The Daylight War

by Peter V. Brett

  Renna stood guard over Twilight Dancer until dawn. The morning sun struck the scattered bodies of the corelings, setting them ablaze. It was a sight she never tired of, though it came at a heavy price. Even as the demons burned, the blackstem wards on her skin began to tingle as their magic faded. The knife grew hot in its sheath, burning her leg. She had to lean against a tree for support, feeling like a Jongleur’s puppet with the strings cut, weak and half blind.

  The disorientation passed quickly, and Renna took a deep breath. With a few hours’ rest, she would feel fitter than the best day of her life, but even that was but a pale shadow of how she felt in the night.

  How did Arlen retain his power in the sunlight? Was it that his wards were permanent tattoos rather than blackstem stains? If so, she would take a needle and ink to her skin that very day.

  The demon corpses burned hot and fast, in seconds leaving only scorched ground and ash. Renna stamped out the last few scrub fires before they had a chance to grow, and then finally gave in to her exhaustion, curling next to Twilight Dancer and falling asleep.

  Renna was still next to Twilight Dancer when she awoke, but rather than the moss bed she had gone to sleep on, she was now lying on a rough blanket in the back of a trundling cart. She popped her head up and saw Arlen out front wearing the yoke. He pulled them along at an impressive pace.

  The sight washed the last vestige of sleep from her, and Renna vaulted easily into the driver’s seat, grabbing the reins and giving them a loud crack. Arlen jumped straight up in surprise, and Renna laughed. ‘Giddyap!’

  Arlen gave her a sour look, and Renna laughed again. She leapt down from the cart and kept pace with him. The road was poorly kept and overgrown in places, but not so much as to hinder them.

  ‘Sweetwell’s just up ahead,’ Arlen said.

  ‘Sweetwell?’ Renna asked.

  ‘S’what they named the town,’ Arlen said. ‘On account of how good the well water tasted.’

  ‘Thought we were avoiding towns,’ Renna said.

  ‘None but ghosts in this one,’ Arlen said, and Renna could hear the pain in the words. ‘Sweetwell was taken by the night a couple years ago.’

  ‘You knew the place before it was taken?’ she asked.

  Arlen nodded. ‘Used to come here sometimes, back when I was a Messenger. Town had ten families. “Sixty-seven hardworkin’ folk”, they loved to say. They had some queer ways about them, but they were always glad to see the Messenger, and they made the harshest poteen you ever drank.’

  ‘You ent had my da’s,’ Renna grunted. ‘Worked same as drink or lamp oil.’

  ‘Sweetwell’s was so strong, the Duke of Angiers had it outlawed,’ Arlen said. ‘Struck the town from the maps and ordered the Messengers’ Guild not to visit there any more.’

  ‘But you still did,’ Renna said.

  ‘Corespawned right we did,’ Arlen said. ‘Who’s he think he is, cutting a town off like that? Besides, a Messenger could make six months’ pay with one poteen run to Sweetwell. And I liked the Wellers. They had their whole town warded, the place abustle day and night. You could hear them singing a mile away.’

  ‘What happened?’ Renna asked.

  Arlen shrugged. ‘Started working farther south, and stopped visiting for a few years. Wasn’t until after I started warding my flesh that I came back this way. I’d spent months in the wild at that point. Got so lonely I used to talk out loud to Dancer, carrying the conversation for the both of us. I was cracking, and I knew it.’

  Renna thought of all the times she’d talked to the animals on her father’s farm the same way. How many heartfelt talks had she had with Mrs Scratch, or Hoofy? Even with Harl around, she knew lonely.

  ‘Realized I was near Sweetwell one day,’ Arlen said, ‘and decided to wrap my hands and face in cloth and tell ’em some tampweed tale about how I was burned by firespit. Anything to talk to a person and have them talk back. But when I got to the town, it was quiet for the first time.’

  They passed a stand of trees, and the village came into view, ten sturdy thatch-roofed houses and a Holy House in a neat circle around a central boardwalk with a great well at its eye. There were wardposts along the outer perimeter, and each house had two storeys, the top for living and the bottom a work space/shopfront. There was a smithy, a tavern, a stable, a baker, a weaver, and others less easily identified.

  Renna felt unnerved as they crossed the boardwalk to the stable. Everything was so well preserved. There was no sign that demons had come, and it seemed that at any moment, people would come pouring out of the buildings. She could see their ghosts in her mind’s eye as they went about their lives.

  ‘Boardwalk was full of bones and blood and demonshit when I got in close,’ Arlen said. ‘Still stank, as if it had only been a few days. Days! If only I’d come sooner, I could have …’

  Renna touched his arm, saying nothing.

  ‘One of the wardposts looked like it cracked and blew over in the wind,’ Arlen went on. ‘Wood demons must’ve found the gap and fell on the folk at evening supper. A few fled into the night, but I tracked them and found only remains.’

  Renna could picture it vividly, the Wellers all gathered around the wooden tables on the boardwalk, sharing a communal meal, completely unprepared when the corelings struck. She could hear the screams and see the dying. Dizzied by it all, she dropped to her knees as her stomach churned.

  Arlen put his hand on her shoulder a moment later, and Renna realized she’d been weeping. She looked up at him guiltily.

  ‘Ent nothin’ to be ashamed of,’ he said. ‘Took it a fair bit worse myself.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Renna asked.

  Arlen blew out a breath. ‘Blacked out a few weeks. Spent the days burying bones, drunk on poteen, and the nights killing every corespawn that came within ten miles of Sweetwell.’

  ‘Saw fresh tracks on the way in,’ Renna noted.

  Arlen grunted. ‘They’ll be bonfires come tomorrow morning.’

  Renna put her hand on the hilt of her knife, spitting on the boardwalk. ‘Honest word.’

  They moved on to the stable, and Arlen eased Twilight Dancer down to the floor. He grunted with the exertion, but managed the task easily enough. Renna shook her head, doubting she could have done the same even when charged with magic in the night.

  ‘We’ll need some water,’ Arlen said.

  ‘I’ll fetch it,’ Renna said, turning towards the central well. ‘Want to taste water so sweet they named a town after it.’

  Arlen grabbed her arm. ‘Water ent too sweet any more. Found Kennit Sweetwell, the town elder, floating in the well. Rotted for more’n a week before I could climb down and haul what was left of him up. Well’s poison now. Pump behind the tavern still runs clean, but it ent anything to name a town over.’

  Renna spat again, fetching a bucket and heading to the tavern. Again, her hand drifted to her knife, caressing the bone handle. Night couldn’t come soon enough.

  When Dancer was seen to, they took time to wash and ate a cold meal in the empty tavern. ‘There’s a rent room upstairs,’ Arlen said. ‘We can get a few hours’ sleep before night falls.’

  ‘Rent room?’ Renna asked. ‘When there are whole houses for the taking?’

  Arlen shook his head. ‘Dun’t feel right to take someone else’s bed after they been cored. That room was where I slept when I was a Messenger, and it’s good enough.’

  Love you, Arlen Bales, she thought, but there was no need to repeat what had already been said. She nodded and followed him up the stairs.

  Even the rent room was bigger than any Renna had ever slept in before, with a large feather bed. Renna sat on it, amazed at its softness. She had never slept on anything softer than a straw mattress. She lay back. This was softer than a cloud.

  Her eyes wandered the room as she sank further into the feathery embrace. Arlen had clearly spent some time here. There was his signature clutter on every surface – pots of paint, brushes, etching tools, and b
ooks. A small writing desk had been made into a workbench, and there were wood shavings and sawdust all over the floor.

  Arlen crossed the room, folding a rug out of the way and finding a loose floorboard beneath. He pulled and an entire section of the floor came up with it, cleverly disguised with sawdust to hide the cracks. Renna sat up, and her eyes widened as she looked within. It was full of weapons – oiled, sharp, and heavily warded. She slid off the bed, moving to him and crouching for a better look, her eyes dancing along Arlen’s warding.

  Arlen selected a small goldwood bow and a quiver of arrows, handing it to her. ‘Time you learned to shoot.’

  Renna’s lip curled in distaste. He was trying to protect her again. Keep her from fighting in close. Keep her safe. ‘Don’t want it. Don’t want no spears, neither.’

  ‘Why not?’ Arlen asked.

  Renna held up her brook stone necklace in one hand, and drew her knife with the other. ‘Don’t wanna kill corelings from some hiding spot. I kill a demon, I want it to die knowin’ who did it.’

  She waited for him to argue, but he only nodded.

  ‘Know exactly how you feel.’ Arlen continued to hold the weapon out to her. ‘But sometimes you’re outnumbered, or need to kill a demon quick before it cores somebody.’ He smiled. ‘And got to say, it ent a bad feeling, to just point at a coreling and kill it from afar.’

  Renna took a deep breath. He was right of course. Yes, he was protecting her, but it was in the way he always had.

  By teaching her to protect herself.

  Love you, Arlen Bales.

  She took the bow, marvelling at its lightness. Arlen handed her a small quiver of warded arrows, then began hauling out the rest of the weapons and rolling them in oilcloth.

  ‘What do you need all them for?’ she asked.

  ‘Gonna need these and a lot more,’ Arlen said. ‘Doin’ what I shoulda done a long time ago. Gonna give warded arms to every man, woman, and child strong enough to hold one. Been making these stores all over Thesa, but I kept them all to myself. No more. I don’t need weapons to kill demons. I’m past that, now.’

  ‘How’s that?’ Renna asked. She waited for his eyes to flick to the side as he decided how to evade the question. Love him or no, she would smack the top of his bald head if they did.

  But Arlen looked right at her, his eyes dancing. ‘Gonna show you tonight.’ He reached out, caressing the wards of vision stained in circles around her eyes. ‘Gonna need your night eyes to understand.’

  Renna took his hands and rose to her feet. She backed away, pulling him along until her legs struck the bed. They sank into the feathered mattress, and kisses quickly turned to caresses. Blood pounded in her ears, a thrumming that made her feel as alive as she did in the night.

  The sun was setting as they came back to the taproom for supper. After they had eaten, Arlen rose and rummaged behind the bar. He reappeared a moment later with a heavy clay jug. ‘Demons like to rise in the fields out back. What say we have a drink while we wait for ’em?’

  They walked together in the gloaming, watching the lavender sky darken. The Wellers’ fields were south of the town proper and ran for acres, mostly potato, barley, and sugarcane. The fields hadn’t been tended in years, but a wild patchwork crop still clung tenaciously to the land. There were wardposts at regular intervals throughout the fields. Most were in poor repair – worthless, but here and there she saw fresh ones, their painted wards still crisp and clear. Her eyes ran over the posts, finding the pattern.

  ‘You made this place a maze,’ she said. ‘Like the one in the desert you told me about.’

  Arlen nodded, finding a clear spot and sitting. ‘Good for cutting demons off from the horde, and a moment’s succour is never more than a step away.’ He took the heavy jug and filled two tiny clay cups with clear liquid.

  ‘They have a spirit in Krasia that the Sharum sometimes drink before going into battle. Call it couzi. Say it gives a warrior courage.’ He held a cup to her. ‘I’ve found poteen to have a similar effect.’

  ‘Thought you said the Sharum embrace their fear,’ Renna said, sitting down next to him with the jug in between.

  ‘Most do, and there ent no better way,’ Arlen said. ‘But embracing leaves a body cold. Don’t want to be cold when I’m in a place like Sweetwell. Want to be mad as the Core itself.’

  Renna nodded. That was something she could understand. She ignored the tiny cups, sticking her finger through the jug handle. She braced the container on her arm and brought it to her lips with practised smoothness, taking a long pull.

  The poteen was as strong as Arlen warned, and she coughed a bit, but it was sweeter than her father’s brew, and the ball of fire that struck her belly soon calmed and spread warmth throughout her limbs.

  Arlen dropped the cups, taking the jug and pulling as she had. They passed it back and forth until the light failed completely and the telltale mists began to rise, heralding the corelings. The mists began to coalesce into field demons, sleek and low to the ground, prowling on all fours like lions, faster than anything alive. A few wood demons appeared as well, the larger demons taking longer to form.

  Renna got to her feet, swaying unsteadily for a moment before she regained her equilibrium. She moved towards a coalescing wood demon, carrying the much-lightened jug loosely with one finger.

  She glared at the demon as she waited for it to materialize, thinking of the night she had spent locked in her farm’s outhouse, screaming as demons rattled at the door. She thought of the empty buildings, and the poisoned well behind her.

  She took one last pull of poteen and stoppered the jug. With her free hand, she reached into the pouch at her waist.

  At last the demon solidified, opening its mouth to roar at her. The orifice was great enough to swallow her entire head, with row upon row of pointed teeth.

  Before it could let out a sound, Renna flicked her hand at it, tossing an acorn into the gaping maw. The heat ward she had painted on the acorn activated when it made contact with the demon’s tongue, exploding the nut with a flash and bang.

  At that very moment, Renna spat poteen into the demon’s face.

  She stepped out of the way as its head exploded in flames. The demon fell to the ground, thrashing as its barklike armour burned.

  There was a laugh, and Renna turned to see Arlen clapping his hands at her. ‘Nice work, but I’ll do you one better.’

  Renna smirked, and crossed her arms, stepping over to the safety of a wardpost. ‘Like to see you try, Arlen Bales.’

  Arlen bowed. A field demon turned solid a few feet away from him, bigger than a nightwolf. It growled and tamped down, ready to pounce.

  Arlen crossed his arms the same as Renna, standing his ground. His hood was down – he almost never put it up any more – but he still wore the rest of his day robes, covering the powerful wards tattooed all over his body. Field demons were fast as the wind, and without the protection of his wards, it seemed the demon would knock him down and savage him. Renna’s hand dropped to her knife, and she gripped it tightly.

  But the field demon passed through Arlen as if he had been made of smoke. His body swirled where the creature passed through it, returning after a moment to sharp clarity.

  Arlen took a brief bow as the demon recovered. ‘Nothing can touch me in the night now, Ren. Not if I see it coming.’

  The field demon hit the ground and turned instantly, leaping back at him. Renna expected it to pass through him again, but this time Arlen flowed around the attack faster than her eye could see, wrapping an arm around the coreling’s neck and sharply arresting its momentum. He quickstepped around the demon’s back to avoid the flailing claws, maintaining the headlock with one arm. He reached his free hand around to draw a heat ward on the demon’s chest with his bare finger.

  The line he traced came alive with fire as he completed the symbol, and he let go his hold and backed away as the demon was consumed in flames.

  Renna gaped, but Arlen wasn’t finished
with the lesson. He strode towards another field demon, provoking an attack. The demon obliged, roaring and coming at him with claws leading.

  ‘Of course, if I don’t see it coming in time to stop it …’ Arlen was knocked back several steps and grunted as the demon’s claws struck home, tearing into his abdomen.

  Renna gasped as blood arced through the air. She pulled her knife and darted forward to interpose herself between Arlen and the demon.

  But Arlen straightened and stopped her up short with a raised hand. The demon pounced again, but once more Arlen blew apart like smoke.

  When he re-formed, there was no sign of his injury. Even his robe was mended. ‘… given a moment to catch my wits, I can heal just about anything that doesn’t kill me.’

  The demon came at him a third time, but this time Arlen drew a quick warding in the air, and the demon was thrown back as if kicked by a mule before it ever got close to him. His new power seemed limitless.

  But as the demon struck the ground several yards away, Arlen staggered in his bow. To Renna’s warded eyes, he had been bright with magic a moment before. Now the glow of his wards was noticeably dimmer.

  Arlen caught the look she gave him, and nodded. ‘I draw wards on a demon, the coreling powers them itself. I draw them in the air, they draw their magic from me, instead.’

  The demon came back at him a fourth time, but this time Arlen seized it by the throat and pinned it to the ground in a sharusahk hold. As he held it down, Renna could see the wards on his hands throbbing with power, and his glow began to return even as the coreling’s dimmed. The demon shrieked and thrashed, but Arlen held it as easily as a man might hold down a small child. The power in his hands built in intensity until the demon’s throat collapsed. With a flex of his muscles, Arlen tore its head clean off.

  Renna caught sight of a field demon stalking her and shifted position to look dim and helpless. It wasn’t difficult. All she needed to do was recall the useless cow she had been all her life. The victim.