The Warded Man moved with all the speed he could muster, taking the twelve-foot-wide pit in a single leap, but even he could not move fast enough to prevent the slaughter. Bodies were being flung about in bloody abandon when he came crashing in, attacking wildly.
When the melee was over, he stood panting with the few surviving women, Stefny, amazingly, among 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, and 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 Warded Man could catch its swinging tail.
“Look out!” the Warded 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 Warded 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, the demon pulled itself through the open window and into the Holy House.
The Warded Man ran for the side entrance, but then 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, some wept openly, or rocked slowly back and forth, shaking with fear; some 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!” He 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 and tore out her throat before she even knew what 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 the Warded 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. The creature shrieked at them, and she felt her knees turn to water.
But then Rojer was there, interposing himself between them 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 the Holy House with a mournful, haunting melody.
The coreling hissed at the Jongleur and bared its teeth, long and sharp as carving 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 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 backward.
“Leesha!” The side door opened with a crash, and Leesha turned to see the Warded 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 Warded 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 in 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, letting those villagers too tired to go on stagger back to their circles or into the Holy House to catch their breath or gulp down a swallow of water. There was an hour when not a demon could be seen, and another after that when a 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 scattered everywhere. Many jumped in fright as the sun struck the demon corpses, setting th
eir flesh alight. Like bursts of liquid demonfire all over the square, the sun finished the battle, incinerating the few demons that still twitched.
The Warded 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 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 Warded Man, and stood before him.
“This is thanks to you,” he said.
The Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded Man sensed the matter was not closed.
CHAPTER 32
CUTTER’S NO MORE
332 AR
LEESHA WAVED AS ROJER and the Warded Man rode up the path. She set her brush back in its bowl on the porch as they dismounted.
“You learn quickly,” the Warded 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 she couldn’t tell a wind ward from a flame.”
“He’s right,” the Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded Man’s scowl.
“With you here, it will be,” Leesha said, ignoring Rojer and sipping at her tea. She watched the Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded Man lifted the trapdoor 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 Warded 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 Warded Man. “Did you know that wood demons have two? Stomachs, I mean. One stacked atop the other, like an hourglass.” She took an instrument, peeling back layers of the dead demon’s flesh to illustrate.
“Their hearts are off-center, 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 Warded 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. And there’s more. These demons have no sex organs. They’re all neuter.”
The Warded 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 labor and defense, and sexed castes that control the hive.”
“Hive?” the Warded Man asked. “You mean the Core?”<
br />
Leesha shrugged.
The Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded Man shook his head. “Of course not,” he said.
“Then what?” she asked. “I won’t keep you from your war.”
The Warded Man was quiet for some time. “Two would soon become three,” he said at last, letting go of her hands.
“Is that so terrible?” Leesha asked.
The Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded 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 Warded Man Page 51
