The Core

by Peter V. Brett

  Briar looked up as they parted, seeing the cradle in the back corner of the room behind the desk. “That…?”

  “Olive,” the countess said. “My daughter.”

  A wide smile broke out on Briar’s face. “Can I…?”

  “Of course,” the countess said. “But quietly now. I’ve only just gotten her to sleep.” She turned to the others as Briar crept over, silent as a cat.

  “Welcome to the Hollow, Mother, Guildmaster. Will you take tea?”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Elissa said, reaching for her skirts.

  The countess waved dismissively as she led them to couches around a tea table. “Please, call me Leesha. Briar’s told me what you’ve done for the Laktonians. There’s no need for formality here.”

  “We did what any in our position would have,” Ragen said, “for all the good it did.”

  “Most in your position would have fled home, not spent the better part of the year helping refugees and the resistance,” Leesha said as a servant poured the tea. “And I think the folk building the borough of New Lakton would say you did quite a bit of good.”

  “You’ve done your research, mistress,” Elissa said.

  “I like to be informed,” Leesha said.

  “Our condolences for your loss,” Ragen said. “Halfgrip’s fame extended to Miln and beyond. The power your people held in the night with his songs was…staggering.”

  “We would like to take the music back to Miln,” Elissa said. “It could safeguard travelers, caravans…”

  Leesha nodded. “Of course. Nothing would honor Rojer’s memory more than spreading his music far and wide. We’ll send written music back with you for your Jongleurs.”

  Elissa bowed. “Thank you, mistress. That is most gracious.”

  “It’s the least we can do, considering our friend in common,” Leesha said.

  Elissa raised an eyebrow. “Briar?”

  Leesha shook her head. “The boy Ragen found on the road many years ago, and you raised as your own. Arlen Bales.”

  Gared dropped his teacup, and it shattered on the floor.

  —

  “Do you think he’s still alive?” Elissa asked.

  “Course he is,” Baron Cutter said. “Deliverer, ent he?”

  “No one in all the world loves Arlen Bales more than I,” Elissa said. “He was a brilliant boy, and he grew into an amazing man. But I’ve dried his tears and cleaned his sick. Argued when he was stubborn and seen him err. Saw the hurts he carried and how he blamed himself for them. I don’t know if I can ever see him as the Deliverer.”

  “It’s irrelevant in any event,” Leesha said. “Deliverer or no, he’s set the world on a path we all need to walk.”

  “That ent the Deliverer’s job, dunno what is,” Wonda said. “I’ll eat my bow and the quiver besides, he ent alive. Folk seen him on the road, helping those fleeing Lakton.”

  “No one saw his face,” Leesha said. “That could as easily have been Renna.”

  “Arlen’s wife,” Elissa said. There were many regrets in her life, but missing the wedding cut deep. If any man deserved a bit of happiness in his life, it was Arlen Bales.

  “Night, that’s right,” Ragen said. “Didn’t think any woman could settle that boy down. What’s she like?”

  A pained look flickered over Leesha’s face, and Elissa gave him a subtle kick. Arlen had spoken of Leesha and what they shared—a spark doused by fear and panic.

  Ragen lacked subtlety, but he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t the first time Arlen Bales had fled a woman offering something too joyful for his tortured soul to bear. What kind of woman had finally reached him?

  “Renna Bales saved my life,” Gared said. “Saved us all, when the Deliverer fell.”

  “Fell?” Ragen asked. “Over the cliff with the demon of the desert?”

  The baron shook his head. “ ’Fore that. When the minds came for the Hollow on new moon. Went out with Rojer and Renna to scout, and we found a world of trouble. Mind demons were digging greatwards of their own.”

  “Night,” Ragen said. “Corelings can ward?”

  “Only the minds, it seems,” Leesha said, “but their warding makes ours look like a child’s scrawl.”

  “Fought like mad, but there were too many of ’em,” the baron went on. “Only made it back slung over Renna’s shoulder. Rojer told Mr. Bales what we saw and he jumped into the sky.”

  “What?” Elissa asked.

  “Took off like a bird,” Wonda said. “Thousands saw him, floating in the sky, throwin’ lightning at the demons like the Creator Himself.”

  Ragen looked to Elissa. “How’s that possible?”

  “He was Drawing off the greatward,” Leesha said. “Pulling massive amounts of power and throwing it at the demon wards before they could activate fully. But even a greatward has limits.”

  “One moment he was glowin’ like the sun, then…” Wonda blew a breath. “Out like a candle. Fell and cracked like an egg on the cobbles.”

  Elissa gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

  “Thought everythin’ was lost then,” Gared said. “No one was givin’ up, but there wern’t much hope. But then Renna Bales stepped up. Held the last line when every defense was broke. Held it until Mr. Bales came back to us. Two o’ them held hands as the tide came in, and threw it back into the night.”

  “Ent dead,” Wonda said. “Man who can walk away from that…”

  Leesha pursed her lips, then nodded to herself, getting to her feet. “Bar the door, Gar. Wonda, the curtains.”

  Ragen, Elissa, and Briar watched in confusion as they were locked into the room and cloaked in darkness. Leesha unlocked a drawer in her desk, producing what looked like a large piece of obsidian, but they could well guess what it was, even before she fitted it into a slot on the wall and a wardnet sprang up around them. It circled the room and crisscrossed the ceiling and floor, casting them all in gentle wardlight.

  “No sound will escape the room.” Leesha returned to her seat, taking her teacup and sipping thoughtfully. “What I say here must never be repeated.”

  “Swear by the sun,” Gared said.

  “Course, mistress,” Wonda added. Briar grunted his agreement.

  Ragen took Elissa’s hand. “You have our word.”

  “Renna Bales came to me the night we learned the Krasians attacked Lakton,” Leesha said. “She told me Arlen is alive.”

  “Knew it!” Wonda burst, even as Gared roared a laugh, bringing his hands together in a resounding smack.

  “Creator be praised,” Ragen whispered, but Elissa said nothing, knowing there was more.

  “She also told me they would not come again,” Leesha said. “They’d become too powerful, and were drawing the minds’ attention to the Hollow, just as Ahmann was doing in Krasia. We needed time to grow our defenses, and so he left to give us that.”

  “Said it himself,” Gared said. “Told Jardir he was the last piece of business before he took the fight to the Core.”

  “What does that mean?” Ragen asked.

  “Arlen can mist as the demons do,” Leesha said. “Renna, too, the last time I saw her. He told me he could hear the Core calling to him, could slip down into it like a coreling at dawn.” She shook her head sadly. “But he didn’t seem to think much of his chances if he tried.”

  “Better chance’n any of us,” Gared said.

  Ragen kept his composure, but he was squeezing Elissa’s hand so hard it hurt. She laid her other hand gently atop his, and his tension eased. “Gared’s right. How many times has Arlen cheated death? He’ll turn up again, just when we’ve given up, and start the worry afresh.”

  Ragen laughed. “Ay, that’s my boy.”

  “In the meantime, we need to do as he asked, and grow strong,” Leesha said. “Not something we can do if we’re more concerned with killing one another than the corelings.”

  “We didn’t bring that fight, mistress,” Ragen said. “The Krasians believe Sharak Ka is coming,
and the Evejah tells them the only hope mankind has to survive is for all the world to kneel before the Skull Throne.”

  “They brought the fight,” Leesha agreed, “but it’s been brewing for years. Euchor didn’t build his flamework weapons and train men in their use overnight.”

  “No,” Ragen agreed. “He’s long had his eye on subjugating the ivy throne and reuniting Thesa under his rule, but he would never have struck first.”

  “The question then,” Leesha said, “is will he be content to stop at Angiers now that he has it, or will he use the Krasians as an excuse to press south and claim all the Free Cities as his own?”

  Elissa exchanged another look with Ragen. “He will press. And expect you to follow and thank him for the privilege. The Hollow is too powerful for him to suffer at his doorstep when Angiers gives him a claim to it.”

  “Gettin’ tired of folk who ent ever bled for the Hollow marchin’ in and expecting us to bow and scrape,” Gared said.

  “You won’t have to,” Leesha said. “Euchor’s weapons won’t work as well here as he thinks.”

  “Because of you,” Elissa said. “Because of your magic.”

  Leesha nodded. “I have wardings that can render their chemics inert. Flamework weapons are not welcome in my lands.”

  “Will you teach us something of this bone magic, and how the hora is preserved?” Elissa asked.

  Gared and Wonda looked to their mistress, but Leesha did not hesitate. “Of course. After all, who do you think taught me?”

  She looked to Ragen. “I know you have retired as a Royal Messenger, Guildmaster, but I beg you take one last commission and act as my voice in Miln before His Grace, Duke Euchor.”

  Ragen bowed. “I would be honored, mistress. His Grace will be expecting a full report from us upon our return. You have my word I will hold secrets given me in confidence, and negotiate in good faith on your behalf.”

  Leesha bowed in return. “The honor is mine. We can discuss details in the coming days. For now, I invite the three of you to transfer your belongings here to my keep.”

  “Thank you, mistress,” Elissa said. “We gladly accept.”

  “S’fine,” Briar said. “Got a briarpatch in Gatherers’ Wood.”

  Leesha looked up at that. “You’re sleeping in my wood?”

  “Ay,” Briar said.

  “Do you know my Warded Children?” Leesha asked.

  Briar nodded. “Seen ’em lots of times. Live in the night like me. Brave, but…” He searched for a word. “Angry.”

  “Will you look in on them for me tonight?” Leesha asked. “I’ve been away some time, and would like to know what I can expect when I visit them.”

  Briar nodded. “Ay.”

  CHAPTER 5

  THE PACK

  334 AR

  Briar padded on bare feet through the Gatherers’ Wood. The soft leather boots he wore out of respect for Mistress Leesha’s carpets were laced together and slung over his shoulder under his father’s battered shield.

  Bare feet told much that boots could not. Where footing was sure and silent. The residual warmth where prey had been. The rush of nearby water. The thrum of hurried feet. Things that made you part of the night, instead of something clumsily passing through it. Things that could mean your life.

  Briar loved the Gatherers’ Wood. Too vast to conform to magic’s shape, it was one of the few places in Hollow County not protected by a greatward. After dark, wood demons roamed the boughs and prowled the forest bed. Water demons swam its ponds. Wind demons skimmed the wider paths and circled above the clearings.

  But even amid the wild nature, Briar could see how Mistress Leesha was shaping the wood from within. Some changes, like warded crete walkways and posts, were obvious to all, safe as sunlight. Others, their power shaped by natural features and cultivated plants, were so subtle the unwary might never know they were under the mistress’ protection.

  It was why Briar trusted Mistress Leesha so implicitly. She had taken the time to understand the cories. How a certain slick moss on the branches could make wood demons avoid a copse of trees, or a patch of dry ground limit how far a bog demon might range. How fruit and nut trees drew cories in search of prey, and other plants urged them away.

  Briar helped as he wandered the wood, cutting hogroot stalks and planting them in strategic places. There was a wild patch growing in a ring around an ancient goldwood tree, limbs hanging over the stalks like a parent bending to embrace a child. A half-frozen stream ran through the patch, eroding beneath the thick roots. It created a small hollow Briar could widen and expand, the moist soil pungent enough to drive off demon and human alike.

  He grew the wood’s protections with love and harmony, leaving no sign of his shaping hand. The wood returned his love, providing sustenance and shelter from the cories.

  The Warded Children were less delicate. Here and there Briar found signs of their passing, scattered like trash in the street. Broken limbs, trampled plants, wardings carved into the living bark of great trees. Some of their traps were cunning enough to catch a demon, but most were so obvious even cories could spot them.

  Still, Briar had seen them fight. For all their clumsiness, the Children had power in the night. It would be foolish to underestimate them. Mistress Leesha was wise to want to learn more.

  Briar drew near his patch, but he never went directly to the entrance. He circled, checking the defenses. Like Mistress Leesha, he preferred stinks to snares, urging demons gently away. A few shoots of hogroot, transplanted and allowed to grow wild, were enough to turn a stalking demon onto another path.

  Other scents had a similar effect on humans. Even the brave souls living in the Gatherers’ Wood hesitated to step into a patch of skunkweed, or a place reeking of rot. In one place, a diverted stream turned the path into sucking mud that woodies and humans alike would avoid.

  Everything seemed in order, until he found a fresh snare. It was an area he’d littered months ago with animal carcasses stuffed with hogroot. Unlike plants and diverted streams, some deterrents had to be maintained. The carcasses were gone and Briar saw signs demons had returned to the area.

  The trap was a good example of the craft, evidence that at least one of the Warded Children had claimed this place as a hunting ground. The child knew enough to use the deterrents around the Briarpatch to herd the demon into the path of the hidden snare. The loop lay in a shallow groove dug into the soil, covered lightly with the natural detritus of the forest bed.

  The rope had been rubbed with sap and dirtied, leaved twigs stuck along its length to give the impression of natural vine as it disappeared into the branches of a wintergreen tree. Briar had to climb the boughs to find the net holding the counterweights.

  Even the wary might be caught in so cleverly hidden a trap, but Briar knew this part of the wood intimately, and the snare stood out to him as if ablaze. It was discomfiting—so close to where he laid his head—but it made Mistress Leesha’s request all the easier to fulfill. At dusk, the hunter would be positioned and waiting. All Briar had to do was watch.

  —

  Briar woke to darkness in his sleeping hole, but after a decade living without wards, he could sense the approaching night like a chill.

  It was no great space, but every time he returned, Briar dug a little more, added a vent, or shored the packed dirt. The walls and floor were lined with tough, dried hogroot stalks—comfortable to lie upon and resistant to water. Even if the entrance was discovered, the scent would keep cories from investigating further.

  Stretching, he listened carefully, checking his spyholes one by one. When he was confident no one was about, Briar lifted the trap just enough to slither into the center of his hogroot patch.

  As its name implied, the roots of the plant were aggressive, knitting a thick sod that pulled up like a carpet. He quickly and carefully smoothed the trap back down, strewing leaves to obscure the faint impression.

  Here and there Briar snapped off leaves as he made his way t
hrough the patch, leaving minimal sign of his harvest. Some he ate, filling his pockets with the rest. There was another trapdoor away from the sleeping den where he made his water and squatted out his night soil.

  Making his way to the snare, he was surprised to see the hunter in plain sight, not bothering to hide as she waited by the rope with a ready knife.

  Mistress Leesha said Stela Inn wasn’t much older than him, but she was taller, looking more a grown woman than he felt a man. Magic had made her body hard, and she wore little to cover it. A loincloth. A binding around her breast. A leather headband.

  Her bare skin was inked with wards. The pattern started on her feet, winding up her calves and thighs, twisting about her midsection, then slithering down her arms. Looking at her, Briar felt his chest tighten and his face heat.

  He shook it off, circling the area. He expected to find other hunters in hiding to assist, but after several minutes he became convinced Stela was alone.

  It was curious. In his experience, the Children hunted as a pack. This was something new.

  Slipping quietly behind her, Briar shimmied up the far side of the tree holding the counterweights. From its boughs he could study Stela while keeping view of the surrounding area.

  She carried neither spear nor shield, though a number of pouches and ornaments hung beside the knife sheath on her belt. Stela froze as full dark fell, but made no other effort to conceal herself.

  There was an unmistakable crunch as the wood demon that claimed this part of the forest lumbered down the path Stela had laid with fresh carcasses. Briar kept expecting her to hide, but she remained in plain sight. Did she mean to use herself to bait the trap?

  But as the corie approached, it showed no sign it saw her. The wards on Stela’s flesh had taken on a soft glow, and the demon’s eyes slid past like she wasn’t there.

  It was a good trick. The corie moved past her, oblivious as it stepped into the snare.

  Stela moved fast, kicking the back of the corie’s knee, driving it into the ground. She spun like a dancer, whipping her knife through the rope that held the counterweight. Laden with heavy stones, the net dropped and the noose caught the woodie at the knee, yanking it to swing upside down. Stela had measured well. The demon’s flailing talons scraped the air just above the ground.