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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.’
‘Tell her,’ Arlen said, ‘and tell her that she needs to get back to the Hollow right quick. Got news that can’t wait and you ent got codes for it.’
‘You’ll get no argument from me,’ Darsy said. ‘Creator never meant me to be town Gatherer.’
‘It’s hard times, Darsy Cutter, and you got to shoulder what burdens come to you,’ Arlen said. ‘Something bad’s coming with the new moon. Something to make Jardir look like a horsefly buzzing in our ear.’
Darsy’s face grew pale. ‘What is it?’
Arlen ignored the question. ‘Who’s been speaking for the Cutters with Gared gone?’
‘Who else?’ Darsy asked. ‘The Butchers. Even the new count knew better than to mess with those wards. Gave them royal commissions, but he’s yet to ask them to do anything they weren’t already meaning to do themselves.’
There was a great bark, and a heavy shape bright with magic charged at Arlen. Renna drew her knife, but Arlen simply knelt and opened his arms as the massive wolfhound bowled him over. His laughter was infectious as the beast began to lick his face.
‘Still ent taught this mongrel to heel, Evin Cutter?’ Arlen asked its master as he approached.
‘Shadow heels when he wants to, and no time other,’ Evin replied. ‘Good to have you back, sir.’
‘How’re Brianne and the boys?’ Arlen asked, prising the giant dog back.
‘Boys’re shootin’ up like weeds,’ Evin said. ‘Callen will be a Cutter himself soon, and Brianne’s got another one growin’ in her belly. Been prayin’ on a girl this time around.’ He looked at Arlen expectantly.
Arlen sighed. ‘Babe is what it is, Evin. Ent convinced there’s a Creator at all, much less one that takes my messages. Just hope if it’s a girl she gets her looks from her mam.’
Everyone looked at him in shock, as if unable to believe Arlen had made a joke, but then Evin barked a laugh, and the others joined in, the tension broken.
Darsy cleared her throat, catching Arlen’s eye and nodding to the killing field where Renna saw the count heading their way. He was wiping at his mouth with a silk kerchief, but his stride was determined. At his back were two fighters, a man and a woman.
‘Dug and Merrem Butcher,’ Arlen murmured to Renna. ‘Used to be real butchers, till the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow.’
The Butchers were both heavyset, with thick arms crisscrossed with scars and burns on their faces. Dug was bald and sweaty, wearing a thick leather butcher’s apron reinforced with underplating and spattered with demon ichor. Like Darsy, Merrem wore loose pantaloons that gave the appearance of skirts. Her leather corset was armoured like Dug’s apron and equally ichor-splattered. Either one of them looked strong enough to toss a cow. The heavy cleavers on their belts were little different from the one Harl used when he slaughtered a hog, but these were heavily warded, and Renna doubted they’d been used for butchering in some time.
They walked proudly, like Speakers on the way to town council. The rest of the Cutters drifted in their wake, covered in blood, sweat, and demon ichor, glowing fiercely with magic. All of them towered over Renna, giving her the feeling they were standing in a ring of trees. They whispered excitedly among themselves, pointing at Arlen and drawing wards in the air. By way of contrast, the Wooden Soldiers quickly fell into neat lines at the count’s back, backs straight and spears in hand, ready to kill for their prince at a moment’s notice.
Count Thamos was not as tall as the Hollowers, but he more than made up for it in his bright armour, polished and glowing powerfully with magic.
‘No one in the Hollow has forgotten what you’ve done,’ Darsy said quickly, before the count was in earshot. ‘The Cutters will go where the Painted Man tells them and nowhere else.’
Arlen nodded. ‘This “Painted Man” business is the first thing I mean to clear up.’
Thamos stopped a respectful distance from Arlen and stood haughtily while a smaller man Renna had not noticed appeared before him. The man wore armour and kept a short spear strapped to his back, but he did not have the look of a fighter. Both weapon and armour looked more ornamental than functional. His hands were smooth, likely more used to a quill than a spear. His tabard was embroidered with two emblems, a throne overgrown with ivy and a wooden soldier. He bowed.
‘May I present His Highness Count Thamos of Cutter’s Hollow, Marshal of the Wooden Soldiers, brother to Duke Rhinebeck of Angiers, and Lord of all the lands and peoples between the River Angiers and the southern border.’
Thamos looked at Arlen, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. Renna knew nothing of courtly manners, but she knew a rub when she saw one. She smiled, eager to watch Arlen break the man.
But to her surprise, Arlen bowed deeply. ‘Count Thamos,’ he said loudly, so all could hear. ‘Thank you for bringing aid and succour to the refugees suffering on your lands. You honour the Hollow by standing with the Cutters in the night.’
Thamos’ eyes narrowed, as if waiting for the hook, but Arlen only bowed again. ‘We were never properly introduced,’ he said, looking up to take in Darsy, the Butchers, and all the crowd. ‘Ent been introduced to any of you, really. I’m Arlen Bales, out of Tibbet’s Brook.’
Utter silence fell over the crowd at the words. Renna looked around and saw everyone holding their breath, waiting on his next words.
The silence only lasted a few seconds, though it seemed far longer. Then everyone began talking at once, a cacophony too great to make out the words of any one person. Even the Wooden Soldiers began to chatter in the ranks.
Thamos glanced to Dug Butcher, who turned back to look at the crowd. ‘Shut it!’ he barked, cutting through the din. ‘This ent some Jongleur’s show!’ Immediately, the noise died down to a few mutterings, but Renna could see folk biting their tongues. It wouldn’t last long.
Thamos pursed his lips, digesting Arlen’s words. ‘Tibbet’s Brook,’ he grunted. ‘So you’re Milnese, after all. Beholden to Euchor.’ He spat the name as if it were poison.
Arlen shrugged. ‘Lines on a map may say so, but truer is Euchor never gave a rip about Tibbet’s Brook, and the folk there returned the favour. I grew up in the Brook, ay, but I’m my own man.’ He met the count’s eyes. ‘Euchor no more tells me what to do than you.’
Thamos squinted and they locked stares. The count had killed several demons in the battle, and he and his armour glowed fiercely with Core magic. Renna could see the halo around him pulse with his breath, and knew the count would be inhumanly fast. Incredibly strong. And that the magic was screaming at him to attack.
She might have been concerned, but for all his power, the count was facing Arlen Bales. The tattoos on his skin were glowing fiercely now. Renna did not know if it was intentional, but the effect it had on the crowd was clear. Many of the Cutters began murmuring and drawing wards in the air.
