The Painted Man shifted, and she realized she had tightened her hands around his waist, pressing close to him with her head resting on his shoulder. She pulled away, so caught up in her embarrassment that she almost didn't see the hand, lying in the scrub at the side of the road.

When she did, she screamed.

The Painted Man pulled up, and Leesha practically fell off the horse, rushing to the spot. She brushed the weeds aside, gasping as she realized the hand wasn't attached to anything, bitten clean off.

'Leesha, what is it?' Rojer cried, as he and the Painted Man ran to her.

'Were they camped near here?' Leesha asked, holding up the appendage. The Painted Man nodded. 'Take me there,' Leesha ordered.

'Leesha, what good could...' Rojer began, but she ignored him, keeping her eyes locked on the Painted Man.

'Take. Me. There.' she said. The Painted Man nodded, putting down a stake and tying the mare's reins to it.

'Guard,' he said to Twilight Dancer, and the stallion nickered and nodded its great head.

They found the camp soon after, awash in blood and half-eaten bodies. Leesha lifted her apron to cover her mouth against the stench. Rojer retched and ran from the clearing.

But Leesha was no stranger to blood. 'Only two,' she said, examining the remains.

The Painted Man nodded. 'The mute is missing,' he said. 'The giant.'

'Yes,' Leesha said. 'And the circle as well.'

'The circle, as well,' the Painted Man agreed after a moment.

The heavy clouds continued to gather as they made their way back to the horses. 'There's a Messenger cave ten miles up the road,' the Painted Man said. 'If we press hard and skip lunch, we should make it there before the rain comes. We'll have to take refuge until the storm passes.'

'The man who kills corelings with his bare hands is afraid of a little rain?' Leesha asked.

'If the cloud is thick enough, corelings might rise early,' the Painted Man said.

'Since when are you afraid of corelings?' Leesha pressed. 'It's stupid and dangerous to fight in the rain,' the Painted Man said.  'Rain makes mud, and mud obscures wards and ruins footing.'

They were barely settled in the cave before the storm struck. Drenching sheets of rain turned the road to mud and the sky went dark, save for the sharp strikes of lightning. The wind howled at them, punctuated by roaring thunder.

Much of the cave mouth was warded already, symbols of power etched deeply into the rock, and the Painted Man quickly secured the rest with a cache of wardstones left within.

As the Painted Man predicted, a few demons rose early in the false dark. He watched grimly as they crept out from the darkest parts of the wood, relishing their early release from the Core. The brief flashes of light outlined their sinuous forms as they frolicked in the wet.

They tried to break into the cave, but the wards held strong. Those that ventured too close regretted it, greeted with a jab from the scowling Painted Man's spear.

'Why are you so angry?' Leesha asked, drawing bowls and spoons from her bag as Rojer worked to light a small fire.

'Bad enough they come at night,' the Painted Man spat. 'They've no right to the day.'

Leesha shook her head. 'You'd be happier if you could accept what is,' she advised.

'I don't want to be happy,' he replied.

'Everyone wants to be happy,' Leesha scoffed. 'Where's the cookpot?' she asked.

'In my bag,' Rojer said. 'I'll get it.'

'No need,' Leesha said, rising. 'Mind the fire. I'll fetch it.'

'No!' Rojer cried, but even as he leapt to his feet, he saw he was too late. Leesha drew forth his portable circle with a gasp.

'But...' she stammered, 'they took this!' She looked at Rojer, and saw his eyes flick to the Painted Man. She turned to him, but could read nothing in the shadows of his cowl.

'Is someone going to explain?' she demanded.

'We... got it back,' Rojer said lamely.

'I know you got it back!' Leesha shouted, whipping the coil of rope and wooden plates to the cave floor. 'How?'

'I took it when I took the horse,' the Painted Man said suddenly. 'I didn't want it on your conscience, so I kept it from you.'

'You stole it?'

'They stole it,' the Painted Man said. 'I took it back.'

Leesha looked at him for a long time. 'You took it at night,' she said quietly.

The Painted Man said nothing.

'Were they using it?' Leesha demanded through gritted teeth.

'The road is dangerous enough without such men,' the Painted Man replied.

'You murdered them,' Leesha said, her eyes filling with tears. 'How could you?'

'I murdered no one,' the Painted Man said. 'As good as!'

The man shrugged. 'They did the same to you.' 'That makes it right?' Leesha cried. 'Look at you! You don't even care! Two men dead at least, and you sleep no worse! You're a monster!' She sprang at him, trying to beat him with her fists, but he caught her wrists, and watched impassively as she struggled with him.

'Why do you care?' he asked.

'I'm an Herb Gatherer!' she screamed. 'I've taken an oath! I've sworn to heal, but you,' she looked at him coldly, 'all you're sworn to do is kill.'

After a moment, the fight left her and she pulled away. 'You mock what I am,' she said, slumping down and staring at the cave floor for several minutes. Then she looked up at Rojer. 'You said 'we',' she accused.

'What?' the Jongleur asked, trying to appear confused. 'Before,' she clarified. 'You said 'we got it back'. And the circle was in your bag. Did you go with him?'

'I...' Rojer stalled.

'Don't you lie to me, Rojer!' Leesha growled.

Rojer's eyes dropped to the floor. After a moment, he nodded.

'He was telling the truth before,' Rojer admitted. 'All he took was the horse. While they were distracted, I took the circle and vour herbs.'

'Why?' Leesha asked, her voice cracking slightly. The disappointment in her tone cut the young Jongleur like a knife.

'You know why,' Rojer replied sombrely.

'Why?' Leesha demanded again. 'For me? For my honour? Tell me, Rojer. Tell me you killed in my name!'

'They had to pay,' Rojer said tightly. 'They had to pay for what they did. It was unforgivable.'

Leesha laughed out loud, though there was no humour in the sound. 'Don't you think I know that?' she shouted. 'Do you think I saved myself for twenty-seven years to give my flower to a gang of thugs?'

Silence hung in the cave for a long moment. A peal of thunder cut the air.

'Saved yourself...' Rojer echoed.

'Yes, damn you!' Leesha shrieked, angry tears streaking her face. 'I was a virgin! Does even that justify giving men to the corelings?'

'Giving?' the Painted Man echoed.

Leesha whirled on him. 'Of course, giving!' she shouted. 'I'm sure your friends the demons were overjoyed at your little present. Nothing pleases them more than having humans to kill. With so few of us left, we're a rare treat!'

The Painted Man's eyes widened, reflecting the firelight. It was a more human expression than Leesha had ever seen on his face, and the sight made her momentarily forget her anger. He looked utterly terrified, and backed away from them, all the way to the cave mouth.

Just then, a coreling threw itself against the wardnet, filling the cave with a flash of silver light. The Painted Man whirled and screamed at the demon, a sound unlike anything Leesha had ever heard, but one she recognized all the same. It was a vocalization of what she had felt inside when she had been pinned, that terrible evening on the road.

The Painted Man snatched up one of his spears, hurling it out into the rain. There was an explosion of magic as it struck the demon, blasting it into the mud.

'Damn you!' the Painted Man roared, ripping off his robes and leaping out into the downpour. 'I swore I would give you nothing! Nothing at all!' He pounced on a wood demon from behind, crushing it to him. The massive ward on his chest flared, and the coreling burst into flame, despite the pouring rain. He kicked away as the creature flailed about.

'Fight me!' the Painted Man demanded of the others, planting his feet in the mud. Corelings leapt to oblige, slashing and biting, but the man fought like a demon himself, and they were flung away like autumn leaves against the wind.

From the rear of the cave, Twilight Dancer whinnied and pulled at his hobble, trained to fight by his master's side. Rojer moved to calm the animal, looking to Leesha in confusion.

'He can't fight them all,' Leesha said.  'Not in the mud.' Already, many of the man's wards were splattered with muck. 'He means to die,' she realized. 'What should we do?' Rojer asked. 'Your fiddle!' Leesha cried. 'Drive them away!' Rojer shook his head. 'The wind and thunder would drown me out,' he said.

'We can't just let him kill himself!' Leesha screamed at him.

'You're right,' Rojer agreed. He strode over to the Painted Man's weapons, taking a light spear and the warded shield. Realizing what he meant to do, Leesha moved to stop him, but he stepped out of the cave before she could reach him, rushing to the Painted Man's side.

A flame demon spat fire at Rojer, but it fizzled in the rain and fell short. The coreling leapt at him, but he lifted the warded shield and the creature was deflected. His concentration in front, he didn't see the other flame demon behind him until it was too late. The coreling sprang, but the Painted Man snatched the three-foot tall demon right out of the air, hurling it away, its flesh sizzling at his touch.

'Get inside!' the man ordered.

'Not without you!' Rojer shot back. His red hair was soaked and matted to his face, and he squinted in the wind and pelting rain, but he faced the Painted Man squarely, not backing down an inch.

Two wood demons leapt for them, but the Painted Man dropped to the mud, sweeping Rojer's legs from under him. The slashing claws missed as the Jongleur fell, and the Painted Man's warded fists drove the creatures back. Other corelings were gathering, though, attracted by the flashes of light and the sounds of battle. Too many to fight.

The Painted Man looked at Rojer, lying in the mud, and the madness left his eyes. He held out a hand, and the Jongleur took it. The two of them darted back into the cave.

'I'm still angry with you,' Leesha said, not meeting his eyes. 'You lied to me.'

'I didn't,' Rojer disagreed.

'You kept things from me,' Leesha said. 'It's no different.'

Rojer looked at her for a time. 'Why did you leave Cutter's Hollow?' he asked.

'What?' Leesha asked. 'Don't change the subject.'

'If these people mean so much to you that you're willing to risk anything, endure, anything, to get home,' Rojer pressed, 'why did you leave?'

'My studies...' Leesha began.

Rojer shook his head. 'I know something about running away from problems, Leesha,,' he said, 'there's more to it than that.'

'I don't see that it's any of your business,' Leesha said.

'Then why am I waiting out a rainstorm in a cave surrounded by corelings in the middle of nowhere?' Rojer asked.

Leesha looked at him for long moments, then sighed, her will for the fight fading. 'I suppose you'll be hearing about it soon enough,' Leesha said. 'The people of Cutter's Hollow have never been very good at keeping secrets.'

She told them everything. She didn't mean to, but the cold and damp cave became a Tender's confessional of sorts, and once she began, the words overflowed; her mother, Gared, the rumours, her flight to Bruna, her life as an outcast. The Painted Man leaned forward and opened his mouth at the mention of Bruna's liquid demonfire, but he closed it again and sat back, choosing not to interrupt.

'So that's it,' Leesha said. 'I'd hoped to stay in Angiers, but it seems the Creator has another plan.'

'You deserve better,' the Painted Man said. Leesha nodded, looking at him. 'Why did you go out there?' she asked quietly, pointing her chin towards the cave mouth.

The Painted Man slumped, staring at his knees. 'I broke a promise,' he said.

'That's all?'

He looked up at her, and for once, she didn't see the tattoos lining his face, only his eyes, piercing her. 'I swore I would never give them anything,' he said. 'Not even to save my own life. But instead, I've given them everything that made me human.'

'You didn't give them anything,' Rojer said. 'I was the one that took the circle.' Leesha's hands tightened on her bowl, but she said nothing.

The Painted Man shook his head. 'I facilitated it,' he said. 'I knew how you felt. Giving them to you was the same as giving them to the corelings.'

'They would have continued to prey on the road,' Rojer said. 'The world is better without them.'

The Painted Man nodded. 'But that's no excuse for giving them to demons,' he said. 'I could as easily have taken the circle, killed them even, face to face, in the light of day.'

'So you went out there tonight out of guilt,' Leesha said. 'Why all the times before? Why this war on corelings?'

'If you haven't noticed,' the Painted Man replied, 'the corelings have been at war with us for centuries. Is it so wrong to take the fight to them?'

'You think yourself the Deliverer, then?' Leesha asked.

The Painted Man scowled. 'Waiting for the Deliverer has left humanity crippled for three hundred years,' he said. 'He's a myth. He's not coming, and it's time people saw that and began standing up for themselves.'

'Myths have power,' Rojer said. 'Don't be so quick to dismiss them.'

'Since when are you a man of faith?' Leesha asked.

'I believe in hope,' Rojer said. 'I've been a Jongleur all my life, and if I've learned one thing in twenty three years, it's that the stories people cry for, the ones that stay with them, are the ones that offer hope.'

'Twenty,' Leesha said suddenly.

'What were you thinking?' Leesha demanded, tying off the last of the bandages. 'Both of you!'

Rojer and the Painted Man, bundled in blankets by the fire, said nothing as she berated them. After a time, she trailed off, preparing a hot broth with herbs and vegetables and handing it to them wordlessly.

'Thank you,' Rojer said quietly, the first words he has spoken since returning to the cave.

'What?'

'You told me you were twenty.'

'Did I?'

'You're not even that, are you?' she asked.

'I am!' Rojer insisted.

'I'm not stupid, Rojer,' Leesha said. 'I've not known you three months, and you've grown an inch in that time. No twenty-year old does that. What are you? Sixteen?'

'Seventeen,' Rojer snarled. He threw down his bowl, spilling the remaining broth. 'Does that please you? You were right to tell Jizell you were nearly old enough to be my mother.'

Leesha stared at him. She opened her mouth to say something sharp, but closed it again. 'I'm sorry,' she said instead.

'And you, Painted Man?' Rojer asked, turning to him. 'Will you add 'too young' to your list of reasons why I shouldn't travel with you?'

'I became a Messenger at seventeen,' the man replied, 'and I was travelling much younger than that.'

'And how old is the Painted Man?' Rojer asked.

'The Painted Man was born in the Krasian desert, four summers ago,' he replied.

'And the man beneath the paint?' Leesha asked. 'How old was he when he died?'

'It doesn't matter how many years he had,' the Painted Man said. 'He was a stupid, naive child, with dreams too big for his own good.'

'Is that why he had to die?' Leesha asked.

'He was killed. And yes.'

'What was his name?' Leesha asked quietly.

The Painted Man was quiet a long time. 'Arlen,' he said finally. 'His name was Arlen.'

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

29

In the Pre-dawn Light

332 AR

 

 

 

 

When the Painted Man awoke, the storm had broken temporarily, but grey clouds hung heavy in the sky, promising more rain to come. He looked into the cave, his warded eyes easily piercing the dark, and made out the two horses and the sleeping Jongleur. Leesha, however, was missing.

It was early still; the false light before true sunrise. Most of the corelings had likely fled to the core long since, but with the heavy cloud, one could never be sure. He rose to his feet, tearing away the bandages Leesha had tied the night before. The wounds were all healed.

The Herb Gatherer's path was easy to follow in the thick muck, and he found her not far off, kneeling on the ground picking herbs. Her skirts were hiked up far above her knee to keep them from the mud, and the sight of her smooth white thighs made his face flush. She was beautiful in the pre-dawn light.

'You shouldn't be out here,' he said. 'The sun's not yet risen. It's not safe.'

Leesha looked at him, and smiled. 'Are you to lecture me on putting myself in danger?' she asked with a raised eyebrow. 'Besides,' she went on when he made no reply, 'what demon could harm me with you here?'

The Painted Man shrugged, squatting beside her. 'Tampweed?' he asked.

Leesha nodded, holding up the rough-leafed plant with thick, clustered buds. 'Smoked from a pipe, it relaxes the muscles, inducing a feeling of euphoria. Combined with skyflower, I can use it to brew a sleeping potion strong enough to put down an angry lion.'

'Would that work on a demon?' the Painted Man asked.

Leesha frowned. 'Don't you ever think of anything else?' she asked.

The Painted Man looked hurt. 'Don't presume to know me,' he said. 'I kill corelings, yes, and because of that, I have seen places no living man remembers. Shall I recite poetry I've translated from ancient Rusk? Paint for you the murals of Anoch Sun? Tell you of machines from the old world that could do the work of twenty men?'

Leesha laid a hand on his arm, and he fell silent. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I was wrong to judge. I know something of the weight of guarding the knowledge of the old world.'

'It's no hurt,' the Painted Man said. 'I've grown used to being judged.'

'That doesn't make it all right,' Leesha said. 'To answer your question, I honestly don't know. Corelings eat and shit, so it reasons they can be drugged. My mentor said the Herb Gatherers of old took great tolls in the Demon War.

'I have some skyflower,' Leesha went on. 'I can brew the potion when we get to Cutter's Hollow, if you like.'

The Painted Man nodded eagerly. 'Can you brew me something else, as well?' he asked.

Leesha sighed. 'I wondered when you would ask that,' she said. 'But I won't make you liquid demonfire.'

'Why not?' the Painted Man asked.

'Because men cannot be trusted with the secrets of fire,' Leesha said, turning to face him. 'If I give it to you, you will use it, even if it means setting half the world on fire.'

The Painted Man looked at her, and made no reply.

'And what do you need it for, anyway?' she asked. 'You already have powers beyond anything a few herbs and chemics can create.'

'I'm just a man...' he began, but Leesha cut him off.

'Demonshit,' she said. 'Your wounds heal in minutes, and you can run as fast as a horse all day without breathing hard. You throw wood demons around as if they were children, and you see in the dark as if it were broad day. You're not 'just' anything.'

The Painted Man smiled. 'There's no hiding from your eyes,' he said.

Something about the way he said it sent a thrill through Leesha. 'Were you always this way?' she asked.

He shook his head. 'It's the wards,' he said. 'Wards work by feedback. Do you know this word?'

Leesha nodded. 'It's in the books of old world science,' she said.

The Painted Man grunted. 'Corelings are creatures of magic,' he said. 'Defensive wards siphon off some of that magic, using it to form their barrier. The stronger the demon, the stronger the force that repels it. Offensive wards work the same way, weakening the corelings' armour even as it strengthens the blow. Inanimate objects cannot hold the charge long, and it dissipates. But somehow, every time I strike a demon, or one strikes me, I absorb a little of its strength.'

'I felt the tingle that first night, when I touched your skin,' Leesha said.

The Painted Man nodded. 'When I warded my flesh, it wasn't only my appearance that became... inhuman.'

Leesha shook her head, taking his face in her hands. 'Our bodies are not what make us human,' she whispered. 'You can take your humanity back, if only you wish it.' She leaned closer, and kissed him softly.

He stiffened at first, but the shock wore off, and suddenly he was kissing her back. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to him, her hands caressing the smoothness of his shaved head. She could not feel the wards, only his warmth, and his scars.

We both have scars, she thought. His are just laid bare to the world.

She leaned backwards, pulling him with her. 'We'll get muddy,' he warned.

'We're already muddy,' she said, falling onto her back with him on top of her.

Blood pounded in Leesha's ears as the Painted Man kissed her. She ran her hands over his hard muscles and opened her legs, grinding her hips into his.

Let this be my first time, she thought. Those men are dead and gone, and he can erase their mark from me, as well. I do this because I choose it, and for no other reason.

But she was afraid. Jizell was right, she thought. I never should have waited this long. I don't know what to do. Everyone thinks I know what to do and I don't and he's going to expect me to know because I'm an Herb Gatherer...

Oh, Creator, what if I can't please him? she worried. What if he tells someone?

She forced the thought from her head. He'll never tell. That's why it has to be him. It's meant to be him. He's just like me. An outsider. He's walked the same road.

She fumbled with his robes, untying the loincloth he wore beneath and releasing him. He groaned as she took him in her hand and pulled.

He knows I was a virgin, she reminded herself, hiking her skirts. He is hard and I am wet and what else is there to know?

'What if I get you with child?' he whispered.

'I hope you do,' she whispered back, taking him and pulling him inside her.

What else is there to know? she thought again, and her back arched in pleasure.

Shock hit the Painted Man as Leesha kissed him. It had only been moments since he admired her thighs, but he had never dreamed she might share the attraction. That any woman would.

He stiffened momentarily, paralyzed, but as always when he was in need, his body took over for him, wrapping her in a crushing embrace and returning the kiss hungrily.

How long since he had last been kissed? How long since that night he had walked Mery home and been told she could never be a Messenger's wife?

Leesha fumbled with his robes, and he knew that she meant to take things further than he had ever gone before. Fear gripped him, an unfamiliar feeling. He had no idea what to do; how to please a woman. Was she expecting him to have the experience she lacked? Was she counting that his skill in battle would translate here as well?

But perhaps it would, for even as his thoughts raced, his body continued of its own accord, acting on instincts ingrained into every living thing since the dawn of time. The same instincts that called him to fight.

But this wasn't some battle. This was something else.

Is she the one? the thought echoed in his head.

Why her, and not Renna? If he had been anyone other than who he was, he would have been married for almost fifteen years now, and have probably raised a host of children. Not for the first time, an image flashed in his mind of what Renna might look like now, in the full flower of her womanhood, his and his only.

Why her, and not Mery? Mery, whom he would have married, had she consented to be a Messenger's wife. He would have tied himself to Miln for love, just as Ragen had. He would have been better off if he had married Mery. He saw that now. Ragen was right. He had Elissa...

An image of Elissa flashed in his mind as he pulled the top of Leesha's dress down, exposing her soft breasts. That one time he'd seen Elissa free her breast to nurse Marya, and Arlen wished just for a moment that he could suckle there rather than the child. He had felt ashamed afterwards, but that image always remained fresh in his mind.

Was Leesha the one meant for him? Did such a thing exist? He would have scoffed at the notion an hour ago, but he looked at Leesha, so beautiful and so willing, so understanding of who he was. She would understand if he was clumsy; if he didn't know quite where to touch or how to stroke. A muddy bit of ground in the pre-dawn light was no fit marriage bed, but at the moment it seemed better than the feathered mattress in Ragen's manse.

But doubt niggled him.

It was one thing to risk himself in the night, he had nothing left to lose, no one left to mourn him. If he died, he would not fill so much as one tear bottle. But could he take those risks, if Leesha was waiting for him in safe succour? Would he give up the fight; become like his father? Become so accustomed to hiding that he could not stand up for his own?

Children need their father, he heard Elissa say.

'What if I get you with child?' he whispered between kisses, not knowing what he wanted her to say.

'I hope you do,' she whispered back.

She pulled at him, threatening to pull apart his entire world, but she was offering something more, and he grasped at it.

And then he was inside her, and he felt whole.

For a moment, there was nothing in the world but the pounding of blood and the slide of skin on skin; their bodies easily managing the task as soon as their minds let go. His robe was flung aside. Her dress was a crumple around her midsection. They squirmed and grunted in the mud without a thought to anything but one another.

Until the wood demon struck.

The coreling had stalked them quietly, drawn by their animal sounds. It knew dawn was close, the hated sun soon to rise, but the sight of so much naked flesh aroused its hunger, and it leapt, seeking to return to the Core with hot blood on its talons and fresh meat in its jaws.

The demon struck hard at the Painted Man's exposed back. The wards there flared, throwing the coreling back and slamming the lovers' heads together.

Agile and undeterred, the wood demon recovered quickly, coiling as it struck the ground and springing again. Leesha screamed, but the Painted Man twisted, grasping the leading talons in his warded hands. He pivoted, using the creature's own momentum to hurl it into the mud.

He did not hesitate, pulling away from Leesha and pressing the advantage. He was naked, but that meant nothing. He had been fighting naked since he first warded his flesh.

He spun a full circuit, driving his heel into the coreling's jaw. There was no flare of magic, his wards covered in mud, but with his enhanced strength, the demon might as well have been kicked by Twilight Dancer. It stumbled back, and the Painted Man roared and advanced, knowing full well the damage it could do if given a moment to recover.

The coreling was big for its breed, standing near to eight feet, and strength for strength, the Painted Man was overmatched. He punched and kicked and elbowed, but there was mud everywhere, and almost all his wards were broken. Barklike armour tore his skin, and his blows were to no lasting effect.

The coreling spun, whipping its tail into the Painted Man's stomach, blasting the breath from his body and throwing him down. Leesha screamed again, and the sound drew the demon's attention. With a shriek, it launched itself at her.

The Painted Man scrambled after the beast, grabbing its trailing ankle just before it could reach her. He pulled hard, tripping the demon, and they wrestled frantically in the mud. Finally, he managed to hook his leg under its armpit and around its throat, locking with his other leg as he squeezed. With both hands, he held one of its legs bent, preventing the demon from rising.

The coreling thrashed and clawed at him, but the Painted Man had leverage now, and the creature could not escape. They rolled about for long moments, locked together, before the sun finally crested the horizon and found a break in the clouds. The barklike skin began to smoke, and the demon thrashed harder. The Painted Man tightened his grip.

Just a few moments more...

But then something unexpected happened. The world around him seemed to grow misty; insubstantial. He felt a pull from deep below the ground, and he and the demon began to sink. A path opened to his senses, and the Core called to him. Horror and revulsion filled him as the coreling dragged him down. The demon was still solid in his grip, even if the rest of the world had become only a shadow. He looked up, and saw the precious sun fading away.

He grasped at the lifeline, releasing his leglock and pulling hard on the demon's leg, dragging it back up towards the light. The coreling struggled madly, but terror gave the Painted Man new strength, and with a soundless cry of determination, he hauled the creature back to the surface.

The sun was there to greet them, bright and blessed, and the Painted Man felt himself become solid again as the creature burst into flames. It clawed at the ground, but he held it fast.

When he finally released the charred husk, he was oozing blood everywhere. Leesha ran to him, but he pushed her away, still reeling in horror. What was he that he could find a path down into the Core? Had he become a coreling himself? What kind of monster would a child of his tainted seed turn out to be?

'You're hurt,' she objected, reaching for him again.

'I'll heal,' he said, pulling away. The gentle, loving voice he had used just minutes before had changed back to the cold monotone of the Painted Man. Indeed, many of his smaller cuts and scrapes were already crusting over.

'But...' Leesha protested, 'what about..?'

'I made my choice a long time ago, and I chose the night,' the Painted Man said. 'For a moment I thought I could take it back, but...' he shook his head. 'There's no going back now.'

He picked up his robe, heading for the small cold stream nearby to wash his wounds.

'Damn you!' Leesha cried at his back. 'Damn you and your mad obsession!'

30

Plague

332 AR

Rojer was still asleep when they returned. They changed their muddy clothes silently, backs to one another, and then Leesha shook Rojer awake while the Painted Man saddled the horses. They ate a cold breakfast in silence, and were on the road before the sun had risen far. Rojer rode behind Leesha on her mare, the Painted Man alone on his great stallion. The sky was heavy with cloud, promising more rain to come.

'Shouldn't we have passed a Messenger headed north by now?' Rojer asked.

'You're right,' Leesha realized. She looked up and down the road, worried.

The Painted Man shrugged. 'We'll reach Cutter's Hollow by high sun,' he said. 'I'll see you there, and be on my way.'

Leesha nodded. 'I think that's best,' she agreed.

'Just like that?' Rojer asked.

The Painted Man inclined his head. 'You were expecting more, Jongleur?'

'After all we've been through? Night, yes!' Rojer cried.

'Sorry to disappoint,' the Painted Man replied, 'but I've business to attend.'

'Creator forbid you go a night without killing something,' Leesha muttered.

'But what about what we discussed?' Rojer pressed. 'Me travelling with you?'

'Rojer!'Leesha cried.

'I've decided it's a bad idea,' the Painted Man told him. He glanced at Leesha. 'If your music can't kill demons, it's no use to me. I'm better off on my own.'

'I couldn't agree more,' Leesha put in. Rojer scowled at her, and her cheeks burned. He deserved better, she knew, but she could offer no comfort or explanation when it was taking all her strength to hold back tears.

She had known the Painted Man for what he was. As much as she'd hoped otherwise, she had known his heart might not stay open for long, that all they might have was a moment. But oh, she had wanted that moment! She had wanted to feel safe in his arms, and to feel him inside her. She stroked her belly absently. If he had seeded her and she had found herself with child, she would have cherished it, never questioning whom the father might be. But now... there were pomm leaves enough in her stores for what must be done.

They rode on in silence, the coldness between them palpable. Before long, they turned a bend and caught their first glimpse of Cutter's Hollow.

Even from a distance, they could see the village was a smoking ruin.

Rojer held on tightly as they bounced along the road. Leesha had kicked into a gallop upon the seeing the smoke, and the Painted Man followed suit. Even in the damp, fires still burned hungrily in Cutter's Hollow, casting billows of greasy black smoke into the air. The town was devastated, and again Rojer found himself  reliving the destruction of Riverbridge. Gasping for breath, he squeezed his secret pocket before remembering his talisman was broken and lost. The horse jerked, and he snapped his hand back to Leesha's waist to keep from being thrown.

Survivors could be seen wandering about like ants in the distance. 'Why aren't they fighting the fires?' Leesha asked, but Rojer merely held on, having no answer.

They pulled up as they reached the town, taking in the devastation numbly. 'Some of these have been burning for days,' the Painted Man noted, nodding towards the remains of once-cozy homes. Indeed, many of the buildings were charred ruins, barely smoking, and others still were cold ash. Smitt's tavern, the only building in town with two floors, had collapsed in on itself, some of the beams still ablaze, and other buildings were missing roofs or entire walls.

Leesha took in the smudged and tear-streaked faces as she rode deeper into town, recognizing every one. All were too occupied with their own grief to take notice of the small group as they passed. She bit her lip to keep from crying.

In the centre of town, the folk had collected the dead. Leesha's heart clenched at the sight; at least a hundred bodies, without even blankets to cover them. Poor Niklas. Saira and her mother. Tender Michel. Steave. Children she had never met, and elders she had known all her life. Some were burned, and others cored, but most had not a mark on them. Fluxed.

Mairy knelt by the pile, weeping over a small bundle. Leesha felt her throat close up, but somehow managed to get down from her horse and approach, laying a hand on Mairy's shoulder.

'Leesha?' Mairy asked in disbelief. A moment later she surged to her feet, wrapping the Herb Gatherer in a tight hug, sobbing uncontrollably.

'It's Elga,' Mairy cried, naming her youngest, a girl not yet two. 'She... she's gone!'

Leesha held her tightly, cooing soothing sounds as words failed her. Others were noticing her, but kept a respectful distance while Mairy poured out her grief.

'Leesha,' they whispered. 'Leesha's come. Thank the Creator.'

Finally, Mairy managed to collect herself, pulling back and lifting her smudged and filthy apron to daub at her tears.

'What's happened?' Leesha asked softly. Mairy looked at her, eyes wide, and tears filled them again. She trembled, unable to speak.

'Plague,' said a familiar voice, and Leesha turned to see Jona approaching, leaning heavily on a cane. His Tender's robes had been cut away from one leg, the lower half splinted and wrapped tight in bandages stained with blood. Leesha embraced him, glancing meaningfully at the leg.

'Broken tibia,' he said, waving his hand dismissively. 'Vika's seen to it.' His face grew dark. 'It was one of the last things she did, before she succumbed.'

Leesha's eye's widened. 'Vika's dead?' she asked in shock.

Jona shook his head. 'Not yet, at least, but the flux has got her, and the fever has her raving. It won't be long.' He looked around. 'It may not be long for any of us,' he said in a low voice meant for Leesha alone. 'I fear you've chosen an ill time for your homecoming, Leesha, but perhaps that too is the Creator's plan. Had you waited another day, there might not have been a home for you to come to.'

Leesha's eyes hardened. 'I don't want to hear any more nonsense like that!' she scolded. 'Where is Vika?' She turned a circle, taking in the small crowd. 'Creator, where is everyoneV

'The Holy House,' Jona said. 'The sick are all there. Those that have recovered, or been blessed not to fall prey at all, are out collecting the dead, or mourning them.'

'Then that's where we're going,' Leesha said, tucking herself under Jona's arm to support him as they walked. 'Now tell me what's happened. Everything.'

Jona nodded. His face was pale, his eyes hollow. He was damp with sweat, and had obviously lost a great deal of blood, suppressing his pain only with great concentration. Behind them, Rojer and the Painted Man followed silently, along with most of the other villagers who had seen Leesha's arrival.

'The plague started months ago,' Jona began, 'but Vika and Darsy thought said it was just a chill, and thought little of it. Some that caught it, the young and strong, mostly, recovered quickly, but others took to their beds for weeks, and some eventually passed. Still, it seemed a simple flux, until it began to strengthen. Healthy people began to take ill rapidly, reduced overnight to weakness and delirium.

'That was when the fires started,' he said. 'People collapsing in their homes with candles and lamps in hand, or too sick to see to their wards. With your father and most of the other Warders in sickbed, nets began to fail all over town, especially with all the smoke and ash in the air marring every ward in sight. We fought the fires as best we could, but more and more people fell to the sickness, and there weren't enough hands.

'Smitt collected the survivors in a few warded buildings as far from the fires as possible, hoping for safety in numbers, but that just spread the plague faster. Saira collapsed last night during the storm, knocking over an oil lamp and starting a fire that soon had the whole tavern ablaze. The people had to flee into the night...' he choked, and Leesha stroked his back, not needing to hear more. She could well imagine what had happened next.

The Holy House was the only building in Cutter's Hollow made wholly of stone, and had resisted the flaming ash in the air, standing in proud defiance of the ruins. Leesha passed through the great doors, and gasped in shock. The pews had been cleared, and almost every inch of floor covered in straw pallets with only the barest space between them. Perhaps two hundred people lay there groaning, many bathed in sweat and thrashing about as others, weak with sickness themselves, tried to restrain them. She saw

Smitt passed out on a pallet, and Vika not far off. Two more of Mairy's children, and others, so many others. But there was no sign of her father.

A woman looked up at them as they entered. She was prematurely grey and looked haggard and drawn, but Leesha knew her blocky frame instantly.

'Thank the Creator,' Darsy said, catching sight of her. Leesha let go of Jona, and moved quickly to speak with her. After several minutes, she returned to Jona.

'Does Bruna's hut still stand?' she asked.

Jona shrugged. 'So far as I know,' he said. 'No one has been there since she passed. Almost two weeks now.'

Leesha nodded. Bruna's hut was far from the village proper, shielded by rows of trees. It was doubtful the soot had broken its wards. 'I'll need to go there and get supplies,' she said, stepping back outside. It was beginning to rain again, the sky bleak and bereft of hope.

Rojer and the Painted Man were there, along with a cluster of villagers.

'It is you,' Brianne said, rushing up to embrace Leesha. Evin stood not far back, holding a young girl in his arms with Callen, grown tall though he was not yet ten, next to him.

Leesha returned the embrace warmly. 'Has anyone seen my father?' she asked.

'He's home, where you should be,' came a voice, and Leesha turned to see her mother approach, Gared at her heel. Leesha did not know whether to feel relief or dread at the sight.

'You come to check on everyone but your own family?' Elona demanded.

'Mum, I only just...' Leesha began, but her mother cut her off.

'Only this and only that!' Elona barked. 'Always a reason to turn your back on your blood when it suits you! Your poor father is finding death's succour, and I find you here...!'

'Who's with him?' Leesha interrupted.

'His apprentices,' Elona said.

Leesha nodded. 'Have them bring him here with the others,' she said.

'I'll do no such thing!' Elona cried. 'Take him from the comfort of a feathered bed for an infested straw pallet in a room rife with plague?' She grabbed Leesha's arm. 'You'll come see him now! You're his daughter!'

'Don't you think I know that?!' Leesha demanded, snatching her arm away. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she made no effort to brush them aside. 'Do you think I thought of anything else as I dropped everything and left Angiers? But he's not the only person in town, mother! I can't abandon everyone to tend one man, even if he is my father!'

'You're a fool if you think these people aren't dead already,' Elona said, drawing gasps from the crowd. She pointed to the stone walls of the Holy House. 'Will those wards hold back the corelings tonight?' she asked, drawing everyone's attention to the stone, blackened by smoke and ash. Indeed, there was barely a ward visible.

She drew close to Leesha, her voice lowering. 'Our house is far from the others,' she whispered. 'It may be the last warded home in all of Cutter's Hollow. It can't hold everyone, but it can save us, if you come home!'

Leesha slapped her full in the face. Elona was knocked into the mud, and sat there dumbfounded, pressing her hand to her reddening cheek. Gared looked ready to rush Leesha and carry her off, but she checked him with a cold glare.

'I'm not going to hide away and leave my friends to the corelings!' she shouted. 'We'll find a way to ward the Holy House, and make our stand here. Together! And if demons should dare come and try to take my children, I have secrets of fire that will burn them from this world!'

My children, Leesha thought, in the sudden silence that followed. Am I Bruna now, to think of them so? She looked

around, taking in the scared and sooty faces, not a one taking charge, and realized for the first time that as far as everyone was concerned, she was Bruna. She was Herb Gatherer for Cutter's Hollow now. Sometimes that meant bringing healing, and sometimes...

Sometimes it meant a dash of pepper in the eyes, or burning a wood demon in your yard.

The Painted Man came forward. People whispered at the sight of him, a robed and hooded spectre hardly noticed a moment before.

'Wood demons won't be all you face,' he said. 'Flame demons will delight in your fire, and wind demons soar above it. The razing of your town might even have called rock demons down from the hills. They will be waiting when the sun sets.'

'We're all going to die!' Ande cried, and Leesha felt panic building in the crowd.

'What do you care?!' she demanded of the Painted Man. 'You've kept your promise and seen us here! Get on your damned scary horse and be on your way! Leave us to our fate!'

But the Painted Man shook his head. 'I swore an oath to give the corelings nothing, and I won't break it again. I'll be damned to the Core myself before I give them Cutter's Hollow.'

He turned to the crowd, and pulled back his hood. There were gasps of shock and fear, and for a moment, the rising panic was arrested. The Painted Man seized on that moment. 'When the corelings come to the Holy House tonight, I will stand and fight!' he declared. There was a collective gasp, and a flare of recognition in many of the villagers' eyes. Even here, they had heard the tales of the tattooed man who killed demons.

'Will any of you stand with me?' he asked.

The men looked at each other doubtfully. Women took their arms, imploring them with their eyes not to say anything foolish.

'What can we do, 'cept get cored?' Ande called. 'Ent nothing that can kill a demon!'

'You're wrong,' the Painted Man said, and strode over to Twilight Dancer, pulling free a wrapped bundle. 'Even a rock demon can be killed,' he said, unwrapping a long, curved object and throwing it into the mud in front of the villagers.

It was three feet long from its wide broken base to its sharp point, smooth and coloured an ugly yellow-brown, like a rotten tooth. As the villagers stared open-mouthed, a weak ray of sun broke from the overcast sky, striking it. Even in the mud, the length began to smoke, sizzling away the fresh droplets of drizzle that struck it.

In a moment, the rock demon's horn burst into flame. 'Every demon can be killed!' the Painted Man cried, pulling a warded spear from Twilight Dancer and throwing it to stick in the burning horn. There wash a flash, and the horn exploded in a burst of sparks like a festival flamework.

'Merciful Creator,' Jona said, drawing a ward in the air. Many of the villagers followed suit.

The Painted Man crossed his arms. 'I can make weapons that bite the corelings,' he said, 'but they are worthless without arms to wield them, so I ask again, who will stand with me?'

There was a long moment of silence. Then, 'I will.' The Painted Man turned, surprised to see Rojer come and stand by his side.

'And I,' Yon Gray said, stepping forward. He leaned heavily on his cane, but there was hard determination in his eyes. 'More'n seventy years I've watched 'em come and take us, one by one. If tonight's t'be my last, then I'll spit in a coreling's eye 'afore the end.'

The other Hollowers stood dumbfounded, but then Gared stepped forward.

'Gared you idiot, what are you doing?' Elona demanded, grabbing his arm, but the giant cutter shrugged off her grip. He reached out tentatively and pulled the warded spear free from the

ground. He looked, looking hard at the wards running along its surface.

'My da was cored last night,' he said in a low, angry tone. He clutched the weapon and looked up at the Painted Man, showing his teeth. 'I aim t'take his due.'

His words spurred others. One by one and in groups, some of them in fear, some in anger, and many more in despair, the people of Cutter's Hollow rose up to meet the coming night.

'Fools,' Elona spat, and stormed off.

'You didn't need to do that,' Leesha said, her arms wrapped around the Painted Man's waist as Twilight Dancer raced up the road to Bruna's hut.

'What good is a mad obsession, if it doesn't help people?' he replied.

'I was angry this morning,' Leesha said. 'I didn't mean that.'

'You meant it,' the Painted Man assured her. 'And you weren't wrong. 'I've been so occupied with what I was fighting against, I'd forgotten what I was fighting for. All my life I've dreamed of nothing but killing demons, but what good is it to kill corelings out in the wild, and ignore the ones that hunt men every night?'

They pulled up at the hut, and the Painted Man leapt down and held a hand out to her. Leesha smiled, and let him assist her dismount. 'The house is still intact,' she said. 'Everything we need should be inside.'

They went into the hut Leesha meant to head straight for Bruna's stores, but the familiarity of the place struck her hard, and she realized she was never going to see Bruna again, never hear her cursing or scold her for spitting on the floor, never again tap her wisdom or laugh at her ribaldry. That part of her life was over.

But there was no time for tears, so Leesha shoved the feelings aside and strode to the pharmacy, picking jars and bottles and shoving some into her apron, handing others to the Painted Man, who packed them quickly and loaded them on Twilight Dancer.

'I don't see why you needed me for this,' he said. 'I should be warding weapons. We only have a few hours.'

She handed him the last of the herbs, and when they were safely stowed, led him to the centre of the room, pulling up the carpet, revealing a trapdoor. The Painted Man opened it for her, revealing wooden steps leading down into darkness. 'Should I fetch a candle?' he asked. 'Absolutely not!' Leesha barked.

The Painted Man shrugged. 'I can see well enough,' he said. 'Sorry, I didn't mean to snap,' she said. She reached into the many pockets of her apron, producing two small stoppered vials. She poured the contents of one into the other and shook it, producing a soft glow. Holding the vial aloft, she led them down the musty steps into a dusty cellar. The walls were packed soil, wards painted onto the support beams. The small space was filled with storage crates, shelves of bottles and jars, and large barrels.

Leesha went to a shelf and lifted a box of flamesticks. 'Wood demons can be hurt by fire,' she mused. 'What about a strong dissolvent?'

'I don't know,' the Painted Man said. Leesha tossed him the box and got down on her knees, rummaging through some bottles on a low shelf.

'We'll find out,' she said, passing back a large glass bottle full of clear liquid. The stopper was glass as well, held tightly in place with a twisted net of thin wire.

'Grease and oil will steal their footing,' Leesha muttered, still rummaging. 'And burn hot and bright, even in the rain...' she handed him a pair of cured clay jugs, sealed in wax.

More items followed. Thundersticks, normally used to blow free unruly tree stumps, and a box of Bruna's celebration flamework: festival crackers, flame whistles, and toss bangs.

Finally, at the back of the cellar, she brought them to a large water barrel.

'Open it,' Leesha told the Painted Man. 'Gently.'

He did so, finding four ceramic jugs bobbing softly in the water. He turned to Leesha and looked at her curiously.

'That,' she said, 'is liquid demonfire.'

Twilight Dancer's swift warded hooves had them down to Leesha's father's house in minutes. Again, Leesha was struck hard by nostalgia, and again, she shoved the sentiment aside. How many hours until sunset? Not enough. That was sure.

The children and the elderly had begun to arrive, gathering in the yard. Brianne and Mairy had already put them to work collecting tools. Mairy's eyes were hollow as she watched the children. It had not been easy to convince her to leave her two children at the Holy House, but at last reason prevailed. Their father was staying, and if things went badly, the other children would need their mother.

Elona stormed out of the house as they arrived.

'Is this your idea?' she demanded. 'Turning my house into a barn?'

Leesha pushed right past, the Painted Man at her side. Elona had no choice but to fall in behind her them as they entered the house. 'Yes, mother,' she said. 'It was my idea. We may not have space for everyone, but the children and elderly who have avoided the flux thus far should be safe here, whatever else happens.'

'I won't have it!' Elona barked.

Leesha whirled on her. 'You have no choice!' she shouted. 'You were right that we have the only strong wards left in town, so you can either suffer here in a crowded house, or stand and fight with the others. But Creator help me, the young and the old are staying behind father's wards tonight.'

Elona glared at her. 'You wouldn't speak to me so, if your father were well.'

'If he were well, he would have invited the folk himself,' Leesha said, not backing down an inch.

She turned her attention to the Painted Man. 'The paper shop is through those doors,' she told him, pointing. 'You should have space to work, and my father's warding tools. The children are collecting every weapon in town, and will bring them to you.'

The Painted Man nodded, vanishing into the shop without a word.

'Where in the world did you find that one?' Elona asked. 'He saved us from demons on the road,' Leesha said, going to her father's room.

'I don't know if it will do any good,' Elona warned, putting a hand on the door. 'Midwife Darsy says it's in the Creator's hands now.'

'Nonsense,' Leesha said, entering the room and immediately going to her father's side. He was pale and damp with sweat, but she did not recoil. She placed a hand to his forehead, and then ran her sensitive fingers over his throat, wrists, and chest. While she worked, she asked her mother questions about his symptoms, how long they had been manifest, and what she and midwife Darsy had tried so far.

Elona wrung her hands, but answered as best she could.

'Many of the others are worse,' Leesha said. 'Da is stronger than you give him credit.'

For once, Elona had no belittling retort.

'I'll brew a potion for him,' Leesha said. 'He'll need to be dosed regularly, at least every three hours.' She took a parchment and began writing instructions in a swift hand.

'You're not staying with him?' Elona asked.

Leesha shook her head. 'There's near to two hundred people in the Holy House that need me, mum,' she said, 'many of them worse off than da.'

'They have Darsy to look after them,' Elona argued.

'Darsy looks as if she hasn't slept since the flux started,' Leesha said. 'She's dead on her feet, and even at her best, I wouldn't trust her cures against this sickness. If you stay with da and follow my instructions, he'll be more likely to see the dawn than most in Cutter's Hollow.'

'Leesha?' her father moaned. 'S'that you?'

Leesha rushed to his side, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking his hand. 'Yes, da,' she said, her eyes watering, 'it's me.'

'You came,' Erny whispered, his lips curling into a slow smile. His fingers squeezed Leesha's hand weakly. 'I knew you would.'

'Of course I came,' Leesha said.

'But you have to go,' Erny sighed. When Leesha gave no reply, he patted her hand. 'Heard what you said. Go do what needs be done. Just seeing you has given me new strength.'

Leesha half-sobbed, but tried to mask it as a laugh. She kissed his forehead.

'Is it bad as all that?' Erny whispered.

'A lot of folk are going to die tonight,' Leesha said.

Erny's hand tightened on hers, and he sat up a bit. 'Then you see to it that it's no more than need be,' he said. 'I'm proud of you and I love you.'

'I love you, da,' Leesha said, hugging him tightly. She wiped her eyes and left the room.

Rojer tumbled about the tiny aisle of the makeshift hospit as he pantomimed the daring rescue the Painted Man had performed a few nights earlier.

'But then,' he went on, 'standing between us and the camp, was the biggest rock demon I've ever seen.' He leapt on top of a table and reached his arms his into the air, waving them to show they were still not high enough to do the creature justice.

'Fifteen feet tall, it was,' Rojer said, 'with teeth like spears and a horned tail that could smash a horse. Leesha and I stopped up short, but did the Painted Man hesitate? No! He walked on, calm as Seventhday morning, and looked the monster right in the eyes.' Rojer enjoyed the wide eyes surrounding him, and hesitated, letting the tense silence build before shouting, 'BAM!' and clapping his hands together. Everyone jumped. 'Just like that,' Rojer said, 'the Painted Man's horse, black as night and seeming like a demon itself, slammed its horns through the demon's back.' 'The horse had horns?' an old man asked, raising a grey eyebrow as thick and bushy as a squirrel tail. Propped up in his pallet, the stump of his right leg soaked his bandages in blood.

'Oh, yes,' Rojer confirmed, sticking fingers up behind his ears and getting coughing laughs. 'Great ones of shining bright metal, strapped on by its bridle and sharply pointed, etched with wards of power! The most magnificent beast you have ever seen, it is! Its hooves struck the beast like thunderbolts.

'So, while the horse attacked, we ran for the circle, and were safe.' Rojer concluded.

'What about the horse?' one child asked. 'The Painted Man gave a whistle,' Rojer said, putting his fingers to his lips and emitting a shrill sound, 'and his horse came galloping through the corelings, leaping over the wards and into the circle.' He clapped his hands against his thighs in a galloping sound and leapt to illustrate the point.

The patients were riveted by his tale, taking their minds off their sickness and the impending night. More, Rojer knew he was giving them hope. Hope that Leesha could cure them. Hope that the Painted Man could protect them.

He wished he could give himself hope, as well. And wished they would hurry back.

Leesha had the children scrub out the big vats her father used to make paper slurry, using them to brew potions on a larger scale than she had ever attempted. Even Bruna's stores quickly ran out, and she passed word to Brianne, who had the children ranging far and wide for hogroot and other herbs.

Frequently, her eyes flicked to the sunlight filtering through the window, watching it crawl across the shop's floor. The day was waning.

Not far off, the Painted Man worked with similar speed, his hand moving with delicate precision as he painted wards onto axes, picks, hammers, spears, arrows, and sling stones. The children brought him anything that might possibly be used as a weapon, and collected the results as soon as the paint dried, piling them in carts outside.

Every so often, someone came running in to relay a message to Leesha or the Painted Man. They gave instructions quickly, sending the runner off and turning back to their work.

With only a pair of hours before sunset, they drove the carts back through the steady rain to the Holy House. The villagers stopped work at the sight of them, coming quickly to help Leesha unload her cures. A few approached the Painted Man to assist unloading his cart, but a look from him turned them away.

Leesha went to him, carrying a heavy stone jug. 'Tampweed and skyflower,' she said, handing it to him. 'Mix it with the feed of three cows, and see that they eat it all.' The Painted Man took the jug and nodded.

As she turned to go into the Holy House, he caught her arm. 'Take this,' he said, handing her one of his personal spears. It was five feet long, made from light ash wood. Wards of power were etched into the metal tip, sharpened to a wicked edge. The shaft, too, was carved with defensive wards, lacquered hard and smooth, the butt capped in warded steel.

Leesha looked at it dubiously, making no move to take it. 'Just what do you expect me to do with that?' she asked. 'I'm an Herb...'

'This is no time to recite the Gatherer's oath,' the Painted Man said, shoving the weapon at her. 'Your makeshift hospit is barely warded. If our line fails, that spear may be all that stands between the corelings and your charges. What will your oath demand then?'

Leesha scowled, but she took the weapon. She searched his eyes for something more, but his wards were back in place, and she could no longer see his heart. She wanted to throw down the spear and wrap him in her arms, but she could not bear to be rebuffed again.

'Well... good luck,' she managed to say.

The Painted Man nodded. 'And to you.' He turned to attend his cart, and Leesha stared after him, wanting to scream.

The Painted Man's muscles unclenched as he moved away. It had taken all his will to turn his back on her, but they couldn't afford to confuse one another tonight.

Forcing Leesha from his mind, he turned his thoughts to the coming battle. The Krasian holy book, the Evejah, contained accounts of the conquests of Kaji, the first Deliverer. He had studied it closely when learning the Krasian tongue.

The war philosophy of Kaji was sacred in Krasia, and had seen its warriors through centuries of nightly battle with the corelings. There were four divine laws that governed battle: Be unified in purpose and leadership. Do battle at a time and place of your choosing. Adapt to what you cannot control, and prepare the rest. Attack in ways the enemy will not expect, finding and exploiting their weaknesses.

A Kraisian warrior was taught from birth that the path to salvation lay in killing alagai. When Jardir called for them to leap from the safety of their wards, they did so without hesitation, lighting and dying secure in the knowledge that they were serving Everam and would be rewarded in the afterlife.

The Painted Man feared the Hollowers would lack the same unity of purpose, failing to commit themselves to the fight, but watching as they scurried to and fro, readying themselves, he thought he might perhaps be underestimating them. Even in Tibbet's Brook, everyone had stood by their neighbours in hard times. It was what kept the hamlets alive and thriving, despite their lack of warded walls. If he could keep them occupied, keep despair from clutching at them when the demons rose, perhaps they would fight as one.

If not, everyone in the Holy House would die this night.

The strength of Krasia's resistance was due as much to Kaji's second law, choosing terrain, as it was the warriors themselves. The Kraisian Maze was carefully designed to give the dal'Sharum layers of protection, and to funnel the demons to places of advantage.

One side of the Holy House faced the woods, where wood demons held sway, and two more faced the wrecked streets and rubble of the town. There were too many places for corelings to hide. But past the cobbles of the main entrance lay the town square. If they could funnel the demons there, they might have a chance.

They were unable to clean the greasy ash off the rough stone walls of the Holy House and ward it in the rain, so the windows and great doors had been boarded and nailed shut, hasty wards chalked onto the wood. Ingress was limited to a small side entrance, with wardstones laid about the doorway. The demons would have an easier time getting through the wall.

The very presence of humans out in the naked night would act as a magnet to demons, but nevertheless, the Painted Man had taken pains to funnel the corelings away from the building and flanks, so that the path of least resistance would drive them to attack from the far end of the square. At his direction, the villagers had placed obstacles around the other sides of the Holy House, and interspersed hastily made wardposts, signs he had painted with wards of confusion. Any demon charging past them to attack the walls of the building would forget its intent, and inevitably be drawn towards the commotion in the town square.

Beside the square on one side was a day pen for the Tender's livestock. It was small, but its new wardposts were strong. A few animals milled around the men erecting a rough shelter within.

The other side of the square had been dug with trenches quickly filling with mucky rainwater, to urge flame demons to take an easier path. Leesha's oil was a thick sludge on top of the water.

The villagers had done well in enacting Kaji's third law, preparation. Steady rain had made the square slick, a thin film of mud forming on the hard-packed ground. The Painted Man's warded circles were set about the battlefield as he had directed, points of ambush and retreat, and a deep pit had been dug and covered with a muddy tarp. Viscous grease was being spread on the cobbles with brooms.

And the fourth law, attacking the enemy in a way they would not expect, would take care of itself.

The corelings would not expect them to attack at all. 'I did as you asked,' a man said, approaching him as he pondered the terrain.

'Eh?' the Pamted Man said.

'I'm Benn, sir,' the man said. 'Mairy's husband.' The Painted Man just stared. 'The glassblower,' he clarified, and the Painted Man's eyes finally lit with recognition. 'Let's see, then,' he said.

Benn produced a small glass flask. 'It's thin, like you asked,' he said. 'Fragile.'

The Painted Man nodded. 'How many did you and your apprentices have time to make?' he asked.

'Three-dozen,' Benn said. 'May I ask what they're for?'

The Painted Man shook his head. 'You'll see soon enough,' he said. 'Bring them, and find me some rags.'

Rojer approached him next. 'I've seen Leesha's spear,' he said. 'I've come for mine.'

The Painted Man shook his head. 'You're not fighting,' he said. 'You're staying inside with the sick.'

Rojer stared at him. 'But you told Leesha...'

'To give you a spear is to rob you of your strength,' the Painted Man cut him off. 'Your music would be lost in the din outside, but inside, it'll prove more potent than a dozen spears. If the corelings break through, I'm counting on you to hold them back until I arrive.'

Rojer scowled, but he nodded, and headed into the Holy House.

Others were already waiting for his attention. The Painted Man listened to reports on their progress, assigning further tasks that were leapt to immediately. The villagers moved with hunched quickness, like hares ready to flee at any moment.

No sooner than he had sent them off, Stefny came storming up to him, a group of angry women at her back. 'What's this about sending us up to Bruna's hut?' the woman demanded.

'The wards there are strong,' the Painted Man said. 'There is no room for you in the Holy House or Leesha's family home.'

'We don't care about that,' Stefny said. 'We're going to fight.'

The Painted Man looked at her. Stefny was a tiny woman, barely five feet, and thin as a reed. Well into her fifties, her skin was thin and rough, like worn leather. Even the smallest wood demon would tower over her.

But in her eyes, he saw it didn't matter. She was going to fight no matter what he said. The Krasians might not allow women to fight, but that was their failing. He would not deny any who were willing to stand in the night. He took a spear off his cart and handed it to her. 'We'll find you a place,' he promised.

Expecting an argument, Stefny was taken aback, but she took the weapon, nodded once and moved away. The other women came in turn, and he handed a spear to each.

The men came at once, seeing the Painted Man handing out weapons. The cutters took their own axes back, looking at the freshly painted wards dubiously. No axe blow had ever penetrated a wood demon's armour.

'Won't need this,' Gared said, handing back the Painted Man's spear. 'I ent one for spinning a stick around, but I know how to swing my axe.'

One of the cutters brought a girl to him, perhaps thirteen summers old. 'My name's Flinn, sir,' the cutter said. 'My daughter Wonda hunts with me sometimes. I won't have her out in the naked night, but if ya let her have a bow behind the wards, you'll find her aim is true.'

The Painted Man looked at the girl. Tall and homely, she had taken after her father in size and strength. He went to Twilight Dancer and pulled down his own yew bow and heavy arrows. 'I won't need these tonight,' he said to her, pointing to a high window at the apex of the Holy House's roof. 'See if you can pry loose enough boards to shoot from there,' he advised.

Wonda took the bow and ran off. Her father bowed and backed away.

Tender Jona limped out to meet him next.

'You should be inside, and off that leg,' the Painted Man said, never comfortable around Holy Men. 'If you can't carry a load or dig a trench, you're only in the way out here.'

Tender Jona nodded. 'I only wanted to have a look at the defences,' he said.

'They should hold,' the Painted Man said with more confidence than he felt.

'They will,' Jona said. 'The Creator would not leave those in 11 is house without succour. That's why he sent you.'

'I'm not the Deliverer, Tender,' the Painted Man said, scowling. 'No one sent me, and nothing about tonight is assured.'

Jona smiled indulgently, the way an adult might at the ignorance of a child. 'It's coincidence, then, that you showed up in our moment of need?' he asked. 'I give you no names but the one you came with, but you are here, just like every one of us, because the Creator put you here, and He has reason for everything He does.'

'He had a reason for fluxing half your village?' the Painted Man asked.

'I don't pretend to see the path,' Jona said calmly, 'but I know it's there all the same. One day, we'll look back and wonder how we ever missed it'

Darsy was squatting wearily by Vika's side, trying to cool her feverish brow with a damp cloth, when Leesha entered the Holy House.

Leesha went straight to them, taking the cloth from Darsy. 'Get some sleep,' she said, seeing the deep weariness in the woman's eyes. 'The sun will set soon, and we'll all need our strength then,' she said. 'Go. Rest while you still can.'

Darsy shook her head. 'I'll rest when I'm cored,' she said. 'Till then I'll work.'

Leesha considered her a moment, then nodded. She reached into her apron and pulled out a dark, gummy substance wrapped in waxed paper. 'Chew this,' she said. 'You'll feel cored tomorrow, but it will keep you alert through the night.'

Darsy nodded, taking the gum and popping it into her mouth while Leesha bent to examine Vika. She took a skin from around her shoulder, pulling the stopper. 'Help her sit up a bit,' she said, and Darsy complied, lifting Vika so that Leesha could give her the potion. She coughed a bit out, but Darsy massaged her throat, helping her swallow until Leesha was satisfied.

Leesha rose to her feet and scanned the seemingly endless mass of prone bodies. She had triaged and dealt with the worst of the injured before heading out to Bruna's hut, but there were plenty of hurts still in need of mending, bones to set and wounds to sew, not to mention forcing her potions down dozens of unconscious throats.

Given time, she was confident she could drive the flux off. A few had progressed too far and would remain sickly or pass, but most of her children would recover.

If they made it through the night.

She called the volunteers together, distributing medicine and instructing them on what to expect and do when the wounded from outside began to come.

Rojer watched Leesha and the others work, feeling cowardly as he tuned his fiddle. Inside, he knew the Painted Man was right; that he should work to his strengths, as Arrick had always said. But that did not make hiding behind stone walls while others stood fast feel any braver.

Not long ago, the thought of putting down his fiddle to pick up a tool was abhorrent, but he had grown tired of hiding while others died for him.

If he lived to tell it, he imagined The Battle of Cutter's Hollow would be a tale that outlived his children's children. But what of his own part? Playing the fiddle from hiding was not the stuff of heroes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

31

The Battle of Cutter's Hollow

332 AR

 

 

 

 

At the forefront of the square stood the cutters. Chopping trees and hauling lumber had left most of them thick of arm and broad of shoulder, but some, like Yon Grey, were well past their prime, and others, like Ren's son Linder, had not yet grown into their full strength. They stood clustered in one of the portable circles, gripping the wet hafts of their axes as the sky darkened.

Behind the cutters, the Hollow's three fattest cows had been staked in the centre of the square. Having consumed Leesha's drugged meal, they slumbered deeply on their feet.

Behind the cows was the largest circle. Those within could not match the raw muscle of the cutters, but they had greater numbers. Nearly half of them were women, some as young as fifteen. They stood grimly alongside their husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons. Merrem, Dug the butcher's burly wife, held a warded cleaver, and looked well ready to use it.

Behind them lay the covered pit, and then, the third circle, directly before the great doors of the Holy House, where Stefny and the others too old or frail to run about the muddy square stood fast with long spears.

Everyone was armed with a warded weapon. Some, those with the shortest reach, also carried round bucklers made from barrel lids, painted with wards of forbiddance. The Painted Man had only made one of those, but the others had copied it well enough.

At the edge of the day pen's fence, behind the wardposts, stood the artillery, children barely in their teens, armed with bows and slings. A few adults had been given one of the precious thundersticks, or one of Benn's thin flasks, stuffed with a soaked rag. Young children held lanterns, hooded against the rain, to light the weapons. Those who had refused to fight huddled with the animals under the shelter behind them, which shielded Bruna's festival flamework from the rain.

More than a few, like Ande, had gone back on their promise to fight, accepting the scorn of their fellows as they hid behind the wards. As the Painted Man rode through the square astride Twilight Dancer, he saw others looking towards the pen longingly, fear etched on their faces.

There were screams as the corelings rose, and many took a step backwards, their resolve faltering. Terror threatened to defeat the Hollowers before the battle even began. A few tips from the Painted Man on where and how to strike were meagre against the weight of a lifetime's conditioned fear.

The Painted Man noticed Benn shaking. One of his pants legs was soaked and clinging to his twitching thigh, and not from the rain. He dismounted and stood before the glassblower.

'Why are you out here, Benn?' he asked, raising his voice so others could hear.

'M-my d-daughters,' Benn said, nodding back towards the Holy House. It looked as if the spear he held was going to vibrate right out of his hands.

The Painted Man nodded. Most of the Hollowers were there to protect their loved ones lying helpless in the Holy House. If not, they would all be in the pen. He gestured to the corelings

materializing in the square. 'You fear them?' he asked, louder still.

'Y-yes,' Benn managed, tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks. A glance showed others nodding as well.

The Painted Man stripped off his robes. None of the people had seen him unclad before, and their eyes widened as they took in the wards tattooed over every inch of his body. 'Watch,' he told Benn, but the command was meant for all.

He stepped from the circle, striding up to a seven foot-tall wood demon that was just beginning to solidify. He looked back, meeting the eyes of as many Hollowers as he could. Seeing them watching intently, he shouted, 'This is what you fear!'

Turning sharply, the Painted Man struck hard, smashing the flat of his hand against the coreling's jaw, knocking the demon down in a flash of magic just as it became fully solid. The coreling shrieked in pain, but it recovered quickly, coiling on its tail to spring. The villagers stood open-mouthed, their eyes locked on the scene, sure the Painted Man would be killed.

The wood demon lunged, but the Painted Man kicked off a sandal and spun, dropped low and planted his hands on the ground, flicking off his sandals as he kicked up inside the coreling's reach. His warded heels struck its armoured chest with a thunderclap, and the demon was sent reeling again, its chest scorched and blackened.

A smaller wood demon launched itself at him as he stalked his prey, but the Painted Man caught its arm and twisted himself behind its back, jabbing his warded thumbs into its eyes. There was a smoking sizzle, and the coreling screamed, staggering away and clawing at its face.

As the blind coreling stumbled about, the Painted Man resumed his pursuit of the first demon, meeting its next attack head-on. He pivoted and turned the coreling's momentum against it, latching on as it stumbled past him and wrapping his warded arms around its head. He squeezed, ignoring the demon's futile attempts to dislodge him, and waited as the feedback built in intensity. Finally, with a burst of magic, the creature's skull collapsed, and they fell to the mud.

As the Painted Man rose from the corpse the other demons kept their distance, hissing and searching for a sign of weakness. The Painted Man roared at them, and those closest took a step back from him.

'It is not you that should fear them, Benn the glassblower!' the Painted Man called, his voice like a hurricane. 'It is they that should fear you!'

None of the Hollowers made a sound, but many fell to their knees, drawing wards in the air before them. He walked back up to Benn, who was no longer shaking. 'Remember that,' he said, using his robes to wipe the mud from his wards, 'the next time they clutch at your heart.'

'Deliverer,' Benn whispered, and others began to mumble the same.

The Painted Man shook his head sharply, rainwater flying free. 'No. You are the Deliverer!' he shouted, poking Benn hard in the chest. 'And you!' he cried, spinning to roughly haul a kneeling man to his feet. 'All of you are Deliverers!' he bellowed, sweeping his arms over all who stood in the night. 'If the corelings fear a Deliverer, let them quail at a hundred of them!' He shook his fist, and the Hollowers roared.

The spectacle kept the newly-formed demons at bay for a moment, issuing low growls as they stalked back and forth. But their pacing soon slowed, and one by one they crouched, muscles bunching up as they tamped down.

The Painted Man looked to the left flank, his warded eyes piercing the gloom. Flame demons avoided the water-filled trench, but wood demons approached that way, heedless of the wet.

'Light it,' he called, pointing to the trench with a thumb.

Benn struck a flamestick with his thumb, shielding the tiny blaze from the wind and rain as he touched it to the wick of a flamewhistle. As the wick sizzled and sparked, Benn uncoiled, flinging it towards the trench.

Halfway through its arc, the wick burned down and a jet of fire exploded from one end of the flamewhistle. The thick-wrapped paper tube spun rapidly in blazing pinwheel, emitting a high-pitched whine as it struck the oil sludge in the trench.

Wood demons shrieked as the water about their knees burst into flame. They fell back, beating the fire in terror, splashing oil and only spreading the flames.

Flame demons shrieked as well, these in glee as they leapt into the fire, forgetting the water that lay beneath. The Painted Man smiled at their cries as the water boiled.

The flames filled the square with a flickering light, and there were gasps from the cutters at the size of the host before them. Wind demons cut the sky, adroit even in the wind and rain. Lithesome flame demons darted about, eyes and mouths glowing red, silhouetting the hulking rock demons that stalked the edges of the gathering. And wood demons, so many wood demons.

'S'like the trees of the forest have risen up 'gainst the axemen,' Yon Gray said in awe, and many of the cutters nodded in horror.

'Ent met a tree yet I can't chop down,' Gared growled, holding his axe at the ready. The boast filtered through the rank, and the other cutters stood taller.

The corelings soon found their will, leaping at the Cutters, talons leading. The wards of their circle stopped them short, and the cutters drew back to swing.

'Hold!' the Painted Man cried. 'Remember the plan!'

The men checked themselves, letting the demons hammer the wards in vain. The corelings flowed around the circle, looking for a weakness, and the Cutters were soon lost from view in a sea of barklike skin.

It was a flame demon no larger than a cat that first spotted the cows. It shrieked, leaping onto the back of one of the animals, talons digging deep. The cow woke and bleated in pain as the tiny coreling tore out a piece of hide in its jaws.

The sound made the other corelings forget the Cutters. They fell on the cows in an explosion of gore, tearing the animals to pieces. Blood sprayed high into the air, mixing with the rain before splashing down in the mud. Even a wind demon swooped down to snatch a chunk of meat before leaping back into the air.

In a twinkling, the animals were devoured, though none of the corelings seemed satisfied. They moved towards the next circle, slashing at the wards and drawing sparks of magic in the air.

'Hold!' the Painted Man called again, as the people around him tensed. He held his spear back, watching the demons intently. Waiting.

But then he saw it. A demon stumbled, losing its balance.

'Now!' he roared, and leapt from the circle, stabbing right through a demon's head.

The Hollowers screamed a primal cry and charged, falling upon the drugged corelings with abandon, hacking and stabbing. The demons shrieked, but thanks to Leesha's potion, their response was sluggish. As instructed, the Hollowers worked in small teams, stabbing demons from behind when they turned their attention towards another. Warded weapons flared, and this time it was demon ichor that arced into the air.

Merrem chopped a wood demon's arm clean off with her cleaver, and her husband Dug stabbed his butcher's knife deep into its armpit. The wind demon that had eaten the drugged meat came crashing down into the square, and Benn drove his spear into it, twisting hard as the warded head flared hot to pierce the coreling's hide.

Demon claws could not penetrate the ward on the wooden shields some carried, and when the bearers saw this, they gained confidence, striking harder still against the dazed corelings.

But not all the demons had been drugged. Those in the back increased their press to get forward. The Painted Man waited until their advantage of surprise waned for a moment, then cried, 'Artillery!'

The children in the pen gave a great cry, placing flasks in their slings and launching them at the horde of demons in front of the cutters' circle. The thin glass shattered easily against the barklike armour of the wood demons, coating them in liquid that clung despite the rain. The demons roared, but could not penetrate the wardposts of the small pen.

While the corelings raged, the lantern bearers ran to and fro, touching the flames to rag-wrapped arrowheads dipped in pitch and to the wicks of Bruna's flameworks. They did not launchfire as one as they had been instructed, but it made little difference. With the first arrow, the liquid demonfire exploded across the back of a wood demon, and the creature screamed, thrashing into another, spreading the blaze. Festival crackers, snap-bangs, and flamewhistles joined the volley of arrows, frightening some demons with light and sound, and igniting others. The night lit up as the demons burned.

One child threw his lantern into a shallow rut in front of the cutters' circle, which stretched the full width of the square. The spark ignited the liquid demonfire within as the lantern shattered. The fell brew burst into an intense fire, setting several more wood demons alight, and cutting the rest off from their fellows.

But between the circles and away from the flamework, the battle raged fierce. The drugged demons fell quickly, but their fellows were uncowed by the armed villagers. Teams were breaking up, and some of the Hollowers were taken by fear and stumbled back, giving the corelings an opening to pounce.

'Cutters!' the Painted Man cried as he spit a flame demon on his spear.

With their backs secure, Gared and the other cutters roared and leapt from their circle, pressing the demons attacking the Painted Man's group from behind. Even without magic, wood demon hide was as thick and gnarled as old bark, but cutters hacked through bark all day, and the wards on their axes drained away the magic that strengthened it further.

Gared was the first to feel the jolt as the wards tapped into the demons' magic, using the corelings' own power against them. The shock ran up the haft of his axe and made his arms tingle as a split second of ecstasy ran through him. He struck the demon's head clean off and howled, charging the next one in line.

Demon claws could not penetrate the ward on the wooden shields, and when the shield-bearers saw this, they gained confidence, striking harder still. High in the window of the Holy House's choir loft, Wonda fired the Painted Man's bow with frightening accuracy, every warded arrowhead striking demon flesh like a bolt of lightning.

Pressed from both sides, the demons were hit hard. Centuries of dominance had taught them that humans, when they fought at all, were not to be feared, and they were unprepared for the resistance.

But the smell of blood was thick in the air, and the cries of pain could be heard for miles around. In the distance, coreling's howled in answer to the sound. Reinforcements would soon come, and the humans had none.

It wasn't long before the demons recovered. Even without their impenetrable armour, few humans could ever hope to stand toe to toe with a wood demon. The smallest of them were closer to Gared in strength than to a normal man, and the largest rivalled the giant rock demons of the mountains.

Merrem charged a flame demon the size of a large dog, her cleaver already blackened with demon ichor. She held her shield out defensively, her cleaver arm cocked back and ready.

The coreling shrieked and spat fire at her. She brought up her shield to block, but the ward painted there had no power over fire, and the wood exploded into flames. Merrem screamed as her arm

ignited, dropping and rolling in the mud. The demon leapt at her, but her husband Dug was there to meet it. The heavy butcher gutted the flame demon like a hog, but screamed himself as its molten blood struck his leather apron, setting it alight.

A wood demon ducked down to all fours under Evin's wild axe swing, springing up when he was off guard and bearing him to the ground. He screamed as the jaws came for him, but there was a bark, and his wolfhounds crashed into the demon from the side, knocking it away. Evin recovered quickly, chopping down on the prone coreling, though not before it disembowelled one of the giant dogs. Evin cried in rage and hacked again before whirling to find another foe, his eyes wild.

Just then, the trench of demonfire burned out, and the wood demons trapped on the far side began to advance again.

'Thundersticks!' the Painted Man cried, as he trampled a rock demon under Twilight Dancer's hooves.

At the call, the eldest of his artillery took out some of the precious and volatile weapons. There were less than a dozen, for Bruna had been niggardly in their making, lest the powerful tools be abused.

Wicks flared, and the sticks were launched at the approaching demons. One villager dropped his rain-slick stick in the mud and bent quickly to snatch it up, but not quickly enough. The thunderstick went off in his hands, blowing him and his lamp-bearer to pieces in a blast of fire as the concussive force knocked several others in the pen to the ground, screaming in pain.

One of the thundersticks exploded between a pair of wood demons. Both were thrown down, twisted wrecks. One, its barklike skin aflame, did not rise. The other, extinguished by the mud, twitched and put a talon under itself as it struggled to rise. Already, its fell magic was healing its wounds.

Another thunderstick sailed at a nine-foot tall rock demon, who caught it in a talon and leaned in close, peering at the curious object as it went off.

But when the smoke had cleared, the demon stood unfazed, and continued on towards the villagers in the square. Wonda planted three arrows in it, but it shrieked and came on, its anger only doubled.

Gared met it before it reached the others, returning its shriek with a roar of his own. The burly cutter ducked under its first blow and planted his axe in its sternum, glorying in the rush of magic that ran up his arms. The demon collapsed at last, and Gared had to stand on top of it to pull his weapon free of its thick armour.

A wind demon swooped in, its hooked talons nearly cutting Flinn in half. From the choir loft window, Wonda gave a cry and killed the coreling with an arrow to the back, but the damage was done, and Flinn her father collapsed.

A swipe from a wood demon took Ren's head clean off, launching it far from his body. His axe fell into the muck, even as his son Linder hacked the arm from the offending demon.

Near the pen on the right flank, Yon Gray was struck a glancing blow, but it was enough to drop the old man to the ground. The coreling stalked him as he clutched the mud, trying to rise, but Ande gave a choked cry and leapt from the warded pen, grabbing Ren's axe and burying it in the creature's back.

Others followed his lead, their fear forgotten, leaving the safety of the pen to take up the weapons of the fallen or to drag the wounded to safety. Keet stuffed a rag into the last of the demonfire flasks, lighting it and hurling it into the face of a wood demon to cover his sisters as they pulled a man into the pen. The demon burst into flames, and Keet cheered until a flame demon leapt on top of the immolated coreling, shrieking in glee as it basked in the fire. Keet turned and ran, but it leapt onto Ms back and bore him down.

The Painted Man was everywhere in the battle, killing some demons with his spear, and others with only bare hands and feet. Twilight Dancer kept close to him, striking with hoof and horn.

They burst in wherever the fighting was thickest, scattering the corelings and leaving them as prey for the others. He lost count of how many times he kept a demon from landing a killing blow, letting its victim regain their feet and return to the fight.

In the chaos, a group of corelings stumbled through the centre line and past the second circle, stepping onto the tarp and falling onto the warded spikes laid at the bottom of the pit. Most of them twitched wildly, impaled on the killing magic, but one of the demons avoided the spikes and clawed its way back out of the pit. A warded axe took its head before it could return to the fight or flee.

But the corelings kept coming, and once the pit was revealed, they flowed smoothly around it. There was a cry, and the Painted Man turned to see a harsh fight for the great doors of the Holy House. The corelings could smell the sick and weak within, and were in a frenzy to break through and begin the slaughter. Even the chalked wards were gone now, washed away by the ever-present rain.

The thick grease spread on the cobbles outside the doors slowed the corelings slightly. More than one fell on its tail, or skidded into the wards of the third circle. But they flexed their claws, digging in to secure their footing, and continued on.

The women at the doors stabbed out from the safety of their circle with their long spears, and held their own for a moment, but Stefhy's spearhead caught fast in the gnarled skin of one demon, and she was yanked forwards, her trailing foot catching the rope of the portable circle. In an instant, the wards fell out of alignment, and the net collapsed.

The Painted Man moved with all the speed he could muster, clearing the twelve foot wide pit in a single leap, but even he could not move fast enough to prevent the slaughter.

When the melee was over, he stood panting with the few surviving women, Stefny, amazingly, amongst them. She was splattered with ichor, but seemed none the worse for wear, her eyes full of hard determination.

A great wood demon charged them. They turned as one to stand firm, but the coreling crouched just out of reach and sprang, clearing them fully to reach the stone wall of the Holy House. Its claws found easy purchase between the piled stones, and it climbed out of reach before the Painted Man could catch its swinging tail.

'Look out!' the Painted Man called to Wonda, but the girl was too intent on aiming her bow, and did not hear until it was too late. The demon caught her in its claws and threw her back over its head as if she were nothing but a nuisance. The Painted Man ran hard and skidded across the grease and mud on his knees, catching her bloody and broken body before it struck the ground, but as he did, he saw the demon pull itself through the open window and into Holy House.

The Painted Man ran for the side entrance, but skidded to a halt as he turned the corner: his way barred by a dozen demons standing dazed by his wards of confusion. He roared, leaping into their midst, but he knew he would never make it inside in time.

The stone walls of the Holy House echoed with screams of pain, and the cries of the demons just outside the doors had everyone in the Holy House on edge. Inside many wept openly, or rocked slowly back and forth, shaking with fear; others raved and thrashed.

Leesha fought to keep them calm, speaking soothing words to the most reasonable and drugging the least, keeping them from tearing their stitches, or hurting themselves in a feverish rage.

'I am fit to fight!' Smitt insisted, the big innkeeper dragging Rojer across the floor as the poor Jongleur tried in vain to restrain him.

'You're not well!' Leesha shouted, rushing over. 'You'll be killed if you go out there!' As she went, she emptied a small bottle into a rag. Pressed to his face, the fumes would put him down quickly.

'My Stefny is out there!' Smitt cried. 'My son and daughters!' lie caught Leesha's arm as she reached out with the cloth, shoving her violently aside. She tumbled into Rojer, and the two of them went down in a tangle. He reached for the bar on the main doors.

'Smitt, no!' Leesha cried. 'You'll let them in and get us all killed!'

But the fever-mad innkeeper was heedless of her warning, grabbing the bar in two hands and heaving.

Darsy grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around to catch her fist on his jaw. Smitt twisted around once more with the force of the blow, and collapsed to the ground.

'Sometimes the direct approach works better than herbs and needles,' Darsy told Leesha, shaking the sting from her hand.

'I see why Bruna needed a stick,' Leesha agreed, the two of them ducking under Smitt's arms to haul him back to his pallet. Beyond the doors, sounds of battle raged.

'Sounds like all the demons in the Core are trying to get in,' Darsy muttered.

There was a crash above, and a scream from Wonda. The choir loft railing shattered, and beams of wood came crashing down, killing the one unfortunate man directly below and wounding another. A huge shape dropped into their midst, howling as it landed on another patient, tearing out her throat before she even knew what had struck her.

The wood demon rose to its full height, huge and terrible, and Leesha felt her heart stop. She and Darsy froze, Smitt a dead weight between them. The spear that the Painted Man had given her leaned against a wall, far from reach, and even if she had it in her hands, she doubted it would do much to slow the giant coreling. Her spear seemed little more than a thorn by comparison, the demon's reach was much longer, but she stepped forward nonetheless, barring the demon's path. The creature shrieked at her, and she felt her knees turn to water.

But then Rojer was there, interposing himself between her and the demon. The coreling hissed at him, and he swallowed hard. Every instinct told him to run and hide, but instead he tucked his fiddle under his chin, and brought bow to string, filling Holy House with a mournful, haunting melody.

The coreling hissed at the Jongleur and bared its teeth, long and sharp as knives, but Rojer did not slow his playing, and the wood demon held its ground, cocking its head and staring at him curiously.

After a few moments, Rojer began to rock from side to side. The demon, its eyes locked on the fiddle, began to do the same. Encouraged, Rojer took a single step to the left. The demon mirrored him.

He stepped back to the right, and the coreling did the same. Rojer went on, walking around the wood demon in a slow, wide arc. The mesmerized beast turned as he went, until it was facing away from the shocked and terrified patients.

By then, Leesha had set Smitt down and retrieved her spear. It seemed little more than a thorn, the demon's reach far longer, but she stepped forward nonetheless, knowing she would never get a better chance. She gritted her teeth and charged, burying the warded spear in the coreling's back with all her might.

There was a flash of power and a burst of ecstasy as the magic ran up her arms, and then Leesha was thrown back. She watched as the demon screamed and thrashed about, trying to dislodge the glowing spear still sticking from its back. Rojer dodged aside as it crashed into the great doors in its death-throes, breaking down open the portal even as it fell dead.

Demons howled with glee and charged the opening, but they were met by Rojer's music. Gone was the soothing, hypnotizing

melody,  replaced by  sharp  and jarring  sounds that had the corelings clawing at their ears as they stumbled away.

'Leesha!' The side door opened with a crash, and Leesha turned to see the Painted Man, awash in demon ichor and his own blood, burst into the room, looking about frantically. He saw the wood demon lying dead, and turned to meet her eyes. His relief was palpable.

She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but he turned and charged for the shattered doors. Rojer alone held the entrance, his music holding the demons back as surely as any wardnet. The Painted Man shoved the wood demon's corpse aside, pulling the spear free and throwing it back to Leesha. Then he was gone into the night.

Leesha looked out upon the carnage in the square, and her heart clenched. Dozens of her children lay dead and dying in the mud, even as the battle continued to rage.

'Darsy!' she cried, and when the woman rushed to her side, they ran out into the night, pulling wounded inside.

Wonda lay gasping on the ground when Leesha reached her, her clothes torn and bloody where the demon had clawed her. A wood demon charged them as she and Darsy bent to lift her, but Leesha pulled a vial from her apron and threw it, shattering the thin glass across its face. The demon shrieked as the dissolvent ate away its eyes, and the two Herb Gatherers hurried away with their charge.

They deposited the girl inside and Leesha shouted instructions to one of her assistants before running out again. Rojer stood at the entrance, the screeching of his fiddle forming a wall of sound that held the way clear, shielding Leesha and the others who began to drag the wounded inside..

The battle waxed and waned through the night, allowing exhausted villagers time to stagger back to their circles or into Holy House to catch their breath or gulp down a swallow of water. There was an entire hour when not one demon could be seen, but another after that when a large pack that must have come running from miles away fell upon them.

The rain stopped at some point, but no one could recall quite when, too preoccupied with attacking the enemy and helping the wounded. The cutters formed a wall at the great doors, and Rojer roamed the square, driving demons back with his fiddle as the wounded were collected.

By the time dawn's first light peeked over the horizon, the mud of the square had been churned into a foul stew of human blood and demon ichor; bodies and limbs were scattered everywhere. Many jumped in fright as the sun struck the demon corpses, setting their unholy flesh alight. Like bursts of liquid demonfire from all over the square, the sun finished the battle, incinerating the few demons that still twitched.

The Painted Man looked out at the faces of the survivors, half his fighters at least, and was amazed at the strength and determination he saw. It seemed impossible that these were the same people who were so broken and terrified less than a day before. They might have lost many in the night, but the Hollowers were now stronger than ever.

'Creator be praised,' Tender Jona said, staggering out into the square on his crutch, drawing wards in the air as the demons burned in the morning light. He made his way to the Painted Man, and stood before him.

'This is thanks to you,' he said.

The Painted Man shook his head. 'No. You did this,' he said. 'All of you.'

Jona nodded. 'We did,' he agreed. 'But only because you came and showed us the way. Can you still doubt this?'

The Painted Man scowled. 'For me to claim this victory as my own cheapens the sacrifice of all that died during the night,' he said. 'Keep your prophecies, Tender. These people do not need

them.'

Jona bowed deeply. 'As you wish,' he said, but the Painted Man sensed the matter was not closed.

32

Cutter's No More

332-3 AR

 

 

 

 

 

Leesha waved as Rojer and the Painted Man rode up the path. She set her brush back in its bowl on the porch as they dismounted.

'You learn quickly,' the Painted Man said, coming up to study the wards she had painted on the rails. 'These would hold a horde of corelings at bay.'

'Quickly?' Rojer asked. 'Night, that's undersaid. It's not been a month since Leesha couldn't tell a wind ward from a flame.'

'He's right,' the Painted Man said. 'I've seen five-year journeyman Warders whose lines weren't half so neat.'

Leesha smiled. 'I've always been a quick study,' she said. 'And you and my father are good teachers. I only wish I had bothered to learn sooner.'

The Painted Man shrugged. 'Would that we all could go back and make decisions based on what was to come.'

'I think I'd have lived my whole life different,' Rojer agreed.

Leesha laughed, ushering them inside the hut. 'Supper's almost ready,' she said, heading for the fire. 'How did the village council meeting go?' she asked, stirring the steaming pot.

'Idiots,' the Painted Man grumbled.

She laughed again. 'That well?'

'The council voted to change the village name to Deliverer's Hollow,' Rojer said.

'It's only a name,' Leesha said, joining them at the table and pouring tea.

'It's not the name that bothers, it's the notion,'' the Painted Man said. 'I've gotten the villagers to stop calling me Deliverer to my face, but I still hear it whispered behind my back.'

'It will go easier for you if you just embrace it,' Rojer said. 'You can't stop a story like that. By now, every Jongleur north of the Krasian desert is telling it.'

The Painted Man shook his head. 'I won't lie and pretend to be something I'm not to make life easier. If I'd wanted an easy life...' he trailed off.

'What of the repairs?' Leesha asked, pulling him back to them as his eyes went distant.

Rojer smiled. 'With the Hollowers back on their feet thanks to your cures, it seems a new house goes up every day,' he said. 'You'll be able to move back into the village proper soon.'

Leesha shook her head. 'This hut is all I have left of Bruna. This is my home now.'

'This far from the village, you'll be outside the forbiddance,' the Painted Man warned.

Leesha shrugged. 'I understand why you laid out the new streets in the form of a warding,' she said, 'but there are benefits to being outside the forbiddance, as well.'

'Oh?' the Painted Man asked, raising a warded brow.

'What benefit could there be to living on land that demons can set foot on?' Rojer asked.

Leesha sipped her tea. 'My mum refuses to move, too,' she said. 'Says between your new wards and the cutters running about chopping every demon in sight, it's a needless bother.'

The Painted Man frowned. 'I know it seems like we have the demons cowed, but if the histories of the Demon Wars are anything to go by, they won't stay that way. They'll be back in force, and I want Cutter's Hollow to be ready.'

'Deliverer's Hollow,' Rojer corrected, smirking at the Painted Man's scowl.

'With you here, it will be,' Leesha said, ignoring Rojer and sipping at her tea. She watched the Painted Man carefully over the rim of her cup.

When he hesitated, she set her cup down. 'You're leaving,' she said. 'When?'

'When the Hollow is ready,' the Painted Man said, not bothering to deny her conclusion. 'I've wasted years, hoarding wards that can make the Free Cities that in more than name. I owe it to every city and hamlet in Thesa to see to it they have what they need to stand tall in the night.'

Leesha nodded. 'We want to help you,' she said.

'You are,' the Painted Man said. 'With the Hollow in your hands, I know it will be safe while I'm away.'

'You'll need more than that,' Leesha said. 'Someone to teach other Gatherers to make flamework and poisons, and to treat coreling wounds.'

'You could write all that down,' the Painted Man said. Leesha snorted. 'And give a man the secrets of fire? Not likely.'

'I can't write fiddling lessons, in any event,' Rojer said, 'even if I had letters.'

The Painted Man hesitated, then shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'The two of you will only slow me down. I'll be weeks in the wilds, and you don't have the stomach for that.'

'Don't have the stomach?' Leesha asked. 'Rojer, close the shutters,' she ordered.

Both men looked at her curiously.

'Do it,' she ordered, and Rojer rose to comply, cutting off the sunlight and filling the hut with a dark gloom. Leesha was already shaking a vial of chemics, bathing herself in a phosphorescent glow.

'The trap,' she said, and the Painted Man lifted the trap door down to the cellar where the demonfire had been kept. The scent of chemics was thick in the air that escaped.

Leesha led the way down into the darkness, her vial held high. She moved to sconces on the wall, adding chemics to glass jars, but the Painted Man's warded eyes, as comfortable in utter darkness as in clear day, had already widened before the light filled the room.

Heavy tables had been brought down into the cellar, and there, spread out before him, were half a dozen corelings in various states of dissection.

'Creator!' Rojer cried, gagging. He ran back up the stairs, and they could hear him gasping for air.

'Well, perhaps Rojer doesn't have the stomach yet,' Leesha conceded with a grin. She looked at the Painted Man. 'Did you know that wood demons have two? Stomachs, I mean. One stacked on top of the other, like an hourglass.' She took an instrument, peeling back layers of the dead demon's flesh to illustrate.

'Their hearts are off-centre; down to the right,' she added, 'but there's a gap between their third and fourth ribs. Something a man looking to deliver a killing thrust should know.'

The Painted Man looked on in amazement. When he looked back at Leesha, it was as if he were seeing her for the first time. 'Where did you get these...?'

'A word to the cutters you sent to patrol this end of the Hollow,' Leesha said. 'They were happy to oblige me with specimens.

'There's more,' she said. 'These demons have no sex organs. They're all neuter.'

The Painted Man looked at her in surprise. 'How is that possible?' he asked.

'It's not that uncommon among insects,' Leesha said. 'There are drone castes for labour and defence, and sexed castes that control the hive.'

'Hive?' the Painted Man asked. 'You mean the Core?'

Leesha shrugged.

The Painted Man frowned. 'There were paintings in the tombs of Anoch Sun; paintings of the First Demon War that depicted strange breeds of corelings I have never seen.'

'Not surprising,' Leesha said. 'We know so little about them.'

She reached out, taking his hands. 'All my life, I've felt like I was waiting for something bigger than brewing chill cures and delivering children,' she said. 'This is my chance to make a difference to more than just a handful of people. You believe there's a war coming? Rojer and I can help you win it.'

The Painted Man nodded, squeezing her hands in return. 'You're right,' he said. 'The Hollow survived that first night as much because of you and Rojer as me. I'd be a fool not to accept your help now.'

Leesha stepped forward, reaching into his hood. Her hand was cool on his face, and for a moment, he leaned into it. 'This hut is big enough for two,' she whispered.

His eyes widened, and she felt him go tense.

'Why does that terrify you more than facing down demons?' she asked. 'Am I so repulsive?'

The Painted Man shook his head. 'Of course not,' he said.

'Then what?' she asked. 'I won't keep you from your war.'

The Painted Man was quiet for some time. 'Two would soon become three,' he said at last, letting go her hands.

is that so terrible?' Leesha asked.

The Painted Man took a deep breath, moving away to another table, avoiding her eyes. 'That morning when I wrestled the demon...' he said.

‘I remember,' Leesha prompted, when he did not go on.

'The demon tried to escape back to the Core,' he said.

'And tried to take you with it,' Leesha said, i saw you both go misty, and slip beneath the ground. I was terrified.'

The Painted Man nodded. 'No more than me,' he said. 'The path to the Core opened up to me, calling me, pulling me down.'

'What does that have to do with us?' Leesha asked.

'Because it wasn't the demon, it was me,' the Painted Man said, i took control of the transition, dragged the demon back up to the sun. Even now, I can feel the pull of the Core. If I let myself, I could slip down into its infernal depths with the other corelings.'

'The wards...' Leesha began.

it's not the wards,' he said, shaking his head, i'm telling you it's me. I've absorbed too much of their magic over the years. I'm not even human anymore. Who knows what kind of monster would spring from my seed?'

Leesha went to him, taking his face in her hands as she had that morning they made love. 'You're a good man,' she said, her eyes welling with tears. 'Whatever the magic has done to you, it hasn't changed that. Nothing else matters.'

She leaned in to kiss him, but he had hardened his heart to her, and held her back.

‘It matters to me,' he said. 'Until I know what I am, I can't be with you, or anyone.'

'Then I'll discover what you are,' Leesha said, i swear it.'

'Leesha,' he said, 'you can't...'

'Don't you tell me what I can't do!' she barked. 'I've had enough of that from others to last a lifetime.'

He held up his hands in submission. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

Leesha sniffed, and closed her hands over his. 'Don't be sorry,' she said. 'Just hold me.' She moved in close, and rested her head against his chest as his powerful arms enclosed her.

Out in the Krasian desert, there was a stirring on the horizon. Lines of men appeared, thousand upon thousand, swathed in loose black cloth drawn about their faces to ward off the stinging sand. The vanguard was composed of two mounted groups, the smaller riding light, quick horses, and the larger upon powerful humped beasts suited to desert crossings. They were followed by columns of footmen, and they, in turn, by a seemingly endless train of carts and supplies. Each warrior carried a spear etched with an intricate pattern of wards.

At their head rode a man dressed all in white, on top of a sleek charger of the same colour. He raised a hand, and the horde behind him halted and stood in silence to gaze upon the ruins of Anoch Sun.

Unlike the wood and iron spears of his warriors, this man carried an ancient weapon made of a bright, unknown metal. He was Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am'Jardir, but his people had not used that name in years.

They called him Shar 'Dama Ka, the Deliverer.

Book 2 in the series due 2009

(Taz was here)