Читать книгу The Daylight War - Peter Brett V. - Страница 11

‘Corespawn it,’ Arlen growled.

‘What?’ Renna asked. They had dismounted after a hard ride, leading the horses through a thick stand of trees that had just opened into a small clearing with a jutting rock face.

‘Someone’s found my hideout.’ He pointed.

Renna followed his finger to the rock face, but shook her head. ‘Don’t see anything.’

‘It’s there,’ Arlen said. ‘You’d have to walk right up to it before you saw the door. Got a metal gate covered in corkweed at the entrance, and the rest covered in moss and grass.’

Renna squinted. ‘How do you know someone’s found it?’

Arlen pointed at a thin trail of smoke drifting out the top of a dead tree that stood solemnly atop the small rocky knoll. ‘That’s my chimney. Didn’t leave the hearth fire burning for three months.’

‘Leave anything important there?’ Renna asked.

Arlen shrugged. ‘Some half-finished warding. Folk joining the Cutters were gobbling up weapons faster’n I could ward them, so I never really built up a cache. Just a place to lay my head.’

There was a squawk, and Arlen sighed. ‘Made my nice stable into a corespawned chicken coop.’

‘So now what?’ Renna asked.

‘Reckon we rent a room in town,’ Arlen said, sounding tired. ‘Starting tomorrow. Day or night, expect folk are going to swarm once we show our faces. Need a few hours’ sleep before it starts.’

‘Why can’t we just camp like we been doing?’ Renna said.

‘Ent animals, Ren,’ he said. ‘Nothing wrong with sleeping in a bed, and we ent too good to get to know folk.’

Renna grimaced. She hadn’t had a chance to hunt tonight, and expected that once they were in town, her opportunities to feed on coreflesh without Arlen’s knowledge would be fewer still. The part of her disgusted by the act was fading quickly as her power grew. She was hungry, and mere food could no longer satisfy.

But the tired look on Arlen’s face checked her. He was carrying the world on his shoulders, and she needed to support him in the coming days, no matter what.

‘Fine. Tomorrow.’ She went to him, taking his hands in hers and kissing him. ‘Put down a circle, and I’ll put you down proper.’ She smiled. ‘You’ll sleep like the dead.’

The tired look left Arlen’s face as she began to caress him. He was never so tired she couldn’t rouse him by dropping her clothes to the ground.

It was hours later when Renna, lying awake as she listened to Arlen’s breathing deepen into a snore, slipped from his embrace. She paused, watching him there in the circle. He looked so small, so vulnerable. For all his power, he wasn’t too good to breathe, or to sleep. He needed someone at his back. Someone he could trust.

Someone strong.

She drew her knife and ran off into the night.

Renna woke with her face in the dirt. She must have rolled off the blanket at some point in the night. She spat and brushed absently at her face as she stretched out the morning kinks. It wasn’t quite dawn yet, but the sky was light enough that she could use her normal vision while still watching the drift of magic as it weakened and fled for the shadows.

Arlen was already up and about, wearing only his bido as he dug in Twilight Dancer’s saddlebags, grumbling to himself. ‘Know I left ’em here somewhere …’

Renna smiled as she watched him. She’d gladly wake up with a mouthful of dirt every morning, if the first thing she could see was Arlen Bales. ‘What’s that?’

Arlen looked up at her as he continued to rummage, and the smile that lit his face was a reflection of hers. ‘My clothes. Aha!’

He produced a crumpled bundle of cloth, shaking out a pair of faded denim trousers and a once white shirt. He pulled them on, and Renna laughed at how baggy they were. ‘Still don’t fit in your da’s clothes?’

Arlen gave her a wry look as he tightened his belt and rolled up his shirtsleeves. ‘Folk said I was lean back in my Messenger days, but I ate well enough. Think I lost twenty pounds since,’ he swept a hand over his tattooed face, ‘all this.’ He cuffed the loose ends of his trouser legs.

His sandals sat atop his neatly folded robes, all of which he placed in a saddlebag. He pulled out an old pair of leather boots but, after a moment’s consideration, grunted and tucked them back away, remaining barefoot.

It was strange to see Arlen in normal clothes. She squinted, trying to imagine the man he might have been if he had never left Tibbet’s Brook, but it was impossible. The tattoos covering his forearms and calves – not to mention his neck and face – were all the more jarring coming from out the plain shirt and trousers. ‘What’s all this?’ Renna asked.

‘Started wearing robes because the hood let me hide my face in the day, and people were less apt to hassle travelling Tenders,’ Arlen said. ‘Plus they were easy to fling off at sunset.’

He shook his head. ‘But I ent hiding any more, and the robes are giving folk the wrong idea. I’m no Holy Man. And if I need to show my wards in a hurry …’ He snapped his fingers, momentarily turning to mist, and his clothes fell away. He solidified again in an instant, clad only in his bido, his wards revealed.

‘That trick looks handy for more than just fighting demons,’ Renna said, grinning.

Arlen smiled. ‘Some things’re worth doing the old-fashioned way.’

‘So we’re walking into town just as we are?’ Renna asked. ‘You’re not going to ask me to cover up like you did after Riverbridge?’

Arlen shook his head. ‘Sorry about that, Ren. I was just full of steam. Din’t have no right—’

‘You did,’ Renna cut in. ‘I gave you reason to boil. Ent holding it over you. Needed the fool slapped out of me.’

In an instant, Arlen was across the clearing, holding her in his arms. ‘You done as much for me. More’n once.’ He kissed her as the sun finally rose, touching them with gentle beams.

‘No more skulking, Ren,’ Arlen said. ‘We are who we are, and folk can take or leave us.’

‘Honest word,’ Renna said, putting her hands on the smooth skin of his shaved head to pull his lips back to hers.

Soon after, Arlen took them to Deliverer’s Hollow, walking on bare feet and leading Twilight Dancer by the bridle.

‘The roads aren’t warded,’ Renna noted.

‘The roads are the ward,’ Arlen said. ‘Or part of one, anyway. After the corelings razed most of the town, we rebuilt even bigger on a plan for a series of interconnected greatwards, like the one the Cutters were clearing up north. Each ring will take longer than the last, but a decade from now no corespawn will be able to set talon anywhere within a hundred miles of the Hollow.’

‘That’s … incredible,’ Renna said.

‘It will be,’ Arlen agreed. ‘If it can be done while the Core spews forth an army to knock us back into the Age of Ignorance.’

Even this early, the roads and paths were well travelled with regular folk going about their business. Arlen nodded to some as they passed, but said nothing and never stopped. All of them stared wide-eyed, some even bowing or drawing wards in the air. Almost all dropped whatever they were doing and followed. They kept a respectful pace, but the din grew as numbers increased, and more than once Renna caught the word ‘Deliverer’.

Arlen seemed to pay it no mind, his face serene as he guided them towards the centre of town.

There were dozens of homesteads and cottages, all freshly built, and hundreds more under construction. The twists of the greatward left huge swathes of unmolested forest throughout, letting the Hollow retain a simple village feel quite unlike the crete streets, stone walls, and huge buildings of Riverbridge.

‘Place almost feels like home,’ Renna said. ‘Like we could turn this corner and see Town Square and Hog’s General Store.’

Arlen nodded. ‘Here they call it the Corelings’ Graveyard, and it’s Smitt instead of Hog, but you squint a bit, it’s hard to tell the difference. Think maybe it’s why I settled in the Hollow awhile. Wasn’t ready to go home, and this was the next best thing.’

They turned a corner, and the graveyard came into view. The cobbled central area was much like that of Town Square. At one end stood a stone Holy House that could as easily have been Tender Harral’s on Boggin’s Hill, but it was dwarfed by the foundation being laid around it, hundreds of men digging trenches and hauling stones.

Arlen stopped short, and for a moment, the serenity left his face. ‘That Angierian Tender din’t waste any time. Looks like he’s building a cathedral to swallow Jona’s Holy House like a frog does a fly.’

‘You talk like that’s a bad thing,’ Renna said. ‘Town’s growin’ as much as you say, ent they going to need the extra pews?’

‘Reckon,’ Arlen said, but he sounded unconvinced.

There was a great platform at the far end of the cobbled square with a large stage and a shell to amplify sound. Renna was drawn to the chatter of a huge crowd, but one voice rose above the din. She saw Jow Cutter standing onstage, showing no sign that he had been injured near to death just a few hours before. Renna caught sight of a now familiar set of robes, and saw Tender Hayes standing at the edge of the crowd with one of his acolytes, leaning on his crooked staff and watching with cold eyes.

‘Saw Him with my own eyes!’ Jow cried. ‘Woodie laid me clean open, an’ I heard Darsy Gatherer say there wan’t nothing she could do! But then the Painted Man came and waved His hands, and now I barely got a mark on me!’

‘Get off that stage, Jow Cutter!’ someone shouted. ‘You may be a fool, but you’re no Jongleur! Spin your tampweed tales somewhere else!’

‘Swear by the sun!’ Jow cried, and he held up his torn and bloody jerkin, showing the faded scars where the wood demon had mauled him. When the crowd still looked sceptical, he pointed at a man in the crowd. ‘Evin Cutter, you seen it, too!’

All eyes turned to Evin, but his great wolfhound bristled, keeping them back.

‘Din’t see no magic healing,’ he said after a moment. ‘Leastways not with my two eyes. But ay. The Deliverer’s returned.’

Arlen groaned, putting his face in his hand as the crowd turned back to Jow with renewed interest.

‘Ay!’ Jow cried. ‘The real Deliverer’s come back to bring Mistress Leesha home and put that desert rat down!’ The crowd roared in approval.

‘Dumb as a pile of rocks, but he ent all wrong,’ Arlen muttered.

Just then Jow looked up, seeing Arlen and Renna at the edge of the crowd. ‘There He is!’ he cried, pointing. ‘The Deliverer!’

Arlen put his hands on his hips as the entire crowd turned to him at once, looking at Jow like a dog that had shit inside the house.

And then suddenly the crowd closed in, everyone reaching, grabbing. Hundreds of people crushing inward, all shouting at once.

‘Deliverer!’

‘Bless you!’

‘Bless me!’

‘I need—!’

‘You must—!’

Renna struggled in the press, even her new strength overwhelmed by the swarm of people. ‘Get back!’ she screamed, but they seemed not to hear, and Renna felt her blood come to a boil, her vision going red as she reached for her knife.

In that instant, Renna saw a bottle flying through the air at Arlen’s head, but she was in no position to stop it.

She needn’t have worried. Arlen’s hand moved faster than her eyes could see, snatching the bottle out of the air. Everyone gasped, and a path opened up in the crowd along its trajectory, all those innocent of the deed stepping quickly away to reveal a group of three men glaring at Arlen. Their clothes were patched and threadbare, and there was a hollow look about them that bespoke hard times. They had thrown their bottle, but Renna knew drinkers when she saw them, and knew it could spur all sorts of mean. Again, her hand fell to the handle of Harl’s knife.

‘Deliverer!’ one of the men spat on the ground. ‘If you’re the ripping Deliverer, where were you when the Krasians took my daughter?!’

‘And my son!’ another shouted.

‘And my farm!’ the third added.

‘Show some ripping respect,’ Linder Cutter growled, punching the lead man in the face. He went down heavily, and in response the other two tackled the giant Cutter. They struggled back and forth, the men’s legs swinging freely off the ground as they tried to pull Linder down. The man he had punched was shaking his head and struggling to get back to his feet with murder in his eyes.

‘Ay, he asked a fair question!’ someone else in the crowd cried, and there were grumblings of assent and argument. Half a dozen Cutters were racing to the scene.

Arlen was there in an instant, crossing the distance inhumanly fast. ‘Enough!’ He picked the men off Linder by their shirt collars, holding them like insolent children. Linder looked smug until Arlen glared at him as well.

‘Next time you punch someone in my name, Linder, I’ll crack your skull.’ Linder suddenly looked his age, the overgrown boy’s face reddening.

Arlen tossed the other two men aside gently enough for them to land on their feet and reached out to the man on the ground, helping him up. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, but it carried as easily as Jow’s in the sound shell so all could hear.

‘Know you’re hurtin’, friend, and I’m sorry for your daughter, but throwing bottles and acting the fool ent helping her, and I’m not the one you ought to be mad at. Never claimed to be the Deliverer. I may be painted up, but I’m just folk like you.’

‘But you Delivered the Hollow,’ the man said, almost pleading.

Arlen shook his head, scanning the crowd as he did. Everyone was quiet, hanging on his words. ‘Didn’t deliver the Hollow. Hollowers did that themselves, bleeding right here on the cobbles under our feet. I threw in when they had a bad patch, ay, but so did Leesha Paper and Rojer Inn. So did Linder and Evin Cutter, and a hundred other folk. Even Jow, though it seems he’s got it in his head to act the fool as well.’ He glanced at Jow, who looked sheepish as he leapt down from the stage.

Arlen put his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Know what it’s like to lose people. Apt to make you crazy and mad as the Core. But there’s more storms comin’. I’m here to help, but what I do won’t mean spit if I’m doing it alone. It’s your choice if you want to throw in or drink and point fingers, but I don’t owe you any explanations.’

He turned, taking in the crowd as his voice rose to a boom. ‘Got more useful things to do than rabble-rousing in the Corelings’ Graveyard! Wager that goes for the rest of you, too!’

Suddenly everyone was studying their feet and muttering about unfinished business. They left in a steady flow.

Jow Cutter came rushing up to them as Arlen turned to go. ‘I’m sorry. Din’t mean—’

Arlen cut him off. ‘Ent mad at you, Jow. Had it comin’ for being so mysterious last time and keepin’ to myself.’

Jow seemed relieved until Arlen raised a finger. ‘But that sound shell is for Tenders and Jongleurs and fiddle wizards, not any fool wants to shout. Don’t want to see you up there again, ’less you’re doing a song and dance. You ent got wood to chop, go ask the Butchers for something to do.’

Jow nodded eagerly and ran off.

Renna looked back to where the Inquisitor had stood, but he, too, was gone.

‘Place is more like the Brook than I care for,’ Renna said. ‘They gonna stake us, we don’t save them?’

‘Everyone needs the fool slapped out of ’em now and again, Ren,’ Arlen said as they led their horses into the stable behind the newly built inn. ‘Times ent been easy, and we can forgive if folk’re a bit excitable. Don’t need to reach for your knife every time.’

Renna stiffened at that. ‘Din’t know I was that obvious.’

Arlen shrugged. ‘It’s a big knife.’

A young man, thin but well muscled, came to take their horses. He took one glance at Twilight Dancer and his gaze snapped to Arlen.

‘Ay, Keet, it’s me,’ Arlen said. ‘Know space is tight, but my promised Renna and I need a room for a few weeks.’

Keet nodded. He quickly stabled the horses and led them through a small side entrance to a mudroom. ‘Wait here while I fetch my da.’

‘His da, Smitt, is the innkeeper and Town Speaker,’ Arlen said when he was gone. ‘Good man, you don’t cross him. More honest than Hog, but tough enough, time comes to haggle. His wife, Stefny, ent a bad sort in small doses, but she’s always got a look like she ent been to the outhouse in a week and wants to take it out on any who come too close. Quick to get preachy, too, tellin’ you this and that about how the Creator wants you to live, like someone out of Southwatch.’

Renna bristled. The Watches had been quick to condemn her to death and call it Creator’s will.

Moments later a big man, thickly bearded and strong at around sixty summers, came into the mudroom followed by a small, thin woman with grey hair pulled back in a tight bun. Arlen was right about her face. She looked like she’d just eaten a bitter and was ready to spit it out.

‘Thank the Creator you’re back,’ Smitt said, after the introductions were made.

‘Creator ent got anything to do with it,’ Arlen said. ‘Got business in the Hollow.’

‘Creator’s hand is in everything, great and small,’ Stefny said. The edge of a demon scar peeked from the high neck of her dress, and there was a hardness about her that recalled Selia Barren, Speaker of Tibbet’s Brook, who had defended Renna when no one else would. Renna had never met a woman stronger than Selia.

Without thinking about it, Renna reached out to her, brushing the scar lightly. ‘You fought, didn’t you?’ she asked. ‘When the wards failed last year.’

The woman’s eyes widened, but she nodded. ‘Couldn’t just stand by.’

‘Course not,’ Renna said, squeezing her shoulder. ‘Can’t ask any to do what you ent willing to do yourself.’

The pinched look left the woman’s face and she smiled. It was an awkward gesture, twisting against the set lines of her face. ‘Come. The inn’s busy, but we keep a couple rooms open for Messengers. Let’s get you settled and put some food in your bellies.’ She turned and led the way up a back stairwell as Arlen and Smitt gaped.

They had barely settled in their room and finished the breakfast Stefny sent up when there was a knock at the door. Arlen opened it to find one of Tender Hayes’ acolytes – the one who was always at his side.

He wore only plain sandals and tan robes, his warded surplice reserved for night. His trim brown beard was flecked with grey.

‘I am Child Franq, aide to Tender Hayes, High Inquisitor and spiritual advisor to His Highness, Count Thamos of Cutter’s Hollow,’ he said with a minimal bow. ‘Apologies for the interruption, Mr Bales,’ he nodded to Renna, ‘Miss Tanner, but His Holiness was most impressed by your words this morning, and requests the honour of your presence at dinner at six o’clock this evening in the dining hall of the Holy House. Formal dress.’

He turned to go, but Arlen’s reply checked him before he could leave. ‘You’ll have to extend our regrets.’

Franq froze for a moment, and when he turned back, he still had a touch of surprise on his face. He gave another shallow bow. ‘You mean to say you have … ah, more important plans on your calendar than seeing His Holiness?’

Arlen shrugged helplessly. ‘Afraid my calendar is quite full. Perhaps after the new moon.’

This time, Franq could not hide his incredulity. ‘That … that is your reply to His Holiness?’

‘Shall I put it in writing?’ Arlen asked. When Franq did not reply, he strode to the door, taking hold of it pointedly. Franq shuffled out, his face a mix of outrage and shock.

‘Ent he a bit old to be a Child?’ Renna asked when she heard his footsteps recede down the hall.

Arlen nodded. ‘Looked close to forty summers. Tenders usually take orders by thirty even if the council ent found them a flock.’

‘So what, he failed the test?’

Arlen shook his head. ‘Means Hayes is powerful, as Tenders go. So powerful that being a Child and his aide is loftier than tending your own flock. Politics.’ He spat the word.

‘Then what’s all this calendar business?’ Renna asked. ‘Din’t seem neighbourly. We just walked into town an hour ago. Ent planned so much as our next privy visit.’

‘Don’t care.’ Arlen waved irritably at the door. ‘Corespawned if I’m going to be bullied into a ripping formal dinner just so some Tender can look important. Got no patience for posturing.’

He dropped his voice to Franq’s low tenor. ‘“… mean to say you have … ah, more important plans than seeing His Holiness?” Bah!’

‘Do we have more important plans?’ Renna asked.

‘Thought we might spend a few hours knocking our heads against a wall,’ Arlen said. ‘That’s about the same as talkin’ to a Tender. They’ve all got that book memorized, but each one reads it different.’

‘Tender Harral from back in the Brook was a good man,’ Renna said. ‘Stood by me when the town was out for my blood.’

‘But not in front of you, Ren,’ Arlen said. ‘Best remember that. And Jeorje Watch, who was full of righteous fire at your staking, was a Tender, too.’

‘You don’t talk bad about the old Hollow Tender,’ Renna said.

Arlen shrugged. ‘Jona’s as fool as the rest of them. Maybe more, in some ways. But he always done right by folk. Earned his respect. Hayes ent earned anything.’

‘Ent given him much chance,’ Renna noted.

Arlen was silent a few moments, but at last he grunted. ‘Fine, I’ll send Keet to let him know we found space in our “calendar”. But ent no way we’re goin’ in formal dress.’

There wasn’t precisely a crowd outside the inn when Arlen and Renna emerged late in the afternoon to head to the Holy House for dinner with Tender Hayes, but there were hundreds of folk milling about the shops and street corners, attempting to look as if they had reason to be there. A frantic buzz began as they caught sight of the pair.

Renna sighed. It seemed nothing Arlen could say would change the minds of some folk, even those who hung on his every word like it was Canon.

There had been a steady stream of knocks at their door through the day. Smitt and Stefny did their best to keep the petitioners from swarming, but they did not deny access to any they deemed important, and there were many of those. The Butchers came with heavy ledgers and rolled maps they spread on the floor, showing their progress in recruiting and clearing land. Dozens of southern hamlets had fled the Krasians as they spread out to overtake Rizon, many of them resettling entirely on their own greatwards in Hollow County. There were six greatwards surrounding the Hollow proper now, though only two, New Rizon and Journey’s End, were fully active. More were still in the early stages.

A glassblower named Benn brought beautiful warded items for Arlen to inspect, and Kendall had snuck in to talk about Angierian Jongleurs that had arrived with Count Thamos’ caravan.

‘Five masters from the Jongleurs’ Guild,’ Kendall said, ‘and a dozen apprentices. Claim they’re here to help Rojer get us better at controlling demons, but they seem more interested in gathering stories about you.’

And so it went. Warders, Messengers, Herb Gatherers, Speakers from refugee towns; one by one and in pairs, they came and went until Renna thought she might scream.

Arlen took it better, greeting many as friends and offering suggestions most folk seemed to take as commands. Still, it was a relief to be out of the room, even though it meant weathering the stares of countless eyes as they passed down the street.

Tender Hayes and Child Franq were waiting for them when they reached the Holy House. Hayes was clad in brown robes, but these were of a finer material than Renna had ever seen apart from her warded cloak. Over this the Tender wore a white chasuble, trimmed with green ivy needlework with a crooked staff stitched in glittering gold in the centre, surrounded by a circle of wards, many of which Renna did not recognize. His stole and skullcap were forest green, embroidered with wards in shining gold thread. His hands glittered with gold rings, one of which held a green stone the size of a cow’s eye.

Franq, too, was formally outfitted with a green warded skullcap and a white surplice over his tan robe, stitched in green-and-gold thread with the same ivy-and-staff design as Hayes. A gold necklace set with a large red stone hung at his throat.

They stood in stark contrast with Arlen, barefoot in his faded denim trousers and shirt, and Renna, who was clad scandalously by anyone’s standards, wearing only a high, leather vest and a calf-length skirt slit to the waist on either side. But if their plain clothes – or lack thereof in Renna’s case – gave offence, the men showed no sign.

‘Welcome to the House of the Creator, Mr Bales, Miss Tanner!’ Hayes said loudly, his voice carrying far. ‘We’re honoured you could join us on such short notice.’

Renna listened for a hint of sarcasm in the old man’s tone, but he seemed sincere. ‘Kind of you to have us.’ She drew a holy ward in the air. Arlen simply grunted and gave a nod.

Hayes’ smile shrank slightly. ‘I must congratulate you on your promising. As you can imagine, it has caused quite a stir among the townsfolk. I would be honoured to perform the ceremony, if you wish.’

‘That’s awful kind,’ Arlen said before Renna could respond, his voice carrying as easily as the Tender’s, ‘but I mean Tender Jona to do it on his return.’

There was another buzz that passed through the bystanders, now a crowd without doubt. Hayes pursed his lips, his mouth becoming a thin line that vanished in his thick beard and moustaches. ‘Close to him, were you?’

Arlen shrugged. ‘Din’t always agree with him, but Tender Jona done right by the Hollow when the need was great. It’s my hope he’ll return soon.’

The smile left Hayes’ eyes, and Franq cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps we should adjourn inside, Holiness. The others are already here. They await you in the dining hall.’

‘Very well, lead the way,’ Hayes said. Franq bowed and led them inside, closing the great doors firmly behind them and leaving the prying eyes and ears behind.

From the small narthex beneath the choir loft, Renna could see a nave meant to hold perhaps three hundred souls. The floors were plain stone, worn smooth by the passage of countless feet over the years. The pews were similarly worn, fine wood with concave depressions where the lacquer had been rubbed away by generations of posteriors. The support beams were carved with wards, as were the stained windows, but they were otherwise unadorned. The main altar was similarly plain, though fresh cloth had been thrown over the table and podium, emblazoned with the ivy and crooked staff of the Angierian Tenders. Thick carpeting had been put down beneath.

‘You’ll have to excuse the meanness of the accommodations,’ Franq said. ‘Once the expansion is complete, we’ll have a worthy House of the Creator, with proper appointments more fitting for His Holiness to receive in.’

Renna’s sharp ears picked up the sound of Arlen’s teeth grinding, but he said nothing as Franq led them to a door to the side of the altar that opened to a narrow hall they followed to a small windowless dining chamber. The dining room was much more richly appointed than the rest of the building. The cold stone walls had been covered in heavy woven tapestries, and a heavy table of polished goldwood ran the length of the room, covered in velvet cloth. The table was laid with delicate porcelain plates, silver utensils, and a golden candelabra. A warm fire blazed in the hearth, and more candles burned overhead on a simple wooden chandelier.

Three men had been sitting at the table, but they rose quickly when the Tender entered.

‘You recall Lord Arther, the count’s aide,’ Hayes said, indicating the man. ‘Next to him is Squire Gamon, captain of the count’s guard.’

Arther was clad in fine leggings and polished boots, wearing a white shirt cuffed with lace and a tabard bearing the count’s insignia, the wooden soldier. Over the back of his chair was slung a harness containing a short polished spear. The weapon was warded, with an elaborate crossguard encrusted with precious stones. It was beautiful and well maintained, but Arther did not have the look of a fighting man to Renna, and she wondered if it had ever tasted coreling ichor.

Her mouth watered at the thought, and she had to suppress a wave of revulsion. What was she becoming, that such things should stir her appetite?

Gamon was clad in similarly fine clothes, though his cuffs lacked the lace, and he had the hardness of a warrior about him, with a close-cropped beard that did not grow over the puckered lines of a demon scar. His eyes were fixed on Arlen, sizing him up as if before a brawl, and his spear had a worn look about it. It rested against the wall in easy reach.

‘Honoured,’ Arther said as he and the captain bowed. ‘The count sends his regrets, but he was delayed overseeing the construction of his keep.’

‘Din’t want to be seen dining with us, he means,’ Arlen murmured.

‘And this is the duke’s Herald, Lord Jasin Goldentone, nephew to Lord Janson, first minister of Angiers,’ Hayes said, indicating the third man. ‘Jasin will be heading back to Angiers on the morrow, but we were fortunate that your arrival allowed him to meet you before heading on his way.’

‘He’d have waited as long as it took to see us,’ Arlen said, again too low for any but Renna to hear.

The herald wore a fine fitted jacket and loose silken trousers of emerald green, tucked into high brown boots of kid leather. His half cape was brown, emblazoned with the ivy throne of Angiers. He swept it out with a flourish as he bowed to Renna, and the inside flashed with the bright motley colour she expected from a Jongleur.

‘I have never been so far as Tibbet’s Brook,’ he said, kissing her hand, ‘but perhaps I should rectify that, if the women there are as beautiful as you.’

Renna felt her face colour. ‘That’s enough of that,’ Arlen snapped.

‘Indeed,’ Hayes agreed, looking reproachfully at Jasin. ‘Please, be seated.’ He indicated settings for Arlen and Renna. Arther swept smoothly behind her and for a moment she nearly struck him until she realized he was simply pulling out the chair to slide it under her as she sat. The chair was padded with velvet. She had never sat on something so soft.

Franq clapped his hands, and acolytes appeared with wine bottles. The men – Arlen included – took their napkins off the table with a snap, placing them in their laps. Renna awkwardly did the same.

‘We have a wonderful menu tonight,’ Franq said. ‘Roast pheasant stuffed with apricot grain in a wine sauce and suckling pig slow-roasted over applewood with plum jelly.’ He turned to Renna. ‘Do you prefer red or white?’

‘Say again?’ Renna said.

Franq smiled. ‘Wine, child. What kind would you like?’

‘There’s more than one kind?’ Renna asked, and she felt her face colour as Jasin, Arther, and Franq laughed. ‘What’d I say?’ she murmured to Arlen under her breath.

Arlen looked ready to spit fire. ‘Nothing,’ he said, making no effort to keep his voice low. ‘They’re being rude, looking down over their fancy food and drink while folk a mile from here are eating weeds and thanking the Creator they have that much.’

Franq paled, glancing at the Tender before looking back at Arlen. ‘I meant no offence—’

Arlen ignored him, looking at Tender Hayes. ‘That what you teach your Children, Holiness? That it’s fair to mock regular folk? ’Cause where we come from, Tenders wear plain robes for a reason.’

Hayes’ jaw tightened. ‘It most certainly is not.’

‘Not how I see it,’ Arlen said. He looked back at Franq. ‘What was it you said about this Holy House? That it was mean? That it was not worthy?’

Franq had the look of a cornered deer. ‘I only meant that something more grand—’

‘You don’t know the meaning of the word,’ Arlen cut him off. ‘This Holy House is a symbol of the Hollowers’ strength. When all else was lost, this building stood strong. We put the wounded here, some in this very room, while their kith and kin stood outside and faced the night to protect them. Ent nothing mean about this place.’ He looked to Hayes. ‘But you’d tear it down and build something bigger, so people forget who they were before you came along, and forget the Tender whose House it was.’

Hayes’ face hardened at that. ‘Again with Jona! You’ve taken off your brown robe but still speak as a Holy Shepherd, telling us how our order is to be run. The count already promised that Jona’s wife would be allowed to see him, yet still you cause a scene outside in full view of the crowd, and again at my table.’

‘It was your scene outside,’ Arlen noted. He glanced at the others at the table. ‘Know you think us fools because we come from the hamlets, but I worked long years as a Messenger, and know politics when I see ’em. Stood in the graveyard and told all that I was neither Holy Man nor Heaven-sent, but that wasn’t enough for you. Had to push and make a show so folk think I’m in your flock,’ he glanced at Arther, Gamon, and Jasin, ‘while the Royals send their footmen through the back door to listen in and report back. Leave me out of your games. I hold to no Canon and swore no oath to the ivy throne.’

Renna leaned back in her seat, watching in amusement. No one paid her the slightest mind. The other men looked outraged, but Hayes held up a hand to calm them.

‘Nevertheless,’ Hayes said, ‘the ivy throne is sovereign in Angiers, and all within its borders are subject to its laws. Duke Rhinebeck and Shepherd Pether have decreed that Cutter’s Hollow is a Canonic holding, Mr Bales. If you reside here, you are subject to both the count’s jurisdiction and my own.’

‘Evejan law,’ Arlen said.

‘Eh?’ the Tender asked.

‘Religion and law are one in Krasia, as well,’ Arlen said. ‘Their holy book, the Evejah, is the basis for their entire culture, and as the Krasians conquer the southland, they press Evejan law on its people, forcing them to cover up and pray to Everam whether they like it or not. They rape the women and enslave the men, taking away their children to be indoctrinated fully. Even if they cease their advance now, in a generation everyone in their territory will be Evejan, quadrupling their numbers.’

‘Then you see why we must resist them utterly,’ Hayes said, ‘and reject this false god with a renewal of faith in the true Creator.’

‘In resisting them, you are becoming them,’ Arlen said. ‘And I won’t stand for it here in the Hollow. Spout all you like from the pulpit. If you can sway folk, that’s their choice. But you try some archaic nonsense like staking a fornicator out for the demons, I’ll break the stake over my knee and shove half through your door and the other half through the count’s.’

‘You wouldn’t!’ Franq growled.

‘You see if he don’t,’ Renna said.

‘How dare you!’ Arther shouted. Captain Gamon leapt to his feet, grabbing his spear. ‘By the authority of Count Thamos, I place you under arrest for treason …’

Arlen snorted, not even bothering to rise. He casually drew a ward in the air, and the blade of Gamon’s spear turned the grey-blue of a hazy sky. The air about the weapon began to shimmer, and both blade and shaft fogged and turned white as rime frost covered its length.

There was a creaking sound, and Gamon cried out and dropped the weapon, clutching his hand as if burned. Jasin leapt out of his chair as the spear struck the stone floor between them, shattering into a thousand pieces.

‘Aaah, Creator, my hand!’ Gamon shrieked.

‘Quit acting the fool and sit back down,’ Arlen said. He looked to one of the serving boys, staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed. ‘Bring the squire a bowl of cool water to soak his hand in.’ The boy ran off without so much as a glance to Hayes or Franq.

Hayes steepled his fingers. ‘So you think yourself above the law of both man and Creator? Is this your way of informing me that your speech this morning was a lie? That you really do believe you are the Deliverer?’

Arlen shook his head. ‘My way of informing you that I’m not some bumpkin you can push around. Came back to the Hollow because I’ve got work to do, not to pick a fight with you or the count. So long as you’re doing right by folk – and it seems for the most part you are – want us to be friends. But you been taking liberties, and need to know where the wards end. Got no interest in being a pawn in your politicking, and I’ll have satisfaction the next time one of you is fool enough to mock my promised.’

Hayes nodded. ‘I apologize for any insult to you and Miss Tanner. It was unintentional, and I assure you,’ he glanced at Franq, ‘my aide will be properly reprimanded.’

The Tender spread his hands. ‘I want us to be friends, as well. Neither the count nor I wish to make an enemy of you, Mr Bales. Thamos’ brother the duke commanded he come south, secure the border, and protect its people. My own mandate from Shepherd Pether is much the same. I am to minister to these people as your own Jona would have in his absence – a matter I have little sway over.’

‘Is that your entire mandate?’ Arlen asked.

Hayes shook his head. ‘There is one more matter. You.’

‘Me,’ Arlen said.

‘You are not the first would-be Deliverer in Angiers,’ Hayes said. ‘Tales of His return crop up every few years, especially in the hamlets. The Tenders of the Creator investigate every one for validity. I myself have investigated a dozen in my tenure – every one a fraud.’

Arlen smiled. ‘Add one more to the list, because I ent Him.’

Hayes leaned forward. ‘Perhaps, but neither are you a simple Messenger from the hamlets, no matter what you claim. You’re quick to say what you’re not, but you have yet to say what you are. You use demon magic; who is to say you are not corespawn yourself?’

Silence fell on the room, and Renna bristled. The other men leaned in to hear every nuance of Arlen’s reply even as Hayes sat back. Jasin produced a small notebook and a tiny pencil. Tales were money to Jongleurs, and heralds most of all, though they had an audience of one.

‘Saw me stand in the sun just this morning,’ Arlen said. ‘Can corespawn do that?’

Hayes shrugged. ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

‘And the thousands of demons I’ve killed, including what you witnessed last night?’ Arlen asked. ‘Those just a ruse to gain men’s trust?’

‘You tell me,’ Hayes said.

‘Doesn’t need to tell you anything,’ Renna snapped. All eyes turned suddenly to her.

‘Excuse me, young lady,’ Hayes said, his tone reproachful, ‘but—’

‘Arlen din’t want to come tonight,’ Renna cut him off. ‘Said this would happen. Said you’d try to use him, or accuse him. Said we’d be better off talking to a wall. I was the one told him to be neighbourly.’ She stood. ‘Regrettin’ that decision now, and don’t see any reason we need to stay for this kind of talk. Enjoy your pheasant.’

She strode for the door, and Arlen shrugged apologetically at the Tender, a grin on his face as he moved to follow.

The sun was setting outside, the streets of the Hollow bustling with activity. Squads of Cutters were forming in the Corelings’ Graveyard, preparing for their nightly patrols, and vendors continued their brisk business, selling food, drink, and other items with no apparent plans to pack up for the day. Even the workers digging the foundation to the new Holy House continued to work. Renna knew the greatward kept them all safe through the night, but it hadn’t truly dawned on her just what that meant. Freedom, night and day. In Hollow County, humans were not forced to live on the demons’ schedule.

‘Won’t it be too dark to keep working soon?’ Renna asked.

Arlen shook his head. ‘Magic’s about to rise. There’ll be light enough for all before long.’

Renna wondered at that, watching for the telltale signs of the rise, wisps of smoky light drifting up from the ground, visible only to her and Arlen’s warded eyes.

But there was no sign of magic’s fog on the greatward. Instead, the entire street grew warm underfoot, and began to glow. She thought she was imagining it at first, but it soon grew too bright to ignore. So bright that it was apparent everyone could see the light, warded eyes or no. The casual air of the people on the streets towards the growing dark now made sense. It was not as clear as day, but more than bright enough to see and work by.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Renna said. She could see the edge of the greatward not far off. The magic there rose normally, but flowed towards the greatward in the same way it flowed towards Arlen when he called it. She could feel the ward tugging at her own personal magic, as well. That growing core of power that had been born when she first tasted demon meat was drawn like a lodestone towards an iron pot. Her footsteps felt heavy, and she felt weaker and slightly dizzy.

‘Used to feel … off on the greatward,’ Arlen said, as if reading her mind. ‘Like I was walking through water, or had been out in the sun too long.’

‘Used to?’ Renna asked.

‘Everything’s different now,’ Arlen said. ‘Greatward draws so much power, and tapping into it’s as easy as breathing.’ He drew a deep breath, and his wards flared to life, brighter than she had ever seen them. He blew it back out, and they died away again. ‘I can even let the excess back into the ward if I don’t need it, strengthening the forbidding.’ He looked at Renna. ‘Powerful here, Ren. More’n I ever dreamed. Don’t even need to kill for it. Can’t say it’ll be enough, but come new moon, whatever the Core sees fit to spew at us will be in for the fight of its life.’

He turned to another great building, this one situated on the other side of the cobbles. It was the only warded structure Renna had seen in the Hollow, its symbols large and strong, etched deep into the wood.

‘Hospit,’ Arlen said. ‘Need to see Mistress Vika before she goes off to Angiers, and perhaps I can ease her burden before she goes. Time I’m done in there, she won’t have so much as a kid with a sniffle.’

‘Sure that’s a good idea?’ Renna asked. ‘Liable to start this Deliverer business right back up.’

‘That’s happening like or not,’ Arlen said. ‘I ent the Deliverer, but I’m done hiding what I can do. We stirred up a hornets’ nest, killing that mind demon, and unless I miss my guess, the stinging starts on new moon. Need everyone on their feet.’

Renna scowled.

‘What?’ Arlen caught the look. Renna crossed her arms, turning away.

A moment later she felt Arlen’s arms around her, squeezing gently. ‘Something’s botherin’ you, Ren, just say it. I learned a lot from that demon, but reading minds ent a trick I’m ready to try.’

Renna sighed. ‘Don’t like you healing.’

Arlen stiffened. ‘What? Why? I should leave folk laid up? Crippled? Dying?’

Renna wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms, but she shook them off, rounding to face him. ‘Ent that. Just think it ent safe. You call me reckless, but you near kill yourself every time you heal. Too stubborn to know when to stop. So ay. I’d rather some nit broke his leg heal the old-fashioned way than have you pass out tryin’ to fix it.’

She expected him to shout at her, but Arlen only nodded. ‘Still getting the hang of it. But I got the greatward to draw on, and I’ll be careful, Ren. I promise.’