The Core

by Peter V. Brett

  Ragen and Malcum looked around, but it seemed no one heard. Ragen leaned in as Yon and Malcum blocked them from view. “Keep your voice down. I know you’re worried about your family. I would be, too. But there’s nothing we can do about it right now. Brayan’s walls are some of the strongest in Miln. Stasy is as safe there as anywhere, and Elissa is on her way there even now to meet the Mothers’ Council. She’ll find Stasy and ensure she and Jef are well.”

  Derek scowled, but he kept his mouth closed and gave a tight nod. Ragen clapped him on the shoulder.

  Uncharacteristically, Euchor left the throne room empty, receiving only the most powerful lords and guildmasters from the head of his small council table.

  “Neocount,” the duke grunted as Ragen and Derek took seats. “You can have your…assistant wait outside.”

  “I’ve appointed Derek vice guildmaster,” Ragen said. “He’ll be coordinating Warders throughout the city today. It’s best he receives your commands directly.”

  “Now, just a minute!” Vincin said. “You can’t—!”

  “I can and I have.” Ragen produced a scroll full of signatures. “Since you’ve refused to call a meeting of the guild, the masters voted without you. I’ve been reinstated as master of the Warders’ Guild.”

  Vincin turned to Euchor. “Your Grace! This man should be in irons, not commanding the defense! The guards say he nearly let corelings in the gate last night!”

  “And where were you last night?” Ragen asked. “Locked tight in your manse while I fought demons on the street?”

  “Enough!” Euchor banged his bracer. “The guild voted, Vincin. I don’t want to see that oily goatee twitch again unless your guildmaster commands it.”

  Vincin’s face fell slack. Ragen knew he should relish the look, but he took no pleasure in it. They would need every Warder in the city unified today if they were to survive.

  “Vincin does have a point, Ragen,” Euchor said. “Your heroics put us all at risk last night for a handful of peasants.”

  “Seven hundred souls, including Warders, Messengers, and Your Grace’s own Mountain Spears,” Ragen said. “And what does it matter, when the demons came in through the sewers?”

  Count Brayan opened his mouth but Euchor gave a wave, silencing him. “A problem for another day, as you say. This…Waning will continue tonight?”

  “At least,” Ragen said. “The mind demons may only rise during new moon, but their generals, the mimics, do not seem so bound. They will attack where we are weakest, and continue to erode the defenses. Even if Miln does not fall this moon, we may not make it to the next.”

  Euchor sat back, steepling his hands. “Can we collapse the sewers? Block them from getting in that way again?”

  “In the inner city, perhaps,” Brayan said. “But it would deplete flamework we need for cannons.”

  “The explosions would weaken the wards on the walls and foundations of the buildings,” Ragen said, “and it won’t work in any event. Rock demons may not be able to fit in the tunnels, but clay and stone demons can. They can burrow through rubble like voles in a garden.”

  “What, then?” Euchor demanded. “We can’t just leave them access into the city.”

  “Of course not,” Ragen agreed. “We’ll need to send men down into the dark to put in fresh wards. I sent word to my workshops to make stencils and collect every drop of paint in the city. We’ve a limited supply of hora collected from the bodies of demons before the sun burned them away. It should help reinforce the forbiddings and form a seal.”

  “Will it be enough?” Euchor asked.

  Ragen shrugged. “The Warders who first sealed the tunnels did their work well. Hopefully we can shore up the weaknesses and seal off the fresh breaches. The greater concern is whether the tunnels are empty.”

  Euchor paled. “What do you mean, empty?”

  “Many of the sewer passages have not seen daylight in a hundred years,” Ragen said. “Who can say how long the demons have been planning this, or if they have fled to the Core for the day or linger just beneath the surface?”

  “Night,” Euchor said. “If they’re infested…”

  “We can use mirrors,” Malcum said.

  “Eh?” Euchor asked.

  “An old Messenger trick,” Ragen said. “Reflect light into the tunnels to drive them back.”

  “That will take every mirror in the city,” Brayan said.

  “And then some,” Ragen said. “We’ll need Mountain Spears as well, to provide an armed guard for the Warders.”

  “I need those men to hold the wall,” Euchor said.

  “They held the wall last night,” Ragen said, “but there were still demons in the streets. We’ll need to evacuate as many as possible. Not just to the inner city, but to the strongest-walled manses and keeps. Here. My manse. Count Brayan’s and Countess Tresha’s fortresses, the Library.”

  “I’ll be corespawned before I have Beggars in my Library and walls, Neocount,” Euchor said.

  “We can bar the Library doors, Your Grace,” Ronnell said. “The stone Guardians will keep the corespawn from the hilltop. Should they breach, we can shelter in the Cathedral. If we need to flee to the Library…” He shrugged. “Fingerprints on the pages will be the least of our worries.”

  “We have less than sixty thousand in the entire city, Your Grace,” Ragen pressed, when Euchor did not respond. “The able-bodied should be armed with whatever’s to hand. There’s no reason the rest can’t squeeze behind the walls of the royal keeps and manses for a night.”

  “Fine, fine.” Euchor turned to his page. “Send a runner to Jone. She’s to organize the evacuation of the lower city. Everyone with a private wardwall is to take in as many as they can hold. No exceptions.”

  “Your Grace…” Brayan began.

  Euchor turned an angry glare his way. “Was there a yes before that, Count?”

  Brayan drew back and blinked, but he was quick to recover and bow. “Of course, Your Grace. It will be done.”

  “I won’t yield the walls without a fight,” Euchor said. “My family has guarded this city against the corelings for three hundred years. I won’t cede it in a single moon.”

  —

  “This is an outrage,” Tresha groused as their carriage climbed the great hill through the capital of Gold County. At the top, across a wide chasm, sat Count Brayan’s keep. “My walls are every bit as strong as Brayan’s. What right does Jone…”

  “What does it matter, Mother?” Elissa snapped. “This isn’t the moment for politics.”

  Tresha looked down her nose. “Don’t make me regret naming you my heir, girl. It’s always the moment for politics, times of trouble most of all.”

  “Then let’s start with freeing Mother Stasy and her son,” Elissa said. “They belong with Derek behind my walls.”

  “Your walls barely held last night, by all accounts.” Tresha pointed to the thick walls of Brayan’s keep, sitting on a bluff with great wards carved into the living rock. A single arching bridge of crete and steel was the only access point, the supports forming the lines of a powerful warding. “They’re safer there for now.”

  “I pray you’re right,” Elissa said. “Are your Warders—”

  “Thrice checking the sewers and laying paint all over my beautiful courtyards and gardens,” Tresha cut in.

  “They’ll still be beautiful,” Elissa said, “once you’ve laid gravel paths through the lawns to hold the shape of the greatwards.”

  “They’d best be,” Tresha said. “There’s enough stone in this ripping city already. The gardens were my last escape.”

  “We all make sacrifices in war.” Elissa looked out over the chasm as they crossed the bridge.

  The keep gates were open, and they were greeted in the courtyard by Servants in Count Brayan’s livery. Tresha and Elissa were immediately escorted into the meeting room where the other Mothers waited.

  Mothers Jone and Cera moved to greet them, but Elissa spotted Stasy across the
room and slipped around the other women to intercept her. It was a snub—one all three of the elder women would likely make her pay for—but it was worth it to catch the young woman alone.

  “Elissa!” Stasy cried, throwing arms around her.

  “It’s good to see you, dear,” Elissa said, squeezing warmly. In happier days when Derek worked in Cob’s warding shop, they had been frequent companions. Even out of favor with her mother, Elissa’s breeding had been enough for the two women to spend time as equals without causing a scandal. “Have you been treated well? Derek is beside himself with worry.”

  Stasy sighed. “They’ve treated me no differently than before, save now I cannot cross the bridge.”

  “And it is your wish to leave?” Elissa asked. “To take young Jef and come to live with Derek?”

  “Oh, Mother Elissa, you know it is,” Stasy said. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, if Father and Cousin Brayan would only allow it.”

  “I know, dear, but I needed to hear you say it aloud.” Elissa squeezed her shoulder, noticing Mother Cera gliding swiftly their way with Jone and Tresha at her heels. “We can fix things now. Derek has been appointed vice guildmaster in addition to his seat on the Warding Exchange.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when Derek told me Arlen Bales left him a seat,” Stasy said. “That man’s been looking out for us since the beginning, all for the price of a few thundersticks.”

  “Arlen’s loyalty isn’t a thing you can buy,” Elissa said. “The two of you earned it.” Cera was nearly upon them. “Will you swear your desire to leave before the council with your aunt looking on? They’ve been using you as a check on Ragen’s power, and won’t let you go easily.”

  “I’ll shout it from the towers, if need be,” Stasy said, but her voice had dropped to a whisper as her royal cousin came within earshot.

  “There you are, dear,” Mother Cera said, laying a firm hand on Stasy’s shoulder. “Perhaps it’s time you were getting back to your chambers. The Mothers’ Council is about to be called to order.”

  Elissa bared her teeth at the woman, but it was in her most innocent smile. “Mother Stasy is a baron’s daughter, and has a right to a vote on the council.” Her voice was not loud, but it carried for other women to hear.

  “Of course she can stay,” Tresha cut in quickly. “Every voice must be heard today.”

  Cera’s eye twitched, but she was trapped and she knew it. It might be her house, but Tresha led the council. Elissa knew better than to press the advantage—yet—but she kept Stasy close as the council gathered and was called to order.

  Hours passed as they studied reports of losses in the night, organizing evacuations and supply. They moved money and resources without the usual rancor and debate. Notes were written to allow the guilds to lend and borrow without interest money that did not exist. A steady stream of runners came and went across the bridge.

  The sun was low in the sky when Elissa finally straightened from the papers she had been hunched over, putting a hand to the small of her back to relieve the strain. No doubt the roads were choked. If she wanted to return to the manse, it would need to be soon. She got to her feet but stumbled and lost her balance, sprawling to the floor.

  At first she thought her legs must have fallen asleep, but then she saw women on the floor all around the room. The walls rattled, and the air was filled with a tremendous roar.

  “What—?!” Elissa’s words choked off as she saw Tresha lying unmoving on the floor, blood pooling about her head. “Mother!”

  She rushed to Tresha’s side, reaching for her silver stylus, but there was nothing she could do while sunlight still streamed in the windows. “Someone fetch a Gatherer! The Countess of Morning needs immediate aid!”

  Baroness Cate, looking out the window, screamed. “The bridge collapsed!”

  The words barely sank in as Elissa lifted her mother’s head back, clearing the passage of air for her weakened breaths. She wadded a kerchief against the bleeding gash on her mother’s temple. Tresha’s pulse was slow and erratic, but it was there.

  “Mother!” she cried. “Mother, can you hear me?”

  Tresha’s only reply was a groan, and there was no telling if it was a response to the words or the movement and pressure against her wound. Cera ushered her personal Gatherer to attend them while apprentices went among the other Mothers to triage.

  “Is she dead?” Cera demanded.

  Elissa glared at her as the Gatherer took Tresha’s wrist. “Alive, but I wouldn’t expect her to be leading the council anytime soon.”

  “Then it falls to me,” Cera said.

  Elissa lifted her chin. “I am Tresha’s heir.”

  Cera snorted. “That you may be, child, but you’ve barely been part of the council a month. You’ve no authority.”

  Elissa wanted to argue, but Cera was right. There was nothing to gain in fighting over it.

  —

  “A little lower, easy, now.” Ragen watched Yon and Cal tilt the heavy silvered mirror to cast sunlight into the sinkhole where another mirror team caught the beam and reflected the light deeper.

  “Looks clear!” Derek called.

  “You’re up,” Ragen said to a group of workers waiting with hand mirrors. They looked nervously at one another, then climbed down into the hole, lifting their mirrors to catch the light and send beams into the tunnels. When nothing happened, more men were sent in, angling the light even further. Warders readied their equipment and went in after to begin their work.

  And then the screams began.

  The workers just inside the hole dropped their heavy mirror and scrambled up to the street, leaving those inside the tunnel in darkness.

  Ragen didn’t hesitate, his exhaustion lost in a rush of adrenaline as he leapt into the hole, skipping off a chunk of rubble to land beside the mirror. It had an ornate brass frame that protected it when the workers dropped it, but the thing weighed well over two hundred pounds, and he strained to lift it alone.

  Cal and Lary Cutter jumped down after him, catching the frame and easily lifting it to catch the light once more.

  Bodies littered the tunnel, bleeding in the fetid water. One was clutched in the talons of a demon that burst into flames when the sunlight struck it full-on. There were shrieks as other demons fled the light, and a few workers managed to scramble back out.

  “Corespawn it,” Ragen cursed. They had found and sealed the tunnels the demons used to get past the walls, but apparently many demons had never left the city, and clearing them from the dark, cramped tunnels seemed an impossible task, even as daylight faded.

  “Guildmaster!” a voice cried from above, even as a team of guards braved the tunnel to haul out the survivors, and the bodies.

  Ragen climbed from the tunnel, catching Yon’s hand. The giant Cutter easily hauled him out of the hole where the runner was waiting.

  “Guildmaster!” the boy cried.

  “What is it?” The adrenaline was already fading, leaving Ragen even more tired than before. He didn’t think he could handle more bad news.

  —

  “Trapped?” Derek demanded. “What in the dark of night is that supposed to mean?”

  “It looks like the demons tunneled beneath the bridge supports,” Ragen said.

  Derek punched the heavy desk, but if the blow pained him, it didn’t show. “Corespawn it! I should have blown the doors off that ripping place!”

  “And left everyone defenseless when the demons came?” Ragen asked. “They wouldn’t have knocked out the bridge if they thought they could easily breach the walls. They wanted to cut off the Mothers’ leadership.”

  “Maybe,” Derek said. “Or maybe they want to hit the place tonight and don’t want help coming.”

  Ragen grit his teeth. The same thoughts were running through his mind, but he needed to project calm, now more than ever. Night would fall soon, and if the demons could hit Gold County while the sun still shone, then nowhere was truly safe.

  “Can’t we,
I dunno, throw ’em a rope or sumthin’?” Yon asked.

  “If you’ve got a Krasian scorpion handy, perhaps,” Ragen said. “Not even you can throw a rope across that chasm, and even if you could, what then? Ask old women to climb a quarter mile hand over hand?”

  “Guess not,” Yon said. “Can’t just sit here, though.”

  Ragen was silent a long time. The evacuations had only increased the number of souls behind his walls, their blankets bleached and dyed to reinforce the greatwards as they huddled on the grounds. He was the Neocount of Morning now, not Ragen Messenger, not the Warders’ Guildmaster. His responsibility was to his people.

  But the demons had Elissa trapped.

  “No,” he agreed at last. “We can’t just sit here.”

  —

  “Was it the demons?” Countess Cera asked as they looked down from the walltop at the ruin of the bridge below. The cloud of dust was still settling over countless tons of shattered crete.

  “There were a lot of people running back and forth over that bridge today,” Elissa said, “but I don’t think we can accept it as coincidence on new moon. We have to assume the minds will come for us tonight. Somehow they knew we were meeting here. They want to take out our leaders to weaken the resistance.”

  Mother Jone grew pale. “His Grace—”

  “Is likely in terrible danger,” Elissa cut in. “But we have our own problems.” Tresha had been moved to a darkened chamber where Elissa could mend her wound, but she remained unconscious, and there was no telling when—or if—she would wake, or what she would be like when she did. She remembered Mistress Anet’s words. Magic by itself was not always enough.

  She turned to Countess Cera, tightening her jaw as she spread her skirts and curtsied. “Mother. I apologize for challenging your leadership. This is your home, and the council is yours to speak for until my mother recovers. But I beg of you, allow me to take control of your Warders and the defense preparations. Your household complement is no doubt skilled, but I have practical experience they cannot match.”