragen had maps, but since the great Messenger road was built, many of the old trails had been reclaimed by the wetlands.

But the road was too dangerous. After the Battle of Docktown, the Krasians sent an army to take the Monastery of Dawn. The monastery was the most defensible spot Ragen had ever seen short of Lakton itself. He and Shepherd Alin had thought to hold out for weeks, but even those great walls were no match for Krasian laddermen. There was hand-fighting on the walls the first day, and they had been forced to flee to the docks.

Krasian privateers harried them for miles, but could not keep pace with Captain Dehlia and the Sharum’s Lament. They lost sight of the pursuers long enough to send boats out to a tiny fishing village to the north where they could begin the trek back to Miln.

The Krasians were conquering every village near the Messenger road, so Ragen had taken his charges overland, through out-of-the-way hamlets and along trails that were little more than dim memories of a path. They made valuable contacts along the way, and sent Euchor reports whenever possible, though Creator knew if any of them made it to him.

Ragen shook his head as they approached the first greatward. ‘I remember when Cutter’s Hollow was a hamlet with less than three hundred people. Now it’s home to a hundred thousand, by some estimates.’

‘All because of Arlen,’ Elissa said.

‘You really knew him?’ Briar asked. ‘Painted Man?’

‘Knew him?’ Ragen laughed. ‘We practically raised him. Like a son to us.’ Briar looked up at him, and Ragen reached down, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. Briar tended to flinch at intimate contact, but this he allowed, even leaning into it a bit. ‘Like you’ve become, Briar.’

‘In another life, you might have called him brother.’ Elissa choked on the words. ‘But now Arlen is gone.’

‘Ent,’ Briar said.

‘What’s that, boy?’ Ragen asked.

‘Folk saw him,’ Briar said. ‘When Krasians first came. He was on the road, helping.’

‘There were rumours,’ Elissa said.

Ragen reached over to take her hand. ‘People tell ale stories, Briar.’

Briar shook his head. ‘Different folk, different places, same story. Drew wards in the air and cories burst into flame.’

‘Do you think …’ Elissa asked.

‘Wouldn’t surprise me,’ Ragen said, though he hadn’t dared believe it himself. ‘Boy’s too stubborn to die.’

Elissa laughed, sniffling.

She looked up suddenly. ‘Do you hear singing?’






‘There.’ Ragen had the distance lens to his eye, whatever he saw lost in the gloom to Elissa.

‘What is it?’ Elissa asked.

Ragen passed Elissa the lens. ‘Looks like a funeral procession.’

In the lens, Elissa could see a fiddle-playing Jongleur, flanked by two singing Krasian women in bright, colourful robes. Behind the Krasian women were a Tender and a finely dressed woman, followed by their attendants and six Cutters bearing a wooden litter on their wide shoulders.

Hundreds followed in their wake, voices joined in song. They were led by a bright patchwork troupe of Jongleurs.

‘The Jongleur at the lead,’ Elissa said, moving the lens back to the front. ‘Might that be Arlen’s friend? The fiddle wizard, Rojer Halfgrip?’

‘Not unless Arlen didn’t notice that Halfgrip is a woman with two hands,’ Ragen said. Elissa looked closer and saw he was right. The three in front were all women.

Elissa studied the women. Their music was eerily clear, carried on the night air as if by magic. ‘Why would a funeral procession be heading to the edge of the greatwards?’

‘Kill seven cories,’ Briar said.

Elissa looked at him. ‘Whatever for?’

‘It’s a Krasian ritual,’ Ragen said. ‘They believe killing seven demons – one for each pillar of Heaven – honours and guides a departing spirit down the lonely path.’

‘The lonely path?’ Elissa asked.

‘Path that leads to the Creator.’ Briar’s voice tightened. ‘And His judgement.’

They stepped off the road as the procession reached them, blending into the crowd as it passed. The Mistress of the Hollow held a rod in her hand that looked to be a slender bone covered in gold plate, etched with wards. As they went, she used it to draw light wards that hung in the air like silver script. Then she gave a flick of her wrist and they shot high into the sky and burst into brilliance, hanging in the air to illuminate the procession.

‘Ragen,’ Elissa said quietly.

‘I see.’ Ragen had heard of the demon bone magic of the Krasians, but didn’t truly understand it until now. If demon bones held magic after the coreling died, it meant any skilled Warder could do what the mistress just did.

And few in Miln were as skilled as the Warders’ Guildmaster and his wife.

The procession stopped at a great clearing, and the trio at the lead left the road, going to stand at its centre. They changed their song, and demons appeared at the outskirts, drawn to the sound. Elissa gripped Ragen’s arm with sharp fingernails, but neither of them could utter a word.

A few in the crowd cried out when the corelings were almost upon them, but again the music shifted, and demon claws dug great furrows in the ground as they pulled up short.

The fiddler kept her tune, holding the centre of the clearing free of demons as the Krasian women circled, driving some of the demons away with shrieks, even as they kept others bound in place until there was only one of each breed.

It was incredible, the level of control the players had. Elissa had never seen anything like it. Even Arlen’s stories of Halfgrip the fiddle wizard paled in comparison.

‘We must take this power to Miln,’ Elissa said.

‘Ay,’ Ragen said.

‘Halfgrip wrote music on paper,’ Briar said. ‘Seen Jongleurs with it.’

Elissa nodded. ‘I’ll find the Jongleurs’ Guildmaster and pay whatever it takes to get a copy.’

‘Ent s’posed to charge,’ Briar said. ‘Halfgrip said all could share.’

‘You don’t suppose …’ Elissa’s eyes flicked to the pall, seeing a crossed fiddle and bow embroidered on the cloth.

‘Night,’ she whispered.






Leesha’s eyes were drawn by the sound of thundering footfalls. A twenty-foot rock demon appeared on the far side of the clearing, brushing winter-barren trees aside like reeds as it stepped from the woods.

The Cutters closed ranks behind the demon, trapping the seven demons in the clearing and preventing others from entering. Their warded cutting tools hung over their shoulders, unused this night. They stood guard with voices alone.

The song was Keep the Hearthfire Burning, an old woodcutting shanty every Hollower knew. Hearthfire was meant to keep cutters’ tools in sync while they worked. Leesha remembered the night Rojer first heard it. He hummed the tune for days after, working the melody on his fiddle. The changes he made were subtle, but somehow her friend worked his special magic into the music.

Now the first verse of Keep the Hearthfire Burning kept the Cutters marching in step while keeping demons at bay. The second drew the enemy in close, and the third disorientated corelings as the axes fell upon them.

‘Still keeping us safe,’ Leesha whispered.

‘What’s that, mistress?’ Wonda asked.

‘Rojer’s protecting us, even now,’ Leesha said.

‘Course he is,’ Wonda said. ‘Creator wouldn’t have taken Rojer if his work wern’t done.’

Leesha had never been comfortable with the idea of a Creator so involved in who lived and who died. What was the point of Gathering if it were so? Nevertheless, the thought of Rojer in Heaven was a comforting one.

There were seven demons in all, one for each pillar in the Krasian Heaven. A flame demon danced around the rock’s feet. There was a spindly-armed bog demon and a long-limbed wood demon. A field demon, sleek and low to the ground. A squat stone demon lumbered, and above in the sky a wind demon circled.

Amanvah and Sikvah ceased their singing, and Kendall lowered her fiddle. The priestess raised a hand. ‘Jaddah.’

‘That’s my cue.’ Wonda passed Leesha her bow, rolling her loose sleeves as she strode to the centre of the clearing. The wards stained onto her arms glowed softly.

Wonda chose the bog demon, skittering in before it could snatch her in its arms. The demon was not flexible enough to strike in close, and she landed a series of blows, accentuated by the impact wards on her fists and elbows. A warded boot heel sent the demon stumbling back, and she moved in quick, stomping the demon’s knee and putting it on its back.

She moved in close again, falling atop the coreling and pinning it, raining blows down upon its head. The demon flailed, but after a time its movements were only reflex responses to her continuing blows. Her wards glowed brighter and brighter until the demon’s head cracked open.

‘Avash,’ Amanvah said when Wonda at last stepped back, covered in ichor that sizzled on her wards.

Gared stepped forward then. His axe was slung, but he wore his great warded gauntlets, and he chose the ten-foot-tall wood demon as his gift to Heaven. He wasn’t as graceful and quick as Wonda, but the demon was immediately on the defensive, stumbling back under his thunderous blows. It lasted less time than the bog demon.

‘Umas.’ Amanvah named the third pillar of Heaven as she called Rojer’s apprentices, led by Hary Roller, into the clearing. The Jongleurs chose the field demon, driving the coreling into a frenzy with their music before setting it on the stone demon.

The field demon leapt upon the stone demon, claws raking, but they could not penetrate the heavy armour. The stone demon batted the field demon to the ground and smashed its skull with a heavy talon.

Amanvah caught Leesha’s eye. ‘Rahvees.’

Leesha drew a breath, stepping forward and raising her hora wand at the stone demon. She drew silver wards in the air with quick, sharp script. Cold wards froze it in place, ichor turning solid in the demon’s veins. Lectricity wards shocked through the beast, racking it with pain.

‘For you, Rojer.’ Leesha drew impact wards, and the demon shattered.

‘Kenji.’

Kendall stepped forward, raising bow to string. She drew the flame demon to her effortlessly, coaxing the beast to draw firespit into its mouth. Then she changed her song, forcing the demon to swallow it.

Flame demon scales were impervious to heat, but the same could not be said of their insides. The demon choked and fell onto its back, thrashing as its insides burned.

Kendall picked up the tempo as she circled the coreling, notes becoming hard and discordant. The flamer whined and cried, curling into a protective ball as Kendall played faster and faster. Her bow became a blur as she raised her head away from the fiddle’s chin rest. The music grew so loud, Leesha’s eardrums throbbed even beneath the wax she and the other mourners wore.

At last the flame demon gave a final throe and lay still. Kendall let her music die away as Amanvah pointed to the wind demon in the sky. ‘Ghanith.’

Sikvah took her turn, calling to the demon. It circled down, talons leading to snatch the tiny girl up and sweep away into the sky with her.

But as it drew close, Sikvah touched her throat and gave such a cry the demon pulled up short, flapped wildly, and then fell to the ground, dead. Sikvah turned to her sister-wife, bowing. ‘Horzha.’

Amanvah’s coloured silks billowed in the breeze as she sauntered up to the rock demon, beginning to sing the Song of Waning. Her voice rose alone in the night, holding the rock demon in its grip.

Louder and louder she sang as she circled the rock. She had a hand to her throat, working the magic of her choker. It grew so loud that Leesha had to cover her ears, and she saw folk half a mile up the road doing likewise as they watched. Leesha felt she could almost see the vibration in the air as the resonance grew.

And then, abruptly, there was a great crack, and the rock demon fell, striking the ground with a boom.

‘Honoured husband, Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Hollow.’ Amanvah’s voice carried unnaturally far. ‘Rojer of the Half Grip, disciple of Arrick of the Sweetest Song, let our sacrifice summon a seraph to guide you on the lonely path to Everam, where you shall sup at His table until there is need for your spirit to return to Ala once more.’






Leesha walked beside Amanvah as they entered the Corelings’ Graveyard. Sikvah and Kendall were two steps behind them, followed by Tender Jona and Cutters bearing Rojer to the pyre.

The Straw Gatherers had done their work well. Rojer’s handsome face was serene, showing nothing of the violence of his death. He was clad in bright silk motley and looked as if he might leap to his feet at any moment and begin playing a reel.

He lay on a bed of axe handles crossed over the broad shoulders of Gared, Wonda, and half a dozen hand-picked Hollowers. Dug and Merrem Butcher. Smitt. Darsy. Jow and Evin Cutter.

Folk filled the Graveyard, packing the cobbles before the pyre and stretching down the road in every direction. All roads in Cutter’s Hollow led here, to the centre of the greatward.

The pyre had been built in front of the bandshell that had been Rojer’s place of power. Gared and Wonda were weeping openly as they laid Rojer on the great platform over the pile of kindling.

Amanvah, Sikvah, and Kendall fell to their knees on the stage, wailing and sobbing with dramatic flair as young Krasian girls scraped the tears from their cheeks into tiny bottles of warded glass.

Leesha wanted to weep. She had often sought solace in tears, and wept over Rojer many times in private over the last few weeks. But now, before all the gathered people of the Hollow, she felt as if she had nothing left to give. Thamos, dead. Arlen gone, and Ahmann’s fate uncertain. And now Rojer. Would it be her fate to bury every man she loved?

After a time, Amanvah recovered herself and got to her feet, looking out over the crowd as she activated her choker. ‘I am Amanvah vah Rojer vah Ahmann am’Inn am’Hollow, First Wife to Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Hollow. My husband was son-in-law to Shar’Dama Ka, but there was no denying that he, too, was touched by Everam. We burn his body according to your custom, but in Krasia, sharik hora, the bones of heroes, are honoured above all others. My honoured husband’s bones will be taken from the remains, lacquered, and encased in warded glass to consecrate the new temple to the Creator here on the sacred ground of the Corelings’ Graveyard.’

Kendall began a slow, mournful song, and Amanvah began to sing. Sikvah joined her, the trio wrapping the crowd in their music as easily as they charmed corelings.

As she sang, Amanvah produced the tiny skull of a flame demon and pointed it at the pyre, fingers sliding across the wards to activate the magic. A blast of flame shot from the jaws, setting the wood beneath the pyre alight. The Straw Gatherers had filled the body with chemics and sawdust, and it blazed quickly, shining over the crowd as they stood entranced by the Krasian funeral song.

When it was over, Leesha took the stage, clearing her throat. She did not have a choker like the princess, but there was magic in the bandshell as well, carrying her words far into the night.

Still Leesha’s tears would not come, and no doubt the mourners were wondering at the sight. Why isn’t she crying? Didn’t she love him? Doesn’t she care?

She took a deep breath. ‘Rojer made me promise that if this day ever came, I’d have singing and dancing, and toss the speeches in the flames with him.’

There was scattered laughter.

‘It’s honest word.’ Leesha produced a folded paper. ‘He even wrote it down.’ She opened the paper, reading.

Leesha, I plan to live long enough to dazzle my great-grandchildren with magic tricks, but we both know life doesn’t always go according to plan. If I should die, I’m counting on you to make sure my funeral isn’t some boring, depressing affair. Tell everyone I was great, sing a sad song while you light the pyre, then tell Hary to spin a reel and order folk to shut up and dance.

Leesha folded the paper, slipping it into a pocket of her dress. ‘I wouldn’t be here if not for Rojer Halfgrip. I dare say many of us wouldn’t. More than once, his music was the last line of the Hollow’s defence, giving us time to regroup, to find our feet, to catch our breath.

‘When Arlen Bales fell from the sky at new moon, it was Rojer’s fiddle that lured the coreling hordes into ambush after ambush, allowing us to hold the night.

‘But that’s not how I remember him best,’ Leesha went on. ‘Rojer was the one who was always ready with a joke when I was sad, or an ear when I needed one. He could be my conscience one moment, and turn a backflip the next. When problems mounted and everything seemed too much to bear, Rojer could just take out his fiddle and soothe it all away.

‘That was his magic. Not drawing wards or throwing lightning. Not seeing the future or healing wounds. Rojer Inn saw into hearts, human and demon, and spoke to them with his music. I’ve never known anyone like him, and I don’t expect I shall again.

‘Rojer was great.’ She choked, putting a hand to her mouth, and suddenly found her tears. Amanvah herself rushed forward, catching the drops before they fell from her cheek.

Leesha took a moment to compose herself, then turned to the leader of the Jongleurs in the bandshell. ‘Hary, it’s time for that reel.’






Elissa drank and danced with the Hollowers all night. Ragen swung Elissa about like he hadn’t since they courted, and even Briar took a turn – the boy surprisingly light on his feet and quick to pick up the steps. The three of them laughed until their faces hurt, feeling safe and joyful for the first time in Creator only knew how long.

As the night wore on, Jongleurs broke off, luring revellers back to their own boroughs just as Halfgrip once lured the corelings, and there was cheer and laughter throughout the Hollow.

There were groans throughout the taproom of Smitt’s Inn as dawn light filtered in the windows. There were trays piled high with eggs, bacon, and bread, pitchers of water, and a bucket at the end of every table for retching. One patron was not quick enough, emptying his stomach onto the floor. The sight of it made Elissa’s own stomach roil, but she took deep breaths, focusing on the water pitcher until the room stopped spinning.

Stefny, the innkeeper’s wife, was there before the man finished with a damp cloth to wipe his mouth and a mop to shove in his hands when he was clean. The man wisely set to cleaning his mess.

‘You all right?’ Stefny asked Elissa. ‘I know the look. See one lose it and others are quick to follow.’

‘I’ll manage,’ Elissa said, sipping at her water.

Stefny nodded. ‘Ent much business getting done today. Mistress Leesha sent word she’ll receive you on the morrow.’ She sniffed, eyes flicking to Briar. ‘Time enough to rest up and have a proper bath before going to court.’

Briar frowned. The boy, bless him, had the resilience of youth, and looked fitter than the rest of them. He’d finished two helpings of breakfast and now got to his feet. ‘Come find you tomorrow morning.’

‘There’s room—’ Stefny began.

‘Don’t like walls,’ Briar cut in. ‘Got a briarpatch in the Gatherers’ Wood.’ Without another word, he was out the door.






The water had long since cooled, but Elissa was still soaking in the bath when Ragen returned to the room the next morning.

‘Turns out Smitt’s the local banker, as well,’ Ragen said. ‘Once he sobered a bit, our name was enough to get a line of credit to fund our journey back to Miln. Be a few weeks before we can hire hands and get supply, but things should go smoothly from here.’

‘From your lips to the Creator’s ear,’ Elissa said. ‘I was beginning to think the children would be grown by the time we returned.’

‘Hard to plan for an invasion,’ Ragen said. ‘If there’s a Creator, I’d say He’s done His part just seeing us through.’

As promised, Briar was waiting on the porch when they had readied themselves. He still smelled of hogroot, but the dirt was gone, at least. Elissa had seen him swim in freezing ponds and streams without so much as a shiver, but it saddened her nevertheless to see him this way. Ragen had hoped to take the boy back home with them, and Elissa dreamed of teaching him the pleasures of a bath and a clean set of clothes, but both of them knew now it was only a fantasy. Briar was Briar, and that wasn’t going to change. The path that made him who he was could not be unwalked.

There were guards everywhere in the countess’s keep, a surprising number of them female, though no less armoured and intimidating than the men. Milnese were tall, but Hollowers tended to be broad, as well. Their fine clothes walked them past the outer security, but surprisingly it was Briar that got them into the inner chambers.

‘Briar!’ There was a shout, and all three of them spun to see the Baron of Cutter’s Hollow looming over them. Briar tensed, but he accepted the hand the giant man stuck out at him. The baron yanked, pulling him into a great bear hug.

Briar scrambled back out of reach when he let go, and the man turned to Ragen and Elissa, staring open-mouthed at the scene. ‘Boy saved my life. Night, lost count of the lives he’s saved.’

‘You’da killed that corie,’ Briar said.

The baron shrugged. ‘Ay, maybe, but it would’ve taken a chunk of me with it.’

‘For a boy that lives in the woods, he seems to make a lot of powerful friends.’ Ragen put out a hand, and he and Gared clasped forearms. ‘Ragen, Warders’ Guildmaster of Fort Miln.’ He swept a hand next to him. ‘This is my wife, Mother Elissa, daughter of Countess Tresha of Morning County in Miln, and head of the Milnese Warding Exchange.’

Elissa couldn’t remember the last time she’d needed to curtsy, but the move was ingrained still. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Baron.’

‘Lord Arther’s got his hands full today,’ Gared said. ‘Sent me to fetch ya for Mistress Leesha.’ He led them through a series of halls, past the formal receiving rooms, and into a residential wing. ‘Mistress had a babe this past week. Likes to keep it close.’

‘I’m surprised she’s seeing us at all, if it’s been just a week,’ Elissa said.

‘Briar says yur important, so yur important,’ Gared said as they came up to a door guarded by one of the biggest women Elissa had ever seen. Even indoors, she had a bow over her shoulder and a small quiver of arrows on her hip.

‘’Scuse me a minute. Need to make sure she ent …’ His face reddened. ‘Feedin’ or anythin’.’

Elissa swallowed her smile. Men could face demons and Krasians and everything else the world could throw at them, but a suckling babe was still too much for many of them to bear witness to.

He spoke to the guard, and she slipped inside, returning a moment later with permission to enter. The office was spacious, with great windows, their heavy curtains thrown back to let in the morning sun. The Mistress of the Hollow was seated on a throne behind a gigantic desk of carved and polished goldwood, but she rose as they entered, coming around to embrace Briar, heedless of his dirty clothes and ever-present smell. She held him a long time, kissing the top of his head, and Elissa knew then this was a woman she could trust.

Briar looked up as they parted, seeing the cradle in the back corner of the room behind the desk. ‘That …?’

‘Olive,’ the countess said. ‘My daughter.’

A wide smile broke out on Briar’s face. ‘Can I …?’

‘Of course,’ the countess said. ‘But quietly now. I’ve only just got her to sleep.’ She turned to the others as Briar crept over, silent as a cat.

‘Welcome to the Hollow, Mother, Guildmaster. Will you take tea?’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Elissa said, reaching for her skirts.

The countess waved dismissively as she led them to couches around a tea table. ‘Please, call me Leesha. Briar’s told me what you’ve done for the Laktonians. There’s no need for formality here.’

‘We did what any in our position would have,’ Ragen said, ‘for all the good it did.’

‘Most in your position would have fled home, not spent the better part of the year helping refugees and the resistance,’ Leesha said as a servant poured the tea. ‘And I think the folk building the borough of New Lakton would say you did quite a bit of good.’

‘You’ve done your research, mistress,’ Elissa said.

‘I like to be informed,’ Leesha said.

‘Our condolences for your loss,’ Ragen said. ‘Halfgrip’s fame extended to Miln and beyond. The power your people held in the night with his songs was … staggering.’

‘We would like to take the music back to Miln,’ Elissa said. ‘It could safeguard travellers, caravans …’

Leesha nodded. ‘Of course. Nothing would honour Rojer’s memory more than spreading his music far and wide. We’ll send written music back with you for your Jongleurs.’

Elissa bowed. ‘Thank you, mistress. That is most gracious.’

‘It’s the least we can do, considering our friend in common,’ Leesha said.

Elissa raised an eyebrow. ‘Briar?’

Leesha shook her head. ‘The boy Ragen found on the road many years ago, and you raised as your own. Arlen Bales.’

Gared dropped his teacup, and it shattered on the floor.






‘Do you think he’s still alive?’ Elissa asked.

‘Course he is,’ Baron Cutter said. ‘Deliverer, ent he?’

‘No one in all the world loves Arlen Bales more than I,’ Elissa said. ‘He was a brilliant boy, and he grew into an amazing man. But I’ve dried his tears and cleaned his sick. Argued when he was stubborn and seen him err. Saw the hurts he carried and how he blamed himself for them. I don’t know if I can ever see him as the Deliverer.’

‘It’s irrelevant in any event,’ Leesha said. ‘Deliverer or no, he’s set the world on a path we all need to walk.’

‘That ent the Deliverer’s job, dunno what is,’ Wonda said. ‘I’ll eat my bow and the quiver besides, he ent alive. Folk seen him on the road, helping those fleeing Lakton.’

‘No one saw his face,’ Leesha said. ‘That could as easily have been Renna.’

‘Arlen’s wife,’ Elissa said. There were many regrets in her life, but missing the wedding cut deep. If any man deserved a bit of happiness in his life, it was Arlen Bales.

‘Night, that’s right,’ Ragen said. ‘Didn’t think any woman could settle that boy down. What’s she like?’

A pained look flickered over Leesha’s face, and Elissa gave him a subtle kick. Arlen had spoken of Leesha and what they shared – a spark doused by fear and panic.

Ragen lacked subtlety, but he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t the first time Arlen Bales had fled a woman offering something too joyful for his tortured soul to bear. What kind of woman had finally reached him?

‘Renna Bales saved my life,’ Gared said. ‘Saved us all, when the Deliverer fell.’

‘Fell?’ Ragen asked. ‘Over the cliff with the demon of the desert?’

The baron shook his head. ‘’Fore that. When the minds came for the Hollow on new moon. Went out with Rojer and Renna to scout, and we found a world of trouble. Mind demons were digging greatwards of their own.’

‘Night,’ Ragen said. ‘Corelings can ward?’

‘Only the minds, it seems,’ Leesha said, ‘but their warding makes ours look like a child’s scrawl.’

‘Fought like mad, but there were too many of ’em,’ the baron went on. ‘Only made it back slung over Renna’s shoulder. Rojer told Mr Bales what we saw and he jumped into the sky.’

‘What?’ Elissa asked.

‘Took off like a bird,’ Wonda said. ‘Thousands saw him, floating in the sky, throwin’ lightning at the demons like the Creator Himself.’

Ragen looked to Elissa. ‘How’s that possible?’

‘He was Drawing off the greatward,’ Leesha said. ‘Pulling massive amounts of power and throwing it at the demon wards before they could activate fully. But even a greatward has limits.’

‘One moment he was glowin’ like the sun, then …’ Wonda blew a breath. ‘Out like a candle. Fell and cracked like an egg on the cobbles.’

Elissa gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

‘Thought everythin’ was lost then,’ Gared said. ‘No one was givin’ up, but there wern’t much hope. But then Renna Bales stepped up. Held the last line when every defence was broke. Held it until Mr Bales came back to us. Two o’ them held hands as the tide came in, and threw it back into the night.’

‘Ent dead,’ Wonda said. ‘Man who can walk away from that …’

Leesha pursed her lips, then nodded to herself, getting to her feet. ‘Bar the door, Gar. Wonda, the curtains.’

Ragen, Elissa, and Briar watched in confusion as they were locked into the room and cloaked in darkness. Leesha unlocked a drawer in her desk, producing what looked like a large piece of obsidian, but they could well guess what it was, even before she fitted it into a slot on the wall and a wardnet sprang up around them. It circled the room and crisscrossed the ceiling and floor, casting them all in gentle wardlight.

‘No sound will escape the room.’ Leesha returned to her seat, taking her teacup and sipping thoughtfully. ‘What I say here must never be repeated.’

‘Swear by the sun,’ Gared said.

‘Course, mistress,’ Wonda added. Briar grunted his agreement.

Ragen took Elissa’s hand. ‘You have our word.’

‘Renna Bales came to me the night we learned the Krasians attacked Lakton,’ Leesha said. ‘She told me Arlen is alive.’

‘Knew it!’ Wonda burst, even as Gared roared a laugh, bringing his hands together in a resounding smack.

‘Creator be praised,’ Ragen whispered, but Elissa said nothing, knowing there was more.

‘She also told me they would not come again,’ Leesha said. ‘They’d become too powerful, and were drawing the minds’ attention to the Hollow, just as Ahmann was doing in Krasia. We needed time to grow our defences, and so he left to give us that.’

‘Said it himself,’ Gared said. ‘Told Jardir he was the last piece of business before he took the fight to the Core.’

‘What does that mean?’ Ragen asked.

‘Arlen can mist as the demons do,’ Leesha said. ‘Renna, too, the last time I saw her. He told me he could hear the Core calling to him, could slip down into it like a coreling at dawn.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘But he didn’t seem to think much of his chances if he tried.’

‘Better chance’n any of us,’ Gared said.

Ragen kept his composure, but he was squeezing Elissa’s hand so hard it hurt. She laid her other hand gently atop his, and his tension eased. ‘Gared’s right. How many times has Arlen cheated death? He’ll turn up again, just when we’ve given up, and start the worry afresh.’

Ragen laughed. ‘Ay, that’s my boy.’

‘In the meantime, we need to do as he asked, and grow strong,’ Leesha said. ‘Not something we can do if we’re more concerned with killing one another than the corelings.’

‘We didn’t bring that fight, mistress,’ Ragen said. ‘The Krasians believe Sharak Ka is coming, and the Evejah tells them the only hope mankind has to survive is for all the world to kneel before the Skull Throne.’

‘They brought the fight,’ Leesha agreed, ‘but it’s been brewing for years. Euchor didn’t build his flamework weapons and train men in their use overnight.’

‘No,’ Ragen agreed. ‘He’s long had his eye on subjugating the ivy throne and reuniting Thesa under his rule, but he would never have struck first.’

‘The question then,’ Leesha said, ‘is will he be content to stop at Angiers now that he has it, or will he use the Krasians as an excuse to press south and claim all the Free Cities as his own?’

Elissa exchanged another look with Ragen. ‘He will press. And expect you to follow and thank him for the privilege. The Hollow is too powerful for him to suffer at his doorstep when Angiers gives him a claim to it.’

‘Gettin’ tired of folk who ent ever bled for the Hollow marchin’ in and expecting us to bow and scrape,’ Gared said.

‘You won’t have to,’ Leesha said. ‘Euchor’s weapons won’t work as well here as he thinks.’

‘Because of you,’ Elissa said. ‘Because of your magic.’

Leesha nodded. ‘I have wardings that can render their chemics inert. Flamework weapons are not welcome in my lands.’

‘Will you teach us something of this bone magic, and how the hora is preserved?’ Elissa asked.

Gared and Wonda looked to their mistress, but Leesha did not hesitate. ‘Of course. After all, who do you think taught me?’

She looked to Ragen. ‘I know you have retired as a Royal Messenger, Guildmaster, but I beg you take one last commission and act as my voice in Miln before His Grace, Duke Euchor.’

Ragen bowed. ‘I would be honoured, mistress. His Grace will be expecting a full report from us upon our return. You have my word I will hold secrets given me in confidence, and negotiate in good faith on your behalf.’

Leesha bowed in return. ‘The honour is mine. We can discuss details in the coming days. For now, I invite the three of you to transfer your belongings here to my keep.’

‘Thank you, mistress,’ Elissa said. ‘We gladly accept.’

‘S’fine,’ Briar said. ‘Got a briarpatch in Gatherers’ Wood.’

Leesha looked up at that. ‘You’re sleeping in my wood?’

‘Ay,’ Briar said.

‘Do you know my Painted Children?’ Leesha asked.

Briar nodded. ‘Seen ’em lots of times. Live in the night like me. Brave, but …’ He searched for a word. ‘Angry.’

‘Will you look in on them for me tonight?’ Leesha asked. ‘I’ve been away some time, and would like to know what I can expect when I visit them.’

Briar nodded. ‘Ay.’











5 (#ulink_8f9730ca-9278-561d-ab28-cd9688dfd7ac)

The Pack (#ulink_8f9730ca-9278-561d-ab28-cd9688dfd7ac)

334 AR


Briar padded on bare feet through the Gatherers’ Wood. The soft leather boots he wore out of respect for Mistress Leesha’s carpets were laced together and slung over his shoulder under his father’s battered shield.

Bare feet told much that boots could not. Where footing was sure and silent. The residual warmth where prey had been. The rush of nearby water. The thrum of hurried feet. Things that made you part of the night, instead of something clumsily passing through it. Things that could mean your life.

Briar loved the Gatherers’ Wood. Too vast to conform to magic’s shape, it was one of the few places in Hollow County not protected by a greatward. After dark, wood demons roamed the boughs and prowled the forest bed. Water demons swam its ponds. Wind demons skimmed the wider paths and circled above the clearings.

But even amid the wild nature, Briar could see how Mistress Leesha was shaping the wood from within. Some changes, like warded crete walkways and posts, were obvious to all, safe as sunlight. Others, their power shaped by natural features and cultivated plants, were so subtle the unwary might never know they were under the mistress’ protection.

It was why Briar trusted Mistress Leesha so implicitly. She had taken the time to understand the cories. How a certain slick moss on the branches could make wood demons avoid a copse of trees, or a patch of dry ground limit how far a bog demon might range. How fruit and nut trees drew cories in search of prey, and other plants urged them away.

Briar helped as he wandered the wood, cutting hogroot stalks and planting them in strategic places. There was a wild patch growing in a ring around an ancient goldwood tree, limbs hanging over the stalks like a parent bending to embrace a child. A half-frozen stream ran through the patch, eroding beneath the thick roots. It created a small hollow Briar could widen and expand, the moist soil pungent enough to drive off demon and human alike.

He grew the wood’s protections with love and harmony, leaving no sign of his shaping hand. The wood returned his love, providing sustenance and shelter from the cories.

The Painted Children were less delicate. Here and there Briar found signs of their passing, scattered like trash in the street. Broken limbs, trampled plants, wardings carved into the living bark of great trees. Some of their traps were cunning enough to catch a demon, but most were so obvious even cories could spot them.

Still, Briar had seen them fight. For all their clumsiness, the Children had power in the night. It would be foolish to underestimate them. Mistress Leesha was wise to want to learn more.

Briar drew near his patch, but he never went directly to the entrance. He circled, checking the defences. Like Mistress Leesha, he preferred stinks to snares, urging demons gently away. A few shoots of hogroot, transplanted and allowed to grow wild, were enough to turn a stalking demon onto another path.

Other scents had a similar effect on humans. Even the brave souls living in the Gatherers’ Wood hesitated to step into a patch of skunkweed, or a place reeking of rot. In one place, a diverted stream turned the path into sucking mud that woodies and humans alike would avoid.

Everything seemed in order, until he found a fresh snare. It was an area he’d littered months ago with animal carcasses stuffed with hogroot. Unlike plants and diverted streams, some deterrents had to be maintained. The carcasses were gone and Briar saw signs demons had returned to the area.

The trap was a good example of the craft, evidence that at least one of the Painted Children had claimed this place as a hunting ground. The child knew enough to use the deterrents around the Briarpatch to herd the demon into the path of the hidden snare. The loop lay in a shallow groove dug into the soil, covered lightly with the natural detritus of the forest bed.

The rope had been rubbed with sap and dirtied, leaved twigs stuck along its length to give the impression of natural vine as it disappeared into the branches of a wintergreen tree. Briar had to climb the boughs to find the net holding the counterweights.

Even the wary might be caught in so cleverly hidden a trap, but Briar knew this part of the wood intimately, and the snare stood out to him as if ablaze. It was discomfiting – so close to where he laid his head – but it made Mistress Leesha’s request all the easier to fulfil. At dusk, the hunter would be positioned and waiting. All Briar had to do was watch.






Briar woke to darkness in his sleeping hole, but after a decade living without wards, he could sense the approaching night like a chill.

It was no great space, but every time he returned, Briar dug a little more, added a vent, or shored the packed dirt. The walls and floor were lined with tough, dried hogroot stalks – comfortable to lie upon and resistant to water. Even if the entrance was discovered, the scent would keep cories from investigating further.

Stretching, he listened carefully, checking his spyholes one by one. When he was confident no one was about, Briar lifted the trap just enough to slither into the centre of his hogroot patch.

As its name implied, the roots of the plant were aggressive, knitting a thick sod that pulled up like a carpet. He quickly and carefully smoothed the trap back down, strewing leaves to obscure the faint impression.

Here and there Briar snapped off leaves as he made his way through the patch, leaving minimal sign of his harvest. Some he ate, filling his pockets with the rest. There was another trapdoor away from the sleeping den where he made his water and squatted out his night soil.

Making his way to the snare, he was surprised to see the hunter in plain sight, not bothering to hide as she waited by the rope with a ready knife.

Mistress Leesha said Stela Inn wasn’t much older than him, but she was taller, looking more a grown woman than he felt a man. Magic had made her body hard, and she wore little to cover it. A loincloth. A binding around her breast. A leather headband.

Her bare skin was inked with wards. The pattern started on her feet, winding up her calves and thighs, twisting about her midsection, then slithering down her arms. Looking at her, Briar felt his chest tighten and his face heat.

He shook it off, circling the area. He expected to find other hunters in hiding to assist, but after several minutes he became convinced Stela was alone.

It was curious. In his experience, the Children hunted as a pack. This was something new.

Slipping quietly behind her, Briar shimmied up the far side of the tree holding the counterweights. From its boughs he could study Stela while keeping view of the surrounding area.

She carried neither spear nor shield, though a number of pouches and ornaments hung beside the knife sheath on her belt. Stela froze as full dark fell, but made no other effort to conceal herself.

There was an unmistakable crunch as the wood demon that claimed this part of the forest lumbered down the path Stela had laid with fresh carcasses. Briar kept expecting her to hide, but she remained in plain sight. Did she mean to use herself to bait the trap?

But as the corie approached, it showed no sign it saw her. The wards on Stela’s flesh had taken on a soft glow, and the demon’s eyes slid past like she wasn’t there.

It was a good trick. The corie moved past her, oblivious as it stepped into the snare.

Stela moved fast, kicking the back of the corie’s knee, driving it into the ground. She spun like a dancer, whipping her knife through the rope that held the counterweight. Laden with heavy stones, the net dropped and the noose caught the woodie at the knee, yanking it to swing upside down. Stela had measured well. The demon’s flailing talons scraped the air just above the ground.

Stela tamped down as the corie’s body swung her way, eyes hard as she watched its claws. When it swung back in, she shot forward, slapping its branch-like arm aside to step inside its guard. Close in, she delivered a quick combination of punches and elbows, blows flashing with magic. Before it could recover, she push-kicked it back out of reach.

She skittered back and forth three more times, controlling the battlespace fully as she kept the corie disorientated, hitting it again and again.

But wood demons were strong, their armour thick. She could cause the demon pain and some temporary hurt, but its magic would heal those quickly unless she brought her endgame. Briar glanced at the knife, still sheathed on her belt.

She’s charging her wards, he realized. The symbols glowed a little brighter each time she struck, and instead of tiring, Stela seemed to get faster, stronger. She floated in, changing her combinations and skittering away before the demon could land a blow in return. She treated it like the practice dummy Briar’s father had built in their yard to train his sons in sharusahk.

Patterns began to emerge, telling Briar much about Stela. Her reach, how she moved, the language of her body. Useful to know if he ever needed to fight her.

Everam, never let it be so, he prayed. Stela grew fiercer with the brightness of her wards. Soon each blow lit the darkness like a bolt of lightning, the thunderous report echoing through the trees.

It seemed she would beat the woodie to death, but the demon still thrashed when the light and sound drew unwanted attention. Briar watched as a field demon clawed its way up into one of the surrounding trees with a vantage not much different from his own. Its eyes tracked her movements as Briar had, seeking the pattern.

The corie tamped its haunches. Briar knew well how far fieldies could leap. In one bound it could be on her back.

As the demon sprang, Briar gave a cry, throwing his shield. The corie looked up at the sound a split second before the shield struck, wards flaring as it knocked the demon away. Stela looked up, too, eyes widening as she saw Briar drop from the tree.

Stela stepped out of reach of the swinging wood demon. The snared corie took the opportunity to swipe at the rope, but there were tiny wardplates tied along its length, sparking to deflect its talons.

The knife was in Stela’s hand now, but again she froze in place, wards glowing. The demons blinked at her, eyes unable to focus. After a moment she took three quick, sliding steps to the left. The cories’ eyes searched where she had last been.

But while Stela was safe, the demons had no trouble seeing Briar, who had foolishly dropped into their midst, meaning to rush to her aid.

The field demon pounced, and Briar didn’t have time to bring the point of his spear to bear. He gave the corie a good whack with the shaft, knocking it aside as he rolled out of the way.

The demon leapt again, but stumbled as Stela stomped a foot on its tail. A sweep of her knife severed the appendage, covering Stela in a spurt of black ichor.

The demon’s ichor sparked and sizzled when it touched the wards running over her skin. Power flickered through the net, and her face turned feral. As the demon whirled on her she kicked it in the face, knocking it aside. ‘Who in the Core are you?!’

Briar had no time to answer. He pointed with his spear. ‘Look out!’

With a mighty heave, the wood demon had reached high enough to sever the rope. It tumbled down with a crash, even as the field demon shook itself off and began to circle.

Stela was on the woodie before it could recover, impact wards on her palms flaring with a boom as she boxed its ears. Discombobulated, it could not stop her from quickstepping behind its back. She whipped a string of warded beads around its neck, pulling tight. The demon surged back to its feet, Stela’s feet swinging in open air, but she kept the hold, cord wrapped tight around her fists.

A growl brought Briar’s attention back to the immediate danger as the field demon stalked in. Briar growled back and the demon hissed at him, eyes wide as Briar spat juice from the hogroot leaf he’d been chewing in its face.

The fieldie fell back shrieking. Briar raised his spear to finish it off, but he was checked by a cry from behind. The wood demon stumbled back and smashed Stela into a tree, knocking her breathless to the ground.

The field demon would recover quickly, but Briar turned and ran for the woodie as it raised a talon to slash at the helpless woman. He gave a cry, distracting it just long enough for him to put his spear into its back.

The wards on the weapon flared and magic rushed into Briar, thrilling him from fingers to toes. The demon lashed out, but already Briar was faster. He sidestepped one blow, raising the shaft of the spear, its tip still embedded in the demon, to bat another aside. Still the magic flowed, draining the corie’s strength even as it made Briar feel invincible. He pulled the spear free then thrust it again, ducking a return blow and stabbing a third time. His face twisted into a snarl and he shouted unintelligible things, revelling in the demon’s pain as its life-force flowed into him.

Stela’s cry brought him back. She and the field demon rolled in the dirt, locked in fierce combat. Her sides were streaked with blood from its raking talons, and she held its jaws at bay with one hand, warded thumb sizzling in its eye socket, as she punched with the other.

Briar ducked another swing of the woodie’s arms, coming up fast to thrust under the demon’s chin and up into its brain. It jerked and thrashed, pulling the spear from his grasp as it fell to the ground, dead.

Briar whirled to help Stela, but she had rolled atop the demon now, accepting its raking claws as she stabbed repeatedly with her warded dagger. Soon the corie lay still.

Briar rushed to her side, examining her wounds.

He met her eyes. ‘Cut up bad.’

Stela shook her head, putting a hand under her. ‘Just scratches. Magic’ll close them up.’ She made it halfway to her feet, then hissed in pain, stumbling.

Briar slid under her arm, catching her.

She turned to face him. ‘You’re the Mudboy, ent you? The one that guided the count to Docktown.’ She spat on the ground, and Briar wasn’t sure if it was meant for him or Docktown, the place now synonymous with failure and loss.

‘Briar,’ he growled. ‘Don’t like Mudboy.’

Stela wheezed a chuckle. ‘Ay, don’t bite my head off, I didn’t know. We all get saddled with nicknames we hate. If I snapped at everyone called me Stelly, my brothers and sisters would only do it more.’

‘Ay.’ Briar’s siblings had been no different.

‘Know a place we can rest a bit, Briar?’ Stela asked.

Briar nodded. With Stela hunting so close, he was going to have to abandon his Briarpatch in any event. No harm taking her there now. ‘Safe place. Ent far.’

Stela’s eyes widened as he led her into the hogroot patch. ‘There’s paths.’ She looked back. ‘You’d never see them from the outside.’

‘Cories won’t come in,’ Briar said. ‘Hogroot makes ’em sick up.’

‘That what you spit in that demon’s face?’ Stela asked.

Briar nodded.

‘No wonder your breath smells like a Herb Gatherer’s farts,’ Stela said.

Briar laughed. It was a good joke.

‘Thought you found my hunting spot,’ Stela said. ‘Guess it was the other way around.’

Briar shook his head. ‘Don’t hunt cories. Only bother ’em when they bother me.’

‘You bother pretty well when they do,’ Stela noted.

Briar shrugged, setting her down before disappearing into his hole. He returned with his herb pouch to clean the wounds, but Stela was right. Her superficial scrapes had healed, and the shallower cuts had scabbed over. Only a few needed stitches. When it was done, he ground a hogroot paste to spread on the wounds.

‘Night!’ Stela barked. ‘That stings!’

‘Better’n demon fever,’ Briar said. ‘Long night, even if you fight it off.’

Stela gritted her teeth, allowing him to continue. ‘Must be lonely by yourself. No Pack to hunt with and keep you warm at night.’

‘Got family,’ Briar said.

Stela looked about dubiously. ‘Here?’

‘In town,’ Briar said.

‘Then why ent you with them?’ Stela asked.

‘Don’t like walls.’

‘Arlen Bales said they make folk forget what’s out in the night,’ Stela agreed.

‘Can’t forget,’ Briar said. ‘Never forget.’

‘I’ve got family behind walls, too,’ Stela said. ‘Love ’em, but they ent Pack. Maybe after I rest a bit, you’ll come meet them.’

‘They’re so great, why do you hunt alone?’ Briar asked.

Stela chuckled. ‘Pack’s like brothers and sisters. Die for ’em, but sometimes they drive you rippin’ crazy.’

It was more than ten years since Briar lost his family to the night, but he remembered. How his brothers and sisters tormented him. How he hated them. How he would give anything to have them back.

‘Corespawn it!’ Stela hissed as she looked down at his stitches. ‘Just had those inked, and already I need them retouched.’ She pushed her loincloth down for a better look at the damage to the tattooed wards, and Briar felt his face heat. He turned away.

Stela caught his chin, turning his face back to hers. She was grinning like she knew a secret. ‘Got anything to eat? Killing demons always makes me hungry.’ She winked. ‘Among other things.’

Briar broke off some hogroot leaves, offering them to her.

Stela’s eyes rolled. ‘Please tell me that ent all you got. Din’t even wash it.’

Briar popped one of the leaves into his mouth. ‘Good for you. Fills your belly and keeps the cories away.’

Stela looked doubtful, but she took the leaves. ‘Mum always said, Only way to kiss a man who eats garlic is to eat some yourself.’

She bit into one and grimaced. ‘Tastes like a bog demon’s spunk.’

Briar laughed. ‘Ay.’

‘Gets in the nose.’ Stela swallowed and popped another leaf into her mouth. ‘Can’t smell much else.’

‘Get used to it.’

‘Better’n a lot of the Children. Half the Pack ent bathed in a month, and fighting demons works up a stink.’ Stela pointed to the uneven sod of Briar’s trapdoor. ‘That where you sleep?’

Briar nodded.

‘Big enough for two?’ she asked.






Hogroot stalks crunched as Briar pressed himself against the wall, but however far he backed away, Stela snuggled closer. She faced away, round hips pressing against him. The air in the den was hot despite the night’s chill.

Not knowing what to do with his arms, he put them around her, hands thrilling at the feel of her skin. She shifted, giving him a noseful of hair. He inhaled reflexively, and the scent of her was overwhelming. He felt movement in his breeches and tried to pull back, lest she notice.

But Stela gave a sound that was part chuckle, part growl, grinding her bottom into it. Briar groaned, and she rolled suddenly to face him.

‘You don’t hunt,’ she said, reaching down between his legs and squeezing, ‘but killin’ demons gets you stiff as any man.’

She pushed him onto his back and Briar froze, not knowing what to do. If there had been room he would have fled into the night, but the den was cramped, and she had him pinned. He did nothing as she pulled the ties on his breeches and set him free. Before he realized what was happening, she raised her hips and took him in hand, sitting down hard.

He gasped, grabbing her hips, but Stela was in control and it was all he could do to hold on as she began grinding.

‘Ay!’ Briar cried, his limbs going rigid.

Stela kissed him, biting his lip. ‘Don’t you dare!’ she growled. ‘I ent there yet!’

Briar squealed as something uncontrollable came over him. He thrashed, bucking and kicking, spurting inside her.

He expected Stela to be angry, but she gave that laughing growl and pressed down harder as he spasmed. ‘Ay, I can work with that. Hold on tight.’ She gripped his shoulder, putting her full weight on him. She scratched and bit, but it seemed right somehow, and he held her tight as she bucked against him.

They lay panting and clutching at each other, the air thick and stifling. Stela wriggled, feeling him still inside her, still hard.

She kissed him. ‘Creator be praised. Ent done by a long sight. Put me on my back.’

Briar swallowed. ‘I … I don’t …’

Stela laughed and grabbed him, locking him with her legs and rolling until he was atop her.

‘Relax.’ She kissed him again. ‘Take your time. Both got a good dose of magic in that scrap. Gonna be hard and wet all night. Might as well make the most of it.’






It was some time before they finally began to drift off. Stela clutched Briar’s arm, keeping it around her like a blanket as she snored. They lay curled together, skin melded by sweat, and Briar felt something he had all but forgotten.

Safe.

He remembered sleeping in his parents’ bed, six years old, nestled warm between them. The night he had woken and thought there was a coreling in the house. The night he stoked up the fire to drive the shadows away, forgetting to open the flue.

The night his family burned.

Briar remembered the black silhouette of their cottage, outlined in bright orange. The billowing, choking smoke that filled the air as he cowered in the hogroot patch.

Demons flitted about in the firelight, waiting for the wards to fail. The Damaj family was already screaming when they broke in the door.

Briar jerked awake, thumping his head against the ceiling of his den.

‘Whazzat?’ Stela moaned, but Briar couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in on him. He had to get out. Get out or die.

He pulled away while Stela was still confused, grabbing at his clothes as he scrambled out the trap.

Outside, he could breathe again. He filled great lungfuls with the cold night air, but it never seemed to be enough. His chest constricted, muscles knotting. He paced around, swinging his arms about to reassure himself there were no walls around him.

His senses were on fire, taking in every sight, every sound. The breeze on the leaves and stalks. The quiet rustle of nocturnal life. The distant cries of demons. He was aware of everything, ready to react in an instant to any threat. His fists were bunched, and he almost wished there was a threat just so he could release the tension, building and building until he thought he would tear himself apart.

He heard the trap open and considered running into the night before Stela found him.

‘Briar?’ she called. ‘You all right?’

‘Ay,’ Briar said, though he felt anything but.

‘It’s all sunny,’ Stela said. ‘Don’t need to explain. Know how you feel.’

Briar put his back to her, peering into the night. ‘No one knows.’

‘Started to relax, ay?’ Stela asked. ‘Then remembered what happens to folk that relax. Chest got tight. Hard to breathe. Maybe felt like the walls were closing in. Had to get out into the open air, and been pacing like a chained nightwolf.’

Briar looked at her. ‘How could you …’

‘Got the flux last year,’ Stela said. ‘Half the town was falling down with it. Folk dropping candles and knocking over lamps. Fires everywhere.’

‘Fire brings the cories,’ Briar said. ‘Watch and wait for the wards to fail.’

Stela nodded. ‘Stayed in Grandda’s inn till smoke filled the room, then stumbled out into the night with my little sister and my uncle Keet. Keet was half carryin’ me, and we were slow. Demons would’ve had us …’

She turned away, breathing hard, and Briar went to her. He reached out, not knowing what to say, and she leaned into him.

‘But my sister stumbled,’ Stela went on. ‘Got her instead.’

She looked back at him, eyes wet. ‘Ent just you that hates walls, Briar. Ent just you that wakes with a jump and can’t seem to breathe. Arlen Bales talks of it in the New Canon.’

‘New Canon?’ Briar asked.

‘Brother Franq’s been talking to everyone ever met Arlen and Renna Bales,’ Stela said. ‘Making copies of their teachings so we don’t ever forget again.’

She turned in his arms. ‘Ent alone, Briar. Everyone in the Pack feels it. We’ve all lost someone, all seen up close what the night can do. Makes us different from folk in town, but we’re there for each other. Can be there for you, too, you let us.’

Briar nodded. He could not imagine wanting anything more.






Briar knew the way to the Painted Children’s camp, but he let Stela lead, drifting along in her wake. It was still dark and the magic tingled inside him, his senses on fire. He floated along, following her as much by scent as sight.

Stela. He felt drunk at the thought of her.

Briar could hear the camp a mile off. By the time they were close, the chatter of it filled the woods. There was a bark ahead, and Briar saw a huge wolfhound leap atop a stone on the path. Moments later a guard appeared.

All the Hollowers were taller than Briar, but this one towered nearly a foot over him, with biceps the size of Briar’s head. He wore wooden armour – helm, breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves, warded and lacquered. At his waist hung a three-foot spear, demon ichor still smoking against the wards on its broad silver blade.

‘Ay, Stela!’ the giant cried. ‘Nearly dawn! Where in the dark of night you been?’

Stela laughed, shoving him aside. ‘Needed a few hours away from your donkey smell, Callen Cutter.’ Callen gave the ground, if grudgingly. Briar could see with his night eyes that she was dominant.

‘Who the Core’s this?’ Callen slapped a hand at Briar as he followed in Stela’s wake. Briar seized his wrist and pulled, twisting the blow into a throw that flipped the larger man onto the ground. The wolfhound growled, crouching to spring, but Briar met its eyes and growled right back, checking it.

There were close to a hundred people in the camp. A few were children and elders, but most were of an age with Briar – not yet twenty. Briar saw Milnese faces and Angierian, Rizonan, Laktonian, even Krasian. Some wore robes or bits of armour; others bared warded flesh to the limits of decency.

Now every eye was on Briar, pinning him with the weight of their collective stare. He wanted to flee, but Stela took his hand and gave a reassuring squeeze. Callen got back to his feet, face a thundercloud, but Stela snarled and he held back.

Stela cast her eyes over the crowd. ‘This is Briar Damaj! The one Gared said saved His Highness on the road.’

‘Then led him to his death.’ A bearded man stepped forward, his thick brown hair pulled back to show a mind ward tattooed on his forehead. He wore a Tender’s brown robes covered in needlepoint wards, and carried a carved crooked staff. ‘I remember him. Mudboy. The Krasian traitor.’

Briar bared his teeth. ‘Ent a traitor. Laktonian. Ent my fault I look like them.’

Stela gave his hand another squeeze. ‘Mudboy,’ she confirmed loudly. ‘But anyone other than me calls him that, they’ll be doing it with missing teeth. We shed ichor together. He is Pack.’

Pack. The word sang to him, but looking at the staring faces, he knew it would take more than words to make it so.

‘That how it works now?’ The speaker wasn’t as tall as Callen, lanky instead of broad. His armour was lighter as well, wards burned into boiled leather. He and Stela shared a resemblance. He pointed at Briar with his short spear, wards on its blade glowing with inner power. ‘You decide who’s Pack and who’s not?’

Stela put her hands on her hips. ‘Keep pointing that spear at me, Uncle Keet.’ She used the honorific mockingly. ‘Everyone’s here to see me shove it up your arse.’

Keet hesitated. His eyes flicked about for support, but there was little to be had. Few in the camp wanted anything to do with this confrontation. They kept their eyes down, though all were watching with interest. Callen still glared at Briar, but even he seemed unwilling to challenge Stela directly.

Stela leaned in, and Keet reflexively leaned back. ‘Briar is Pack.’

After a moment, Keet dropped his eyes. ‘You want to make him a Wardskin, ent my business.’

‘We’ll initiate him,’ Stela agreed. ‘But he can find his own path after that. Once folk see what Briar can do, might be some folk start calling themselves Mudboys.’

Briar scowled, and Stela winked. ‘Better than Hogbreaths.’

Briar laughed in spite of himself.

‘We all must find our own path.’ The man in Tender’s robe stepped up to Briar. Stela’s grip on his hand tightened painfully, but the man only bowed.

‘Welcome, Briar. I am Brother Franq.’

Stela’s grip on his hand eased, and the rest of the Painted Children followed suit. Callen and Keet might not have been able to challenge Stela, but this man could. ‘You’re the one writing New Canon.’

Franq dismissed the thought with a wave. ‘The words belong to Arlen and Renna Bales. I merely record them.’

‘And help us find their meaning,’ Stela said.

Franq bowed to Briar a second time. ‘I apologize for calling you traitor. The Tenders of the Creator taught me to judge, but Arlen Bales has shown us a better way. All who stand together in the night are brothers and sisters. We are all Deliverers.’

All around the camp, people drew wards in the air, echoing his word. ‘All Deliverers.’






‘Mistress Leesha had us split into three groups at first,’ Stela said as she walked Briar through the camp. ‘Strongest were training to join the Cutters one day. Mistress gave them all specially warded spears, short to make the Draw more efficient. We call ’em gut pumps, because you stick one in a demon’s gut and it pumps magic into you. Callen leads the Pumps.’

Briar turned his head slightly, examining Callen’s faction as Stela gestured to another cluster. ‘Keet’s group was runtier – most of them tried out for the Cutters and got passed over. Call them Bones, because the mistress put slivers of demon bone in their spears. Makes up the difference in muscle, and to spare.

‘My group were folk who had no illusions about being fit to fight demons.’ Stela nodded to another cluster, mostly young women dressed as sparsely as Stela. ‘Not strong enough to swing an axe or wind a crank bow like Wonda’s set.’ She held up her warded hand. ‘Mistress honoured us most of all. Warded our very skin.’

‘Mistress Leesha tattooed you?’ Briar asked.

Stela shook her head. ‘Drew them on with blackstem, but then she went away. When the stain started to fade, I asked Ella Cutter to take a needle and ink them on permanent before they were lost.’

Briar watched how the others in the camp gave the Wardskins a respectable berth. Though generally smaller in stature, they moved like predators, even here.

‘Children have grown since then,’ Stela said. ‘Widows and heirs of the Sharum lost at new moon.’ She gestured to the tents and water well used by the Krasian faction. They were not in battle, but every one of them had their night veils up, even the men. Briar noted on closer inspection that several of them had the light skin of Northerners, but had adopted Krasian dress and manner.

‘Then Brother Franq joined us and started training Siblings.’ She gestured to a smaller group, all in plain brown robes.

A tall woman stepped to the front of the cluster of Krasians, waving to them. The hair that fell from her headwrap was streaked with grey, her eyes full of wisdom, but she did not move like an elder. She was strong.

Stela led Briar to her, bowing. ‘Briar, this is Jarit, First Wife of Drillmaster Kaval. She leads the Pack’s Sharum.’

The woman studied Briar, trying to peel away the dirt and hogroot resin to see the features beneath. ‘What is your name?’ she asked in Krasian.

‘Briar asu Relan am’Damaj am’Bogger,’ Briar replied.

‘Damaj is a Kaji name,’ Jarit noted. ‘Yet you claim not to be one of us?’

‘Born and raised in Bogton,’ Briar said.

Jarit nodded. ‘I remember when your father went missing. The men of Kaji searched for him in the city and Maze, not knowing if he had died on alagai talons or fallen to a Majah blade. Who could have guessed he fled to the North?’

‘You knew my father?’ Briar asked.

Jarit shook her head. ‘No, but my husband was the Kaji’s greatest drillmaster. I learned much in his house.’

‘Jarit and her granddaughter Shalivah started teaching us sharusahk,’ Stela said, ‘after Wonda Cutter left with Mistress Leesha.’ At the comment a girl of ten appeared. She seemed more like Jarit’s daughter than her granddaughter, but Briar knew how magic could shave years from a person. He looked around the well, realizing how many of the Krasians were children. Two young Krasian men wore the brown robes of Siblings with added night veils.

‘Tender converted you, like my father,’ Briar guessed.

‘We still pray to Everam,’ Jarit said.

Briar nodded. ‘My father said Everam was the Creator, and the Creator was Everam.’

Jarit smiled. ‘Your father was a wise man. We have not been converted by Tenders, or they by us. All of us saw Arlen Bales cast lightning from the sky when Alagai Ka came on Waning. If there remained any doubt, it vanished when Arlen Bales cast Ahmann Jardir down in Domin Sharum. The son of Hoshkamin was a false Deliverer. The son of Jeph is Shar’Dama Ka, and we must be ready for his call.’

Briar grunted, having no real response. He nodded to the rising sun. ‘Why do your men keep their veils up?’

‘Everam commands modesty in His light,’ Jarit said. ‘Arlen Bales showed us that it is when we face Nie that we must bare ourselves and stand proudly against Her.’

‘Don’t let the modesty fool you,’ Stela said as they walked back to the Wardskins’ camp. ‘Pity the corelings when Jarit and her Sharum drop their veils.’

Briar spat. ‘Ent got pity to spare, comes to cories.’

‘Honest word.’ Stela gave his hand another squeeze, sending a thrill through him. ‘Come on. We’ve got work to do, if we’re going to initiate you tonight.’

‘What work?’ Briar asked.

They came up to a blonde girl weaving her long hair. She could not have been much older than Stela. Like the other Wardskins, she was clad in little more than a few scraps of leather, tattoos twining about her limbs and body.

‘This here is Ella Cutter,’ Stela said. The young woman gave Briar an appraising glance but kept her nimble fingers about the braiding. ‘Ella’s our best tattooist.’

Ella smiled. ‘Bath and a shave first. Need a clean canvas.’

Stela waved a hand before her nose. ‘First on my list. Got a cake of soap?’






‘Not sure about this,’ Briar said.

He felt strange after the bath. Stela had found a stiff brush and scrubbed every inch of him while some of the other Wardskins laughed and jeered. His skin tingled, dry and raw in the cold morning air.

Stela ignored the comment. ‘How in the Core do you still smell like hogroot?’

‘Sweat some, you eat enough,’ Briar said. ‘Keeps the cories away, even when someone forces you into the bath.’

Stela laughed at that, giving him a clean robe and bringing him to the tent where Ella knelt by a small fire with her implements. ‘Show Ella your hands.’

‘Not sure about this,’ Briar said again. ‘Said I’d come to camp. Din’t say I’d get inked.’

‘Arlen Bales says yur body is the only weapon yur never without,’ Ella said.

‘Just your hands for now,’ Stela said. ‘Every Wardskin does it. Gives us weapons we can’t ever lose.’

Briar couldn’t deny he liked the sound of that. He didn’t resist as Ella reached out to him. Her hands were soft as they took his, turning them over to inspect the palms.

‘Blackstem first,’ Ella said, taking a brush and inkpot. ‘Hold still.’ With a quick, bold hand, she drew an impact ward on his right palm, and a pressure ward on his left.

‘Offence and defence,’ Stela said. ‘The first tools of gaisahk.’ The word was Krasian, meaning ‘demon fighting,’ but Briar had never heard it before.

Ella finished her work, glancing at Stela. ‘What do you think?’

‘Perfect!’ Stela said. ‘Do it.’

Ella put a small table between them. ‘Arm here.’ The table had straps on it, and when Ella reached for them, he snatched his hand away. The last time he saw a table like that, it was an instrument of torture.

Stela steadied him. ‘Just to keep you from flinching. Even the best of us do sometimes. I’m right here, Briar. Ent gonna let anyone hurt you.’

Briar met her eyes and took a deep breath, putting his arm on the table, palm up. Stela pulled the straps tight as Ella took up what looked at first like a small brush. It wasn’t until she began passing it through the fire that he saw the bristles were needles.






‘What do you think?’ Ella asked, wiping the blood from his left hand. His right was already poulticed and wrapped in a bandage.

Briar flexed his hand, watching the ward conform. He straightened the palm and curled his fingers and thumb in tight around it in the proper form his father had taught for an open-hand sharusahk blow.

‘Beautiful,’ he said. A weapon he could never lose, a part of him, even more than his hogroot sweat. The thought made him hopeful in a way he had never known. As Ella wrapped his hand he looked down at her long legs, covered in wards, and envied her their protection and power.

Stela gave him a smack on the back of the head. ‘Ay, that’s enough of that. Go have a bite and a rest while I talk with Ella a spell.’

Briar nodded, leaving the tent. The sun was high in the sky, and most of the people in camp were asleep in the shade. Still, enough moved about that he felt crowded. He needed time to himself.

He circled behind the tent before anyone noticed him, meaning to make his way out of the Painted Children’s camp and back into Gatherers’ Wood.

‘Honest word?’ Ella’s voice was clear even through the tent wall. ‘Ya stuck that filthy little bugger?’

‘Didn’t just stick him,’ Stela said. ‘Took his first seed.’

‘No!’ Ella squealed. ‘Ya sure?’

Stela laughed. ‘Didn’t have a clue what he was doing.’ Briar felt his face heat at the words. Her laughter, so beautiful a moment ago, cut at him.

‘Bad, then,’ Ella guessed.

‘Didn’t say that,’ Stela said, and Briar perked up. ‘Little stinker made it up in enthusiasm. Popped quick the first time, but I wasn’t far behind. Then it was popping all over.’

Briar smiled from ear to ear.

‘Do all Krasian men have small cocks?’ Stela asked, freezing the grin on his face.

‘Not ones I been with,’ Ella said. ‘Not as big as Cutters, but bigger’n most.’

‘Briar’s half Laktonian,’ Stela said. ‘Maybe that’s why.’

‘How small are we talking?’ Ella asked. Stela must have shown with her hands, because her squeals of laughter followed Briar as he fled the camp.






Briar cleared the few possessions from his hideaway, returning to the hollow he dug beneath the goldwood tree, far from the Painted Children’s hunting grounds. He didn’t know how to feel about Stela any more, but he knew he would never be able to sleep with the Pack nearby.

His thoughts were still in chaos when he made his way to Mistress Leesha’s keep. There were guards on patrol, but they never saw Briar slip over the wall and through the courtyard, scaling a shadowed wall of the manse.

His bandaged hands were a hindrance in the climb, both for the loss of grip and for the reminder of all that had transpired in the past day. For better or worse, a simple scouting mission had changed his life forever.

He ran across the roof, crouched too low for any to see, until he came to the spot above the mistress’ office window and clambered down to the sill.

Careful not to be seen, Briar checked the hall window first. Two of Wonda’s guardswomen stood at the chamber doors, attention outward. He moved to Leesha’s office window.

The mistress was on the office divan, Olive in her arms. Her back was to the window, and Briar could not see or hear anyone else in the room. He reached out to knock.

‘Come in, Briar.’ Leesha spoke before he could make a sound. ‘Close the window quick. Cold as a demon’s heart out there.’

Briar slid a wire between the panes, tripping the lock. Warmth from the roaring fire engulfed him as he slipped inside and shut the pane. Cold seldom bothered him, but few things did. He adjusted easily to the heat, stepping carefully to avoid leaving dirt on the warded floor.

The mistress’ dress was unlaced, the babe latched at one breast. A day ago, Briar would have thought little of it, but now he felt himself flush, casting his eyes down.

‘No need to look away,’ Leesha said. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of, using them for the purpose the Creator meant for them. Folk are going to have to get used to the sight.’

She gestured to the laden tea table. ‘Help yourself to tea and a bite.’

Briar’s mouth watered when he saw the sandwiches on the table. Not the delicate crustless fingers Duchess Araine served, these were thick brown bread with generous cuts of meat. He stuck one in his mouth, holding it while he took a handful of dried hogroot leaves from his pocket, crumbling them into a cup and pouring hot tea over it.

Briar glanced warily at the empty couch across from the mistress. He was freshly bathed but still felt too dirty to sit on such fine material.

‘Sit, Briar,’ Leesha said. ‘Elissa told me they didn’t want you muddying the furniture in the Monastery of Dawn, but here you are my guest.’

Briar sat stiffly, legs tight together to put the least surface of his backside possible on the couch. He hunched, gnawing on his sandwich while the tea steeped.

Leesha cleared her throat. ‘That doesn’t mean you don’t need a napkin.’

The scolding was one his mother had given a thousand times, and Briar quickly snatched a napkin off the table, laying it across his knees.

‘What happened to your hands? Let me look at them.’ Olive began to thrash and cry as Leesha broke the latch.

Briar raised his hands to forestall her. ‘S’fine. Just scraped. Washed and wrapped.’

He meant to tell her about the tattoos, but when the moment was upon him the lie came easily. He didn’t know himself what the ink meant, and had no desire to share the question before he thought it through.

Leesha looked ready to insist, even as she allowed Olive the nipple once more. ‘You’re not the clumsy type, Briar. What happened?’

‘Found Stela Cutter fighting cories and threw in,’ Briar said, skipping the details. ‘She brought me back to the Children’s camp.’

‘Stela Cutter was out hunting alone?’ Leesha demanded. ‘Does she have a night wish?’

‘Safer’n you think,’ Briar said. ‘She’s strong. Leads the Children.’

‘Stela?’ Leesha gaped. ‘She’s the sunny side of a hundred pounds and eighteen summers old.’

‘Everyone’s afraid of her and the other Wardskins,’ Briar said. ‘Act like they’re not, but I can tell.’

‘Afraid why?’ Leesha asked.

Briar shrugged. Stela changed dramatically when they were no longer alone. There was still so much he didn’t understand about her and the other Children.

‘How many are there?’ Leesha asked.

‘Hundred, at least,’ Briar said. ‘Wardskins, Bones, Pumps, Sharum, and Brothers. Call themselves the Pack.’

Olive fell asleep at the breast. Leesha pried her gently away and rose, throwing the babe over a shoulder. Olive gave a contented burp, still sleeping as Leesha glided to the crèche and laid her down.

She returned a moment later, dress laced tight, and sat across from Briar. Her eyes, the colour of sky, pierced him.

‘Tell me everything.’






The sky was darkening when Briar returned to the Painted Children’s camp. He’d told Leesha everything about the Children, but kept private the details of his own interactions with them. Wasn’t her business.

The Children bustled about, preparing for the coming night. They mended and folded nets of wardplates, sharpened blades and painted wards on their skin. The young Krasian girl Shalivah was teaching sharusahk to a large class with all factions of the Pack in attendance. The girl looked like a snake, flowing from pose to pose with impossible grace.

Briar moved close, mesmerized.

‘Everam blessed my granddaughter,’ Jarit said, moving to stand next to him. ‘She used to watch Kaval train her brothers. One time he caught her practising the moves and struck her. If you dare take the sacred poses, you had best do them properly! he cried. If a man who is not your husband lays hands on you, will you shame the house of Kaval, or will you break his arm?’

Jarit smiled. ‘My honoured husband made her repeat the move a hundred times, and set her to endlessly cleaning in the training room.’

‘Fifty miles in any direction is Sharak Sun.’ Briar used the Krasian term for the Daylight War, the conquest of humanity that the Evejah taught was necessary to win Sharak Ka. ‘What side will you take, when it reaches you?’

‘The Pack will not fight in Sharak Sun,’ Jarit said. ‘As the son of Jeph revealed to us, There is no honour in shedding red blood.’

‘Honest word,’ Stela said, coming to stand with them. She slapped Briar on the back. ‘Starting to worry you weren’t coming back.’

‘Like to be by myself,’ Briar said.

‘Ay, I get it,’ Stela said. ‘But the light’s fading. Time we went to the initiation ground.’

Briar looked at her curiously but followed as she led him to where the Wardskins were mustered. There were more than twenty of them, dressed in scraps and covered in wards. They were often small and thin, but with predator’s eyes. Brother Franq stood with them, clad only in a brown bido. His thickly muscled body was covered in tattoos, but he kept his crooked staff as well.

They ran into the night, coming to a high bluff, warded with pillars on all sides save the path upward.

‘Wait here,’ Stela told Briar. Without waiting for him to respond, she gave a whoop, thrusting an alagai-catcher into the air, then ran off with the others.

Briar itched to follow the sounds of battle and flashes of wardlight that followed, or to flee them, but he waited patiently as it went on, noting after a time that the sounds and flashing grew closer.

Soon the Wardskins came back into sight, led by Stela and Franq. Between them they dragged a struggling wood demon, bent almost double by the alagai-catcher’s cable and crooked staff hooked around its neck. Behind, the other Wardskins jeered, kicking and punching to keep the corie off balance as it was dragged into the warded circle were Briar stood.

The sight answered any questions Briar might have about his ‘initiation’. He began unwrapping the bandages on his hands as the Wardskins formed a circle around them. His palms were a little tender, but the impact and pressure wards were sharp and clear.

Stela looked at him as she and Franq dragged the demon to the centre of the bluff to stand before Briar. ‘Initiation’s over when it’s dead.’

Briar nodded, and she pressed a button on her alagai-catcher, releasing the cable even as Franq unhooked his staff. He drew a ward in the air over Briar. ‘Blessings of the Deliverer upon you, Briar Damaj.’ Then the two of them stepped back into the ring of onlookers.

The wood demon shook itself off with a roar, hauling in great breaths and scratching at its throat. It was not seriously injured, and in moments its magic would restore it to full combat ability.

Briar never gave it time, leaping in close and driving his open right palm into its knee. The impact ward flared and the demon toppled with a shriek as a rush of power rocked up Briar’s arm. While the demon was prone, Briar spat hogroot juice in its eyes, blinding it. The Wardskins cheered.

Briar gave ground as the corie lurched back to its feet, seven feet tall with arms long enough to drag talons on the ground. It tried to pinpoint Briar by sound, but the shouts of the Pack drowned its ears. It sniffed for him, sneezing at the scent of hogroot.

Like humans, demons closed their eyes and clenched up when they sneezed. Briar used that moment to step in, catching the woodie’s arm in his left hand. The pressure ward smoked against its skin, flooding Briar with strength as he shattered its wrist with the impact ward.

The demon howled, clutching at its limp talons as Briar slipped back out of reach, circling.

Wisdom dictated he take his time. He was growing stronger with every blow, delivering harm quicker than the demon could heal, especially with Briar draining its magic. That kind of caution was why Briar had survived so many years, living in the naked night since he was six summers old.

He struck again, hitting the corie in the back and knocking it off balance. It swept its good arm at him. Briar ducked back, then shot forward, delivering an open-palm blow to its snout.

His mind told him to retreat again, but the demon seemed to have slowed. It was vulnerable as it reeled back, and Briar kept the offensive, landing blow after blow. He forgot caution. Forgot defence. He sensed the kill.

A wild swing of the wood demon’s great gnarled arm took Briar in the stomach, cracking ribs and launching him through the air. He hit the ground hard several feet away, and the crowd, cheering a moment ago, gasped.

Coughing blood, Briar shook himself off, rolling to his feet. Already the magic was healing him, but the world spun as he tried to take a step, and the recovered demon leapt at him.

The Wardskins shouted encouragement, Stela loudest of all, but none of them moved to help him. This was part of the initiation. Either the initiate killed the demon, or the demon killed them.

Wood demons’ arms were long and powerful, but they were not nimble. Too dizzy to fight, Briar fell flat on the ground. The talons whiffed overhead as the demon passed.

Briar kept prone, letting the magic rushing through his body do its work. The world had stopped spinning by the time the woodie pulled up short, talons tearing the soil atop the bluff in great clumps.

It roared, rushing him again. Briar rolled away at the last moment, throwing a pouch into the demon’s gaping maw. The woodie snapped at it instinctively, filling its mouth and nostrils with powdered hogroot.

While the demon choked and retched, Briar got back to his feet. He watched for a moment, then saw his chance and rushed in, using the woodie’s gnarled knee as a step to climb onto its back. He put a leg into its armpit, hooking it around the corie’s good arm to lock it in place as he caught its throat with his left hand. The pressure ward smoked and burned, Briar’s grip growing strong enough to crush steel. The demon’s neck was filled with powerful corded muscle and sinew, but it was only flesh.

Briar put his right hand against the back of the woodie’s neck. The impact ward flared, pushing forward even as Briar’s other hand pulled back. Slowly, his hands moved closer together.

The demon thrashed wildly, stumbling around the bluff. It drew close to the onlookers, but the crowd only jeered, shoving it back toward the centre with warded kicks and punches.

The demon threw its free arm at its back, but with the wrist broken, it could not bring its talons to bear. Briar accepted the blows, keeping his hold. The more the magic built, the stronger he felt.

The woodie threw itself to the ground, rolling to try to dislodge him. The wind was knocked out of him, but Briar sensed desperation and tightened his grip. The Wardskins stood silent, holding collective breath until the corie’s neck broke with an audible snap.

The crowd erupted in cheers, everyone rushing in as Briar lifted the huge demon clear over his head and threw it off.

Then he was up in their arms, bounced above the crowd as they carried him about the bluff chanting, ‘Wardskin! Wardskin! Wardskin!’

Briar had never felt so alive.

One of the girls produced a pipe, playing a lively song, and the crowd began to dance.

Briar tired of being tossed about, slipping down to his own feet right in front of a beaming Stela Inn.

‘Knew you could do it!’ Stela kissed him, his lips still tingling from magic. ‘That was the fastest kill yet, and I didn’t pick a little one.’ She winked. ‘Wanted to show you off.’

Briar knew he should say something, but no words came. He just stood there, stupidly grinning at her.

Stela drew her knife and flipped it in her hand, holding it out to him handle-first. ‘Ent over. You have to cut out its black heart.’

Briar stared dumbly at her for a moment, then shook himself, taking the knife. He strode over to the demon, catching one of its armour plates and prising the knife underneath. Cutting wards flared as Briar yanked on the plate, half cutting, half tearing its chest open.

Black ichor covered the wards on his hands. They glowed, leaching its magic, making him strong beyond belief. He dropped the knife, ripping the next armour plate off with his bare hands. He weakened the demon’s rib cage with the pressure ward, then struck hard with the impact, shattering bone.

Briar thrust his hands inside the creature. In a moment he held up its heart, and the Wardskins cheered again. They had produced a great barrel of ale and were passing sloshing cups.

‘My uncle Keet didn’t think Mudboy had it in him!’ Stela boomed to the crowd. ‘Said Briar Damaj wasn’t good enough to be Pack.’

There was jeering in response, and Stela put her hands on her hips. ‘What do the Wardskins say?’

‘Pack!’ the others shouted, punching fists in the night air. ‘Pack! Pack!’

Stela stepped up to Briar, putting her hands on the heart. They came away black with ichor. ‘Pack.’ She wiped the fluid across her breast, gasping in pleasure as her wards glowed, absorbing the power.

‘The Deliverer is strong within you,’ Franq agreed, stepping up next to touch the heart. Like Stela, he wiped the blood across his tattoos, shivering as they brightened. Then he turned to Briar, reaching out a black finger to trace a ward on his forehead. ‘Pack.’

The Wardskins formed a queue, each touching the heart and wiping ichor across their wards. ‘Pack,’ they whispered.

‘Want another taste,’ Stela said, giving the heart a squeeze, rubbing ichor onto her warded arms like lotion.

‘Ay, you going to take a bite of it, next?’ Ella Cutter jeered.

‘Don’t think I won’t!’ Stela said.

‘Hear that, Wardskins?’ Ella cried. ‘Stela’s going to take a bite of the demon’s heart!’

‘Do it!’ someone shouted from the crowd.

‘She ent got the stones!’ a girl cried.

‘You’ll slosh for sure!’ a gangly young man added, laughing.

‘Gatherers say ichor’s poison!’ someone said.

Stela looked at Franq, but the Brother did not try to stay her. Indeed, he eyed Stela and the heart intensely. Hungrily.

‘Eat it!’ the crowd boomed. ‘Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!’

Stela gave a wild smile, chomping down and tearing free a chunk of demon flesh. Her mouth ran black as she chewed, a mad look in her eyes. She retched once, but managed to swallow the mouthful.

‘Tastes like a coreling shat in my mouth!’ Stela cried, and the crowd laughed. She turned to Briar, offering him the heart. When he baulked, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in, kissing him wetly on the mouth.

The ichor was foul on his lips, clinging and noxious, but he felt its power, even so. He felt his bile rise and swallowed hard, feeling the ichor burn its way down into him.

Franq strode at them as she pulled away. Briar half expected him to condemn them as corespawned. Instead the man stepped up and kissed Stela, tasting the ichor from her lips as Briar had.

Briar expected her to push him away, but Stela seemed to welcome the kiss, ecstatic in the rush of magic.

Briar lost sight of her as the other Wardskins swarmed forward to take their own bites from the heart. Soon the heart was consumed, everyone retching and laughing, faces black with demon blood. Unsatisfied, some went to the demon’s body, tearing into its chest and pulling out gobs of meat.

More of the Wardskins began kissing, rubbing ichor over one another’s faces and bodies. Briar saw Ella and the gangly young man move away from the demon, smeared with ichor. Ella laughed at Briar, wiggling her littlest finger at him as the man laid her back in the dirt.

Briar felt his face heat, turning away, but it was becoming a common scene atop the bluff, the few scraps of cloth the Wardskins wore being pulled away, wards glowing brightly in the night.

Stela had vanished. Briar wandered through the cavorting Pack looking for her. The chaos was surreal amid the magic flooding his senses. Stela was nowhere to be found atop the bluff. He moved down the pathway into the woods.

He heard her grunting and picked up his pace, not knowing what he would find. He burst through the trees to see Stela naked on all fours, growling. Brother Franq knelt behind her, bido pulled aside to reveal a cock thrice the size of Briar’s. His hands were on her hips, pulling her onto it.

Briar clenched his fist, every instinct screaming at him to strike the man. To kill him. To tear open his chest as he had the demon’s and feast on his heart.

But then Stela looked up. ‘Briar! Don’t be shy! I’ve openings for two.’

She beckoned, and Briar froze, terrified. The thought of joining them was horrifying. A perversion of the beauty they shared. He was repulsed, but his cock betrayed him, hard in his breeches.

He shook his head sharply, turning and running into the trees.

‘Briar, wait!’ Stela cried. He heard Franq’s bellow as she threw him off. He picked up speed at the sound of her feet, pounding across the forest bed after him.

Briar zigzagged through the trees, but while Franq’s angry shouts receded into the night, Stela kept pace. ‘Corespawn it, Briar! Will you please stop and talk to me?!’

He kept running, but he had no plan. The territory was unfamiliar, his thoughts still reeling. Stela gained ground until she could reach out and catch his arm. ‘What in the dark of night’s gotten into you?!’

Briar whirled to face her. ‘You were … You …!’

Stela crossed her arms. ‘Ay, I was what? Don’t belong to you, Briar Damaj, just because you stuck me.’

Briar shook her arm off. ‘Din’t say you did! Know you want more than the little stinker with the small cock.’

Stela’s expression softened. ‘Heard me and Ella, din’t you? Night, I’m sorry, Briar. Din’t mean it cruel.’

Briar barked a laugh. ‘Else could it be?’

‘Just girl talk,’ Stela said, giving him that wicked smile. ‘Don’t mean you won’t still get your turn.’

‘What?’ Briar stumbled back as Stela stalked in.

‘Like you, Briar,’ Stela said. ‘Din’t lie about that. Felt safe with you at my back last night.’

Briar backed into a tree and she was against him, still wearing nothing but tattoos and ichor. His heart thudded in his chest.

She put a hand between his legs, squeezing. ‘Did good work on my front, too, when the scrap was over. Small cock or no, I ent letting go a man who can kick a demon’s arse and curl my toes when it’s done.’

She kissed Briar again, breath still hot with magic and hinting at the noxious ichor of the corie.

Stela took his chin in her free hand as their lips parted, turning him to meet her eyes. ‘We don’t own each other in the Pack. I’ll stick who I want, when I want, and you should, too. Ella may joke, but don’t think she ent curious after what I told her.’

She undid the laces of his breeches, freeing him. Everything seemed to be spinning, but in that one place he felt rigid – ready to explode. ‘But not tonight.’ She took him in her hand, skin on skin. Briar shut his eyes and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. ‘Tonight is your night, Wardskin. Let’s get the first one out of the way, and then you can have me as you please.’

She pushed him back against the tree, mounting him standing. She ground her full weight down on his crotch, reaching back between their legs to fondle his seedpods. Briar howled, and Stela gave a whoop of delight, picking up the pace as they gripped and scratched at each other.

Stela slipped off him when it was done, taking a few unsteady steps before turning around and kneeling on all fours. She turned to look him in the eye, smiling. ‘This is what Franq wanted. Now he’s pulling himself and it’s yours.’

The words teased a primal hunger – the exquisite pleasure of thrusting aside a rival and taking what was his. And why not? Dominance was the natural order of the world. Wolves did it. Cories did it.

Gonna be like them now?

He looked at Stela, covered in ichor, beckoning, and something churned in him. Was this the life he wanted?

He shook his head, reaching down to pull up his pants. ‘No.’

Stela threw him an angry look. ‘No? What in the Core do you mean, no?’

Briar finished lacing himself up. ‘Last night in the Briarpatch, I thought …’

‘What, Mudboy?’ Stela snapped, springing to her feet. ‘That we were one spirit the Creator tore in half?’

‘That you understood,’ Briar said.

‘We killed two demons and stuck each other,’ Stela said. ‘What’s there to understand?’

‘World’s bigger than this,’ Briar said. ‘Folk struggling for their lives outside Gatherers’ Wood, and all the Pack are doing is …’

‘Hunting and killing the demons that prey on them,’ Stela growled.

Briar shook his head. ‘Prey on them yourself. Stealing ale and supplies, even from your own family. Ent looking to protect them when night falls. You just want …’ He swept a hand at her.

Stela put her hands on her hips. ‘Just want what, Mudboy?’

There was danger in her eyes, but now that he had started talking, Briar was past caring.

‘To bathe in ichor and rut,’ he said. ‘And corespawn any that ent Pack.’

Stela lashed out at him. The magic made her fast, but Briar had tasted it, too. He took a quick step back, avoiding the slap.

‘So what, you’re just gonna walk away?!’ Stela demanded. ‘No one walks away from Stela Cutter, you quickshooting little stinker, least of all you.’

She snatched at him, and Briar batted her arm aside with his right hand. There was a flare of power as the impact ward struck, throwing her off her feet.

Briar looked at her in horror. Stela wasn’t a demon, but covered in ichor, the wards reacted as if she were. He could still taste it in his mouth, and spat.

Then he turned and ran into the night.






Briar returned to Mistress Leesha’s keep, slipping unseen past the night guards and into her private garden. If Stela or the other Painted Children were hunting for him, this was the last place they would think to look.

The hogroot patch looked inviting, but sleep was far from Briar’s thoughts. Just the opposite, his limbs shook with unreleased energy.

So he paced until he knew the garden intimately. There were three entrances – two grand and inviting, and one carefully hidden against one of the manse walls, obscured by flora.

Briar dug a small burrow in the hogroot for future use. He practised sharusahk. Anything to keep his thoughts from drifting back to Stela Cutter.

Leesha had shown an affinity for Duchess Araine’s gardens, walking the rows at least twice a day. Sure enough, while the sky was still brightening, the hidden door opened and the mistress slipped out among the herbs.

When he was certain she was alone, Briar stepped out to face her. ‘They’re dangerous.’

Leesha’s hand snapped into one of the many pockets of her dress, but then recognition caught up. ‘Night, Briar! One of these days you’re going to end up with a faceful of blinding powder.’

Briar nodded at the distance between them. ‘Can’t throw powder that far.’

Leesha tsked. ‘Are you all right, Briar?’

He didn’t know how to answer. He’d washed every inch of himself, but still he felt the ichor on his skin, tasted it in his mouth. Stela’s scratches had already healed, but he could still feel them itch.

‘Who’s dangerous, Briar?’ Leesha asked.

‘The Children,’ Briar said. ‘Ent fighting to keep the wood safe. Fighting because it feels good to fight. Magic makes us feel unbeatable.’

‘Us?’ Leesha asked. She stepped close, taking one of his hands and turning it over. She gasped at the ward there.

Briar pulled his hand away. ‘Thought they were like me. Ent. Ent like me at all.’

‘Briar, what’s happened?’ Leesha asked.

‘Ate a coreling’s heart tonight,’ Briar said. ‘Made’m … drunk. Wild. Only going to get worse.’

Leesha looked taken aback. ‘Idiot girl,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Told us himself! Said he ate them.’ She growled, clenching her fists.

‘Ay?’ Briar asked, confused.

‘The tattoos are only half the reason Arlen Bales can ripping fly,’ Leesha said. ‘It’s the corespawned meat!’

Briar looked at her dumbly, having no idea what she meant. After a moment she collected herself, looking back at him. ‘I need you to go back, Briar. I need you to convince them to meet with me.’

Briar shook his head. ‘Ent going back. Not now, not ever. Going home.’

‘Home?’ Leesha asked. ‘Elissa and Ragen won’t head north for weeks yet.’

‘Not north,’ Briar said. ‘Home. Lakton.’











6 (#ulink_11ab5f2b-5aa9-56e9-aef7-0976989140b0)

Everam Is a Lie (#ulink_11ab5f2b-5aa9-56e9-aef7-0976989140b0)

334 AR


Renna gritted her teeth, watching as Shanvah spoon-fed a thin gruel to her father. Shanjat swallowed mechanically, eyes straight ahead, staring at nothing. His aura was bright with life but flat and unmoving. Auras showed emotions, but Shanjat had none to show.

The sight sickened her. Two days ago, Shanjat had been a powerful man in the prime of his life. A better fighter by far than Renna. Now he had all the will of Renna’s old milking cow. He could walk a path if led, squat in the privy and wipe himself when told, even spoon his own gruel if it was placed before him. But if left to his own devices, he would stand in his stall staring at nothing until he dropped.

It didn’t help that Arlen and Jardir were shouting at each other on the tower’s next level. In some ways, that was the worst of it. Shanvah, usually so calm and detached, was weeping openly, and flinched at every angry sound from above.

‘Be strong,’ Renna said. ‘They’ll find a way to bring your da back to us.’

‘Will they?’ Shanvah asked, using the edge of the spoon to scrape a dribble of drool from her father’s lip. She kissed his cheek and moved away, Renna following.

‘Not all will make it to the end of Sharak Ka,’ Shanvah’s voice was low, ‘if indeed any do. It is an honour to die on alagai talons. But this …’ she gestured to her father, staring at nothing, ‘… half life? Alagai Ka made a mocking shell of my father to whisper his evils. If the Deliverer cannot restore him, I will kill him myself.’

Renna’s throat was heavy, and she found herself blinking back tears of her own. She and Shanvah were hardly friends, but that no longer mattered. The Krasians believed that all who shed blood together against the night were family, and for better or worse that was what they were now.

Shanvah was watching her, eyes daring Renna to argue. ‘Time comes,’ Renna said, ‘I’ll be there to catch your tears.’

Shanvah wept anew, throwing her arms about Renna. Renna fought the instinct to pull away, holding the girl tight and patting her back.

When she was finished, Shanvah pulled back, sniffling as she undid her scarf and moved to the basin to wash. When she looked up at her reflection in the silvered mirror, there was grim determination on her face.

She turned to Renna, producing a small, sharp knife. ‘I won’t share my father’s fate.’

Renna eyed the blade warily. ‘Don’t know yet that they can’t save him, Shan. Ent time yet.’

‘It is not for him.’ Shanvah flipped the knife in nimble fingers, handing it to Renna hilt-first. ‘It is for me. I want you to cut mind wards into my forehead.’

Renna shook her head. ‘I can paint them with blackstem …’

‘Blackstem fades,’ Shanvah said. ‘And our supply may dwindle as we walk the road to the abyss. You heard the father of demons. The journey is long, and you are mortal. The time will come when your guard grows lax, and then I will be free.’

Renna blinked. ‘Ay, you may be right about that. We can tattoo …’

Shanvah shook her head. ‘The Evejah commands we not profane our bodies with permanent ink. I will follow the example set down by the Shar’Dama Ka.’

Renna looked at her, seeing the strength and determination in the girl’s aura. ‘Ay, all right.’ She took the knife, laying Shanvah on her back. ‘Need something to bite on?’

Shanvah shook her head. ‘Pain is only wind.’






‘Ent no choice but to stick to the plan,’ the Par’chin said.

Jardir looked at him incredulously. ‘Of course there is a choice, Par’chin. There is always a choice. You had a choice when you broke into Sharik Hora and started us on this path, and there is a choice now. Do not let the honeyed words of Alagai Ka blind you. The very fact that he endorses your mad plan is reason to reconsider. He seeks to lure us into forgetting our true responsibility.’

‘And that is?’ the Par’chin asked.

‘To lead our people in Sharak Ka, vanguard in the battle between Everam and Nie.’

‘Night.’ The Par’chin rolled his eyes. ‘You still spouting that nonsense? Everam is a lie, Ahmann. Nie is a lie. Demon said it himself. Fiction to keep folk from fearin’ the dark.’

The blasphemy no longer surprised him, but still Jardir marvelled at how stubborn the Par’chin could be. ‘How can you say that after all we have seen, Par’chin? How many prophecies must come true before you begin to have faith?’

The Par’chin closed his eyes. ‘I can see the future now. The sun will … rise tomorrow.’ He smirked as he opened his eyes. ‘Gonna think I speak to the Creator when that comes true?’

‘You were not so insolent when I was your ajin’pal,’ Jardir said. ‘Mocking what you do not understand.’

‘Ent,’ the Par’chin said. ‘Mocking stories you make up to explain what we both don’t understand. We’re cattle to these things, Ahmann. Sharak Ka means no more to them than a bull stirring up the cows, and we’ve started a stampede. It will happen now whether we’re there or not. I trust my people to stand against the night. Do you?’

‘My people stood in the night long before yours, Par’chin,’ Jardir reminded him.

‘Then let them!’ the Par’chin cried. ‘While they hold the surface, we have this one chance to take it downstairs.’

‘To Nie’s abyss,’ Jardir said. ‘Yet you deny Kaji’s divine instruction, set down in the Evejah …’

‘The Evejah is a book,’ the Par’chin said. ‘A book that’s been rewritten over the years, and never had the whole story anyway.’

‘And how do you know this story, Par’chin?’ Jardir asked. ‘How do you, an infidel, know more of Kaji than his sacred order of scholars?’

‘The dama are political creatures,’ the Par’chin said. ‘Corrupt. Said it yourself. That’s why you cast the Andrah from his throne. The Evejah bends to suit their will, selectively enforced. The real version is painted on the walls of Anoch Sun. Or was, till your diggers knocked most of them down.’

Jardir crossed his arms. ‘So we should put our faith in the Father of Lies, instead?’

The Par’chin laughed. ‘Don’t trust that demon farther than the reach of our spears. But I had a look in the head of the mind demon it sent to kill me. With both sides of the story, it’s easier to tell fact from fiction.’

‘So what truly transpired, three thousand years ago?’ Jardir asked. ‘What great secret have the dama hidden?’

‘That Kaji failed,’ the Par’chin said. ‘Din’t make it all the way. Din’t get to the queen. We wouldn’t be in this fix if he had.’

‘He gave us millennia of peace,’ Jardir said. ‘And it was only when we forgot his teachings that the alagai returned. Did Kaji fail us, or did we fail him?’

The Par’chin rubbed his face in frustration. ‘What does it matter? Creator or no, a hatching is coming up. We either let it happen and lead our armies against hives popping up all over our lands, or we try to stop it and maybe, just maybe, accomplish what Kaji never could.’

Jardir scowled. ‘You think we can control Alagai Ka?’

The Par’chin shrugged. ‘Gonna need to talk to it again.’

‘How?’ Jardir asked. ‘With its flesh warded, Alagai Ka cannot touch Shanjat’s mind, and without him it cannot speak.’

‘Wards keep it from striking at a distance,’ the Par’chin said, ‘but it can still enter an unwarded mind if it makes physical contact.’

‘So you wish to deliver my kai to Alagai Ka’s talons once more,’ Jardir said. ‘To make him a puppet to spread the prince of demons’ lies. A weapon to use against us.’

‘What choice we got?’ the Par’chin asked.

Jardir had no answer.






Renna held Shanvah’s face with her left hand as she worked. The knife was steady in her right, cutting flesh away from the girl’s forehead in ribbons, ensuring a keloid scar that would Draw and hold a charge.

She let magic flow through both hands, activating the cutting wards on the already razor-sharp blade, and speeding the healing. Scabs formed in seconds in the blade’s wake.

Shanvah did not flinch at the cuts, but there was fear in her aura.

‘Nothing to worry over,’ Renna said. ‘Know what I’m doing. Still be pretty when I’m done.’

‘The scars of alagai’sharak are an honour to carry,’ Shanvah said.

‘Then what’s got you tenser than a pig at the chopping block?’ Renna asked.

Shanvah’s eyes flicked to the stairs. ‘They’ve gone quiet.’

Renna paused in her work, realizing for the first time that the shouting from above had stopped. In her concentration she hadn’t noticed.

‘I thought nothing could be worse than the sound of my uncle and the Par’chin shouting,’ Shanvah said.

‘But ’least we knew they wern’t choking each other,’ Renna agreed. ‘Gotta hold faith they were gonna do that, they’da done it months ago.’

‘Our faith is tested daily, with Sharak Ka approaching.’ Shanvah relaxed, aura cooling with acceptance.

‘There,’ Renna said, making the last cut. She looked at the ward this way and that, paring away a last bit of flesh before she set the knife aside.

‘How does it—’ Shanvah began, but her words were cut off with a gasp, her eyes widening. Renna turned to see Arlen and Jardir descending the stairs.

‘What are you doing?’ Jardir demanded.

Shanvah scissored her legs for momentum, rolling off her back into a kneeling position facing Jardir. She put her hands on the floor and pressed her face between them, the scabs on her forehead touching the wood. ‘Mercy, Deliverer! The daughter of Harl wards me at my request.’

Jardir reached down, putting a finger under the girl’s chin to tilt her face upward. ‘Your mother used to brag of your beauty, and the ease with which she could find you a husband.’

‘No doubt a husband for the Deliverer’s niece would be easy enough to find, beauty or no,’ Shanvah said. ‘But there will be no husbands in the abyss. No beauty. There will only be alagai, and sharak.’

Jardir nodded. ‘You are as wise as you are brave, niece. Your honour is boundless.’

Shanvah gave no outward sign, but her aura lit with pride at the words. ‘May I ward my father next?’

Jardir shook his head. ‘I fear we will need him again. We have more questions for the Prince of Lies.’

The pure gold that had been Shanvah’s aura again became a swirling mix of colours – anger, frustration, humiliation. They all saw it, but she kept her composure, flicking her gaze back down.

‘Speak,’ Jardir commanded. ‘I can see the question in your heart, and we cannot afford to let it fester.’

‘Is my father’s shame not great enough,’ Shanvah asked, ‘left trapped in a body without will? Must we permit Alagai Ka to violate him further? My father’s honour was boundless. I beg you, if he cannot be healed, let me send him on the lonely path.’

‘Not all warriors get the fortune of a quick death on alagai talons, niece,’ Jardir said. ‘Heroes beyond count, great men like Drillmaster Qeran, who trained your father, have lived on with injuries they believed would forever put them from alagai’sharak. We must honour these men no less for their service to Everam than those that walk the lonely path.’

Shanvah shifted. ‘By your own words, Deliverer, those crippled in battle are put from alagai’sharak. You send my crippled father back into battle.’

‘It is not without precedent,’ Jardir said. ‘Countless crippled warriors have volunteered as Baiters in the Maze, dying in glory as they led the demons to their doom.’

‘Of course your words are true, Deliverer,’ Shanvah pressed, ‘but my father has no will to volunteer. I cannot believe he would have wanted this … abomination.’

Renna saw growing frustration in Jardir’s aura. He was not used to being questioned by any of his people, especially one who had barely seen eighteen summers. But he breathed, and his aura cleansed again. Arlen had tried to teach Renna the trick, but it never worked for her.

‘You do your family honour, Shanvah vah Shanjat,’ Jardir said. ‘But I knew your father better than you. We fought in the nie’Sharum food lines and bled together in the Maze. Such was his honour and loyalty that I gave him my own sister, your honoured mother, as his First Wife.’

He gestured with the Spear of Kaji, always in his hand, and the weight of it washed over Shanvah’s aura. ‘I tell you here with Everam my witness, if I told Shanjat asu Cavel am’Damaj am’Kaji that to win Sharak Ka I needed him to be the voice of evil, he would not refuse me.’

Shanvah put her face back to the floor, weeping openly. ‘Of course the Shar’Dama Ka is correct. My father’s honour was boundless, and I shame him with my doubts. I will not question you again, Deliverer, and should you require any sacrifice of me, know that my spirit will always be willing to serve you in Sharak Ka.’

‘I never doubted it, niece,’ Jardir said.

‘It may be that Alagai Ka sends my father against you, as he did last night,’ Shanvah said. ‘I beg your permission to stand guard when the Prince of Waning touches him. If my father must be put down, it should be I who does it.’

She looked up, surprised to see Jardir bow in return. ‘Of course. I have never met a warrior, Shanvah vah Shanjat am’Damaj am’Kaji, who carried greater honour than you. Your father’s spirit sings with pride. When he is at last untethered and walks the lonely path, his steps will be lighter knowing he has left a worthy successor to carry on his blood.’

The words cleansed Shanvah’s aura once more, washing away the swirling colours with a pure white light.






Shanjat’s hands and feet were manacled. A short chain between them would allow him to sit but not to stand. The Par’chin warded the bindings himself, and Jardir could see the power in them.

If the kai’Sharum felt any discomfort at being so bound, he gave no sign as Jardir carried him like a child up the steps to Alagai Ka’s prison. But for his breathing Shanjat might have been dead, eyes staring blankly.

The demon looked up as they entered, tilting its head as Jardir crossed the wards, Shanvah covering his every step with her spear. He laid Shanjat in the centre of the room, then retreated outside the circles that held the demon prisoner.

But the demon did not move toward Shanjat, simply watching them with huge, inhuman eyes. Jardir could see the endless dark of Nie in those black pools, thoughts unknowable.

The Par’chin and his jiwah pulled open the heavy curtains. Night had fallen, but it was not the dark of Waning. Moonlight streamed through the windows and Alagai Ka hissed, scrambling to the centre of the room.

Jardir felt his skin crawl as the demon wrapped itself around Shanjat. Shanvah tightened her grip on her spear, aura like a taut bowstring. She ached to strike, killing demon and sire both, but she was one of Everam’s spear sisters, sprung of Jardir’s own Sharum blood. She embraced the pain and mastered it.

Shanjat looked up, eyes bright and alive once more. He turned to Shanvah, lip curling. ‘Everam curse me, to have sired such a pathetic excuse for a daughter. It would have been better for all if your Tikka had married you off before you could be sent to the Dama’ting Palace. Better if I had crushed your head when I saw you were only a girl.’

Shanvah kept her spear steady, but Jardir could see how the words tore across her aura.

‘Your brother would have saved me,’ Shanjat said. ‘Or at least done the honour of killing me.’

Shanvah’s tears glistened in the moonlight, but she held steady.

‘Do not listen to these poisonous words, niece,’ Jardir said. ‘It is not your father speaking.’

‘Oh, but it is,’ Shanjat said, laughing. It was so much like his friend’s great bellow that Jardir’s heart ached. ‘That is what makes it so delicious! This drone boasted to his brethren of the strong son growing in his mate. His first thought at the sight of you was disgust. He imagined killing you to save face.’

‘Stop it.’ The Par’chin’s jiwah stepped forward. ‘Need you alive, but that don’t mean we can’t cut a few bits off now that you can’t grow ’em back.’

The demon tilted its head, studying her. ‘What will your egg be?’ Shanjat asked. ‘Will your consort allow you to walk the path before us, once he learns you carry it?’

‘What’s he talkin’ about, Ren?’ the Par’chin asked.

‘Core if I know,’ Renna said.

‘Humans are so inefficient in their mating.’ Shanjat clicked his tongue. ‘Ten cycles of vulnerability for a single egg. But do not fear. We will keep you alive until the birth. The mind of a child is a delicious morsel – like the bird eggs you consume.’

Renna snarled, drawing her knife.

Jardir moved to block her path to the demon, but the Par’chin was faster. He blurred into mist, flowing across the room to re-form in her path. ‘Tryin’ to get a rise out of us, Ren. Tryin’ to get us mad enough to cross the wards, give it a chance to escape. Long as they hold we gotta stand fast, no matter what it says.’

Renna panted, struggling to master the rage boiling in her aura.

‘The Par’chin speaks true, sister,’ Shanvah said. ‘You told me yourself the princelings steal our thoughts, but speak only those that cut.’

Renna blew out a breath, glaring at the demon. ‘Odds are you taste like shit, but don’t think that means I won’t eat your brains, too.’

She meant the words. Jardir could see it on her aura, and knew the demon could, too. The creature seemed to think better of goading her further.

‘Ask your questions,’ Shanjat said. ‘This drone will serve as mouthpiece and mount as we travel the dark paths below.’

The Par’chin stepped forward. ‘Where is the surface entrance to the path?’

‘North and east,’ the demon said. ‘In the mountains not far from where you and the Heir held your primitive submission duel.’

‘Lands unclaimed by either side,’ Jardir said. ‘That is fitting, for such a quest.’

‘Unclaimed by you,’ Shanjat agreed, ‘but not unclaimed.’

‘Who, then?’ Jardir demanded.

‘The factions of your surface stock are meaningless to me. They provided fresh minds for my larder on my last visit.’

Jardir clenched a fist but did not take the bait. ‘Is the path guarded?’

‘Magic flows to the surface strongly from a vent that size. Drones are drawn to the area, but they do not truly understand what they protect.’

‘How far to demon town once we find this cave?’ the Par’chin asked.

‘Weeks even for a mimic drone,’ Shanjat said. ‘Whole cycles for the slow and clumsy limbs of humans.’

‘There food on the way?’ the Par’chin asked. ‘Clear water?’

‘So much power, and not the slightest idea how to use it. The energies of the Core can sustain you without need for feeding.’

‘You don’t need to eat?’ Renna asked. ‘Then why keep a larder? Why raid the surface?’

Shanjat smiled. ‘Why do your kind drink fermented fruit and grain? Why do you sing and dance?’

The Par’chin shook his head. ‘More than that. Can’t make something from nothing. Might not need food often, but you need it. Queens most of all.’

Shanjat nodded. ‘My brethren can exist without, but none of us does so willingly. Queens at laying must feed – and our hatchlings. Those most of all. Soon hives will fill your lands, each springing forth thousands of hungry hatchling drones to pick the surface clean.’

Renna gritted her teeth. ‘That a long way o’ sayin’ we don’t need supplies?’

‘We will bring them, regardless,’ Jardir said. ‘I do not trust the demon’s words.’

‘Why not?’ Shanjat asked. ‘Have you not spent your life a pawn to the dice your females carve from our bones?’

It surprised Jardir how deeply the words cut. ‘They speak with the voice of Everam.’

Shanjat laughed. ‘They are a Jongleur’s trick! A primitive glimpse at a minuscule fraction of infinite possibility.’

‘Those primitive glimpses have led us to victory after victory against your kind,’ Jardir noted.

‘Perhaps,’ Shanjat said. ‘Or perhaps we play a larger game, and even in your minor “victories” you are only pawns.’

‘Pawns that caught you with your pants down,’ the Par’chin said. ‘Pawns that got you locked up sweatin’ the sun. Pawns that could kill you on a whim. Tellin’ me that’s all part of your game?’

‘In every game there is risk,’ Shanjat said. ‘Play is far from over.’

‘It is for tonight,’ Jardir said. He raised the Spear of Kaji and drew a ward in the air, sending power into the tattoos on the demon’s knobbed flesh. It gave a howl, falling back from Shanjat and thrashing on the floor. The others advanced on it while Shanvah crossed the wards to collect her father.






‘Corespawned thing wasn’t lying.’ Arlen knelt in front of Renna’s belly, studying her aura. ‘Barely a spark, but it’s there.’

‘So much for pullin’ out,’ Renna said.

Arlen stood, meeting her eyes. ‘Creator knows we wern’t perfect about it.’ He shook his head. ‘Should’ve been more careful.’

‘Why?’ Renna asked. ‘I’m your wife. Supposed to carry our babes. Creator knows you ent able. Sayin’ you don’t want it?’

‘Course not,’ Arlen said. ‘Ent a thing in the world I want more. Just mean timin’s bad.’

‘Timin’ ent ever gonna be good, long as demons come out at night,’ Renna said. ‘Don’t mean we stop livin’ our lives.’

‘Know that,’ Arlen said. ‘But you can’t go down to the Core carryin’ our baby.’

‘Can’t?’ Renna crossed her arms. ‘You think, Arlen Bales. Ever have a talk you started with can’t go well for you? Can and will.’

‘Night, Ren!’ Arlen shouted. ‘How am I supposed to keep my mind on this job I got to do if I’m spending the whole time worrying over you?’

‘What, you’re the only one with feelin’s? You’ll do it the same rippin’ way I do every time you run off and do somethin’ dangerous.’

‘Ay, but now I’m worrying for two,’ Arlen said.

‘So. Am. I!’ After months of eating demon meat, Renna was nearly as quick as Arlen, and he didn’t see the slap coming. The blow knocked him back a step, echoing off the stone walls of the tower.

Arlen pressed a hand to his cheek, looking at her in shock.

Renna levelled a finger at him. ‘You’re not the one carryin’ this babe, Arlen Bales. Part of me. Say again I ent lookin’ to its best interest and that slap’ll seem like a kiss.’

‘Then how can you mean to take it to the heart of demon town?’ Arlen asked. ‘You seen what just one of the minds can do. What chance we got inside the rippin’ hive?’

Renna shrugged. ‘What chance we got if I stay up here and have our baby with new hives poppin’ up all over Thesa?’

‘Don’t know that for sure,’ Arlen said. ‘Demon could be lyin’, playing us to let him go.’

‘Already gambling the world that it ent, if we go through with this.’

‘How’s it supposed to work?’ Arlen said. ‘We gonna take a Herb Gatherer with us?’

Renna bared her teeth. ‘You even say her name …’

‘Why not?’ Arlen asked. ‘She’s carryin’, too. You can set up a nursery in the Core.’

‘Don’t need a Gatherer,’ Renna said. ‘Got two Deliverers with me.’

‘Ent funny, Ren.’

‘Said yourself the babe’s little more’n a notion right now,’ Renna said. ‘Ent gonna slow me for months. By then either we’ll have won, or it won’t matter.’

‘What if you get morning sick?’

‘Can’t be worse’n chokin’ down demon meat,’ Renna said. ‘I’ll manage. You need me.’

‘I …’ Arlen began.

‘Don’t deny it,’ Renna cut in. ‘Jardir means well, but he’s got a different way of lookin’ at the world. Threw you in a demon pit once. Don’t think he won’t do it again if he thinks it’s the Creator’s will.’

Arlen blew out a breath. ‘Don’t think I forgot that.’

‘Shanjat’s an empty shell,’ Renna said. ‘He may still be breathin’, but he ent coming back, and I wouldn’t trust it if he did.’

‘Honest word,’ Arlen said.

‘Shanvah’s as good as any can get in a fight, but she can’t dissipate, and she ent as strong as the rest of us,’ Renna went on. ‘You want any chance of making this work, you need me. World needs me. Gotta put that first, just like we asked her to with her da.’






Jardir watched Shanvah, marvelling at what his niece had become. It seemed just days ago he saw her newborn and squalling in his sister’s arms. In Krasian fashion, he had seen little of her in the ensuing years, and nothing since she went into the Dama’ting Palace as a child.

Now she was a woman grown, carrying a weight of honour that could break the strongest Sharum. Shanjat was not capable of shame, so she carried it for them both, locked inside an iron will.

‘Come and sit with me, niece.’ Jardir disdained the Northern chairs, sweeping his robe back to sit cross-legged on the bare floor. While he did, he concentrated, activating one of the powers of the Crown of Kaji. As Shanvah took a spot facing him on the floor, he put a bubble of silence around them, keeping their words from Shanjat’s ears.

Shanvah knelt before him, bending to put her hands on the floor. ‘Raise your eyes,’ Jardir commanded. ‘I am Shar’Dama Ka, but I am your uncle, as well. With your father … absent, I would speak to you as both, while we walk the path to the abyss.’

Shanvah sat back on her heels. ‘You honour me beyond my worth, Deliverer.’

Jardir shook his head. ‘No, child. This is but a fraction of the honour you are due for service given, and nothing in the face of what I must ask of you.’

‘I understand, Uncle,’ Shanvah said. ‘Alagai Ka cannot guide us to Nie’s abyss without my father’s voice.’

Jardir nodded. ‘Nor can we allow the demon free movement. He must be chained.’

Shanvah closed her eyes, breathing. ‘Alagai Ka said he would make a mount of my father.’

‘Indeed, I think it must be so. Imagine the damage Alagai Ka could do if it took over my mind, or that of one of the chin? We cannot risk touching it in anything but battle.’

‘Nor can you allow it to control my father without constant guard,’ Shanvah said.

‘We will separate them whenever possible,’ Jardir said, ‘but must assume that every time the Prince of Lies touches your father’s mind, it will learn all Shanjat has seen and heard. We can no longer speak freely in his presence. Nor can you let your guard down around him. There is no telling how much of Alagai Ka’s influence remains when they are apart.’

Shanvah placed her hands on the floor and bent to touch her forehead between them. Then she sat up and met his eyes again. ‘I understand my place in things, Uncle. I will not fail you.’

In her aura he saw it was true. She would carry this burden atop a broken heart all the way to the Core. He opened his arms, and after a moment Shanvah moved awkwardly into his embrace until he pulled her tight. ‘Of that, I have no doubt.’






The Par’chin noted Jardir’s sphere of silence as he and his jiwah returned to the group. He nodded, moving to sit between Jardir and Shanvah on the floor. Renna took up a place opposite him, all of them facing one another.

‘Gonna do this, it needs to be soon,’ the Par’chin said.

‘Agreed,’ Jardir said. ‘But not too soon.’

‘Ay, what’s that mean?’ the Par’chin asked.

‘It means I will see my Jiwah Ka before I go to the abyss,’ Jardir said. ‘I will hold her in my arms again, and have her cast her dice in my blood.’

‘Ent got time—’ the Par’chin began.

‘This is not a request, son of Jeph!’ Jardir made a lash of his words. ‘We must claim every advantage in this endeavour, and the dice can do much to counter the Prince of Lies.’

‘And if the dice conveniently tell her she ought to come along?’ the Par’chin asked.

‘Then she will come,’ Jardir said. ‘As your Jiwah Ka does. She will not dissemble with all Ala in the balance. Everything Inevera does, she does for Sharak Ka.’

He could see in the Par’chin’s aura that the man wanted to argue further, but he checked himself. ‘Fair enough. Ren and I should make a few stops, too. Let folk know what’s coming, we don’t find a miracle.’











7 (#ulink_154448c7-09fd-564e-9a97-8d14c12a7267)

The Eunuchs (#ulink_154448c7-09fd-564e-9a97-8d14c12a7267)

334 AR


A stab of pain between his legs woke Abban from one of the rare lapses of consciousness that passed for sleep in his new reality. He sat up from the cold ground with a start, his foot joining the agony as he squinted in the firelight.

Hasik took his cock first. Abban had steeled himself, knowing it was coming, but nothing could truly prepare a man for that. He did it with his teeth, and made Abban watch.

Abban begged Everam to let him bleed out, or take a fever and die, but warriors of Hasik’s experience knew their way around wounds. He’d tied it off first, and burned the end.

Dampness between his thighs made Abban think the wound had reopened. His chains clinked as he scrambled to undo the drawstring of his ragged pants and check.

Abban might have prayed for death while it was going on, but now, cock or no cock, he meant very much to live. He pulled back the cloth. There was no fresh blood on the bandages, but they were stained yellow and soaking.

It was nothing new. Abban now pissed through a hollow needle punched into the charred flesh. He had no control, bladder draining steadily throughout the day. He was always wet between the legs now, and stank of piss.

Hasik laughed from the other side of the fire. ‘You’ll get used to it, khaffit. So used to wet pants they will grow as comfortable as dry. So used to the smell of your own piss you will sniff the air and smell nothing even as everyone around you complains of your stink.’

‘That’s hopeful, at least,’ Abban said, retying his pants. It wasn’t as if he had anything to change the dressing with. For now he would have to endure the wet.

‘Enjoy it while you can, khaffit.’ Hasik waved at the lightening sky. ‘The sun will rise soon. How many has it been?’

Abban gritted his teeth, but he knew better than to fail to answer. Hasik fed on his pain and anguish like Sharum fed on magic. But while a certain amount of torture was inevitable, there was nothing to be gained in making it worse.

‘Fourteen,’ Abban said. ‘A holy number. Fourteen days since you murdered the Deliverer’s son.’

Hasik laughed. He did so often now, his mood more jovial than Abban had ever seen. ‘And yours. No doubt you thought the poisoned blade at the end of your crutch was clever. How did it look shoved up Fahki’s ass while he foamed and shook?’

He chuckled again as Abban swallowed, uncharacteristically finding himself with no reply.

There was a crackle of magic and a flash of light. A lone wood demon paced the perimeter of their circle, searching for openings where none were to be found. Even the dimmest Sharum had the basic circle of protection beaten into his head by the time he earned his blacks, and Hasik was turning out to be brighter than he let on.

Hasik lay back on his saddle, hands behind his head. An empty bottle of some chin spirit lay beside him. His cold eyes followed the demon as it paced.

‘Why not kill it and have done?’ Abban asked. ‘Isn’t that what Sharum live for?’

Hasik spat in the demon’s direction. ‘All those years in sharaj and you never learned anything about us, did you, khaffit?’

‘I learned that you love carnage more than you hate the alagai,’ Abban said. ‘That you prefer weak foes to strong, particularly the soft chin. But drunk or not, I did not think you a coward, afraid of a single demon.’

He expected the words to get a rise from Hasik, but the warrior was unmoved. ‘I fear nothing, but I am through with Everam’s foolish war.’

‘Now, with Sharak Ka nigh?’ Abban probed. Hasik seemed to be in a rare moment of introspection. Perhaps he might learn something of use. Crippled, he could not flee Hasik. His only choice was to find a way to manipulate the warrior into keeping him alive until new opportunities presented themselves.

‘The Deliverer was to lead us in Sharak Ka,’ Hasik said. ‘But Ahmann was cast down in shame, and his son was pathetic. Who does that leave? Even if the rumours are true and the Par’chin is still alive, I’ll go to the abyss before I follow him.’

He swept a hand at the demon, watching their words with the blank stare of a camel. ‘I will fight demons when there is something to gain, but I am through killing them for Everam’s sake. What has the Creator ever done for me?’

Abban shook his head. ‘If the Creator exists, He is not without humour, that only now should we begin to understand each other.’

‘Perhaps it is because we both lack cocks now.’ Hasik smacked his lips. ‘I tell you, khaffit, that was the sweetest meat I ever tasted. I’m tempted to carve off more.’

‘No doubt it’s all the pig I’ve eaten,’ Abban said. ‘If you’ve truly turned your back on Heaven and look to the pleasures of Ala, there is none greater.’

Hasik laughed. ‘Bold words, khaffit. I doubt any meat can give greater pleasure than I had atop your wives and virgin daughters.’

‘As you say, those days are behind us both,’ Abban said. ‘We are eunuchs now, and must take pleasure where we can. Find me a pig, and I will prepare a meal you will never forget.’

‘You’ve tried to poison me for years,’ Hasik said. ‘What makes you think you’ll be more successful now?’

It was true. When they were boys together in sharaj, Hasik beat Abban regularly. Once, Abban paid him back with a drop of sandsnake venom in his gruel. Not enough to kill, but Hasik spent a week embracing pain above the waste pits.

There was no proof it was Abban, but Hasik was no fool. The beatings worsened. After that fateful week, Abban tried countless times to poison Hasik in a more permanent fashion, but the big warrior had learned his lesson. He ignored the food lines, simply picking another warrior at random and taking his bowl at mealtime.

Even among the dal’Sharum, where pride often took the better part of good sense, few dared rise to the challenge. Those who did – often at a bribe from Abban – were gleefully broken in front of the other men.

‘You have always been difficult to kill,’ Abban admitted. ‘But that is no reason to stop trying.’

‘You are not utterly without spine, khaffit, even if you fear to strike at me yourself.’ Hasik spread his arms. ‘When you are ready, come at me. I will allow you one free blow. You may even poison it, if you wish. I will still have time to gouge your eyes and feed them to you. Still time to suck the tongue from your mouth and bite it off.’

Abban turned out his damp pockets, chains clinking. ‘I have no poison in any event. But Everam my witness, I can roast a pig that will dizzy you and set your mouth to water at just the smoke. Pigskin hardens into a cracking shell, slick with grease, and the flesh beneath will make you wish you had renounced Heaven sooner.’

‘Everam’s beard, khaffit!’ Hasik cried. ‘You’ve convinced me! Today we will find a pig and roast it to commemorate our first fortnight together.’

Hasik reached into his wide belt, producing a small hammer. ‘But first, there is our dawn prayer.’

The wood demon faded to mist and slipped back to the abyss as they talked. Now the sun crested the horizon, and Hasik at last got to his feet.

The hammer – no Sharum weapon – was a simple worker’s tool stolen casually as they fled the ruin of Jayan’s army after the Battle of Angiers. A lump of iron at the end of a stout stick.

But Hasik wielded that hammer like a dama’ting’s scalpel. He twirled it absently in his fingers, limbering them as he came to kneel by Abban’s feet.

‘Please,’ Abban said.

‘What will you offer me today, khaffit?’ Hasik asked.

‘A palace,’ Abban said. ‘One to put the greatest Damaji to shame. I will empty my coffers and build towers so high you can speak to Everam.’

‘I speak to Him daily,’ Hasik said.

The foot of Abban’s crippled leg still had its boot, but the other was long gone, his foot too swollen to fit the leather. Hasik had wrapped the foot in rags to keep it from freezing, though Abban welcomed the numbness of cold over the fresh pain each morning.

‘Everam, giver of light and life,’ Hasik drew a ward in the air, ‘I thank you this and each day forward for delivering my enemy unto me. I sacrifice him to you as I promised long ago, one bone at a time.’

Abban howled as Hasik grabbed the purple, bloated appendage, pinning it while he searched for an unbroken bone. He had crushed the toes, then moved on to the bones of Abban’s instep, slowly making his way toward the ankle. Abban never dreamed there were so many bones in a human foot.

‘Quit whining, khaffit,’ Hasik said with a grin. ‘Sharum break toes every day with little more than a grunt. Wait until I start on your leg. Your hip. Wait until I take your teeth.’

‘It would be more difficult to have these lovely conversations,’ Abban said.

Hasik laughed as he brought the hammer down. The pain was unbearable, and as his vision began to close in, Abban welcomed oblivion like a lover.






Abban slowly regained consciousness, slung over the back of Hasik’s great charger like a sack of flour. The beast’s every step sent waves of dizziness and nausea through him to accompany the ever-present pain.

He gave in to it for a time, weeping. He knew the sounds were like music to Hasik, but Abban had never embraced pain as easily as a Sharum.

Still, even the worst pains became bearable over time, especially in the numbing cold. Eventually, the nausea subsided and Abban came back to himself enough to feel the sting of a snowflake striking his cheek.

He opened his eyes, seeing flurries blowing in the wind. North of them great clouds were gathering. There would be a storm soon.

They were making their way along the Old Hill Road, a paved Messenger road that once connected the Free Cities of Thesa to the chin city of Fort Hill, lost nearly a century ago to the alagai. Prince Jayan had used the highway – abandoned for most of its length – to move his warriors north to attack Fort Angiers.

It felt like riding through a tomb. Jayan sacked the Angierian hamlets and farms along the road, their burnt remnants standing in judgement over Abban, who had encouraged the foolish prince in his mad plan.

Hasik spat. ‘Pigs everywhere in the green lands, until you want to eat one.’

‘Turn left at the next fork,’ Abban said.

Hasik looked back at him. ‘Why?’

Chains clinked as Abban gestured at a distant line of smoke drifting above the trees. ‘Jayan kept his foragers within a mile or two of the road, but my maps show Messenger paths to hamlets and isolated farmsteads beyond his reach.’

‘Good news,’ Hasik said. ‘I may not need to cut anything off you for my supper.’

‘I fear you would find it all marble and little meat in any event,’ Abban said.

Hasik chuckled as he turned his charger onto the dirt path leading into the woods. Trees were thick on either side, and even in daytime they rode in shadow deep enough to have Abban wary of alagai.

They encountered several farms along the way, oases of cleared land amid the forest. Each was a wreckage, burned out and abandoned, livestock taken and fields picked clean.

Abban was not surprised. Thousands of dal’Sharum, Jayan’s finest, were lost in the slaughter at the gates of Fort Angiers. When the defeat became known, the chi’Sharum turned on their masters or fled, and the remains of Jayan’s army, perhaps ten thousand Sharum, scattered to the wind. Everam only knew if they would re-form into any sizeable force, but there were doubtless enough deserters to plague the chin lands for years.

‘The chin flame weapons allowed them to hold the gate,’ Hasik said, ‘but they do not have the strength to guard their lesser wells.’

‘Yet,’ Abban said.

‘Today is all that matters, khaffit,’ Hasik said. ‘Tomorrow I may yet see how much meat is truly on your bones.’

The next farm they came upon was not deserted. Abban smelled smoke, but it was not the acrid stench of all-consuming flame. This was sizzling fat and Northern spices, wood smoke from a warm hearth.

But it was not Northerners they encountered. At least not entirely. Two Sharum moved along the fences protecting the fields and yard, keeping the wards clear of snow. Others stood over a handful of chin working in the yard. They leaned casually on their spears, but the greenlanders were wise enough not to test how quickly they could be put to use. There was noise from the house and the stables.

‘They look to be settling in,’ Abban said.

‘We were not made for these Northern winters, khaffit,’ Hasik said, though Abban had never seen him show the slightest bother at the cold.

‘Perhaps it would be wise to …’ Abban began, but Hasik ignored him, kicking his charger into a trot.

Hasik had opened the gate and ridden into the yard before there was a shout. Nine Sharum came running out to surround his horse, a circle of spears pointed inward.

Hasik spat on the ground. ‘No one on watch. Who leads this rabble?’

‘We’ll have your father’s name first, warrior,’ one of the Sharum said. He was bigger than the others and had an air of command about him, though the veil around his neck was as black as any other.

‘I am Hasik asu Reklan am’Kez am’Kaji.’

‘Jayan’s dog,’ the lead warrior said, ‘left with no one to heel.’ The others laughed.

Hasik joined their laughter. ‘True enough, though I have my own dog now.’ He swept a hand over Abban.

All eyes glanced his way, and Abban wilted further under the collective stare. No doubt the men had only just noticed him. Sharum focused foremost on potential threats.

‘The Deliverer’s khaffit,’ the first warrior said. ‘Not so proud any more. Is it true he can turn sand and camel shit to gold?’

‘Indeed he can,’ Hasik said. ‘He can sell water to the fish men, and wood to cutters.’

The warrior tilted his head, meeting Abban’s eyes. ‘It did not save him.’

Hasik showed his teeth. ‘Nothing could, on my day. Now we have given our names. I ask again for yours.’

‘Orman asu Hovan am’Bajin,’ the man said. ‘Welcome to my csar. It is no prince’s palace, but there are slaves and food is plentiful.’

‘The Bajin are not returning to Everam’s Reservoir?’ Hasik asked.

‘Not these Bajin,’ Orman said. ‘Who leads there, now? Qeran? I’ve no desire to become a privateer and spend my life on the water.’

‘The monastery, then,’ Hasik said. ‘Dama Khevat still rules there?’

Orman shook his head. ‘For now, perhaps, but he hasn’t the men to hold it. The fish men will be eager to reclaim the monastery with Jayan’s forces broken. It is the key to striking at Everam’s Reservoir. Why spend a week walking that freezing, demon-infested highway to join a hopeless battle when there is warmth and comfort here? The green lands are soft and ripe for plunder.’

‘Wise words.’ Hasik glanced about the yard. ‘Do you have pigs?’

Orman nodded. ‘The chin slaves eat them. Need to feed your khaffit?’

‘He can feed off his fat,’ Hasik said. ‘I thought I would taste one, myself.’

‘If that is your wish,’ Orman said, ‘providing you can pay. We have women, as well. Chin women, not much to look at, but under the veils one is as good as any other, yes?’

One of the men whispered in Orman’s ear. The warrior tossed his head and barked a laugh, then met Hasik’s eyes. ‘They remind me Jayan’s dog was gelded. Women not much good to you, are they?’

Abban tsked, shaking his head. ‘You will regret that, son of Hovan.’

The man glanced at him. ‘What …?’

But then he was gasping and doubling over, grasping at the handle of the knife Hasik had thrown, embedded now in his crotch.

The other warriors surged in. They speared Hasik’s charger in the throat, but Hasik wore armour of warded glass beneath his robes, and their weapons skittered off. He was rolling off the beast, spear in hand, even as it reared. Abban was thrown clear, landing heavily on the ground in a blast of pain.

Hasik was a blur amid the warriors. Then the warriors were a blur.

Then everything went dark.






Abban woke on a hard wood floor. A fire burned in the hearth a few feet away, stealing the numbness from his wounds and bringing back the pain afresh. There was a woman bent over him, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth.

‘You’re alive.’

‘I am alive,’ Abban agreed. ‘Though at the moment I wish otherwise.’

‘Well I thank the Creator for it,’ the woman said. ‘The new master said any who die will be guided on the lonely path by my family.’

Abban squinted in the light. ‘New master? Hasik?’

The woman nodded. ‘He killed three of the Bajin. Cut the stones from the rest.’ She spat. ‘No less than they deserve.’

‘The change in rule may seem a relief now,’ Abban said, ‘but you may come to think the Bajin a blessing by comparison.’

‘There are no blessings left for us,’ the woman said, ‘in this age of false Deliverers. All we can hope for is to survive.’

‘There is always hope in survival,’ Abban said. ‘I have glimpsed the lonely path more than once, but here I lie, still breathing on Ala.’

‘The master says you are his chef,’ the woman said. ‘The men will slaughter a pig for you to roast. A celebration for his new tribe.’

‘A tribe of eunuchs.’ Abban attempted to sit up. ‘I don’t suppose you have something I can use to poison the meat?’

‘If we had, I’d have used it long ago.’ The woman held out a hand to pull him to a sitting position. ‘I’m Dawn.’

‘A beautiful name,’ Abban said. ‘I am Abban asu Chabin am’Haman am’Kaji. I’ll need your help if I am to prepare a feast. I fear I will not be able to stand without crutches, and poorly even then.’

‘We have a chair with wheels my grandfather used before he passed,’ Dawn said.

‘Creator be praised,’ Abban said. ‘If you can help me into it, I would thank you. If Hasik wants a feast, we would be wise not to keep him waiting.’

Dawn nodded, leaving the room briefly and returning with the wheeled chair. It was handmade and crude, but sturdy enough to hold Abban’s considerable bulk.

‘How many warriors does Hasik have now?’ Abban asked as she wheeled him to the kitchen. Three women, one older and two younger, were already at work preparing the evening meal. A few had bruises, and all kept their eyes down.

‘Six still able to fight,’ Dawn said, ‘though all walk tenderly now. Two more with broken bones. Three left out in the snow.’

A shriek and a flash of light drew Abban’s attention to the window. It was dark, with snow blown up against the panes. No doubt the Sharum were out clearing the area of demons, eager for the healing magic to soothe their wounded groins.

They won’t grow back, Abban wanted to tell them. Magic would heal the wounds and broken bones, but it would not grow back what was severed.

‘And your family?’ Abban asked.

‘Seven.’ Dawn nodded to the other women. ‘My mother and daughters, my son-in-law, my husband and father-in-law.’

‘Did the Bajin kill anyone?’ Abban asked, reaching out to sniff at the spices on the rack.

Dawn shook her head. ‘They didn’t speak a word of Thesan, but it was clear they wanted slaves, not killing.’ One of the younger women sobbed at that, and her sister moved to comfort her.

‘Survival is hope,’ Abban said.

‘You’re not like the others,’ Dawn said. ‘You and the new master speak our language, and they treat you …’

‘I am khaffit,’ Abban said. ‘A coward. In the eyes of warriors, I am worth no more than you. It will be all our lives if the feast is not satisfactory. Let us look at the pigs.’

Abban shivered as Dawn wheeled him out into the evening snow, crossing the lamplit yard to the slaughterhouse. Sharum flitted about in the darkness beyond, illuminated here and there in a flash of wardlight.

The Bajin had killed most of the other animals, but the pigs they disdained. There were seven of them, fat and healthy. Abban’s mouth watered at the sight.

These will sell for a thousand draki apiece, to the right buyer. He shook his head at the useless thought. The bazaar was far away, and it was inevera whether Abban would ever see it again.

Live in the now, he reminded himself, or there will be no future.

Three chin men were in the slaughterhouse, all of them bruised and moving stiffly. Two were in their prime, the other older but still sturdy.

‘That one.’ Abban pointed to the best of the lot. The plump young hog squealed as the chin men slaughtered it. Abban left the men to the work, Dawn pushing him back to the kitchen that they might plan a menu.

Hasik found them in the yard. ‘It is good to see you awake, khaffit. I have not forgotten your promise to me.’ He seemed almost jovial, as if every man he gelded lessened his own shame that much more.

‘I always keep my promises,’ Abban said. ‘It will take a night and a day to roast the pig properly.’

Hasik nodded, touching the diamond in the centre of his kai’Sharum turban. There was a kernel of demon bone within, and when next he spoke, his voice boomed through house, yard, and barn. ‘The Eunuch tribe fasts until sunset! Any caught touching food before I give word at tomorrow’s feast will lose his tongue as well as his cock.’

‘You’ll recall how such taunts ended for me,’ Abban noted.

Hasik shrugged. ‘One day I will be weak, and man or alagai will kill me. Until then, I am strong, and will taunt as I please.’ He looked out into the night. ‘Already the wounds to their flesh have healed. A fast and a feast will help them begin to accept their new lives.’

Abban nodded. ‘The kai is wise. It will be a meal they never forget.’

‘It had better,’ Hasik said, ‘Or the chin women will roast you next.’






Abban passed out in the barn, cradled by the wheeled chair, basking in the heat of the coals and the scent of roasting pig. It was the closest he’d been to comfortable in all the weeks of his captivity.

Which only made the white-hot spike of agony that woke him all the worse.

His eyes snapped open to see Hasik kneeling before him with his small hammer, dawn light coming through the barn door. While Abban slept, he had freed the khaffit’s foot from the chair, placed it on a block, and broken another bone for Everam.

Hasik laughed as Abban screamed. ‘I never tire of that sound, khaffit! I want you to know what it means to wake in anguish every day.’

‘You …’ Abban coughed.

‘What was that, khaffit?’ Hasik asked.

‘… didn’t …’ Abban laboured for breath, every word heavy on his tongue. ‘… even … let … me … offer … my … bribe.’

Hasik smiled. ‘Was it a good one?’

Abban nodded. ‘A … pleasure even the … Damaji fear to … indulge.’

Hasik stood, crossing his arms. ‘This I must hear.’

‘A dozen heasah,’ Abban said. ‘Chosen because they look nearly identical to the Damajah, to pillow dance for you.’

Hasik grew red in the face, and Abban realized his mistake. ‘And what am I to do with heasah, without my cock?’

‘There are straps heasah sometimes wear, to simulate having a man’s spear,’ Abban said. ‘I did not lie when I said I could give you a cock of gold, smoother, larger, and stiffer than the real thing ever was.’

‘If I wanted to shame myself with such a harness, it would not be the Damajah I would wish to fuck.’ Hasik leered at him. ‘No, it would be you I make howl, khaffit. Louder even than your daughters and wives.’

He stuck the hammer back in his belt. ‘Now get back to making my feast.’

Everam, if I but had a drop of tunnel asp venom, Abban thought, but he knew it was a lie. Here, crippled deep in the green lands with Sharum deserters looting and pillaging, he would be a fool to poison Hasik. The powerful kai’Sharum was his only hope for survival until they reached Krasian lands or Abban’s network in the Hollow.

‘Better a bone at a time than a spear in the back, or a chin noose around my neck,’ he muttered.

And so he roasted the pig with utmost care, glazing the skin to a hard, delicious shell connected to the moist, hot meat by a melted layer of fat. He directed the women as well, teaching them to roll couscous and prepare dishes suited to Krasian palates. There was a Bajin pea dish that could be reasonably approximated with Northern corn, and Abban had them make it in plenty to honour Hasik’s new men.

Hasik was in good spirits throughout the day. Abban made sure the chin fasted as well, and the smells teased everyone at the farm. By sunset, even the Bajin seemed eager when they were called to the table.

The Sharum had taken a pair of Northern feasting tables and cut the legs short, laying them end-to-end. Hasik was already kneeling upon a bed of pillows at the table’s head when the others arrived. ‘Orman.’ He gestured to the single pillow to his right. The Bajin leader glared at him but wasn’t willing to challenge Hasik again. He knelt, eyes down. The other warriors followed suit, kneeling on the bare floor four to a side.

When the warriors settled, Hasik pointed to the foot of the table. ‘Chin.’

The three Angierian men kept their distance, circling out of reach until they knelt together at the foot of the table, tense with fear.

The Bajin scowled, and Orman spoke up. ‘We are to sup with chin?’

Hasik’s hand was a blur, gripping the warrior’s beard and pulling hard, smashing his face into the table. He roared and struggled, but Hasik kept the thick hair in his fist, holding him prone until he calmed.

‘Perhaps you thought kneeling at my right gives you leave to question me.’ Hasik said. ‘Do you still succour such foolish thoughts?’

Orman shook his head slowly. ‘No.’

‘No?’ Hasik asked.

‘No, master,’ Orman said.

Hasik grunted, letting go his beard and acting as if nothing had happened. ‘Sharum sit.’

The warriors shifted from kneeling to sitting with military skill. How many hours had they spent drilling it in sharaj? The chin stayed on their knees as Abban had instructed, setting them apart. The Bajin seemed mollified at this.

No place for me, Abban noted, pleased to be relegated to the kitchen, invisible. He sent the women back and forth, filling the table with steaming platters that held the attention of the hungry men. They inhaled deeply, tasting with their noses as mouths began to water.

At last they wheeled the animal out, still dripping on the spit. The melting fat pooled in a tray beneath the succulent beast.

‘Prepare your bellies for a wonder you have never dreamed of,’ Abban said, smiling at the looks the men cast the pig. Even mighty Sharum could be ensorcelled by the scent of pork. His own belly groaned and grumbled, desperate to partake.

‘Come and sit behind me at my left while I taste this wonder, khaffit,’ Hasik said.

‘The kai honours me,’ Abban said.

‘Nonsense,’ Hasik said. ‘I merely wish to ensure you continue your fast. You are too fat, Abban. You will see it is for your own good.’

Abban was so hungry he would have sacrificed another bone for a taste of pork, but it was pointless to argue. Orman, Hasik would settle for humiliating. If Abban questioned him in front of the men, Hasik would have no choice but to kill him.

Or worse, Abban thought. He took a deep breath. For now, he was worth less than a warrior, but once Hasik tasted the pig, Abban knew his value would soar.

Still Hasik did not give permission to eat. He clasped his hands and closed his eyes. The others at the table immediately did likewise.

‘Blessed Everam,’ Hasik said, ‘He who honours the strong. We thank you for the feast before us. It may be against your law to sup on the flesh of pigs, but you have shown me your laws are for the weak.’

He paused. ‘I was weak, once. Driven by pleasures of the flesh even when they brought pain and misfortune upon me again and again. I made the weakest part of me my ruler.’ He straightened. ‘Now that part of me is severed, and I am free at last. Free to see the world around me without weakness. I see for the first time the grains in the dunes, and know I am stronger for it.’

He looked at the Bajin. ‘No doubt you would all put a spear in me given the chance, but you will see now how you, too, are free. How we have become strong.’

He looked to Orman. ‘Are there other Sharum in the area?’

Orman nodded. ‘A dozen Khanjin have taken a farm down the road.’

‘You and your men will soon have a chance to visit your shame on your night brothers.’ Hasik smiled. ‘You will find nothing eases your torment like sharing it.’

The Bajin remained grim-faced, but Abban could see the words stoked a new hunger in their eyes. Hasik was not wrong.

Hasik looked at the chin, switching to their language. ‘Everam smiles on you, chin. In the new order, even you may claim honour. The choice is yours. You can be slaves, or you can learn to fight and join us.’

The younger men froze, turning to look at their patriarch. He hesitated, but only for a moment. He bowed as Abban taught him, placing his hands on the floor and touching his forehead between them.

‘We will fight.’

‘Then let us seal it with a feast!’ Hasik called. He lifted the haunch Abban had carved him, and the skin crackled as he bit into it and tore away a mouthful of flesh. His eyes widened, and then it was chaos as the men tore into the food.

Abban watched in pain as they stuffed themselves, but he kept his mask in place, giving Hasik a look pathetic enough to satisfy him as he mocked the starving khaffit with his glistening fingers and lips.

There was Northern ale, and it flowed freely as they ate. Soon the Bajin were laughing, and even the chin seemed to relax. When the plates had been emptied and filled and emptied again, they began to slow, eating more for pleasure than hunger. Hasik lounged back on his bed of pillows as they sang warrior songs.

At last the women cleared the empty bowls and carcass from the room, and Hasik looked at the chin.

‘You have eaten of my pig,’ he said. ‘There is only one more thing keeping you from joining the Eunuchs.’

The chin looked at one another in confusion as Orman laughed, drawing a knife.











8 (#ulink_52e1d0aa-fbed-5d55-8232-b071dafd4842)

Monastery (#ulink_52e1d0aa-fbed-5d55-8232-b071dafd4842)

334 AR


‘A dozen fat slaves, dressed as me,’ Abban promised. ‘One delivered the first day of the month to torture until you kill them in a new and inventive fashion on Waning and begin anew.’

‘I admit, that is a good one,’ Hasik said.

‘Spare me, and I can make it reality,’ Abban said.

Hasik clicked his tongue. ‘There is where it fails, khaffit. What good is pretending vengeance for a year when true vengeance escapes?’

‘Then I will lease my life,’ Abban offered. ‘One slave dressed to look like me each Waning until you collect in full.’

Hasik pursed his lips. ‘The idea has merit. I will take a few months to consider.’

Then he swung the hammer, and Abban screamed.

The Eunuchs and slaves were used to it now, ignoring Abban’s wails and whimpers. Once, when a blood fever from his shattered bones had threatened to kill Abban, Dawn had begged on his behalf.

Hasik had warded Abban’s leg and smeared it with stinking alagai ichor. The demon blood activated the wards and healed Abban. His strength and vigour returned, sweeping away the pain, but the shattered bones of his leg and foot fused into a twisted ruin. Abban doubted even a healer as powerful as the Damajah could make him walk again.

Then Hasik cut the noses from Dawn and her daughters, a permanent warning to all that might take pity on him again.

Hasik was gone by the time Abban mastered his pain enough to crawl into his chair. The camp was full of activity as Abban wheeled to Hasik’s tent, slaves rushing to and fro to service the warriors.

In the past five weeks, the Eunuchs had swollen massively in number. First in fits and starts as Hasik hunted Sharum deserters, catching warriors sometimes in ones and twos, and other times in sizeable bands. The freshest recruits were always the most eager to capture and castrate new members, as if cutting off another man’s cock somehow helped their own healing.

They sacked farms and hamlets as their numbers grew, growing heavy with supply. Then, impossibly, men began to come to them. Sharum that had set off in search of plunder and found ill fortune begging to join, willingly surrendering their genitals in exchange for full bellies and the sense they were once again part of something powerful.

The growth had come with a positive change in Abban’s circumstances. Hasik healed him regularly now, needing Abban’s eyes sharp and his mind unclouded. Once relegated to cook, the khaffit was back on familiar ground, keeping Hasik’s ledgers and acting as quartermaster for his troops and caravan of slaves.

Hasik was lounging on the pillows in his pavilion, eating eggs and bacon.

‘Nie’s black heart, khaffit,’ Hasik said. ‘Had I known the flesh of pigs was so delicious, I would have turned my back on Everam’s law long ago.’

‘It is a great burden lifted,’ Abban agreed, ‘setting aside the Evejah to eat and drink as you please.’

Hasik tore another bite off the rasher, his lips shiny with grease. ‘Read me the tallies.’

Abban gritted his teeth, wheeling over to his writing desk. ‘You have … three kai’Sharum, one hundred and seventy-two dal’Sharum, eight hundred and seventeen kha’Sharum, two hundred and six chi’Sharum, and four hundred and thirty-six slaves. We have seven hundred and forty-two horses …’

Hasik put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes as if listening to music. The tallies were a burden to a good leader, as Ahmann had been, but to a man like Hasik it read as a list of his personal wealth, and Abban could not deny that in a very short time that wealth had become considerable. So considerable that all the Eunuchs had a taste of the largesse. There were no hungry in the caravan, and all had proper clothes to ward off winter’s chill. The Sharum were well equipped and obedient. Even the chi’Sharum conscripts had weapons to go with their ongoing training.

The canvas flap opened, admitting Orman, now wearing the white veil of a kai’Sharum around his neck. Orman had remained Hasik’s second in command and was, so far as Abban could determine, quite loyal and competent. The Bajin was a small tribe, and Orman would likely never have risen as high there as he had in the Eunuchs.

Orman bowed. ‘Eunuch Ka, there is a messenger. He claims to know you.’

‘A messenger?’ Hasik asked. ‘From who?’

‘From Dama Khevat!’ a kai’Sharum boomed, pushing past the door guard.

Abban immediately recognized the man by the scars on his face, a faded remnant from the night a quarter century ago when he had taken a swipe of a sand demon’s claws in the village of Baha kad’Everam. Magic had kept the man young, but he was an honoured elder of their fathers’ generation.

Jesan, Hasik’s ajin’pal.

Among the Sharum, the bond between ajin’pal was as strong as family. For those near in age it was a sibling bond, but more often it was one of father to son. Nightfathers, they were sometimes called, with a relationship no less complicated than fathers and sons of blood. They were mentors and authority figures.

The two were close when Hasik was the Deliverer’s brother-in-law, a respected member of the royal family. They had not spoken since Hasik’s disgrace.

‘Jesan.’ Hasik got to his feet. The men didn’t reach for weapons as they moved in to each other, but they didn’t need to. Both had been Spears of the Deliverer and were more than capable of killing with their bare hands.

Instead they gripped each other’s shoulders and laughed, embracing.

‘Khaffit! Brandy for my ajin’pal!’ Hasik called, leading Jesan to the pillows. Hasik took the centre, where the pile was thickest, gesturing for Jesan to sit at his right and Orman at his left.

Dawn appeared, silently filling a tray and laying it across the arms of Abban’s chair. It was a small blessing that she kept her eyes down, that Abban did not have to meet them as he looked into the gaping hole where her nose had been. She vanished as quickly as she had appeared, and Abban wheeled over to the pillows with the tray.

Hasik took a glass, handing it to Jesan. ‘There is no couzi this far north, but I’ve found the chin distilleries even better.’

‘Just water, thank you.’ Jesan’s voice was tight.

‘Some bacon, perhaps?’ Hasik swept a hand to the plate. ‘Everam could not have made a food so delicious if it was not meant to be eaten.’

Jesan stiffened. ‘Perhaps that is exactly why we were commanded not to eat it.’

‘Oh?’ Hasik’s question seemed casual, but there was challenge in his tone.

Jesan met Hasik’s eyes, breathing deeply. The familiar rhythm was an easy tell that the Sharum was attempting to remain calm. ‘To remind us everyone has a master.’

‘You think I need a reminder of who my master is?’ Hasik asked quietly.

‘I am not the Creator, Hasik,’ Jesan said. ‘Nothing happens, but that Everam wills it. I do not care that you drink couzi. I do not care that you eat pig. I have shed blood with you in the night and that is all that matters. I do not come as some glowering elder, but as your ajin’pal. There are pressing matters to discuss.’

‘Of course.’ Hasik leaned back in the pillows, sipping the brandy he had offered to Jesan. ‘Please go on.’

‘Dama Khevat congratulates your successful efforts in recapturing deserters from the Battle of Angiers,’ Jesan said.

That’s one way of putting it, Abban thought.

Hasik nodded. ‘The men lost heart when the Sharum Ka and his finest warriors were killed storming the gates of Angiers.’ The lie came easily to his lips. Abban, the only living witness to the truth – that Hasik killed Jayan himself – was wise enough to keep silent on the matter.

‘Your honour was taken from you unfairly, brother,’ Jesan’s eyes flicked to Abban with disgust, ‘but you can restore it. The Monastery of Dawn is under renewed attack from the chin. We cannot hold without aid.’

‘How is this possible?’ Hasik asked. ‘Khevat had a thousand warriors, not to mention the remnants of the Sharum Ka’s forces.’

‘Twenty-five hundred made it back from the Battle of Angiers,’ Jesan said, ‘but it was deep in the cold months. With the lakeshore frozen solid, we did not have sufficient supply. Dama Khevat sent them on to Everam’s Reservoir.

‘But then came an unexpected thaw. Chin saboteurs opened the main gate for a secret raid by the fish men, who braved the icy waters under cover of darkness to land a sizeable force.’

‘Everam’s beard,’ Abban breathed. The monastery was built on a great bluff, with only one narrow land route to the main gates and treacherous stairs leading up from the docks. The walls were nearly impregnable, but if the gate had been opened …

‘By the time we discovered the treachery, we were outnumbered,’ Jesan said. ‘But the Deliverer’s son Icha rallied the men and we threw back the foe, reclaiming the gates and docks.’

‘Of course.’ Hasik sipped his brandy. ‘They are only chin.’

‘But the attacks did not stop,’ Jesan continued. ‘The fish men stole our ships, sailing out of range of the stingers and rock slings. Khevat put all the chin slaves to death, but still the fish men found allies within our walls. Chi’Sharum from Everam’s Bounty snuck hundreds through a hidden tunnel in the basements, starting fires and opening the gates again.’

‘The greenlanders are tenacious,’ Hasik said.

‘Khevat had all the chin put to death,’ Jesan said, ‘Sharum and slave alike. The walls still hold, but there are less than three hundred Sharum left, half of them too injured to fight.’

‘Can they not speed their healing killing alagai?’ Orman asked.

Jesan shook his head. ‘The chin Holy Men did their warding too well. Alagai avoid the place.’

Jesan offered a scroll, sealed with the wax stamps of Dama Khevat and Ahmann Jardir’s third son, Icha. The two were the ranking Krasians north of Everam’s Bounty. Hasik took the scroll and handed it to Abban, for of course he could not read.

Abban unrolled the parchment. ‘Greetings Hasik asu Reklan am’Kez am’Kaji, in the year of Everam 3785, from Dama Khevat asu …’

Hasik whisked a hand. ‘I know who Khevat and that snot-nosed brat are. Get to the meat of it.’

Jesan bristled as Abban scanned the page, quickly filtering out the endless formalities. ‘You and your men are ordered to abandon your lawless ways and return to Sharak Sun. Your sins will be forgiven, and your status restored.’

‘Ordered?’ Hasik asked.

‘That is what it says,’ Abban said.

Hasik looked to Jesan, who swallowed, breathing steadily. ‘Ordered by whom, Jesan? As you say, I have forgotten my master.’

‘The Deliverer …’ Jesan began.

‘Chose loyalty to a khaffit over loyalty to me,’ Hasik said. ‘And soon after was cast down by the Par’chin. His heir was an idiot who treated me as a dog. Chin threw him down, as well.’

‘Prince Asome is Shar’Dama Ka now,’ Jesan said. ‘He slaughtered the Damaji and killed Ashan for the Skull Throne.’

‘To the abyss with them, and Asome, besides. All of them turned their backs to me.’ Hasik bent in close. ‘Even you, ajin’pal.’

Jesan did not flinch. ‘Your answer is no, then?’

Hasik relaxed, leaning back with a grin. ‘I never said that. I tire of sleeping in tents. I think a walled fortress would suit the Eunuchs much better.’

He looked to Orman. ‘Send scouts to the monastery. See how much of this tale you can verify.’

Orman punched a fist to his chest, getting immediately to his feet. ‘Immediately, Eunuch Ka.’

‘Your deserter army will not follow you as you spit upon the Skull Throne,’ Jesan said.

‘My men are loyal, as you will soon see.’ Hasik’s grin widened as he drew the sharp, curved blade from his belt. ‘Be honoured, nightfather. As you brought me into the ranks of Sharum, I welcome you into the ranks of the Eunuchs. You will be given a place of honour. I have need of more kai.’

Jesan’s calm finally shattered. He screamed and fought, but in the end it made no difference as the men held him down and yanked off his pantaloons.






It would be days before Orman’s scouts returned, but Hasik ordered them to break camp immediately. Everything save the tents was packed by dawn, slaves pulling up the stakes even as Hasik raised his hammer.

The target was Abban’s smallest toe. Each night, Hasik healed it with alagai ichor, and each morning he broke it again. The appendage was a gnarled, misshapen thing now, more grotesque each day.

And try as Abban might, there was no getting used to the pain.

‘Bottom feeders!’ he shouted.

Hasik paused. ‘What?’

‘The chin lake is so wide and deep, it is filled with armoured fish,’ Abban said. ‘Bottom feeders.’

‘What of it?’ Hasik said.

‘Meats forbidden by the Evejah,’ Abban teased. ‘But I have tasted them, Eunuch Ka. Spiced and dipped in fat and lemon, they tear like flesh but melt in the mouth. Even bacon pales in comparison.’

Hasik crossed his arms. ‘Bold words, khaffit. And an easy lie to test.’

‘And if it proves no lie?’ Abban asked.

‘Then I will break one of Dawn’s bones, instead of your own, to buy back the one I break today.’

It was a horrifying thought, but after a moment Abban decided it was progress he could live with. ‘I will prepare the feast myself, when you take the monastery. You will see.’

‘Perhaps,’ Hasik raised the hammer and quickly brought it down, too fast for Abban to prepare himself.

He screamed.






Soon after, the caravan was on the move, crawling at a snail’s pace down the Old Hill Road toward the Monastery of Dawn. It would be a week or more before they arrived, but riding hard, the five hundred men in Hasik’s cavalry could cover the distance in less than a day.

‘You ride with us.’ Hasik held out the reins to a strong Krasian charger.

Abban looked dubiously at the animal. ‘I am not one for horses, Hasik. Now, if you have a camel …’

‘I once shared your dislike of horses,’ Hasik said. ‘They were a liability in the Maze, and it wasn’t until we invaded the green lands that I knew the pain of a day in the saddle.’ He smiled. ‘But you will find it easier to ride without balls.’

‘No doubt,’ Abban said. ‘But surely I would only slow you. Would it not make more sense for me to remain with the caravan, to rejoin you after the walls are secured?’

‘Your crippled legs will not slow you atop a charger,’ Hasik said. ‘I am not such a fool as to let you out of my sight, khaffit. If I am brought down in battle, you will walk the lonely path at my side.’

‘Everam grant me such fortune.’ Abban clambered painfully atop the beast, where he strapped himself into the saddle. As Hasik promised, the riding was easier on his crotch than he remembered.

‘Small blessings,’ he breathed as they moved south, the light-footed chargers quickly leaving the caravan behind. Late in the day they caught up to one of Orman’s returning scouts.

‘It is everything the kai told you, and more,’ the Bajin said, nodding at Jesan. Hasik kept his former ajin’pal close – as he did Abban – as if daring the man to attempt vengeance.

‘The monastery is under renewed assault, even now,’ the Bajin said. ‘The chin have laid siege to the main gate, even as their ships crowd the harbour. If they do not take the city today, it will surely fall tomorrow.’

‘Nie’s black heart,’ Hasik growled. ‘Signal the men. We ride hard.’

Abban was thankful for his lack of balls by the time Hasik called a halt. The horses were lathered in sweat, but they had a high vantage, giving clear view of the monastery in the distance.

With the sun setting, battle had ended, the chin retreating to their tents and ward circles.

They could afford to wait. Thousands of men choked the narrow road that climbed the great bluff, the only means by which a land force could make the gate. At the base of the hill they made camp, one prepared to remain as long as necessary.

‘They know the defenders are weak,’ Orman said.

‘And that help from Everam’s Reservoir is not forthcoming,’ Hasik agreed. ‘Their rear defences are pitiful.’

Jesan nodded. ‘We can take them at dawn.’

‘Dawn?’ Hasik asked.

‘The sun is setting,’ Jesan said. ‘We cannot attack men in the night.’

‘I have no master,’ Hasik said. ‘None to tell me what I cannot do. It is no less than the fish men did to us at Waning.’

‘We need not fall into all the infidel ways of the chin,’ Jesan said.

‘There are no infidel ways any more. We are free.’ Hasik turned to Orman. ‘Give the men an hour to rest their mounts, then we move in.’






In the dark of night, with the chin all in their tents or huddled around fires for warmth, unarmed and unarmoured, five hundred of Hasik’s best men struck.

The enemy camp was destroyed in the slaughter that followed, but Hasik was wiser than Prince Jayan had been, keeping the fires and carnage away from the enemy stores.

They cut a swathe through the fish men, never slowing as they broke through their lines and ascended the hill. The chin had built progressive fortifications, but all were aimed at an assault from the monastery walls, not one from behind. Soon the Eunuchs controlled the road fully, guarding Hasik’s back as he, Jesan, Orman, and Abban rode up to the gate.

Hasik drew a breath, but it was unnecessary. With a great clatter of chain and counterweight, the portcullis was raised to admit Hasik’s forces.

Dama Khevat and Kai Icha were waiting in the courtyard. Both were bloodied, the dama’s white robes stained red. If the old cleric had been drawn into the fighting, things were dire, indeed.

Khevat gave the shallow, superior bow of a dama to a Sharum. ‘Everam sent you in our darkest hour, son of Reklan …’

Hasik ignored him, turning to Orman and pointing. ‘Put a hundred fresh men on the walls. Another fifty to secure the courtyard.’

‘I need men in the basements, as well,’ Icha said. ‘There are chin gathered in the caverns below, forcing at the door …’

‘Another fifty to the basement,’ Hasik told Orman, not sparing him a glance. ‘Ready the rest to ride out again now that we control the gate.’

Icha clenched a fist. ‘We will crush them at dawn.’

Hasik deigned to look at him. ‘No, boy, we will crush them now, while they are scattered and bloody. Now, before they can flee with their supply, or dig in and hinder our rear guard.’

‘It is night …’ Khevat began.

Abban rolled his eyes. ‘Dama, please. You’ve already lost this argument once.’

Khevat’s eyes flicked to Abban, quivering with rage. ‘Why is this piece of offal still alive? I would have expected you to kill him long ago.’

‘You have always been low in your expectations,’ Hasik said.

‘He cut off your cock,’ Khevat growled.

‘And I ate his,’ Hasik agreed. ‘And then I cut the cocks from all my men, that none might think himself my better.’

Khevat paled. ‘That is an abomination …’

Hasik smiled, drawing his curved knife. ‘Pray to Everam you get used to it, Dama.’











9 (#ulink_f5d6d716-b4d4-53ec-89e2-27e7ce614d56)

The Majah (#ulink_f5d6d716-b4d4-53ec-89e2-27e7ce614d56)

334 AR


‘The blood, Damajah.’

Inevera took the uncorked vial Ashia offered, decanting a few precious drops onto the dice in her palm. She closed her fingers, rolling the smooth, polished bones with practised skill to coat them evenly.

Kept sealed and cold, away from sunlight, the thick fluid still held a touch of magic, a fragrance of the owner’s soul. Enough to focus her dice and perhaps pry a few secrets from Everam, helping put order to the swirling chaos of futures before her.

It was a ritual Inevera performed daily, in the full dark before sunrise. Some futures were unknowable, too many convergences and divergences for her to glean a sense of likelihood. Others cut off abruptly, signifying her own death.

‘May I ask a question, Damajah?’ Ashia asked.

Inevera’s eyes flicked to the girl in annoyance. Ashia had changed in the weeks since Prince Asome’s coup – the Night of Hora. Having her own brother try to strangle her while her husband watched was enough to change any woman’s perspective on the world.

Even standing guard in her mistress’ pillow chamber, the Sharum’ting Ka wore her infant son, Kaji, slung across her belly. She would not be parted from the child for any reason, even in her sacred duty.

It was no great hindrance to performance, Inevera had learned. The bodies Ashia left in her wake during the coup attested to that. Like his mother, Kaji could be preternaturally silent when he wished. Inevera had looked into his aura and seen how the slowing of his mother’s heart affected his own. He would be a great Watcher one day.

At times of his choosing, though, Kaji could make his voice known throughout the Damajah’s chambers. His laughter made feet laden with duty step lighter, and his screams could jar even Inevera from her centre.

But even as he took on some of his mother’s traits, she was taking on his. Ashia would never have dared interrupt Inevera’s casting ritual before.

‘Ask,’ Inevera said. Ashia had risked everything in bringing Kaji and his grandmother Kajivah to her on the Night of Hora. Inevera’s eunuchs and spear sisters were perhaps the only people in Krasia she trusted completely, and Ashia knew it. With her child’s fate tied to her own, it was not surprising she had begun to assert a voice in it.

‘Why do you waste time seeking the khaffit when enemies mount in this very palace?’ Ashia asked.

Because my husband is dead, Inevera thought, but didn’t say. Nie had piled many stones atop her, but all of them came from the foundation broken by Ahmann’s fall. The Par’chin’s unforeseen challenge had created such a divergence as to throw decades of careful planning to the dogs. Inevera had tied her fate too closely to Ahmann, certain that he was the Deliverer. Certain that, in the end, he could not fail. Together, their power had been absolute.

Now he was dead, along with so many others. Now there were spears everywhere, pointing at her heart, the heart of everything she and Ahmann had built.

Even her Jiwah Sen could no longer be trusted. All save Belina now had their sons in direct control of their respective tribes. They had their own wealth, their own power. They had become wilful, and Inevera’s tools to bring them in line were few.

—Your fates are intertwined— the dice said of Inevera and Abban. They needed to pool their strength to bend with the wind of Ahmann’s passing.

‘Because Everam does not care what weights we bear,’ Inevera said. ‘Everam cares about one thing, and one thing only.’

Ashia nodded. ‘Sharak Ka.’

‘Something your husband has forgotten,’ Inevera said. ‘His efforts in the night were for political gain. He has the throne, but no strategy in the First War. Someone must keep focus on that. The khaffit is an advantage, and every advantage must be seized. If Abban does not return soon, I fear he will find his nephew has taken everything from him and given it to Asome.’

And with that, she closed her eyes and whispered her prayer to Everam, feeling the alagai hora warm her fingers as their power was called forth, tuned to Abban’s aura.

She threw, watching the wards of prophecy flare, twisting the dice into a glimpse into the unknowable.

—The man who is not a man has him.—

Inevera breathed, keeping her centre. If Hasik had Abban, the khaffit’s prospects were grim, but Hasik took no greater pleasure than in the suffering of others. He would not want to kill Abban right away. He would hurt him, over and over, until Abban bled out from a thousand cuts.

Perhaps there was time.

‘Hasik,’ Inevera said. Ashia needed no further instruction, moving quickly to the cold room where Inevera stored the blood of almost every man, woman, and child of note in Krasia.

Normally, Inevera would cleanse the dice between throws, but since Abban’s and Hasik’s fates were now tied, she left his essence to help the spell. Ashia returned with Hasik’s blood, and Inevera fell into her breath, relaxing as she freshly coated the sticky dice.

‘Everam, giver of light and life,’ she prayed. ‘Your children need answers. I beg you for knowledge of Hasik asu Reklan am’Kez am’Kaji, former brother-in-law to Shar’Dama Ka. Where can he be found?’

—Spreading like poison in the North.—

—Nie’s power grows in him.—

—He has turned from Sharak Ka.—

‘Shar’Dama Ka!’ The guards stamped their spears as Asome entered the throne room.

Inevera lounged on her bed of pillows atop the dais beside the electrum-coated Skull Throne. Her pose was practised, artfully appearing relaxed, disinterested, and submissive when she was anything but.

Inevera could not deny her second son looked the part. Like his father, he now wore a warrior’s black under his white outer robe. He carried expert forgeries of the Spear and Crown of Kaji. From a distance, they were indistinguishable from the originals, lost when the Par’chin carried Ahmann into darkness.

The Evejah forbade male clerics from blade weapons, and none save the Deliverer had worn a crown in centuries. They were a message to all that Asome had transcended.

At his back was Inevera’s third son, Hoshkamin the Sharum Ka, followed by their ten Damaji brothers, each fifteen years old and commanding an entire tribe. All of them looked worshipfully at their elder brother.

As he drew closer, Inevera could see his spear and crown didn’t have a fraction of the wardings engraved into the originals, but she had observed them in Everam’s light, and they glowed with power not to be underestimated. Made from electrum and priceless gems with cores of alagai hora, they were covered in the familiar fluid scripts of Melan and Asavi. A betrayal months in the making.

The Damaji wore a single warded gemstone in their black turbans. Gems were effective for conducting and focusing magic, and each had been warded by his Damaji’ting mother to give him some small powers.

But Asome’s crown – like Ahmann’s – had nine horns, each set with a different gemstone. Even Inevera could not guess the full extent of Asome’s magic when he wore it, and she had never seen him outside his wing of the palace without it.

Likely she could still overwhelm him in a battle of magic, but not easily or without risk, and Asome knew it. He was careful not to test his magic against his mother.

Ahmann, confident in his powers and position, had kept his courtroom shielded from sunlight, that he and Inevera might use magic freely. Asome had torn down the thick fabric blocking the great windows of the Deliverer’s court, bathing it in light from east and west and proclaiming court only be held in Everam’s light.

She wanted to believe it was because he feared her, but in her heart Inevera knew it was wisdom, not fear, that guided his actions.

There is too much of me in you, my son, Inevera thought sadly.

‘Mother.’ Asome reached the top of the steps and gave a slight bow.

‘My son.’ Inevera extended a hand.

Asome could not in politeness refuse, but he was careful as a snake handler as he took her hand and bent to kiss the air above it, offering her no advantage in grip or balance.

‘If I meant to throw you from this dais, I would have done it weeks ago.’ Inevera’s voice was too low for others in the court to hear.

Asome gave her a peck and pulled smoothly back. ‘Unless the dice told you to wait.’ He turned and went to his throne. ‘They have ever been more important to you than blood.’

Below, similar gazes crossed the aisle as the new Damaji and their Damaji’ting mothers met eyes. For centuries, they had been groups of twelve, but since the Night of Hora there remained only ten of each.

Dama Jamere stepped forward from the writing podium Abban had occupied for so long. Since the disappearance of his uncle, the young dama had been left in full command of Abban’s vast holdings and inherited his uncle’s place in the Deliverer’s court.

Jamere knelt before the steps, putting his hands on the floor and his head between them. ‘You honour the court with your presence, Deliverer.’

Like Abban, Jamere was utterly corrupt. But where his uncle had been corrupt in ways Ahmann and Inevera could use, Jamere’s loyalties were unreadable, even when she peered into his aura in Everam’s light.

And Asome knew Jamere from Sharik Hora. They were of an age, and Inevera hadn’t needed to see his aura to know they had been lovers. Asome and Asukaji were infamous in their class of nie’dama, and there were few boys unwilling to lie with them in hope of finding favour with their powerful families. With Asukaji dead, how long before Asome resumed his ways?

Her eyes flicked to her son, watching the richest man in Krasia prostrate himself. There was a slight quirk to Asome’s lips. Perhaps he already had.

I must find Abban, and soon.

‘Rise, my friend,’ Asome said, beckoning with his spear. ‘Your presence is a vast improvement over the court khaffit.’

‘Few can abrade like my dear uncle,’ Jamere said. ‘Inevera, he will return safely to us.’

Asome nodded. ‘Or if he was lost on my brother’s ill-fated attack on the forest fortress and you are now a permanent member of my court, then that, too, is inevera. You may take the sixth step.’

Jamere rolled smoothly to his feet, smiling as he climbed the steps. He stopped at the sixth, a step below the dais. His head was well below Asome’s, but close enough to whisper words so softly even Inevera strained to catch them without magic.

‘What is our first order of business?’ Asome asked.

Jamere consulted papers on his writing tablet, but it was all for show. Like his uncle, he had every word memorized. ‘The Kaji, Shar’Dama Ka.’

The Kaji, the largest and most powerful tribe in Krasia, had lost both its leaders in the coup. Asome and Inevera, both Kaji themselves, had taken direct control of the tribe in the interim, but it weakened their ability to be impartial, especially with the Majah in rebellion.

Asome turned to Inevera, but his words were loud enough for the entire court. ‘Mother, when will my sister return from the green lands to take up the black turban of Damaji’ting?’

‘The summons has been sent,’ Inevera said. ‘Your sister will not forsake her responsibilities.’

‘Then where is she?!’ Asome demanded. ‘We should have had an answer by now.’

‘Patience, my son,’ Inevera counselled. ‘It is not as if you have produced a new Damaji for the Kaji.’

‘My son will be Damaji,’ Asome said.

‘Your son is an infant,’ Inevera reminded. ‘Patience.’

Asome smiled. ‘Indeed. And so I have decided to appoint an interim Damaji, to hold the turban and speak for the council until my son earns his robes.’

Jamere gave a signal, and the guards opened the doors to admit a small group of men. At their head was Dama Baden. A man of more than seventy, the dama’s paunch rounded the front of his robes like he carried a child. He leaned on a staff as he walked, but his eyes remained sharp, the look on his face triumphant as he moved to stand before the steps.

Behind him walked two men. Shar’Dama Raji, Baden’s grandson and heir – another from Asome’s generation – and their kai’Sharum bodyguard.

Cashiv.

Inevera’s blood went cold at the sight of him. For years, Inevera had depended on anonymity to shield her family in the bazaar. The dama’ting wore veils to hide their identity, after all, and many women were named Inevera.

But like Asome and Jamere, Cashiv and Inevera’s brother, Soli, had been lovers. He was one of the only people left alive who remembered the girl she had been, and who her family were.

Her father, Kasaad, had slain Soli on learning he was push’ting, and while Cashiv had not dared defy the dama’ting and taken his revenge, he had not forgiven.

Cashiv met her eyes, and she knew.

‘Baden has ever been a thorn in the side of the council,’ Inevera said quietly for her son’s ears only. ‘He is greedy and power-hungry. He cannot be trusted.’

Asome was unperturbed. ‘He has proven trustworthy to me.’

‘And what did he give you in return for his seat at the head of the council?’ Inevera asked.

Asome smiled. ‘Something beyond price.’

Before Inevera could react, he turned back to Jamere. ‘Now that the council is complete once more, you may send in the Majah.’

Baden’s entourage bowed and took their place at the head of the young Damaji as Jamere signalled the guards once more. The doors opened, and in stormed Damaji Aleveran. The man was not yet sixty, robust and dangerous.

When Asome’s Majah brother Maji failed to kill Damaji Aleverak, Asome executed the Damaji personally, breaking the pact that had held peace between the Kaji and Majah since Ahmann took the throne. Asome had no other Majah dama brother to install as leader, and with the overwhelming support of his tribe, the black turban fell to Aleverak’s eldest son, Aleveran.

Immediately Aleveran left the council, imprisoning Belina and reinstating the former Majah Damaji’ting, the ancient but formidable Chavis. The old woman walked at his back, every bit as angry. Aleverak’s honour had been boundless, and his murder had all the Majah sharpening their spears.

They were shadowed by a small army of Sharum bodyguards. They were outnumbered by the Spears of the Deliverer lining the walls of the courtroom, but the men were alert, ready to fight and die to protect their leaders.

‘Damaji Aleveran!’ Asome called without preamble. ‘I call upon you and your Damaji’ting to kneel before the Skull Throne and take your rightful places on the aisle. Do this, and all will be forgiven.’

‘Forgiven?’ Aleveran snarled. ‘I am not the one who has committed a crime, boy. I am not the one who sullied this council chamber.’

‘Ware your words, Damaji,’ Hoshkamin warned, and around the room warriors tensed. ‘You stand before Shar’Dama Ka.’

Aleveran looked ready to spit on the ground, but Chavis laid a hand on his shoulder, and he thought better of it.

‘Shar’Dama Ka is dead,’ he said. ‘The Majah will not bow before a usurper who uses hora magics to murder in the night.’

Hoshkamin’s eyes narrowed, but Asome was wise enough to keep things from escalating. ‘Stand down, brother.’

‘Sharak Sun still rages, Damaji,’ Asome said, ‘and Sharak Ka looms. Krasia must be unified if there is any hope of victory. I wish no further bloodshed over the matter. Stand for your tribe as your father did.’

‘How can I stand before the man who murdered him?’ Aleveran demanded.

‘How, indeed?’ Inevera asked, drawing all eyes to her. It was known in the palace, if not beyond, that Asome had attempted to kill her, as well. ‘You would not be the first Damaji to lose his father in the struggle for the throne. We are all bound to serve Everam’s will.’

Damaji’ting Chavis stepped forward. ‘In that we agree. But Everam’s will has always been a mystery. I have consulted the hora, and the Creator has given me an answer to our problem.’

Inevera’s eyes narrowed, wondering what the old woman was playing at. She wished she could pull the curtains shut, that she might view Chavis’ aura. ‘The hora have said nothing of the sort to me.’

‘Fortunate, then, there remain some with more experience.’ Chavis’ smile was benevolent condescension. Inevera smiled in reply, wishing she could simply take out her hora wand and blast the woman from existence.

‘What do you propose?’ Asome asked.

Aleveran’s next words shocked the court into silence.

‘That the Majah take their spoils and return to the Desert Spear.’






Inevera and Asome knelt on the pillows of her private casting chamber off to one side of the throne room. Two curtained doorways separated the chamber from the bright sunlight of the throne room. Bathed in darkness, Inevera relaxed slightly at the restoration of her powers.

The relief was short-lived as she looked at her son, glowing in Everam’s light almost as intensely as his father had. His aura was flat and even, the result of a lifetime of meditation training. Dama grandmasters deep in meditation presented an aura of flat white, but even the most skilled practitioners could not entirely control the emotions running along their surface aura during periods of activity. There would be flares as he absorbed new information.

She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, how skilled he had become at reading the constantly shifting colours and patterns for secrets others wished to keep hidden.

‘Where is my family?’ Inevera demanded.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Asome said. His aura showed the lie, but she could not tell if it was a loss of control at her sudden demand, or if he allowed her to see it.

Inevera Drew on the magic of the large hora stone hidden in the flooring beneath her pillow. Asome squinted as her aura brightened, and though he kept it from his face, she saw a flare of fear across his aura. ‘Do not lie to me, boy.’

The fear left his aura as Asome glanced around the room. ‘This is the room where Father lay with Leesha Paper, is it not?’

Inevera blinked as Asome looked down at his pillow. ‘Perhaps he took her on this very spot! She was a filthy chin, of course, but comely enough, if one likes that sort of thing. I hear you redecorated with fire when they were done.’

He knew how to cut at her. Inevera gave him credit for that. She bent against wind of it, face serene, giving him nothing. ‘And where did you kneel, when you sucked Cashiv’s cock?’

Asome’s grin was wicked. ‘I won’t be sucking Cashiv’s cock. That will be Grandfather Kasaad’s duty, if you do not return Kaji to me. At least, until Cashiv decides to kill him.’

For a moment Inevera lost her centre. An instant only, but Asome did not miss it, his aura showing satisfaction at the tiny victory.

‘Your father forgave Kasaad’s sins,’ Inevera said. ‘He will go clean to Everam.’

‘He murdered your brother for being push’ting,’ Asome said. ‘Perhaps that is why you hid them from us. You knew I might not be as forgiving as Father.’

‘Shar’Dama Ka must be merciful,’ Inevera said.

‘Only Everam’s mercy is infinite.’ Asome shrugged. ‘You have kept our families so separate that I will not weep at the loss.’

Inevera herself had only recently reconciled with her father over the crime. It weighed on her, but there was never a choice. Her prisoners were her strongest leverage against Asome, and she could not give that up, even for her father’s life. ‘And Manvah?’

‘Will be kept safely in my custody,’ Asome said. ‘Accorded every courtesy befitting the mother of the Damajah. As I trust my Tikka is.’

Inevera gave a shallow nod. ‘Of course. Now let us discuss your failure to bring the Majah into the fold as you stumbled up the seven steps.’

Irritation pricked Asome’s aura even as he smiled. ‘How is it different from Father’s own rise? Father, too, was unable to quell the Majah fully. They have been a plague on unity since Kaji defeated Majah in Domin Sharum three thousand years ago.’

‘If you had waited until Maji was older …’

Asome waved the idea away. ‘I knew my brother better than you, Mother. I grew up with him in Sharik Hora. He was never going to grow enough to defeat Aleverak, hora stones or no. It was inevera he fail.’

‘And what was your plan in that eventuality?’ Inevera asked.

‘There are only two choices,’ Asome said. ‘Find something that will appease them into accepting the new order, or force them into submission.’

‘At what cost?’ Inevera asked. ‘The Majah are too numerous. Open war will destroy our forces just as Sharak Ka is nigh.’

‘We could let them go,’ Asome said, ‘but that weakens us as well. The greenlanders already outnumber us.’

Inevera reached into her hora pouch, producing her electrum-coated dice. ‘These are questions for Everam.’






Inevera raised her curved knife. ‘Hold out your arm.’

Aleveran’s aura was stone, but his eyes flicked to Chavis. The Damaji’ting gave a slight nod, and Aleveran rolled his sleeve, arm steady as he extended it.

She made a quick, shallow cut, enough blood for the spell and not a drop more. No need to antagonize the Majah any further.

‘Everam, Creator of Heaven and Ala, Giver of Light and Life, your children need guidance. Should Damaji Aleveran lead his people back to the Desert Spear?’

The dice flared as she shook. She and Chavis leaned in the moment the dice settled from her throw. Their eyes flicked from symbol to symbol, taking in the orientation of the dice to one another and to due east, where Everam’s light was born each day. Even then, there were many interpretations, all potential futures. Reading the most likely was an art dama’ting spent lifetimes perfecting, and even the most skilled often disagreed.

‘If the gates of the Desert Spear close behind the Majah, they will not open again without bloodshed.’ Inevera glanced at Chavis to see if she would dispute the reading, but the old woman only grunted in assent.

‘It is inevera,’ Chavis said. ‘Ahmann Jardir was a false Deliverer, and his armies are destined to fail. The Desert Spear is our last hope.’

‘I do not know what they taught in the Chamber of Shadows when you were young, Damaji’ting,’ Inevera said, ‘but we teach nie’dama’ting not to assume what the dice do not tell.’

‘Perhaps our armies risk failure because the Majah desert in our hour of need,’ Asome noted. ‘Slinking away to hide like khaffit as all mankind unites against Nie.’

‘No one is uniting behind you, boy,’ Aleveran said. ‘Already your army is a fraction of your father’s, eroding more each day. Would you add warring in the streets to the attrition?’

‘I will make you leader of the council of Damaji, as your father was,’ Asome said. ‘You will stand above all save the throne.’

Aleveran shook his head. ‘To the abyss with your council. I will not bow to a man who broke sacred law to murder my father in the night.’

Inevera looked to Chavis. ‘Let us consult the dice again.’

‘You have had your question in Aleveran’s blood,’ Chavis said. ‘Now Asome will surrender his arm for a question of mine.’

Asome stiffened, pulling up to his full height. ‘I am Shar’Dama Ka. You presume to ask for my blood?’

‘Your blood now may spare the blood of many of our people,’ Chavis said. ‘If you are Shar’Dama Ka, you are wise enough to see that.’

Doubt flickered across Asome’s aura. He started to look to Inevera for advice, but thought better of it. He rolled his sleeve and held out his arm as Aleveran had.

‘Everam, Creator of Heaven and Ala, Giver of Light and Life,’ Chavis shook the dice after coating them in his blood, ‘your children need guidance. Should Damaji Aleveran bow before Asome asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Kaji?’

She threw, and again the women bent together, studying the dice. As before, one answer was stronger than the others.

‘No.’

Inevera nodded to Asome, confirming the word as Chavis spoke it, but she could see he did not trust her.

‘If you cannot stay, take your people to Everam’s Reservoir,’ Asome said. ‘Fine lands, rich with water and as green as the Bounty. I give you those lands, to claim for Everam.’

Aleveran shook his head. ‘Take the land just as the waters of the fish men thaw and they renew their assaults? I will not be your buffer against the greenlanders after they scattered your brother’s armies. Take it yourself, and leave us Everam’s Bounty.’

‘I would sooner have your head,’ Asome growled.

‘Try and take it now,’ Aleveran dared. ‘Or let us go in peace, a last bulwark against the forces of Nie.’











10 (#ulink_2e093649-1cff-537b-8f65-a49cdf7447c0)

Family Matters (#ulink_2e093649-1cff-537b-8f65-a49cdf7447c0)

334 AR


Beware, sister, Jarvah’s fingers said. I have never seen the Damajah so angry.

Ashia found her centre in the comforting weight of Kaji sleeping in his sling as the Damajah stormed into the room. With the windows covered, she glowed and crackled in Everam’s light.

‘He has my family,’ the Damajah growled.

Ashia tilted her head. Her family? Ashia and her spear sisters were Inevera’s nieces after all. The Deliverer was lost, Jayan was dead, and Asome sat the throne. Who was she referring to? ‘Apologies, Damajah, but I do not understand.’

Inevera’s eyes found hers. The Damajah’s gaze was unnerving under any circumstances, but now it burned with such intensity, Ashia wished she could look away.

‘My mother and father, Manvah and Kasaad, yet live,’ the Damajah said. ‘Until recently, they remained anonymous in the bazaar. Even the Deliverer himself did not learn of them until just before his fall.’

Ashia blinked. She and her spear sisters followed the Damajah everywhere, but even they barely knew her, it seemed.

‘Asome discovered and hostaged them,’ Ashia said.

‘Dama Baden’s bodyguard Cashiv knew of them.’ Micha jumped as the Damajah spat. ‘I should have killed him long ago.’

The Damajah shook her head. ‘This cannot stand. As soon as the sun sets, take your spear sisters to my son’s wing of the palace and find them.’

Ashia put a protective hand over Kaji at her breast. ‘I cannot take my son into Asome’s wing. Micha and Jarvah …’

The Damajah’s eyes flared, and her aura brightened until it became difficult to look at her. Ashia put up a hand, lest she be blinded.

‘They. Have. My. Mother.’ The Damajah bit the words off, each striking like a lash. ‘I have tolerated your insolence long enough, Sharum’ting Ka. You will not send your little sisters into danger alone. You will do as I command. Kaji will be safe with his grandmother in the Vault.’

Ashia slipped down to her knees, putting her hands on the floor. She bowed, touching her forehead between them. ‘Yes, Damajah.’

‘Asome gave reason to believe they were in the royal suite,’ the Damajah said. ‘No doubt he wishes to know his grandparents better. Begin your search there, and plant a hora stone in his chambers to give me an ear there.’

Ashia nodded. ‘Of course, Damajah.’

‘When you have their location, bring it to me and I will retrieve them myself.’

Ashia looked up at that, horrified. Inevera still flared bright with power, and she closed her eyes against it. ‘Damajah! You cannot expose yourself so.’

‘It is inevera,’ the Damajah said.






Ashia made her way through a series of hidden passages down into the Damajah’s underpalace, only recently cut into the bowels of the hill beneath the greenland duke’s palace.

The smooth rock walls glittered with wardlight, the symbols running along them proof against demon and mortal intrusion both. Here, the Damajah worked her deepest magics and secured her most precious treasures.

‘Nie’s black heart!’ The words echoed in the hall. ‘Is there half a mind among you? Apple juice, I said!’

One of her moods? Ashia’s fingers asked the eunuch guarding the door.

She only has one, the eunuch’s fingers replied.

Ashia sighed, finding her centre before she pushed open the door. Kajivah’s chambers were large and lavish, with servants to attend her every need. At the moment all of them were on their knees, auras ripe with fear.

‘Holy Mother,’ one of the servants said. ‘The greenland fruit is not in season. There are none to be had in all Everam’s Bounty.’

Kajivah drew breath to shout what would no doubt have been a terrible reply, but she caught sight of Ashia in the doorway and the rage dissipated with her exhale. She strode over, arms extended. ‘Give him to me.’

Ashia’s jaw tightened beneath her veil, but she undid the fastenings, catching the sleeping Kaji in the crook of her arm long enough for Kajivah to take him.

The woman’s whole demeanour changed the moment she held him, and Ashia knew that whatever came to pass, Kajivah would never harm her great-grandson – would stand between him and all the demons of the abyss.

‘Will you take him for the night?’ she asked. It would be Ashia’s first night apart from her son since the Night of Hora when they walked the edge of the abyss together.

‘Of course, of course.’ Kajivah did not take her eyes off the child.

‘Thank you, Tikka,’ Ashia said.

Now the woman looked up. ‘Do not call me that. Not ever again.’

Ashia swallowed. Once, she had been the favourite of Kajivah’s many granddaughters. It was Kajivah’s own insistence that sent Ashia and her spear sisters to the Dama’ting Palace, putting them on the path to Sharum’ting. Now they were nothing to her.

She dropped her eyes, bowing. ‘As you wish, Holy Mother.’

She turned on her heel, striding quickly from Kaji lest she lose her resolve and rush back to him.

Even at night, infiltrating Asome’s wing of the palace was difficult. The new Shar’Dama Ka had found and sealed the secret passages the Sharum’ting used to move unseen about the palace. Guards and armed dama patrolled the halls, eyes warded to see in Everam’s light. Tapestries, rugs, and tiles were warded against alagai, but Ashia could see, too, wardings much like those the dama’ting used. Symbols to raise alarm if even a human were to cross them, and to seal this part of the palace from prying eyes. The hora stones the Damajah hoped to use to eavesdrop would be of little use, their magic blocked.

But Ashia, Micha, and Jarvah were clad in their kai’Sharum’ting robes, embroidered in electrum thread with wards of unsight. Whether in human sight or Everam’s light, they blended with their surroundings as easily as a sand demon in the dunes. It was only when they moved swiftly that they could be seen.

Their jewellery was similarly magicked, rings and bracelets on their hands and feet allowing them to cling to walls and ceilings like spiders. Slowly they slithered deeper and deeper into her husband’s sanctum.

Check the lower levels, Ashia told Jarvah when they were past the barriers. Asome will have an underpalace of his own. Find and penetrate it if you can.

Yes, Sharum’ting Ka.

Jarvah disappeared as Ashia and Micha made their way up to the residential floors. The Palace had seven levels, one for each pillar in heaven, but the outer stair only went to six, landing doors guarded by an alert kai’Sharum, bright in Everam’s light.

The sixth floor was reserved for the royal family, a place Ashia knew well. She and Kajivah both had chambers there. Technically they had been Asome’s chambers, but her husband had only seen the pillows there once.

The Damajah believed her blessed mother would be housed on the sixth as well.

The topmost floor, Asome’s private level, could only be reached by an inner stair, no doubt guarded as well.

The young women paused, clinging to the ceiling as the door guard came into clear view. Even with his white night veil in place, Ashia recognized her cousin Iraven, the Deliverer’s firstborn Majah son. Stripped of rank by Damaji Aleveran, he was now relegated to guard duty for his elder brother.

Micha took one hand from her hold on the ceiling, making the sign for the sleeping potion they carried. Applied to a cloth and forced over the mouth and nose, it could render even a large man unconscious for some time, waking with only fuzzy memories of his last moments. Her littlest finger curled, indicating a question.

Ashia shook her head. Too slow, her fingers said. Precise Strike.

The Precise Strike, their master Enkido’s school of sharusahk, targeted the natural convergences in the body. Places where muscle, vein, and nerve met. The targets were small and always in motion, each unique as their owner, but a sharp, precise blow could temporarily cripple an opponent, or knock them out instantly.

They edged slowly into position, clinging to the ceiling directly over their cousin. Micha would hold him, and Ashia would strike. But before Ashia signalled the drop, a pair of nie’dama carrying food trays ascended the steps. She could tell from body language that Iraven recognized them and would let them pass unhindered.

Micha needed no orders as they opened the doors, following instantly as Ashia sprang through. They landed in identical rolls on opposite sides of the hall, warded bracelets absorbing the sound. Their robes blurred for a moment, but they were effectively invisible again by the time the boys passed through the door.

The floor was warded, a puzzle of steps that would sound an alarm if crossed improperly. Ashia memorized the path the boys took, but she and Micha followed along the walls, blending perfectly with the paint. They reached an inner stair guarded by a pair of clerics with warded staves, and the nie’dama split up, one continuing down the hall as the other ascended to the seventh floor.

Follow. Ashia used a finger to indicate the first boy. Her mission was to find the Damajah’s parents, but this close, Ashia could not resist looking in on her treacherous husband. She followed the second boy up the stairs, slithering along the ceiling faster than he could climb. She was his shadow as he passed guards and doors, coming at last to an anteroom where the boy laid the tray on a table, knocked at the far door, and then quickly scurried out, closing the hall door behind him.

Ashia was ready to leap when the door opened, but when she saw Asome, her breath caught and she nearly missed her opportunity. In their entire marriage, had she ever seen her husband answer a door? That was a task for women and servants.

Then Asome did the unthinkable. The Shar’Dama Ka, supreme leader of all Krasia, bent and picked up the tray himself. Ashia slipped in while his back was turned, thoughts reeling. Had Asome become a recluse since Asukaji died? A haunted shell of a man? Part of her hoped it was so. A taste of the judgement he would find in Heaven.

‘Dinner, my sun,’ Asome called, and Ashia blinked. His wife and lover murdered, and he had already found another? Anger threatened her centre, but she brushed it aside, skittering along the ceiling to follow her husband to the pillow chamber. Who would she find? Dama Jamere? Cashiv? One of Asome’s half brothers?

The last person she expected was her brother, Asukaji, whose neck she had broken.






‘I am not hungry.’ Asukaji’s voice was a harsh whisper. ‘Take it away.’

Asome set the tray by the bedside. Asukaji lay prone, his body unmoving, its aura flat. Not dead, but not truly alive.

That changed at his neck. The aura about her brother’s head was hot and raw, his eyes focused and his face full of emotion.

Paralysed, Ashia realized with horror. For a warrior, it was a fate worse than death. Even now after he had tried to strangle her, she did not wish this upon her brother. They had been close when they were young, and part of her loved him still.

‘You must eat, my love,’ Asome said. ‘You cannot feel your hunger, but it is there. Without food, you will waste away.’

‘And what if I do?’ Asukaji demanded. ‘Better I eat, and lie helpless as I shit the bed an hour from now? I could have died with honour. Instead you force me to linger, a prisoner in this worthless shell.’

Asome sat on the edge of the bed, taking one of Asukaji’s limp hands. ‘I cannot do this without you. Half my plans and stratagems are yours.’

‘That is not what you thought when you fucked that heasah.’ Asukaji’s head lolled with the force of his snarl.

Asome was quick to steady him, kissing his forehead. ‘She is your sister, whom you yourself insisted become my Jiwah Ka.’

Ashia’s cheek twitched. She fell deeper into her breath, silent as stone.

‘I am your Jiwah Ka!’ Asukaji’s cry was hoarse. ‘She was a womb to carry the son I could not.’

Asome lifted the cover from the tray, steam rising off a bowl of thin gruel that was likely all her brother could swallow. Asome blew on a spoonful like a mother preparing to feed an infant. ‘We needed her trust, cousin. For her to believe me loyal to her and humble before my mother. And if I’d created another son for us, so much the better.’

Asukaji spat at the spoon as it came near, but it came out as a dribble on his chin. ‘I am not a fool, Asome. Sons and plots were not on your mind when you bent her.’

‘What does it matter?’ Asome took a silk napkin, wiping Asukaji’s mouth. ‘She could never replace you in my heart. No one can. She could have been a valuable Jiwah Sen but for your jealousy. You insisted on killing her.’

He took Asukaji’s jaw in his hand, squeezing until his teeth opened enough to admit the spoon.

‘But you were not her match, were you, sweet Asukaji?’ Asome forced the gruel into his mouth. ‘Nor Melan and Asavi together a match for my mother. Now they are on the lonely path, you lie frozen, and my mother has hostaged half the throne.’ Asome massaged Asukaji’s throat until he swallowed.

‘Soon Amanvah will return to control the Kaji dama’ting, bringing with her a Jiwah Sen no doubt as deadly as your sister, and a husband blessed by Everam.’

‘A chin and khaffit,’ Asukaji growled. ‘Amanvah should have been mine, as Ashia was yours. That was our bargain.’

‘Khaffit or no, his power over the alagai is undeniable,’ Asome said. ‘What could I say when Father gave her to him? Mother’s power will grow when they return. We must balance the scales now, while there is still time.’

Asukaji stopped resisting, eating in silence. Asome was tender and attentive, massaging every swallow until the bowl was empty.

‘I am sorry, cousin.’ Asukaji looked pitiful as Asome wiped the last smudge from his lips. ‘I failed you. Everam judged me and found me unworthy.’

‘You yet live,’ Asome said. ‘We will find a way to heal you. Already the dama make great strides with hora magic. Soon we will unlock all the secrets of the dama’ting. You will be restored and given another chance at glory.’

‘The Damajah could heal me now,’ Asukaji rasped. ‘We have her parents. She would not dare refuse.’

‘We should not underestimate what my mother will dare,’ Asome warned. ‘Who knows what this dal’ting and a khaffit are truly worth to her?’

‘Surely not as much …’ Asukaji’s face reddened with the exertion of speaking, ‘… as Tikka or Kaji, or you would have them in the underpalace.’

Asome shook his head. ‘I do not trust them down among the dama’s experiments. An explosion in Dama Shevali’s laboratory killed one of his nie’dama and cost another his eye.’

‘They had best be worth something,’ Asukaji wheezed. ‘You traded my black turban for the hostages. If they cannot buy back our son, then let it be my limbs.’

‘We cannot reveal such a weakness to my mother,’ Asome said. ‘She will find a way to twist it against us. The turban will be returned to you when you are healed. Baden thinks he is holding it for Kaji. He knows he cannot keep it forever.’

‘Do not underestimate Baden,’ Asukaji whispered. ‘I know how you get around Cashiv. He makes you stupid.’

‘I can handle Cashiv,’ Asome said.

‘That is what worries me.’

‘What does it matter?’ Asome growled. ‘We have gone to Baden’s parties with oil on our belts since we were in sharaj. You’ve lain with Cashiv as many times as I.’

‘It matters because I could please you, then,’ Asukaji said. ‘Because I was your Jiwah Ka, the first sheath for your spear.’

‘You still are,’ Asome said.

‘Then take me.’

‘Eh?’ Asome’s face slackened.

‘Now, before that cursed gruel runs through me,’ Asukaji begged. ‘Roll me onto my stomach and have me.’

‘Asukaji …’ Asome said.

‘No!’ There were tears in her brother’s eyes. ‘I cannot stop you lying with others, but I swear by Everam I will never swallow another spoonful if you cease to lie with me.’

Asome took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. Ashia could not bear to watch as he took oil and began to work himself for the deed. She fled the chamber while her brother and husband were too occupied to notice.

Micha was waiting when Ashia made it back to the stairs, a welcome distraction from her thoughts.

Report, Ashia’s fingers commanded.

I have found them, Micha replied. There are guards, but together we might …

Ashia made the sign for Nie. Our duty is to report to the Damajah.

Jarvah joined them as they descended. Asome’s underpalace is protected by hora magic. I could not penetrate it.

Irrelevant, Ashia told her. We have intelligence the Damajah needs. The three Sharum’ting slipped past the guards and out of Asome’s wing.











11 (#ulink_9182bf1b-2fe8-53d1-8b87-c1631dc8ac29)

Sorcerers (#ulink_9182bf1b-2fe8-53d1-8b87-c1631dc8ac29)

334 AR


‘Nie’s slimy cunt!’ Inevera scooped up the dice. They had not warned that her mother was in danger, and now they brought nothing but bad news and vagaries.

She breathed, trying to find her centre, but peace eluded her. Had she fallen from Everam’s favour? How could He let this happen to Manvah, as honourable a woman as any alive? Always before He had warned her when her family was threatened.

But now her husband was dead, and the dice betrayed her.

She rolled back on her heels and stood, feeling the vibration in her earring. The connection with Ashia and her spear sisters had been severed when they entered Asome’s wing of the palace. A bad sign. Melan and Asavi had given Asome and his brothers the secret of hora magic, and it seemed they were quick studies.

‘Damajah,’ Ashia whispered in her ear from the other side of the palace. ‘We have found them, but there is more. We must speak immediately.’

‘The west passage.’ Inevera was already moving for the door. She was bedecked in warded jewellery, her hora pouch laden with spells. She had been overconfident, spoiled by the strength of her wand, when Melan and Asavi came to kill her. She would not make that mistake again.

She wore opaque robes of crimson silk, embroidered with wards in electrum thread. Like the robes of Everam’s spear sisters, all eyes – human and alagai – would slip from her when she wished it. At her belt was the curved knife she used to draw blood for her foretellings. It was not meant as a weapon, but the edge was razor-sharp and would do if all else failed.

The Sharum’ting were waiting for her in a hidden tunnel leading to the west wing. The Damajah had claimed the east wing to face the dawn, the Shar’Dama Ka west to face the sunset.

‘Asukaji is alive,’ Ashia said.

Inevera scowled. Another thing the dice had failed to tell her, though in fairness she had not asked. ‘You told me you killed him.’

‘I snapped his neck,’ Ashia confirmed. ‘But he clings to life, unable to move, hidden in Asome’s chambers. He wants to trade Manvah for you to make him whole again, but Asome does not trust you.’

‘Nor I, him,’ Inevera said. ‘This changes nothing. We go now to free my parents.’

Ashia stepped in front of her, kneeling with hands on the floor. ‘It is not necessary for the Damajah to expose herself. We have penetrated my husband’s defences. Everam’s spear sisters can effect the rescue.’

Inevera shook her head. On this, the dice had been clear. ‘You will die if you go without me, and the rescue fail.’

The women’s auras clouded at that. They were the finest warriors she had ever known, but their pride was as boundless as their honour.

‘Will it succeed if the Damajah accompanies us?’ Ashia asked.

Inevera blew out a breath. ‘Unclear.’

‘Damajah, you must …’

Inevera clapped her hands, cutting the young woman off. ‘You do not tell me what I must, Sharum. Your duty is to be silent and obey.’






Inevera let the spear sisters surround her, Ashia in front and Micha and Jarvah to either side. All of them skittered quickly and quietly along, robes blending with the ceiling tiles. They penetrated the outer halls, making their way unseen to the sixth-floor stairwell were Iraven stood guard.

As Ashia warned, the boy was alert, clad in impenetrable armour of warded glass that glowed brightly in Everam’s light. She could see the demon bone cores of his weapon and armour, enough to give him inhuman strength and speed.

Inevera slipped her wand from her belt. Made from the arm bone of a demon prince coated in electrum, it had power enough to blow the entire roof from the palace. Still clinging to the ceiling, she drew a quick series of wards in the air, Drawing and shaping her spell before flinging it toward the unsuspecting warrior.

Ahmann might forgive her killing his son if there were no choice, but Iraven was the last hope of bringing the Majah tribe back to heel. Inevera’s spell would put him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Yet the moment she cast the magic, the wards on Iraven’s armour flared bright with magic. Instead of passing out, he set his feet, holding his spear defensively.

‘Come out, servant of Nie!’ His eyes scanned the walls, searching.

Inevera gave him no time to find them or raise the alarm, dropping down to stand before her son-in-law.

‘You think the Damajah a servant of Nie?’

Iraven’s eyes widened. ‘What are you doing unannounced in Shar’Dama Ka’s wing of the palace?’

‘A mother needs permission to visit her son?’ Inevera asked.

Iraven did not lower his weapon. ‘Visitors do not skulk along the ceiling and cast spells at guards. If you have business, state it.’

‘You know my business,’ Inevera said. ‘The Majah hostage your mother, my sister-wife Belina, yet here you stand, gaoler to my own.’

Iraven was unimpressed. ‘Your words would hold more weight, Damajah, if you yourself did not hold Tikka captive.’

‘It is my duty to protect the Holy Mother,’ Inevera said, ‘not let her be drawn into the crossfire of a political scheme to supplant me.’

Iraven was unconvinced. ‘No doubt Asome seeks to similarly protect your mother.’

‘We all want what is best for our mothers,’ Inevera said. ‘You should go to yours now, before she is taken from Everam’s Bounty.’

Iraven’s aura coloured at that. An image of Belina floated over the young man, tethered by countless strands of emotion, as any mother to her son.

‘I may no more see her than allow you entry here,’ Iraven said bitterly. ‘I cannot free her alone, and Asome will not commit to a rescue that would result in open war.’

‘Demon’s piss,’ Inevera said. ‘That is what Asome would have you believe.’

‘Then where is the Damajah’s support? Why are you here, and not in Aleveran’s palace rescuing your sister-wife?’ There was a spark in his aura. One she might fan to a flame.

‘Because it is a task for you, Iraven asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Majah,’ Inevera said. ‘Did your father cower before every problem he could not solve with his spear? The Damaji has taken your birthright, but that does not mean you cannot win it back.’

Iraven paused. The fire in him was growing, but cautiously. ‘How?’

‘Go to Aleveran,’ Inevera said. ‘Submit to his rule, and he will take you with him when the Majah depart Everam’s Bounty. Win glory, and the warriors will whisper your family name. One by one, they will follow you.’

A new image appeared over Iraven, an idealized version of himself standing tall as his pride grew with the fire in his heart.

But then he shook his head, dispelling the image. ‘My brother said words are your weapon, Damajah.’

‘I speak only the truth,’ Inevera said. ‘I pulled you from between your mother’s thighs myself, and cast your future before the cord was cut. There is glory still for you, if you are man enough to seize it.’

‘Perhaps,’ Iraven said. ‘But I seize no glory by turning from my duty this night. No doubt your Sharum’ting skulk about, ready to kill me if I refuse, but no words or threats will make me leave my post.’ With that, he slammed the butt of his spear down upon a warded tile, one Inevera knew would activate a wardnet running through the thousands of tiles around the doorframe, raising an alarm.

She raised her hora wand, Drawing the power away before the wards could activate. Iraven’s eyes widened.

‘Acha!’ he cried. ‘Intruders!’ The sound should have echoed in the stairs, but a few quick wards in the air stopped it as easily as the alarm.

Inevera advanced upon him. ‘I do not need Everam’s spear sisters to pass, Iraven. It is written in the Evejah that it is death to strike a dama’ting or hinder her in any way. How will Everam judge you if you strike the Damajah herself?’

Her senses afire with the magic coursing through her, Inevera smelled the sweat even before it broke on the boy’s brow. She pitied him, torn between duties – another innocent in the crossfire.

But her family was on the other side of those doors, and every second this continued, the danger to them was greater.

Iraven closed his eyes. ‘Everam forgive me.’

Then he struck.

Inevera met him head-on, diverting the thrust of his spear with a hooked wrist. She caught the shaft and pulled as she punched.

The inflexible plates of warded glass in Iraven’s robes were too rigid to cover the convergence point at the base of his neck. The flexible armour there was meant to turn a spear point, not block the single raised knuckle on Inevera’s fist. Her blow was a blur, aided in strength and speed by hora magic.

But Iraven seemed to know her target, turning his head to take the blow on his jaw, instead. He rolled with it, using the momentum to turn a circuit, spear swinging low to sweep her feet.

Inevera was surprised but never lost control, bending back and putting hands on the floor, kicking him in the jaw a second time as she avoided the spear and came back to her feet.

Iraven reeled, but he, too, kept control, spinning the spear behind him and coming back in. He glowed bright with magic, fast and strong. The spear like a feather in his hands. Ashia and her spear sisters dropped to the floor, but Inevera stayed them with a hiss and the back of her hand.

Inevera had never held much respect for Sharum fighting styles, but Iraven had been trained by her husband and Damaji Aleverak, the two greatest sharusahk masters in Krasia. He worked his weapon and feet in perfect harmony, giving her little free energy to turn against him as he picked off the most dangerous of Inevera’s return blows and let others skitter off his armour. All the while he herded her with his spear toward kicks and leg locks that could easily cripple.

Fast as he was, Inevera was faster, bending away from thrusts and kicks, diverting others with minimal contact. She ducked under a sweep of his spear, leg curling around to kick him in the back. He pitched forward, tripping as she hooked his ankle with her support leg.

That should have ended it, but again he surprised her, turning the fall into a somersault and redirecting that energy back in at her. Inevera caught his spear shaft, and he push-kicked her dead centre, slamming her back into the doorframe.

Inevera knew then she had been too merciful, meeting him with sharusahk instead of magic. Thousands of wards on the tiles of the doorframe came to life on contact with the hora about her person, filling the landing with light and setting off alarms throughout the palace.

Inevera snarled as Iraven thrust again, kicking the point of his spear down and running up the shaft to hook a leg around his throat, bearing him to the floor.

Still the warrior thrashed and fought, but Inevera accepted the minor blows, striking convergence points to break the lines of power in his limbs even as she cut off the blood to his brain.

‘Leave Everam’s Bounty with the Majah,’ she told him as his aura began to darken, ‘or I will have your head mounted above the city gate.’

‘Damajah, we must flee.’ Ashia reached out to help her to her feet when Iraven slumped unconscious to the floor.

Inevera ignored the words as she studied the magic flowing through the tiles. She drew an intricate script in the air, and the flare of the wards began to dim even as her wand brightened. She pointed at an inert tile. ‘Break it.’

Ashia did not hesitate, shattering the tile with a punch. Inevera drained two more wards for Ashia to break, then lifted her wand and drew an impact ward, blowing the doors from their hinges.

‘Kill any who stand in our way,’ Inevera commanded, and the Sharum’ting went for the short spears on their backs, warded glass infused with electrum, razor-sharp and indestructible.

Guards were rushing down the hall as the women darted through. Inevera reached into her hora pouch, flinging a handful of black marbles their way, the glass formed around bits of lightning demon bone. Sparks flew as the guards’ muscles seized, and her bodyguards knocked them down like game pieces. Their spears flashed, and Inevera knew the men would not rise.

Up ahead, a group of kai’Sharum clustered by the door to where her parents were being held. Behind them, two dama stood with staves glowing bright in Everam’s light.

Ashia and her sisters flung sharpened glass into the cluster, but one of the dama raised his staff, and a great gust of wind blew the weapons back at them. Most skittered off the women’s armour, but one embedded in a gap between the plates on Jarvah’s thigh. The girl made no sound, keeping pace with Ashia’s charge, but Inevera could see the wound ripple through her aura and knew it was serious.

Before the women could reach the guards, the other dama raised his staff, sending forth a crude but powerful blast of fire. It expanded quickly, catching two of the guards as it filled the hall.

Ashia and her spear sisters did not hesitate, ducking behind their glass shields and wading in. The wards on the shields absorbed the demonfire, and then they were amid the warriors.

There was a shriek as Micha crippled one of the Sharum with a spear thrust to the leg. A spatter of blood as Ashia spun her two-headed spear through a kai’Sharum’s throat. A grunt as Jarvah found a seam in the glass armour and ran another through.

The walls and carpets were ablaze now, but Inevera did not feel the heat, her warded jewellery absorbing the energy. The first dama sent another blast of wind at her as she advanced, but she parted it with a flick of her wand, collecting it behind her and throwing it back at the cleric.

They raised their staves defensively, wards flaring to part the wind much as Inevera had, but she followed the wind with a spell of her own, impact wards blasting apart the floor and knocking them from their feet. One lost his grip on his staff, and Inevera sent it spinning down the hall out of reach. The other held his tightly, fingers running like a flautist to manipulate the wards along its surface. Inevera raised her wand to kill him before he could release the gathering energy.

But then the door opened, and Inevera saw her mother. Asome stepped out behind Manvah, a hand around her throat.

‘That’s far enough, Mother.’






Inevera froze. The hora wand was warm in her hand, slick with her sudden sweat. Its power dwarfed that of even the great staves the dama carried – no doubt with demon bone cores of their own – enough to kill everyone in the palace.

But not enough to free her mother. Not before Asome snapped her neck.

‘I must say I’m surprised you took the bait,’ Asome said. ‘Did you really think it would be so easy?’

‘Let her go,’ Inevera said. ‘That is your grandmother, not some chin slave.’

‘Neither of you made the effort for her to know me,’ Asome said. ‘Why should I care if she dies? But I will let her go when you return my son to me. When you return my true grandmother.’ He tilted his head, eyeing Ashia. She was veiled, but though he had been a poor excuse for a husband, there was no mistaking her. ‘My “dead” bride.’

‘Three hostages for one?’ Inevera asked. ‘Your dama make poor sorcerers, but I thought they taught simple arithmetic in Sharik Hora.’

Asome smiled. ‘Enjoy the advantage while you can, Mother. Melan and Asavi taught us much about hora magic, if unwittingly. We narrow the gap each day. Magic is no longer the sole purview of the dama’ting.’

‘Against the direct teachings of the Evejah,’ Inevera said. ‘Suffer no sorcerer to live, Kaji told his people.’

Asome shrugged. ‘I am Shar’Dama Ka now, Mother. It’s time those passages were updated.’

‘Murdering your way atop the dais does not make you Shar’Dama Ka, boy,’ Inevera said. ‘You have betrayed all Krasia, put Sharak Ka itself in jeopardy, all for your own ambition.’

Inevera met her mother’s eyes. ‘Forgive me, Mother. The First War must come before even family.’

‘You are my daughter,’ Manvah said. ‘I would love you if you put out the sun.’

Asome’s aura spiked hot with anger. He jerked his head and Kasaad was shoved into the hall, stumbling on his peg leg. Behind him Cashiv grinned, a knife at her father’s throat. His exposed forearm was armoured, and he was careful to keep the heavier Kasaad in place as a shield.

‘Let us start small, then,’ Asome said. ‘Surrender my jiwah, now, or Cashiv will open your father’s throat.’

Inevera’s fingers itched to raise her wand, but it would do little good. She could not strike at Cashiv without risking her father any more than she could kill Asome without risking her mother. Down the hall, she heard reinforcements coming. They would arrive soon, dama wielding hora staves and many, many Sharum.

‘Do not, daughter,’ Kasaad said, drawing a sharp breath as Cashiv pressed the blade to his neck. ‘The Deliverer forgave me. My soul is clean.’

Inevera looked into her father’s aura and knew it to be true. In his Sharum days, he had been a drunk and a coward, but now he was ready for death and Everam’s judgement. His spirit looked to the lonely path, ready to walk it for his family’s sake. He knew Asome saw him only as khaffit – expendable. Manvah had true value. His grandson would never kill her.

‘It will never be clean after what you did to Soli!’ Cashiv’s muscles bunched, but Asome threw out a hand, staying him.

‘I will go, Damajah,’ Ashia said.

Inevera fell deep into her breath and shook her head. Sharak Ka must come first. The dice said Ashia still had a part to play. Kasaad did not. ‘You tried to murder your wife once already, my son. You will not have another chance.’

Asome dropped his hand and Cashiv’s blade flashed, drawing a hot line of blood across Kasaad’s throat. Inevera screamed as her father fell, choking on his own blood. The moment Cashiv lost Kasaad’s body as a shield, Inevera raised her wand, blasting the life from him. The warrior was thrown down the hall to land in a smoking ruin, but the damage was done.

Manvah made a choked sound as Asome pulled her in close, shielding himself with her body as he dragged her back inside. His men closed ranks to cut off pursuit.

‘Kill them!’ Asome shouted, kicking the door shut.

Inevera let them go, glad to have Manvah out of harm’s way as she raised her hora wand. With her free hand, she spoke to her Sharum’ting.

Leave no survivors.






I am a fool, Inevera thought as they returned, singed and bloody, to her wing of the palace.

They had taken a heavy toll, leaving a trail of dead Sharum and dama throughout Asome’s halls, but it was nothing compared with the numbers at her son’s command. Already his guard would be tripled. There would be no second chance, now that his trap was sprung.

Only Asome, Manvah, and the spear sisters lived to bear witness to what happened, but it made Inevera’s failure no less complete. She had been arrogant, letting anger guide her instead of the cold reason of the dice.

Now her father was dead, and it was doubtful she would see her mother alive again. Asome had confirmation of something he already suspected – that Ashia was alive.

And in return, what had she gained?

Nothing.

‘Damajah.’ Ashia bowed as they returned to her private chambers. ‘May I go to my son?’

Inevera’s eyes flicked to the girl, not yet twenty years of age, and saw the fear in her. Not for herself – she had been willing to die this night, in battle or in sacrifice. But the encounter with her husband had her worried over her son. Inevera could see Asome’s image, hovering over her like a haunting spirit. Ashia knew he would willingly kill every man, woman, and child in Krasia to have Kaji back.

Inevera reached out and Ashia stiffened, her aura shocked. Did the Damajah mean to embrace her?

But Inevera did not put her arms around the girl, instead pressing her hand against Ashia’s robe where it had been cut by a Sharum spear in their escape. The wound beneath had healed, but Inevera’s hand came away wet with blood.

She knelt, drawing free her dice and rolling them in her palm, coating them in her niece’s essence before she cast.

‘Everam, giver of Light and Life, your children need guidance. How can I best protect your honoured son Kaji asu Asome am’Jardir am’Kaji, that he and his mother might serve you in Sharak Ka?’

The glow of the alagai hora brightened, and she threw, watching coldly as they fell into a complex pattern. It took her long moments to decipher it.

—She must seek the khaffit through the father of her father, and find your lost cousin.—

Inevera blinked. That Abban still had a part to play was no surprise, and sending Ashia out of Everam’s Bounty might well be the only way to keep her and Kaji safe. Ashia’s father’s father was Dama Khevat, who had once been in command of the monastery, and was likely there still.

But cousin? What cousin?

She cut herself this time. The dice said her cousin, not Ashia’s. Perhaps her own blood might provide answers where Ashia’s could not.

But as ever, the dice raised more questions than they answered.

—She will know him by his scent.—






‘You will slip out in the hubbub as the Majah prepare to leave,’ Inevera said. ‘Asome won’t expect me to send you away. Make for Everam’s Reservoir. Jayan’s defeat has left many widowed mothers there. Another will not draw scrutiny, and no one will recognize you or Kaji outside the capital.’

‘And once there?’ Ashia asked. ‘How will I find the khaffit?’

‘Seek out Qeran,’ Inevera instructed. ‘The drillmaster commands the town now, and his privateers dominate the waters, at least until spring. If any can aid you in finding his lost master, it is he. I will cast daily and update you if I have any more information. It should be days before the hora stone in your earring is out of range. After that, you will be on your own.’

‘And this lost cousin?’ Ashia asked.

Inevera shrugged. ‘You will know him by his scent.’

‘That is little to go on,’ Ashia said.

‘We must trust in Everam,’ Inevera said. ‘The dice were clear. You must find them, if you are to do your part in Sharak Ka.’

Ashia touched her forehead to the floor. ‘As you command, Damajah.’ She rose and left to say her goodbyes to her spear sisters waiting silently outside. They knew she would be leaving, but none save the two of them would know where, or for what purpose.

‘Niece,’ Inevera said, pulling Ashia up short. She turned to meet Inevera’s eyes.

‘Know that I could not be prouder of you if you were my own daughter. ‘If any shoulders can bear this burden Everam has set, they are yours.’ Inevera held her arms open, and Ashia, stunned, fell into them for the first time in her adult life.











12 (#ulink_0ecc51d6-f5a3-591b-8c93-690dda80e71f)

Drained (#ulink_0ecc51d6-f5a3-591b-8c93-690dda80e71f)

334 AR


‘Bekka’s got ’em in her sights.’ Wonda’s head was tilted, listening to the broken piece of demon bone resonating in her helmet. ‘Stela and Keet, skulkin’ down the road toward Smitt’s storehouse.’

Leesha nodded. They always came when the storehouse was restocked, even if Smitt changed the schedule. Someone was feeding them information.

She pulled on her cloak and gloves. ‘Let’s go. Tell Bekka and the others to stay on the rooftops and keep fingers off their triggers. I see a stray bolt and someone’s out of a job.’

‘Ay, mistress,’ Wonda said. ‘But they make a move at ya an’ I’ll feather ’em myself. Not takin’ any chances with yur safety.’

Leesha gave her hora pouch a reassuring squeeze. ‘Neither am I.’

Bruna had taught her it was undignified to run, but Leesha had long legs and put them to use, setting a brisk pace. The Painted Children could move swiftly at night.

Wonda touched her helmet again. ‘Ay, got it.’ She turned to Leesha. ‘Ent in a hurry. Strollin’ like they own the whole town.’

Leesha pursed her lips, seeing Smitt standing in front of the heavy storehouse doors with his arms crossed. They were warded now, reinforced with unbreakable glass.

‘Try not to provoke them,’ she said, coming to stand beside him.

‘Them?!’ Smitt asked. ‘My son and granddaughter rob me every fortnight, but you worry I’ll provoke them?’

‘Man’s got a point,’ Wonda said.

‘Ay,’ Leesha agreed. ‘But they’re drunk on magic, and we don’t want a fight. Just here to talk.’

‘Hope they feel the same way,’ Wonda said.

Just then, Stela and her uncle rounded the corner, pulling up short as they spotted the trio waiting for them. Both of them shone with power, but Stela was brighter. Not as bright as Renna Bales, but brighter than anyone else Leesha had seen, short of Arlen and Jardir. All this, in half a year.

And it’s my doing, she admonished herself. Arlen warned me. Begged me. But I was so sure I knew better.

Keet at least had the decency to look chagrinned. Stela only sniggered.

‘Think this is funny?’ Smitt demanded. ‘I put a roof over your head and food in your bellies your whole lives, and you pay me back by robbing me?’

‘Oh, come off it, Pappy,’ Stela said. ‘Creator knows you can afford it. We’re out bleeding in the night while you get fatter every day.’

‘Lot of folk out bleeding in the night,’ Wonda said. ‘Ent no excuse to turn bandit.’

‘Never hurt anyone,’ Keet said. ‘Just a few sacks and kegs. You rather we go hungry?’

‘Used to earn your keep,’ Smitt said.

‘Still do!’ Stela argued. ‘Now more than ever! Keepin’ folk safe.’

‘Demonshit,’ Smitt said. ‘You’re not out there for anyone but yourself.’

‘Your grandfather has a point,’ Leesha said. ‘I didn’t ward your skin so you could get magic-drunk and stick each other out in my wood.’

‘No, you just gave us a taste, then abandoned us!’ Stela snapped. ‘Arlen Bales said we were all Deliverers, but you just want to keep the power all to yourself!’

‘Ay, don’t you talk to Mistress Leesha like that,’ Wonda growled.

‘C’mon, Stel. Let’s just go,’ Keet said.

Stela ignored him, crossing her arms and setting her feet as she met Wonda’s eyes. ‘Or what?’

There was a creak of armour as Wonda clenched her fists. ‘Or I’ll give you a spankin’, ya little pissant.’

An image flashed over Stela, Wonda putting her on the ground in training. The girl was eager for a rematch. ‘Try it, you ugly skink. Think you’re so special because you’re Leesha’s attack dog. Time someone put you back in your kennel.’

Wonda’s aura was blazing as well. Leesha laid a hand on her arm, calming her. ‘I didn’t abandon you,’ she told Stela. ‘The duke commanded I go to Angiers. What was I to do? Rules are what keep us civilized. Something you seem to have forgotten.’

‘Ay, rules,’ Stela said. ‘Like you’ve ever let that stop you doing whatever you like.’

‘Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for Hollow County,’ Leesha said.

‘Ay?’ Stela countered. ‘That why you got the demon of the desert’s baby up in your keep?’

Wonda growled, and Leesha had to put a hand on her chest to hold her back. ‘Yes, even that. Would you have preferred his army came through the Hollow like they did Rizon and Lakton?’

Stela laughed. ‘Tellin’ me you didn’t like it a bit, playin’ the bad girl? Didn’t curl your toes while you were at it?’

‘I don’t have to explain myself to you,’ Leesha said.

‘Course not,’ Stela said. ‘Leesha rippin’ Paper doesn’t need to explain herself to anyone. Leaves town for seven years and comes back orderin’ folk around like someone made her duchess.’

‘Enough,’ Leesha said. ‘There were conditions when I warded your skin and gave your people weapons. You have broken them, and the laws of Hollow County. You will be taken into custody to answer to the magistrate for your crimes.’

Stela barked a laugh. ‘By what army?’

Leesha pointed, and the two looked back to see Cutters blocking egress from the alley. They had kept their distance as Leesha instructed, but there was no way out for the pair.

Stela had a wry smile as she turned back. ‘Ent enough. Not by a long sight.’ She leapt, easily clearing the thirty feet between them.

But as fast as she was, Wonda Cutter was faster. She stepped in front of Leesha, immovable as a rock demon, and struck Stela an open-handed blow to the chest that stopped her short, blowing the wind out of her and knocking her to the ground.

The wards tattooed all over Stela’s skin flared to match the anger in her aura. She put her hands under her, not seriously injured.

Wonda gave her no time to recover, kicking her onto her stomach and torquing back one of her arms. Stela screamed, but it was short-lived as Keet stepped in, cracking Wonda across the head with the shaft of his hora spear so hard the strap broke and her wooden helm was sent tumbling away.

‘Let’s go!’ Keet shouted, pulling Stela to her feet as the Cutters charged.

Stela threw off his arm. ‘Not until I put this ugly skink on the ground!’ Wonda was stumbling to her feet as Stela came in, impact wards flaring on her fist as she punched Wonda square in the jaw.

Had Wonda been a normal person, even a Cutter, the blow would likely have killed her. But Wonda’s flesh was warded as well, and her wooden armour was infused with hora. Even so, Leesha heard the crack of bone.

Leesha pulled her wand, but Wonda wasn’t down yet. She sidestepped the next blow, catching Stela’s wrist and using her own momentum to pull her into a body blow that cracked ribs.

Keet had seemed unwilling to fight, but now that it was upon them, his aura flared nearly as hot as Stela’s. He push-kicked one of the charging Cutters into the woman next to him, cracking a third across the face. A year ago he had been a harmless boy, innocent and a bit simple, but now he moved like a predator, striking where his foes were weakest, never losing track of them as they tried to surround him.

Stela had been right. They hadn’t brought enough warriors.

Stela and Wonda fought like demons, exchanging heavy blows. In the thick of battle, much of the artistry fell from sharusahk, leaving only a brutal melee of kicks, punches, and twists. Wonda put them on the ground, wrestling her way toward a hold, but Stela put an elbow into her, impact ward flaring. Wonda was knocked back and Stela tried to reverse the hold, but Wonda got a foot between them, kicking her off.

‘Enough!’ Leesha shouted, lifting her wand. Stela turned to her, eyes like a coreling, and started to move her way.

Leesha wrote a practised series of wards in the air as easily as she might sign her name. She could have used the magic to strike at Stela, but this wasn’t the girl’s fault – at least, not entirely. Instead Leesha formed a Draw.

Stela screamed as the magic was torn from her. Her wards dimmed as the wand grew warm in Leesha’s hands. Wonda reached for her, then shouted and pulled her hand back as she was caught in the Draw.

‘Stop Keet!’ Leesha shouted. ‘I have this!’

But it didn’t seem like she had it. Stela found her feet, stalking in, eyes ablaze. Smitt took a step back as his granddaughter drew close.

The wand was hot now, but Leesha gritted her teeth and stood fast, even as she felt the feedback passing through her specially warded gloves and up her arm. It made her strong, but only increased her anger and frustration.

‘How dare you!’ Leesha shouted. ‘You were nothing! A mouse scurrying in my hospit! I gave you power to stand up in the night and this is what you do with it? This is how you repay me?!’ She wrote more wards in the air, increasing the pull.

And then, suddenly, Stela’s aura winked out, snuffed like a candle. She collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

‘Night!’ The sight brought Leesha back to herself. She stopped the Draw and ran to the girl, panic screaming through her as the magic heightened that as well. She had not meant to drain so much. Not meant to kill her.

Stela was still warm, but she wasn’t breathing, her heart still and her aura dark. The wand was still hot in Leesha’s hand, and she touched it to the keyward on Stela’s breast, giving back a touch of what she had taken.

Leesha saw as the ward greedily drank the magic, sending a spark through the net, racing throughout Stela’s body. She girl jolted, eyes wide as she pulled in a gasping breath, then fell back, panting. Her aura was dim, but Leesha could see her heart beating again, and knew she would survive.

By then Wonda and the Cutters had Keet pinned, stripping him of weapons and armour. Wonda looked to be healing, but her jaw was crooked. Leesha might need to break it again to set it properly.

‘Keet and Stela Inn, you are under arrest,’ Leesha said. ‘I’d hoped never to use the dungeons Count Thamos built, but you leave me no choice.’

Stela coughed, spitting blood, but she was smiling. ‘Not for long. Pack’s gonna hear about this. They’ll come for us.’

‘Then they’ll share your cells.’ But if the rest of the Painted Children were eating demon meat, Leesha knew it wouldn’t be so simple.

Things would get worse before they got better.






‘Don’t see the need for all this, mistress,’ Darsy said as she and Leesha sipped tea, watching Hollow Soldiers march onto Gatherers’ Academy grounds.

They were in what was once Leesha’s cottage, now the seat of Headmistress Darsy’s administration. It was odd, being a visitor in her old home.

‘I pray there isn’t one,’ Leesha said, ‘but the Painted Children’s camp is only a few miles away, and it’s only a matter of time before they realize we have Stela and Keet locked away. With magic amplifying their emotions, they may want to strike back, and not be picky about where.’

Darsy gave her a knowing look. ‘Ent your fault, Leesha. You didn’t know what would happen.’

‘Didn’t I?’ Leesha asked. ‘Arlen told me not to ward flesh. Night, he begged me not to! He knew what it did to folk’s minds. I told myself he wasn’t giving us enough credit, but I think now I wasn’t giving enough to him. The will to resist power like that … what kind of person does it take?’

Darsy blew out a breath. ‘Thought Renna was bad at first, but she came out the other side, didn’t she?’

‘I suppose, but she had Arlen Bales with her, day and night. Children just have each other.’ Leesha sipped her tea.

Melny came out of the kitchen with a tray. ‘Biscuit, mistress?’

‘Thank you dear.’ Leesha took a biscuit. ‘They smell delicious.’

Melny’s smile lit her face. She was a beautiful young woman, swollen bosom and belly barely contained by her homespun dress, but seeing her tending Darsy’s house, no one would ever guess she was the Duchess of Angiers, snuck out of the city with Leesha’s apprentices when her husband was killed in a Krasian attack.





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