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‘Since when do I need an escort to walk down the street to Town Square?’ Selia gave Lesa the look. Her wrinkles might have smoothed away, but her grey hair still carried weight in the Brook.
‘Ay, Speaker.’ Lesa wiped her mouth and left without another word.
You’ll pay for that later. Selia let out a breath of relief when the door closed behind the girl. Another moment successfully stolen. How many more would they have?
Her appetite lost, Selia set the cookies aside and took out her writing kit, continuing a series of letters to kin in Fort Miln. There hadn’t been a Messenger for over a year, but sooner or later one would come, and her father taught her better than to be unprepared.
After an hour she packed the fresh cookies and went to the stable where Butter, her spirited gelding, waited. Her father’s old Messenger armour was stowed in the saddlebags she slung from Butter’s back. The Smiths removed some plates and shifted others, hammering until it all fit her, but the smell of oil, steel, and old sweaty leather still reminded Selia of Edwar. There was comfort knowing the same metal that succoured her father on his journeys now protected her.
His shield was goldwood covered in a layer of fine Milnese steel, defensive wards still strong after decades of use and fifty years above the mantel. Only his spear hung there now, the fine weapon no match for the one Arlen Bales gifted her.
Selia led her horse down the road to Town Square. She was thankful for her discretion when she saw Tender Harral, Meada Boggin and Coline Trigg already waiting in the square with the militias. It would not have done for so many to see her arrive with Lesa.
Meada’s son Lucik was with them, along with his wife Beni, and nearly a dozen men and women from Boggin’s Hill. Their round shields had two concentric rings of wards, with a frothing mug of ale painted at their centre. The Boggins wore boiled armour with wards burned into the leather, and kept their warded spears close to hand.
The change magic wrought on Selia was more pronounced, but any fool could see the power at work here, too. Folk she’d known their whole lives were changing in noticeable ways. Tender Harral’s armour was hung from an acolyte’s horse, but he kept spear and Canon close. Muscles strained the sleeves of his once-loose robe.
Meada’s grey hair was streaked with brown. She led the Boggin militia in clearing the demons from Boggin’s Hill, but had since given her spear to her son. Lucik was always a strapping boy, but he’d added fifty pounds of muscle in recent months. A quiet lad, he was fierce when fighting corelings.
‘Speaker.’ Lucik dropped his eyes when he noticed Selia’s gaze. Fierce in battle, yes, but still loyal as a pup.
‘Good boy.’ She resisted the urge to scratch him behind the ears.
Meada snorted as Lucik’s ears coloured. ‘Good to see you, Speaker.’
‘And you, Meada. Sorry I ent been up the hill recently.’ As she spoke, Selia’s eyes scanned the assembled Square militia, mounted five wide and five deep. Twenty-five of her best fighters to keep the peace and stand guard when the sun set. The wards on their wooden shields were a perfect square, a map of Tibbet’s Brook painted in the centre of its succour.
‘Don’t think on it,’ Meada said. ‘Creator knows you’ve been busy clearing corelings out of town, and it’s got everyone feeling sunnier.’
‘Credit for that goes to a lot of folk, you and your son included.’ Selia spotted Lesa in her assigned place in the second row of the formation – close enough to see, but far enough to mask any hint of favouritism. Normally Lesa would meet her eyes and give Selia a private smile, but today the girl had her eyes studiously forward.
She was still upset.
Perhaps that’s best, while the council meets.
‘Brine sent word not to wait on the Cutters,’ Harral said. ‘They’ll come in their own time. Hog left at dawn with a dozen store security.’
Selia harrumphed. ‘Store security’ Hog called them, but they were fast becoming his personal army. The Square militia was all volunteers, men and women with normal day lives, coming out to fight for their town when the sun set. Most made and warded their own weapons and equipment, with varying degrees of quality.
Hog’s store security all wore armour of thick leather, studded with warded silver. Their matching spears were of the finest quality, etched expertly with wards. The three concentric ward circles on their steel-covered shields had in their centre a painting of the original General Store Hog built when he first came to Tibbet’s Brook.
Store security pulled their weight in town, keeping the square clear of demons and aiding the militia in culling corelings from valuable land, but there was no illusion about whom they answered to.
‘Let’s not waste time, then.’ Selia mounted and they set off north.
Jeph’s farm was already bustling when they arrived. Hog’s pavilion was set, his thick-armed daughters, Dasy and Catrin, selling food and ale. Security was still unloading carts, and Hog himself carried a keg in each arm.
‘Night,’ Coline said. ‘He looks thirty again.’
Hog had always been robust, but he carried more than sixty winters, and in recent years it had begun to show. But, as with Selia, the seasons had melted away with the lines on his face. His hair and beard were coal-black, any last vestiges of grey trimmed away. Thick curls grew on his crown where not long ago there had been bare skin.
‘It’s unnatural,’ Coline said. Harral grunted in agreement. Even Meada was nodding.
Selia turned to them, raising an eyebrow.
‘That’s different and you know it, Speaker,’ Coline said. ‘You’re out every night, riskin’ your life to keep folk safe. Ent the same as payin’ store security to drag you a chained-up demon every Fifthday to suck on like a skeeter.’
‘Ay, maybe,’ Selia said. ‘But Hog’s always pulled his weight with this town. I’d have run him out for a cheat long ago if he hadn’t.’
‘Ay,’ Meada agreed. ‘But don’t forget he voted Renna Tanner into the night because he thought it was better for business.’
Coline dropped her eyes, losing bluster. For, of course, she had voted Renna out, too. No one, not even Selia, had entirely forgiven her for it.
‘Creator plans our trials as well as our triumphs,’ Harral cut in. ‘Could be He put Hog here to cast that vote. Might be that’s what brought the Deliverer to heal our divisions.’
‘If that Messenger was the Deliverer I’ll eat my cookie crock,’ Selia said. ‘Didn’t heal a corespawned thing. Brook’s more divided than ever.’
‘That, too, is the Creator’s plan,’ Harral said. ‘Brook’s been evening a long while. Might be it needed to get dark before the dawn.’
Selia wrinkled her nose. ‘Can’t know the Creator’s plan, my da used to say, but we do know He’s not going to come down from Heaven to carry the mail.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Coline asked.
‘Means we own our problems.’ Selia locked eyes with the Herb Gatherer. ‘And our choices.’
Coline flinched and dropped her eyes. ‘Ay, Speaker.’
Jeph Bales was showing off his new greatward like a prize pig at the summer Solstice festival. Bales’ property was one massive ward of protection now, formed by fences, shrubs, hedges, stone paths, and curve-roofed storage sheds, not to mention the barley fields, manicured from the straight rows of their original planting. Simple shapes flowed seamlessly into one another, creating something altogether more complex. Folk walked around eyes agog as they waited for a turn to climb the watchtower to see the greatward from above.
Jeph broke away from a group of guests when he noticed Selia arrive. ‘Speaker.’
‘You’re a Speaker now too, Jeph Bales,’ Selia reminded him. ‘You can call me Selia.’
Jeph shook his head. ‘Ent ready for that. Not looking to lead this town.’
‘Ready or not, Jeph Bales, that’s what you’re doing. There’s more to leading than fancy words. Folk need an example, and you’ve impressed everyone with this monstrosity you’ve built.’
‘Wait till sunset,’ Jeph said.
There was a shout, and they saw Mack Pasture storming away from Hog, who had his arms crossed. Behind him, two store security guards loomed.
Mack headed their way and Selia sighed. Pasture had become a thorn in everyone’s side since he was voted off the council as Speaker for the farms in favour of Jeph.
‘Everything all right, Pasture?’ Selia called.
‘No, it corespawned ent!’ Mack cried. ‘Hog won’t sell me a warded spear on credit.’
‘Could have had your own,’ Jeph said, ‘you’d had the stones to stand when the Messenger came.’ There was no divide in town deeper than those who wanted to protect Renna Tanner and those who voted her into the night.
‘Din’t need it,’ Mack snapped, ‘till Hog bought the old Tanner farm and sent store security to sweep the property. Sent all the corelings runnin’ my way, scarin’ the cattle and apt to overload the wards. And now he won’t so much as rent me a spear.’
Selia pursed her lips. She had little more sympathy for Mack than Jeph, but her father’s advice sounded in her head.
Town Speaker speaks for everyone, not just the folk they like.
‘I’ll have the militia out tomorrow night to start clearing your property,’ Selia promised.
Next to arrive was Brine Broadshoulders with his adopted son Manie Cutter. Selia remembered the boy, shivering at her table the night corelings breached the wards of the Cluster by the Woods in 319 AR. Manie was a man grown now, tall and heavily muscled, with a warded axe mattock strapped to his back. He and his father led a score of giant Cutters onto Jeph’s property.
It was afternoon before the Fishers made their way up the road. Raddock Lawry, their Speaker, was older than Selia, his thick beard stark white, face deep with crags.
Raddock’s eyes widened when he saw Selia. She’d shed decades since he saw her last, now looking much as she had when Raddock tried to court her, fifty years ago. ‘Guess it shouldn’t surprise me you’ve exploited the unnatural too, Selia.’
Selia felt a flash of anger. ‘I’ve done nothing but stand up for this town when you and yours were too stubborn.’
So much for speaking for everyone. Anger came easily where Raddock was concerned.
‘Punishing Fishers is how you stand up for the town, Speaker?’ Garric Fisher was not so old, taller than Selia and half again her weight. He leaned in, trying to intimidate, but Selia hadn’t scared easily when she was old and her bones ached. She sure as the Core didn’t now.
‘Ent punishing anyone.’ Selia’s eyes flicked over his stance, deciding how best to put him on the ground without breaking anything. ‘Been sending militia to keep Fishing Hole safe, like we agreed.’
‘Ay, for the Duke’s tithe worth of fish!’ Raddock growled. ‘While your militia bullies and robs us.’
Selia blinked. ‘Come again?’
‘Drunk on demon magic and looking down on regular folk,’ Raddock said. ‘Garric’s got Boggins pissing on his fence and leaving demonshit on his doorstep. Other night, someone staked a coreling in my yard. Turned into a rippin’ bonfire when the sun came up.’
None of this was surprising. The Fishers had turned Tibbet’s Brook on its head last year, and a lot of folk resented them for it. Raddock wasn’t wrong about what magic did to folk, whetting emotions already sharp.
She blew a breath through her nostrils. ‘Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Raddock. I’ll put a stop to that nonsense straight away.’
‘Stopping it ent enough, Selia,’ Raddock said. ‘Want to see some punishment. Stam Tailor had Maddy Fisher below decks in her father’s boat!’
Selia clenched a fist, imagining she was squeezing Stam’s throat. ‘Girl wasn’t willing?’
‘Don’t matter!’ Raddock snapped. ‘She’s thirty summers his junior! It’s an abomination.’
Selia’s eyes flicked to Lesa, and this time the girl met the look proudly. She stood with the rest of the Square militia, all of them ready to pounce if the Fishers got out of hand. Raddock caught the glance, taking in the militia with a scowl. The Fishers brought a dozen men with them, but both sides knew they were no match for warriors who killed demons each night.
‘Maddy’s got nineteen summers, Raddock,’ Selia said. ‘Ent for you to say who she should be kissing.’
‘What about her da?’ Raddock demanded. ‘Tried to break it up and Stam blacked his eye.’
Selia pursed her lips. ‘I’ll have a talk with Stam and get to the bottom of it. If it’s like you say, he’ll make it right.’
‘Needs more than talk, Selia,’ Raddock said. ‘Law calls for a whippin’ in the square.’
Selia shook her head. ‘Last time we tied someone up in the square, whole town turned upside down. We’re better than that.’
‘Always an excuse why Fishers don’t get justice,’ Raddock sneered. ‘Ent even botherin’ to pretend the town council means spit any more.’
‘No one’s saying that,’ Selia said. ‘But we don’t take every dispute to the council, Raddock. Might be this can settle if Stam apologizes, does right by Maddy, and makes some fresh sails for Fishing Hole.’
‘Don’t want rippin’ sails,’ Raddock growled.
‘Of course not,’ Selia said. ‘All you ever want is blood, Raddock. Ent changed in fifty years.’
Raddock’s face tightened, wrinkles becoming fissures on the craggy landscape. ‘Don’t want blood, Selia. All I ever want is respect, but that’s always been too much to ask.’
Not for the first time, Selia’s hand itched to punch him in the mouth. After all he’d done when they were young. How dare he?
‘Fisher’s got a point, Selia.’
Selia turned to see Jeorje Watch had arrived with fifty armed Watchmen. They wore their traditional garb – bleached white shirts under suspendered black pants, tall black boots, black jackets and wide-brimmed hats. The jackets were bulkier than a year ago, sewn with plates of warded glass to absorb coreling blows. Their hats were likewise armoured, secured by heavy straps.
Coran Marsh was at Jeorje’s side, pushed in his wheeled chair by his eldest son Keven. Big as Lucik Boggin, Keven had been killing demons since the night the Messenger gave his father a spear, but though his body had failed, Coran’s mind remained sharp, and it was to him the Marshes answered.
It was more than a moon since Southwatch annexed Soggy Marsh, but it was still disturbing to see Marshes and Watches standing together. Combined, those boroughs counted nearly four hundred of the thousand or so folk who called the Brook home. A dozen Marsh militia marched with the Watches, carrying thin, warded fishing spears.
But it was Jeorje who led them. The oldest person in the Brook by two decades, Jeorje looked not a day over thirty. His thin wisps of white hair had been replaced with a thick mat of nut brown, his leathern skin smooth once more. His coat was off, the sleeves of his bleached white shirt rolled over meaty forearms. Thick muscled biceps and chest looked ready to split the seams.
He wore no armour, not even a hat, and carried no shield. The cane he used to stomp to make a point was like a sceptre now, covered in intricate warding, with a sheathed speartip at the narrow end. Selia had watched Jeorje beat corelings to death with that cane.
Selia fixed him with the look, though it never affected Jeorje the way it did others. ‘Ent one to talk, Jeorje. Hear tell you just married Mena Watch last month. Girl ent seen twenty summers.’
‘Married, Selia,’ Jeorje said. ‘I don’t dishonour women’s families by luring them into fornication.’
‘Just into your harem,’ Selia quipped. ‘Mena is your … sixth?’
‘Seventh.’ There was pride in Jeorje’s voice. ‘A holy number. And my wife Trena arranged the match with Mena’s family personally. I didn’t lure her in secret and steal her virtue.’
‘Only bought it from her da,’ Selia muttered.
Jeorje ignored the words. ‘Stam Tailor has ever been a burden on this town, given to drink and poor choices.’
Jeorje might be a hypocrite, but he was not without a point. Plenty of folk liked getting drunk on festival days or at night after the wards were checked, but Stam was seldom sober, and someone was always cleaning his mess, one way or the other. He’d taken the rush of magic over drink, but addiction was addiction.
A burden on this town. It wasn’t the first time Selia heard Jeorje use those words, and it always led to the same place.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Council’s all here now. Send someone to fetch Maddy and I’ll send for Stam. We’ll hear their case and vote tonight.’
It was an empty promise. Hog and Coline were still paying for their votes against Renna Tanner, and Mack had been replaced by Jeph. With those votes turned, the council would never support the Fishers’ calls for blood again.
Selia saw a fleeting smile twitch Jeorje’s lips, and she realized he had never wanted the vote. He wanted to be seen supporting the Fishers when she was against.
‘You need not depend on Town Square for protection from corespawn,’ Jeorje told Raddock. ‘Southwatch can offer better.’
Selia flexed her knuckles. Adding Fishing Hole would only give Jeorje three council votes out of ten, but half the Brook’s population would answer to him. If that happened, the council really would become obsolete, and Selia would be lucky to avoid being staked in the square herself.