The Daylight War

Arlen could tell Thamos grated at that, and he smiled. The count was flawed as any man, but he had been a good leader to the Hollow. The prince was a skilled warrior when his courage was roused, but he would be more trouble than he was worth as a scout. There would be battle enough for him if a charge of his heavy horse was required.

‘Good luck,’ Leesha said. As hard as she was for him to read, he could see in Leesha, too, a fierce desire to come with them. She was unafraid, and thought herself better suited than most to assess the situation at the border. She was right, but her skills at healing were worth far more this night. He was ready to argue with her – for all the good it would do. When Leesha Paper decided to do a thing, all the Core couldn’t stop her.

But the argument never came. Whatever her heart wanted, Leesha knew she was of better use readying the hospit and waiting to see where the fighting was thickest.

Rojer stepped up next. ‘Still sure you don’t need me to come along?’ His voice had the same steel he used when playing the part of Marko Rover, the legendary fearless traveller. It sounded to all involved that this had been an ongoing argument between them over the last week, though in truth this was the first time they had spoken of it.

Arlen met Rojer’s eyes and shrugged, giving no sign that he saw the show for what it was. ‘Come if you want, but there ent much point. No telling which patrol will find something. Best you stay here and wait for the signal. Expect there’ll be plenty to keep us all busy soon enough.’

The signal was some of Leesha’s best flamework, given to each of the patrols. Rockets that would shriek and put a bright streak in the night sky, leading the reserves to where they were needed. The rockets were specially coloured and marked to dictate the size of the threat and if there were wounded in need.

But then Rojer surprised him. ‘No, I’ll come. Dancer’s carried the both of us before.’

Amanvah put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Husband …’

‘The jiwah will be silent!’ Rojer kept his back to the women, but turned his head halfway, addressing them in periphery in the manner Krasian men often did to remind women of their place. Arlen blinked, shocked at how quickly the Jongleur had assimilated their culture. ‘You will both wait here with the others while I join the patrol.’

Disciplined though they were, the women could not hide the flare of indignation in their scents at being spoken to like common dal’ting. Rojer’s scent said he knew he would pay for the words, but he was still just reciting lines.

Amanvah turned to Enkido, her fingers a blur. Arlen knew something of Krasian hand codes from his time in the Maze, but this was much more complex. Where Sharum used a few quick commands, Amanvah seemed to be having a whole conversation. The big eunuch occasionally gave the sign for nie, attempting to refuse, but Amanvah was insistent. At last, the eunuch bowed and walked over to Rojer. He knelt and put his head to the ground, then stood, the act of a warrior swearing his life to protect his kai’Sharum.

But Rojer shook his head. ‘The Damajah tasked you with protecting her blood, Enkido. You will stay with my wives.’

‘Kaval, then,’ Amanvah said through gritted teeth.

Rojer laughed, but it, too, was a calculated thing. ‘After he tried to kill me? Not a chance. I can take care of myself. Besides,’ he held up his fiddle, ‘if I get into trouble, you’ll know.’

Arlen had noted the connection before, like a sparkling thread in the air connecting the fiddle’s chinrest to one of Amanvah’s earrings. Once the sun set, she would hear whatever was spoken near Rojer, and apparently he knew it. Interesting.

Arlen leapt astride Twilight Dancer and held down a hand. Rojer took it, and he easily lifted the Jongleur up behind him.

Amanvah stepped forward, holding out a mask made from coloured silk stitched to match the shifting tones of his motley. There were mind wards embroidered into the silk, as well as those for wardsight.

‘It was to be a Waning gift,’ Amanvah said, ‘to help keep our honoured husband safe. Wear it always.’ Her scent was honest. Whatever motivations the Krasian women might have – and Arlen knew they had many – there could be no doubt they loved him.

As Rojer tied on the silk mask, his Jongleur’s mask slipped. ‘Was I supposed to get you something?’

Amanvah shook her head. ‘Wives give Waning gifts to their husband. His gift is to come home alive, honour and spear intact.’

Arlen could smell Rojer’s fear, but his Jongleur’s mask was back in place. He laughed, grabbing at his crotch. ‘Ay, I’ll keep it safe.’

Amanvah was not amused. She sniffed and turned on her heel, storming off with Sikvah and Enkido in tow. Rojer stared after them. Arlen turned Twilight Dancer sharply, whipping his eyes away as he led the group down the road.

‘You can apologize when you get back,’ he said, too low for the others to hear. ‘Ent nothing gonna hurt you with two Bales and Gared Cutter beside you.’

Rojer glanced at Gared, and something passed between them. Gared smelled angry and Rojer ashamed.

Wonderful, Arlen thought, and kicked Twilight Dancer’s flanks, leading the group to the border at a gallop.

‘Why here?’ Renna asked, as they rode into the borough of Newhaven.

Less than a month ago, Arlen and Renna had found the Cutters clearing this land of demons. Now the newest district of Hollow County held some twelve hundred settlers, most of them Rizonans who had gone north past the Hollow when they first fled the Krasians, hoping for succour in Angiers. They had found no welcome there – the city already choked with refugees and refusing entry to more.

When Prince Thamos rode south to take control of the Hollow, followed by hundreds of soldiers, carts laden with supplies, and herds of livestock, hundreds had packed up and followed. Some even left the crowded city and hamlets, hoping for a better life in the Hollow.

‘I was going to attack the Hollow, this is where I’d do it,’ Arlen said.

There were a few partially constructed homes, but the men and women of Newhaven had focused most of their labour building streets, walls, and fences to form its greatward – the last in the net surrounding Hollow County. Each greatward was a forbidding independent of the others, but when they linked their power was shared, allowing those boroughs under direct assault to Draw from those that were still safe, particularly the powerful greatward of Cutter’s Hollow, nestled protectively at the centre of the net.

The greatward had only come alive the past night. The Haveners cheered when the first demons tested it and were thrown back, folk dancing in the glowing streets.

Arlen knew it was a fragile thing. The greatward of Cutter’s Hollow was formed by cobbled streets, poured crete, thick stands of ancient trees, large buildings, and a diverted stream that formed a small lake. Newhaven’s greatward was formed by roads of packed soil, thick bushes, wooden fences, and freshly planted farmland. Partial buildings, walls of piled stone, dirt ramparts, and a few old stands of trees added strength to the ward, but it would be scant protection if the demons set fires to burn the wood away and hurled a few heavy stones at key structures. Even a small force of corelings led by a mind could penetrate the greatward and come pouring into the streets of Newhaven.

‘Maybe they know it,’ Renna said. ‘Maybe they’re counting on you being here while they strike the opposite side of the county.’