It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Raddock had wrested the Speaker’s gavel from her more than once over the years. The drought of 305 ar. The time demons burned the fields in 321. Always, the gavel reverted to her on the next vote, after Raddock made things worse. But this time, Selia knew it was different.
“I nominate Jeorje Watch as Town Speaker!”
Everyone knew it was coming, but it was a blow all the same. There were excited whispers throughout the crowd. Always before, the vote for Town Speaker had been split three ways: Raddock, Jeorje, and Selia. There had been competition between Raddock and Selia before, but the Southwatch Speaker had never come close to taking the gavel.
Brine stepped forward next. “I nominate Selia Square!”
Selia rubbed her temple, trying to massage away the tension.
A long silence followed, and at last Jeorje thumped his cane and Hog put two sealed barrels beneath the curtain frame at center stage. One was marked with a square, the other a cane. He tilted the barrels to show the Speakers they were empty, then hammered the slotted tops on and drew the curtain closed to keep the ballot secret.
Selia took a deep breath. As Town Speaker, the first vote was hers. She walked behind the curtain and put her ball in the square barrel.
Jeorje came next, a cruel smile on his face as he stepped from the curtain.
Raddock, Jeph, and the other Speakers voted in turn. Coline stood behind the curtain a long time. Regardless of her vote, the hesitation was telling.
The Speakers withdrew as folk lined up, coming up one side of the stage to cast their votes and going down the other. There were over a thousand voters, and not all were quick about it. More than one had tears in their eyes as they left the curtain. Others stood undecided a long time, as Coline had.
Tensions grew as the sun climbed into the sky and dipped back down. The last vote was cast, and they set to counting, with the Speakers verifying every vote.
“Five hundred thirty-seven for Jeorje Watch,” Hog called at last. “For Selia Square, five hundred forty-two.”
Selia’s eyebrows raised. Was it possible?
The crowd, taut as a reeling fishing line, burst into chatter at that, until Jeorje banged his cane against the boards. “One thousand fifty-nine voters, I counted, yet we have one thousand seventy-nine votes?”
“Cheat!” Raddock roared.
And up came the spears.
* * *
The square erupted into a melee the likes of which Tibbet’s Brook had never seen. Old grudges, held in check for years by civilized life, burst their stitches as that façade fell away.
Stam Tailor was tackled by Maddy’s father and brothers. Garric Fisher broke a spear across the back of Lucik’s head. When Meada ran to him, Nomi Fisher leapt on her shoulders, bearing her down and clawing at her. Jeph jumped off the stage to assist her, but Mack Pasture caught him by the shoulder and punched him in the face.
The incidents were not isolated—hundreds of similar dramas reaching their climax as neighbor fought neighbor. Some had weapons; others used whatever was to hand, or bare knuckles. Fishers, tired of being pushed around. Marshes, tired of the scorn of the other boroughs.
“Stop this! There was no cheat!” Selia screamed over the din, but if anyone noticed, they gave no sign.
“Numbers don’t lie, Selia,” Jeorje said. “Have you done this every year? How else could a sinner and murderer have Spoken for the town so long?”
He lifted his cane and came for her, and Selia, without weapons or armor, was ill prepared to fight. She gave ground as he advanced. Were the numbers wrong? Who knew how many had come from the Marsh? From Southwatch? All they had was Jeorje’s word. Had this been his plan all along?
Brine stepped in front of her. Close to seven feet tall and built like a goldwood tree, he towered over Jeorje, handling the heavy axe mattock in his hands like a hatchet. “Want to touch the Speaker, need to go through me.”
Jeorje smiled, then came in fast. Brine grabbed at him with his free hand, unwilling to strike another man with his weapon even now. Jeorje took full advantage, sliding around the off-handed swipe to crack the head of his cane against the back of Brine’s knee. Broadshoulders roared as the leg bucked and he stumbled. It was all the opening Jeorje needed for a second strike, breaking Brine’s jaw.
“Get Coline out of here,” Selia told Harral. “Take anyone you can to the Holy House and lock the doors.”
Brine dropped to the stage, stunned. Jeorje raised his cane for a finishing blow, but Selia leapt and tackled him. Raddock charged her, but she rolled to her feet and met him head-on, locking his arm and neck in a clinch that left his midsection unprotected as her knee came up hard, blowing the breath from him. Before he could recover, she kneed him again. And a third time.
Jeorje had recovered his feet by then but Selia pivoted and threw Raddock’s limp body into his path. The stage was narrow and, with no room to dodge, the two men went down in a tangle.
“Selia!” Lesa had been attacked by a pair of Watchmen. One lay moaning on the ground. The other was stumbling away, screaming as he cradled a broken arm. Heedless of her own safety, Lesa threw her spear. Selia caught it gratefully as Jeorje shoved Raddock away and got to his feet, murder in his eyes.
“Security!” Hog called. His fighters appeared, armed and armored, a disciplined group amid the chaos. Selia let out a breath.
“Protect the store!” Hog cried.
“Corespawn you, Rusco Hog!” Selia cried, but it was herself she was angry with for ever trusting the man to act in anyone’s interests but his own.
Indeed, more folk in the Brook held grudges against Hog than anyone. Already looters were running out of the store with armfuls of goods. Catrin chased a group out with a rolling pin, but there was blood in her hair. There was no sign of Dasy, Hog’s other daughter.
Smaller shops around the square were no safer, folk taking what they could as the owners desperately tried to protect their goods or struggled with Jeorje’s men.
The Cutters did what they could to restore order, but they were brawlers more than disciplined fighters. Selia’s militia was organized, but no more so than the Watchmen, who came at them, spears leading.
“Stop this!” Selia screamed at Jeorje as he stalked toward her. “The sun is setting!”
But Jeorje only smiled, and then she knew.
* * *
Selia quit trying to reason, to keep the violence boiling in her breast in check. The town, her town, was in danger, and Jeorje was in her way. The demon had done something while it was in his mind. Something that carried into the day.
She raised her spear and charged.
Jeorje flicked his cane, unsheathing the spear tip at the end as he planted his feet to meet her. Selia held her spear in two hands, whipping it at him like a quarterstaff, coming at him from both sides.
But Jeorje was fast, the ancient man batting the blows aside with the head of his cane and then lifting it to thrust the tip right at her heart. Selia felt it tear through her blouse and cut into her breast as she twisted out of its path. She swung her spear shaft down to trip him, but Jeorje was wise to the move, hopping over the wood like a child skipping rope. Selia’s nose flattened with a crunch as he turned a full circuit to put an elbow into her face.
Lights went off behind her eyes as a shock of pain lanced through her. Selia let the blow crumple her—only half a feint. Jeorje took the bait, raising his cane to drive the spearpoint into her back. As his guard dropped, Selia rolled over and punched hard between his legs.
Jeorje let out a hoarse cry but kept his feet. Selia hit him again and he stumbled back, clutching a hand protectively over his crotch. She knew she should press the attack, but her head was ringing and she took the chance to grab her spear and get back to her feet.
She glanced around to find Keven Marsh creeping up on her. He dropped his spear crosswise over her head and pulled tight, choking her even as Jeorje stalked back in.
&nb
sp; Lesa vaulted onto the stage, kicking Keven in the knee. Selia elbowed him in the ribs as he stumbled, and he lost his grip. She stepped away, and Lesa, a Watch spear in her hands, put her back to Selia’s.
Smoke was in the air, fire coming from Stam Tailor’s shop and threatening to spread even as the shadows grew long. Some of the folk fled to succor, but others were caught up fighting and looting, caring for wounded, or lying unconscious like poor Brine. There were bodies, blood, and debris on the cobbles, hopelessly marring the greatward as the sun began to set.
“Quit holding back.” Selia wasn’t sure if she was speaking to Lesa or herself. The two of them moved as one, giving up their defensive position to strike.
Lesa was faster and more agile than Keven, landing blows more often, but Keven was bigger, stronger, and shrugged off much of what his armor failed to turn. Selia tried to make up for her lack of armor with speed and ferocity, but Jeorje had the advantage. He was unable to set up a killing thrust, but he battered Selia with lesser blows that began to accumulate. Her muscles burned from exertion, bones bruised and likely a few cracked.
She feigned greater weakness than she felt, and when Jeorje prepared to strike she put her spear into his wrist, causing him to drop his cane.
He wasn’t taken completely unawares. Even as the cane fell away, Selia’s spear was out of alignment and she could do nothing to stop his strong right hand from grabbing her by the throat. He kicked her feet from under her, slamming her down hard onto the stage.
“Selia!” Lesa screamed, but the moment of distraction cost her as Keven push-kicked her off the stage. She landed heavily on the cobbles and he leapt down atop her even as Jeorje began to squeeze. His left hand joined the other, blood running from his wrist, hot and slippery on Selia’s chest. His face was twisted with hate, spittle running from clenched teeth.
Selia struggled, pulling at his arms, but Jeorje was heavier, and wise to her tricks. She punched at him, but with warded glass plates sewn into the lining of his jacket, the blows hurt her more than him.
And all along, those iron fingers closed tighter and tighter. Had the sun set? Or was her vision going dark?
But then the grip loosened. Selia blinked, seeing Jeorje rear back in the flickering light of the fires. Brine Broadshoulders, his mangled jaw askew, had the ancient Watchman by one leg and the back of his coat. He lifted Jeorje off her and hurled him from the stage.
Selia coughed, looking out over the townsfolk, many still fighting, others fallen, illuminated in the firelight. The sky was dark, and the folk from Southwatch, battling the other militias a moment before, broke off from the fighting and began to vandalize the buildings around the square.
“Creator,” Selia breathed. It wasn’t just vandalism.
They were scarring the wards.
* * *
“The wards!” Selia cried.
“Ay, what’s this?!” Raddock demanded.
“The night will cleanse the sin from Town Square!” Jeorje roared. His Watchmen gave a cheer and raised their spears, but the Fishers and Marshes hesitated, looking back to their Speakers.
Jeph Bales had Mack Pasture in a headlock. He heaved, throwing the older man stumbling toward the Speaker for Fishing Hole. “This what you wanted? To tear the town in half so the demons could have us?”
“Ent,” Coran Marsh said from behind the protective cover of Keven’s spear and shield. “Din’t want Selia speakin’ for this town, but that don’t mean we’re in cahoots with demons.” He turned to stare at Raddock.
Raddock drew himself up, eyes ablaze with reflected fire. “Ent. Only ever wanted for Fishers to get some rippin’ respect.”
“Threw in with the wrong lot for that,” Meada said.
“There’s no time for bickering!” Selia snapped. “We have to protect the wards.”
Keven nodded, hopping down from the stage to take command of his men. Raddock took the steps, but even he scooped up a broken spear shaft to use as a club and put a hand around his mouth. “Fishers! Protect the wards! Anyone gets in the way, gut ’em!”
Selia slipped two fingers in her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. She leapt off the stage and the scattered men and women of her militia began to form around her as she waded into the fighting, Brine, Mack, and Jeph at her back.
Selia cracked a Watchman across the head with her spear shaft, knocking off his steel-rimmed hat and dropping him to the ground. Close up, she could see the mind wards on the brim had been scratched, breaking the lines.
Fighting together, Jeorje’s fighters were forced to abandon their assault on the wards to defend themselves.
That was when the demons arrived.
* * *
They swarmed into the square, the cobbled greatward marred past even the slightest utility. Reaps of field demons, lithesome and fast. Copses of wood demons, lumbering but strong as ancient goldwood trees. Flame demons dancing between the legs of great rock demons that shook the cobbles with every thunderous footfall. Flights of wind demons circling in the sky.
And there were others, corelings out of Jongleurs’ tales, never before seen in the Brook. Cave demons—terrifying armored monstrosities that skittered on eight long legs as easily on sheer walls as flat ground.
Manie Cutter hacked the leg from one, but the cobbles beneath him heaved, and he was thrown from his feet as a worm the size of a mustang burst from the ground in a spray of stones and soil.
The corelings ignored the Watches entirely, but the others were attacked with ferocity and precision.
Selia had been leading fighters against corelings for a year now and had never seen the like. Demons were animals, like nightwolves. They bit and clawed wildly, attacking when they sensed weakness, and retreating when they sensed strength.
This was different.
Stam Tailor raised his shield to fend off a pair of field demons. One clawed the wards in predictable fashion, but Selia could see it was a feint, keeping Stam’s arm high as the other ducked his spear and darted in, biting his shield arm and severing the leather strap. The shield fell askew, and it was all the opening the corelings needed to fall on him.
The wards burned into his leathers offered some protection, and Selia threw her spear, taking one of the field demons in the side as it lunged for Stam’s unprotected throat. Stam scrambled frantically back, but one of the cave demons turned and sprayed him with liquid silk. The viscous fluid covered the wards and the demon’s legs began spinning him like a spitted hog as it bound him in thread.
Cutters rushed forward to hack Stam free, but the stones exploded at their feet as another of the worm demons surfaced. They stumbled back, and there was no warning before wind demons fell upon them, skewering men on their talons and launching skyward with a savage beat of their wings. One of the men managed to put the pick end of his mattock through a wind demon’s wing, but Selia did not know if he’d saved himself or quickened his demise as both dropped heavily from the sky to strike the cobbles.
The cave demon had slung Stam on its back and was carrying him off by the time Selia snatched up his broken shield and used it to bash in the head of the squirming field demon still impaled on her spear.
She tore the weapon free, seeing the demon tactics repeated throughout the square. Corelings were raiding the buildings where the wards had failed due to fire or sabotage. Where needed, they killed defenders, but most were simply carrying folk off—wrapped in silk, hauled into the sky, or knocked senseless. The great coreling worms sprayed inky mist that fouled wards and seemed to paralyze victims long enough for the demons to wind around them and drag them down into their tunnels.
Demons are swarmin’. Selia shuddered as she remembered Renna Tanner’s words. Buildin’ hives, and they need live larders to feed the hatchling queens.
Was there already a demon queen in Tibbet’s Brook? If so, Selia didn’t know what hope they had, but she was never one to give up without a fight. She slashed the broken strap from Stam’s shield and threaded her belt through the eyes
to replace it. It wasn’t the familiar weight of her father’s shield, but she felt whole again as she returned to the fray.
The town’s defenders fully engaged by demons, the Watches returned to the work of breaking wards. Soon the square would be defenseless, and they would move to the outer boroughs. Would even daylight stop those firmly in the mind demon’s sway?
The only safe space left was Hog’s store. Security had crank bows and they were putting bolts into anyone—coreling or Watch—who drew too close.
“Retreat to the General Store!”
Fighters and bystanders alike followed Selia’s command, rushing the building.
“Ay, Selia!” Hog cried from inside.
“Stuff it, Rusco!” Selia pointed her spear at the sound of his voice.
Hog did not reply, but he opened the doors to his tavern wide, letting folk flee to succor. He emerged moments later, his heavy, muscled frame clad in armor of warded glass, with a helm and round shield to match.
Hog didn’t carry a spear, just a smith’s hammer with a glittering silver head. A field demon leapt on him, but its claws found no purchase. There was a thunderclap of magic as he bashed its head in. One of the Watches fired at him with a hunting bow, but the arrow splintered off harmlessly. Hog pointed at the man with his hammer, and store security shot him down.
Nomi Fisher ran into the store, clutching a bloody hand to her head. A moment later, Selia saw her run by again.
It was all the warning she had before the mimic demon struck, whipping an arm that grew into a long tentacle, ridged like a rock demon’s armor, into the stones at their feet. Selia and her militia instinctively raised shields against the spray of rock and mortar, and in that moment of blindness the demons rallied around the great coreling, striking the defenders with sprays of silk and paralyzing spit in addition to tooth and claw.
Selia and Lesa fought in practiced unison, guarding each other and creating openings for the other to strike. Lesa kicked a field demon onto its back, and Selia skewered it through the unarmored belly. Selia pinned one of the cave demons against a wardpost, and Lesa hacked off two of its legs and part of a third where they met the thorax.
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