The Daylight War

‘City guards,’ Arlen said. ‘Used to bullying folk and maybe handing down a beating or two, but I doubt any of them ever so much as thrust a spear outside the practice yard before coming to the Hollow.’ He pointed. ‘And Prince Thamos looks to be the worst of the lot.’

Indeed, the man Arlen pointed to was clad as she imagined a prince might be, his steel armour gilded with golden wards and polished bright. He was tall and lean, powerfully built with a trim black beard lining a strong jaw.

But the prince shifted his feet, stretching his arms and rolling his head, trying vainly to limber muscles gone tense. Renna could smell his fear from across the clearing, and she knew the demons could scent it, too.

It was clear the Cutters had relegated the Wooden Soldiers to the back of the fray, given the specious duty of guarding the women, who seemed neither to want nor to need such protection.

Years ago, Renna’s father had asked Brine Broadshoulders and some of the other Cutters in Tibbet’s Brook to help clear some land for planting. Renna and Beni had watched the men work for hours, systematically felling trees, hauling off the wood, and tearing free the roots. Every movement smooth and practised, letting the weight of the tools power their swings, wasting no energy.

It was much like that to see the Hollow Cutters fight. They still carried the tools of their trade, now warded, and put them to work with brutal efficiency.

Two men wielding great long axes took turns hacking at the legs of a wood demon. It was tall and thin, with tremendous reach, but whenever it went after one man, the other came at it from the opposite side. When the demon’s strikes came in too close, the men would catch them on their warded bracers, deflecting the blows with flares of magic. Finally, one of the axes took the demon in the back of the knee, and the limb buckled.

‘Samm!’ one of the axe-wielders called, and a third Cutter came up behind the demon, putting a giant boot into its back and knocking it facedown, his full weight holding it prone. The man carried a great, two-handed saw, and he bent to the task, sawing through the thick barklike armour of its neck in a shower of magical sparks and spraying ichor. In seconds the head fell free.

‘Night,’ Renna whispered.

Arlen smiled and nodded. ‘That’s Samm Cutter, but everyone calls him Samm Saw. Used to cut the limbs from trees the Cutters felled so they could be hauled off. Hundreds a day. Now he cuts off demon limbs just as quick.’

Another call came, and Samm turned to a Cutter who swung a heavy axe mattock, chopping at a wood demon. Each warded blow knocked the demon back a step, unable to recover its balance, but the demon showed no sign of real damage, healing as fast as the blows could come. Samm came in behind the demon, sawing through one of its trunklike legs while the demon still stood. It collapsed with a shriek, and the Cutter shouted thanks as he raised his mattock to finish it off.

Across the clearing, a dozen Cutters hauled on ropes looped around the rock demon’s arms and shoulders, thrown this way and that as the coreling thrashed. Two women with crank bows fired repeatedly, the heavy bolts sticking from the obsidian carapace like porcupine quills, but they seemed to do little beyond provoke the rock demon’s rage.

Three men and a boy stood by the scene, two younger men with small but heavy mallets, and the third, older, with a heavy sledge. The boy held a thick metal wedge.

‘Tomm Wedge and his sons,’ Arlen pointed. ‘Watch.’

The rock demon set its feet to pull on the ropes, and the younger men darted in, jamming warded spikes into the gap in the armour plates at the demon’s knees. Almost simultaneously, they struck with their mallets, once, twice, sending showers of magical sparks as they drove the spikes in.

The demon shrieked and staggered, teetering as the Cutters threw their full weight onto the ropes to bring it down. Its thrashing tail caught one cluster of men, knocking three of them to the ground, their rope flying free. The sudden release sent the demon staggering in the other direction, and it soon lost balance and fell.

Quick as a rabbit the boy was up on the rock demon’s back, planting the warded metal wedge into a gap where the plates met on the demon’s armoured back. Tomm Wedge went into action, swinging his hammer in a smooth arc to come down on the wedge with a thunderclap of magic. The flare was so bright Renna blinked, and when she opened her eyes the demon collapsed from the blow’s rebound and lay still.

Practised. Efficient. No wasted energy.

‘It’s eerie,’ Renna said. ‘They might as well be felling trees.’

Arlen nodded. ‘Wasn’t time to make weapons or train folk to fight that first night. Had to ward whatever was at hand, and the Cutters gave me the most precious things they owned – their tools. More and more folk join the fight every day now and are handed mass-produced spears, but the best of them can’t keep up with the Cutters. Using their old tools marks them. Sets them apart. Folk step lightly when they’re about, and spin ale stories about them when they’re not.’

‘All because they were fortunate enough to meet Arlen Bales on a bad day,’ Renna said. ‘Like me.’ Arlen looked at her, but she held up a hand to check him. ‘Don’t think you’re the Deliverer any more’n you do, but you can’t deny you’ve a knack for showing folk their spines,’ she touched her knife hilt again, ‘and teeth.’

Arlen grunted. ‘Everyone’s got a knack for something, I guess.’

‘Doesn’t hurt that the Hollowers are so big you’d have to jump to kiss them, as my sister used to say,’ Renna noted.

‘Didn’t all start that way,’ Arlen said. ‘Magic’s played its part. Sun may burn it off come morning, but not before it affects whatever it touches. Warded weapons don’t tend to break or dull, and the Cutters have been soaking magic up nightly for nigh a year. Old ones get younger, and young ones grow into their full before their time.’

He pointed. ‘See that one with the salt-and-pepper hair?’

Renna looked where he was pointing and saw a man with arms and legs bunched with thick-veined muscle, standing toe-to-toe with a seven-foot wood demon. She nodded.

‘Name’s Yon Gray,’ Arlen said, ‘and he’s the oldest man in the Hollow. Hair was stark white a year ago. Needed a stick to even walk crooked, and his hands shook.’

‘Honest word?’ Renna asked.

Arlen nodded, pointing again, this time to a huge man in the prime of his life, charging in behind the demon while Yon kept its attention. ‘Linder Cutter. Ent no more’n fifteen years old.’

One of the wood demons struck one of the huge men a backhand blow that lifted him from the ground and threw him back several feet. He landed with a heavy thump, his axe mattock flying from his grasp. Renna saw no blood, but the prone man had no time to rise as the demon charged.

Her knife was in her hand in an instant, but Arlen took hold of her shoulder as she started to move. She snapped a glare at him, but he only inclined his head back at the scene. Renna looked and saw an enormous wolfhound leap on the demon’s back, bearing it down as the dog’s huge jaws tore loose a chunk of the demon’s rough, knobbed armour, sinking into the soft flesh beneath.

The man had recovered by then, and buried his mattock in the coreling’s skull with a wet thwack. The dog looked up at him with its muzzle wet with black demon ichor, glowing bright with magic to Renna’s warded eyes. It was the biggest dog Renna had ever seen, five hundred pounds at least, with gnarled charcoal fur and claws so great they couldn’t fully retract. It growled at the Cutter, but he only laughed and gave it a scratch behind the ears. He whistled as he ran back into battle, and the dog licked the ichor from its teeth and followed.

‘Creator,’ Renna said. ‘It’s as big as a nightwolf.’

‘Didn’t used to be,’ Arlen said, ‘but it’s been eating demon. Corespawned dog’s bigger every time I see it.’

‘That how nightwolves grew so big in the first place?’ Renna asked.

‘Reckon,’ Arlen said.

An eight-foot-tall wood demon got past the Cutters in the heat of battle and came at the Wooden Soldiers. The men shrieked, forgetting their spears entirely to lock their warded shields together. They were pushed back by the rebound as the wards flared, stumbling into the women they were supposed to be guarding. One soldier lost his feet completely, taking down two women with loaded crank bows in the tumble. Another soldier screamed as one of the bows went off and the bolt took him in the back of the thigh, punching right through his lacquered armour.

The wood demon had barely lost balance when the attack was deflected, and moved for the gap with frightening speed.

Prince Thamos gave a shout, throwing off his fear as he leapt to interpose himself. With one swipe of his arm, he caught the demon’s claws with his shield, sending them skittering off trailing sparks of magic as he followed through with a thrust of his short, stabbing spear into the demon’s belly. Renna could see the magic that pumped up the weapon into the prince’s arm, filling him with power.

It was a masterfully executed attack, but Thamos’ blow had struck no vital area, and after a shocked instant the demon recovered and swung its branchlike arms at him again. Thamos ducked the first blow and caught the next on his shield, never letting go of his spear as he tried vainly to pull it free of the demon’s thick, barklike armour. The piercing wards on the speartip had broken through easily enough, but there was nothing to aid him pulling it back out.

‘Bad warding for such a nice spear,’ Arlen noted. ‘He’s smart, he’ll let go and let the women handle it.’ Indeed, several women held crank bows at the ready, and would have fired had the prince not been in their way.

But Thamos surprised them. He gave a roar and, still holding on to the shaft of the spear, raised his armoured boot and kicked repeatedly at the coreling’s midsection. Impact wards flared on his boot heel, and the demon was bashed and battered as the prince hammered it off his spear and knocked it onto its back. He was on it in an instant, stabbing his newly freed spear right into the coreling’s heart.

The prince put a foot on the demon’s chest for leverage as he tore the weapon free in a spray of ichor, turning with a shout to assist a pair of Cutters in their own battle. He growled as he put his spear into the back of the demon they faced, pressing in so close the wards on his armour flared.

The frightened man Renna had seen was gone, the prince screaming like a madman as he ran about the clearing, fighting with abandon and little regard for his own safety.

There was a shriek, and Renna turned to see a wood demon bury its talons into a Cutter’s chest. The man knocked the demon back a step with a weak blow from his axe, but the weapon fell from his fingers as he collapsed to the ground.

Renna tensed, but Arlen was already off and running. She followed on swift feet, but neither of them would be there in time as the demon moved in for the kill.

She saw a sudden blur and felt a familiar dizziness as a slender girl appeared, throwing back the folds of a warded cloak much like the one Renna wore. The girl was clad in bright motley – loose pantaloons and blouse, with a tight fitted vest. She was half the size of the Cutter who had fallen, and when she stepped in front of the great wood demon, it was like a house cat hissing at a nightwolf. Still, she stood boldly, meeting the demon’s gaze, and when it reached its claws for her, she raised a fiddle and put bow to string, sending out a series of discordant sounds.

The demon shrieked and swiped at her, but the girl leapt away, tumbling across the ground and coming back to her feet, never ceasing her playing. The demon put its clawed hands to its ears and shrieked again, stumbling back.

Another dizzying blur, and a large woman appeared behind the demon, unnoticed until she swung a heavy warded blade, severing one of its thin arms. The wound, coupled with the grating sounds of the fiddle, proved too much for the demon and it fled the scene, coming right at Arlen and Renna. Arlen barely paused, catching the coreling by one of its horns and pulling it close as he drew a heat ward on its chest. He spun the demon aside, and it blazed into a ball of bright shrieking flames as he rushed to the wounded Cutter.

Both women’s eyes flared at the sight of Arlen running their way, recognition mixed with shock and more than a little fear. The one who had severed the demon’s arm shook her surprise away first.

‘’Bout time you got back,’ she said, kneeling at the injured man’s side and pulling implements from a heavy pocketed apron to treat his wounds. The young girl continued to stare openmouthed at Arlen.

Arlen’s mouth twisted. ‘Good to see you again too, Darsy.’ He looked to the girl. ‘Mind on your music, Kendall.’ He pointed his chin at her fiddle before kneeling beside the Herb Gatherer. Kendall straightened, bringing up her fiddle and scanning the area for other threats.

The Cutter gave a racking cough, blood splattering Arlen’s face, and fell still. Arlen paid it no mind, holding the man steady as Darsy examined his wounds.

‘Night,’ she whispered. Three deep gashes ran from his breast to hip, and there was blood everywhere. ‘Ent nothing we can do.’

‘Demonshit,’ Arlen said, grabbing the first gash and pinching it closed with one hand as he drew a series of wards in the air with the other. A soft glow surrounded them as he worked, Darsy and girl staring dumbfounded as the fatal wounds knitted closed.

The man suddenly pulled in a deep gasp of air, followed by a round of coughing as he attempted to rise. Arlen put a hand on his chest and held him back down. He opened his eyes, looking up at Arlen. ‘You come back,’ he croaked.

Arlen smiled. ‘Course I came back, Jow Cutter.’

‘They said you abandoned us,’ Jow whispered, ‘but I never lost faith.’

Arlen’s mouth tightened, but he bent and lifted the man like a child, carrying him to the safety of the warded circle. There was a Tender there, an older man with a beard the grey of a rain cloud. Over his plain brown robes he wore a thick surplice emblazoned with wards of protection surrounding the crooked staff symbol of his order. The man caught sight of Arlen and his eyes widened, but he came in quickly with an acolyte by his side, taking Jow and bringing him to a warded tent, its flaps bearing the Tenders’ staff. His eyes never left Arlen as they went, and he reappeared from the tent moments later carrying a staff of polished goldwood carved with wards, watching from the safety of the circle.

The battle was dying down now, and the prince, who had leapt from fray to fray, suddenly found himself without an opponent. He looked around frantically, panting, but when there was no threat to be found he gave a great shudder, suddenly leaning heavily on his spear. His men were by his side in an instant, crowding around him and blocking him from sight. Renna could make out the sound of his retching from within the ring of armoured backs.

‘Always like this,’ Darsy said. ‘There’s no one fiercer than the count when his blood is up, but it’s slow to rise, and drops like a falling tree.’

‘Ent nothin’ to be ashamed of,’ Arlen said. ‘Felt that way myself plenty of times. Fact he’s out in the night at all says a lot …’ He paused. ‘Count?’

Darsy nodded. ‘Came with a fancy royal decree naming him “Lord of Cutter’s Hollow and All of Its Environs”, along with a train of carts a mile long. Soldiers, too. More than a thousand, with bowmen aplenty, to fortify against the Krasians. They already started building him a fort. Folk were so thankful for the food and blankets they didn’t argue, especially with you and Leesha gone off to Creator knows where.’

‘So you just handed him the Hollow?’ Arlen asked.

‘Din’t have a lot of choice,’ Darsy said. ‘But it ent been so bad. Thamos mostly lets folk who know their business go to, and none can deny the aid he’s brought, or the hope he’s given to folk who ent got naught else.’

The fighting was over, but Renna could still see Arlen’s training as the Cutters went through the clearing methodically, confirming their kills. Demons healed magically fast, and even against warded weapons they could recover in minutes from anything short of death or dismemberment. More than one seeming-dead demon lying in the field shrieked when the Cutters approached, slashing at them or trying to escape. These were quickly pinned, thrashing wildly as the Cutters began cutting at the thick armoured ridges around their necks. Taking the head of even a small wood demon took a few strokes of the axe, and even Samm Saw had to put his back into the task.

Renna came to stand by Arlen and the women, eyeing their dizzying warded cloaks.

‘You warded their cloaks, too?’ she asked Arlen, dreading his answer.

Darsy turned suddenly, noticing Renna for the first time, particularly the state of her dress, or lack thereof. She glanced at Renna’s shoulders, and her nostrils flared. She grabbed the edge of Renna’s cloak and held it up so she could see it better in the light, then turned to Arlen with a look of indignation and put a meaty finger in his face.

‘You gave your Cloak of Unsight away?! Do you know how Mistress Leesha slaved over it? More than her own! You didn’t even thank her, and ent worn it once! Now you just piss it away—’

‘Ay, you stupid cow!’ Renna shouted, snatching the edge of her cloak back and moving to interpose herself between the two of them. ‘Don’t you talk to him like that!’

‘Or what?’ Darsy demanded, looming over Renna and bending so their noses practically touched. ‘This doesn’t concern you, girl, so shut your mouth or you’ll go over my knee.’

Darsy might have been a Herb Gatherer, but Renna knew a fighter when she saw one. She was more than a head taller than Renna and had a heavy frame, packed muscle and not fat. She wore the same floppy pantaloons as the other fighting women, and her heavy warded knife curved inward like a scythe. It would serve equally in hewing thick herb stalks or the limbs of a demon. Its handle was well worn.

But none of that seemed to matter as Renna grabbed her by the throat and began to squeeze. Darsy struggled, her mannishly thick hands pulling at Renna’s arm, but she might as well have been pulling at a bar of steel. She swung a heavy fist, but Renna diverted the blow easily, locking on to Darsy’s wrist and yanking her arm straight, using the limb to increase her leverage. Darsy went red in the face, the veins in her neck distending.

‘That’s enough, Ren!’ Arlen snapped, grabbing her arms. He squeezed hard, and both her grips lost strength. He pulled her aside as easily as a cat that had jumped on the counter to sniff the butchering block.

‘She started the fire,’ Renna growled, struggling against his iron grip much as Darsy had against hers. ‘You saw.’

‘Ay,’ Arlen agreed quietly. ‘She did. But that ent call to kill someone. Or were they right to try and stake you back in the Brook?’

Like he’d dumped a cold bucket on her head, Renna stopped struggling immediately. He was right, of course. Few would deny that Harl Tanner got what was coming to him when Renna stabbed him with his own knife, but this Darsy Cutter was no Harl.

Still, a part of her screamed for the woman’s blood. Renna breathed deeply, embracing the feeling and letting it pass. Arlen felt her relax and let her go immediately.

‘You all right?’ he asked Darsy, who was gasping and rubbing her throat.

‘Fine,’ Darsy croaked.

Arlen nodded, a sharp gesture. ‘Then keep to mind that what I do with my own property ent any of your corespawned business. Don’t think Leesha would care to hear you gossipmongering over her relations, either.’

‘Ay,’ Darsy coughed. ‘Think maybe you’re right at that.’ She turned to Renna. ‘My mum tried to beat some manners into me, but she never managed the task.’

Renna grunted. ‘Guess I wasn’t quite neighbourly, myself.’

The girl cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to her. She was perhaps seventeen summers and pretty, but up close Renna saw thick scars coming up over the neckline of her blouse. She had been near death once. Very near. And she could charm corelings with her music. Renna might have doubted Arlen’s stories about the red-haired Jongleur, but this she had seen with her own eyes.

Arlen smiled and bowed to the girl. ‘Your fiddling’s gotten better, Kendall. Looks like Rojer’s been working you and the other apprentices hard.’

Kendall looked at the ground, and there was a sadness in her eyes.

‘Rojer’s been gone for months,’ Darsy said, her voice still hoarse, but getting stronger. ‘Went to Rizon with Mistress Leesha. And the rest of his apprentices are more interested in playing reels than fighting demons.’ She gave Kendall a gentle punch on the shoulder. ‘But not our little fiddle witch. Worth a dozen men with spears, she is.’ Kendall kept her eyes down, but Renna could see her pale skin flush, and a thin smile crept onto her lips.

‘How long’s Leesha been gone?’ Arlen asked.

‘Left with the Krasians going on two months ago,’ Darsy said.

Arlen grunted. ‘It true, then? Jardir came to the Hollow and stole her away?’

‘After a fashion,’ Darsy said.

Arlen’s brow drew tight. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Darsy took a deep breath and looked at him. ‘He’s asked her to marry him.’

Arlen’s eyes bulged, and his jaw dropped. It was only a split second before the look dropped from his face, but it had been there, clear as day. Even the aura of magic surrounding him changed noticeably, its surface crackling and popping like green wood in a fire.

Renna had never seen anything take Arlen by surprise, and wasn’t sure how to read it. Past Leesha Paper might be, but she still had power over him.

Arlen leaned forward, his face utterly serene, but his eyes intense. ‘You telling me Leesha’s gone to marry Ahmann Jardir? That lyin’, rapin’, murderin’ son of the Core? That what you’re fixing to tell me, Darsy Cutter?’ His low voice grew louder as he spoke. Not loud, but louder. Again, Renna saw the ambient magic in the area rush to him, his wards beginning to glow. Darsy drew back from him as one might from a hissing rattlesnake.

‘She ent said yes!’ Darsy practically shouted. ‘And she ent playing the fool. Said it was an excuse to see what he’s done to the south. To count his troops and learn his ways. Didn’t go alone, either. Took Rojer, Gared, Wonda, and her parents to watch over her.’

‘Don’t matter,’ Arlen said. ‘The fact she went at all, and took her da, tells the Krasians Erny’s put her to market and is just waiting for the right price.’

Darsy scowled. ‘How dare you! Mistress Leesha ent some cow to buy and sell!’

‘To them she is!’ Arlen snapped. ‘Krasians don’t treat women as free folk. Don’t matter if they’re a duchess or a milkmaid, women are just property to those people, bought and sold. And no one outbids Ahmann Corespawned Jardir when he sets his mind on a prize, Darsy Cutter. No. One.’

Darsy deflated, the fight gone out of her, and she nodded. ‘Told her it was stupid to go, but she wouldn’t listen. Stubborn as a coreling.’ A pained look crossed her face, as if admitting fault in her precious mistress hurt her. Renna spat on the ground. Darsy flinched, but made no comment.

‘Don’t think she’s in danger just yet, anyway,’ she said. ‘I’ve gotten regular letters from her, and the codes all say she and the others are well. Say one thing for the Krasians, they make excellent Messengers.’

‘Codes?’ Arlen asked.

‘Said she wasn’t playing the fool,’ Darsy said, daring to meet his eyes at last. ‘Mistress Leesha figured the Krasians would read her letters, but she gave me phrases and words to memorize so she could let me know how things stood even if they were forcing her hand. So far, Jardir seems to be keeping his word, but she says his army is spread out over all Rizon, and their numbers are impossible to count. She specifically asked that we not mention you, but she left a code to signal your return.’