The Daylight War

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.’

6

The Earring

333 AR Summer

29 Dawns Before Waning

‘Ah! Aaaaah!’

Inevera fell into her breath as the cries of the Northern whore emanated from her earring.

The ring seemed a simple silver bauble, but it was etched with tiny wards and powered by a half pebble of demon bone at its centre. The other half of that pebble rode in the ring’s mate, which she had given to Jardir on their wedding day, its true nature unknown even to him.

As you love me, you will never remove it, she told him that day.

The wards were normally out of alignment, but with a twist Inevera could activate them, and the bit of hora would resonate with its twin, sound carrying through to her like a child’s toy of cups and string.

Including the sound of Leesha Paper moaning pleasure into her husband’s ear.

I am the palm, Inevera told herself, and this is only wind. I will bend, but I will not break.

Her eyes flicked to Melan and Asavi, her closest advisors. They could not hear the ring – its magic tuned to the wearer alone – but it made little difference. Ahmann and Leesha played their lovegames openly now, at least inside the palace. Inevera was forced to smile and act unbothered, even as it eroded her power among the dama’ting and the men in Jardir’s court.

She clenched her fist. There was little she could do to oppose them. Ahmann was Shar’Dama Ka, and by any accepted interpretation of the Evejah, it was his right to have any woman he desired. Inevera had worked for years to ensure his needs were met by her personally, or women she had carefully selected – ones that brought him power and children, but whom she could easily dominate or eliminate.

Leesha Paper was neither. She could indeed bring Ahmann power, but she was cagey with it, and haughty as an Andrah’s First Wife. She would not be dominated, and Inevera had failed to eliminate her twice. The first time Inevera had commanded her eldest daughter Amanvah, betrothed to the red-haired Northerner Rojer, to poison Leesha. The girl was loyal but inexperienced, and bungled the job badly.

Leesha could have gone to Jardir then, making their fight public and ugly. Jardir would have been furious. Perhaps uncontrollably so.

But Leesha had said nothing, and even allowed Amanvah to remain in her presence. Inevera had been forced to concede her a measure of respect for that, and when she had her eunuch Watchers break into Leesha’s bedchamber soon after, she had foolishly tried to bully the woman off rather than simply killing her. That same night she had been forced to save Leesha’s life, that they might face the mind demon attempting to kill Jardir together.

Of course, if she hadn’t, the demon might well have taken Jardir’s life, and hers as well. Much as Inevera hated to admit it, the Northern hedge witch was formidable, and her power had only increased that night. Inevera had been unable to stop her from taking powerful alagai hora from the mind demon – much as Inevera herself had. She had sent eunuchs to retrieve the bones, but they returned beaten and empty-handed. Leesha would not be taken off guard again.

So Inevera listened. Listened and tried not to feel replaced. Supplanted. Humiliated.

She breathed, restoring her calm. The woman would be returning to her barbarian village soon enough, and good riddance. Inevera would reclaim her rightful place in Jardir’s bed, and all would be as it was.

Perhaps.

The moans and cries of passion faded, replaced by gentle murmuring. Inevera strained her ears, trying to make out the muffled words. This was worse than the cries of passion and the slapping of flesh. Inevera had watched her husband with other women many times, and knew well the sounds he made, and those he drew from women. Confident in her pillow dancing, Inevera had no fear of anything Leesha could do in love. It was the quiet moments, when he and Leesha lay intertwined, that Inevera loathed.

‘Marry me,’ Jardir said.

‘How many times must I refuse you, before you stop asking?’ Leesha replied, feigning ignorance of the incredible honour she was being paid.

‘If you refuse me ten thousand times,’ Jardir said, ‘I will ask ten thousand more. Come, there is still time. I am Shar’Dama Ka, and can marry us with a wave of my hand. Wed me now, in secret. Your mother and Abban can bear witness and sign the contracts. No one else need know until we deem otherwise, but we would know.’

Abban. Inevera’s lip curled. He was wrapped up in this, making his own plays for power and Jardir’s ear. He would need to be dealt with, as well.

‘Ask me ten thousand times, or twenty thousand,’ Leesha said, ‘the answer is still no. You have enough wives.’

‘I will deny them all my bed,’ Jardir said, and Inevera bristled. ‘All save Inevera,’ he amended, and she found her breath again, still stunned at his foolishness. It was said Sharum could not haggle, and Jardir was Sharum to his bones.

‘So I would only have to share you with one other woman instead of fourteen?’ Leesha asked.

‘You share me now,’ Jardir growled, and Inevera bit her lip at the sound of their renewed kissing.

‘We are alone, Ahmann,’ Leesha said, and Jardir gasped in pleasure. ‘For the next few hours, I am not sharing you with anyone.’

‘Damajah!’ Melan cried. ‘Your hands!’

Inevera looked down and saw blood running from her clenched fists. Her long painted nails were sharp, and had cut hard into the heels of her hands. Numb, she hadn’t even realized it. Even now, they seemed someone else’s hands as Melan and Asavi took them, carefully cleaning and bandaging the wounds.

How had it come to this? How had she failed Ahmann, that he shamed her so? She had seen him trained and educated before the Sharum could beat the potential from him or see him killed in waste. She had handed him a unified Krasia, and given him the tools to drive the alagai all the way back to Nie’s abyss. She had given him four sons and three daughters, and selected Jiwah Sen to keep his bed warm and provide him with yet more children.

‘Perhaps I should have selected Northern whores for him to slake his lust for white skin upon,’ she muttered.

‘Men are predictable creatures,’ Melan said.

‘The first thing they do when they overpower something is hump it like a dog,’ Asavi agreed. ‘Many of the Sharum are developing a taste for pale skin.’

Still lovers after all these years, Melan and Asavi shared quarters and were always at each other’s side. They had no personal interest in men beyond their seed, and had long since used the dice to choose a father for their daughter heirs, both doing the deed in one night and never seeing him again.

But for all their bias, the words rang true enough, and Inevera should have anticipated it. Now, because she hadn’t, her husband was bewitched by an infidel whore in the perfumed chamber where they had lain so many times.

Already Leesha’s whispered advice had begun to change Ahmann, making him rethink centuries of culture and tradition. Some of his resulting decrees were innocuous enough, but others were dangerous, alienating his own people for the sake of Northern sensibilities, forgetting they were meant to be his subjects, not allies.

They did not have years to treat with the chin. Sharak Ka was coming. In some ways, it had already begun.

7

Training

300 AR

Inevera always hated when her father brought Sharum to their home. She and her mother did all the cooking and serving while her father shouted and swatted at them, making a great show before his friends as they grew increasingly drunk and rowdy, playing Sharak with clay dice. Even before he took the black, Kasaad had forbidden Soli to do work of any kind. ‘You’re a warrior, my son, not some khaffit or woman!’

When she was younger, the men had ignored Inevera and leered at Manvah, but as she approached womanhood some of those leers had turned Inevera’s way. One Sharum, a disgusting man named Cemal, had even tried to paw at her.

But though he could not cook or carry, Soli was always there to protect. Cemal’s hand had barely begun to squeeze before her brother put a hard knee between the man’s legs and broke his nose.

Kasaad had laughed, mocking Cemal and congratulating his son, but he hadn’t so much as glanced at Inevera to see if she was all right. Worse, he had continued to invite Cemal into their home, and did nothing to stop the leering. Inevera knew the Sharum were only waiting for Soli’s attention to lapse.