PraiseforTHEWARDEDMAN

“I enjoyed TheWarded Manimmensely. Thereismuchtoadmirein Peter Brett’swriting, and hisconcept is

brilliant. Actionand suspense alltheway;hemademecareabouthischaracters andwant to knowwhat’s going tohappennext.”—TERRYBROOKS

“Peter Brett’stremendously

readable firstnovel, TheWarded Man, issetinaharshandfeudal world inwhich demonsrulethenight.Nooneisfreeuntilahero rises who iswilling to defythe demons, butataterribleprice.The Warded Man

worksnotonlyasa great adventurenovel, but as areflection on thenature ofheroism.”

—CHARLAINEHARRIS

“[An] impressivedebut about old-fashioned

heroism.”—TheKansasCity

Star

“Brettablyblendsfantasy andhorror in thisarresting firstnovel, the first ina planned series.An imaginativeand exciting tale,recommended

where there isinterest in epicfantasy.”—LibraryJournal(starredreview)

“Brett’s fantasydebut is a highlyreadableadventure with aunique settingand three strongprotagonists.

Brett includesplenty of excitingbattles, terrifyingmonsters, andheart-wrenchingmomentstomakethe focus of hisstory—thedevelopment offlawed, ordinarychildren intolegends—believable.

Consider theseries this beginsworthtracking.”

—Booklist

“Brett’s debutbuilds slowly andgrimly on aclassic high-fantasyframework ofblack-and-whitemorality and

bloodshed. Brett’sgritty tale willappeal to thosewho tire ofsympatheticvillains and longfor old-school orcmassacres.”

—PublishersWeekly

“A strong debut.Its highly

inventive plotwill captivate theimaginationimmediately. Apage turner witha satisfyingclimax, itpromises muchmore to come infuturebooks.”—RomanticTimesBOOKreviews

Magazine

“An assured andpromising firstnovelfromauthorPeter V. Brett.Theworldhehascreated is vividandintriguing…definitelywortharead.”

—SFSite

“The plotdevelopmentfrom the harshbanality of smallvillagelife,tothecompleximmensity of citydwelling, andthen to theworldoutside mosthumans’knowledge, isvery well done.

The book’sbiggest strength,though, is thecharacterization….A great pageturnerwhich … soonbecomes anirresistible read.The charactersevolve intopeople you careabout and the

world ispleasantlyengaging …. Iwas pleased,though a littlesurprised, toplace this in mytop five Fantasyreadsfor2008.”—sffworld.com

“Captivating andwell written,

quickly drawingreaders in. TheWarded Man is amust-read foranyone lookingfor anew fantasyworldtoexplore.”—SchoolLibrary

Journal

“Brett providescomplexcharacters and

plentyofaction.”—SFRevu

“Overall withsuperbcharacterization,suspensefulactionand accomplishedwriting, TheWarded Man is avery assureddebut that willmake its way

ontomanyBestof2008 lists.Highly, highlyrecommended.”—FantasyBook

Critic

“Not only did Ienjoy what I’dread but I’m leftin the position ofeagerlywaitingtofindoutwhat’sto

come.”—Graeme’sFantasyBook

Review

“NotsincePatrickRothfuss’ TheName of theWindhave I been thispleased with adebut. TheWarded Man ischaracter-driven

fantasy at itspage-turningbest.The three mainprotagonists arefully realizedpeople—magnificent andflawed at thesametime.Watchthem grow up ina world designedto beat themdown. Can’t wait

to see whathappensnext.”

—MysteriousGalaxyBooks,SanDiego

“A grippingadventure—avery promisingstart to a newseries, and anexcellent firstnovel.”

—Locus

“A fabulous newfantasy series byBrett. The newworld he hascreated iscomplete,complicated andfascinating.Brett’s ability tomake hiscreationsfeelreal

is the stamp ofexcellent fantasy.This is a seriesthat is likely tobecomeaclassic.”—TheCairnsPost

(Cairns,Australia)

“It’s rare thesedays that I can’tput a book downwithout my

fingers itching topick it up again,and rarer still forit to be a debutbook froma first-time author. ButPeter V. Brett’sThe Warded Mancomesup trumps.Brett has theknack of makingyou care abouthischaractersand

want to knowwhat happens tothem. And betteryet, to make youhungrily lookforward to thenext book, TheDesertSpear.”—TheDominionPost(Wellington,NewZealand)

“An absolute

masterpiece…Forme,thenovelwasliterally‘unputdownable,’and certainlydeservestobethenextBigThing indarkfantasy.”—HorrorScope(Woodvale,Australia)

“Very

likeable…averyaccomplisheddebut fantasy,without doubtexciting andwithexceptionallywell-renderedcharacters—thefate ofwhom thereader cares verymuchabout.Howthe fight againstdemonkind will

develop, I cannotguess, but I willmost certainly bevisiting Peter V.Brett’s misty andmurky world tofind out.Recommended.”—SFRevu(U.K.)

“Makes yougenuinely excitedby the idea of

readingmore … willleave youimpatient for thenextinstallment.”

—SFX(U.K.)

“Like manyfantasy epicsbefore it, thisdebut from PeterV. Brett burstsonto shelveswith

muchanticipationand plenty ofbuzz.On openingthis promisedgem of literature,Iwassurprisedtofindthatthistimethe hype islargelyjustified …. TheWarded Man is areal treat, withBrettdisplayinga

bucket-load oftalent in makingthe familiar sogripping.”

—TotalSci-FiOnline

“Brett is aspectacularwriter. I cannotrecommend TheWarded Manhighly enough. It

is thoroughlyentertaining,having the rightmix of suspense,action andintrospection. Itnever bogs downfor any of itslength, as Brettpaces the storymasterfully. Theworld itself andtheconceptofthe

wards make thestory uniqueamong epicfantasies.Thetaleendsonanoteofexpectation,making me eagerto read thesecond book, TheDesert Spear, tofind out whathappens. TheWarded Man is

truly unput-downable. Makesure you haveplentyoftimeforreading it,because you willnotwant to leaveits pages foranything.”—Graspingfor

theWind

The Warded Man is a work offiction. Names, characters, places,and incidents either are theproducts of the author’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Any resemblance to actual events,locales, or persons, living or dead,isentirelycoincidental.

Copyright©2009byPeterBrett

Map copyright© 2010 byAndrewAshton

Allrightsreserved.

Published in the United States byDelRey,animprintofTheRandomHousePublishingGroup,adivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork.

DELREY is a registered trademarkand the Del Rey colophon is atrademarkofRandomHouse,Inc.

Originally published in the UnitedKingdom in hardcover as ThePainted Man by HarperCollins

Publishers, London, in 2008 andsubsequently in the United Statesby Del Rey, an imprint of TheRandomHousePublishingGroup,adivision ofRandomHouse, Inc., in2009.

eISBN:978-0-345-51265-9

www.delreybooks.com

v3.1_r3

ToOtzi,theoriginalWardedMan

CONTENTS

Cover

PraiseforTheWardenMan

TitlePage

Copyright

Dedication

Map

Acknowledgments

SECTION1TIBBET’SBROOK

Chapter1.Aftermath

Chapter2.IfItWasYou

Chapter3.ANightAlone

Chapter4.Leesha

Chapter5.CrowdedHome

Chapter6.TheSecretsofFire

Chapter7.Rojer

Chapter8.TotheFreeCities

Chapter9.FortMiln

SECTIONIIMILN

Chapter10.Apprentice

Chapter11.Breach

Chapter12.Library

Chapter13.ThereMustBeMore

Chapter14.TheRoadtoAngiers

Chapter15.FiddleMeaFortune

Chapter16.Attachments

SECTIONIIIKRASIA

Chapter17.Ruins

Chapter18.RiteofPassage

Chapter19.TheFirstWarriorofKrasia

Chapter20.Alagai’sharak

Chapter21.OnlyaChin

Chapter22.PlaytheHamlets

Chapter23.Rebirth

Chapter24.NeedlesandInk

SECTIONIVCUTTER’SHOLLOW

Chapter25.ANewVenue

Chapter26.Hospit

Chapter27.Nightfall

Chapter28.Secrets

Chapter29.InthePredawnLight

Chapter30.Plague

Chapter31.TheBattleofCutter’sHollow

Chapter32.Cutter’sNoMore

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks to all thepeople who test-read thisbook:Dani,Myke,Amelia,Neil, Matt, Joshua, Steve,Mom, Dad, Trisha, Netta,and Cobie. Your adviceand encouragement madeitpossibleformetoturnahobby into something

more. And to my editors,LizandEmma,whotookachance on a new authorand challenged me toexceed evenmyownhighstandards. I could neverhavedoneitwithoutyou.

SECTIONI

TIBBET’SBROOK

318-319AR(AfterReturn)

CHAPTER1AFTERMATH319AR

THEGREATHORNSOUNDED.Arlen paused in hiswork, looking up at the

lavenderwashofthedawnsky.Mist still clung to theair, bringing with it adamp,acridtastethatwasall too familiar. A quietdreadbuiltinhisgutashewaited in the morningstillness,hopingthatithadbeen his imagination. Hewaselevenyearsold.There was a pause, andthen the horn blew twice

in rapid succession. Onelong and two shortmeantsouthandeast.TheClusterby the Woods. His fatherhad friends among thecutters. Behind Arlen, thedoor to thehouseopened,and he knew his motherwould be there, coveringher mouth with bothhands.Arlen returned to his

work, not needing to betoldtohurry.Somechorescould wait a day, but thestockstillneededtobefedand the cows milked. Heleft the animals in thebarns and opened the haystores, slopped the pigs,andrantofetchawoodenmilk bucket. His motherwas already squattingbeneath the first of thecows. He snatched the

sparestoolandtheyfoundcadence in theirwork, thesound of milk strikingwood drumming a funeralmarch.As they moved to the

next pair down the line,Arlensawhis fatherbeginhitching their strongesthorse, a five-year-oldchestnut-colored marenamed Missy, to the cart.

His face was grim as heworked.What would they find

thistime?Before long, they were

in the cart, trundlingtowardthesmallclusterofhouses by the woods. Itwas dangerous there, overan hour’s run to thenearest warded structure,but the lumber was

needed. Arlen’s mother,wrapped in her wornshawl, held him tightly astheyrode.“I’m a big boy, Mam,”Arlencomplained.“Idon’tneedyoutoholdmelikeababy. I’m not scared.” Itwasn’t entirely true,but itwouldnotdofortheotherchildren to see himclinging to his mother as

they rode in. They mademock of him enough as itwas.“I’m scared,”hismother

said. “What if it’smewhoneedstobeheld?”Feeling suddenly proud,

Arlen pulled close to hismother again as theytraveled down the road.She could never fool him,butshealwaysknewwhat

tosayjustthesame.Apillarofgreasysmoke

told themmore than theywanted to know longbefore they reached theirdestination. They wereburning the dead. Andstartingthefiresthisearly,withoutwaiting forothersto arrive and pray, meantthere were a great many.Too many to pray over

eachone, if theworkwasto be complete beforedusk.It was more than five

miles fromArlen’s father’sfarm to theClusterby theWoods. By the time theyarrived,thefewremainingcabin fires had been putout, though in truth therewas little left to burn.Fifteenhouses,allreduced

torubbleandash.“The woodpiles, too,”

Arlen’sfathersaid,spittingover the side of the cart.He gesturedwith his chintoward theblackenedruinthatremainedofaseason’scutting.Arlen grimaced atthe thought of how therickety fence that pennedtheanimalswouldhavetolast another year, and

immediately felt guilty. Itwasonlywood,afterall.The town Speaker

approachedtheircartas itpulled up. Selia, whomArlen’s mother sometimescalled Selia the Barren,was a hard woman, talland thin, with skin liketough leather. Her longgrayhairwaspulledintoatight bun, and she wore

her shawl like a badge ofoffice. She brooked nononsense, as Arlen hadlearnedmorethanonceatthe end of her stick, buttodayhewascomfortedbyher presence. Like Arlen’sfather, something aboutSelia made him feel safe.Thoughshehadneverhadchildren of her own, Seliaacted as a parent toeveryone in Tibbet’s

Brook. Few could matchherwisdom,andfewerstillher stubbornness. Whenyou were on Selia’s goodside, it felt like the safestplaceintheworld.“It’s good that you’ve

come, Jeph,” Selia toldArlen’s father. “Silvy andyoung Arlen, too,” shesaid, nodding to them.“We need every hand we

canget. Even theboy canhelp.”Arlen’s father grunted,

stepping down from thecart.“Ibroughtmytools,”he said. “Just tell mewherewecanthrowin.”Arlen collected the

precious tools from theback of their cart. Metalwas scarce in the Brook,and his father was proud

of his two shovels, hispick, and his saw. Theywould all see heavy usethisday.“How many lost?” Jeph

asked, though he didn’treally seem to want toknow.“Twenty-seven,” Selia

said. Silvy choked andcovered her mouth, tearswelling in her eyes. Jeph

spatagain.“Any survivors?” he

asked.“A few,” Selia said.

“Manie”—shepointedwithher stick at a boy whostoodstaringatthefuneralpyre—“ran all the way tomyhouseinthedark.”Silvy gasped. No one

had ever run so far andlived.“ThewardsonBrine

Cutter’s house held formost of the night,” Seliawent on. “He and hisfamily watchedeverything. A few othersfled the corelings andsuccored there, until thefires spreadand their roofcaught.Theywaitedintheburning house until thebeams started to crack,and then took theirchances outside in the

minutes before dawn. Thecorelings killed Brine’swife Meena and their sonPoul, but the othersmadeit.Theburnswillhealandthe children will be allright in time, but theothers…”Shedidn’tneedtofinish

the sentence. Survivors ofademonattackhadawayof dying soon after. Not

all, or even most, butenough. Some of themtook their own lives, andothers simply staredblankly, refusing to eat ordrink until they wastedaway. Itwas said you didnottrulysurviveanattackuntilayearandadayhadpassed.“There are still a dozenunaccounted for,” Selia

said,butwithlittlehopeinhervoice.“We’ll dig them out,”Jeph agreed grimly,looking at the collapsedhouses, many stillsmoldering. The cuttersbuilt their homes mostlyout of stone to protectagainstfire,butevenstonewould burn if the wardsfailed and enough flame

demons gathered in oneplace.Jeph joined the other

men and a few of thestronger women inclearing the rubble andcarting the dead to thepyre.Thebodieshadtobeburned, of course.No onewouldwanttobeburiedinthe same ground thedemons rose out of each

night. Tender Harral, thesleeves of his robe rolledup to bare his thick arms,lifted each into the firehimself, muttering prayersand drawingwards in theair as the flames tookthem.Silvy joined the other

women in gathering theyounger children andtending to the wounded

under thewatchful eye oftheBrook’sHerbGatherer,ColineTrigg.Butnoherbscouldease thepainof thesurvivors. Brine Cutter,also called Brine Broad-shoulders,wasagreatbearof amanwith a boominglaugh who used to throwArlen into the air whenthey came to trade forwood.NowBrinesatintheashes beside his ruined

house,slowlyknockinghisheadagainsttheblackenedwall. He muttered tohimself and clutched hisarmstightly,asifcold.Arlen and the otherchildrenwereput toworkcarryingwaterandsortingthrough the woodpiles forsalvageable lumber. Therewere still a few warmmonths left to the year,

but there would not betime to cut enough woodto last the winter. Theywould be burning dungagain this year, and thehousewouldreek.AgainArlenweathereda

wave of guilt.Hewas notin the pyre, nor banginghis head in shock, havinglost everything. Therewere worse fates than a

housesmellingofdung.Moreandmorevillagersarrived as the morningwore on. Bringing theirfamilies and whateverprovisions they couldspare, they came fromFishing Hole and TownSquare; they came fromthe Boggin’s Hill, andSoggy Marsh. Some evencame all the way from

Southwatch. And one byone, Selia greeted themwith the grim news andputthemtowork.With more than ahundred hands, the mendoubled their efforts, halfof them continuing to digas the others descendedupon the only salvageablestructure left in theCluster: Brine Cutter’s

house. Selia led Brineaway, somehowsupporting the giant manas he stumbled, while themen cleared the rubbleand began hauling newstones. A few took outwardingkitsandbegan topaint fresh wards whilechildrenmade thatch.Thehouse would be restoredbynightfall.

Arlen was partneredwith Cobie Fisher inhauling wood. Thechildren had amassed asizablepile, though itwasonlyafractionofwhathadbeenlost.Cobiewasatall,thicklybuiltboywithdarkcurls and hairy arms. Hewas popular among theother children, but it waspopularity built at others’expense. Few children

cared to weather hisinsults, and fewer still hisbeatings.CobiehadtorturedArlenfor years, and the otherchildren had gone along.Jeph’s farm was thenorthernmostintheBrook,far from where thechildren tended to gatherinTownSquare,andArlenspentmostofhisfreetime

wandering the Brook byhimself. Sacrificinghim toCobie’s wrath seemed afairtradetomostchildren.Whenever Arlen wentfishing, or passed byFishingHoleonthewaytoTown Square, Cobie andhis friendsseemedtohearaboutit,andwerewaitingin the same spot on hisway home. Sometimes

they just called himnames,orpushedhim,butothertimeshecamehomebloody and bruised, andhismothershoutedathimforfighting.Finally, Arlen had

enough. He left a stoutstick hidden in that spot,and the next time Cobieand his friends pounced,Arlen pretended to run,

only to produce theweaponas if fromthinairandcomebackswinging.Cobie was the first one

struck, a hard blow thatleft him crying in the dirtwith blood running fromhisear.Willumreceivedabroken finger, and Gartwalked with a limp forover a week. It had donenothingtoimproveArlen’s

popularity among theotherchildren,andArlen’sfatherhad canedhim,butthe other boys neverbothered him again. Evennow, Cobie gave him awideberth and flinched ifArlen made a suddenmove,eventhoughhewasbiggerbyfar.“Survivors!” Bil Baker

called suddenly, standing

byacollapsedhouseattheedgeof theCluster.“Icanhear them trapped in therootcellar!”Immediately, everyonedropped what they weredoing and rushed over.Clearing the rubblewouldtake too long, so themenbegantodig,bendingtheirbacks with silent fervor.Soon after, they broke

through the side of thecellar, and began haulingout the survivors. Theywere filthy and terrified,but all were very muchalive. Three women, sixchildren,andoneman.“Uncle Cholie!” Arlencried, and hismotherwasthere in an instant,cradling her brother, whostumbleddrunkenly.Arlen

ran to them, duckingunder his other arm tosteadyhim.“Cholie, what are youdoing here?” Silvy asked.Cholie seldom left hisworkshopinTownSquare.Arlen’s mother had toldthe tale a thousand timesofhowsheandherbrotherhad run the farrier’s shoptogether before Jeph

beganbreakinghishorses’shoes on purpose for areasontocomecourt.“Came to court AnaCutter,” Cholie mumbled.He pulled at his hair,havingalready tornwholeclumps free. “We’d justopenedthebolt-holewhenthey came through thewards …” His kneesbuckled,pullingArlenand

Silvy down with hisweight. Kneeling in thedirt,hewept.Arlen looked at theothersurvivors.AnaCutterwasn’t among them. Histhroat tightened as thechildren passed. He knewevery one of them; theirfamilies,whattheirhouseswere like inside and out,theiranimals’names.They

met his eyes for a secondas they went by, and inthatmoment, he lived theattack through their eyes.He saw himself shovedintoacrampedholeinthegroundwhilethoseunableto fit turned to face thecorelings and the fire.Suddenly he startedgasping, unable to stopuntil Jeph slappedhimonthe back and brought him

tohissenses.

Theywerefinishingacoldmiddaymealwhenahornsoundedonthe farsideoftheBrook.“Not two in one day?”Silvy gasped, covering hermouth.“Bah,”Seliagrunted.“Atmidday? Use your head,girl!”

“Thenwhat…?”Selia ignored her, rising

to fetch a horn blower tosignal back. Keven Marshhadhishornready,as thefolks from Soggy Marshalwaysdid. Itwas easy toget separated in themarshes, and no onewanted to be wanderinglost when the swampdemons rose. Keven’s

cheeksinflatedlikeafrog’schinasheblewaseriesofnotes.“Messenger horn,”CoranMarshadvisedSilvy.A graybeard, he wasSpeaker for Soggy Marshand Keven’s father. “Theyprob’ly saw the smoke.Keven’s telling ’em what’shappened and whereeveryoneis.”

“A Messenger inspring?” Arlen asked. “Ithought they come in thefall afterharvest.Weonlyfinished planting this pastmoon!”“Messenger never camelast fall,” Coran said,spittingfoamybrownjuicefrom the root he waschewing through the gapof his missing teeth. “We

been worried sumpin’happened. Thought wemight not have aMessenger bring salt tillnext fall. Or maybe thatthe corelings got the FreeCitiesandwe’scutoff.”“The corelings could

never get the FreeCities,”Arlensaid.“Arlen, shush your

mouth!”Silvyhissed.“He’s

yourelder!”“Let the boy speak,”Coran said. “Everbin toafree city, boy?” he askedArlen.“No,”Arlenadmitted.“Everknowanyonewhohad?”“No,”Arlensaidagain.“So what makes yousuch an expert?” Coran

asked.“Entnoonebeentoone ’cept the Messengers.They’retheonlyoneswhatbrave the night to go sofar.Who’s to say the FreeCities ent just places liketheBrook?Ifthecorelingscan get us, they can getthem,too.”“Old Hog is from theFree Cities,” Arlen said.RuscoHogwastherichest

man in the Brook.He ranthe general store, whichwas the crux of allcommerce in Tibbet’sBrook.“Ay,” Coran said, “an’oldHogtoldmeyearsagothat one trip was enoughfor him. He meant to gobackafterafewyears,butsaid it wasn’t worth therisk.Soyouaskhimifthe

Free Cities are any saferthananywhereelse.”Arlen didn’t want tobelieveit.Therehadtobesafe places in the world.But again the image ofhimself being thrown intothe cellar flashed acrosshis mind, and he knewthat nowhere was trulysafeatnight.The Messenger arrived

anhourlater.Hewasatallman in his early thirties,with cropped brown hairand a short, thick beard.Draped about his broadshoulders was a shirt ofmetallinks,andheworealongdarkcloakwiththickleather breeches andboots. His mare was asleek brown courser.Strapped to the horse’ssaddle was a harness

holding a number ofdifferent spears. His facewas grim as heapproached, but hisshoulders were high andproud. He scanned thecrowd and spotted theSpeakereasilyasshestoodgiving orders. He turnedhishorsetowardher.Riding a few pacesbehind on a heavily laden

cart pulled by a pair ofdark brown mollies wasthe Jongleur. His clotheswere a brightly coloredpatchwork, and he had alute resting on the benchnexttohim.HishairwasacolorArlenhadneverseenbefore, like a pale carrot,andhis skinwas so fair itseemed the sun had nevertouched it. His shouldersslumped, and he looked

thoroughlyexhausted.There was always a

Jongleur with the annualMessenger. To thechildren, and some of theadults, the Jongleur wasthemore important of thetwo. For as long as Arlencould remember, it hadbeen the sameman, gray-hairedbutspryandfullofcheer. This new one was

younger, and he seemedsullen.Childrenrantohimimmediately, and theyoungJongleurperkedup,the frustration meltingfrom his face so quicklyArlen began to doubt itwas ever there. In aninstant, the Jongleur wasoff the cart and spinninghis colored balls into theairasthechildrencheered.

Others, Arlen amongthem, forgot their work,drifting toward thenewcomers. Selia whirledonthem,havingnoneofit.“The day is no longerbecause the Messenger’scome!” she barked. “Backtoyourwork!”There were grumbles,buteveryonewentbacktowork. “Not you, Arlen,”

Selia said. “Come here.”Arlenpulledhiseyesfromthe Jongleur and went toher as the Messengerarrived.“Selia Barren?” the

Messengerasked.“Just Selia will do,”

Selia replied primly. TheMessenger’s eyeswidened,andheblushed,thetopsofhis pale cheeks turning a

deep red above his beard.He leapt down from hishorseandbowedlow.“Apologies,” he said. “Idid not think. Graig, yourusual Messenger, told methat’s what you werecalled.”“It’s pleasing to knowwhat Graig thinks of meafteralltheseyears,”Seliasaid, sounding not at all

pleased.“Thought,” theMessengercorrected.“He’sdead,ma’am.”“Dead?” Selia asked,looking suddenly sad.“Wasit…?”TheMessengershookhishead. “It was a chill tookhim, not corelings. I’mRagen, your Messengerthisyear,asa favor tohis

widow. The guild willselectanewMessengerforyoustartingnextfall.”“Ayearandahalfagainbefore the nextMessenger?” Selia asked,sounding like she wasreadying a scolding. “Webarely made it throughthis past winter withoutthe fall salt,” she said. “Iknow you take it for

granted in Miln, but halfour meat and fish spoiledfor lack of proper curing.Andwhatofourletters?”“Sorry, ma’am,” Ragensaid.“Yourtownsarewelloffthecommonroads,andpaying a Messenger tocommit for a month andmoreoftraveleachyeariscostly. The Messengers’Guildisshorthanded,what

with Graig catching thatchill.” He chuckled andshook his head, butnoticed Selia’s visagedarkeninresponse.“No offense meant,

ma’am,” Ragen said. “Hewasmyfriendaswell. It’sjust…it’snotmanyofusMessengers get to gowitharoofabove,abedbelow,and a young wife at our

side.Thenightusuallygetsusbeforethat,yousee?”“I do,” Selia said. “Doyou have a wife, Ragen?”sheasked.“Ay,” the Messengersaid, “though to herpleasure and my pain, Isee my mare more thanmy bride.” He laughed,confusing Arlen, whodidn’t think having awife

notmissyouwasfunny.Selia didn’t seem tonotice. “What if youcouldn’t see her at all?”sheasked.“Whatifallyouhad were letters once ayear to connect you toher? How would you feeltohearyour letterswouldbe delayed half a year?There are some in thistownwith kin in the Free

Cities. Left with oneMessenger or another,some as much as twogenerations gone. Thosepeople ent going to comehome, Ragen. Letters areall we have of them, andtheyofus.”“I am in full agreement

with you, ma’am,” Ragensaid, “but the decision isnot mine to make. The

duke…”“But you will speak tothedukeuponyourreturn,yes?”Seliaasked.“Iwill,”hesaid.“Shall I write themessage down for you?”Seliaasked.Ragen smiled. “I think Icanrememberit,ma’am.”“Seethatyoudo.”

Ragenbowedagain,stilllower. “Apologies, forcoming to call on such adarkday,”hesaid,hiseyesflicking to the funeralpyre.“Wecannot tell therainwhen to come, nor thewind, nor the cold,” Seliasaid. “Not the corelings,either. So life must go ondespitethesethings.”

“Life goes on,” Ragenagreed, “but if there’sanything IormyJongleurcan do to help; I’ve astrong back and I’vetreated coreling woundsmanytimes.”“Your Jongleur is

helping already,” Seliasaid, nodding toward theyoungmanashesanganddid his tricks, “distracting

theyoungoneswhiletheirkin do their work. As foryou, I’vemuch todooverthenextfewdays,ifwe’retorecoverfromthisloss.Iwon’t have time to handthemailandreadtothosewho haven’t learned theirletters.”“Icanreadtothosewho

can’t,ma’am,”Ragensaid,“but I don’t know your

town well enough todistribute.”“No need,” Selia said,pulling Arlen forward.“Arlen here will take youto the general store inTown Square. Give theletters and packages toRusco Hog when youdeliver the salt. Mosteveryone will comerunningnowthatthesalt’s

in, andRusco’s oneof thefew in town with lettersand numbers. The oldcrook will complain andtry to insist on payment,but you tell him that intimeof trouble, thewholetown must throw in. Youtell him to give out theletters and read to thosewhocan’t,or I’llnot liftafinger the next time thetown wants to throw a

ropearoundhisneck.”Ragen looked closely at

Selia,perhapstryingtotellif shewas joking, but herstony face gave noindication. He bowedagain.“Hurry along, then,”

Selia said. “Lift your feetandyou’llbothbebackaseveryone is readying toleavehereforthenight.If

you and your Jongleurdon’t want to pay Ruscofor a room, any here willbe glad to offer theirhomes.” She shooed thetwo of them away andturnedback toscold thosepausingtheirworktostareatthenewcomers.

“Is she alwaysso … forceful?” RagenaskedArlenastheywalked

overtowheretheJongleurwas mumming for theyoungestchildren.Theresthad been pulled back towork.Arlen snorted. “You

shouldhearhertalktothegraybeards. You’re luckytogetawaywithyourskinaftercallingher‘Barren.’”“Graig said that’s what

everyone called her,”

Ragensaid.“Theydo,”Arlenagreed,“justnottoherface,unlessthey’re looking to take acoreling by the horns.Everyone hopswhen Seliaspeaks.”Ragen chuckled. “Andher an old Daughter, atthat,”hemused. “Where Icome from, only Mothersexpecteveryonetojumpat

theircommandlikethat.”“What difference doesthatmake?”Arlenasked.Ragen shrugged. “Don’tknow, I suppose,” heconceded.“That’sjusthowthings are inMiln. Peoplemake the world go, andMothers make people, sotheyleadthedance.”“It’s not like that here,”Arlensaid.

“Itneveris,inthesmalltowns,” Ragen said. “Notenough people to spare.But the Free Cities aredifferent.ApartfromMiln,none of the others givetheir women much voiceatall.”“That sounds just as

dumb,”Arlenmuttered.“Itis,”Ragenagreed.The Messenger stopped,

andhandedArlenthereinsto his courser. “Wait herea minute,” he said, andheaded over to theJongleur. The two menmoved aside to talk, andArlen saw the Jongleur’sface change again,becoming angry, thenpetulant, and finallyresigned as he tried toargue with Ragen, whoseface remained stony

throughout.Never taking his glare

off the Jongleur, theMessenger beckoned witha hand to Arlen, whobrought the horse over tothem.“…don’tcarehowtired

you are,” Ragen wassaying, his voice a harshwhisper, “these peoplehave grisly work to do,

and if you need to danceandjuggleallafternoontokeep their kids occupiedwhile they do it, thenyou’d damn well better!Nowputyourfacebackonandgettoit!”Hegrabbedthe reins from Arlen andthrustthemattheman.Arlengotagoodlookat

the young Jongleur’s face,full of indignation and

fear, before the Jongleurtook notice of him. Thesecond he saw he wasbeing watched, the man’sface rippled, and amoment later he was thebright,cheerfulfellowwhodancedforchildren.Ragen tookArlen to thecart and the two climbedon. Ragen snapped thereins, and they turned

backup thedirt path thatledtothemainroad.“Whatwereyouarguingabout?”Arlenaskedasthecartbouncedalong.TheMessengerlookedathim a moment, thenshrugged. “It’s Keerin’sfirst timeso faroutof thecity,” he said. “He wasbrave enough when therewas a group of us and he

had a covered wagon tosleep in,butwhenwe leftthe rest of our caravanbehind in Angiers, hedidn’tdonearaswell.He’sgot day-jitters from thecorelings, and it’s madehimpoorcompany.”“You can’t tell,” Arlen

said, looking back at thecartwheelingman.“Jongleurs have their

mummers’ tricks,” Ragensaid.“Theycanpretendsohard to be somethingthey’re not that theyactually convincethemselvesofitforatime.Keerin pretended to bebrave. The guild testedhim for travel and hepassed, but you neverreally know how peoplewill hold up after twoweeks on the open road

untiltheydoitforreal.”“Howdoyoustayouton

the roads at night?”Arlenasked. “Da says drawingwards in the dirt’s askingfortrouble.”“Your da is right,”

Ragen said. “Look in thatcompartment by yourfeet.”Arlendid,andproduced

alargebagofsoftleather.

Insidewasaknottedrope,strung with lacqueredwoodenplatesbigger thanhishand.Hiseyeswidenedwhenhesawwardscarvedandpaintedintothewood.Immediately, Arlenknew what it was: aportable warding circle,large enough to surroundthecartandmorebesides.“I’ve never seen anything

likeit,”Arlensaid.“They’re not easy tomake,”theMessengersaid.“Most Messengers spendtheirwholeapprenticeshipmasteringtheart.Nowindorrainisgoingtosmudgethose wards. But eventhen, they’renot the sameas having warded wallsandadoor.“Ever see a coreling

face-to-face, boy?” heasked,turningandlookingatArlenhard.“Watchedittake a swipe at you withnowhere to run andnothing to protect youexcept magic you can’tsee?” He shook his head.“MaybeI’mbeingtoohardonKeerin.Hehandledhistest all right. Screamed abit, but that’s to beexpected.Nightafternight

isanothermatter.Takesitstoll on some men, alwaysworried that a stray leafwill land on a ward, andthen …” He hissedsuddenly and swiped aclawed hand at Arlen,laughing when the boyjumped.Arlen ran his thumb

over each smooth,lacquered ward, feeling

their strength. There wasone of the little plates forevery foot of rope, muchas there would be in anywarding.Hecountedmorethan forty of them. “Can’twind demons fly into acircle this big?” he asked.“Da puts posts up to keepthem from landing in thefields.”Theman lookedover at

him, a little surprised.“Your da’s probablywastinghistime,”hesaid.“Wind demons are strongfliers, but they needrunning space orsomething to climb andleap from inorder to takeoff.Notmuch of either ina cornfield, so they’d bereluctant to land, unlessthey saw something tootempting to resist, like

some littleboysleeping inthe field on a dare.” Helooked at Arlen in thatsameway Jeph did,whenwarning Arlen that thecorelings were seriousbusiness. As if he didn’tknow.“Winddemonsalsoneedto turn in wide arcs,”Ragen continued, “andmost of them have a

wingspan larger than thatcircle.It’spossiblethatonecouldgetin,butI’veneverseen it happen. If it does,though…”Hegestured tothe long, thick spear hekeptnexttohim.“You can kill a corelingwith a spear?” Arlenasked.“Probably not,” Ragenreplied, “but I’ve heard

thatyoucanstunthembypinning themagainstyourwards.” He chuckled. “Ihope I never have to findout.”Arlen looked at him,

wide-eyed.Ragen looked back at

him, his face suddenlyserious. “Messaging’sdangerous work, boy,” hesaid.

Arlen stared at him along time. “It would beworth it, to see the FreeCities,” he said at last.“Tellme true, what’s FortMilnlike?”“It’stherichestandmost

beautiful city in theworld,” Ragen replied,lifting his mail sleeve toreveal a tattoo on hisforearm of a city nestled

between two mountains.“The Duke’s Mines runrich with salt, metal, andcoal.Itswallsandrooftopsare so well warded, it’srareforthehousewardstoeven be tested. When thesun shines on its walls, itputs the mountainsthemselvestoshame.”“Never seen a

mountain,” Arlen said,

marvelingashetracedthetattoo with a finger. “Myda says they’re just bighills.”“You see that hill?”Ragen asked, pointingnorthoftheroad.Arlen nodded. “Boggin’sHill. You can see thewhole Brook from upthere.”Ragen nodded. “You

know what a ‘hundred’means,Arlen?”heasked.Arlen nodded again.“Tenpairsofhands.”“Well, even a smallmountain is bigger than ahundred of your Boggin’sHillspiledatopeachother,andthemountainsofMilnarenotsmall.”Arlen’s eyes widened ashe tried to contemplate

suchaheight. “Theymusttouchthesky,”hesaid.“Some are above it,”

Ragen bragged. “Atopthem, you can look downattheclouds.”“I want to see that one

day,”Arlensaid.“You could join the

Messengers’ Guild, whenyou’reoldenough,”Ragensaid.

Arlen shook his head.“Da says the people thatleave are deserters,” hesaid. “He spits when hesaysit.”“Your da doesn’t know

what he’s talking about,”Ragen said. “Spittingdoesn’t make things so.Without Messengers, eventhe Free Cities wouldcrumble.”

“I thought the FreeCities were safe?” Arlenasked.“Nowhere is safe,Arlen.

Not truly. Miln has morepeopleandcanabsorb thedeaths more easily than aplace like Tibbet’s Brook,but the corelings still takeatolleachyear.”“How many people are

inMiln?”Arlenasked.“We

have nine hundreds inTibbet’s Brook, and SunnyPasture up the ways issupposed to be almost asbig.”“We have over thirty

thousands inMiln,”Ragensaidproudly.Arlen looked at him,

confused.“A thousand is ten

hundreds,” the Messenger

supplied.Arlen thought amoment, then shook hishead. “There ent thatmany people in theworld,”hesaid.“There are and more,”Ragen said. “There’s awide world out there, forthose willing to brave thedark.”Arlendidn’tanswer,and

they rode in silence for atime.

It tookaboutanhouranda half for the trundlingcarttoreachTownSquare.The center of the Brook,Town Square held a fewdozen warded woodenhouses for those whosetrade did not have themworking in the fields orrice paddies, fishing, or

cutting wood. It was hereonecametofindthetailorand the baker, the farrier,thecooper,andtherest.At the center lay the

square where peoplewould gather, and thebiggest building in theBrook,thegeneralstore.Ithad a large open frontroom that housed tablesandthebar,anevenlarger

storeroom in back, and acellar below, filled withmost everything of valueintheBrook.The kitchenwas run by

Hog’sdaughters,DasyandCatrin. Two credits couldbuy a meal to leave youstuffed, but Silvy calledoldHogacheat,sincetwocredits could buy enoughrawgrainforaweek.Still,

plenty of unmarried menpaid theprice,andnotallfor the food. Dasy washomelyandCatrinfat,butUncleCholiesaid themenwho married them wouldbesetforlife.Everyone in the Brook

brought Hog their goods,be it corn ormeat or fur,pottery or cloth, furnitureor tools. Hog took the

items, counted them up,and gave the customerscreditstobuyotherthingsatthestore.Thingsalwaysseemedtocost a lot more than Hogpaid for them, though.Arlen knew enoughnumberstoseethat.Therewere some famousarguments when peoplecame to sell, but Hog set

theprices,andusuallygothis way. Just abouteveryone hated Hog, butthey needed him all thesame, and were morelikelytobrushhiscoatandopen his doors than spitwhenhepassed.Everyone else in theBrook worked throughoutthesun,andbarelysawalltheir needs met, but Hog

and his daughters alwayshadfleshycheeks,roundedbellies, and clean newclothes.Arlenhadtowraphimself ina rugwheneverhis mother took hisoverallstowash.RagenandArlentiedoff

the mules in front of thestoreandwentinside.Thebarwasempty.Usuallytheairinsidethetaproomwas

thick with bacon fat, butthere was no smell ofcooking from the kitchentoday.Arlen rushed ahead of

the Messenger to the bar.Rusco had a small bronzebell there, brought withhim when he came fromtheFreeCities.Arlenlovedthat bell. He slapped hishand down on it and

grinnedattheclearsound.There was a thump in

the back, andRusco camethrough the curtainsbehind the bar. He was abig man, still strong andstraight-backed at sixty,butasoftguthungaroundhis middle, and his iron-gray hair was creepingback from his linedforehead. He wore light

trousers and leather shoeswith a clean white cottonshirt, the sleeves rolledhalfway up his thickforearms. Hiswhite apronwasspotless,asalways.“Arlen Bales,” he said

with a patient smile,seeing the boy. “Did youcomejusttoplaywiththebell, ordoyouhave somebusiness?”

“The business is mine,”Ragen said, steppingforward. “You RuscoHog?”“JustRuscowilldo,”theman said. “The towniesslapped the ‘Hog’ on,though not to my face.Can’t stand to see a manprosper.”“That’s twice,” Ragenmused.

“Sayagain?”Ruscosaid.“Twice that Graig’sjourney log has led meastray,” Ragen said. “IcalledSelia ‘Barren’toherfacethismorning.”“Ha!” Rusco laughed.“Didyounow?Well,that’sworth a drink on thehouse,ifanythingis.Whatdid you say your namewas?”

“Ragen,” the Messengersaid, dropping his heavysatchelandtakingaseatatthe bar. Rusco tapped akeg,andpluckeda slattedwoodenmugoffahook.The ale was thick and

honey-colored, andfoamed to a white headatop themug.Rusco filledoneforRagenandanotherfor himself. Then he

glancedatArlen,andfilleda smaller cup. “Take thatto a table and let yourelders talk at the bar,” hesaid. “And if you knowwhat’s good for you, youwon’ttellyourmumIgaveittoyou.”Arlen beamed, and ran

off with his prize beforeRusco had a chance toreconsider.Hehadsnucka

taste of ale from hisfather’s mug at festivals,buthadneverhadacupofhisown.“Iwas starting toworry

no one was coming everagain,”heheardRuscotellRagen.“Graig took a chill just

beforehewastoleavelastfall,” Ragen said, drinkingdeeply.“HisHerbGatherer

toldhimtoputthetripoffuntil he got better, butthenwinter set in, andhegot worse and worse. Inthe end, he asked me totake his route until theguildcould findanother. Ihad to take a caravan ofsalt toAngiersanyway, soI added an extra cart andswung this way beforeheadingbacknorth.”

Rusco tookhismugandfilled it again. “ToGraig,”hesaid,“afineMessenger,and a dangerous haggler.”Ragennoddedandthetwomen clapped mugs anddrank.“Another?”Ruscoasked,when Ragen slammed hismug back down on thebar.“Graig wrote in his log

thatyouwereadangeroushaggler, too,” Ragen said,“and that you’d try to getmedrunkfirst.”Rusco chuckled, and

refilledthemug.“Afterthehaggling,I’llhavenoneedto serve these on thehouse,”hesaid,handingitto Ragen with a freshhead.“You will if you want

your mail to reach Miln,”Ragen said with a grin,acceptingthemug.“I can see you’re going

to be as tough as Graigever was,” Ruscogrumbled, filling his ownmug. “There,” he said,when it foamed over, “wecan both haggle drunk.”Theylaughed,andclashedmugsagain.

“What news of the FreeCities?”Ruscoasked.“TheKrasians still determinedtodestroythemselves?”Ragen shrugged. “By all

accounts. I stopped goingtoKrasia a fewyears ago,when I married. Too far,andtoodangerous.”“So the fact that they

cover their women inblanketshasnothingtodo

withit?”Ruscoasked.Ragenlaughed.“Doesn’t

help,” he said, “but it’smostly how they think allNortherners, evenMessengers, are cowardsfornotspendingournightstrying to get ourselvescored.”“Maybe they’d be less

inclined to fight if theylooked at their women

more,” Rusco mused.“How about Angiers andMiln? The dukes stillbickering?”“Asalways,”Ragensaid.“Euchor needs Angiers’woodtofuelhisrefineries,and grain to feed hispeople. Rhinebeck needsMiln’smetalandsalt.Theyhave to trade to survive,but instead of making it

easy on themselves, theyspendall their time tryingto cheat each other,especially when ashipment is lost tocorelingsontheroad.Lastsummer, demons hit acaravan of steel and salt.Theykilledthedrivers,butleft most of the cargointact.Rhinebeckretrievedit, and refused to pay,claimingsalvagerights.”

“DukeEuchormusthavebeenfurious,”Ruscosaid.“Livid,”Ragenagreed.“I

was the one that broughthimthenews.Hewentredin the face, and sworeAngiers wouldn’t seeanotherounceofsaltuntilRhinebeckpaid.”“Did Rhinebeck pay?”

Rusco asked, leaning ineagerly.

Ragen shook his head.“They did their best tostarveeachotherforafewmonths, and then theMerchants’Guildpaid,justto get their shipments outbefore the winter cameandtheyrottedinstorage.Rhinebeck is angry atthemnow,forgivingintoEuchor, but his face wassaved and the shipmentsweremovingagain,which

is all that mattered toanyone other than thosetwodogs.”“Wise to watch what

youcall thedukes,”Ruscowarned, “even this farout.”“Who’s going to tell

them?” Ragen asked.“You?Theboy?”He gestured at Arlen.

Bothmenlaughed.

“And now I have tobring Euchor news ofRiverbridge, which willmakethingsworse,”Ragensaid.“Thetownontheborderof Miln,” Rusco said,“barely a day out fromAngiers. I have contactsthere.”“Not anymore, youdon’t,” Ragen said

pointedly, and the menwerequietforatime.“Enough bad news,”Ragen said, hauling hissatchelontothebar.Ruscoconsidereditdubiously.“That doesn’t look likesalt,”hesaid,“andIdoubtIhavethatmuchmail.”“You have six letters,and an even dozenpackages,” Ragen said,

handing Rusco a sheaf offoldedpaper.“It’salllistedhere, along with all theother letters in thesatcheland packages on the cartto be distributed. I gaveSeliaacopyofthelist,”hewarned.“What do I want with

thatlist,oryourmailbag?”Ruscoasked.“The Speaker is

occupied, and won’t beable todistribute themailand read to those thatcan’t. She volunteeredyou.”“And how am I to be

compensated for spendingmybusinesshoursreadingto the townies?” Ruscoasked.“The satisfaction of a

good deed to your

neighbors?”Ragenasked.Rusco snorted. “I didn’t

come to Tibbet’s Brook tomake friends,” he said.“I’m a businessman, and Idoalotforthistown.”“Doyou?”Ragenasked.“Damn right,” Rusco

said.“BeforeIcametothistown, all they did wasbarter.”Hemadetheworda curse, and spat on the

floor. “They collected thefruits of their labor andgathered in the squareevery Seventhday, arguingover how many beanswereworthanearofcorn,orhowmuchriceyouhadtogivethecoopertomakeyou a barrel to put yourrice in. And if you didn’tget what you needed onSeventhday, you had towait until the next week,

or go door to door. Noweveryone can come here,any day, any time fromsunup to sundown, andtrade for credits to getwhateverelsetheyneed.”“The town savior,”Ragen said wryly. “Andyou asking nothing inreturn.”“Nothing but a tidyprofit,” Rusco said with a

grin.“And how often do the

villagers try to string youup for a cheat?” Ragenasked.Rusco’s eyes narrowed.

“Too often, consideringhalf of them can’t countpast their fingers, and theother half can only addtheirtoestothat,”hesaid.“Seliasaidthenexttime

ithappens,you’reonyourown”—Ragen’s friendlyvoice had suddenly gonehard—“unlessyoudoyourpart.There’splentyonthefar side of town sufferingworse thanhaving toreadthemail.”Rusco frowned, but hetook the list and carriedthe heavy bag into hisstoreroom.

“How bad is it, really?”he asked when hereturned.“Bad,” Ragen said.“Twenty-seven so far, anda few still unaccountedfor.”“Creator,” Rusco swore,drawing award in the airin front of him. “I hadthought a family, atworst.”

“Ifonly,”Ragensaid.They were both silent

for a moment, as wasdecent, then looked up ateachotherasone.“You have this year’s

salt?”Ruscoasked.“You have the duke’s

rice?”Ragenreplied.“Been holding it all

winter,youbeingsolate,”Ruscosaid.

Ragen’seyesnarrowed.“Oh, it’s still good!”

Rusco said, his handscoming up suddenly, as ifpleading. “I’ve kept itsealed and dry, and thereare no vermin in mycellar!”“I’llneedtobesure,you

understand,”Ragensaid.“Of course, of course,”

Rusco said. “Arlen, fetch

that lamp!” he ordered,pointing the boy towardthecornerofthebar.Arlen scurried over to

thelantern,pickingupthestriker.Helitthewickandlowered the glassreverently. He had neverbeen trusted to hold glassbefore. It was colder thanhe imagined, but quicklygrew warm as the flame

lickedit.“Carry it down to the

cellar for us,” Ruscoordered. Arlen tried tocontainhisexcitement.Hehad always wanted to seebehind the bar. They saidif everyone in the Brookputalltheirpossessionsinonepile,itwouldnotrivalthe wonders of Hog’scellar.

He watched as Ruscopulled a ring on his floor,openingawidetrap.Arlencame forward quickly,worried old Hog wouldchangehismind.Hewentdown the creaking steps,holdingthelanternhightoilluminate the way. As hedid, the light touched onstacksofcratesandbarrelsfrom floor to ceiling,running in even rows

stretching back past theedges of the light. Thefloor was wooden toprevent corelings fromrising directly into thecellar from the Core, butthere were still wardscarvedintotheracksalongthe walls. Old Hog wascarefulwithhistreasures.The storekeeper led the

way through the aisles to

the sealed barrels in theback. “They lookunspoiled,” Ragen said,inspecting the wood. Heconsideredamoment,thenchose at random. “Thatone,”hesaid,pointingtoabarrel.Rusco grunted and

hauled out the barrel inquestion. Some peoplecalled his work easy, but

hisarmswereashardandthickasanythatswunganaxe or scythe. He brokethe seal and popped thetopoffthebarrel,scoopingriceintoashallowpanforRagentoinspect.“Good Marsh rice,” he

told the Messenger, “andnot a weevil to be seen,nor sign of rot. This willfetchahighprice inMiln,

especially after so long.”Ragen grunted andnodded, so the cask wasresealedandtheyreturnedupstairs.They argued for some

time over how manybarrels of rice the heavysacks of salt on the cartwere worth. In the end,neither of them seemedhappy, but they shook

handsonthedeal.Rusco called hisdaughters, and they allwent out to the cart tobegin unloading the salt.Arlen tried lifting a bag,but it was far too heavy,and he staggered and fell,droppingit.“Be careful!” Dasyscolded, slapping thebackofhishead.

“If you can’t lift, thenget the door!” Catrinbarked. She herself hadonesackoverhershoulderand another tucked underher meaty arm. Arlenscrambled to his feet andrushed to hold the portalforher.“Fetch Ferd Miller andtell him we’ll payfive…makeitfourcredits

for every sack he grinds,”Rusco told Arlen. Mosteveryone in the Brookworked for Hog, one wayor another, but theSquarefolk most of all.“Five if he packs it inbarrelswithricetokeepitdry.”“Ferd is off in the

Cluster,”Arlensaid.“Mosteveryoneis.”

Rusco grunted, but didnotreply.Soonenoughthecartwasempty,saveforafew boxes and sacks thatdid not contain salt.Rusco’s daughters eyedthose hungrily, but saidnothing.“We’ll carry the rice up

fromthecellartonightandkeep it in the back roomuntil you’re ready tohead

back toMiln,”Rusco said,when the last sack washauledinside.“Thank you,” Ragen

said.“The duke’s business is

done, then?” Rusco askedwith a grin, his eyesflicking knowingly to theremaining items on thecart.“The duke’s business,

yes,” Ragen said, grinningin return. Arlen hopedthey would give himanother ale while theyhaggled. It made him feellight-headed, like he hadcaughtachill,butwithoutthecoughingandsneezingand aches. He liked thefeeling, andwanted to tryitagain.He helped carry the

remaining items into thetaproom, and Catrinbrought out a platter ofsandwiches thick withmeat. Arlen was given asecond cupof ale towashitdown,andoldHog toldhim he could have twocredits in thebook for hiswork. “I won’t tell yourparents,”Hog said, “but ifyou spend it on ale andthey catch you, you’ll be

working off the grief yourmum gives me.” Arlennodded eagerly. He’dnever had credits of hisowntospendatthestore.After lunch, Rusco and

Ragenwentovertothebarand opened up the otheritems the Messenger hadbrought. Arlen’s eyesflaredaseachtreasurewaspresented. There were

bolts of cloth finer thananythinghehadeverseen;metal tools and pins,ceramics, and exoticspices. There were even afew cups made of bright,sparklingglass.Hog seemed less

impressed. “Graig had abetter haul last year,” hesaid. “I’ll give you … ahundred credits for the

lot.” Arlen’s jaw dropped.A hundred credits! Ragencould own half the Brookforthat.Ragendidn’tcareforthe

offer, though. His eyeswent hard again, and heslammed his hand downon the table. Dasy andCatrin looked up fromtheir cleaning at thesound.

“To the Core with yourcredit!” he growled. “I’mnotoneofyourbumpkins,and unless you want theguild to know you for acheat, you’ll not mistakemeforoneagain.”“No hard feelings!”

Ruscolaughed,pattingtheair in that placating wayhehad.“Hadtotry…youunderstand. They still like

goldupthereinMiln?”heaskedwithaslysmile.“Same as everywhere,”Ragen said. He was stillfrowning, but the angerhad drained from hisvoice.“Not out here,” Ruscosaid.Hewentbackbehindthecurtain,andtheycouldhear him rummagingaround,raisinghisvoiceto

stillbeheard.“Outhere,ifyoucan’teatsomething,orwearit,paintawardwithit, or use it to till yourfield, it’s not worth muchof anything.” He returneda moment later with alarge cloth sack hedeposited on the counterwithaclink.“People here haveforgotten that gold moves

the world,” he went on,reaching into the bag andpulling out two heavyyellow coins, which hewaved in Ragen’s face.“The miller’s kids wereusing these as gamepieces!Gamepieces!ItoldthemI’dtradethegoldfora carvedwood game set Ihad in the back; theythought Iwas doing themafavor!Ferdevencameby

thenextdaytothankme!”He laughed a deep bellylaugh. Arlen felt like heshouldbeoffendedbythatlaugh, buthewasn’t quitesure why. He had playedthe Millers’ game manytimes,anditseemedworthmorethantwometaldisks,however shiny theymightbe.“I brought a lot more

than two suns’ worth,”Ragensaid,noddingatthecoins and then lookingtowardthebag.Rusco smiled. “Not to

worry,” he said, untyingthebag fully.As the clothflattened on the counter,more bright coins spilledout,alongwithchainsandrings and ropes ofglitteringstones.Itwasall

very pretty, Arlensupposed, but he wassurprised at how Ragen’seyesbulgedandtookonacovetousglitter.Again they haggled,

Ragen holding the stonesup to the light and bitingthe coins, while Ruscofingered the cloth andtasted the spices. Itwas ablur toArlen,whose head

wasspinningfromtheale.Mugaftermugcametothemen from Catrin at thebar, but they showed nosigns of being as affectedasArlen.“Two hundred and

twenty gold suns, twosilver moons, the ropechain,andthe threesilverrings,” Rusco said at last.“And not a copper light

more.”“No wonder you work

outinabackwater,”Ragensaid.“Theymusthaverunyou out of the city for acheat.”“Insultswon’tmakeyou

any richer,” Hog said,confidenthehadtheupperhand.“No riches for me this

time,” Ragen said. “After

my traveling costs, everylastlightwillgotoGraig’swidow.”“Ah, Jenya,” Rusco said

wistfully.“Sheusedtopenfor some of those in Milnwith no letters, my idiotnephew among them.Whatwillbecomeofher?”Ragen shook his head.

“The guild paid no death-pricetoher,becauseGraig

died at home,” he said.“And since she isn’t aMother, a lot of jobs willbedeniedher.”“I’msorry tohear that,”

Ruscosaid.“Graig left her some

money,” Ragen said,“though he never hadmuch, and the guild willstill pay her to pen. Withthe money from this trip,

sheshouldhaveenoughtoget by for a time. She’syoung, though, and itwillrun out eventually unlessshe remarries or findsbetterwork.”“And then?” Rusco

asked.Ragenshrugged.“It’llbe

hardforhertofindanewhusband, having alreadymarriedand failed tobear

children, but she won’tbecomeaBeggar.Myguildbrothersand Ihaveswornthat. One of us will takeher in as a Servant beforethathappens.”Rusco shook his head.“Still, to fall fromMerchant class toServant …” He reachedinto the much lighter bagandproducedaringwitha

clear, sparkling stone setinto it. “See that she getsthis,” he said, holding theringout.AsRagenreached for it,though, Rusco pulled itbacksuddenly.“I’llhaveamessage back from her,you understand,” he said.“I know how she shapesher letters.” Ragen lookedat him amoment, and he

quickly added, “No insultmeant.”Ragen smiled. “Your

generosity outweighs yourinsult,”hesaid,takingthering. “This will keep herbellyfullformonths.”“Yes, well,” Rusco said

gruffly, scooping up theremains of thebag, “don’tlet any of the townieshear, or I’ll lose my

reputationasacheat.”“Yoursecretissafewith

me,” Ragen said with alaugh.“You could earn her a

bit more, perhaps,” Ruscosaid.“Oh?”“The letters we have

weremeant to go toMilnsix months ago. You stickaround a few days while

we pen and collect more,andmaybehelppenafew,and I’ll compensate you.No more gold,” heclarified,“butsurelyJenyacould do with a cask ofrice,orsomecuredfishormeal.”“Indeed she could,”

Ragensaid.“Icanfindworkforyour

Jongleur, too,” Rusco

added. “He’ll see morecustomhere in theSquarethanbyhoppingfromfarmtofarm.”“Agreed,” Ragen said.

“Keerin will need gold,though.”Rusco gave him a wry

look, and Ragen laughed.“Had to try … youunderstand!” he said.“Silver,then.”

Rusco nodded. “I’llcharge a moon for everyperformance,andforeverymoon, I’ll keep one starandhetheotherthree.”“I thought you said the

townies had no money,”Ragennoted.“Most don’t,” Rusco

said.“I’llsellthemoonstothem…sayat thecostoffivecredits.”

“So Rusco Hog skimsfrom both sides of thedeal?”Ragenasked.Hogsmiled.

Arlen was excited duringtherideback.OldHoghadpromisedtolethimseetheJongleur for free if hespread the word thatKeerin would beentertaining in the Squareat high sun the next day

for five credits or a silverMilnese moon. Hewouldn’t havemuch time;his parents would bereadying to leave just ashe and Ragen returned,but he was sure he couldspread the word beforethey pulled him onto thecart.“Tellme about the Free

Cities,” Arlen begged as

they rode. “How manyhaveyouseen?”“Five,” Ragen said,

“Miln, Angiers, Lakton,Rizon, and Krasia. Theremay be others beyond themountains or the desert,butnonethatIknowhaveseenthem.”“What are they like?”

Arlenasked.“FortAngiers, the forest

stronghold, lies south ofMiln, across the DividingRiver,” Ragen said.“Angierssupplieswoodforthe other cities. Farthersouth lies the great lake,and on its surface standsLakton.”“Is a lake like a pond?”

Arlenasked.“A lake is to a pond

what a mountain is to a

hill,” Ragen said, givingArlen a moment to digestthe thought. “Out on thewater, the Laktonians aresafe fromflame, rock,andwood demons. Theirwardnet is proof againstwind demons, and nopeople can ward againstwater demons better.They’re fisher-folk, andthousands in the southerncities depend on their

catchforfood.“West of Lakton is FortRizon, which is nottechnically a fort, sinceyou could practically stepoveritswall,butitshieldsthe largest farmlandsyou’ve ever seen.WithoutRizon,theotherFreeCitieswouldstarve.”“And Krasia?” Arlenasked.

“I only visited FortKrasia once,” Ragen said.“The Krasians aren’twelcoming to outsiders,and you need to crossweeks of desert to getthere.”“Desert?”“Sand,” Ragen

explained. “Nothing butsand for miles in everydirection. No food nor

waterbutwhatyoucarry,and nothing to shade youfromthescorchingsun.”“Andpeoplelivethere?”

Arlenasked.“Oh, yes,” Ragen said.

“The Krasians used to beevenmore numerous thanthe Milnese, but they’redyingoff.”“Why?”Arlenasked.“Because they fight the

corelings,” Ragen said.Arlen’seyeswidened.“You can fight

corelings?”heasked.“Youcanfightanything,

Arlen,” Ragen said. “Theproblem with fightingcorelings is that moreoften than not, you lose.The Krasians kill theirshare, but the corelingsgive better than they get.

There are fewer Krasianseveryyear.”“My da says corelings

eat your soul when theygetyou,”Arlensaid.“Bah!” Ragen spat over

the side of the cart.“Superstitiousnonsense.”Theyhadturnedabend

not far from the Clusterwhen Arlen noticedsomething dangling from

thetreeaheadofthem.“What’sthat?”heasked,

pointing.“Night,” Ragen swore,

and cracked the reins,sending themollies into agallop. Arlen was thrownbackinhisseat,andtookamoment to right himself.Whenhedid,helookedatthe tree, which wascomingupfast.

“UncleCholie!”hecried,seeing theman kicking ashe clawed at the ropearoundhisneck.“Help! Help!” Arlen

screamed. He leapt fromthe moving cart, hittingthe ground hard, but hebounced to his feet,darting toward Cholie. Hegotupundertheman,butone of Cholie’s thrashing

feet kicked him in themouth, knocking himdown.Hetastedblood,butstrangely there was nopain. He came up again,grabbingCholie’s legs andtrying to lift him up toloosen the rope, but hewas too short, and Cholietooheavybesides,andthemancontinued togagandjerk.

“Help him!” Arlen criedto Ragen. “He’s choking!Somebodyhelp!”He looked up to see

Ragen pull a spear fromthe back of the cart. TheMessenger drew back andthrew with hardly amoment to aim, but hisaimwastrue,severingtherope and collapsing poorCholie onto Arlen. They

bothfellintothedirt.Ragen was there in an

instant, pulling the ropefrom Cholie’s throat. Itdidn’tseemtomakemuchdifference, the man stillgagged and clawed at histhroat. His eyes bulged sofar it looked as if theywouldpoprightoutofhishead, and his facewas soreditlookedpurple.Arlen

screamed as he gave atremendous thrash, andthenlaystill.Ragen beat Cholie’schest and breathed hugegulpsofairintohim,butithad no effect. Eventually,the Messenger gave up,slumping in the dirt andcursing.Arlenwasnostrangertodeath. That specter was a

frequentvisitortoTibbet’sBrook. But it was onething to die from thecorelings or from a chill.Thiswasdifferent.“Why?”heaskedRagen.“Why would he fight sohard to survive last night,onlytokillhimselfnow?”“Did he fight?” Ragenasked. “Did any of themreally fight? Or did they

runandhide?”“Idon’t…”Arlenbegan.“Hiding isn’t always

enough, Arlen,” Ragensaid. “Sometimes, hidingkills something inside ofyou, so that even if yousurvive the demons, youdon’treally.”“What else could he

have done?” Arlen asked.“Youcan’tfightademon.”

“I’d sooner fight a bearin its own cave,” Ragensaid,“butitcanbedone.”“But you said the

Krasians were dyingbecause of it,” Arlenprotested.“They are,” Ragen said.

“But they follow theirhearts. I know it soundslike madness, Arlen, butdeep down, men want to

fight,liketheydidintalesof old. They want toprotect their women andchildren as men should.Buttheycan’t,becausethegreat wards are lost, sothey knot themselves likecaged hares, hidingterrifiedthroughthenight.But sometimes, especiallywhen you see loved onesdie,thetensionbreaksyouandyoujustsnap.”

HeputahandonArlen’sshoulder. “I’m sorry youhad to see this, boy,” hesaid. “I know it doesn’tmake a lot of sense rightnow…”“No,” Arlen said, “it

does.”And it was true, Arlen

realized. He understoodthe need to fight. He hadnot expected towinwhen

he attacked Cobie and hisfriends that day. Ifanything,hehadexpectedto be beaten worse thanever. But in that instantwhenhegrabbedthestick,he hadn’t cared. He onlyknew he was tired of justtaking their abuse, andwantedit toend,onewayoranother.It was comforting to

knowhewasn’talone.Arlen looked at his

uncle,lyinginthedirt,hiseyes wide with fear. Heknelt and reached out,brushing his eyes closedwith his fingertips. Choliehad nothing to fear anylonger.“Have you ever killed a

coreling?” he asked theMessenger.

“No,” Ragen said,shakinghishead.“ButI’vefoughtafew.Gotthescarsto prove it. But I wasalways more interested ingetting away, or keepingthem away from someoneelse, than I was in killingany.”Arlenthoughtaboutthat

as theywrappedCholie ina tarp and put him in the

back of the wagon,hurrying back to theCluster. Jeph and Silvyhad already packed thecart and were waitingimpatiently to leave, butthe sight of the bodydiffused their anger atArlen’slatereturn.Silvy wailed and threw

herselfonherbrother,butthere was no time to

waste, if they were tomake it back to the farmby nightfall. Jeph had tohold her back as TenderHarral painted a ward onthe tarp and led a prayeras he tossed Cholie intothepyre.The survivors who

weren’t staying in BrineCutter’s house weredivided up and taken

home with the others.JephandSilvyhadofferedsuccor to two women.Norine Cutter was overfifty summers old. Herhusband had died someyears back, and she hadlost her daughter andgrandson in the attack.Marea Bales was old, too;almost forty. Her husbandhadbeenleftoutsidewhentheothersdrewlotsforthe

cellar. Like Silvy, bothslumped in the back ofJeph’scart,staringattheirknees. Arlen waved good-bye toRagenashis fathercrackedthewhip.The Cluster by theWoodswasdrawingoutofsight when Arlen realizedhe hadn’t told anyone tocomeseetheJongleur.

CHAPTER2IFITWASYOU

319AR

THEY HAD JUST ENOUGH TIME

tostowthecartandcheckthe wards before the

corelings came. Silvy hadlittle energy for cooking,so theyateacoldmealofbread, cheese, andsausage, chewing withlittle enthusiasm. Thedemons came soon aftersunset to test the wards,and every time the magicflaredtothrowthemback,Norine cried out. Mareanever touched her food.She sat onher palletwith

her arms wrapped tightlyaround her legs, rockingback and forth andwhimpering whenever themagicflared.Silvyclearedthe plates, but she neverreturned fromthekitchen,and Arlen could hear hercrying.Arlentried togotoher,

but Jeph caught his arm.“Come talk with me,

Arlen,”hesaid.Theywentintothesmallroom that housed Arlen’spallet, his collection ofsmooth rocks from thebrook, andall his feathersand bones. Jeph selectedone of these, a brightlycolored feather about teninches long, and fingereditashespoke,notlookingArlenintheeye.

Arlen knew the signs.When his father wouldn’tlook at him, it meant hewas uncomfortable withwhatever he wanted totalkabout.“What you saw on the

road with theMessenger…”Jephbegan.“Ragen explained it to

me,” Arlen said. “uncleCholie was dead already,

hejustdidn’tknowitrightaway. Sometimes peoplelivethroughanattack,butdieanyway.”Jephfrowned.“Nothow

I would have put it,” hesaid. “But true enough, Isuppose.Cholie…”“Was a coward,” Arlen

finished.Jeph looked at him in

surprise.“Whatmakesyou

saythat?”heasked.“He hid in the cellarbecause he was scared todie, and then killedhimself because he wasscaredtolive,”Arlensaid.“Better if he had justpickedupanaxeanddiedfighting.”“I don’t want to hearthat kind of talk,” Jephsaid. “You can’t fight

demons, Arlen. No onecan.There’s nothing tobegained by getting yourselfkilled.”Arlen shook his head.

“They’re like bullies,” hesaid. “They attack usbecause we’re too scaredto fight back. I hit Cobieand the others with thatstick, and they didn’tbothermeagain.”

“Cobie ent a rockdemon,” Jeph said. “Nostick is going to scarethoseoff.”“There’s got to be a

way,” Arlen said. “Peopleused to do it. All the oldstoriessayso.”“The stories say there

weremagicwards to fightwith,” Jeph said. “Thefightingwardsarelost.”

“Ragen says they stillfight demons in someplaces. He says it can bedone.”“I’mgoingtohaveatalk

with that Messenger,”Jeph grumbled. “Heshouldn’t be filling yourheadwithsuchthoughts.”“Why not?” Arlen said.

“Maybe more peoplewould have survived last

night, if all the men hadgottenaxesandspears…”“They would be just as

dead,” Jeph finished.“There’s other ways toprotect yourself and yourfamily, Arlen. Wisdom.Prudence. Humility. It’snot brave to fight a battleyoucan’twin.“Whowouldcareforthe

womenandthechildrenif

allthemengotthemselvescored trying to kill whatcan’t be killed?” he wenton. “Whowould chop thewood and build thehomes? Who would huntand herd and plant andslaughter? Who wouldseed the women withchildren? If all the mendie,thecorelingswin.”“The corelings are

already winning,” Arlenmuttered. “You keepsaying the town getssmaller each year. Bullieskeep coming when youdon’tfightback.”He looked up at hisfather. “Don’t you feel it?Don’t you want to fightsometimes?”“Of course I do, Arlen,”Jeph said. “Butnot forno

reason. When it matters,when it really matters, allmen are willing to fight.Animals run when theycan, and fight when theymust, and people are nodifferent. But that spiritshould only come outwhenneeded.“But if it was you out

there with the corelings,”he said, “or your mam, I

swear I would fight likemad before I let them getnear you. Do youunderstand thedifference?”Arlen nodded. “I think

so.”“Good man,” Jeph said,

squeezinghisshoulder.

Arlen’s dreams that nightwere filledwith imagesof

hills that touched the sky,and ponds so big youcouldputawholetownonthesurface.Hesawyellowsand stretching as far ashis eyes could see, and awalled fortress hidden inthetrees.But he saw it all

betweenapairoflegsthatswayed lazily before hiseyes. He looked up, and

saw his own face turningpurpleinthenoose.Hewokewithastart,his

palletdampwithsweat. Itwas still dark, but therewas a faint lightening onthe horizon, where theindigoskyhelda touchofred. He lit a candle stubandpulledonhisoveralls,stumbling out to thecommonroom.Hefounda

crust to chew on as hetook out the egg basketand milk jugs, puttingthembythedoor.“You’reupearly,”saida

voice behind him. Heturned, startled, to findNorine staring at him.Marea was still on herpallet, though she tossedinhersleep.“Thedaysdon’t get any

longer while you sleep,”Arlensaid.Norine nodded. “So my

husband used to say,” sheagreed. “‘Baleses andCutters can’t work bycandlelight, like theSquares,’he’dsay.”“I have a lot to do,”

Arlen said, peekingthrough the shutter to seehowlonghehadbeforehe

could cross the wards.“The Jongleur is supposedtoperformathighsun.”“Of course,” Norineagreed. “When Iwas yourage, the Jongleur was themost important thing inthe world to me, too. I’llhelp you with yourchores.”“You don’t have to dothat,”Arlensaid.“Dasays

youshouldrest.”Norine shook her head.“Rest justmakesme thinkof things best leftunthought,” she said. “IfI’m to stay with you, Ishouldearnmykeep.Afterchopping wood in theCluster,howhardcould itbe to slop pigs and plantcorn?”Arlen shrugged, and

handedhertheeggbasket.With Norine’s help, the

chores went by fast. Shewas a quick learner, andno stranger to hard workand heavy lifting. By thetimethesmellofeggsandbacon wafted from thehouse, the animals wereall fed, the eggs collected,andthecowsmilked.“Stop squirming on the

bench,”SilvytoldArlenastheyate.“YoungArlen can’twait

to go see the Jongleur,”Norineadvised.“Maybe tomorrow,”

Jephsaid,andArlen’sfacefell.“What!” Arlen cried.

“But…”“Nobuts,”Jephsaid.“A

lot of work went undone

yesterday, and I promisedSelia I’d drop by theClusterintheafternoontohelpout.”Arlen pushed his plateawayandstompedintohisroom.“Lettheboygo,”Norinesaid when he was gone.“MareaandIwillhelpouthere.”Marea lookedupatthesoundofhername,but

wentback toplayingwithherfoodamomentlater.“Arlen had a hard day,yesterday,” Silvy said. Shebitherlip.“Wealldid.Letthe Jongleur put a smileon his face. Surely there’snothingthatcan’twait.”Jeph nodded after amoment. “Arlen!” hecalled. When the boyshowedhis sullen face, he

asked, “How much is oldHog charging to see theJongleur?”“Nothing,” Arlen said

quickly, not wanting togive his father reason torefuse.“OnaccountofhowI helped carry stuff fromthe Messenger’s cart.” Itwasn’t exactly true, andthere was a good chanceHog would be angry that

he forgot to tell people,but maybe if he spreadwordonthewalkover,hecouldbringenoughpeoplefor his two credits at thestoretogethimin.“Old Hog always actsgenerous right after theMessenger comes,” Norinesaid.“Ought to, after howhe’s been fleecing us all

winter,”Silvyreplied.“All right, Arlen, youcan go,” Jeph said. “Meetme in the Clusterafterwards.”

Thewalk to Town Squaretook about two hours ifyou followed the path.Nothing more than awagon track of hard-packed dirt that Jeph anda few other locals kept

clear, it went well out ofthe way to the bridge atthe shallowest part of thebrook. Nimble and quick,Arlencouldcutthetripinhalfbyskippingacrosstheslickrocksjuttingfromthewater.Today, he needed the

extratimemorethanever,so he could make stopsalong the way. He raced

along the muddy bank atbreakneck speed, dodgingtreacherous roots andscrubwith the sure-footedconfidenceofonewhohadfollowedthetrailcountlesstimes.He popped back out of

thewoodsashepassedthefarmhouses on the way,buttherewasnoonetobefound. Everyone was

either out in the fields orbackattheClusterhelpingout.It was getting close tohighsunwhenhereachedFishingHole.AfewoftheFishershadtheirboatsouton the small pond, butArlen didn’t see muchpoint in shouting to them.Otherwise, the Hole wasdeserted,too.

Hewas feeling glum bythe time he got to TownSquare. Hog might haveseemed nicer than usualyesterday, but Arlen hadseen what he was likewhen someone cost himprofit. There was no wayhe was going to let Arlensee the Jongleur for justtwo credits.He’dbe luckyifthestorekeepdidn’ttakeaswitchtohim.

Butwhenhereachedthesquare, he found overthree hundred peoplegathered fromallover theBrook. Therewere Fishersand Marshes and BogginsandBales.Not tomentionthe town locals, Squares,Tailors, Millers, Bakers,and all. None had comefrom Southwatch, ofcourse.FolkthereshunnedJongleurs.

“Arlen, my boy!” Hogcalled, seeing himapproach. “I’ve saved youaspotup front,andyou’llgo home tonight with asackofsalt!Welldone!”Arlen looked at him

curiously, until he sawRagen, standing next toHog. The Messengerwinkedathim.“Thankyou,”Arlensaid,

when Hog went off tomarkanotherarrivalinhisledger. Dasy and Catrinwere selling food and alefortheshow.“People deserve a

show,” Ragen said with ashrug. “But not withoutclearing it with yourTender, it seems.” Hepointed to Keerin, whowas deep in conversation

withTenderHarral.“Don’t be selling any ofthat Plague nonsense tomy flock!” Harral said,poking Keerin hard in thechest. He was twice theJongleur’s weight, andnoneofitfat.“Nonsense?” Keerinasked,paling.“InMiln,theTenderswill stringupanyJongleur that doesn’t tell

ofthePlague!”“I don’t care what theydo in the Free Cities,”Harralsaid.“These’regoodpeople, and they have ithard enough without youtelling’emtheirsuffering’sbecause they ent piousenough!”“What…?”Arlenbegan,but Keerin broke off,heading to the center of

thesquare.“Best findaseatquick,”Ragenadvised.

As Hog promised, Arlengotaseatrightinfront,intheareausuallyleftfortheyounger children. Theothers looked onenviously, and Arlen feltvery special. It was rareforanyonetoenvyhim.

The Jongleur was tall,likeallMilnese,dressedina patchwork of brightcolors that looked liketheywere stolen from thedyer’s scrapbin.Hehadawispy goatee, the samecarrotcolorashishair,butthe mustache never quitemet the beard, and thewhole thing looked like itmight wash off with agood scrubbing. Everyone,

especially the women,talkedinwonderabouthisbrighthairandgreeneyes.As people continued tofile in, Keerin paced backand forth, juggling hiscolored wooden balls andtelling jokes, warming tothecrowd.WhenHoggavethesignal,hetookhisluteandbegantoplay,singingin a strong, high voice.

People clapped along tothe songs they didn’tknow, but whenever heplayed one that was sungin the Brook, the wholecrowd sang along,drowningouttheJongleurand not seeming to care.Arlen didn’tmind; hewassinging just as loudas theothers.After the music came

acrobatics, and magictricks. Along the way,Keerin made a few jestsabout husbands that hadthewomen shriekingwithlaughter while the menfrowned, and a few aboutwives that had the menslappingtheirthighsasthewomenglared.Finally, the Jongleurpaused and held up his

hands for silence. Therewas a murmur from thecrowd,andparentsnudgedtheir youngest childrenforward, wanting them tohear. Little Jessi Boggin,who was only five,climbed right into Arlen’slapforabetterview.Arlenhadgivenherfamilyafewpups from one of Jeph’sdogsafewweeksago,andnow she clung to him

wheneverhewasnear.Heheld her as Keerin begantheTaleoftheReturn,hishighvoicedroppingintoadeep, booming call thatcarriedfarintothecrowd.“The world was notalways as you see it,” theJongleurtoldthechildren.“Oh,no.Therewasatimewhen humanity lived inbalance with the demons.

Those early years arecalled the Age ofIgnorance. Does anyoneknow why?” He lookedaround the children infront, and several raisedtheirhands.“Because there wasn’tany wards?” a girl asked,when Keerin pointed toher.“That’s right!” the

Jongleur said, turning asomersault that broughtsqueals of glee from thechildren. “The Age ofIgnorancewasascarytimeforus,butthereweren’tasmany demons then, andthey couldn’t killeveryone.Muchliketoday,humans built what theycould during the day, andthe demons would tear itdowneachnight.

“As we struggled tosurvive,” Keerin went on,“weadapted,learninghowto hide food and animalsfromthedemons,andhowtoavoidthem.”Helookedaroundasifinterror,thenran behind one child,cringing. “We lived inholes in the ground, sotheycouldn’tfindus.”“Like bunnies?” Jessi

asked,laughing.“Just so!” Keerin called,putting a twitching fingerup behind each ear andhopping about, wrigglinghisnose.“We lived any way wecould,”hewent on, “untilwe discovered writing.From there, itwasn’t longbeforewehadlearnedthatsome writing could hold

the corelings back. Whatwriting is that?”heasked,cuppinganear.“Wards!”everyonecriedinunison.“Correct!” the Jongleurcongratulated with a flip.“With wards, we couldprotect ourselves from thecorelings, and wepracticed them, gettingbetter and better. More

and more wards werediscovered, until someonelearnedone thatdidmorethan hold the demonsback. It hurt them.” Thechildren gasped, andArlen,eventhoughhehadheard almost this sameperformanceeveryyearforas long as he couldremember, found himselfsucking in his breath.What he wouldn’t give to

knowsuchaward!“The demons did not

take well to thisadvancement,”Keerin saidwith a grin. “They wereused to us running andhiding, and when weturned and fought, theyfought back. Hard. Thusbegan the First DemonWar, and the second age,theAgeoftheDeliverer.

“The Deliverer was aman called upon by theCreatortoleadourarmies,and with him to lead us,we were winning!” Hethrust his fist into the airand the children cheered.It was infectious, andArlen tickled Jessi withglee.“As our magics andtactics improved,” Keerin

said, “humans began tolive longer, and ournumbers swelled. Ourarmies grew larger, evenas the number of demonsdwindled.Therewashopethat the corelings wouldbe vanquished once andforall.”The Jongleur pausedthen,andhis face tookona serious expression.

“Then,” he said, “withoutwarning, the demonsstopped coming. Never inthe history of the worldhadanightpassedwithoutthe corelings. Now nightafter night went by withno sign of them, and wewere baffled.” Hescratchedhisheadinmockconfusion. “Many believedthat the demon losses inthe war had been too

great, and that they hadgiven up the fight,coweringwithfrightintheCore.” He huddled awayfrom the children, hissinglikeacatandshakingasifwith fear. Some of thechildren got into the act,growling at himmenacingly.“The Deliverer,” Keerinsaid, “who had seen the

demons fight fearlesslyevery night, doubted this,but as months passedwithout sign of thecreatures,hisarmiesbegantofragment.“Humanity rejoiced intheir victory over thecorelingsforyears,”Keerinwenton.Hepickeduphislute and played a livelytune, dancing about. “But

as the years passedwithout the common foe,the brotherhood of mengrew strained, and thenfaded. For the first time,we fought against oneanother.” The Jongleur’svoice turnedominous.“Aswarsparked,theDelivererwas called upon by allsides to lead, but heshouted, ‘I’ll not fight’gainstmenwhile a single

demon remains in theCore!’He turnedhisback,and left the lands asarmiesmarchedandallthelandfellintochaos.“From these great warsarose powerful nations,”he said, turning the tuneinto something uplifting,“and mankind spread farand wide, covering theentire world. The Age of

the Deliverer came to aclose, and the Age ofSciencebegan.“The Age of Science,”the Jongleur said, “wasour greatest time, butnestled in that greatnesswas our biggest mistake.Cananyheretellmewhatitwas?”Theolderchildrenknew, but Keerin signaledthem toholdbackand let

theyoungonesanswer.“Because we forgotmagic,” Gim Cutter said,wiping his nose with thebackofhishand.“Right you are!” Keerinsaid, snapping his fingers.“We learned a great dealabout how the worldworked, about medicineand machines, but weforgot magic, and worse,

we forgot the corelings.Afterthreethousandyears,no one believed they hadeverevenexisted.“Which iswhy,”hesaidgrimly, “we wereunprepared when theycameback.“The demons hadmultiplied over thecenturies, as the worldforgot them. Then, three

hundred years ago, theyrose from the Core onenight in massive numberstotakeitback.“Whole cities were

destroyed that first night,asthecorelingscelebratedtheir return. Men foughtback, but even the greatweapons of the Age ofSciencewerepoordefenseagainst the demons. The

Age of Science came to aclose, and the Age ofDestructiontookhold.“The Second DemonWarhadbegun.”In hismind’s eye,Arlensaw that night, saw thecities burning as peoplefled in terror, only to besavaged by the waitingcorelings. He saw mensacrificethemselvestobuy

time for their families toflee, saw women takeclaws meant for theirchildren. Most of all, hesaw the corelings dance,cavortinginsavagegleeasblood ran from their teethandtalons.Keerin moved forwardeven as the children drewback in fear. “The warlasted for years, with

people slaughtered atevery turn. Without theDeliverer to lead them,theywerenomatchforthecorelings. Overnight, thegreat nations fell, and theaccumulatedknowledgeoftheAgeofScienceburnedasflamedemonsfrolicked.“Scholars desperately

searched thewreckages oflibraries for answers. The

old science was no help,buttheyfoundsalvationatlast in stories onceconsidered fantasy andsuperstition.Menbegantodraw clumsy symbols inthe dirt, preventing thecorelings fromapproaching. The ancientwardsheldpowerstill,butthe shaking hands thatdrew them often mademistakes, and they were

paidfordearly.“Those that survivedgathered people to them,protecting them throughthelongnights.Thosemenbecame the first Warders,whoprotectustothisveryday.” The Jongleurpointed to the crowd. “Sothe next time you see aWarder, thank him,becauseyouowehimyour

life.”Thatwas a variation on

the story Arlen had neverheard. Warders? InTibbet’s Brook, everyonelearnedwardingassoonasthey were old enough todraw with a stick. Manyhad poor aptitude for it,butArlencouldn’timagineanyonenottakingthetimeto learn the basic

forbiddings against flame,rock,swamp,water,wind,andwooddemons.“So now we stay safe

within our wards,” Keerinsaid, “letting the demonshave their pleasuresoutside. Messengers,” hegestured to Ragen, “thebravest of all men, travelfrom city to city for us,bringing news and

escortingmenandgoods.”He walked about, hiseyes hard as he met thefrightened looks of thechildren. “But we arestrong,” he said. “Aren’twe?”The children nodded,but their eyes were stillwidewithfear.“What?” he asked,puttingahandtohisear.

“Yes!”thecrowdcried.“When the Deliverercomes again, will we beready?” he asked. “Willthedemonslearntofearusoncemore?”“Yes!”thecrowdroared.“They can’t hear you!”theJongleurshouted.“Yes!” the peoplescreamed,punchingfistsinthe air; Arlenmost of all.

Jessi imitated him,punching the air andshrieking as if shewere ademon herself. TheJongleurbowedand,whenthe crowd quieted, liftedhis luteand led them intoanothersong.

As promised, Arlen leftTown Square with a sackof salt. Enough to lastweeks, even with Norine

andMarea to feed. Itwasstill unmilled, but Arlenknewhisparentswouldbehappy to pound the saltthemselves, rather thanpay Hog extra for theservice. Most would,really, but old Hog nevergave them a choice,milling the salt as soonasitcameandtackingontheextracost.

Arlenhadaspringinhisstep as he walked downthe road toward theCluster. It wasn’t until hepassedthetreethatCholiehadhungfromthatArlen’sspirits fell. He thoughtagain about what Ragenhad said about fightingcorelings, and what hisfather had said aboutprudence.

He thought his fatherprobably had the right ofit:Hidewhenyoucanandfightwhenyoumust.EvenRagen seemed to agreewith that philosophy. ButArlen couldn’t shake thefeeling that hiding hurtpeople too, in ways theycouldn’tsee.HemethisfatherintheCluster and earned a clap

on the back when heshowedhisprize.Hespentthe rest of the afternoonrunningtoandfro,helpingrebuild. Already, anotherhouse was repaired andwould be warded bynightfall. In a few moreweeks, the Cluster wouldbe fully rebuilt, and thatwas ineveryone’s interest,if they wanted enoughwoodtolastthewinter.

“I promised Selia I’dthrow inhere for thenextfew days,” Jeph said asthey packed the cart thatafternoon. “You’ll be themanofthefarmwhileI’mgone.You’llhavetocheckthe ward-posts and weedthe fields. I sawyoushowNorine your chores thismorning. She can handlethe yard, and Marea canhelpyourmotherinside.”

“All right,” Arlen said.Weeding the fields andchecking the posts washard work, but the trustmadehimproud.“I’m counting on you,

Arlen,”Jephsaid.“I won’t let you down,”

Arlenpromised.

The next few days passedwithlittleevent.Silvystill

cried at times, but therewas work to do, and shenever once complained ofthe additional mouths tofeed.Norinetooktocaringfor the animals naturally,and even Marea began tocomeoutofhershellabit,helpingwith thesweepingand cooking, working theloom after supper. Soonshewas taking turns withNorine in the yard. Both

women seemeddetermined to do theirshare, though their faces,too, grew pained andwistful whenever therewasalullinthework.Arlen’s hands blistered

from pulling weeds, andhis back and shouldersached at the end of eachday, but he didn’tcomplain.Theonlyoneof

hisnew responsibilitiesheenjoyed was working onthe wardposts. Arlen hadalways loved warding,mastering the basicdefensive symbols beforemost children beganlearning at all, and morecomplex wardnets soonafter. Jeph didn’t evencheck his work anymore.Arlen’s hand was steadierthan his father’s. Warding

wasn’t the same asattacking a demon with aspear, but it was fightinginitsownway.Jeph arrived at duskeach day, and Silvy hadwater from the wellwaiting for him to washoff. Arlen helped Norineand Marea lock up theanimals,andthentheyhadsupper.

Onthefifthday,awindkicked up in the lateafternoon that sent dustwhorls dancing in theyard, and had the barndoor banging.Arlen couldsmellraincoming,andthedarkening sky confirmedit.HehopedJephsawthesigns, too, and came backearly, or stayed on in theCluster.Darkcloudsmeantan early dusk, and early

dusk sometimes meantcorelings before fullsunset.Arlen abandoned the

fields and began to helpthe women herd thespookedanimalsbackintothebarn. Silvywas out aswell, battening down thecellar doors and makingsurethewardpostsaroundthe day pens were lashed

tight.Therewaslittletimeto spare when Jeph’s cartcame into sight. The skywas darkening quickly,and already there was nodirectsun.Corelingscouldriseatanymoment.“No time tounhitch the

cart,”Jephcalled,crackingthe whip to drive Missyfaster toward the barn.“We’ll do it in the

morning. Everyone in thehouse,now!”Silvyandtheother women complied,headinginside.“We can do it if wehurry,” Arlen yelled overtheroarofthewindasheran after his father.Missywouldbeinfoulspiritsfordaysifshespentthenightharnessed.Jeph shook his head.

“It’s too dark already! Anight hitched won’t killher.”“Lock me in the barn,then,” Arlen said. “I’llunhitch her and wait outthe storm with theanimals.”“Do as you’re told,Arlen!” Jeph shouted. Heleapt from the cart andgrabbed the boy by the

arm,halfdragginghimoutofthebarn.The two of them pulled

the doors shut and threwthe bar as lightning splitthesky.Thewardspaintedon the barn doors wereilluminated for amoment,areminderofwhatwastocome. The air waspregnantwiththepromiseofrain.

They ran for the house,scanning the way beforethem for the mist thatwould herald the rising.For the moment, the waywas clear.Marea held thedooropen,andtheydartedinside, just as the first fatdrops of rain stirred thedustoftheyard.Marea was pulling the

door closed when a howl

sounded from the yard.Everyonefroze.“Thedog!”Marea cried,

coveringhermouth.“Ilefthimtiedtothefence!”“Leave him,” Jeph said.

“Closethedoor.”“What?” Arlen cried,

incredulous.Hewhirledtofacehisfather.“Theway is still clear!”

Marea cried, and darted

outofthehouse.“Marea,no!”Silvycried,

runningoutafterher.Arlen, too, ran for the

door, but not before Jephgrabbed the shoulderstraps of his overalls andyanked him backward.“Stay inside!” he ordered,movingtothedoor.Arlen stumbled back a

moment, thenran forward

again. Jeph and Norinewereoutontheporch,butstayed within the line ofthe outer wards. By thetime Arlen reached theporch, the dog wasrunning past him into thehouse, the rope stilltrailingfromitsneck.Out in the yard, windhowled, turning the dropsof rain into stinging

insects.HesawMareaandhis mother running backtoward the house just asthe demons began to rise.As always, flame demonscame first, their mistyforms seeping from theground. The smallest ofcorelings, they crouchedon all fours as theycoalesced, barely eighteeninchestallattheshoulder.Their eyes, nostrils, and

mouths glowed with asmokylight.“Run, Silvy!” Jeph

screamed.“Run!”It seemed that they

would make it, but thenMarea stumbled and wentdown.Silvyturnedtohelpher, and in that momentthefirstcorelingsolidified.Arlenmoved to run tohismother, butNorine’shand

clamped hard on his arm,holdinghimfast.“Don’t be stupid,” the

womanhissed.“Get up!” Silvy

demanded, yankingMarea’sarm.“My ankle!” Marea

cried. “I can’t! Go onwithoutme!”“LikenightIwill!”Silvy

growled. “Jeph!” she

called.“Helpus!”By then, corelings were

forming all over the yard.Jeph stood frozen as theytook note of the womenand shrieked withpleasure, darting towardthem.“Letgo!”Arlengrowled,

stompinghardonNorine’sfoot. She howled, andArlenyankedhisarmfree.

He grabbed the nearestweapon he could find, awooden milk bucket, andranoutintotheyard.“Arlen, no!” Jeph cried,but Arlen was donelisteningtohim.A flame demon, nobigger than a large cat,leapt atop Silvy’s back,andshescreamedastalonsraked deep lines in her

flesh, leaving the back ofher dress a bloody tatter.From its perch, thecoreling spat fire intoMarea’s face. The womanshrieked as her skinmelted and her hairignited.Arlen was there aninstant later, swinging thebucket with all hisstrength. It broke apart as

it struck, but the demonwas knocked from hismother’s back. Shestumbled, but Arlen wastheretosupporther.Moreflamedemonsclosedinonthem, even as winddemons began to stretchtheir wings, and, a dozenyards off, a rock demonbegantotakeform.Silvy groaned, but she

got to her feet. Arlenpulled her away fromMarea and her agonizedwails,butthewaybacktothe housewas blocked byflame demons. The rockdemon caught sight ofthem, too, and charged.Afew wind demons,preparing to take off, gotinthemassivebeast’sway,and its talons swept themaside as easily as a scythe

cut through cornstalks.They tumbled brokenthroughtheair,andflamedemons set on them,tearingthemtopieces.It was only a moment’s

distraction,butArlen tookit,pullinghismotherawayfrom the house. The barnwas blocked as well, butthe path to the day penwas still clear, if they

could keep ahead of thecorelings. Silvy wasscreaming, out of fear orpain Arlen didn’t know,but she stumbled along,keeping pace even in herwideskirts.As he broke into a run,

so too did the flamedemons half surroundingthem. The rain began tofall harder, and the wind

howled.Lightningsplitthesky, illuminating theirpursuers and the day pen,soclose,yetstilltoofar.Thedustoftheyardwasslickwiththegrowingwet,but fear granted themagility,andtheykepttheirfeet under them.The rockdemon’s footfalls were asloud as the thunder as itcharged, growing ever

closer,making the groundshakewithitsstride.Arlen skidded to a stopat the pens and fumbledwith the latch. The flamedemons caught up in thatsplit second, coming inrangetousetheirdeadliestweapon. They spat flame,and Arlen and his motherwerestruck.Theblastwasweakenedbydistance,but

still he felt his clothesignite, and smelledburning hair. A flare ofpainwashedoverhim,buthe ignored it, finallygettingthegatetothepenopen. He had started totake his mother insidewhen another flamedemonleaptonher,clawsdigging deep into herchest. With a yank, Arlenpulledherintothepen.As

they crossed the wards,Silvy passed througheasily, but magic flaredand the coreling wasthrown back. Its claws,hooked deep in her, camefree in a spray of bloodandflesh.Their clothes were still

burning.WrappingSilvyinhis arms, Arlen threwthem both to the ground,

taking the brunt of theimpact himself, and thenrolled them into themud,extinguishingtheflames.Therewas no chance to

closethegate.Thedemonsringed the pen now,pounding at the wardnet,sending flares of magicskitteringalongthewebofwards. But the gate didn’treallymatter. Nor did the

fence. So long as thewardposts were intact,they were safe from thecorelings.But not from theweather. The rain becamea cold pour, whipping atthem in cutting sheets.Silvy could not rise againafter the fall. Blood andmud cakedher, andArlendidn’t know if she could

survive her wounds andtheraintogether.Hestumbledovertotheslop trough and kicked itover, sloshing theunfinishedremnantsofthepigs’ dinner to rot in themud. Arlen could see therock demon pounding atthewardnet,butthemagicheld,andthedemoncouldnot pass. Between the

flashesoflightningandthespurts of demon flame,hecaught sight of Marea,buried under a swarm offlame demons, eachtearing off a piece anddancingawaytofeast.Therockdemongaveup

a moment later, stompingover and grabbing Mareaby the leg in a massivetalonthewayacruelman

might a grab a cat. Flamedemons scattered as therock demon swung thewomanintotheair.Sheletout a hoarse gasp, andArlen was horrified todiscovershewasstillalive.He screamed, andconsidered trying to dartfrom the wardnet and gettoher.Butthenthedemonbroughthercrashingdownto the ground with a

sickeningcrunch.Arlen turned away

before the creature couldbegin to eat, his tearswashed away by thepouringrain.DraggingthetroughtoSilvy,hetorethelining from her skirt andlet it soak in the rain. Hebrushedthemudfromhercuts as best he could, andwadded more lining into

them. Itwashardly clean,butcleanerthanpigmud.Shewasshivering,sohe

layagainstherforwarmth,and pulled the stinkingtrough over them as ashieldfromthedownpour,andthesightoftheleeringdemons.There was one more

flash of lightning as heloweredthewood.Thelast

thing he saw was hisfather,stillstandingfrozenontheporch.If it was you outthere … or your mam …Arlen remembered himsaying. But for all hispromises, it seemed thatnothing could make JephBalesfight.

The night passed withinterminable slowness;

therewasnohopeofsleep.Raindrops drummed asteadybeaton the trough,spattering them with theremains of the slop thatclung to the inside. Themud they lay inwas cold,andstankofpigdroppings.Silvy shivered in herdelirium, and Arlenclutched her tightly,willingwhat little heat hehad into her. His own

handsandfeetwerenumb.Despair crept over him,

and he wept into hismother’sshoulder.Butshegroaned and patted hishand, and that simple,instinctive gesture pulledhim free of the terror anddisillusionmentandpain.Hehadfoughtademon,

and lived. He stood in ayard full of them, and

survived. Corelings mightbe immortal, but theycould be outmaneuvered.Theycouldbeoutsped.And as the rock demon

had shown when it sweptthe other coreling out ofthe way, they could behurt.But what difference did

it make in a world wheremen like Jeph wouldn’t

stand up to the corelings,not even for their ownfamilies? What hope didanyofthemhave?He stared at the

blackness around him forhours, but in his mind’seye all he saw was hisfather’s face, staring atthemfromthesafetyofthewards.

Theraintaperedoffbefore

dawn. Arlen used thebreak in theweather as achance to lift the trough,but he immediatelyregretteditasthecollectedheat the wood had storedwas lost. He pulled itdown again, but stolepeeks until the sky begantobrighten.Most of the corelingshad faded away by the

timeitwaslightenoughtosee, but a few stragglersremained as the sky wentfrom indigo to lavender.He lifted the trough andclambered to his feet,trying vainly to brush offthe slime and muck thatclungtohim.His arm was stiff, andstung when he flexed it.He looked down and saw

that the skin was brightredwhere the firespit hadstruck.Thenightinthemuddid one good thing, hethought, knowing his andhis mother’s burns wouldhave been far worse hadthey not been packed inthecoldmuckallnight.Asthelastflamedemons

in the yard began to turninsubstantial, Arlen strode

from the pen, heading forthebarn.“Arlen, no!” a cry came

from the porch. Arlenlooked up, and saw Jephthere, wrapped in ablanket, keeping watchfrom the safety of theporch wards. “It’s not fulldawnyet!Wait!”Arlen ignored him,

walking to the barn and

opening the doors. Missylooked thoroughlyunhappy, still hitched tothe cart, but she wouldmakeittoTownSquare.Ahandgrabbedhisarm

as he led the horse out.“Are you trying to getyourself killed?” Jephdemanded.“Youmindme,boy!”Arlentorehisarmaway,

refusing to look his fatherintheeye.“MamneedstoseeColineTrigg,”hesaid.“She’s alive?” Jeph

asked incredulously, hishead snapping over towhere the woman lay inthemud.“No thanks to you,”

Arlensaid.“I’mtakinghertoTownSquare.”“We’retakingher,”Jeph

corrected, rushing over tolift hiswife and carry hertothecart.LeavingNorineto tend the animals andseek out poor Marea’sremains, they headed offdowntheroadtotown.Silvy was bathed insweat,andwhileherburnsseemed no worse thanArlen’s, the deep lines theflame demons’ talons had

dug still oozed blood, thefleshanuglyswollenred.“Arlen,I…”Jephbeganas they rode, reaching ashaking hand toward hisson. Arlen drew back,looking away, and Jephrecoiledasifburned.Arlen knew his fatherwas ashamed. It was justasRagen had said.MaybeJeph even hated himself,

as Cholie had. Still, Arlencould find no sympathy.His mother had paid thepriceforJeph’scowardice.Theyrodetherestofthe

wayinsilence.Coline Trigg’s two-story

house, in Town Square,was one of the largest inthe Brook, and filledwithbeds. In addition to herfamily upstairs, Coline

always had at least oneperson in the sickbeds onthegroundfloor.Coline was a short

woman with a large noseand no chin. She was notyet thirty,butsixchildrenhadmadeherthickaroundthe middle. Her clothesalways smelled of burntweeds, and her curesusuallyinvolvedsometype

of foul-tasting tea. Thepeople of Tibbet’s Brookmade fun of that tea, buteveryoneofthemdrankitgratefully when they tookachill.TheHerb Gatherer took

one look at Silvy and hadArlen and his father bringherrightinside.Sheaskedno questions, which wasjust as well, as neither

ArlennorJephknewwhattheywould say if shedid.Asshecutateachwound,squeezing out a sicklybrown pus, the air filledwith a rotten stench. Shecleaned the drainedwounds with water andground herbs, then sewedthem shut. Jeph turnedgreen, and brought hishand to his mouthsuddenly.

“Outofherewith that!”Coline barked, sendingJephfromtheroomwithapointed finger. As Jephscurried out of the house,shelookedtoArlen.“You, too?” shedemanded.Arlenshookhishead.Colinestaredathimamoment,thennoddedinapproval. “You’re braverthanyourfather,”shesaid.

“Fetch the mortar andpestle. I’m going to teachyou to make a balm forburns.”Never taking her eyes

from her work, Colinetalked Arlen through thecountless jarsandpouchesinherpharmacy,directinghimtoeachingredientandexplaining how to mixthem. She kept to her

grisly work as Arlenapplied the balm to hismother’sburns.Finally, when Silvy’s

wounds were all tended,she turned to inspectArlen.Heprotestedatfirst,but thebalmdid itswork,and only as the coolnessspread along his arms didhe realize how much hisburnshadstung.

“Will she be all right?”Arlenasked,lookingathismother. She seemed to bebreathing normally, butthe flesh around herwoundswasanuglycolor,andthatstenchofrotwasstillthickintheair.“I don’t know,” Coline

said. She wasn’t one tohoney her words. “I’venever seen anyone with

woundssosevere.Usually,if the corelings get thatclose…”“They kill you,” Jeph

said from the doorway.“They would have killedSilvy, too, if not forArlen.” He stepped intothe room, his eyes down.“Arlen taught mesomething last night,Coline,” Jeph said. “He

taught me fear is ourenemy, more than thecorelingseverwere.”Jeph put his hands onhis son’s shoulders andlooked into his eyes. “Iwon’t fail you again,” hepromised. Arlen noddedand looked away. Hewanted to believe it wasso, but his thoughts keptreturning to the sight of

his father on the porch,frozenwithterror.JephwentovertoSilvy,

grippingherclammyhandin his own. She was stillsweating, and thrashed inherdruggedsleepnowandthen.“Will she die?” Jeph

asked.TheHerbGathererblew

out a long breath. “I’m a

fairhandatsettingbones,”she said, “and deliveringchildren. I can chase afever away and ward achill. I can even cleanse ademon wound, if it’s stillfresh.” She shook herhead. “But this is demonfever. I’ve given her herbsto dull the pain and helphersleep,butyou’llneedabetter Gatherer than I tobrewacure.”

“Who else is there?”Jephasked.“You’realltheBrookhas.”“Thewomanwhotaughtme,”Colinesaid,“OldMeyFriman. She lives on theoutskirtsofSunnyPasture,two days from here. Ifanyone can cure it, shecan, but you’d best hurry.The fever will spreadquickly, and if you take

too long, even Old Meywon’tbeabletohelpyou.”“How do we find her?”

Jephdemanded.“You can’t really get

lost,”Colinesaid.“There’sonly the one road. Justdon’t turn at the forkwhere it goes through thewoods,unlessyouwanttospend weeks on the roadto Miln. That Messenger

left for the Pasture a fewhours ago, but he hadsome stops in the Brookfirst. If you hurry, youmight catch him.Messengers carry theirown wards with them. Ifyou find him, you’ll beable to keepmoving rightuntil dusk instead ofstopping for succor. TheMessenger could cut yourtripintwain.”

“We’ll find him,” Jephsaid, “whatever it takes.”His voice took on adetermined edge, andArlenbegantohope.

A strange senseof longingpulled at Arlen as hewatched Tibbet’s Brookrecede into the distancefrom the back of the cart.For the first time, he wasgoing to be more than a

day’stravelfromhome.Hewas going to see anothertown! A week ago, anadventurelikethatwashisgreatest dream. But nowall he dreamed was thatthingscouldgobacktothewaytheywere.Backwhenthefarmwas

safe.Back when his mother

waswell.

Back when he didn’tknow his father was acoward.Coline had promised to

sendoneofherboysuptothe farm to let Norineknowtheywouldlikelybegoneaweekormore,andto help tend the animalsandcheckthewardswhilethey were away. Theneighborswouldthrowin,

but Norine’s loss was tooraw for her to face thenightsalone.The Herb Gatherer had

also given them a crudemap, carefully rolled andslipped into a protectivehide tube. Paper was ararity in the Brook, andnot given away lightly.Arlen was fascinated bythemap,andstudieditfor

hours, even though hecouldn’t read the fewwords labeling the places.Neither Arlen nor hisfatherhadletters.The map marked the

waytoSunnyPasture,andwhat lay along the road,but the distances werevague. There were farmsmarked along the waywhere they could beg

succor, but there was noway to tell how far aparttheywere.Hismothersleptfitfully,

sodden with sweat.Sometimes she spoke orcried out, but her wordsmade little sense. Arlendaubedherwithwetclothand made her drink thesharp tea as the HerbGatherer had instructed

him, but it seemed to dolittlegood.Late in the afternoon,

theyapproachedthehouseof Harl Tanner, a farmerwho livedon theoutskirtsof the Brook. Harl’s farmwasonlyacoupleofhourspast the Cluster by theWoods, but by the timeArlen and his father hadgotten under way, it was

midafternoon.Arlen rememberedseeing Harl and his threedaughters at the summersolstice festival each year,though they had beenabsent since the corelingshadtakenHarl’swife, twosummers past. Harl hadbecome a recluse, and hisdaughters with him. Eventhe tragedy in the Cluster

hadnotbroughtthemout.Three-quarters of theTanner fields wereblackened and scorched;only those closest to thehouse were warded andsown.Agauntmilkingcowchewed cud in themuddyyard, and ribs showedclearlyonthegoattiedupbythechickencoop.The Tanners’ home was

a single story of piledstones, held together withpackedmudandclay.Thelarger stoneswerepaintedwith faded wards. Arlenthought them clumsy, buttheyhadlastedthusfar,itseemed. The roof wasuneven, with short, squatwardposts poking upthroughtherottingthatch.One side of the houseconnected to the small

barn, itswindowsboardedand its door half off thehinges. Across the yardwas the big barn, lookingeven worse. The wardsmight hold, but it lookedready to collapse on itsown.“I’ve never seen Harl’s

placebefore,”Jephsaid.“Meneither,”Arlenlied.

Few people apart from

Messengers had reason tohead up the road past theClusterbytheWoods,andthose who lived up thatwaywere sources of greatspeculation in TownSquare. Arlen had snuckoff to see Crazy ManTanner’s farm more thanonce.Itwasthefarthesthehadeverbeenfromhome.Getting back before duskhad meant hours of

running as fast as hecould.One time,a fewmonths

before, he almost didn’tmake it. He had beentrying to catch a glimpseof Harl’s eldest daughter,Ilain. The other boys saidshe had the biggestbubbies in the Brook, andhe wanted to see forhimself. He waited one

day, and saw her comerunning out of the house,crying. She was beautifulin her sadness, and Arlenhadwanted to go comforther, even though she waseight summers older thanhim. He hadn’t been sobold,buthe’dwatchedherlonger thanwaswise,andalmost paid a heavy pricefor itwhen the sunbegantoset.

A mangy dog beganbarking as theyapproached the farm, andayounggirlcameoutontothe porch, watching themwithsadeyes.“We might have to

succorhere,”Jephsaid.“It’sstillhourstilldark,”

Arlen said, shaking hishead. “If we don’t catchRagen by then, the map

says there’s another farmupbywheretheroadforkstotheFreeCities.”JephpeeredoverArlen’s

shoulder at the map.“That’s a long way,” hesaid.“Mamcan’twait,”Arlen

said.“Wewon’tmakeitallthe way today, but everyhour is an hour closer tohercure.”

Jeph looked back atSilvy, bathed in sweat,then up at the sun, andnodded.Theywavedatthegirl on the porch, but didnotstop.They covered a great

distance in the next fewhours,butfoundnosignofthe Messenger or anotherfarm. Jeph looked up attheorangesky.

“It will be full dark inless than two hours,” hesaid. “We have to turnback. Ifwe hurry,we canmake it back to Harl’s intime.”“Thefarmcouldberight

around that next bend,”Arlen argued. “We’ll findit.”“We don’t know that,”

Jephsaid,spittingoverthe

sideof thecart.“Themapent clear. We turn backwhilewe still can, andnoarguing.”Arlen’s eyes widened indisbelief.“We’lllosehalfaday that way, not tomention the night. Mammightdieinthattime!”hecried.Jeph looked back at hiswife, sweating in her

bundled blankets,breathing in short fits.Sadly,helookedaroundatthe lengthening shadows,and suppressed a shiver.“If we’re caught out afterdark,” he replied quietly,“we’llalldie.”Arlen was shaking hishead before his fatherfinished,refusingtoacceptit. “We could …” he

floundered. “We coulddrawwardsinthedirt,”hesaid at last. “All aroundthecart.”“And if a breeze comes

alongandmarsthem?”hisfatherasked.“Whatthen?”“The farm could be just

over the next hill!” Arleninsisted.“Or it could be twenty

more miles down the

road,”hisfathershotback,“or burned down a yearago. Who knows what’shappened since that mapwasdrawn?”“Are you saying Mam

entworth the risk?”Arlenaccused.“Don’tyou tellmewhat

she’s worth!” his fatherscreamed, nearly bowlingthe boy over. “I’ve loved

her all my life! I knowbetter than you! But I’mnot going to risk all threeof us! She can last thenight.Shehasto!”With that, he pulled

hardonthereins,stoppingthe cart and turning itabout. He cracked theleather hard into Missy’sflanks, and sent herleaping back down the

road. The animal,frightened by the comingdark, responded with afranticpace.Arlen turned back

toward Silvy, swallowingbitter anger. He watchedhismotherbouncearoundas the wheels ran overstones and dips, notreacting at all to thebumpy ride. Whatever his

fatherthought,Arlenknewher chances had just beencutinhalf.

The sun was nearly setwhen they reached thelonely farmhouse. JephandMissyseemedtoshareapanickedterror,andtheyscreamed their haste asone. Arlen had leapt intothebackof thecart to tryand keep hismother from

beingthrownaboutbythewidely jolting ride. Heheld her tight, takingmany of the bruises andbashesforher.Butnotall;hecouldfeel

Coline’s careful stitchesgiving, thewoundsoozingopen again. If the demonfever didn’t claim her,there was a good chancetheridewould.

Jeph ran the cart rightup to the porch, shouting,“Harl!Weseeksuccor!”Thedooropenedalmost

immediately, even beforethey could get out of thecart. A man in wornoveralls came out, a longpitchfork in hand. Harlwas thin and tough, likedried meat. He wasfollowed by Ilain, the

sturdy young womanholding a stout metal-headed shovel. The lasttime Arlen saw her, shehad been crying andterrified,but therewasnoterrorinhereyesnow.Sheignored the crawlingshadows as sheapproachedthecart.Harl nodded as Jeph

liftedSilvyoutofthecart.

“Get her inside,” heordered, and Jeph hurriedto comply, letting a deepbreath out as he crossedthewards.“Open the big barn

door!”he told Ilain. “Thatcart won’t fit in thelittle’un.” Ilain gatheredher skirts and ran. HeturnedtoArlen.“Drivethecart to the barn, boy!

Quick!”Arlendidashewastold.“No time to unhitch her,”the farmer said. “She’llhave to do.” It was thesecond night in a row.Arlen wondered if Missywouldevergetunhitched.Harl and Ilain quicklyshut the barn door andchecked thewards. “Whatare you waiting for?” the

manroaredatArlen.“Runfor the house! They’ll behereinamoment!”He had barely spokenthe words when thedemons began to rise. HeandArlen sprinted for thehouse as spindly, clawedarms and horned headsseemed to grow right outoftheground.They dodged left and

right around the risingdeath, adrenalineand feargiving them agility andspeed. The first corelingsto solidify, a group oflissome flame demons,gave chase, gaining onthem. As Arlen and Ilainran on, Harl turned andhurled his pitchfork intotheirmidst.The weapon struck the

lead demon full in thechest, knocking it into itsfellows, but even the skinofatinyflamedemonwastooknobbedandtoughfora pitchfork to pierce. Thecreaturepickedupthetoolinitsclawsandspatagoutof flame upon it, settingthe wooden haft alight,thentosseditaside.But though the coreling

hadn’t been hurt, thethrow delayed them. Thedemons rushed forward,but asHarl leapt onto theporch, they came to anabrupthalt,slammingintoa line of wards thatstopped them as surely asiftheyhadrunintoabrickwall. As the magic flaredbrightly and hurled themback into the yard, Harlrushed into the house. He

slammed and bolted thedoor, throwing his backagainsttheportal.“Creatorbepraised,”he

said weakly, panting andpale.

The air inside Harl’sfarmhouse was thick andhot, stinking of must andwaste.Thebuggyreedsonthefloorabsorbedsomeofthewaterthatmadeitpast

the thatch, but they werefar from fresh. Two dogsandseveralcatssharedthehome, forcing everyone tostepcarefully.A stonepothung in the fireplace,addingtothemixthesourscentofastewperpetuallycooking, added to as itdiminished. A patchworkcurtaininonecornergavea touch of privacy for thechamberpot.

Arlen did his best toredoSilvy’sbandages,andthen Ilain and her sisterBeniputherintheirroom,while Harl’s youngest,Renna, set another twocracked wooden bowls atthetableforArlenandhisfather.There were only three

rooms, one shared by thegirls,anotherforHarl,and

the common room wherethey cooked and ate andworked. A ragged curtaindivided the room,partitioning off the areafor cooking and eating. Awarded door in thecommon room led to thesmallbarn.“Renna, take Arlen and

check thewardswhile themen talk and Beni and I

get supper ready,” Ilainsaid.Renna nodded, taking

Arlen’s hand and pullinghimalong.Shewasalmostten,closetoArlen’sageofeleven,andprettybeneaththesmudgesofdirtonherface. She wore a plainshift, worn and carefullymended, and her brownhair was tied back with a

ragged strip of cloth,though many locks hadfreed themselves to fallaboutherroundface.“Thisone’s scuffed,” the

girl commented, pointingto a ward on one of thesills.“Oneofthecatsmusthave stepped on it.”Taking a stick of charcoalfrom the kit, she carefullytraced the line where it

hadbeenbroken.“That’s no good,” Arlensaid.“Thelinesentsmoothanymore. That weakenstheward.Youshoulddrawitover.”“I’m not allowed todraw a fresh one,” Rennawhispered. “I’m supposedto tell Father or Ilain ifthere’soneIcan’tfix.”“Icandoit,”Arlensaid,

taking the stick. Hecarefully wiped clean theoldward and drew a newone, his armmovingwithquickconfidence.Steppingback as he finished, helooked around thewindow, and then swiftlyreplaced several others aswell.While he worked, Harlcaught sight of them and

started to rise nervously,but a motion and a fewconfidentwordsfromJephbrought him back to hisseat.Arlen tookamoment to

admire his work. “Even arock demon won’t getthrough that,” he saidproudly. He turned, andfound Renna staring athim.“What?”heasked.

“You’re taller than Iremember,” the girl said,looking down and smilingshyly.“Well,it’sbeenacouple

of years,” Arlen replied,not knowing what else tosay. When they finishedtheir sweep, Harl calledhis daughter over.He andRenna spoke softly to oneanother, andArlen caught

herlookingathimonceortwice,buthecouldn’thearwhatwassaid.Dinnerwasatoughstew

ofparsnipandcornwithameat Arlen couldn’tidentify, but it was fillingenough. While they ate,theytoldtheirtale.“Wishyou’dacometous

first,”Harlsaidwhentheyfinished. “We been t’Old

Mey Friman plenty times.Closer’n going all thewayto Town Square t’seeTrigg. If it took you twohoursofcrackingthewhipt’get back to us, you’dareached Mack Pasture’sfarmsoon,youpressedon.Old Mey, she’s only anhour-so past that. Shenever did cotton to livingin town. You’d reallywhipped that mare, you

mightamadeittonight.”Arlenslammeddownhis

spoon.Alleyesatthetableturned to him, but hedidn’t even notice, sofocused was he on hisfather.Jeph could not weather

that glare for long. Hehunghishead.“Therewasnoway to know,” he saidmiserably.

Ilain touched hisshoulder. “Don’t blameyourself for beingcautious,” she said. ShelookedatArlen,reprimandin her eyes. “You’llunderstand when you’reolder,”shetoldhim.Arlen rose sharply and

stomped away from thetable.Hewentthroughthecurtainandcurledupbya

window, watching thedemons through a brokenslat in the shutters. Againand again they tried andfailed topierce thewards,but Arlen didn’t feelprotectedbythemagic.Hefeltimprisonedbyit.

“Take Arlen into the barnandplay,”Harlorderedhisyounger daughters afterthe rest had finished

eating. “Ilainwill take thebowls. Let’cher elderstalk.”Beni and Renna rose as

one, bouncing out of thecurtain. Arlen was in nomoodtoplay,butthegirlsdidn’t let him speak,yanking him to his feetand out the door into thebarn.Beni lit a cracked

lantern,castingthebarninadull glow.Harl had twooldcows,fourgoats,apigwith eight sucklings, andsix chickens. All weregauntandbony;underfed.Eventhepig’sribsshowed.The stock seemed barelyenough to feed Harl andthegirls.The barn itself was no

better. Half the shutters

were broken, and the hayon the floor was rotted.The goats had eatenthrough the wall of theirstall,andwerepulling thecow’shay.Mud, slop, andfeces had churned into asingle muck in the pigstall.Renna dragged Arlen toeach stall in turn. “Dadoesn’t likeusnamingthe

animals,” she confessed,“so we do it secret. Thisone’s Hoofy.” She pointedtoacow.“Hermilk tastessour, butDa says it’s fine.Next to her is Grouchy.She kicks, but only if youmilktoohard,ornotsoonenough.Thegoatsare…”“Arlen doesn’t careabout the animals,” Beniscolded her sister. She

grabbed his arm andpulledhimaway.Beniwastaller than her sister, andolder, but Arlen thoughtRenna was prettier. Theyclimbed into the hayloft,plopping down on thecleanhay.“Let’splaysuccor,”Beni

said. She pulled a tinyleather pouch from herpocket, rolling four

woodendiceontothefloorof the loft. The dice werepainted with symbols:flame, rock, water, wind,wood, and ward. Therewere many ways to play,butmost rules agreedyouneeded to throw threewards before rolling fourofanyotherkind.They played at the dice

for a while. Renna and

Beni had their own rules,many of which Arlensuspectedweremadeuptoletthemwin.“Twowards three times

in a row counts as threewards,” Beni announced,after throwing just that.“Wewin.”Arlendisagreed,but he didn’t see muchpointinarguing.“Since we won, you

have to dowhatwe say,”Benideclared.“Donot,”Arlensaid.“Do too!” Beni insisted.

Again, Arlen felt as ifarguing would get himnowhere.“What would I have to

do?”heaskedsuspiciously.“Make him play kissy!”

Rennaclapped.

Beni swatted her sisteron the head. “I know,dumbs!”“What’s kissy?” Arlen

asked, afraid he alreadyknewtheanswer.“Oh, you’ll see,” Beni

said, and both girlslaughed. “It’s a grown-upgame. Da plays it withIlain sometimes. Youpracticebeingmarried.”

“What, like saying yourpromises?” Arlen asked,wary.“No, dumbs, like this,”

Beni said. She put herarms around Arlen’sshoulders,andpressedhermouthtohis.Arlenhadneverkisseda

girlbefore.Sheopenedhermouth to him, and so hedid the same. Their teeth

clicked, and both of themrecoiled.“Ow!”Arlensaid.“You do it too hard,

Beni,” Renna complained.“It’smyturn.”Indeed,Renna’skisswas

muchsofter.Arlenfounditratherpleasant.Likebeingnear the fire when it wascold.“There,” Renna said,

when their lips parted.

“That’showyoudoit.”“We have to share the

bed tonight,” Beni said.“Wecanpracticelater.”“I’m sorry you had to

give up your bed onaccount of my mam,”Arlensaid.“It’s okay,” Renna said.

“Weusedtohavetosharea bed every night, untilMam died. But now Ilain

sleepswithDa.”“Why?”Arlenasked.“We’re not supposed to

talk about it,” Beni hissedatRenna.Renna ignored her, but

she kept her voice low.“Ilain says that now thatMam’s gone, Da told herit’s her duty to keep himhappy the way a wife issupposedto.”

“Like cooking andsewing and stuff?” Arlenasked.“No, it’s a game likekissy,”Benisaid.“Butyouneedaboytoplayit.”Shetugged on his overalls. “Ifyou showus your thingie,we’llteachyou.”“I am not showing youmy thingie!” Arlen said,backingaway.

“Why not?” Rennaasked.“BenishowedLucikBoggin,andnowhewantstoplayallthetime.”“Da and Lucik’s fathersaidwe’repromised,”Benibragged.“Sothatmakesitokay.Sinceyou’regoingtobepromisedtoRenna,youshould show her yours.”Renna bit her finger andlooked away, but she

watched Arlen out of thecornerofhereye.“That’s not true!” Arlen

said. “I’mnotpromised toanyone!”“What do you think the

elders are talking aboutinside, dumbs?” Beniasked.“Arenot!”Arlensaid.“Go see!” Beni

challenged.

Arlen looked at bothgirls, then climbed downthe ladder, slipping intothehouse as quietly as hecould. He could hearvoices from behind thecurtain,andcreptcloser.“I wanted Lucik right

away,” Harl was saying,“but Fernan wants himmakin’ mash for anotherseason. Without an extra

back around the farm, it’shard keepin’ our belliesfull, ’specially since themchickens quit layin’ andone of the milk cowssoured.”“We’ll take Renna on

our way back fromMey,”Jephsaid.“Gonna tell him they’s

promised?” Harl asked.Arlen’sbreathcaught.

“Noreasonnotto,”Jephsaid.Harl grunted. “Reckon

you should wait tillt’morrer,” he said. “Whileyur alone on the road.Sometime boys cause ascene when they’s firsttold. It kin hurt a girl’sfeelin’s.”“You’re probably right,”

Jephsaid.Arlenwantedto

scream.“Know Iam,”Harl said.

“Trust a man withdaughters;they’llgetupsetover any old thing, entthat right, Lainie?” Therewas a smack, and Ilainyelped. “But still,” Harlwenton,“youkindothemnohurtthatafewhoursofcryin’won’tsolve.”There was a long

silence, and Arlen startedto edge back toward thebarndoor.“I’m off t’bed,” Harl

grunted. Arlen froze.“See’n how Silvy’s in yurbed tonight, Lainie,” hewent on, “you c’n sleepwith me after you scrapethe bowls and round upthegirls.”Arlen ducked behind a

workbench and stayedthere as Harl went to theprivy to relieve himselfand then went into hisroom, closing the door.Arlen was about to creepback to the barn whenIlainspoke.“Iwant to go, too,” she

blurted,justafterthedoorclosed.“What?”Jephasked.

Arlen could see theirfeetunderthecurtainfromwhere he crouched. Ilaincame around the table tositnexttohisfather.“Take me with you,”

Ilain repeated. “Please.Beni will be fine onceLucikcomes.Ineedtogetaway.”“Why?” Jeph asked.

“Surely you have enough

foodforthree.”“It’snotthat,”Ilainsaid.

“It doesn’t matter why. Ican tell Da I’ll be out inthe fields when you comefor Renna. I’ll run downthe road, and meet youthere. By the time Darealizes where I’ve gone,there’llbeanightbetweenus.He’llneverfollow.”“I wouldn’t be too sure

ofthat,”Jephsaid.“Yourfarmisasfarfromhere as there is,” Ilainpleaded.Arlensawherputher hand on Jeph’s knee.“I can work,” shepromised. “I’ll earn mykeep.”“I can’t just steal youaway from Harl,” Jephsaid. “I’venoquarrelwithhim, and I’mnot about to

startone.”Ilain spat. “The oldwretch would have youthink I’m sharing his bedbecauseofSilvy,”shesaidquietly.“Truerisheraiseshis hand to me if I don’tjoin him every night afterRenna andBeni are off tobed.”Jeph was silent a longtime. “I see,” he said at

last. He made a fist, andstartedtorise.“Don’t, please,” Ilain

said. “You don’t knowwhat he’s like. He’ll killyou.”“Ishouldjuststandby?”

Jeph asked. Arlen didn’tunderstand what the fusswas. Sowhat if Ilain sleptinHarl’sroom?Arlen saw Ilain move

closertohisfather.“You’llneedsomeonetotakecareof Silvy,” she whispered.“Andifsheshouldpass”—she leaned in further, andher hand went to Jeph’slapthewayBenihadtriedtodotoArlen—“Icouldbeyourwife.Iwouldfillyourfarm with children,” shepromised.Jephgroaned.Arlen felt nauseous and

hotintheface.Hegulped,tasting bile in his mouth.HewantedtoscreamtheirplantoHarl.Themanhadfaced a coreling for hisdaughter, something Jephwould never do. Heimagined Harl wouldpunch his father. Theimagewasnotdispleasing.Jeph hesitated, then

pushed Ilain away. “No,”

hesaid.“We’llgetSilvytothe Herb Gatherertomorrow, and she’ll befine.”“Thentakemeanyway,”

Ilainbegged,fallingtoherknees.“I’ll … think about it,”

his father replied. Justthen,BeniandRennaburstin from the barn. Arlenrosequickly,pretendinghe

hadjustenteredwiththemasIlainhurriedlystood.Hefelt the moment toconfrontthemslippast.Afterputtingthegirlsto

bed and producing a pairofgrimyblanketsforArlenand Jeph in the mainroom, Ilain drew a deepbreath and went into herfather’s room. Not longafter, Arlen heard Harl

grunting quietly, and theoccasional muffled yelpfrom Ilain. Pretending nottohearit,heglancedoverat Jeph, seeing himbitinghisfist.

Arlen was up before thesun the next morning,whiletherestofthehouseslept. Moments beforesunrise, he opened thedoor, staring at the

remaining corelingsimpatiently as they hissedand clawed the air at himfrom the far side of thewards. As the last demonintheyardwentmisty,heleftthehouseandwenttothe big barn, wateringMissy and Harl’s otherhorses. The mare was infoultemper,andnippedathim.“Justonemoreday,”Arlen told her as he put

herfeedbagon.His father was still

snoring as he went backinto the house andknockedon thedoorframeof the room shared byRenna and Beni. Benipulled the curtain aside,and immediately Arlennotedtheworriedlooksonthesisters’faces.“She won’t wake up,”

Renna, who was kneelingbyArlen’smother,choked.“I knew you wanted toleave as soon as the sunrose, but when I shookher …” She gesturedtoward the bed, her eyeswet.“She’ssopale.”Arlen rushed to his

mother’s side, taking herhand. Her fingers werecold and clammy, but her

forehead burned to thetouch.Herbreathingcamein short gasps, and therotting stink of demonsickness was thick abouther. Her bandages weresoaked with brownishyellowooze.“Da!” Arlen cried. Amoment later, Jephappeared with Ilain andHarlclosebehind.

“Wedon’thaveanytimetowaste,”Jephsaid.“Take one’a my horsest’gowithyours,”Harlsaid.“Switch ’em when theytire. Push hard, and youshould reach Mey byafternoon.”“We’re in your debt,”Jephsaid,butHarlwavedthethoughtaway.“Hurry, now,” he said.

“Ilain will pack yousomething to eat on theroad.”Renna caught Arlen’s

arm as he turned to go.“We’s promised now,” shewhispered.“I’llwaitontheporch every dusk tillyou’re back.” She kissedhimonthecheek.Herlipswere soft, and the feel ofthem lingered long after

shepulledaway.

The cart bumped andjerkedas theyracedalongthe rough dirt road,pausingonlyoncetorotatethehorses.Arlenlookedatthe food Ilain had packedas if it were poison. Jephateithungrily.As Arlen picked at the

grainy bread and hard,pungentcheese,hestarted

tothinkthatmaybeitwasall a misunderstanding.Maybe he hadn’toverheardwhathethoughthehad.MaybeJephhadn’thesitated in pushing Ilainaway.It was a tempting

illusion,butJephshatteredit a moment later. “Whatdo you think of Harl’syounger daughter?” he

asked. “You spent sometime with her.” Arlen feltas if his father had justpunched him in thestomach.“Renna?” Arlen asked,

playing innocent. “She’sokay,Iguess.Why?”“I spoke to Harl,” his

fathersaid.“She’sgoingtocomelivewithuswhenwegobacktothefarm.”

“Why?”Arlenasked.“To look after your

mam, help around thefarm, and … otherreasons.”“What other reasons?”

Arlenpressed.“Harl and Iwant to see

ifyoutwowillgetalong,”Jephsaid.“What if we don’t?”

Arlen asked. “What if I

don’t want some girlfollowing me around allday asking me to playkissywithher?”“One day,” Jeph said,

“you might not mindplayingkissysomuch.”“So let her come then,”

Arlen said, shrugging hisshoulders and pretendingnot to know what hisfather was getting at.

“Why is Harl so eager toberidofher?”“You’veseenthestateof

theirfarm;theycanbarelyfeed themselves,” Jephsaid. “Harl loves hisdaughters verymuch, andhe wants the best forthem. And what’s best ismarrying them whilethey’re still young, so hecanhavesons tohelphim

out and grandchildrenbefore he dies. Ilain isalready older than mostgirls who marry. LucikBoggin is going to comeout tohelponHarl’s farmstartinginthefall.They’rehoping he and Beni willgetalong.”“I suppose Lucik didn’t

have any choice, either,”Arlengrumbled.

“He’s happy to go, andlucky at that!” Arlen’sfather snapped, losing hispatience. “You’re going tohave to learn some hardlessons about life, Arlen.There are a lotmoreboysthan girls in the Brook,and we can’t just fritterourlivesaway.Everyyear,we lose more to dotageandsicknessandcorelings.If we don’t keep children

coming, Tibbet’s Brookwill fade away just like ahundredothervillages!Wecan’tletthathappen!”Arlen, seeing hisnormally placid fatherseething, wisely saidnothing.An hour later, Silvystarted screaming. Theyturnedtofindhertryingtostanduprightthereinthe

cart, clutching at herchest, her breath comingin loud, horrid gasps.Arlen leapt into the backof the cart, and shegripped him withsurprisingly strong hands,coughing thick phlegmontohisshirt.Herbulging,bloodshot eyes staredwildly into his, but therewas no recognition inthem. Arlen screamed as

she thrashed about,holding her as steadily ashecould.Jeph stopped the cart

and together they forcedher to lie back down. Shethrashed about, screaminginhoarsegasps.Andthen,like Cholie, she gave afinalwrack,andlaystill.Jeph lookedathiswife,

and then threw his head

back and screamed. Arlennearly bit through his liptrying to hold back histears, but in the end hefailed.Theywept togetheroverthewoman.When their sobs eased,

Arlen looked around, hiseyes lifeless. He tried tofocus, but the worldseemed blurry, as if itwasn’treal.

“What do we do now?”heaskedfinally.“We turn around,” his

father said,and thewordscutArlenlikeaknife.“Wetake her home and burnher. We try to go on.There’s still the farm andthe animals to care for,and even with Renna andNorine to help us, there’sgoing to be some hard

timesahead.”“Renna?” Arlen asked

incredulously. “We’re stilltaking her with us? Evennow?”“Lifegoeson,Arlen,”his

fathersaid.“You’realmostaman,andamanneedsawife.”“Didyouarrangeonefor

bothofus?”Arlenblurted.“What?”Jephasked.

“I heard you and Ilainlast night!” Arlenscreamed. “You’ve gotanother wife all ready!What do you care aboutMam? You’ve already gotsomeone else to take careof your thingie! At least,until she gets killed too,because you’re too scaredtohelpher!”Arlen’s fatherhithim;a

hard slap across the facethat cracked the morningair. His anger fadedinstantly, and he reachedout tohis son. “Arlen, I’msorry …!” he choked, butthe boy pulled away andjumpedoffthecart.“Arlen!” Jeph cried, but

the boy ignored him,running as hard as hecould for thewoodsoff to

thesideoftheroad.

CHAPTER3ANIGHTALONE

319AR

ARLEN RAN THROUGH THE

WOODS as fast as he could,making sharp, sudden

turns,pickinghisdirectionat random. He wanted tobe surehis father couldn’ttrack him, but as Jeph’scallsfaded,herealizedhisfather wasn’t following atall.Whyshouldhebother?hethought.HeknowsIhavetocome back before nightfall.WhereelsecouldIgo?Anywhere. The answer

came unbidden, but heknew in his heart that itwastrue.He couldn’t go back to

the farm and pretendeverything was all right.He couldn’t watch Ilainclaim his mother’s bed.Even pretty Renna, whokissed so softly, wouldonlybeareminderofwhathehadlost,andwhy.

Butwhere could he go?His fatherwas rightaboutonething.Hecouldn’trunforever.Hewouldhave tofindsuccorbeforedark,orthecomingnightwouldbehislast.Going back to Tibbet’sBrook was not an option.Whoeverhe sought succorfrom would drag himhome by the ear the next

day, andhe’dbe switchedfor the stuntwith nothingtoshow.Sunny Pasture, then.

Unless Hog was payingthem to carry something,almost no one fromTibbet’s Brook ever wentthere, unless they wereMessengers.Coline had said Ragen

was heading to Sunny

PasturebeforereturningtotheFreeCities.ArlenlikedRagen, theonlyelderhe’dever met who didn’t talkdown to him. TheMessenger and Keerinwere a day and moreahead of him, andmounted,butifhehurried,perhaps he could catchthem in time and begpassagetotheFreeCities.

He still had Coline’smap, strung around hisneck. It showed the roadto Sunny Pasture, and thefarmsalongtheway.Evendeepinthewoods,hewasprettysurewhichwaywasnorth.Atmiddayhe found theroad, or rather the roadfoundhim,cuttingstraightacross thewoodsaheadof

him.Hemusthavelosthissense of direction in thetrees.Hewalked on for a few

hours, but he sawno signofa farm,or theoldHerbGatherer’s home. Lookingat the sun, his worryincreased. If he waswalking north, the sunshould be off to his left,but it wasn’t. It was right

infrontofhim.He stopped and looked

at the map, and his fearswereconfirmed.Hewasn’ton the road to SunnyPasture, he was on theroad to the Free Cities.Worse,after the road splitofffromthepathtoSunnyPasture, it went right offtheedgeofthemap.Theideaofbacktracking

was daunting, especiallywithnowaytoknowifhecouldmake it tosuccor intime.He took a step backthewayhehadcome.No, he decided. Going

back isDa’sway.Whateverhappens,I’mgoingforward.Arlen started walking

again, leaving bothTibbet’s Brook and SunnyPasture behind. Each step

waslighterandeasierthantheonebefore.He walked for hours

more, eventually leavingthe trees behind andentering grassland: wide,lush fields untouched byplow or grazing. Hecrestedahilltop,breathingdeeply of the fresh,untaintedair.Therewasalarge boulder jutting from

the ground, and Arlenscrambled atop it, lookingout at a wide world thathad always been beyondhis reach. There was nosignofhabitation,noplaceto seek succor. He wasafraidofthecomingnight,butitwasadistantfeeling,like knowing you wouldgrowoldanddieoneday.As the afternoon turned

to evening, Arlen beganlookingforplacestomakehisstand.Acopseof treesheld promise; there waslittle grass beneath them,and he could draw wardsin the dirt, but a wooddemonmightclimboneofthetrees,anddropintohiswardingringfromabove.Therewasasmall,stonyhillock free of grass, but

when Arlen stood atop it,the wind was strong, andhefeareditmightmarthewards, rendering themuseless.Finally,Arlencametoa

placewhereflamedemonshad set a recent blaze.New buds had yet topiercetheash,andascuffofhisfootfoundharddirtbeneath. He cleared the

ash from awide area andbegan his warding circle.He had little time, so hekept it small, notwantinghis haste to make himcareless.Using a sharp stick,

Arlendrewthesigilsinthedirt, gently blowing awayloosescrapings.Heworkedforoveranhour,wardbyward, stepping back

frequently to assurehimself that they werealigned properly. Hishands, as always, movedwith confidence andalacrity.Whenhe finished,Arlen

had a circle six feet indiameter. He checked thewards three times, findingno error. He put the stickinhispocketandsatatthe

circle’s center, watchingthe shadows lengthen andthesundiplow,settingtheskyawashwithcolor.Perhaps he would die

tonight.Perhapsnot.Arlentold himself it did notmatter. But as the lightwaned, so too did hisnerve. He felt his heartpounding, and everyinstincttoldhimtoleapto

hisfeetandrun.Buttherewasnowheretorunto.Hewas miles away from thenearestplaceofsuccor.Heshivered,thoughitwasnotcold.This was a bad idea, a

tinyvoicewhisperedinhismind.Hesnarledatit,butthebravefrontdidlittletoloosen his knottingmusclesas the last raysof

thesunwinkedout,andhewasbathedindarkness.Here they come, that

frightened voice in hisheadwarned,as thewispsofmistbegan to rise fromtheground.The mist coalesced

slowly, demon bodiesgaining substance as theyslipped from the ground.Arlen rose with them,

clenching his small fists.As always, the flamedemons came first,scampering about indelight, trailing flickeringfire as they went. Thesewerefollowedbythewinddemons, whichimmediately ran andspread their leatherywings,leapingintotheair.Last came the rockdemons, laboriously

haulingtheirheavyframesfromtheCore.And then the corelingssaw Arlen and howledwith delight, charging thehelplessboy.Aswoopingwinddemonstruck first, raking itshookedwingclawstotearout Arlen’s throat. Arlenscreamed, but sparks flewas the talons struck his

wards, deflecting theattack.Momentum carriedthe demon on, and itsbody slammed into theshield only to be hurledback in a shimmeringburst of energy. Thecreature howled as itstruck the ground, but itpulled itself upright,twitching as energydancedacrossitsscales.

Next came the nimbleflame demons, the largestnobiggerthanadog.Theyskittered forward,shrieking, and beganclawing at the shield.Arlen flinched each timethe wards flared, but themagic held. When theysaw thatArlenhadwovenan effective net, they spatfireathim.

Arlen was wise to thetrick, of course. He hadbeenwardingsincehewasoldenoughtoholdastickof charcoal, and he knewthe wards against firespit.Theflameswereturnedaseffectivelyastheclaws.Hedidn’tevenfeeltheheat.Corelings gathered tothe spectacle, and eachflashof light as thewards

activated showed Arlenmoreandmoreofthem:afellhorde,eagertoflaythefleshfromhisbones.More wind demonsswooped in, and werethrownbackbythewards.The flame demons, too,began to hurl themselvesat him in frustration,accepting the stingingburnof themagic inhope

of powering their waythrough. Again and againthey were thrown back.Arlen ceased to flinch.Hebegan to scream curses atthem, shoving his terroraside.His defiance only

enraged the demonsfurther. Unused to beingtauntedbytheirprey,theydoubled their efforts to

penetrate the wards asArlen shook his fists andmaderudegestureshehadseen the adults inTibbet’sBrookmake toHog’sbacksometimes.This was what hefeared? This was whathumanity lived in terrorof? These pathetic,frustrated beasts?Ridiculous. He spat, and

thespit sizzledona flamedemon’sscales,treblingitsfury.There was a hush fromthe howling creaturesthen.Intheflickeringlightof the flame demons, hesawthecorelinghostpart,clearing a path for a rockdemon that stompedtoward him, its footstepslikeanearthquake.

All his life, Arlen hadwatched corelings fromafar,frombehindwindowsand doors. Before theterrifyingeventsofthelastfew days, he had neverbeen outside in the airwith a fully formeddemon, and had certainlyneverstoodhisground.Heknewtheirsizecouldvary,but he had neverappreciated just how

much.The rock demon was

fifteenfeettall.The rock demon was

enormous.Arlen craned his head

upward as the monsterapproached. Even at adistance, it was atowering, hulking mass ofsinewand sharpedges. Itsthick black carapace was

knobbed with bonyprotrusions, and its spikedtail slid back and forth,balancing its massiveshoulders. It stoodhunched on two clawedfeetthatduggreatgroovesin the dirt with everythunderous step. Its long,gnarled arms ended intalons the size ofbutchering knives, and itsdroolingmawsplitwideto

reveal row after row ofbladelike teeth. A blacktongueslippedout, tastingArlen’sfear.One of the flamedemons failed to movefrom its path quicklyenough, and the rockdemon swiped at it in anoffhandmanner, its talonstearinggreatgashesastheblow launched thesmaller

corelingthroughtheair.Terrified, Arlen took a

step back, and thenanother, as the giantcoreling approached. Itwas only at the lastmoment that he came tohis senses and stoppedbefore he retreated rightoutoftheprotectivecircle.Remembering the circle

gave fleeting comfort.

Arlen doubted his wardswere strong enough forthis test. He doubted anywardswere.The demon regarded

him for a long moment,savoring his terror. Rockdemons seldom hurried,though when they choseto, they could move withastonishingspeed.As the demon struck,

Arlen’s nerve broke. Hescreamed and fell to theground, curling up in atight ball, covering hisheadwithhisarms.The resulting explosion

was deafening. Eventhrough his covered eyes,Arlen saw the bright flashof magic, as if night hadbecomeday.Heheard thedemon’s shriek of

frustration,andpeekedoutas the coreling whirled,smashingitsheavy,hornedtailagainstthewards.Again the magic flared,andagainthecreaturewasthwarted.Arlen forced himself tolet go the breath he hadbeen holding. Hewatchedas the demon struck hiswards again and again,

screaminginrage.Awarmdampness clung to histhighs.Ashamed of himself, ofhis cowardice,Arlen cameto his feet and met thedemon’s eyes. Hescreamed, a primal cryfromdeepwithinhimthatrejected everything thecoreling was andeverythingitrepresented.

He picked up a stoneandthrewitatthedemon.“Go back to the Corewhere you belong!” hecried.“Gobackanddie!”The demon barelyseemed to feel the stonebounce off its armor, butits rage multiplied as ittore at the wards, unableto get through. Arlencalled the demon every

foul and pathetic thing inhis somewhat limitedvocabulary,clawingattheground for anything hecouldthrow.When he ran out ofstones, he began jumpingup and down, waving hisarms, screaming hisdefiance.Then he slipped, andsteppedonaward.

Timeseemedtofreezeinthe long, silent momentshared by Arlen and thegiantdemon,theenormityofwhathadjusthappenedslowly dawning on them.When they moved, theymoved as one, Arlenwhipping out his etchingstick and diving for theward even as the demonswiped a massive, clawedhandathim.

His mind racing, Arlenassessed thedamage inaninstant;asinglelineofthesigil marred. Even as herepaired the ward with aslashof the tool, he knewhewastoolate.Theclawshad begun to cut into hisflesh.Butthenthemagictookeffect once more, and thedemon was hurled back,

screaminginagony.Arlen,too, screamed in pain,rolling over and pullingthe claws from his back;hurling them away beforehe could realizewhat hadhappened.He saw it then, lying inthe circle, twitching andsmoking.Thedemon’sarm.Arlen looked at the

severed limb in shock,turning to see the demonroaring and thrashingabout, savaging anydemon foolish enough tocome within reach.Savagingwithonearm.Helookedatthearm,its

end neatly severed andcauterized, oozing a foulsmoke.Withmorebraverythan he felt, Arlen picked

the massive thing up andtried to hurl it from thecircle,butthewardsmadea two-way barrier. Thestuff of corelings couldnomorepassoutthanin.ThearmbouncedoffthewardsandlandedbackatArlen’sfeet.Then the pain set in.Arlen touched thewoundsalong his back, and his

handscameawaywetwithblood. Sickened, hisstrength ebbing, he fell tohisknees,weeping for thepain, weeping for fear ofmoving and scuffinganother ward, andweeping, most of all, forhis mam. He understoodnow the pain she had feltthatnight.Arlen spent the rest of

the night cowering infright. He could hear thedemons circling, waiting,hoping for an error thatwould allow them access.Even if sleep had beenpossible, he would nothavedaredattemptit, lestashiftinhisslumbergrantthecorelingstheirwish.Dawn seemed to take

years to come. Arlen

lookedupatthesky oftenthat night, but each timehe saw only the giant,crippled rock demon,clutching its caked andichorous wound as itstalked the circle, hatredinitseyes.After an eternity, a hintof red tinged the horizon,followed by orange,yellow,andthenaglorious

white. The other corelingsslipped back down to theCore before the yellowtouched the sky, but thegiantwaiteduntilthelast,itsrowsofteethbaredasithissedathim.But even the one-armedrock demon’s hatred wasnomatchforitsfearofthesun. As the last shadowsscurried away, itsmassive

hornedhead sankbeneaththe ground. Arlenstraightened and steppedfromthecircle,wincinginpain.Hisbackwasonfire.The wounds had stoppedbleeding in the night, buthe felt them tear openoncemoreashestretched.Thethoughtledhiseyesback to the clawedforearmlyingnexttohim.

It was like a tree trunk,covered in hard, coldplates. Arlen picked theheavythingupandhelditbeforehim.Gota trophy,at least, hethought, making an effortto be brave even thoughthe sight of his blood onthe black talons sent ashudderthroughhim.Just then, a rayof light

reached him, the sunfinally more above thehorizon than below. Thedemon’s limb began tosizzle and smoke, poppinglikeawetlogthrownonafire. Inamoment, itburstinto flame, and Arlendropped it in fright. Hewatched, fascinated, as itflared brighter andbrighter, the sun’s lightbearingdownuponituntil

therewasnaughtleftbutathin, charred remain. Hestepped over and gingerlynudged it with his toe,collapsingitintodust.

Arlen found a branch touse as a walking stick ashe trudged on. Heunderstood how lucky hewas. And how stupid.Wards in the dirt wereuntrustworthy. Even

Ragen said that. Whatwouldhehavedoneif thewindhadmarredthem,ashisfatherthreatened?Creator, what if it hadrained?Howmany nights couldhe survive? Arlen had noidea what lay over thenext hill, no reason tothink that there wasanyone between here and

the Free Cities, which, byall accounts, were weeksaway.He felt tears welling in

his eyes. Brutally, hewiped them off, growlingin defiance. Giving in tofear was his father’ssolution to problems, andArlen already knew itdidn’twork.“I’mnotafraid,”he told

himself.“I’mnot.”Arlen pressed on,knowingthelieforwhatitwas.Around midday, hecame to a rocky stream.The water was cold andclear,andhebenttodrink.The move sent lances ofpainthroughhisback.Hehaddonenothingforthewounds.Itwasn’tasif

he could stitch themclosedasColinemight.Hethoughtofhismother,andhowwhen he came homewith cuts or scrapes thefirst thing she did waswashthemout.Hestrippedoffhisshirt,finding the back torn andsoaked through withblood, now crusted andhard.He dunked the shirt

and watched as dirt andblood washeddownstream. He laid hisclothesoutontherockstodry, and lowered himselfintothecoldwater.The chill made him

wince,butitsoonnumbedthe pain in his back. Hescrubbedasbesthecould,gently washing out thestinging wounds until he

could stand it no more.Shivering,heclimbedfromthe stream and lay on therocksbyhisclothes.He awoke some timelaterwithastart.Cursing,he saw that the sun hadmoved far across the sky,and that the day wasnearly done. He couldtravel a little farther, butheknewtheriskwouldbe

a foolish one. Better tospendtheextratimeonhisdefenses.Not far from the streamwas a wide area of moistsoil, and the sod pulledfree easily, clearing him aspace. He tamped downtheloosedirt,smoothedit,and set to warding. Hedrew a wider circle thistime, and then, after

checking it thrice, drewanother concentric ringwithin the first for addedsafety. The moist dirtwouldresistthewind,andthe sky showed no threatofrain.Satisfied,Arlendugapitand gathered dry twigs,building a small fire. Hesat in the center of theinner circle as the sun

dipped, trying to ignorehishunger.Hedoused thefire as the red sky grewlavender, then purple,breathingdeeplytosteadyhispoundingheart.Atlast,the lightvanishedand thecorelingsrose.Arlen held his breath,waiting. Finally, a flamedemon caught his scent,and raced at him with a

shriek. In that moment,the terror of the previousnightcamerushingbacktohim, and Arlen felt hisbloodgocold.The corelings were

oblivioustohiswardsuntilthey were upon them.With the first flare ofmagic, Arlen breathed hisrelief. The demons clawedat the barrier, but they

couldnotpass.Awinddemon,flyinguphighwherethewardswereweak,passedthefirstring,but it smashed into thesecondasitswoopeddownathim,landinghardinthespace between. Arlenstruggled to maintain hiscalm as it lurched to itsfeet.It was bipedal, with a

long, thin body, andspindlylimbsthatendedinsix-inchhookedclaws.Theundersidesof itsarmsandthe outsides of its legswere webbed with a thin,leathery membrane,supported by flexiblebones jutting from thecreature’s sides. Thedemon was barely tallerthananadultman,but itsspread wings spanned

twice itsheight,making itseem huge in the sky. Acurvinghorngrewfromitshead, bent back andwebbed like its limbs toform a ridge down itsback. Its long snout heldrows of inch-long teeth,yellowinthemoonlight.The coreling moved

clumsily on land, despiteitsgracefulmasteryof the

air. Up close, the winddemonswerenotnearlyasimpressive as theircousins. Wood and rockdemons had impenetrablearmor and otherworldlystrength to power theirthickclaws.Flamedemonswere faster thananyman,andspatfirethatcouldsetanything alight. Winddemons … Arlen thoughtRagen could puncture one

of those thinwingswithahard stab of his spear,cripplingit.Night, he thought, I’mpretty sure I could do itmyself.But he didn’t have aspear, and impressive ornot,thecorelingcouldstillkillhim,ifhisinnerwardsdidnothold.Hetensedasitdrewclose.

It swiped the hookedtalonattheendofitswingathim, andArlenwinced,but magic sparked alongthe wardnet, and it wasthwarted.After a few more futile

strikes, the corelingattempted to get airborneagain.Itranandspreaditswings to catch the wind,but it struck the outer

wardsbefore it couldgainsufficient momentum. Themagic threw it back intothemud.Arlenlaughedinspiteof

himself as the corelingtriedtopickitselfupfromthe dirt. Its huge wingsmight make it a terror inthesky,butonthegroundtheydraggedand threw itoff balance. It had no

hands to push up with,and its spindly armsbowedunderitsweight. Itthrashed desperately for amomentbeforeitwasabletorise.Trapped, it tried againand again to take off, butthe space between thecircles was not greatenough, and it was foiledeach time. The flame

demons sensed theircousin’s distress, andshrieked with glee,hopping around the circleto follow the creature andtauntitsmisfortune.Arlen felt a swell ofpride. He made mistakesthe night before, but hewould not make themagain. He began to hopethat he might live to see

theFreeCitiesafterall.The flame demons soon

tiredofmocking thewinddemon, and moved off insearch of easier prey,flushing small animalsfrom hidingwith gouts offire.One small, frightenedhare leapt into Arlen’souter ring, the demon inpursuit stopped by thewards. The wind demon

snatchedclumsilyatit,butthe hare dodged it easily,running through the circleand out the far side, onlyto find corelings there aswell. It turned and dartedbackin,againrunningtoofar.Arlenwishedtherewere

a way he couldcommunicate with thepoor creature, to let it

know it was safe in theinner ring, but he couldonlywatch as it darted inandoutofthewards.Then the unthinkable

happened. The hare,scampering back into thecircle, scratched out award.With a howl, flamedemons poured throughthe gap after the animal.The lone wind demon

escaped, leaping into theairandwingingaway.Arlen cursed the hare,and cursed all the morewhen it darted right forhim. If it damaged theinner wards, they werebothdoomed.With a farmboy’squickness, Arlen reachedfrom the circle andsnatcheduptheharebyits

ears. It thrashed wildly,willing to tear itself apartto escape, but Arlen hadhandled hares in hisfather’s fields oftenenough. He swung it intohisarms,cradlingitonitsback, hindquarters upabove its head. In amoment, the hare wasstaring up at himblankly,itsstrugglesceased.

He was tempted tothrow the creature to thedemons. Itwould be saferthanrisking itgetting freeandscuffinganotherward.And why not? hewondered.If I’dfoundit inthe light, I’d’ve eaten itmyself.Still, he found he could

notdoit.Thedemonshadtaken too much from the

world,fromhim.Hesworethen that he would givethem nothing willingly,notnow,notever.Noteventhis.As the night wore on,

Arlen held the terrifiedcreature firmly, cooing atitandstrokingitssoft fur.All around, the demonshowled,butArlenblockedthem out, focusing on the

animal.The meditation worked

for a time, until a roarbrought him back. Helooked up to find themassive, one-armed rockdemontoweringoverhim,its drool sizzling as itstruck the wards. Thecreature’s wound hadhealed into a knobbystump at the end of its

elbow. Its rage seemedevengreaterthanthenightbefore.The coreling hammered

atthebarrier,ignoringthestingingflareofthemagic.With deafening blows, therock demon struck againand again, attempting topowerthroughandtakeitsvengeance. Arlen clutchedthe hare tightly, his eyes

wide as he watched. Heknew that the wardswould not weaken fromrepeated blows, but it didlittle to stop the fear thatthedemonwasdeterminedenough to manage itanyway.

When the morning lightbanished the demons foranother day, Arlen finallylet go of the hare, and it

bounded awayimmediately. His stomachgrowled as he watched itgo, but after what theyhad shared, he could notbringhimselftolookatthecreatureasfood.Rising, Arlen stumbledand almost fell as a waveof nausea took him. Thecuts along his back werelances of fire. He reached

back to touch the tender,swollenskin,andhishandcame away wet with thestinking brown ooze thatColine had drained fromSilvy’s wounds. The cutsburned, and he feltflushed. He bathed in thecold pool again, but thechill water did little toeasehisinnerheat.Arlenknewthenhewas

going to die. Old MeyFriman, if she existed atall, was over two daysaway. If he truly haddemon fever, though, itdidn’tmatter.Hewouldn’tlasttwodays.Still, Arlen could not

bring himself to give in.He stumbled on down theroad, following thewagonrutstowardwhereverthey

camefrom.Ifhewastodie,letitbe

closer to the Free Citiesthantheprisonbehind.

CHAPTER4LEESHA319AR

LEESHA SPENT THE NIGHT IN

TEARS.That, in and of itself,

was nothing out of theordinary,but itwasn’thermother that had herweeping this night. Itwasthe screams. Someone’swards had failed; it wasimpossible to tell whose,but cries of terror andagony echoed in thedark,and smoke billowed intothesky.Thewholevillageglowedwithahazyorangelight as smoke refracted

corelingfire.The people of Cutter’s

Hollowcouldn’tsearchforsurvivors. They dared noteven fight the fire. TheycoulddonothingsavepraytotheCreatorthatembersdidnot carry on thewindand spread the flames.Houses in Cutter’s Hollowwere built well apart forjust this reason, but a

strongbreezecouldcarryasparkalongway.Evenifthefireremainedcontained, the ash andsmoke in the air couldeasilyobscuremorewardswith their greasy stain,givingcorelings theaccesstheydesperatelysought.No corelings tested thewards around Leesha’shouse. It was a bad sign,

hinting that the demonshad found easier prey inthedark.Helpless and afraid,

Leesha did the only thingshecould.Shecried.Criedfor thedead, cried for thewounded, and cried forherself. In a village withfewer than four hundredpeople, there was no onewhosedeathwouldnotcut

her.Just shy of thirteen

summers, Leesha was anexceptionally pretty girl,withlong,wavyblackhairand sharp eyes of paleblue. She was not yetflowered, and thus couldnot wed, but she waspromised to Gared Cutter,thehandsomestboyinthevillage. Gared was two

summers older than her,talland thickmuscled.Theother girls squealed as hepassed, but he wasLeesha’s, and they allknew. He would give herstrong babies. If he livedthroughthenight.The door to her roomopened.Hermother neverbotheredtoknock.In face and form, Elona

was much like herdaughter. Still beautiful atthirty, she had long hairthat hung rich and blackaboutherproudshoulders.She also had a full,womanly figure that wasthe envy of all, the onlything Leesha hoped toinherit fromher.Her ownbreasts had only juststarted to bud, and had alongwaytogobeforethey

matchedhermother’s.“That’s enough of your

blubbering, you worthlessgirl,” Elona snapped,throwing Leesha a rag todryhereyes.“Cryingalonegets you nothing. Cry infrontofaman,ifyouwantyour way, but wettingyour pillow won’t bringthe dead to life.” Shepulled the door closed,

leavingLeeshaaloneagainin the evil orange lightflickeringthroughtheslatsoftheshutters.Do you feel anything at

all? Leesha wondered ather.Her mother was right

that tearswouldnotbringbackthedead,butshewaswrongthatitwasgoodfornothing. Crying had

always been Leesha’sescape when things werehard. Other girls mightthink Leesha’s life wasperfect, but only becausenoneofthemsawthefaceElona showed her onlychild when they werealone. It was no secretElona had wanted sons,andLeesha andher fatherbothenduredherscornforfailingtooblige.

Butsheangrilydriedhereyes all the same. Shecouldn’t wait until sheflowered and Gared tookher away. The villagerswouldbuild themahousefor their wedding boon,andGaredwouldcarryheracrossthewardsandmakeawomanofherwhiletheyall cheered outside. Shewould have her ownchildren, and treat them

nothing like her mothertreatedher.

Leesha was dressed whenhermotherbangedonherdoor. Shehadnot slept atall.“Iwantyououtthedoorwhenthedawnbellrings,”Elona said. “And I’ll nothear amurmur about youbeing tired! I won’t haveour family seen lagging to

help.”Leeshaknewhermother

well enough to know that“seen” was the operativeword. Elona didn’t careabout helping anyone butherself.Leesha’s father, Erny,

was waiting by the doorunder Elona’s stern gaze.He was not a large man,andtocallhimwirywould

have implied a strengththat wasn’t there. He wasnostrongerofwillthanofbody, a timid man whosevoiceneverrose.ErnywasElona’s elder by a dozenyears; his thin brown hairhaddesertedthetopofhishead, and he wore thin-rimmed glasses he hadbought from a Messengeryearsago,theonlymanintownwiththelike.

Hewas,inshort,notthemanElonawanted him tobe, but there was greatdemand in the Free Citiesforthefinepaperhemade,and she liked his moneywellenough.Unlike her mother,

Leesha really wanted tohelp her neighbors. Shewas out and runningtoward the fire the

momentthecorelingsfled,evenbeforethebell.“Leesha! Stay with us!”

Elona cried, but Leeshaignored her. The smokewasthickandchoking,butshe raised her apron tocover her mouth, and didnotslow.A few townsfolk were

already gathered by thetime she reached the

source. Three houses hadburnedtotheground,andtwo more still blazed,threatening to set theirneighbors alight. Leeshashrieked when she sawthatoneofthehouseswasGared’s.Smitt, who owned the

inn and general store intown, was on the scene,barking orders. Smitt had

beentownSpeakeraslongasLeeshacouldremember.Hewasnevereagertogiveorders, preferring to letpeople solve their ownproblems, but everyoneagreedhewasgoodatit.“… never pull water

from the well fastenough,”Smittwassayingas Leesha approached.“We’ll have to form a

bucket line to the streamandwet the other houses,or the whole village willbeashesbynightfall!”Gared and Steave camerunning up just then,harried and sooty, butotherwise healthy. Gared,just fifteen, was biggerthan most grown men inthe village. Steave, hisfather, was a giant,

towering over everyone.Leesha felt a knot in herstomach unclench at thesightofthem.ButbeforeshecouldruntoGared,Smittpointed tohim. “Gared, pull thebucketcarttothestream!”Helookedovertheothers.“Leesha!”he said. “Followhimandstartfilling!”Leesha ran for all she

was worth, but evenpulling the heavy cart,Garedbeathertothesmallstream flowing from theRiverAngiers,milestothenorth. The moment hepulled up short, she fellinto his arms. She hadthought seeing him alivewould dispel the horribleimages inherhead, but itonly intensified them. Shedidn’t know what she

woulddoifshelostGared.“I fearedyoudead,”she

moaned, sobbing into hischest.“I’m safe,” he

whispered, hugging hertightly.“I’msafe.”Quickly, the two began

unloading the cart, fillingbucketstostartthelineasothersarrived.Soon,morethan a hundred villagers

were in a neat rowstretchingfromthestreamto the blaze, passing upfull buckets and handingback empty ones. Garedwascalledbacktothefirewith the cart, his strongarms needed to throwwater.Itwasn’tlongbeforethecart returned, this timepulled by Tender Michel

and laden with wounded.The sight brought mixedfeelings. Seeing fellowvillagers, friends all,burned and savaged cuther deeply, but a breachthat left survivors wasrare, and each one was agift she thanked theCreatorfor.The Holy Man and hisacolyte, Child Jona, laid

the injured out by thestream. Michel left theyoung man to comfortthemwhilehebroughtthecartbackformore.Leesha turned from the

sight, focusing on fillingbuckets. Her feet wentnumb in the cold waterandherarmsgrewleaden,but she lost herself in thework until a whisper got

herattention.“Hag Bruna is coming,”someonesaid,andLeesha’shead snapped up. Sureenough, the ancient HerbGatherer was comingdown thepath, ledbyherapprentice,Darsy.No one knew for surehowoldBrunawas.Itwassaidshewasoldwhenthevillage elderswere young.

Shehaddeliveredmost ofthem herself. She hadoutlived her husband,children, andgrandchildren,andhadnofamilyleftintheworld.Nowshewaslittlemorethan a wrinkle oftranslucent skin stretchedover sharp bone. Halfblind,shecouldwalkonlyat a slow shuffle, but

Bruna could still shout tobeheard from the far endof the village, and sheswunghergnarledwalkingstick with surprisingstrength and accuracywhenherirewasroused.Leesha, like most

everyone in the village,wasterrifiedofher.Bruna’sapprenticewasa

homely woman of twenty

summers, thick of limband wide of face. AfterBruna outlived her lastapprentice, a number ofyoung girls had been senttoherfortraining.Afteraconstant stream of abusefrom the old woman, allbutDarsyhadbeendrivenoff.“She’suglyasabulland

justasstrong,”Elonaonce

said of Darsy, cackling.“What does she have tofear from that sour hag?It’s not as if Bruna willdrive the suitors from herdoor.”Bruna knelt beside theinjured, inspecting themwith firm hands as Darsyunrolled a heavy clothcovered in pockets, eachmarked with symbols and

holding a tool, vial, orpouch. Injured villagersmoanedorcriedoutassheworked, but Bruna paidthem no mind, pinchingwounds and sniffing herfingers, working as muchfrom touch and smell assight. Without looking,Bruna’s hands darted tothe pockets of the cloth,mixing herbs with amortarandpestle.

Darsy began laying asmall fire, and looked upto where Leesha stoodstaring from the stream.“Leesha! Bring water, andbe quick about it!” shebarked.As Leesha hurried to

comply, Bruna pulled up,sniffing the herbs shewasgrinding.“Idiot girl!” Bruna

shrieked. Leesha jumped,thinking she meant her,but Bruna hurled themortarandpestleatDarsy,hitting her hard in theshoulder and covering heringroundherbs.Bruna fumbled through

her cloth, snatching thecontents of each pocketand sniffing at them likeananimal.

“You put stinkweedwhere the hogroot shouldbe, and mixed all theskyflower withtampweed!”Theoldcroneliftedhergnarledstaffandstruck Darsy across theshoulders. “Areyou tryingtokillthesepeople,orareyou still too stupid toread?”Leesha had seen her

mother in such a statebefore,andifElonawasasfrightening as a coreling,HagBrunawasthemotherof all demons. She beganto edge away from thetwo, fearing to drawattentiontoherself.“Iwon’t take this abuseforever,youeviloldhag!”Darsyscreamed.“Be off, then!” Bruna

said.“I’dsoonermareveryward in this town thanleave you my herb pouchwhen I pass! The peoplewouldbenoworseoff!”Darsylaughed.“Beoff?”she asked. “Who’ll carryyour bottles and tripods,old woman? Who’ll layyour fire, fix your meals,and wipe the spit fromyour facewhen the cough

takes you? Who’ll cartyour old bones aroundwhen chill and damp sapyour strength? You needmemorethanIneedyou!”Bruna swung her staff,and Darsy wisely scurriedout of the way, trippingoverLeesha,whohadbeendoing her best to remaininvisible. Both of themtumbledtotheground.

Bruna used theopportunity to swing herstaff again. Leesha rolledthrough the dirt to avoidtheblows,butBruna’saimwas true. Darsy cried outinpain,coveringherheadwithherarms.“Off with you!” Brunashoutedagain.“Ihavesicktotend!”Darsy growled and got

to her feet. Leesha fearedshe might strike the oldwoman, but instead sheran off. Bruna let fly astreamofcursesatDarsy’sback.Leesha held her breathand kept to her knees,inching away. Just as shethought shemight escape,Brunatooknoticeofher.“You, Elona’s brat!” she

shouted, pointing hergnarled stick at Leesha.“Finish laying the fireandsetmytripodoverit!”Brunaturnedbacktothewounded, and Leesha hadnochoicebuttodoasshewastold.Overthenextfewhours,Bruna barked an endlessstream of orders at thegirl, cursing her slowness,

as Leesha scurried to doher bidding. She fetchedand boiled water, groundherbs, brewed tinctures,and mixed balms. Itseemedshenevergotmorethan halfway through atask before the ancientHerbGathererorderedheron to the next, and shewas forced to work fasterandfastertocomply.Freshwoundedstreamedinfrom

the fires with deep burnsand broken bones fromcollapses. She feared halfthevillagewasaflame.Bruna brewed teas to

numb pain for some anddrug others into adreamless sleep as she cutthem with sharpinstruments. She workedtirelessly, stitching,poulticing,andbandaging.

It was late afternoonwhen Leesha realized thatnot only were there nomore injuries to tend, butthe bucket line was gone,as well. She was alonewith Bruna and thewounded,themostalertofwhom stared off dazedlyinto space thanks toBruna’sherbs.A wave of suppressed

weariness fell over her,and Leesha fell to herknees, sucking in a deepbreath. Every inch of herached, but with the paincame a powerful sense ofsatisfaction. There weresome thatmight not havelived, but now would,thanks in part to herefforts.But the real hero, she

admitted to herself, wasBruna. It occurred to herthat the woman had notorderedhertodoanythingfor several minutes. Shelooked over, and sawBruna collapsed on theground,gasping.“Help! Help!” Leesha

cried. “Bruna’s sick!” Newstrength came to her, andshe flew to the woman,

liftingherupintoasittingposition. Hag Bruna wasshockingly light, andLeesha could feel littlemore than bone beneathher thickshawlsandwoolskirts.Bruna was twitching,andathintrailofspitranfromhermouth,caughtinthe endless grooves of herwrinkled skin. Her eyes,

dark behind a milky film,staredwildlyatherhands,which would not stopshaking.Leesha looked aroundfrantically, but there wasnoonenearbytohelp.StillholdingBrunaupright,shegrabbed at one of thewoman’s spasming hands,rubbing the crampedmuscles. “Oh, Bruna!” she

pleaded. “What do I do?Please! I don’t know howtohelpyou!Youmusttellme what to do!”HelplessnesscutatLeesha,andshebegantocry.Bruna’s hand jerkedfromhergrasp,andLeeshacried out, fearing a freshset of spasms. But herministrations had giventhe oldHerbGatherer the

control to reach into hershawl,pullingfreeapouchthat she thrust Leesha’sway. A series of coughswracked her frail body,and she was torn fromLeesha’s arms and hit theground,floppinglikeafishwith each cough. Leeshawasleftholdingthepouchinhorror.She looked down at the

cloth bag, squeezingexperimentallyand feelingthecrunchofherbsinside.She sniffed it, catching ascentlikepotpourri.ShethankedtheCreator.

Ifithadallbeenoneherb,shewouldhaveneverbeenabletoguessthedose,butshe had made enoughtinctures and teas forBruna that day to

understand what she hadbeengiven.She rushed to thekettlesteamingonthetripodandplaced a thin cloth over acup, layering it thickwithherbsfromthepouch.Shepoured boiling water overthe herbs slowly, leachingtheir strength, then deftlytied the herbs up in theclothandtosseditintothe

water.She ran back to Bruna,blowing on the liquid. Itwouldburn,buttherewasno time to let it cool. Shelifted Bruna in one arm,pressing the cup to herspit-fleckedlips.The Herb Gathererthrashed, spilling some ofthecure,butLeeshaforcedher to drink, the yellow

liquid running out of thesides of her mouth. Shekept twitching andcoughing, but thesymptoms began tosubside. As her heaveseased, Leesha sobbed inrelief.“Leesha!” she heard a

call. She looked up fromBruna,andsawhermotherracing toward her, ahead

ofagroupoftownsfolk.“What have you done,youworthless girl?”Elonademanded. She reachedLeesha before the otherscould draw close andhissed,“BadenoughIhaveauselessdaughterandnotason to fight the fire,butnow you’ve gone andkilled the town crone?”Shedrewbackherhandto

smackatherdaughter,butBruna reached up andcaughtElona’swristinherskeletalgrip.“Thecronelivesbecauseof her, you idiot!” Brunacroaked. Elona turnedbone-whiteanddrewbackas if Bruna had become acoreling. The sight gaveLeeshaarushofpleasure.By then, the rest of the

villagers had gatheredaround them, askingwhathadhappened.“My daughter saved

Bruna’s life!” Elonashouted, before Leesha orBrunacouldspeak.

Tender Michel held hiswarded Canon aloft so allcouldseetheholybookasthe remains of the deadwerethrownontheruinof

the last burning house.The villagers stood withhats in hand, headsbowed.Jonathrewincenseontheblaze, flavoringtheacrid stench permeatingtheair.“Until the DeliverercomestoliftthePlagueofdemonkind, rememberwellthatitwasthesinsofman that brought it

down!” Michel shouted.“The adulterers and thefornicators! The liars andthievesandusurers!”“The ones that clenchtheir rears too tight,”Elonamurmured.Someonesnickered.“Those leaving thisworld will be judged,”Michel went on, “andthose who served the

Creator’s will shall joinwithhiminHeaven,whilethosewhohavebrokenhistrust, sullied by sins ofindulgence or flesh, willburn in the Core foreternity!” He closed thebook, and the assembledvillagersbowedinsilence.“But while mourning isgood and proper,” Michelsaid,“weshouldnotforget

thoseofustheCreatorhaschosentolive.Letusbreakcasks and drink to thedead. Let us tell the talesofthemwelovemost,andlaugh, for life is precious,and not to bewasted.Wecan save our tears forwhen we sit behind ourwardstonight.”“That’s our Tender,”Elona muttered. “Any

excuse to break open acask.”“Now dear,” Erny said,

patting her hand, “hemeanswell.”“Thecowarddefendsthe

drunk, of course,” Elonasaid, pulling her handaway. “Steave rushes intoburning houses, and myhusband cringes with thewomen.”

“I was in the bucketline!” Erny protested. HeandSteavehadbeenrivalsfor Elona, and it was saidthat his winning of Elonawas more to do with hispursethanherheart.“Like a woman,” Elonaagreed, eyeing themuscularSteaveacrossthecrowd.It was always like this.

Leesha wished she couldshutherearstothem.Shewished the corelings hadtaken her mother, insteadof seven good people. Shewished her father wouldstand up to her for once;for himself, if not hisdaughter. She wished shewould flower already, soshe could go with Garedand leave them bothbehind.

Those too old or youngto fight the flames hadprepared a great meal forthevillage,andtheylaiditout as the others sat, tooexhausted to move, andstared at the smolderingashes.But the fires were out,

the wounded bandagedand healing, and therewere hours before sunset.

The Tender’s words tookthe guilt from thoserelieved to be alive, andSmitt’s strong Hollow aledid the rest. It was saidthatSmitt’s ale couldcureany woe, and there wasmuch to cure. Soon thelong tables rang withlaughteratstoriesofthosewho had passed from theworld.

Gared sat a few tablesawaywithhis friendsRenandFlinn,theirwives,andhis other friend Evin. Theother boys, allwoodcutters, were olderthanGaredbyafewyears,butGaredwasbiggerthanallsaveRen,anditseemedhe would pass even himbefore his growing wasdone. Of the group, Evinalone was unpromised,

and many girls eyed him,despitehisshorttemper.The older boys teased

Gared relentlessly,especially about Leesha.She wasn’t happy to beforced to sit with herparents, but sitting withGaredwhileRenandFlinnmade lewd suggestionsandEvinpickedfightswasoftenworse.

After they had eatentheir share,TenderMicheland Child Jona rose fromthe table, carrying a largeplatteroffoodtotheHolyHouse, where DarsylookedafterBrunaandthewounded. Leesha excusedherself to help them.Gared spotted the moveand rose to join her, butno sooner had she stoodthanshewas sweptoffby

Brianne, Saira, andMairy,herclosestfriends.“Is it true whathappened?” Saira asked,pullingherleftarm.“Everyone’s saying youknocked Darsy down andsaved Hag Bruna!” Mairysaid, pulling her right.Leesha looked backhelplessly at Gared, andallowed herself to be led

away.“The grizzly bear canwait his turn,” Briannetoldher.“Yull come second tothem girls even after yurmarried, Gared!” Rencried, causing his friendsto roar with laughter andpound the table. The girlsignored them, spreadingtheir skirts and sitting on

the grass, away from theincreasing noise, as theirelders drained cask aftercask.“Gared’s gonna be

hearing that one awhile,”Brianne laughed. “Renbetfive klats he won’t get tokissyoubeforedusk,muchless a good grope.” Atsixteen, she was alreadytwo years a widow, but

hadnoshortageofsuitors.Shesaiditwasbecausesheknew a wife’s tricks. Shelived with her father andtwo older brothers,woodcutters, and wasmothertothemall.“Unlike some people, I

don’t invite every passingboy to grope me,” Leeshasaid,bringingamocklookof indignation from

Brianne.“I’d let Gared grope if I

was promised to him,”Sairasaid.Shewasfifteen,with cropped brown hairand freckles on herchipmunkcheeks.Shehadbeen promised to a boylastyear,butthecorelingshad taken him and herfatherinasinglenight.“IwishIwaspromised,”

Mairy complained. Shewas gaunt at fourteenyears, with a hollow faceandaprominentnose.Shewas full flowered, butdespite the efforts of herparents, not yet promised.Elona called herscarecrow. “No man willwant to put a childbetween thosebonyhips,”shehadsneeredonce,“lestthescarecrowcrackintwo

whenthebabebreaks.”“It will happen soonenough,” Leesha told her.She was the youngest ofthe group at thirteen, butthe others seemed tocenter around her. Elonasaid it was because shewas prettier and bettermoneyed,butLeeshacouldnever believe her friendssopetty.

“Did you really beatDarsywithastick?”Mairyasked.“It didn’t happen like

that,” Leesha said. “Darsymade some mistake, andBruna started hitting herwithher stick.Darsy triedtoback away, andwalkedrightintome.Webothfelldown, and Bruna kepthitting her until she ran

off.”“If she hit me with a

stick, I’da hit her rightback,” Brianne said. “Dasays Bruna’s a witch, andshe slaps stomachs withdemons in her hut atnight.”“That’s disgusting

nonsense!” Leeshasnapped.“Thenwhy’s she live so

far from town?” Sairademanded. “Andhow is itshe’s still alive when hergrandchildren are dead ofoldage?”“Because she’s an Herb

Gatherer,” Leesha said,“and you don’t find herbsgrowing in the center oftown. I helped her today,and it was amazing. Ithought half the people

brought to her were toohurt to live,butshesavedeveryone.”“Did you see her cast

spells on them?” Mairyaskedexcitedly.“She’s not a witch!”

Leeshasaid.“Shediditallwithherbsandknivesandthread.”“Shecutpeople?”Mairy

saidindisgust.

“Witch,” Brianne said.Sairanodded.Leesha gave them all asour look, and theyquieted.“Shedidn’tjustgoaround cutting people,”Leesha said. “She healedthem. It was … I can’texplain it. Old as she is,sheneverstoppedworkinguntilshetreatedeveryone.Itwas like shekeptonby

will alone. She collapsedright after she treated thelastone.”“And that’s when yousavedher?”Mairyasked.Leesha nodded. “Shegave me the cure justbefore the coughingstarted. Really, all I didwas brew it. I held heruntil the coughingstopped, and that’s when

everyonefoundus.”“You touched her?”

Briannemadeaface.“Ibetshestunkofsourmilkandweeds.”“Creator!” Leesha cried.

“Brunasavedadozenlivestoday, and all you can doismock!”“Goodness,” Brianne

quipped,“Leeshasavesthehag, and suddenly her

paps are too big for hercorset.” Leesha scowled.She was the last of herfriends to bloom, and herbreasts, or lack thereof,wereasorespotforher.“You used to say the

same things about her,Leesh,”Sairasaid.“Maybe so, but not

anymore,” Leesha said.“She may be a mean old

woman, but she deservesbetter.”Just then, Child Jona

cameovertothem.Hewasseventeen, but too smallandslighttoswinganaxeor pull a saw. Jona spentmost of his days penningand reading letters forthose in town with noletters, which was almosteveryone. Leesha, one of

the few children whocould read, often went tohimtoborrowbooksfromTenderMichel’scollection.“I’ve a message fromBruna,”he said to Leesha.“Shewishes…”His words were cut offas he was yankedbackward. Jona was twoyears senior, but Garedspunhimlikeapaperdoll,

gripping his robes andpulling him so close theirnosestouched.“Itoldyoubeforeabouttalkingtothosewhatarn’tpromised to ya,” Garedgrowled.“I wasn’t!” Jonaprotested, his feet kickingan inch off the ground. “Ijust…!”“Gared!” Leesha barked.

“You put him down thisinstant!”Gared looked at Leesha,

then back to Jona. Hiseyes flicked tohis friends,thenbacktoLeesha.Heletgo, and Jona crashed tothe ground. He scrambledtohisfeetandscurriedoff.BrianneandSairagiggled,but Leesha silenced themwith a glare before

roundingonGared.“WhatintheCoreisthe

matter with you?” Leeshademanded.Gared looked down.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’sjus’…well,Ientgottentotalk to ya all day, and Iguess I got mad when Isawyatalkingtohim.”“Oh, Gared,” Leesha

touched his cheek, “you

don’t have to be jealous.There’snoone formebutyou.”“Really?”Garedasked.“Will you apologize to

Jona?”Leeshaasked.“Yes,”Garedpromised.“Then yes, really,”

Leesha said. “Now go onbacktothetables. I’ll joinyou in a bit.” She kissedhim,andGaredbrokeinto

awidesmileandranoff.“Isupposeit’ssomething

like training a bear,”Briannemused.“Abearthatjustsatina

briarpatch,”Sairasaid.“You leave him be,”

Leeshasaid.“Gared doesn’t mean

any harm. He’s just toostrong for his own good,andalittle…”

“Lumbering?” Brianneoffered.“Slow?”Sairasupplied.“Dim?”Mairysuggested.Leesha swattedat them,andtheyalllaughed.

Gared sat protectively byLeesha, he and Steavehaving come over to sitwith Leesha’s family. Shelongedforhisarmsaround

her, but it wasn’t proper,even promised as theywere,until shewasofageand their engagementformalized by the Tender.Eventhen,chastetouchingand kisses were supposedto be the limit until theirweddingnight.Still, Leesha let Garedkiss her when they werealone, but she held it at

that, regardless of whatBrianne thought. Shewanted to keep tradition,so their wedding nightwould be a special thingthey would rememberforever.Andofcourse,therewas

Klarissa,whohadlovedtodance and flirt. She hadtaught Leesha and herfriendstoreelandbraided

flowers in their hair. Anexceptionally pretty girl,Klarissa had her pick ofsuitors.Her sonwould be three

now, and still no man inCutter’s Hollow wouldclaimhimas theirown. Itwas broadly assumed thatmeant he was a marriedman,andover themonthswhen her belly fattened,

notasermonhadgonebywhere Tender Michel hadfailedtoremindherthatitwas her sin, and that ofthose like her, that keptthe Creator’s Plaguestrong.“The demons without

echo the demons within,”hesaid.Klarissa had been well

loved, but after that, the

town had quickly turned.Women shunned her,whispering behind herpassage, and men refusedto meet her eyes whiletheir wives were about,making lewd commentswhentheywerenot.Klarissa had left with aMessenger bound for FortRizon soon after the boywas weaned, and never

returned. Leesha missedher.“I wonder what Brunawanted when she sentJona,”Leeshasaid.“I hate that little runt,”Gared growled. “Everytimehelooksatyou,Icansee him imagining you ashiswife.”“What do you care,”Leesha asked, “if

imaginationisallitis?”“Iwon’tshareyou,even

in other men’s dreams,”Gared said, putting hisgianthandoverhersunderthe table. Leesha sighedand leaned in to him.Brunacouldwait.Just then, Smitt stood,

legs shaky with ale, andbanged his stein on thetable. “Everyone! Your

attention, please!” Hiswife, Stefny, helped himstand up on the bench,propping him when hewobbled. The crowdquieted, andSmitt clearedhis throat. He mightdislike giving orders, buthe liked giving speecheswellenough.“It’stheworsttimesthat

bring out the best in us,”

he began. “But it’s themtimes that show theCreator our mettle. Showthat we’ve mended ourways and are worthy forhim to send the Delivererand end thePlague. Showthat the evil of the nightcannot take our sense offamily.“Because that’s what

Cutter’s Hollow is,” Smitt

went on. “A family. Oh,we bicker and fight andplay favorites, but whenthecorelingscome,weseethosetiesoffamilylikethestringsofa loom, tyingusall together.Whateverourdifferences, no one is lefttothem.“Four houses lost their

wards in the night,” Smitttold the crowd, “putting a

score at the corelings’absent mercy. But due toheroism out in the nakednight, only seven weretaken.“Niklas!” Smitt shouted,pointing at the sandy-haired man sitting acrossfrom him. “Ran into aburning house to pull hismotherout!“Jow!” He pointed to

anotherman,who jumpedat the sound. “Not twodaysago,heandDavwerebeforeme, arguing all theway to blows. But lastnight, Jow hit a wooddemon, a wood demon,withhis axe tohold it offwhile Dav and his familyranacrosshiswards!”Smitt hopped up on thetable, passion lending

agility to his drunkenbody. He walked itslength, calling people byname, and telling of theirdeedsinthenight.“Heroeswere found in the day, aswell,” hewent on. “Garedand Steave!” he cried,pointing. “Left their ownhouse to burn to dousethose that had a betterchance! Because of themand others, only eight

houses burned, when byrights it should have beenthewholetown!”Smitt turned, and

suddenly he was lookingright at Leesha. His handraised, and the finger hepointed to her struck herlike a fist. “Leesha!” hecalled.“Thirteenyearsold,and she saved GathererBruna’slife!

“In every person inCutter’s Hollow beats theheart of a hero!” Smittsaid, sweeping his handover all. “The corelingstest us, and tragedytempers us, but likeMilnese steel, Cutter’sHollowwillnotbreak!”The crowd roared in

approval. Those who hadlost loved ones cried the

loudest, their cheeks wetwithtears.Smittstoodinthecenterof the din, soaking in itsstrength. After a time, hepatted his hands, and thevillagersquieted.“Tender Michel,” hesaid,gesturingtotheman,“has opened the HolyHouse to the wounded,andStefnyandDarsyhave

volunteered to spend thenight there tending them.Michel also offers theCreator’s wards to allothers who have nowhereelsetogo.”Smitt raised a fist. “Buthard pews are not whereheroes should lay theirheads! Not when they’reamong family.My tav erncan hold ten comfortably,

andmore ifneedbe.Whoelse among us will sharetheirwardsandtheirbedstoheroes?”Everyoneshoutedagain,

thistimelouder,andSmittbroke into a wide smile.Hepattedhishandsagain.“TheCreatorsmilesonyouall,”hesaid,“butthehourgrowslate.I’llassign…”Elona stood up. She too

haddrunkafewmugs,andher words slurred. “Ernyand I will take in Garedand Steave,” she said,causing Erny to looksharply at her. “We’veplenty of room, and withGared and Leeshapromised, they’repracticallyfamilyalready.”“That’sverygenerousof

you, Elona,” Smitt said,

unabletohidehissurprise.Rarely did Elona showgenerosity, andeven then,therewasusuallyahiddenprice.“Are you sure that’s

proper?” Stefny askedloudly, causing everyoneto turn eyes to her.Whenshewasn’tworking in herhusband’s tavern, Stefnywas volunteering at the

Holy House, or studyingthe Canon. She hatedElona—amarkinherfavorin Leesha’smind—but shehad also been the first toturn onKlarissawhen herstatebecameclear.“Two promised children

living under one roof?”Stefny asked, buther eyesflicked to Steave, notGared. “Who knows what

improprietiesmightoccur?Perhaps it would be bestfor you to take in others,and let Gared and Steavestayatthetavern.”Elona’s eyes narrowed.“I think three parentsenough to chaperone twochildren, Stefny,” she saidicily.SheturnedtoGared,squeezing his broadshoulders. “My soon-to-be

son-in-lawdidtheworkoffivemen today,” she said.“AndSteave,” she reachedout and drunkenly pokedtheman’sburlychest,“didtheworkoften.”She spun back towardLeesha,butstumbledabit.Steave, laughing, caughtheraboutthewaistbeforeshe fell. His hand washuge on her slender

midsection. “Even my,”she swallowed the word“useless,”butLeeshaheardit anyway, “daughter didgreat deeds today. I’ll nothavemyheroesbeddowninsomeother’shome.”Stefny scowled, but the

rest of the villagers tookthe matter as closed, andstarted offering up theirown homes to the others

inneed.Elona stumbled again,

falling into Steave’s lapwith a laugh. “You cansleep in Leesha’s room,”she told him. “It’s rightnext to mine.” Shedropped her voice at thatlast part, but she wasdrunk, and everyoneheard. Gared blushed,Steave laughed, and Erny

hunghishead. Leesha feltastabofsympathyforherfather.“Iwishthecorelingshad

taken her last night,” shemuttered.Her father looked up at

her. “Don’t ever say that,”he said. “Not aboutanyone.” He looked hardat Leesha until shenodded.

“Besides,” he addedsadly, “they’d probablyjustgiveherrightback.”

Accommodationshadbeenmade for all, and peoplewere preparing to leavewhentherewasamurmur,and the crowd parted.Through that gap limpedHagBruna.Child Jona held one ofthe woman’s arms as she

walked. Leesha leapt toher feet to takeher other.“Bruna, you shouldn’t beup,”sheadmonished.“Youshouldberesting!”“It’s your own fault,girl,” Bruna snapped.“There’s those sicker thanI, and I need herbs frommy hut to treat them. Ifyour bodyguard”—sheglaredatGaredandhefell

back in fright—“had letJona bring my message, Icouldhavesentyouwithalist. But now it’s late, andI’ll have to go with you.We can stay behind mywards for the night, andcomebackinthemorn.”“Why me?” Leesha

asked.“Because none of the

other lackwit girls in this

town can read!” Brunashrieked. “They’d mix upthe labels on the bottlesworse’nthatcowDarsy!”“Jona can read,”Leesha

said.“I offered to go,” the

acolyte began, but Brunaslammed her stick downon his foot, cutting hiswordsoffinayelp.“Herb Gathering is

women’s work, girl,”Brunasaid.“HolyMenarejusttheretopraywhilewedoit.”“I …” Leesha began,

looking back at herparentsforanescape.“Ithinkit’safineidea,”

Elona said, finallyextricating herself fromSteave’s lap. “Spend thenight at Bruna’s.” She

shoved Leesha forward.“My daughter is glad tohelp,” she said with abroadsmile.“Perhaps Gared should

go as well?” Steavesuggested,kickinghisson.“You’ll need a strong

back to carry your herbsand potions back in themorning,” Elona agreed,pullingGaredup.

The ancient HerbGatherer glared at her,thenatSteave,butnoddedfinally.

The trip to Bruna’s wasslow, the hag setting ashuffling crawl of a pace.They made it to the hutjustbeforesunset.“Check thewards,boy,”Bruna told Gared. Whilehe complied, Leesha took

her inside, setting the oldwoman down in acushioned chair, andlayingaquiltblanketoverher. Bruna was breathinghard, and Leesha fearedshe would start coughingagain any minute. Shefilled the kettle and laidwood and tinder in thehearth, casting her eyesaboutforflintandsteel.

“The box on themantel,” Bruna said, andLeesha noticed the smallwooden box. She openedit,buttherewasnoflintorsteel within, only shortwooden sticks with somekind of clay at the ends.She picked up two andtried rubbing themtogether.“Not like that, girl!”

Brunasnapped.“Haveyouneverseenaflamestick?”Leesha shook her head.

“Da keeps some in theshop where he mixeschemics,” Leesha said,“but I’m not to go inthere.”The old Herb Gatherer

sighed and beckoned thegirl over. She took one ofthe sticks and braced it

against her gnarled, drythumbnail.She flickedherthumb,andtheendofthestick burst into flame.Leesha’seyesbulged.“There’s more to Herb

Gathering than plants,girl,”Brunasaid, touchingtheflametoataperbeforethe flamestickburnedout.Shelitalamp,andhandedthe taper to Leesha. She

held the lamp out,illuminating a dusty shelffilled with books in itsflickeringlight.“Sweet day!” Leeshaexclaimed. “You havemore books than TenderMichel!”“These aren’t witlessstories censored by theHoly Men, girl. HerbGatherersarekeepersofa

bitoftheknowledgeoftheold world, from backbefore the Return, whenthe demons burned thegreatlibraries.”“Science?”Leeshaasked.“Was that not the hubristhat brought on thePlague?”“That’s Michel talking,”Bruna said. “If I’d knownthat boy would grow into

such a pompous ass, I’dhave left him between hismother’s legs. It wasscience,asmuchasmagic,thatdrovethecorelingsoffthe first time. The sagastell of great HerbGatherers healing mortalwounds, andmixingherbsand minerals that killeddemons by the score withfireandpoison.”

Leeshawasabouttoaskanother question whenGared returned. Brunawaved her toward thehearth, and Leesha lit thefireandsetthekettleoverit. Soon the water wasboiling,andBrunareachedinto the many pockets ofher robe, putting herspecialmixtureofherbsinher cup, and tea inLeesha’s and Gared’s. Her

hands were quick, butLeeshastillnoticedtheoldwoman throw somethingextrainGared’scup.She poured the water,

and they all sipped in anawkward silence. Gareddrank his quickly, andsoon began rubbing hisface. A moment later, heslumpedover,fastasleep.“You put something in

histea,”Leeshaaccused.Theoldwomancackled.

“Tampweed resin andskyflower pollen,” shesaid. “Each with manyusesalone,buttogether,apinch can put a bull tosleep.”“But why?” Leesha

asked.Brunasmiled,butitwas

afrighteningthing.“Callit

chaperoning,” she said.“Promisedorno,youcan’ttrust a boy of fifteensummers alone with ayounggirlatnight.”“Thenwhylethimcomealong?”Leeshaasked.Brunashookherhead.“Itold your father not tomarry that shrew, but shedangledheruddersathimand left him dizzy,” she

sighed.“Drunkastheyare,Steave and yourmum aregoing to have at it nomatter who’s in thehouse,”shesaid.“Butthatdon’tmeanGaredoughttohear it. Boys are badenoughathisage,asis.”Leesha’s eyes bulged.

“My mother wouldnever…!”“Careful finishing that

sentence, girl,” Bruna cuther off. “The Creatorabhorsaliar.”Leesha deflated. SheknewwhatElonawaslike.“Gared’s not like that,though,”shesaid.Brunasnorted.“Midwifeavillageandtellmethat,”shesaid.“Itwouldn’tevenmatterif Iwas flowered,” Leesha

said. “Then Gared and Icould marry, and I coulddo for him as a wifeshould.”“Eager for that, areyou?” Bruna said with awicked grin. “It’s no sadaffair,I’lladmit.Menhavemore uses than swingingaxes and carrying heavythings.”“What’stakingsolong?”

Leesha asked. “Saira andMairy reddened theirsheets in their twelfthsummers, and this will bemythirteenth!Whatcouldbewrong?”“Nothing’s wrong,”

Bruna said. “Each girlbleeds inherown time. Itmay be you have a yearyet,ormore.”“A year!” Leesha

exclaimed.“Don’t be so quick to

leave childhood behind,girl,” Bruna said. “You’llfind you miss it when itsgone. There’s more to theworld than layingunderaman and making hisbabies.”“But what else could

compare?”Leeshaasked.Bruna gestured to her

shelf.“Chooseabook,”shesaid. “Any book. Bring ithere, and I’ll show youwhat else the world canoffer.”

CHAPTER5CROWDEDHOME

319AR

LEESHAWOKEWITHASTARTasBruna’soldroostercrowedto mark the dawn. She

rubbed her face, feelingtheimprintofthebookonher cheek. Gared andBruna were still fastasleep. TheHerbGathererhad passed out early, butdespite her own fatigue,Leesha kept on readinglateintothenight.Shehadthought Herb Gatheringwas just settingbonesandbirthing babes, but therewas so much more. Herb

Gatherers studied theentire natural world,finding ways to combinethe Creator’s many giftsfor the benefit of Hischildren.Leesha took the ribbon

that held back her darkhair and laid it across thepage, closing the book asreverently as she did theCanon. She rose and

stretched, laying freshwood on the fire andstirring the embers into aflame. She put the kettleon,and thenwentover toshakeGared.“Wake up, lazybones,”shesaid,keepinghervoicelow. Gared only groaned.WhateverBrunahadgivenhim, it was strong. Sheshook harder, and he

swatted at her, eyes stillclosed.“Getuporthere’llbeno

breakfast for you,” Leeshalaughed,kickinghim.Gared groaned again,

and his eyes cracked.When Leesha drew herfoot back a second time,he reached out andgrabbed her leg, pullingher down on top of him

withayelp.He rolled atop her,

encircling her in his burlyarms, and Leesha giggledathiskisses.“Stop it,” she said,

swatting at himhalfheartedly,“you’llwakeBruna.”“SowhatifIdo?”Gared

asked. “The old hag is ahundred years old and

blindasabat.”“The hag’s ears are stillsharp,” Bruna said,cracking open one of hermilky white eyes. Garedyelpedandpracticallyflewto his feet, distancinghimself from Leesha andBrunaboth.“Youkeepyourhandstoyourself inmyhome,boy,or I’ll brew a potion to

keep your manhood slackfor a year,” Bruna said.LeeshasawthecolordrainfromGared’s face, and bither lip to keep fromlaughing.Forsomereason,Brunanolongerfrightenedher, but she lovedwatching the old womanintimidateeveryoneelse.“We understand one

another?”Brunaasked.

“Yes’m,” Gared saidimmediately.“Good,” Bruna said.

“Now put those burlyshoulderstoworkandsplitsome wood for thefirebox.” Gared was outthe door before shefinished. Leesha laughedasthedoorslammed.“Liked that, did you?”

Brunaasked.

“I’ve never seen anyonesend Gared scurrying likethat,”Leeshasaid.“Come closer, so I can

see you,” Bruna said.WhenLeeshadid,shewenton,“Beingvillagehealerismore than brewingpotions. A strong dose offearisgoodforthebiggestboy in the village. Maybehelp him think twice

beforehurtingsomeone.”“Garedwouldneverhurt

anyone,”Leeshasaid.“As you say,” Bruna

said, but she didn’t soundatallconvinced.“Could you really have

made a potion to take hismanhood away?” Leeshaasked.Bruna cackled. “Not for

a year,” she said. “Not

with one dose, anyway.But a fewdays, or even aweek?AseasilyasIdosedhistea.”Leesha looked

thoughtful.“Whatis it,girl?”Bruna

asked. “Having doubtsyour boy will leave youunplucked before yourwedding?”“Iwasthinkingmoreon

Steave,”Leeshasaid.Bruna nodded. “Andwell you should,” sheadvised. “But have care.Yourmotheriswisetothetrick. She came to meoftenwhenshewasyoung,needing Gatherer’s trickstostemher flowandkeepherfromgettingwithchildwhile she had her fun. Ididn’tseeherforwhatshe

was, then, and I’m sad tosayItaughthermorethanIshouldhave.”“Mum wasn’t a virgin

whenDacarriedheracrosshis wards?” Leesha askedinshock.Brunasnorted.“Halfthe

town had a roll with herbefore Steave drove theothersaway.”Leesha’s jaw dropped.

“MumcondemnedKlarissawhen she got with child,”shesaid.Bruna spat on the floor.

“Everyone turned on thatpoor girl. Hypocrites, all!Smitt talks of family, buthedidn’tliftafingerwhenhiswifeledthetownafterthat girl like a pack offlame demons. Half thosewomenpointingatherand

crying‘Sin!’wereguiltyofthe same deed, they werejustluckyenoughtomarryfast, or smart enough totakeprecautions.”“Precautions?” Leesha

asked.Bruna shook her head.

“Elona’ssoeagertohaveagrandsonshe’skeptyouinthedarkabouteverything,eh?” she asked. “Tell me,

girl, how are babiesmade?”Leesha blushed. “The

man, I mean, yourhusband…He…”“Outwithit,girl,”Bruna

snapped, “I’m too old towait for the red to leaveyourface.”“He spends his seed in

you,”Leeshasaid,herfacereddeningfurther.

Brunacackled.“Youcantreat burns and demonwounds, but blush at howlifeismade?”Leesha opened her

mouth to reply,butBrunacutheroff.“Make your boy spend

hisseedonyourbelly,andyou can lie with him toyour heart’s content,”Brunasaid.“Butboyscan’t

betrustedtopullfromyouin time, as Klarissalearned. The smarter onescometomefortea.”“Tea?” Leesha asked,

leaningoneveryword.“Pomm leaves, leached

in the right dose withsomeotherherbs,createatea thatwill keep aman’sseedfromtakingroot.”“But Tender Michel

says…”Leeshabegan.“Sparemetherecitationfrom the Canon,” Brunacut her off. “It’s a bookwrittenbymen,withoutathoughtgiven towards theplightofwomen.”Leesha’s mouth closedwithaclick.“Your mum visited meoften,” Bruna went on,“asking questions, helping

me around the hut,grinding herbs for me. Ihad thought to make hermyapprentice, but all shewanted was the secret ofthe tea. Once I told herhow itwasmade, she leftandneverreturned.”“That does sound likeher,”Leeshasaid.“Pomm tea is safeenough in small doses,”

Bruna said, “but Steave islusty, and your mothertooktoomuch.Thetwoofthem must have slappedstomachsathousandtimesbefore your father’sbusinessbegan toprosper,and his purse caught hereye. By then, your mum’swombwasscrapeddry.”Leesha looked at her

curiously.

“After shemarried yourfather,Elona tried for twoyears to conceive withoutsuccess,” Bruna said.“Steave married someyoung girl and got herwith child overnight,which only made yourmum more desperate.Finally, she came back tome,beggingforhelp.”Leesha leaned in close,

knowingherexistencehadhingedonwhateverBrunasaidnext.“Pomm tea must betaken in small doses,”Brunarepeated,“andonceamonthitisbesttostopitand allow your flow tocome. Fail this, and yourisk becoming barren. IwarnedElona,butshewasa slave to her loins, and

failedtolisten.FormonthsI gave her herbs andchecked her flow, givingherherbstoslipintoyourfather’s food. Finally, sheconceived.”“Me,” Leesha said. “Sheconceivedme.”Bruna nodded. “I fearedfor you, girl. Your mum’swomb was weak, and weboth knew she would not

have another chance. Shecame to me every day,askingmetocheckonherson.”“Son?”Leeshaasked.“I warned her it might

notbeaboy,”Brunasaid,“but Elona was stubborn.‘The Creator could not beso cruel,’ she’d say,forgetting that the sameCreator made the

corelings.”“So all I am is somecrueljokeoftheCreator?”Leeshaasked.Bruna grabbed Leesha’schin in her bony fingersand pulled her in close.Leesha could see the longgray hairs, like cat’swhiskers, on the crone’swrinkledlipsasshespoke.“Wearewhatwechoose

to be, girl,” she said. “Letothers determine yourworth, and you’ve alreadylost,becausenoonewantspeople worth more thanthemselves. Elona has noone to blame but herselffor her bad choices, butshe’s too vain to admit it.EasiertotakeitoutonyouandpoorErny.”“I wish she’d been

exposed and run out oftown,”Leeshasaid.“Youwouldbetrayyour

gender out of spite?”Brunaasked.“I don’t understand,”

Leeshasaid.“There’s no shame in a

girl wanting a man twixther legs, Leesha,” Brunasaid. “An Herb Gatherercan’t judge folks fordoing

whatnatureintendedtheydo when they are youngandfree.It’soathbreakersIcan’tabide.Yousayyourvows,girl,you’dbestplanonkeepingthem.”Leeshanodded.Gared returned, just

then.“Darsy’scometoseeya back to town,” he toldBruna.“I swear I sacked that

dim-witted sow,” Brunagrumbled.“The town council metyesterday and reinstatedme,” Darsy said, pushinginto the hut. She was notas tall as Gared, but shewasnot faroff,andeasilytopped his weight. “It’syour own fault. No oneelsewouldtakethejob.”“They can’t do that!”

Brunabarked.“Oh, yes they can,”Darsy said. “I don’t like itany more than you, butyou could pass any daynow, and the town needssomeonetotendthesick.”“I’ve outlived betterthan you,” Bruna sneered.“I’llchoosewhoIteach.”“Well I’m to stay untilyou do,” Darsy said,

looking at Leesha andbaringherteeth.“Then make yourself

usefulandputtheporridgeon,”Brunasaid.“Gared’sagrowing boy and needs tokeephisstrengthup.”Darsy scowled, but she

rolled her sleeves andheaded for the boilingkettlenonetheless.“SmittandIaregoingto

have a little chat when Iget to town,” Brunagrumbled.“IsDarsyreallysobad?”

Leeshaasked.Bruna’s watery eyes

turned Gared’s way. “Iknowyou’re stronger thanan ox, boy, but I imaginethere are still a few cordstosplitoutback.”Gared didn’t need to be

toldtwice.Hewasoutthedoor in a blink, and theyheard him put the axebacktowork.“Darsy’s useful enough

around the hut,” Brunaadmitted.“Shesplitswoodalmostasfastasyourboy,andmakesafairporridge.Butthosemeatyhandsaretoo clumsy for healing,and she has little aptitude

for the Gatherer’s art.She’ll make a passablemid-wife—any fool canpull a babe from itsmother—and at settingbones she’s second tonone,butthesubtlerworkis beyond her. I weep atthe thought of this townwith her as HerbGatherer.”

“You won’t make Gared

muchofawifeifyoucan’tget a simple dinnertogether!”Elonacalled.Leesha scowled. So faras she knew, her motherhadneverpreparedamealin her life. It had beendays since she’d had aproper sleep, but Creatorforbid her mother lift ahandtohelp.She had spent the day

tending the sick withBruna and Darsy. Shepicked up the skillsquickly, causing Bruna touse her as an example toDarsy. Darsy did not careforthat.Leesha knew Brunawanted to apprentice her.The old woman didn’tpush, but she had madeher intentions clear. But

there was her father’spapermaking business tothink of as well. She hadworked in the shop, alarge connected section oftheir house, since shewasa little girl, penningmessages for villagers andmaking sheets. Erny toldher she had a gift for it.Herbindingswereprettierthanhis, andLeesha likedto embed her pages with

flower petals, which theladies in Lakton and FortRizon paid more for thantheir husbands did forplainsheets.Erny’shopewastoretirewhileLeesha ran the shopand Gared made the pulpand handled the heavywork. But paper-makinghad never held muchinterestforLeesha.Shedid

it mostly to spend timewithherfather,awayfromthe lash of her mother’stongue.Elona might have likedthe money it made, butshe hated the shop,complaining of the smellof the lye in the pulpingvats and the noise of thegrinder. The shop was aretreat from her that

Leesha and Erny tookoften, a place of laughterthat the house properwouldneverbe.Steave’s booming laughmadeLeeshalookupfromthe vegetables she waschoppingforstew.Hewasin the common room,sittinginherfather’schair,drinkinghis ale. Elona saton the chair’s arm,

laughing and leaning in,herhandonhisshoulder.Leeshawished shewere

a flame demon, so shecould spit fire on them.Shehadneverbeenhappytrapped in the housewithElona, but now all shecouldthinkofwasBruna’sstories. Her mother didn’tlove her father andprobably never had. She

thought her daughter acruel joke of the Creator.And she hadn’t been avirgin when Erny carriedheracrossthewards.For some reason, thatcutthedeepest.Brunasaidthere was no sin in awoman taking pleasure ina man, but her mother’shypocrisy stungnonetheless. She had

helped force Klarissa outof town to hide her ownindiscretion.“I won’t be like you,”Leesha swore. She wouldhave her wedding day asthe Creator intended, andbecome a woman in apropermarriagebed.Elona squealed atsomethingSteavesaid,andLeesha began to sing to

herselftodrownthemout.Her voice was rich andpure; Tender Michel wasforever asking her to singatservices.“Leesha!” her mother

barked a moment later.“Quit your warbling! Wecan hardly hear ourselvesthinkouthere!”“Doesn’t sound like

there’s much thinking

going on,” Leeshamuttered.“Whatwas that?” Elonademanded.“Nothing!”Leeshacalledback inhermost innocentvoice.They ate just aftersunset, and Leeshawatched proudly asGaredused the bread she hadmade to scrape clean his

thirdbowlofherstew.“She’s not much of acook, Gared,” Elonaapologized,“but it’s fillingenough if you hold yournose.”Steave, gulping ale atthetime,snorteditouthisnose.Garedlaughedathisfather,andElonasnatchedthenapkinfromErny’slapto dry Steave’s face.

Leesha looked to herfather for support, but hekepthis eyesonhisbowl.He hadn’t said a wordsince emerging from theshop.It was too much forLeesha. She cleared thetable and retreated to herroom, but there was nosanctuary there. She hadforgotten that her mother

had given the room toSteave for the duration ofhis and Gared’s indefinitestay.Thegiantwoodcutterhad tracked mud acrossher spotless floor, leavinghis filthy boots atop herfavoritebook,whereitlaybyherbed.Shecriedoutandrantothetreasure,butthecoverwas hopelessly muddied.

Her bedclothes of softRizonanwoolwerestainedwith Creator knew what,and stank of a foul blendof musky sweat and theexpensive Angierianperfume her motherfavored.Leesha felt sick. She

clutchedherpreciousbooktightly and fled to herfather’s shop, weeping as

she tried futilely to cleanthestainsfromherbook.ItwasthereGaredfoundher.“Sothis iswhereyarunoffto,”hesaid,movingtoencircle her in his burlyarms.Leesha pulled away,wipinghereyesandtryingto composeherself. “I justneeded a moment,” shesaid.

Gared caught her arm.“Is thisabout the jokeyurmummade?”heasked.Leesha shook her head,trying to turnawayagain,butGaredheldherfast.“I was only laughing atmy da,” he said. “I lovedyurstew.”“Really?”Leeshasniffed.“Really,” he promised,pulling her close and

kissing her deeply. “Wecouldfeedanarmyofsonson cooking like that,” hehusked.Leeshagiggled.“Imight

havetroublesqueezingoutan army of little Gareds,”shesaid.Heheldhertighter,and

put his lips to her ear.“Right now, I’m onlyinterested in you

squeezingonein,”hesaid.Leeshagroaned,but shegently pushed him away.“We’ll be wed soonenough,”shesaid.“Yesterday ent soonenough,” Gared said, buthelethergo.

Leesha lay curled up inblankets by the commonroom fire. Steave had her

room,andGaredwasonacot in the shop. The floorwas drafty and cold atnight, and the wool rugwas roughandhard to lieupon. She longed for herown bed, though nothingshort of burning woulderase the stench of Steaveandhermother’ssin.She wasn’t even surewhy Elona bothered with

theruse.Itwasn’tasifshewas fooling anyone. ShemightaswellputErnyoutin the common room andtake Steave right to herbed.Leesha couldn’t wait

until she andGared couldleave.She layawake, listening

to the demons testing thewards and imagining

running the papermakingshop with Gared, herfather retired and hermother and Steave sadlypassed on. Her belly wasround and full, and shekept books while Garedcameinflexedandsweatyfromworking the grinder.Hekissedherastheirlittleonesracedabouttheshop.The image warmed her,

but she rememberedBruna’s words, andwondered if shewould bemissing something if shedevotedherlifetochildrenand papermaking. Sheclosedhereyesagain,andimagined herself as theHerb Gatherer of Cutter’sHollow, everyonedepending on her to curetheir ills, deliver theirbabies, and heal their

wounds.Itwasapowerfulimage, but one harder tofit Gared or children into.An Herb Gatherer had tovisit the sick, and theimage of Gared carryingher herbs and tools fromplace to place didn’t ringtrue, nor did the idea ofhimkeepinganeyeonthechildrenwhilesheworked.Bruna had managed it,

however many decadesago, marrying, raisingchildren, and still tendingthe folk,butLeeshadidn’tsee how. She would havetoasktheoldwoman.She heard a click, andlooked up to see Garedgingerlysteppingfromtheshop. She pretended to beasleepuntil hedrewnear,then rolled over suddenly.

“What are you doing outhere?” she whispered.Garedjumpedandcoveredhismouthtomuffleayelp.Leesha had to bite her lipto keep from laughingaloud.“I just came to use the

privy,” Gared whispered,coming over and kneelingbesideher.“There’s a privy in the

shop,” Leesha remindedhim.“ThenIcameforagood-night kiss,” he said,leaning in with his lipspuckered.“You had three whenyou first went to bed,”Leesha said, playfullysmackinghimaway.“Is it so bad to wantanother?”Garedasked.

“I suppose not,” Leeshasaid, putting her armsaroundhisshoulders.Some time later, therewas the creak of anotherdoor. Gared stiffened,looking about for a placetohide. Leeshapointed toone of the chairs. He wasfar too big to be coveredcompletely, but with onlythedimorangeglow from

the fireplace to see by, itmightproveenough.A faint light appeared a

momentlater,dashingthathope. Leesha barelymanagedtoliebackdownandclosehereyesbeforeitsweptintotheroom.Through slitted eyes,

Leesha saw her motherlooking into the commonroom.Thelanternsheheld

wasmostly shuttered, andthe light threw greatshadows, giving Garedroomenoughtohideifshedidn’tlooktooclosely.They needn’t haveworried. After satisfyingherself that Leesha wasasleep, Elona opened thedoor toSteave’s roomanddisappearedinside.Leesha stared after her

foralongtime.ThatElonawas being untrue was nogreat revelation, but untilthis very moment, Leeshahad allowed herself theluxuryofdoubtingthathermother could truly be sowilling to throwawayhervows.ShefeltGared’shandonher shoulder. “Leesha, I’msorry,” he said, and she

buried her face in hischest, weeping. He heldher tightly, muffling hersobsandrockingbackandforth. A demon roaredsomewhere off in thedistance, and Leeshawanted to scream alongwith it. She held hertongue in the vain hopethat her father wassleeping, oblivious toElona’s grunting, but the

likelihood seemed remoteunlessshehadusedoneofBruna’s sleeping draughtsonhim.“I’lltakeyouawayfrom

this,” Gared said. “We’llwaste no time in makingplans,andI’llhaveahouseforusbeforetheceremonyif I have to cut and carryallthelogsmyself.”“Oh, Gared,” she said,

kissing him. He returnedthe embrace, and laid herdownagain.Thethumpingfrom Steave’s room andthe sound of the demonswithout all faded awayintothethrumofbloodinherears.Gared’s hands roamedher body freely, andLeesha let him touchplacesthatonlyahusband

should. She gasped andarched her back inpleasure, and Gared tooktheopportunitytopositionhimself between her legs.Shefelthimslipfreeofhisbreeches, and knew whathe was doing. She knewsheshouldpushhimaway,but there was a greatemptiness inside her, andGared seemed the onlyperson in the world who

mightbeabletofillit.He was about to drive

forward when Leeshaheard her mother cry outin pleasure, and shestiffened. Was she anybetter than Elona, if shegave up her vows soeasily? She swore to crossthewardsofhermarriagehouse a virgin. She sworeto be nothing like Elona.

Buthereshewas,throwingallthatawaytorutwithaboymere feet fromwherehermothersinned.It’s oath breakers I can’t

abide,sheheardBrunasayagain, and Leesha pressedher hands hard againstGared’schest.“Gared, no, please,” she

whispered.Garedstiffenedfor a long moment.

Finally, he rolled awayfrom her and retied hisbreeches.“I’m sorry,” Leesha said

weakly.“No, I’m sorry,” Gared

said.Hekissedhertemple.“Icanwait.”Leesha hugged him

tightly, and Gared rose toleave. She wanted him tostay and sleep beside her,

but they had stretchedtheirluckthinasitwas.Iftheywerecaughttogether,Elona would punish herseverely, despite her ownsin. Perhaps even becauseofit.As the door to the shopclicked shut, Leesha layback filled with warmthoughts of Gared.Whateverpainhermother

mightbringher,shecouldweather it so long as shehadGared.

Breakfast was anuncomfortable affair, thesounds of chewing andswallowing thunderous inthemutepallhangingoverthe table. It seemed therewas nothing to say notbetter left unsaid. Leeshawordlessly cleared the

table while Gared andSteavefetchedtheiraxes.“Willyoubeintheshop

today?” Gared asked,finally breaking thesilence.Ernylookedupforthe first time thatmorning, interested in herreply.“I promised Bruna I’d

help tend the woundedagain today,” Leesha said,

but she lookedapologeticallyatherfatherasshedid.Ernynoddedinunderstanding and smiledweakly.“Andhowlongisthatto

goonfor?”Elonaasked.Leesha shrugged. “Until

they’re better, I suppose,”shesaid.“You’re spending too

much time with that old

witch,”Elonasaid.“At your request,”

Leeshareminded.Elona scowled. “Don’t

getsmartwithme,girl.”Anger flared in Leesha,

but she flashed her mostwinning smile as sheswung her cloak aroundher shoulders. “Don’tworry, Mother,” she said,“Iwon’tdrinktoomuchof

hertea.”Steave snorted, and

Elona’s eyes bulged, butLeeshasweptout thedoorbefore she could recoverenoughtoreply.Garedwalkedwithhera

ways, but soon theyreached the place wherethe woodcutters met eachmorning, and Gared’sfriends were already

waiting.“Yur late, Gar,” Evingrumbled.“Gottawomant’cookforhim, now,” Flinn said.“That’ll make any manlinger.”“If he even slept.” Rensnorted. “My guess is hegot her doing more’ncooking, an’ right underherfather’snose.”

“Ren got that right,Gar?”Flinnasked.“Findanewplacetokeepyuraxelastnight?”Leesha bristled andopened her mouth toretort, but Gared laid ahand on her shoulder.“Pay them no mind,” hesaid.“They’rejusttryin’tomakeyouspit.”“You could defend my

honor,” Leesha said.Creator knew, boyswouldfightforanyotherreason.“Oh, I will,” Gared

promised. “I just don’twantyatoseeit.I’dratherya keep thinking megentle.”“Youaregentle,”Leesha

said,standingontiptoestokiss his cheek. The boyshooted, and Leesha stuck

her tongueoutat themasshewalkedoff.

“Idiot girl,” Brunamuttered, when Leeshatoldherwhatshehadsaidto Elona. “Only a foolshows their cards whenthe game’s just gettingstarted.”“This isn’t a game, it’s

mylife!”Leeshasaid.

Bruna grabbed her face,squeezing her cheeks sohard her lips puckeredapart.“Allthemorereasontoshowalittlesense,”shegrowled, glaring with hermilkyeyes.Leesha felt anger flare

hotlywithinher.Whowasthis woman, to speak toher so? Bruna seemed tohold the entire town in

scorn, grabbing, hitting,and threatening anyoneshe pleased. Was she anybetter than Elona, really?Had shehadLeesha’s bestinterestsatheartwhenshetold her all those horriblethings about her mother,or was she justmanipulating her tobecome her apprentice,like Elona’s pressure tomarry Gared early and

bear his children? In herheart,Leeshawantedbothof those things, but shewastiringofbeingpushed.“Well, well, look who’sback,” came a voice fromthe door, “the youngprodigy.”Leesha lookedup to seeDarsy standing in thedoorway of the HolyHouse with an armful of

firewood. The womanmadenoefforttohideherdislikeforLeesha,andshecould be just asintimidating as Brunawhen she wished. Leeshahadtriedtoassureherthatshe was not a threat, butheroverturesonly seemedto make things worse.Darsywas determined nottolikeher.

“Don’t blame Leesha ifshe’s learnedmore in twodays thanyoudid inyourfirst year,” Bruna said, asDarsy slammed down thewood and lifted a heavyiron poker to stoke thefire.Leesha was sure she

would never get alongwith Darsy so long asBruna kept picking at the

wound, but she busiedherself grinding herbs forpoultices. Several of thoseburned in the attack hadskininfectionsthatneededregular attention. Otherswere worse still. Brunahad been shaken awaketwice in the night to tendthose,butsofar,herherbsand skills had not failedher.

Bruna had assumedcomplete control of theHoly House, orderingTenderMichelandtherestaround like Milneseservants. She kept Leeshaclose by, talkingcontinuously in herphlegmy rasp, explainingthe nature of thewounds,and the properties of theherbs she used to treatthem. Leeshawatched her

cut and sew flesh, andfound her stomach wasstrengthening to suchthings.Morning faded intoafternoon,andLeeshahadto force Bruna to pauseand eat. Othersmight notnoticethestrainintheoldwoman’s breath or theshake of her hands, butLeeshadid.

“That’s it,” she saidfinally, snatching themortarandpestlefromtheHerb Gatherer’s hands.Bruna looked up at hersharply.“Go and rest,” Leeshasaid.“Who are you, girl,to …” Bruna began,reachingforherstick.Leesha was wise to the

move and faster, grabbingthe stick and pointing itright at Bruna’s hookednose. “You’re going tohaveanotherattackifyoudon’t rest,” she scolded.“I’m taking you outside,andnoarguing!StefnyandDarsy can handle thingsforanhour.”“Barely,” Bruna

grumbled,butsheallowed

Leesha tohelpherupandleadheroutside.Thesunwashighinthe

sky, and the grass by theHoly House was lush andgreen, save for a fewpatches blackened byflame demons. LeeshaspreadablanketandeasedBruna down, bringing herspecial tea and soft breadthat would not strain the

crone’s few remainingteeth.They sat in comfortable

silenceforatime,enjoyingthe warm spring day.Leesha thought she hadbeen unfair, comparingBruna to her mother.When was the last timeshe and Elona had shareda comfortable silence inthesun?Hadtheyever?

She heard a raspingsound, and turned to findBruna snoring. She smiledand spread the woman’sshawl over her. Shestretched her legs, andspotted Saira andMairy ashortwaysoff, sewingouton the grass. They wavedand beckoned, scoochingover on their blanket tomakeroomasLeeshacametosit.

“How goes the HerbGathering?”Mairyasked.“Exhausting,” Leeshasaid.“Where’sBrianne?”The girls looked at oneanother and giggled. “Offin the woods with Evin,”Sairasaid.Leesha tsked. “That girlis going to end up likeKlarissa,”shesaid.Sairashrugged.“Brianne

says you can’t scornsomething you haven’ttried.”“Are you planning to

try?”Leeshaasked.“You think you’ve no

reason not to wait,” Sairasaid. “I thought that, too,beforeJakwastaken.NowI’d give anything to havehad him once before hedied. To have his child,

even.”“I’msorry,”Leeshasaid.“It’s all right,” Saira

replied sadly. Leeshaembraced her, and Mairyjoinedin.“Oh, how sweet!” came

acryfrombehindthem.“Iwant to hug, too!” Theylooked up just as Briannecrashed into them,knocking them laughing

intothegrass.“You’re in good spirits

today,”Leeshasaid.“A romp in thewoods’ll

dothat,”Briannesaidwitha wink, elbowing her inthe ribs. “Besides,” shesang, “Eeevin told me aseecret!”“Tellus!”thethreegirls

criedatonce.Brianne laughed, and

hereyesflickedtoLeesha.“Maybe later,” she said.“How’s the crone’s newapprenticetoday?”“I’mnot her apprentice,

whatever Bruna maythink,” Leesha said. “I’mstill going to run myfather’s shop once Garedand I marry. I’m justhelpingwiththesick.”“Better you’n me,”

Brianne said. “HerbGathering seems like hardwork.Youlookamess.Getenoughsleeplastnight?”Leesha shook her head.“The floor by the hearthisn’t as comfortable as abed,”shesaid.“I wouldn’t mindsleeping on the floor if Ihad Gared for a pallet,”Briannesaid.

“And just what is thatsupposed to mean?”Leeshaasked.“Don’t play dumb,Leesh,”Briannesaidwithahint of irritation. “We’reyourfriends.”Leesha puffed up. “Ifyou’reinsinuating…!”“Come off the pedestal,Leesha,” Brianne said. “Iknow Gared had you last

night. I’d hoped you’d behonestwithusaboutit.”Saira andMairygasped,

and Leesha’s eyes bulged,her face reddening. “Hehad no such thing!” sheshouted. “Who told youthat?”“Evin,” Brianne smiled.

“Said Gared’s beenbragging all day.” “ThenGared’s a ripping liar!”

Leesha barked. “I’m notsome tramp, to goaround…”Brianne’s facedarkened,

and Leesha gasped andcovered her mouth. “Oh,Brianne,” she said. “I’msorry!Ididn’tmean…”“No, I think you did,”

Brianne said. “I think it’stheonly true thingyou’vesaidtoday.”

She stood and brushedoff her skirts, her usualgood mood vanished.“Comeon,girls,”shesaid.“Let’s go somewherewheretheair’scleaner.”Saira and Mairy looked

at each other, then atLeesha, but Brianne wasalready walking, and theyrose quickly to follow.Leeshaopenedhermouth,

but choked, not knowingwhattosay.“Leesha!” she heardBruna cry. She turned toseetheoldwomanbracingonhercaneandstrugglingto rise. With a painedglance at her departingfriends, Leesha rushed toaidher.

Leesha was waiting asGared and Steave came

sauntering down the pathtoward her father’s house.They joked and laughed,and their joviality gaveLeesha the strength sheneeded. She gripped herskirts in white-knuckledfists as she strode up tothem.“Leesha!”Steavegreetedwith a mocking smile.“How’s my soon-to-be

daughter today?” Hespreadhisarmswide,asiftosweepherintoahug.Leesha ignored him,

going right up to Garedand slapping him full intheface.“Hey!”Garedcried.“Oh ho!” Steave

laughed. Leesha fixed himwith her mother’s bestglare, and he put up his

handsplacatingly.“I see yuv some talkin’

to do,” he said, “so I’llleaveyoutoit.”Helookedat Gared and winked.“Pleasurehasitsprice,”headvisedasheleft.Leesha whirled on

Gared, swinging at himagain.Hecaughtherwristand squeezed hard.“Leesha, stop it!” he

demanded.Leesha ignored the pain

inherwrist,slammingherknee hard between hislegs. Her thick skirtssoftened the blow, but itwas enough to break hisgrip and drop him to theground, clutching hiscrotch.Leeshakickedhim,but Gared was thick withhardmuscle,andhishands

protected the one placevulnerabletoherstrength.“Leesha, what the Core

is the matter with you?”Gared gasped, but it wascut off as she kicked himin the mouth. Garedgrowled,andthenexttimeshe lifted her foot, hegrabbed it and shovedhard, sending her flyingbackward.Thebreathwas

knocked out of her as shelanded on her back, andbefore she could recover,Gared pounced, catchingher arms and pinning hertotheground.“Haveyougone crazy?”he shouted, as shecontinued to thrash underhim. His face was flushedpurple, and his eyes weretearing.

“How could you?”Leeshashrieked.“Sonofacoreling,howcouldyoubesocruel?”“Night,Leesha,whatareyou about?” Garedcroaked, leaning moreheavilyonher.“How could you?” sheasked again. “How couldyou lie and tell everyoneyoubrokemelastnight?”

Gared looked genuinelytaken aback. “Who toldyou that?” he demanded,and Leesha dared to hopethattheliewasnothis.“Evin toldBrianne,” she

said.“I’ll kill that son of the

Core,” Gared growled,easing his weight back.“He promised to keep hismouthshut.”

“So it’s true?” Leeshashrieked. She brought herknee up hard, and Garedhowledand rolledoffher.Shewasupandoutofhisreach before he recoveredenough to grasp at heragain.“Why?” she demanded.

“Why would you lie likethat?”“Itwas just cutter talk,”

Gared groaned, “it dintmeananything.”Leeshahadneverspatin

her life, but she spat athim. “Didn’t meananything?” she screamed.“You’ve ruinedmy life forsomething that didn’tmeananything?”Gared got up, and

Leeshabackedoff.Heheldup his hands and kept his

distance.“Your life ent ruined,”hesaid.“Brianneknows!”Leeshashouted back. “And Sairaand Mairy! The wholevillage will know bytomorrow!”“Leesha …” Garedbegan.“Howmanyothers?”shecuthimoff.

“What?”“How many others didyou tell, you idiot?” shescreamed.Hestuckhishandsinhispockets and looked down.“Justtheothercutters,”hesaid.“Night! All of them?”Leesharanathim,clawingat his face, but he caughtherhands.

“Calm down!” Garedshouted. His hands, liketwohams,squeezed,andajolt of pain ran down herarms, bringing her to hersenses.“You’rehurtingme,”she

saidwith all the calm shecouldmuster.“That’s better,” he said,

easing the pressurewithout lettinggo. “Doubt

it hurts anywhere near asmuch as a kick in theseedpods.”“You deserved it,”

Leeshasaid.“Suppose I did,” Gared

said. “Now can we talkcivilized?”“If you let go of me,”

shesaid.Gared frowned, then let

go quickly and skittered

outofkickingrange.“Will you tell everyone

youlied?”Leeshaasked.Gared shook his head.

“Can’t do that, Leesh. I’lllookafool.”“Better that I look a

whore?”Leeshacountered.“You ent no whore,

Leesh, we’s promised. It’snotlikeyurBrianne.”

“Fine,” Leesha said.“Maybe I’ll tell a few liesmyself. If your friendsteasedyoubefore,whatdoyou think they’ll say if Itell themyouweren’t stiffenoughtodothedeed?”Gared balled one of his

huge fists and raised itslightly. “Ya don’ wannado that, Leesha. I’m beingpatientwithya,butifyou

gospreadinglies likethat,Iswear…”“Butit’sfinetolieaboutme?”Leeshaasked.“Won’t matter oncewe’re married,” Garedsaid. “Everyone willforget.”“I’mnotmarrying you,”Leesha said, and suddenlyfelt a huge weight shiftfromher.

Garedscowled.“Notlikeyou have a choice,” hesaid. “Even if someonewould take ya now, thatbookmole Jona or some-such, I will beat himdown. Ent no one inCutter’sHollowgonnatakewhat’smine.”“Enjoythefruitsofyourlie,” Leesha said, turningaway before he saw her

tears, “because I’ll givemyselftothenightbeforeIletyoumakeitareality.”

It took all of Leesha’sstrength to keep frombreaking down in tears asshe prepared supper thatnight. Every sound fromGaredandSteavewas likea knife in her heart. Shehad been tempted byGared the night before.

She had almost let himhavehisway,knowingfullwellwhat itmeant. Ithadhurttorefusehim,butshehadthoughthervirtuewasherstogive.Shehadneverimagined that he couldtake it with but a word,muchlessthathewould.“Just as well you’ve

been spending so muchtime with Bruna,” came a

whisperatherear.Leeshawhirled to find Elonastandingthere,smirkingather.“Wewouldn’t want you

to have a round belly onyour wedding day,” Elonasaid.Regretting her tea

comment from thatmorning, Leesha openedher mouth to reply, but

her mother cackled andwhirled away before shecouldfindaword.Leeshaspatinherbowl.Gared and Steave’s, too.Shefelthollowsatisfactionastheyate.Dinner was a horridaffair, Steave whisperingin her mother’s ear, andElona snickering at hiswords.Garedstaredather

thewholetime,butLeesharefusedtolookathim.Shekepthereyesonherbowl,stirring numbly like herfatherbesideher.OnlyErnyseemednottohave heard Gared’s lie.Leesha was thankful forthat, but she knew in herheartitcouldnotlast.Toomany people seemedintent to destroy her with

it.Sheleftthetableassoon

as she could. Gared kepthisseat,butLeeshafelthiseyes following her. Themomentheretiredintotheshop, she barred himinside, feeling slightlysafer.Like so many nights

before, Leesha criedherselftosleep.

Leesha rose doubting shehadeverslept.Hermotherhad paid Steave anotherlate-nightvisit,butLeeshafelt only numbness as shelistened to their gruntsover thecacophonyof thedemons.Gared, too, caused a

thump deep in the night,discoveringthedoortothehouse barred. She smiled

grimlyashetriedthelatcha few more times beforefinallygivingup.Erny came over to kiss

thetopofherheadassheset the porridge on thefire. It was the first timethey’dbeenalonetogetherin days. She wonderedwhat it would do to heralready broken fatherwhenGared’sliefoundhis

ears. He might havebelieved her once, butwith his wife’s betrayalstill fresh, Leesha doubtedhe had much trust left togive.“Healing the sick again

today?”Ernyasked.WhenLeesha nodded, he smiledandsaid,“That’sgood.”“I’m sorry I haven’t had

more time for the shop,”

Leeshasaid.He took hold of herarms and leaned in close,looking her in the eyes.“People are always moreimportant than paper,Leesha.”“Even the bad ones?”sheasked.“Eventhebadones,”heconfirmed. His smile waspained, but there was

neither hesitation nordoubtinhisanswer.“Findthe worst human beingyou can, and you’ll stillfind something worse bylookingoutthewindowatnight.”Leesha started to cry,

and her father pulled herclose, rocking her backandforthandstrokingherhair. “I’m proud of you,

Leesh,” he whispered.“Papermaking was mydream. The wards won’tfail if you choose anotherpath.”She hugged him tightly,soaking his shirt with hertears.“Iloveyou,Da,”shesaid. “Whatever happens,neverdoubtthat.”“I never could,sunlight,” he said. “I’ll

alwaysloveyou,aswell.”She held on for a longtime; her father the onlyfriend she had left in theworld.Shescootedoutthedoorwhile Gared and Steavewere still pulling on theirboots. She hoped to avoideveryone on her way tothe Holy House, butGared’s friends were

waiting just outside. Theirgreeting was a hail ofwhistlesandcatcalls.“Jus’ came by to make

sureyouandyurmumentkeeping Gared and Steaveabedwhentheyoughtabeworking!” Ren called.Leesha turned bright red,but said nothing as shepushed past and hurrieddown the road. Their

laughtercutatherback.Shedidn’tthinkshewas

imagining it; the waypeople stared and brokeinto whispers as shepassed. Shehurried to thesecurityoftheHolyHouse,but when she arrived,Stefny blocked the door,her nostrils flaring as ifLeeshastunkofthelyeherfatherusedtomakepaper.

“What are you doing?”Leesha asked. “Let mepass. I’m here to helpBruna.”Stefny shook her head.

“You’ll not taint thissacred place with yoursin,”shesneered.Leeshapulledherselfup

to her full height, tallerthanStefnyby inches,butshe still felt like a mouse

before a cat. “I havecommitted no sin,” shesaid.“Hah!” Stefny laughed.

“The whole town knowswhat you andGared havebeen up to in the night. Ihad hopes for you, girl,but it seems you’re yourmother’s daughter afterall.”“What’s all this?” came

Bruna’shoarse raspbeforeLeeshacouldreply.Stefny turned, filled

with haughty pride, andlooked down at the oldHerbGatherer.“Thisgirlisawhore,andIwon’thaveher in the Creator’shouse.”“You won’t have?”

Brunaasked.“AreyoutheCreatornow?”

“Do not blaspheme inthis place, old woman,”Stefnysaid.“Hiswordsarewrittenforalltosee.”Sheheld up the leather-boundcopy of the Canon shecarried everywhere.“Fornicators andadultererskeepthePlagueupon us, and that sumsthis slut and her motherwell.”

“And where is yourproofofhercrime?”Brunaasked.Stefny smiled. “Gared

has boasted their sin toanywhowouldlisten,”shesaid.Bruna growled, and

lashed out suddenly,strikingStefnyontheheadwith her staff andknocking her to the

ground. “You wouldcondemn a girl with nomore proof than a boy’sboast?” she shrieked.“Boys’braggingisn’tworththe breath that carries it,andyouknowitwell!”“Everyone knows her

mother is the townwhore,” Stefny sneered. Atrickle of blood ran downher temple. “Why should

the pup be different fromthebitch?”Bruna thrust her staff

into Stefny’s shoulder,making her cry out inpain.“Hey there!” Smitt

called, rushing over.“Enoughofthat!”Tender Michel was hot

on his heels. “This is aHoly House, not some

Angieriantavern…”“Women’s business iswhat this is, and you’llstayoutof it, ifyouknowwhat’s good for you!”Bruna snapped, taking thewind from their sails. Shelooked back to Stefny.“Tell them, or shall I laybareyoursinaswell?”shehissed.“I have no sin, hag!”

Stefnysaid.“I’ve delivered everychild in this village,”Bruna replied, too quietlyfor themen to hear, “anddespite the rumors, I seequitewellwhenthingsareas close as a babe in myhands.”Stefny blanched, andturnedtoherhusbandandthe Tender. “Stay out of

this!”shecalled.“TheCore Iwill!” Smitt

cried. He grabbed Bruna’sstaffandpulleditoffofhiswife. “See here, woman,”he told Bruna. “HerbGatherer or no, you can’tjust go around hittingwhomeveryouplease!”“Oh, but your wife can

go around condemningwhomever she pleases?”

Bruna snapped. Sheyanked her staff from hishandsandclonkedhimontheheadwithit.Smitt staggered back,

rubbing his head. “Allright,” he said, “I triedbeingnice.”Usually, Smitt said that

just before rolling up hissleeves and hurlingsomeone bodily from his

tavern. He wasn’t a tallman, but his squat framewas powerful, and he’dhadplentyofexperienceindealing with drunkencuttersovertheyears.Bruna was no thick-

muscled cutter, but shedidn’t appear the least bitintimidated.Shestoodherground as Smitt stormedtowardher.

“Fine!” she cried.“Throw me out! Mix theherbs yourself! You andStefny heal the ones thatvomit blood and catchdemon fever!Deliveryourownbabieswhileyou’reatit! Brew your own cures!Make your ownflamesticks! What do youneed to put up with thehagfor?”

“What, indeed?” Darsyasked. Everyone stared ather as she strode up toSmitt.“I can mix herbs and

deliver babies as well asshecan,”Darsysaid.“Hah!”Brunasaid.Even

Smitt looked at herdoubtfully.Darsyignoredher.“Isay

it’stimeforachange,”she

said. “I may not have ahundred years ofexperience like Bruna, butIwon’tgoaroundbullyingeveryone,either.”Smittscratchedhischin,

andglancedovertoBruna,whocackled.“Go on,” she dared. “I

could use the rest. Butdon’t comebegging tomyhutwhen the sow stitches

what she shouldhave cut,and cuts what she shouldhavestitched.”“PerhapsDarsydeserves

achance,”Smittsaid.“Settled, then!” Bruna

said,thumpingherstaffonthe floor. “Be sure to telltherestofthetownwhotogo to for their cures. I’llthankyouforthepeaceatmyhut!”

She turned to Leesha.“Come, girl, help an oldcrone walk home.” ShetookLeesha’sarm,andthetwoofthemturnedforthedoor.As they passed Stefny,

though, Bruna stopped,pointing her staff at herand whispering for onlythe three women to hear.“You say one more word

against this girl, or sufferothers to, and the wholetown will know yourshame.”Stefny’s look of terror

stayed with Leesha thewholewaybacktoBruna’shut. Once they wereinside, Bruna whirled onher.“Well, girl? Is it true?”

sheasked.

“No!” Leesha cried. “Imean, we almost… but Itold him to stop and hedid!”It sounded lame andimplausible,andsheknewit. Terror gripped her.Bruna was the only onewhostoodup forher.Shethought she would die ifthe old woman thoughtheraliar,too.

“You … you can checkme,ifyouwant,”shesaid,her cheeks coloring. Shelooked at the floor, andsquintedbacktears.Bruna grunted, andshookherhead. “Ibelieveyou,girl.”“Why?” Leesha asked,almost pleading. “WhywouldGaredlielikethat?”“Becauseboysgetpraise

for the same things thatgetgirls runoutof town,”Bruna said. “Because menare ruled by what othersthink of their danglingworms. Because he’s apetty, hurtful little wood-brained shit with noconceptofwhathehad.”Leesha started to cry

again. She felt like she’dbeencryingforever.Surely

a body could not hold somanytears.Bruna opened her arms,

and Leesha fell into them.“There, there, girl,” shesaid. “Get it all out, andthenwe’ll figureoutwhattodo.”There was silence in

Bruna’s hut while Leeshamadetea.Itwasstillearlyin the day, but she felt

utterlydrained.HowcouldshehopetolivetherestofherlifeinCutter’sHollow?FortRizon isonlyaweek

away, she thought.Thousandsofpeople.Noonewould hear of Gared’s liesthere. I could find Klarissaand…And what? She knew it

was justa fantasy.Even ifshecouldfindaMessenger

totakeher,thethoughtofa week and more on theopenroadmadeherbloodruncold,andtheRizonanswere farmers, with littleuse for letters orpapermaking. She couldfind a new husband,perhaps, but the thoughtoftyingherfatetoanothermangavelittlecomfort.She brought Bruna her

tea,hopingtheoldwomanhad an answer, but theHerb Gatherer saidnothing,sippingquietlyasLeesha knelt beside herchair.“What am I going to

do?” she asked. “I can’thidehereforever.”“Youcould,”Brunasaid.

“Whatever Darsy boasts,she hasn’t retained a

fraction of what I’vetaught her, and I haven’ttaught her a fraction ofwhatIknow.Thefolk’llbebacksoonenough,beggingmy help. Stay, and a yearfrom now the people ofCutter’s Hollow won’tknow how they ever gotalongwithoutyou.”“My mother will never

allow that,” Leesha said.

“She’s still set on memarryingGared.”Bruna nodded. “She

would be. She’s neverforgiven herself for notbearing Steave’s sons.She’s determined that youcorrecthermistakes.”“I won’t do it,” Leesha

said. “I’ll give myself tothenightbeforeIletGaredtouch me.” She was

shockedtorealizethatshemeanteveryword.“That’s very brave of

you, dearie,” Bruna said,but there was disdain inher tone. “So brave tothrowyour life awayoveraboy’slieandfearofyourmother.”“Iamnotafraidofher!”

Leeshasaid.“Just of telling her you

won’t marry the boy whodestroyed yourreputation?”Leeshawasquiet a long

time before nodding.“You’re right,” she said.Brunagrunted.Leeshastood.“Isuppose

I had best get it overwith,”shesaid.Brunasaidnothing.At the door, Leesha

stopped,andlookedback.“Bruna?”sheasked.Theoldwomangruntedagain.“WhatwasStefny’ssin?”Bruna sipped her tea.“Smitt has three beautifulchildren,”shesaid.“Four,” Leeshacorrected.Bruna shook her head.“Stefnyhasfour,”shesaid.“Smitthasthree.”

Leesha’s eyes widened.“But how could that be?”she asked. “Stefny neverleavesthetavern,buttogoto the Holy …” Shegasped.“Even Holy Men aremen,”Brunasaid.

Leesha walked homeslowly, trying to choosewords, but in the end sheknew that phrasing was

meaningless. All thatmattered was that shewould not marry Gared,andhermother’s reaction.Itwaslateinthedaywhenshewalkedintothehouse.Gared and Steave wouldbe back from the woodssoon. She needed theconfrontation over withbeforetheyarrived.“Well, you’ve really

made a mess of thingsnow,” her mother saidacidly as she walked in.“My daughter, the towntramp.”“I’m not a tramp,”

Leesha said. “Gared hasbeenspreadinglies.”“Don’t you dare blame

him because you couldn’tkeep your legs closed!”Elonasaid.

“I didn’t sleep withhim,”Leeshasaid.“Hah!” Elona barked.

“Don’t takeme for a fool,Leesha. Iwas youngonce,too.”“You’ve been ‘young’

every night this week,”Leeshasaid,“andGaredisstillaliar.”Elona slapped her,

knocking her to the floor.

“Don’t you dare speak tome like that, you littlewhore!”shescreeched.Leeshalaystill,knowing

that if she moved, hermother would hit heragain.Hercheekfeltlikeitwasonfire.Seeing her daughter

humbled, Elona took adeep breath, and seemedto calm. “It’s no matter,”

she said. “I’ve alwaysthought you needed aknockingfromthepedestalyour idiot father put youon. You’ll marry Garedsoonenough,andfolkwilltire of whisperingeventually.”Leesha steeled herself.

“I’m not marrying him,”shesaid.“He’saliar,andIwon’tdoit.”

“Oh, yes you will,”Elonasaid.“I won’t,” Leesha said,

the words giving herstrengthassherosetoherfeet. “I won’t say thewords,andthere’snothingyoucandotomakeme.”“We’ll just see about

that,” Elona said,snatching off her belt. Itwas a thick leather strap

with a metal buckle thatshe always wore looselyaround her waist. Leeshathoughtsheworeitjusttohaveitathandtobeather.ShecameatLeesha,who

shriekedandretreatedintothe kitchen beforerealizing it was the lastplace she should havegone. There was only onewayinorout.

She screamed as thebuckle cut through herdress and into her back.Elona swung again, andLeeshathrewherselfathermother in desperation. Asthey tumbled to the floor,she heard the door open,and Steave’s voice. At thesame time, there was aquestioning call from theshop.

Elonamadegooduseofthe distraction, punchingher daughter full in theface. She was on her feetinaninstant,whippingthebelt into Leesha, drawinganother scream from herlips.“What in the Core is

going on?” came a cryfrom the doorway. Leeshalookeduptoseeherfather

struggling to get into thekitchen, blocked bySteave’smeatyarm.“Get out of my way!”Ernycried.“This is between them,”Steavesaidwithagrin.“Thisismyhomeyou’rea guest in!” Erny cried.“Getoutoftheway!”When Steave did notbudge,Ernypunchedhim.

Everyonefroze.Itwasn’tclear that Steave had feltthepunchatall.Hebrokethe sudden silence with alaugh, casually shovingErny and sending himflying into the commonroom.“You ladies settle yurdifferences in private,”Steave said with a wink,pulling the kitchen door

shut as Leesha’s motherroundedonheroncemore.Leesha wept quietly in

the back room of herfather’s shop, daubinggently at her cuts andbruises. Had she theproper herbs, she couldhave donemore, but coldwater and cloth were allshehad.She had fled into the

shoprightafterherordeal,lockingthedoorsfromtheinside, and ignoring eventhe gentle knocks of herfather. When the woundswerecleanandthedeepestcuts bound, Leesha curledup on the floor, shakingwithpainandshame.“You’llmarryGared the

dayyoubleed,”Elonahadpromised,“orwe’lldothis

everydayuntilyoudo.”Leesha knew she meant

it, and knew Gared’srumor would have manypeopletakinghermother’sside and insisting theywed, ignoring Leesha’sbruises as they had manytimesbefore.I won’t do it, Leesha

promised herself. I’ll givemyselftothenightfirst.

Just then, a crampwracked her guts. Leeshagroaned, and feltdampness on her thighs.Terrified, she swabbedherselfwith a clean cloth,praying fervently, butthere, like a cruel joke oftheCreator,wasblood.Leesha shrieked. She

heard an answering callfromthehouse.

Therewasapoundingatthedoor.“Leesha,areyouall right?” her fathercalled.Leesha didn’t answer,

staring at the blood inhorror. Was it only twodays ago she had beenpraying for it to come?Nowshe lookedat it as ifithadcomefromtheCore.“Leesha, open the door

this instant,oryou’llhavenight to pay!” hermotherscreeched.Leeshaignoredher.“If you don’t listen to

yur mother and open thisdoorbeforeIcounttoten,Leesha, I swear I willbreak it down!” Steaveboomed.Fear gripped Leesha as

Steavebegantocount.She

hadnodoubthecouldandwould splinter the heavywoodendoorwithasingleblow.Sherantotheouterdoor,throwingitopen.Itwas almost dark. The

sky was deep purple, andthelastsliverofsunwoulddip below the horizon inmereminutes.“Five!” Steave called.

“Four!Three!”

Leesha sucked in herbreath and ran from thehouse.

CHAPTER6THESECRETSOFFIRE

319AR

LEESHALIFTEDHERSKIRTSHIGH

and ran for all she wasworth, but it was over a

mile to Bruna’s hut, andshe knew deep down shecould never make it intime. Her family’s criesrang out behind her, thesound muted by thepoundingofherheartandthethudofherfeet.Therewasasharpstitchin her side, and her backand thighs were on firefrom Elona’s belt. She

stumbled, and scrapedherhandscatchingherself.Sheforced herself upright,ignoring the pain anddriving forward on purewill.Halfway to the Herb

Gatherer, the light faded,and the new nightbeckonedthedemonsfromtheCore.Darkmistsbeganto rise, coalescing into

harshalienforms.Leesha did not want todie. She knew that now;too late. But even if shewishedtoturnback,homewasfartherawaynowthanBruna’shut,andtherewasnothing in between. Ernyhad purposefully built hishouse away from theothers, after complaintsabout the smell of his

chemicals. She had nochoice but to go on,heading toward Bruna’shut at the woods’ edge,where the wood demonsgatheredinforce.A few corelings swiped

at her as she passed, butthey were stillinsubstantial, and foundno purchase. She felt coldas their claws passed

through her breast, as ifshehadbeentouchedbyaghost, but there was nopain,andshedidnotslow.There were no flame

demons this close to thewoods. Wood demonskilled flame demons onsight. Firespit could set awood demon alight, evenifnormalfirecouldnot.Awind demon solidified in

front of her, but Leeshadodgedaround it, and thecreature’s spindly legswere not equipped topursue her afoot. Itshrieked at her as she ranon.She glimpsed a lightahead; the lantern thathung by Bruna’s frontdoor. She put on a lastburstof speed, cryingout,

“Bruna! Bruna, pleaseopenyourdoor!”Therewasnoreply,and

the door remained shut,butthewaywasclear,andshe dared to think shemightmakeit.But then an eight-foot

wood demon stepped inherpath.Andhopedied.

The demon roared,showingrowsofteethlikekitchen knives. It madeSteave look puny bycomparison, all thicktwisted sinew covered byknobbed,barklikearmor.Leesha drew a ward in

the air beforeher, silentlypraying that the Creatorgrant her a quick death.Tales said that demons

consumedthesoulaswellas thebody.Shesupposedshewasabouttofindout.

Thedemonstalkedtowardher, closing the gapsteadily, waiting to seewhich way she would tryto run. Leesha knew sheshould do just that, buteven had she not beenparalyzed with fear, therewas nowhere to run. The

corelingstoodbetweenherand the only hope ofsuccor.There was a creak as

Bruna’sfrontdooropened,spillingmorelightintotheyard.Thedemonturnedasthe old hag shuffled intoview.“Bruna!” Leesha cried.

“Stay behind the wards!There’s a wood demon in

theyard!”“My eyes aren’t what

they used to be, dearie,”Brunareplied,“butI’mnotabouttomissanuglybeastlikethat.”She took another step

forward, crossing herwards.Leeshascreamedasthe demon roared andlaunched itself toward theoldwoman.

Bruna stood her groundas the demon charged,dropping to all fours andmoving with terrifyingspeed. She reached intohershawl,andpulledfortha small object, touching ittotheflameofthelanternbythedoor.Leeshasawitcatchfire.The demon was nearlyupon her when Bruna

drew back her arm andthrew. The object burstapart, covering the wooddemon in liquid fire. Theblaze litup thenight,andeven from yards away,Leesha felt the flash ofheatonherface.Thedemonscreamed,its

momentumlostasitfelltothe ground, rolling in thedirtinadesperateattempt

to extinguish itself. Thefireclungtoittenaciously,leaving the corelingthrashing and howling ontheground.“Best come inside,

Leesha,” Bruna advised asitburned,“lestyoucatchachill.”

Leeshasatwrappedinoneof Bruna’s shawls, staringat the steam rising off tea

shehadnodesiretodrink.The wood demon’s crieshad gone on a long timebefore reducing to awhimperandfadingaway.She imagined thesmoldering ruin in theyard, and thought shemightretch.Bruna sat nearby in her

rocking chair, hummingsoftlyasshedeftlyworked

a pair of knitting needles.Leesha could notunderstand her calm. Shefelt she might never becalmagain.The old Herb Gatherer

had examined herwordlessly, gruntingoccasionally as she salvedand bandaged Leesha’swounds, few of which, itwas clear, had come from

her flight. She had alsoshownLeeshahowtowadand insert clean cloth tostem the flow of bloodbetween her legs, andwarned her to change itfrequently.ButnowBruna sat back

as if nothing out of theordinary had happened,the clicks of her knittingand the crackleof the fire

the only sounds in theroom.“Whatdidyoudotothat

demon?” Leesha asked,whenshecouldstanditnolonger.“Liquid demonfire,”

Bruna said. “Difficult tomake.Verydangerous.Butit’s the only thing I knowthat can stop a wooddemon. Woodies are

immune tonormal flames,butliquiddemonfireburnsashotasfirespit.”“I didn’t know anythingcould kill a demon,”Leeshasaid.“I told you before, girl,thatHerbGatherers guardthe science of the oldworld,” Bruna said. Shegrunted and spat on thefloor. “A scant few of us,

anyway. Imaybe the lastto know that infernalrecipe.”“Why not share it?”Leesha said. “Wecouldbefree of the demonsforever.”Bruna cackled. “Free?”she asked. “Free to burnthe village to the ground,perhaps. Free to set thewoods on fire. No heat

known can do more thantickle a flame demon, orgive a rock demon pause.No fire can burn higherthan a wind demon cansoar,orsetalakeorpondalight to reach a waterdemon.”“But still,” Leesha

pressed, “what you didtonight shows how usefulit couldbe.Yousavedmy

life.”Brunanodded.“Wekeep

the knowledge of the oldworldforthedayitwillbeneeded again, but thatknowledge comes with agreat responsibility. If thehistories of the ancientwars of man tell usanything, it’s that mencannotbetrustedwiththesecretsoffire.

“That’s why HerbGatherers are alwayswomen,” she went on.“Men cannot hold suchpowerwithoutusingit.I’llsell thunder-sticks andfestival crackers to Smitt,dearly,butIwon’ttellhimhowthey’remade.”“Darsy’s a woman,”Leesha said, “but younevertaughther,either.”

Bruna snorted. “Even ifthat cow was smartenoughtomixthechemicswithout setting herself onfire, she’s practically amaninherthinking.I’dnosooner teach her to brewdemonfire or flamepowder than I wouldSteave.”“They’re going to comelookingformetomorrow,”

Leeshasaid.Bruna pointed at

Leesha’s cooling tea.“Drink,” she ordered.“We’lldealwithtomorrowwhenitcomes.”Leesha did as she was

told, noting the sour tasteof tampweed and thebitternessofskyflowerasawave of dizziness washedover her. Distantly, she

wasawareofdroppinghercup.

Morningbroughtpainwithit. Bruna put stiffroot inLeesha’s tea to dull theacheofherbruisesandthecramps that clutched herabdomen, but themixtureplayed havoc with hersenses. She felt as if shewere floating above thecot she lay upon, and yet

herlimbsfeltleaden.Erny arrived not longafter dawn. He burst intotears at the sight of her,kneeling by the cot andclutching her tightly. “Ithought I’d lost you,” hesobbed.Leesha reached outweakly, running herfingers through histhinning hair. “It’s not

yourfault,”shewhispered.“I shouldhave stoodup

toyourmother long ago,”hesaid.“That’s undersaid,”

Bruna grunted from herknitting. “No man shouldlethiswifewalkoverhimso.”Erny nodded, having no

retort. His face screwedup, and more tears

appeared behind hisspectacles.Therewasapoundingat

the door. Bruna looked atErny,whowenttoopenit.“Is she here?” Leesha

heard her mother’s voice,and the cramps doubled.She felt too weak to fightanymore. She couldn’teven find the strength tostand.

A moment later Elonaappeared, Gared andSteave at her heels like apairofhounds.“There you are, youworthless girl!” Elonacried. “Do you know thefright you gave me,running off into the nightlike that? We’ve got halfthe villageout looking foryou! I should beat you

within an inch of yourlife!”“No one’s beatinganyone,Elona,”Ernysaid.“Ifthere’sblametobehad,it’syours.”“Shut up, Erny,” Elonasaid. “It’s your fault she’ssowillful,coddlingherallthetime.”“I won’t shut up,” Ernysaid, coming to face his

wife.“You will if you know

what’s good for ya,”Steave warned, balling afist.Erny looked at him and

swallowed hard. “I’m notafraidofyou,”hesaid,butit came out as a squeak.Garedsnickered.Steave grabbed Erny by

the front of his shirt,

lifting him clear off theground with one hand ashe drew back his hamlikefist.“You’re going to stop

acting like a fool,” Elonatold him, “and you,” sheturned to Leesha, “arecoming homewith us thisinstant.”“She’s not going

anywhere,” Bruna said,

setting down her knittingandleaningonherstickasshe rose to her feet. “Theonly ones leaving are youthree.”“Shutit,youoldwitch,”

Elonasaid.“Iwon’tletyouruinmydaughter’slifethewayyoudidmine.”Bruna snorted. “Did I

pourpommteadownyourthroat and force you to

open your legs all abouttown?” she asked. “Yourmisery is yourowndoing.Nowgetoutofmyhut.”Elona rounded on her.“Or you’ll do what?” shechallenged.Bruna gave a toothlesssmile and slammed herstickdownonElona’sfoot,bringingascreamfromtheyoungerwoman’slips.She

followed the blow withone to the gut, doublingElonaoverandcuttingheroutburstshort.“Here, now!” Steavecried. Tossing poor Ernyaside,heandGaredrushedtheoldwoman.Bruna seemed no moreconcernedthanshehadatthewood demon’s charge.Shereachedintohershawl

andbrought forth a fistfulofpowder,blowing it intothefacesofthetwomen.GaredandSteave fell tothe floor, clutching theirfacesandscreaming.“There’s more wherethat came from, Elona,”Brunasaid.“I’llseeyouallblind before I take ordersinmyownhome.”Elonascamperedforthe

dooronallfours,shieldingher face with her arm asshe went. Bruna laughed,helpingElonaoutthedoorwith a powerful blow totheposterior.“Offwithyou two!” sheshouted at Gared andSteave. “Out, before I setyou both afire!” The twomen fumbled blindly,moaninginpain,theirred

facesawashintears.Brunaswatted at them with herstick,guidingthemoutthedoor as she would a dogthathadpeedonthefloor.“Come back at yourperil!” Bruna cackledwildly as they ran fromheryard.

There was another knock,later in the day. Leeshawasupandaboutbythen,

but still weak. “Whatnow?” Bruna barked. “Ihaven’t had this manyvisitors in one day sincemypapssagged!”Shestompedovertothedoor, opening it to findSmitt standing there,wringing his handsnervously. Bruna’s eyesnarrowed as she regardedhim.

“I’m retired,” she said.“FetchDarsy.” She startedtoclosethedoor.“Wait, please,” Smittbegged, reaching out toholdthedooropen.Brunascowled, and he drew thehandbackasifithadbeenburned.“I’m waiting,” Brunasaidtestily.“It’s Ande,” Smitt said,

referringtooneofthemenhurt in the attack thatweek. “The wound in hisgutstartedtorot,soDarsycut him, and now he’spassing blood from bothends.”Bruna spat on Smitt’s

boots. “I told you thiswouldhappen,”shesaid.“I know,” Smitt said.

“You were right. I should

havelistened.Pleasecomeback. I’ll do anything youask.”Bruna grunted. “I won’tmake Ande pay for yourstupidity,” she said. “ButI’llholdyouatyourword,don’t you think for asecondIwon’t!”“Anything,” Smittpromisedagain.“Erny!” Bruna barked.

“Fetch my herb cloth!Smitt here can carry it.You help your daughteralong. We’re going totown.”Leesha leaned on herfather’s arm as theywent.She was afraid she wouldslowthem,buteveninherweakened state she couldkeep pace with Bruna’sslowshuffle.

“I should make youcarry me on your back,”BrunagrumpedtoSmittasthey went. “My old legsaren’t as fast as theyoncewere.”“I’ll carry you, if you

wish,” Smitt said. “Don’tbeanidiot,”Brunasaid.Half the village was

gathered outside the HolyHouse. There was a

general sigh of relief asBruna appeared, andwhispers at the sight ofLeesha,withhertorndressandbruises.The crone ignoredeveryone, shoving peopleout of the way with herstick and going rightinside. Leesha saw Garedand Steave lying on cotswithdampclothovertheir

eyes, and swallowed asmirk. Bruna hadexplained that the pepperand stinkweed she dosedthem with would do nopermanent damage, butshe hoped Darsy had notknownenoughtotellthemthat. Elona’s eyes shotdaggers at her from theirside.Bruna went straight to

Ande’scot.Hewasbathedin sweat, and stank. Hisskinwasyellowed,andthecloth wrapped around hisloins was stained withblood, urine, and feces.Bruna looked at him andspat. Darsy sat nearby. Itwas clear she had beencrying.“Leesha, unroll theherbs,” Bruna ordered.

“Wehaveworktodo.”Darsy rushed over,reaching to take theblanket from Leesha. “Ican do that,” she said.“You look about tocollapseyourself.”Leesha pulled theblanket away and shookher head. “It’s my place,”she replied, untying theblanketandrollingitopen

torevealthemanypocketsofherbs.“Leeshaismyapprentice

now!” Bruna shouted forall to hear. She lookedElona in the eye as shewent on. “Her promisingto Gared is dissolved, andshewillservemeforsevenyears and a day! Anyonewith an ill word to sayabout that, or her, can

healtheirownsick!”Elona opened hermouth, but Erny pointedstraight at her. “Shut it!”he barked. Elona’s eyesbulged, and she coughedas she swallowed herwords. Erny nodded, andthenmovedover toSmitt.The two men went andspokequietlyinacorner.Leeshalosttrackoftime

as she and Brunaworked.DarsyhadaccidentallycutintoAnde’sintestinewhiletryingtoexcisethedemonrot,poisoninghimwithhisown filth. Bruna cursedcontinually as she soughtto undo the damage,sending Leesha scurryingtocleaninstruments, fetchherbs, and mix potions.She taught as she went,explaining Darsy’s errors

andwhatshewasdoingtocorrect them, and Leeshalistenedattentively.Finally, they had done

alltheycould,andstitchedthe wound closed,wrapping it in cleanbandages. Ande remaineddrugged into a deepslumber,butheseemedtobe breathing easier, andhis skin was closer to its

normaltone.“Will he be all right?”Smitt asked, as LeeshahelpedBrunatoherfeet.“No thanks to you orDarsy,” Bruna snapped.“But if he stays rightwhere he is, and doesexactly as he’s told, thenthis won’t be what killshimintheend.”As they headed for the

door, Bruna walked overto the cots where Garedand Steave lay. “Takethose stupid bandages offyour eyes, and quit yourwhining,”shesnapped.Gared was the first tocomply, squinting in thelight.“Icansee!”hecried.“Of course you can see,you wood-brained idiot,”Bruna said. “The town

needs someone to moveheavythingsfromplacetoplace, and you can’t dothatblind.”She shookherstick at him. “But youcross me again, andblindnesswill be the leastofyourworries!”Gared went pale, and

nodded.“Good,” Bruna said.

“Now say true. Did you

takeLeesha’sflower?”Gared looked around,frightened. Finally, hiseyesdropped.“No,”he said. “Itwas alie.”“Speak up, boy,” Brunasnapped. “I’m an oldwoman,andmyearsaren’twhat they used to be.”Louder, so that everyonecould hear, she asked,

“Did you take Leesha’sflower?”“No!” Gared called, hisface flushing even redderthan it had from thepowder. Whispers spreadlikefirethroughthecrowdatthat.Steave had removed hisownbandagebythen,andslapped his son hard onthe back of the head.

“There’s going to be theCore to pay when we gethome,”hegrowled.“Not my home,” Ernysaid. Elona looked up athim sharply, but Ernyignored her, pointing histhumbatSmitt.“There’saroomforthetwoofyouattheinn,”hesaid.“The cost of which youwill work off,” Smitt

added, “and you’ll be outin a month, even if allyou’ve managed to buildinthattimeisalean-to.”“Ridiculous!”Elonasaid.“Theycan’twork for theirroomandbuildahouseinamonth!”“I think you have yourownworries,”Smittsaid.“What do you mean?”Elonaasked.

“He means you have adecision to make,” Ernysaid. “Either you learn tokeep your marriage vows,or I have the Tenderdissolve it and you joinSteave and Gared in theirlean-to.”“You can’t be serious,”

Elonasaid.“I’ve never been more,”

Ernyreplied.

“The Core with him,”Steave said. “Come withme.”Elona looked at himsideways. “To live in alean-to?” she asked. “Notlikely.”“Then you’d best headhome,” Erny said. “It’sgoing to take you awhileto learn your way aroundthekitchen.”

Elona scowled, andLeesha knew her father’sstruggle was justbeginning,buthermotherleft as she was told, andthat said much for hischances.Erny kissed hisdaughter. “I’m proud ofyou,”hesaid.“AndIhopeone day to make youproudofme,aswell.”

“Oh, Da,” Leesha said,hugginghim,“youhave.”“Then you’ll come

home?” he askedhopefully.Leesha looked back at

Bruna, then back at him,andshookherhead.Erny nodded, and

hugged her again. “Iunderstand.”

CHAPTER7ROJER318AR

ROJER FOLLOWED HIS MOTHER

as she swept the inn, hislittle broom swishing side

to side in imitationof herbroad strokes. She smileddown at him, ruffling hisbright red hair, and hebeamed back at her. Hewasthreeyearsold.“Sweep behind thefirebox, Rojer,” she said,andhehurried tocomply,slapping the bristles intothe crevice between thebox and wall, sending

wooddustandbitsofbarkflying. His mother swepttheresultsintoaneatpile.The door swung open,

andRojer’sfathercamein,arms full of wood. Hetrailedbitsofbarkanddirtashecrossedtheroom.“Jessum!” his mother

cried. “I just swept inhere!”“I help sweep!” Rojer

proclaimedloudly.“That’s right,” hismother agreed, “and yourfather’smakingamess.”“Youwanttorunoutofwoodinthenightwiththeduke and his entourageupstairs?”Jessumasked.“HisGracewon’tbeherefor a week at least,” hismotherreplied.“Best do the work now

while the inn’s quiet,Kally,” Jessum said. “Notellinghowmanycourtiersthe duke will bring,running us to and fro likelittle Riverbridge wasAngiersitself.”“If you want to do

something useful,” Kallysaid, “the wards outsidearestartingtopeel.”Jessumnodded.“Isaw,”

he said. “The woodwarped in that last coldsnap.”“Master Piter was

supposedtoredrawthemaweekago,”Kallysaid.“Spoke to him

yesterday,” Jessum said.“He’sputtingeveryoneofftoworkonthebridge,buthe says they’ll be readybeforethedukecomes.”

“It’s not the duke I’mworriedabout,”Kallysaid.“Piter’s only concern maybe impressing Rhinebeckin hopes of a royalcommission, but I havesimpler concerns, like nothavingmyfamilycoredinthenight.”“All right, all right,”Jessum said, holding uphis hands. “I’ll go talk to

himagain.”“You’dthinkPiterwould

know better,” Kally wenton. “Rhinebeck ent evenourduke.”“He’s theonlyoneclose

enoughtogethelptousifweneed it quick,” Jessumsaid. “Euchor doesn’t carefor Riverbridge, long asMessengers get throughandtaxescomeontime.”

“See the light,” Kallysaid. “If Rhinebeck’scoming, it’s because he’ssniffing for taxes, too.We’llbepaying frombothends afore Rojer seesanothersummer.”“What would you have

us do?” Jessum asked.“Anger the duke a dayaway for the sake of theone two weeks to the

north?”“I didn’t say we should

spitinhiseye,”Kallysaid.“I just don’t see whyimpressing him comesbefore warding our ownhomes.”“I said I’d go,” Jessum

said.“Sogo,”Kally said. “It’s

past noon already. Andtake Rojer with you.

Maybe that will remindyou what’s reallyimportant.”Jessum swallowed his

scowl and squatted beforehis son. “Want to go seethe bridge, Rojer?” heasked.“Fishing?” Rojer asked.

He loved to fish off thesideofthebridgewithhisfather.

Jessum laughed,sweeping Rojer into hisarms.“Nottoday,”hesaid.“Your mum wants us tohaveawordwithPiter.”He sat Rojer up on his

shoulders. “Now hold ontight,” he said, and Rojerheldontohisfather’sheadasheduckedoutthedoor.His cheeks were scratchywithstubble.

It wasn’t far to thebridge. Riverbridge wassmall even for a hamlet;just a handful of housesandshops,thebarracksforthe men-at-arms whocollected tolls, and hisparents’ inn. Rojer wavedto the guards as theypassed the tollhouse, andtheywavedback.The bridge spanned the

Dividing River at itsnarrowest point. Built ingenerations gone, it hadtwo arches, spanning overthree hundred feet, andwas wide enough for alarge cart with a horse toeither side. A team ofMilnese engineersmaintained the ropes andsupports daily. TheMessengerRoad—theonlyroad—stretched as far as

theeyecouldseeineitherdirection.Master Piter was at the

far end, shoutinginstructions over the sideof the bridge. Rojerfollowedhisgaze,andsawhis apprentices hangingfromslingsastheywardedtheunderside.“Piter!” Jessum called

when they were halfway

acrossthebridge.“Ay, Jessum!” the

Wardercalled.JessumputRojerdownasheandPitershookhands.“Bridge is looking

good,”Jessumnoted.Piterhad replaced most of hissimpler painted wardswith intricate etchedcalligraphy, lacquered andpolished.

Piter smiled. “The dukewill fillhisbreecheswhenhe sees my warding,” heproclaimed.Jessumlaughed.“Kally’s

scouring the inn as wespeak,”hesaid.“Make the duke happy

and your future’s set,”Piter said. “A word ofpraise in the right ears,and we could be plying

our trades in Angiers andnotthisbackwater.”“This ‘backwater’ is my

home,” Jessum said,scowling. “My granddawas born in Riverbridge,and if I have my say, mygrandkidswillbe,too.”Piter nodded. “No

offensemeant,”hesaid.“IjustmissAngiers.”“So go back,” Jessum

said. “The road is open,and a single night out onthe road is no great featfor a Warder. You don’tneedthedukeforthat.”Piter shook his head.

“Angiers is teeming withWarders,” he said. “Iwould justbeanother leafintheforest.ButifIcouldclaim the duke’s favor, itwould put a line out my

door.”“Well, it’s my door I’mworried about today,”Jessumsaid.“Thewards’repeelingoff,andKallydon’tthinkthey’lllastthenight.Can you come take alook?”Piter blew out a breath.“I told you yesterday …”he began, but Jessum cuthimoff.

“I know what you toldme, Piter, but I’m tellingyou it ent enough,” hesaid.“Iwon’thavemyboysleeping behind weakwardssoyoucanmaketheones on the bridge a bitartier.Can’tyoujustpatchthemforthenight?”Piter spat. “You can dothatyourself,Jessum.Justtracethelines.I’llgiveyou

paint.”“Rojerwardsbetterthan

me, and that’s not at all,”Jessum said. “I’d make abotch of it, and Kallywould kill me if thecorelingsdidn’t.”Piter scowled. He was

about to replywhen therewasashoutfromdowntheroad.“Ay,Riverbridge!”

“Geral!” Jessum called.Rojer lookedupinsuddeninterest, recognizing theMessenger’s bulky frame.His mouth watered at thesight. Geral always had asweetforhim.Another man rode next

tohim,a stranger,buthisJongleur’s motley put theboyatease.Hethoughtofhow the last Jongleurhad

sung and danced andwalkedupsidedownonhishands,andhehoppedwithexcitement. Rojer lovedJongleurs more thananything.“Little Rojer, gone andgrownanothersixinches!”Geral cried,pullinguphishorseandleapingdowntopickRojerup.Hewas tallandbuiltlikearainbarrel,

with a round face andgrizzled beard. Rojer hadbeen afraid of him once,with his metal shirt andthedemonscarthatturnedhislowerlipintoanangrypucker, but no more. Helaughed as Geral tickledhim.“Which pocket?” Geralasked, holding the boy atarms’length.Rojerpointed

immediately.Geral alwayskept the sweets in thesameplace.The big Messenger

laughed, retrieving aRizonan sugarwrapped inatwistofcornhusk.Rojersquealed and ploppeddown on the grass tounwrapit.“What brings you to

Riverbridge this time?”

Jessum asked theMessenger.The Jongleur steppedforward, sweeping hiscloak back in a flourish.Hewastall,withlonghairsun-bleachedtogoldandabrownbeard.His jawwasperfectly squared, and hisskinsun-bronzed.Overhismotley he wore a finetabard emblazonedwith a

clusterofgreenleavesonafieldofbrown.“Arrick Sweetsong,” heintroduced himself,“Master Jongleur andherald toHis Grace, DukeRhinebeck the Third,guardian of the forestfortress, wearer of thewooden crown, and Lordof all Angiers. I come toinspect the town before

His Grace’s arrival nextweek.”“The duke’s herald is a

Jongleur?” Piter askedGeral,raisinganeyebrow.“None better for the

hamlets,” Geral repliedwith a wink. “Folks areless likely to string amanup for telling them taxesare raised when he’sjugglingfortheirkids.”

Arrick scowled at him,butGeralonlylaughed.“Be a good man and

fetch the innkeep to comeforourhorses,”ArricktoldJessum.“I’m the innkeep,”

Rojer’sfathersaid,holdingouthishand.“JessumInn.That’smy boy, Rojer.”HenoddedatRojer.Arrick ignored the hand

and the boy, producing asilvermoonasiffromthinairandflickingithisway.Jessum caught the coin,lookingatitcuriously.“Thehorses,”Arricksaidpointedly. Jessumfrowned, but he pocketedthecoinandmovedfortheanimals. Geral took hisown reins andwaved himaway.

“I still need my wardslooked at, Piter,” Jessumsaid. “You’ll be sorry if Ihave to send Kally toshriekatyouaboutit.”“It looks like the bridgestill needs a lot of workbefore His Grace arrives,”Arricknoted.Piterstoodabit straighter at that andgaveJessumasourlook.“Do you wish to sleep

behind peeling wardstonight,MasterJongleur?”Jessum asked. Arrick’sbronzedskinpaledatthat.“I’lltakealookatthem,

ifyouwant,”Geralsaid.“Ican patch them if they’renot too bad, and I’ll fetchPiter myself if they are.”He stomped his spear andgave the Warder a hardstare.Piter’seyeswidened,

and he nodded hisunderstanding.Geral picked Rojer up

andsathimatophishugedestrier.“Holdtight,boy,”hesaid,“we’regoingforaride!” Rojer laughed andpulled the destrier’s maneasGeralandhisfatherledthe horses to the inn.Arrick strode ahead ofthem like a man followed

byservants.Kallywaswaitingatthe

door. “Geral!” she called.“What a pleasantsurprise!”“And who is this?”

Arrick asked, his handsflicking quickly to smoothhishairandclothes.“This is Kally,” Jessum

said, adding “my wife”when the twinkle in

Arrick’s eye did notdiminish.Arrick seemed not tohear, striding up to herand throwing hismulticoloredcloakbackashemadealeg.“Apleasure,madam,”hesaid, kissing her hand. “Iam Arrick Sweetsong,Master Jongleur andherald to Duke Rhinebeck

the Third, guardian of theforest fortress, wearer ofthe wooden crown, andLord of all Angiers. HisGrace will be pleased tosee such beauty when hevisitsyourfineinn.”Kally covered hermouth, her pale cheekscoloring to match her redhair. She made a clumsycurtsyinreturn.

“YouandGeralmustbetired,” she said. “Come inand I’ll serve some hotsoup while I preparesupper.”“Wewouldbedelighted,good lady,” Arrick said,bowingagain.“Geral promised to lookover the wards for usbefore dark, Kal,” Jessumsaid.

“What?” Kally asked,pulling her eyes fromArrick’s handsome smile.“Oh, well you two stakethe horses and see to thatwhileIshowMasterArricka room and start supper,”shesaid.“A lovely idea,” Arricksaid, offering her an armastheywentinside.“Keep an eye on Arrick

with your wife,” Geralmuttered. “They call him‘Sweetsong’ because hisvoice will make anywomansweetbetween thelegs,andI’veneverknownhim to stop at a weddingvow.”Jessum scowled.“Rojer,” he said, pullinghimoff the horse, “run inandstaywithMum.”

Rojer nodded, hittingthegroundrunning.

“The last Jongleur atefire,”Rojersaid.“Canyoueatfire?”“ThatIcan,”Arricksaid,“andspititbackoutlikeaflame demon.” Rojerclapped his hands andArrickturnedbacktogazeatKally,whowasbendingbehindthebartofillhima

mugofale.Shehadletherhairdown.Rojer pulled his cloakagain. The Jongleur triedtotuckitoutofreach,butRojer just tugged on hispantleginstead.“What is it?” Arrickasked,turningbacktohimwithascowl.“Do you sing, too?”Rojer asked. “I like

singing.”“Perhaps I will sing for

you later,” Arrick said,turningawayagain.“Oh give him a little

song,” Kally begged,puttinga foamingmugonthecounterbeforehim.“Itwould make him sohappy.” She smiled, butArrick’s eyes had alreadydrifted down to the top

buttonofherdress,whichhad mysteriously comeundone while she fetchedhismug.“Ofcourse,”Arricksaid,smiling brightly. “Just apull of your fine ale towash the dust from mythroat.”He drained the mug inone quaff, eyes neverleaving her neckline, and

reached for a largemulticolored bag on thefloor. Kally refilled hismug as he produced hislute.Arrick’s rich alto voicefilled the room, clear andbeautiful as he gentlystrummed the lute. Hesang a song of a hamletwoman who missed herone chance to love aman

beforehe left for the FreeCities, and foreverregretted it. Kally andRojer stared at him inwonder, mesmerized bythe sound. When hefinished, they clappedloudly.“More!”Rojercried.“Not now, my boy,”

Arrick said, ruffling hishair. “Perhaps after

supper. Here,” he said,reaching into themulticolored bag, “whynot try making your ownmusic?” He produced astraw fiddle, several stripsof polished rosewood indifferent lengthsset intoalacquered wooden frame.Astoutcordattachedittothe wand, a six-inch stickwitha lathedwoodenballattheend.

“TakethisandgoplayabitwhileIspeakwithyourlovelymother,”hesaid.Rojer squealed indelight,takingthetoyandrunning off to plop downon the wooden floor,striking the strips indifferent patterns,delighting in the clearsoundseachmade.Kally laughed at the

sight. “He’s going to be aJongleur one day,” shesaid.“Not a lot of custom?”Arrickasked,sweepinghishandovertheemptytablesinthecommonroom.“Oh, it was crowdedenough at lunchtime,”Kally said, “but this timeofyear,wedon’tgetmanyboarders apart from the

occasionalMessenger.”“It must get lonely,tending an empty inn,”Arricksaid.“Sometimes,”Kallysaid,“butI’veRojertokeepmebusy. He’s a handful evenwhen it’s quiet, and aterror during caravanseason, when the driversget drunk and sing till allhours, keeping him up

withtheirracket.”“I imagine it must be

hard for you to sleepthrough that, too,” Arricksaid.“It’shard forme,”Kally

admitted.“ButJessumcansleepthroughanything.”“Is that so?” Arrick

asked, sliding his handover hers. Her eyeswidened and she stopped

breathing, but she didn’tpullaway.The frontdoor slammedopen. “Wards arepatched!” Jessum called.Kally gasped, snatchingher hand away fromArrick’s so quickly shespilled his ale across thebar. She grabbed a rag tosoakitup.“Just a patch job?” she

asked doubtfully, her eyesdown to hide the flush inhercheeks.“Not by a spear’sthrow,” Geral said.“Honestly, you’re luckytheylastedaslongastheydid.Ipatchedtheworstofthem, and I’ll have a talkwithPiter in themorning.I’ll see him replace everyward on this inn before

sunset if I have to holdhimatspearpoint.”“Thank you, Geral,”

Kally said, casting Jessumawitheringlook.“I’m still mucking the

barn,” Jessum said, “so Istaked the horses out inthe yard in Geral’sportablecircle.”“That’s fine,”Kally said.

“Wash up, all of you.

Supper will be readysoon.”

“Delicious,” Arrickproclaimed, drinkingcopious amounts of alewithhis supper.Kallyhadroasted an herb-crustedshankoflamb,servingthefinest cut to the duke’sherald.“I don’t suppose youhave a sister as beautiful

as yourself?” Arrick askedbetween mouthfuls. “HisGrace is in themarket foranewbride.”“I thought the dukealreadyhadawife,”Kallysaid, blushing as sheleanedtofillhismug.“He does,” Geralgrunted.“Hisfourth.”Arrick snorted. “Nomore fertile than the

others, I’m afraid, if thetalk around the palaceholds true. Rhinebeckwillkeep seeking wives untilonegiveshimason.”“You might have the

right of that,” Geraladmitted.“How many times will

the Tenders let him standand promise the Creator‘forever’?”Jessumasked.

“Asmany as he needs,”Arrick assured. “LordJanson keeps the HolyMenincheck.”Geral spat. “It’s notright, men of the Creatorhaving to debasethemselvesforthat…”Arrick held up awarning finger. “They sayeven the trees have earsfor those who speak out

againstthefirstminister.”Geral scowled, but heheldhistongue.“Well, he’s not likely tofind a bride inRiverbridge,” Jessum said.“There ent even womenenough for those of ushere. I had to go all thewaytoCricketRuntofindKally.”“You’re Angierian, my

dear?”Arrickasked.“Born, yes,” Kally said,“but the Tender had meswear an oath to Miln atthe wedding. AllBridgefolk are required tosweartoEuchor.”“Fornow,”Arricksaid.“So it’s true, what theysay,” Jessum said.“Rhinebeck is coming tolayclaimtoRiverbridge.”

“Nothing so dramatic,”Arrick said. “His Gracesimply feels thatwithhalfyour people of Angierianstockandyourbridgebuiltand maintained fromAngierian timber, that weshould all have a …” HeeyedKallyas she satbackdown. “… closerrelationship.”“I doubt Euchor will be

quick to shareRiverbridge,” Jessum said.“The Dividing hasseparated their lands forathousand years. He’ll nosooner yield that borderthanhisownthrone.”Arrick shrugged and

smiled again. “That is amatter for dukes andministers,”hesaid,raisinghis mug. “Small folk such

as us need not concernourselves over suchthings.”The sun soon set, andoutside there were sharp,crackling retorts,punctuated by flashes oflight that leaked throughthe shutters as wardsflared. Rojer hated thoseharsh sounds, and theshrieks that came with

them.He sat on the floor,striking his noisemakerharder and harder, tryingtodrownthemout.“Corelings’re hungrytonight,”hisfathermused.“It’s upsetting Rojer,”Kally said, rising fromherseattogotohim.“Not to fear,” Arricksaid,wipinghismouth.Hewent to his multicolored

bag, pulling out a slimfiddle case. “We’ll drivethosedemonsoff.”He put bow to string,

and immediately filled theroom with music. Rojerlaughed and clapped, hisfear vanished. His motherclapped with him, andthey found a rhythm tocomplement Arrick’s tune.Even Geral and Jessum

begantoclapalong.“Dancewithme,Rojer!”Kally laughed, taking hishand and pulling him tohisfeet.Rojertriedtokeepupasshe stepped to the beat,but he stumbled and sheswepthimupinherarms,kissing him as she spunaround the room. Rojerlaughedindelight.

There was a suddencrash.Arrick’sbowslippedfrom the strings aseveryoneturnedtoseetheheavy wooden door shaking in its frame. Dust,knocked loose by theimpact, drifted lazily tothefloor.Geral was the first toreact, thebigmanmovingwith surprising speed for

the spear and shield hehadleftbythedoor.Foralong moment, the othersstared at him,uncomprehending. Therewas another crash, andthick black talons burstthrough the wood. Kallyshrieked.Jessum leapt to the

fireplace, snatching up aheavy iron poker. “Get

Rojer to the bolt-hole inthe kitchen!” he cried, hiswords punctuated by aroarfrombeyondthedoor.Geral had snatched up

his spear by then, andthrewhis shield toArrick.“Get Kally and the boyout!” he cried as the doorsplinteredandaseven-footrockdemonburstthrough.Geral and Jessum turned

to meet it. The creaturethrew back its head andshrieked as small nimbleflame demons darted intothe room around andbetweenitsthicklegs.Arrickcaughttheshield,butwhen Kally ran to hisprotection, Rojer clutchedinherarms,heshovedheraside, snatching up hismulticolored bag and

sprintingtothekitchen.“Kally!” Jessumcriedasshe struck the floor,twisting to shield her sonfromtheimpact.“Damnyou to theCore,Arrick!” Geral cursed theJongleur. “May all yourdreams turn to dust!” Therock demon struck him abackhand blow, launchinghimacrosstheroom.

A flame demon leapt ather as Kally struggled toherfeet,butJessumstruckit hard with the poker,knocking it aside. Itcoughed fire as it landed,settingtheflooralight.“Go!”hecriedasshegot

her feet under her. Fromover her shoulder, Rojerwatched the demon spitfire on his father as they

fled the room. Jessumscreamed as his clothesignited.Hismotherclutchedhim

tightly to her breast,moaning as she ran downthe hall. Back in thecommon room, Geralroaredinpain.They burst into the

kitchen just as Arrickyanked open the trapdoor

and dropped down. Hishand reached back,slapping around for theheavyironringtopullthewardedtrapshut.“Master Arrick!” Kally

cried.“Waitforus!”“Demon!” Rojer

screamed as a flamedemonscamperedintotheroom, but his warningcame too late.The impact

asthecorelingstruckthemknocked the breath fromhis mother, but she kepthold of him even as thecreature’s talons dug deepintoher.Sheshriekedasitran up her back, its razorteeth clamping down onher shoulder and slicingthroughRojer’srighthand.Hehowled.“Rojer!” his mother

cried, stumbling towardthewashing troughbeforefalling to her knees.Screaming in pain, shereached back and got afirm grip on one of thecoreling’shorns.“You…can’t…have…my…son!”she screamed, and threwherselfforward,pullingonthe horn with all herstrength. Torn from its

perch, the demon tookribbons of fleshwith it asKally flipped it into thetrough.Soaking crockery

shattered on impact, andthe flame demon gurgledandthrashed,steamfillingthe air as the water wasbrought toan instantboil.Kally screamed as herarmsburned,but sheheld

thecreatureunderuntilitsthrashesstopped.“Mum!”Rojercried,and

sheturnedtoseetwomoreof the creatures scamperinto the room. ShegrabbedRojer and ran forthe trap, yanking theheavydooropenwithonehand. Arrick’s wide eyeslookedupather.Kally fell as a flame

demon latched onto herleg, taking a bite of herthigh. “Takehim!Please!”she begged, shoving theboy down into Arrick’sarms.“Iloveyou!”shecriedto

Rojer as she slammed thetrap shut, leaving them indarkness.

So close to the DividingRiver, houses in

Riverbridge were built ongreat warded blocks toresist flooding. Theywaited in the darkness,safeenoughfromcorelingsso long as the foundationheld,but therewassmokeeverywhere.“Diefromdemonsordie

from smoke,” Arrickmuttered. He started tomoveaway from the trap,

butRojerclunghardtohisleg.“Let go, boy,” Arricksaid, kicking his leg in anattempt to shake the boyoff.“Don’t leaveme!” Rojercried, weepinguncontrollably.Arrick frowned. Helooked around at thesmoke,andspat.

“Hold tight, boy,” hesaid, putting Rojer on hisback.Heliftedtheedgesofhiscapetoseattheboyinamakeshiftsling,tyingthecornersabouthiswaist.HetookupGeral’s shield andpicked his way throughthe foundation, crouchingtocrawloutintothenight.“Creator above,” hewhispered, as he saw the

entire village ofRiverbridge in flames.Demons danced in thenight, dragging screamingbodiesouttofeast.“Seems your parents

weren’ttheonlyonesPitershorted,” Arrick said. “Ihope they drag thatbastard down into theCore.”Crouching behind the

shield, Arrick made hiswayaroundtheinn,hidingin the smoke andconfusion until theymadethemaincourtyard.There,safe in Geral’s portablecircle, were the twohorses; an island of safetyamidthehorror.A flame demon caught

sight of them as Arrickbroke into a run for the

succor, but Geral’s shieldturned its firespit with aflare of magic. Inside thecircle, Arrick droppedRojerandfelltohisknees,gasping. When herecovered,hebegantodigat the saddlebagsdesperately.“It must be here,” he

muttered. “I know Ileft … Ah!” He pulled a

wineskin free and yankedoff the stopper, gulpingdeeply.Rojer whimpered,cradling his bloody righthand.“Eh?” Arrick asked.“You hurt, boy?” Hemoved over to examineRojer,andgaspedwhenhesawtheboy’shand.Rojer’smiddle and index fingers

werebittenclearaway;hisremaining fingers stillclutched tightly about alock of red hair, hismother’s, severed by thebite.“No!” Rojer cried, asArrick tried to take thehairaway.“It’smine!”“I won’t take it, boy,”Arricksaid,“Ijustneedtosee the bite.” He put the

lockinRojer’sotherhand,and the boy clenched ittightly.The wound wasn’t

bleeding badly, partlycauterized by the flamedemon’s saliva, but itoozedandstank.“I’mnoHerbGatherer,”

Arrick said with a shrug,and squirted it with winefrom his skin. Rojer

screamed, and Arrick torea bit of his fine cloak towrapthewound.Rojer was crying freely

by then, and Arrickwrappedhimtightlyinhiscloak.“There, there,boy,”he said,holdinghimcloseand stroking his back.“We’re alive to tell thetale. That’s something,isn’tit?”

Rojer kept on weeping,andArrickbegantosingalullaby. He sang asRiverbridge burned. Hesangasthedemonsdancedand feasted. The soundwas like a shield aroundthem, and under itsprotection, Rojer gave into exhaustion and fellasleep.

CHAPTER8TOTHEFREECITIES

319AR

ARLEN LEANED MORE HEAVILY

onhiswalkingstickasthefever grew in him. He

hunchedoverandretched,buthisemptystomachhadonly bile to yield. Dizzy,he searched for a focalpoint. He saw a plume ofsmoke.Therewasastructureoffthe side of the road farahead. A stone wall, soovergrownwithvines thatitwasnearlyinvisible.Thesmoke was coming from

there.Hope of succor gave

strength to his waterylimbs,andhestumbledon.Hemadethewall, leaningagainst it as he draggedhimself along, looking foranentrance.Thestonewaspitted and cracked;creeping vines threadedinto every nook andcranny. Without the vines

to support it, the ancientwall might simplycollapse, much as Arlenwouldwithout thewall tosupporthim.At last he came to anarch in the wall. Twometal gates, rusted offtheir hinges, lay before itin the weeds. Time hadeaten them away tonothing. The arch opened

into a wide courtyardchoked with vines andweeds.Therewasabrokenfountain filledwithmurkyrainwater, and a lowbuilding so covered in ivythat it could bemissed atfirstglance.Arlenwalkedaroundthe

yard in awe. Beneath thegrowth, the ground wascracked stone. Full-sized

trees had broken through,overturning giant blocksnow covered in moss.Arlencould seedeepclawmarksintheplainstone.Nowards, he realized in

amazement.Thisplacewasfrom before the Return. Ifthat was so, it had beenabandoned for over threehundredyears.Thedoortothebuilding

had rotted away like thegate. A small stoneentryway led into a wideroom. Wires hung in atangle from thewalls, theart they had held longdisintegrated.Acoatingofslime on the floorwas allthat remained of a thickcarpet. Ancient grooveswereclawedintothewallsand furniture, remnantsofthefall.

“Hello?” Arlen called.“Isanyonehere?”Therewasnoreply.His face felthot,buthe

was shivering, even in thewarmair.Hedidnotthinkhecouldmanagetosearchmuch further, but therehad been smoke, andsmoke meant life. Thethoughtgavehimstrength,and finding a crumbling

stairwell, he picked hiswaytothesecondfloor.Much of the building’s

top floor was open tosunlight. The roof wascracked and caved in;rusting metal bars juttingfromthecrumblingstone.“Is anyone here?” Arlen

called. He searched thefloor, but found only rotandruin.

As he was losing hope,hesawthesmokethroughawindowatthefarendofthe hall. He ran to it, butfound only a broken treelimb lying in the rearcourtyard. It was clawedand blackened,with smallfires still crackling inplaces, giving off a steadyplume.Crestfallen, he felt his

face twist, but he refusedto cry. He thought aboutjustsittingandwaitingforthe demons to come, inhopestheywouldgivehima faster death than thesickness,buthehadswornto give themnothing, andbesides,Marea’sdeathhadcertainly not been quick.He looked down from thewindow to the stonecourtyard.

Afallfromherewouldkillanyone,hemused.Awaveof dizziness washed overhim, and it felt easy andright to just let himselffall.Like Cholie? a voice in

hisheadasked.Thenooseflashedinhis

mind, and Arlen snappedback to reality, catchinghimself and pulling away

fromthewindow.No, he thought, Cholie’sway is no better than Da’s.When I die, it will bebecausesomethingkilledme,notbecauseIgaveup.He could see far fromthehighwindow,overthewall and down the road.Off in the distance, hespottedmovement,cominghisway.

Ragen.Arlentappedreservesof

strengthhedidn’tknowhehad, bounding down thesteps with somethingapproaching his usualalacrity and running fulloutthroughthecourtyard.But his breath gave out

as he reached the road,and he fell onto the clay,gasping and clutching a

stitch in his side. It feltliketherewereathousandsplintersinhischest.He looked up and saw

the figures still far downtheroad,butcloseenoughthattheysawhim,too.Heheardashoutastheworldwentblack.

Arlen awoke in daylight,lying on his stomach. Hetook a breath, feeling

bandages wrapped tightlyaround him.His back stillached, but it no longerburned, and for the firsttime in days, his face feltcool. He put his handsunderhimtorise,butpainshotthroughhim.“I wouldn’t be in any

rush to do that,” Ragenadvised. “You’re lucky tobealive.”

“Whathappened?”Arlenasked, looking up at themanwhosatnearby.“Found you passed out

ontheroad,”themansaid.“The cuts on your backhaddemonrot.Hadtocutyou open and drain thepoison before I could sewthemup.”“Where’s Keerin?”Arlen

asked.

Ragenlaughed.“Inside,”he said. “Keerin’s beenkeeping his distance thelast couple days. Hecouldn’t handle the gore,and sicked up when wefirstfoundyou.”“Days?”Arlenasked.He

looked around and foundhimselfbackintheancientcourtyard. Ragen hadmade camp there, his

portable circles protectingthebedrollsandanimals.“We found you around

high sun on Thirday,”Ragen said. “It’s Fifthdaynow.You’vebeendeliriousthe whole time, thrashingaroundasyousweatedoutthesickness.”“You cured my demon

fever?” Arlen asked inshock.

“That what they call itin the Brook?” Ragenasked.Heshrugged.“Gooda name as any, I suppose,but it’s not some magicdisease, boy; just aninfection. I found somehogroot not far off theroad, so I was able topoulticethecuts.I’llmakesome tea with it later. Ifyou drink it for the nextfewdays,youshouldbeall

right.”“Hogroot?”Arlenasked.Ragen held up a weedthat grew mosteverywhere. “A staple ofevery Messenger’s herbpouch, though it’s bestwhen fresh. Makes you alittle dizzy, but for somereason, demon rot can’tabideit.”Arlen began to cry. His

mother could have beencured by a weed heregularly pulled fromJeph’sfield?Itwasjusttoomuch.Ragen waited quietly,

giving Arlen space whilethe tears ran their course.After what seemed aneternity,theflowbegantoebb, and his heaving sobseased. Ragen handed him

a cloth wordlessly, andArlendriedhischeeks.“Arlen,” the Messenger

asked finally, “what areyoudoing all thewayouthere?”Arlen looked at him for

a long time, trying todecidewhat to say.Whenhe finally spoke, the talecamespillingoutinarush.He told the Messenger

everything, starting withthe night his mother wasinjured and ending withrunningfromhisfather.Ragen was quiet whilehe took in Arlen’s tale.“I’m sorry about yourmother,Arlen,” he said atlast. Arlen sniffled andnodded.KeerinwanderedbackasArlenbegantellinghowhe

had tried to find the roadto Sunny Pasture, but hadaccidentallytakentheforkto the Free Cities instead.He paid rapt attention asArlen described his firstnightalone,thegiantrockdemon, and how he hadscuffed the ward. TheJongleur went pale whenArlendescribedtheracetorepair itbeforethedemonkilledhim.

“You’re theone thatcutthat demon’s arm off?”Ragenaskedincredulously,a moment later. Keerinlooked ready to sick upagain.“It’s not a trick I mean

totryagain,”Arlensaid.“No, I don’t suppose it

is,”Ragenchuckled.“Still,crippling a fifteen-footrock demon is a deed

worth a song or two, eh,Keerin?” He elbowed theJongleur, but that seemedto push the man over theedge. He covered hismouth and ran off. Ragenshookhisheadandsighed.“Agiantone-armedrockdemon’s been haunting usever sincewe foundyou,”he explained. “It’shammered the wards

harder than any corelingI’veeverseen.”“Is he going to be allright?” Arlen asked,watching Keerin doubleover.“It’ll pass,” Ragengrunted. “Let’s get somefood into you.”He helpedArlen sit up against thehorse’s saddle. The movesentastabofpainthrough

him, and Ragen saw himwince.“Chew on this,” he

advised, handing Arlen agnarledroot.“Itwillmakeyou a little light-headed,but it should ease thepain.”“Are you an Herb

Gatherer?”Arlenasked.Ragenlaughed.“No,but

a Messenger needs to

know a little of every art,ifhewantstosurvive.”Hereached into hissaddlebags, pulling out ametal cookpot and someutensils.“Iwishyou’dtoldColine

about hogroot,” Arlenlamented.“I would have,” Ragen

said, “if I thought for asecond she didn’t know.”

Hefilledthepot,andhungitfromthetripodoverthefirepit. “It’s amazingwhatpeoplehaveforgotten.”He stoked the flames asKeerin returned, lookingpale but relieved. “I’ll besure to mention it whenwetakeyouback.”“Back?”Arlenasked.“Back?”Keerinechoed.“Of course ‘back,’”

Ragen said. “Your da willbelookingforyou,Arlen.”“But I don’t want to goback,” Arlen said. “Iwantto go to the Free Citieswithyou.”“Youcan’tjustrunawayfrom your problems,Arlen,”Ragensaid.“I’m not going back,”Arlen said. “You can dragmethere,butI’llrunagain

thesecondyouletgo.”Ragen stared at him for

a long time. Finally, heglancedatKeerin.“You know what I

think,” Keerin said. “I’veno desire to add fivenights,at least, toourtriphome.”RagenfrownedatArlen.

“I’llbewritingyourfatherwhenwe get toMiln,” he

warned.“You’ll be wasting your

time,” Arlen said. “He’llnevercomeforme.”

The stone floor of thecourtyard and the highwall hid them well thatnight. A wide portablecirclesecuredthecart,andthe animals were stakedand hobbled in another.Theywere in the inner of

two concentric rings,withthefireatthecenter.Keerin lay huddled in

his bedroll, with theblanket over his head. Hewas shivering though itwas not cold, and whenthe occasional corelingtested the wards, hetwitched.“Why do they keep

attacking when they can’t

getthrough?”Arlenasked.“They’re looking forflaws in the net,” Ragensaid. “You’ll never see acoreling attack the samespottwice.”Hetappedhistemple. “They remember.Corelings aren’t smartenoughtostudythewardsand reason out the weakspots, so they attack thebarrier and search that

way. They get throughrarely,butoftenenoughtomake it worth theirwhile.”A wind demon cameswooping over the wallandbouncedoffthewards.Keerin whimpered fromunder his blanket at thesound.RagenlookedoverattheJongleur’s bedroll and

shook his head. “It’s likehe thinks that if he can’tsee the corelings, theycan’t see him,” hemuttered.“Ishealways like this?”Arlenasked.“That one-armed demonhas him more spookedthan usual,” Ragen said,“but he wasn’t exactlystanding at the wards

before.” He shrugged. “IneededaJongleuronshortnotice. The guild gavemeKeerin. I don’t normallyworkwithonessogreen.”“Why bring a Jongleuratall,then?”Arlenasked.“Oh,youhavetobringaJongleur with you whenyou’re going to thehamlets,” Ragen said.“They’re apt to stone you

if you show up withoutone.”“Hamlets?”“Small villages, likeTibbet’s Brook,” Ragenexplained. “Places too farfor the dukes to easilycontrol, where most folkscan’tread.”“What difference doesthatmake?”Arlenasked.“People that can’t read

don’thavea lotofuse forMessengers,” Ragen said.“Oh, they’re eager enoughfor their salt, or whateverit is they’re shy of, butmost won’t come out oftheir way to see you andgive you news, andcollecting news is aMessenger’s first job. ButbringaJongleurwithyou,and people dropeverything to come and

seethespectacle.Itwasn’tjust for you that I spreadwordofKeerin’sshow.“Some men,” he wenton, “can be Merchant,Jongleur, Herb Gatherer,andMessengerallatonce,but they’re about ascommon as a friendlycoreling. Most Messengerswho take the hamletroutes have to hire a

Jongleur.”“And you don’t usually

work the hamlets,” Arlensaid,remembering.Ragen winked. “A

Jongleur may impress thetownies, but he’ll onlyhold you back in a duke’scourt. The dukes andmerchant princes haveJongleursoftheirown.Allthey’re interested in is

trade and news, and theypay far more thananything old Hog couldafford.”

Ragen rose before the sunthe next morning. Arlenwas already awake, andRagen nodded at him inapproval. “Messengersdon’t have the luxury ofsleeping late,” he said ashe loudly clattered his

cookpans to wake Keerin.“Everymoment of light isneeded.”Arlen was feeling wellenoughbythentositnextto Keerin in the cart as ittrundled toward the tinylumps on the horizonRagen called mountains.To pass the time, Ragentold Arlen tales of histravels, and pointed to

herbsalongthesideoftheroad, saying which to eatandwhichtoavoid,whichcould poultice a wound,and which would make itworse. He noted the mostdefensiblespotstospendanight and why, andwarnedaboutpredators.“Corelings kill the

slowest and weakestanimals,” Ragen said. “So

only the biggest andstrongest, or those best athiding,survive.Outontheroad, corelings aren’t theonly thing that will seeyouasprey.”Keerin looked aroundnervously.“Whatwasthatplacewestayed in the last fewnights?”Arlenasked.Ragen shrugged. “Just

some minor lord’s keep,”he said. “There’rehundreds of them in thelands between here andMiln, old ruins pickedclean by countlessMessengers.”“Messengers?” Arlenasked.“Ofcourse,”Ragensaid.“Some Messengers spendweeks hunting for ruins.

The ones lucky enough tostumble on ruins no one’sever foundcancomebackwith all kinds of loot.Gold, jewels, carvings,sometimesevenoldwards.But the real prize they’reall chasing is the oldwards, the fightingwards,iftheyeverreallyexisted.”“Do you think theyexisted?”Arlenasked.

Ragen nodded. “But I’mnot about to riskmyneckleaving the road to lookforthem.”After a couple of hours,Ragen led them off theroad to a small cave.“Always best to ward ashelterwhenyou can,”hetold Arlen. “This cave isone of a few noted inGraig’slog.”

RagenandKeerinsetupcamp, feeding andwatering the animals andmoving their supplies intothe cave. The unhitchedcartwasputinacirclejustoutside. While theyworked, Arlen inspectedtheportable circle. “Thereare wards here I don’tknow,” he noted, tracingthemarkingswithafinger.

“I sawa few inTibbet’sBrook that were new tome, as well,” Ragenadmitted. “I copied themdown in my log. Perhapstonight you can tell mewhat they do?” Arlensmiled, pleased that hemight offer something inreturn for Ragen’sgenerosity.Keerin began shifting

uncomfortablyastheyate,looking frequently at thedarkening sky, but Ragenseemed unhurried as theshadowsgrew.“Best to bring themollies into the cavenow,”Ragennotedfinally.Keerinimmediatelymovedto comply. “Pack animalshate caves,” Ragen toldArlen,“soyouwaitaslong

asyoucanbeforebringingthemin.Thehorsealwaysgoeslast.”“Doesn’t it have a

name?”Arlenasked.Ragen shook his head.

“My horses have to earntheirnames,”hesaid.“Theguild trains them special,but plenty of horses stillspook when chainedoutsideinaportablecircle

at night. Only the ones Iknow won’t bolt or panicget names. I bought thisone in Angiers, after mygarron ran off and gotcored. If she makes it toMiln,I’llgiveheraname.”“She’ll make it,” Arlensaid,strokingthecourser’sneck.WhenKeerinhadthemolliesinside,hetookherbridleandledherintothe

cave.As the others settled in,Arlen studied the cavemouth. Wards werechiseledintothestone,butnot the floor of theentrance. “The wards areincomplete,” he said,pointing.“Course they are,”Ragen answered. “Can’tward dirt, can we?” He

looked at Arlen curiously.“What would you do tocomplete the circle?” heasked.Arlenstudiedthepuzzle.

The mouth of the cavewasn’t a perfect circle,more like an inverted U.Harder to ward, but nottoo hard, and the wardscarved on the rock werecommonenough.Takinga

stick,hesketchedwardsinthe dirt, their linesconnecting smoothly withthose already inplace.Hechecked them thrice, andthen slid back, looking atRagenforapproval.The Messenger wassilent a moment as hestudiedArlen’swork, thennodded.“Welldone,”Ragensaid,

and Arlen beamed. “Youplotted the verticesmasterfully. I couldn’thavewoven a tighterwebmyself,andyoudidalltheequationsinyourhead,noless.”“Uh,thanks,”Arlensaid,though he had no ideawhat Ragen was talkingabout.Ragen caught the boy’s

pause. “You did do theequations,didn’t you?”heasked.“What’s an equation?”Arlenasked. “That line”—he pointed to the nearestward—“goes to that wardthere.” He pointed to thewall. “It crosses theselines”—hepointedtootherwards—“which crisscrosswith those here.” He

pointedtostillothers.“It’sassimpleasthat.”Ragenwas aghast. “Youmean you just eyeballedit?”hedemanded.ArlenshruggedasRagenturnedbacktohim.“Mostpeople use a straightstickto check the lines,” headmitted, “but I neverbother.”“How Tibbet’s Brook

isn’t swallowed by thenight, I have no idea,”Ragen said. He pulled asack from his saddlebagand knelt at the cavemouth, sweeping Arlen’swardsaway.“Dirt wards are still

foolhardy, however welldrawn,”hesaid.Ragenselectedahandful

oflacqueredwoodenward

platesfromthesack.Usinga straightstick markedwithlines,hespacedthemout quickly, resealing thenet.

It hadn’t been dark formore than an hour whenthe giant one-armed rockdemon bounded into theclearing. It gave a greathowl, sweeping lesserdemons aside as it

stomped toward the cavemouth, roaring achallenge.Keeringroaned,retreating to the back ofthecave.“Thatonehasyourscentnow,” Ragen warned. “Itwill follow you forever,waiting for you to dropyourguard.”Arlen looked at themonster for a long

moment, considering theMessenger’s words. Thedemon snarled and struckhardatthebarrier,butthewards flared and knockedit away. Keerinwhimpered,butArlenroseand walked up to themouthofthecave.Hemetthe coreling’s eyes andslowly raised his hands,bringing them togethersuddenly in a loud clap,

mocking the demon withhistwolimbs.“Let it waste its time,”he said as the demonhowled in impotent rage.“Itwon’tgetme.”

They continued on theroad for almost a week.Ragen turned them north,passing through thefoothills of the mountainrange, ascending ever

higher. Now and againRagenwouldstoptohunt,felling small game fromgreat distances with histhinthrowingspears.Most nights they stayedinsheltersnotedinGraig’slog, though twice theysimply camped in theroad. Like any animal,Ragen’smarewasterrifiedby the stalking demons,

butshedidnot try topullfreefromherhobble.“She deserves a name,”

Arlen said, for thehundredth time, pointingatthesteadyhorse.“Fine, fine!” Ragen

finally conceded, rufflingArlen’s hair. “You cannameher.”Arlen smiled.

“Nighteye,”hesaid.

Ragen looked at thehorse, and nodded. “It’s agoodname,”heagreed.

CHAPTER9FORTMILN319AR

THE TERRAIN GREW STEADILY

ROCKIER as the tiny lumpsonthehorizonrosehigher

andhigher.Ragenhadnotexaggerated when he saida hundred Boggin’s Hillscould fit in just onemountain, and the rangestretched as far as Arlencould see. The air grewcooler as they climbed;strong gusts of windwhippedthroughthehills.Arlenlookedbackandsawthe whole world spreadoutbeforehimlikeamap.

He imagined travelingthrough those lands withonly a spear and aMessengerbag.When they finally

caught sight of Fort Miln,Arlen couldn’t believe hiseyes.DespiteRagen’stales,he had still assumed itwould be like Tibbet’sBrook, only larger. Henearlyfellfromthecartas

the fortress city rose upbeforethem,loomingovertheroad.FortMilnwasbuilt intothe base of a mountain,overlooking a broadvalley. Another mountain,twin to the one Milnabutted, faced the cityfrom across the valley. Acircular wall some thirtyfeet high surrounded the

city, though many of thebuildingswithinthruststillhigher into the sky. Theclosertheygottothecity,themoreitspreadout,thewall going for miles ineachdirection.The walls were painted

with the largest wardsArlen had ever seen. Hiseyesfollowedtheinvisiblelines connecting oneward

toanother, formingawebthat wouldmake thewallimpervioustocorelings.But despite the triumph

of achievement, the wallsdisappointed Arlen. The“free” citiesweren’t reallyfreeatall.Walls thatkeptthecorelingsoutalsokeptthe people in. At least inTibbet’s Brook the prisonwallswereinvisible.

“What keeps winddemons from flying overthewall?”Arlenasked.“The top of the wall isset with wardposts thatweave a canopy over thecity,”Ragensaid.Arlenrealizedheshouldhave figured that outwithout Ragen’s help. Hehadmorequestions,buthekept them to himself, his

sharp mind alreadyworking on probablesolutions.

It was well past high sunwhen they finally reachedthecity.Ragenpointedoutacolumnofsmokefartherup the mountain, milesabovethecity.“The Duke’s Mines,” he

said.“It’savillageinitself,larger than your Tibbet’s

Brook. They’re not self-sufficient, but that’s howthedukelikesit.Caravanscome and go most everyweek. Food goes up, andsalt,metal, andcoal comedown.”A lower wall branched

out from the main city,running in a broad swatharound the valley. Arlencouldmake outwardposts

and the top of neat greenrows. “The great gardensand the Duke’s Orchard,”Ragennoted.Thegatewasopenwide

asworkerscameandwent,and the guards waved asthey approached. Theywere tall, like Ragen, andwore dented metal helmsandoldboiledleatheroverthick woolens. Both

carried spears, but theyheld them more likeshowpiecesthanweapons.“Ay, Messenger!” one

cried.“Welcomeback!”“Gaims. Woron.” Ragen

noddedatthem.“Duke expected you

days ago,” Gaims said.“We were worried whenyoudidn’tarrive.”“Thought the demons

got me?” Ragen laughed.“Not a chance! There wasa coreling attack in thehamlet I visited on theway back from Angiers.Westayedonabittohelpout.”“Pickedupastraywhile

you were there?” Woronaskedwithagrin.“Alittlegiftforyourwifewhileshewaits foryou tomakeher

aMother?”Ragen scowled, and theguarddrewback.“Imeantno offense,” he saidquickly.“Then I suggest youavoid saying things thattend to offend, Servant,”Ragen replied tightly.Woron paled, and noddedquickly.“I foundhimoutonthe

road, actually,” Ragensaid, ruffling Arlen’s hairandgrinning as if nothingtensehadjustpassed.Arlen liked that about

Ragen. He was quick tolaugh, and held nogrudges,buthedemandedrespect, and let you knowwhere you stood. Arlenwantedtobelikethatoneday.

“On the road?” Gaimsaskedindisbelief.“Days from anywhere!”

Ragencried.“Theboycanward better than someMessengersIknow.”Arlenswelled with pride at thecompliment.“And you, Jongleur?”

WoronaskedKeerin.“Likeyour first taste of thenakednight?”

Keerin scowled, and theguards laughed. “Thatgood,eh?”Woronasked.“Light’swasting,”Ragen

said. “Send word toMother Jone that we’llcome to the palace after Ideliver the rice and stophome for a bath and adecent meal.” The mensaluted and let them passintothecity.

Despite his initialdisappointment, thegrandeur of Miln soonoverwhelmed Arlen.Buildings soared into theair, dwarfing anything hehad ever seen before, andcobblescoveredthestreetsinstead of hard-packeddirt.Corelingscouldn’trisethroughworkedstone,butArlencouldn’timaginetheeffortneededtocutandfit

hundreds of thousands ofstones.In Tibbet’s Brook, most

every structurewaswood,with foundations of piledstone and roofs of thatchwith plates for wards.Here,mosteverythingwascut stone, and reeked ofage. Despite the wardedouterwalls,everybuildingwas warded individually,

some in fantasticworksofart, and others in simplefunctionality.The air in the city was

rank,thickwiththestenchofgarbage,dungfires,andsweat. Arlen tried holdinghis breath, but soon gaveup and settled forbreathing through hismouth. Keerin, on theother hand, seemed to

breathe comfortably forthefirsttime.Ragen led the way to amarketplace where Arlensaw more people than hehad in his entire life.Hundreds of Rusco Hogscalled to him from allsides: “Buy this!” “Trythat!”“Aspecialprice,justfor you!” They were alltall; giants compared to

thefolkoftheBrook.They passed carts offruits and vegetables thelikes of which Arlen hadnever seen, and so manysellers of clothes that hethought itmust be all theMilnese thought about.There were paintings andcarvings, too, so intricatehe wondered how anyonehadtimetomakethem.

Ragenbroughtthemtoamerchantonthefarendofthe market who bore thesymbol of a shield on histent. “The duke’s man,”Ragen advised as theypulleduptothecart.“Ragen!” the merchant

called.“Whatdoyouhaveformetoday?”“Marsh rice,” Ragen

said. “Taxes from the

Brooktopayfortheduke’ssalt.”“Been to see Rusco

Hog?” the merchant saidmore than asked. “Thatcrook still robbing thetowniesblind?”“YouknowHog?”Ragen

asked.The merchant laughed.

“I testified before theMothers’Counciltenyears

ago to have his merchantlicense pulled, after hetriedtopassonashipmentof grain thick with rats,”hesaid.“Helefttownsoonafter,andresurfacedattheends of the world. Heardthe same thing happenedin Angiers, which is whyhe was in Miln to beginwith.”“Goodthingwechecked

therice,”Ragenmuttered.They haggled for sometime over the going ratesfor rice and salt. Finally,the merchant gave in,admitting that Ragen hadgotten the better of Hog.He gave the Messenger ajingling pouch of coins tomakeupthedifference.“Can Arlen drive thecart from here?” Keerin

asked. Ragen glanced athimandnodded.HetossedapurseofcoinstoKeerin,who caught it deftly andhoppedoffthecart.Ragenshookhisheadas

Keerin disappeared intothe crowd. “Not theworstJongleur,”hesaid,“buthedoesn’thavethestonesforthe road.” He remounted,and ledArlen through the

busy streets. Arlen feltsuffocated by the press asthey moved down aparticularly crowdedstreet. He noticed somepeople dressed only intattered rags despite thechillmountainair.“What are they doing?”Arlen asked, watchingthemholdemptycupsoutatpassersby.

“Begging,” Ragen said.“NoteveryoneinMilncanaffordtobuyfood.”“Can’twejustgivethemsome of ours?” Arlenasked.Ragen sighed. “It’s notthat simple, Arlen,” hesaid. “The soil here isn’tfertileenoughtofeedevenhalf the people. We needgrainfromFortRizon,fish

from Lakton, fruit andlivestock from Angiers.The other cities don’t justgiveall that away. It goestothosewhoworkatradeandearnthemoneytopayfor it, the Merchants.MerchantshireServantstodo for them, and feed,clothe,andhousethemoutoftheirownpurse.”He gestured at a man

wrapped in rough, filthycloth holding out acracked wooden bowl topassersby, who moved toavoid him, refusing eyecontact. “So unless you’reaRoyal or aHolyMan, ifyou don’t work, you enduplikethat.”Arlen nodded as if he

understood, but he didn’treally. People ran out of

creditsatthegeneralstorein Tibbet’s Brook all thetime, but even Hog didn’tletthemstarve.They came to a house,and Ragen signaled Arlentostopthecart.Itwasnotalargehousecomparedtomany Arlen had seen inMiln, but it was stillimpressive by Tibbet’sBrook standards, made

entirely of stone andstandingtwofullstories.“Isthiswhereyoulive?”Arlenasked.Ragen shook his head.He dismounted and wentto the door, knockingsharply.Amomentlater,itwas answered by a youngwoman with long brownhair woven into a tightbraid. She was tall and

sturdy, like everyone inMiln, and wore a high-necked dress that fell toher ankles and was tightacross her bosom. Arlencouldn’t tell if she waspretty. He was about todecide that she was notwhen she smiled, and herwholefacechanged.“Ragen!” she cried,

throwing her arms around

him. “You came! ThanktheCreator!”“Of course I came,

Jenya,” Ragen said. “WeMessengers take care ofourown.”“I’m no Messenger,”

Jenyasaid.“You were married to

one, and that’s the same.Graig died a Messenger,the guild’s ruling be

damned.”Jenya looked sad, and

Ragenchangedthesubjectquickly, striding over tothecartandunloadingtheremaining stores. “I’vebrought you good Marshrice, salt, meat, and fish,”hesaid,carryingtheitemsoverand setting them justinside her doorway. Arlenscurriedtohelp.

“And this,” Ragenadded, pulling the sack ofgold and silver he hadgottenfromHogoutofhisbelt.Hethrewinthelittlepouch from the duke’smerchant,aswell.Jenya’s eyeswidenedasshe opened it. “Oh,Ragen,” she said, “it’s toomuch.Ican’t…”“Youcanandyouwill,”

Ragenordered,cuttingheroff. “It’s the least I cando.”Jenya’s eyes filled withtears. “I have no way tothankyou,”she said. “I’vebeen so scared. Penningfortheguilddoesn’tcovereverything, and withoutGraig…IthoughtImighthave to go back tobegging.”

“There, there,” Ragensaid, patting her shoulder.“My brothers and I willnever let that happen. I’lltake you into my ownhouseholdbefore I letyoufallsofar,”hepromised.“Oh, Ragen, you woulddothat?”sheasked.“There’sone last thing,”Ragen said. “A gift fromRusco Hog.” He held up

thering.“Hewantsyoutowrite him, and let himknowyougotit.”Jenya’s eyes began towateragain,lookingatthebeautifulring.“Graig was well loved,”Ragen said, slipping thering onto her finger. “Letthisringbeasymbolofhismemory. The food andmoney should last your

family a good long while.Perhaps, in that time,you’ll even find anotherhusband and become aMother. But if things evergrowsodarkthatyoufeelyou must sell that ring,you come tome first, youunderstand?”Jenya nodded, but hereyes were down, stilldripping as she caressed

thering.“Promise me,” Ragenordered.“Ipromise,”Jenyasaid.Ragen nodded, huggingheronelasttime.“I’lllookinonyouwhenIcan,”hesaid. She was still cryingas they left. Arlen staredbackatherastheywent.“You look confused,”Ragensaid.

“I guess I am,” Arlenagreed.“Jenya’s family wereBeggars,”Ragenexplained.“Her father is blind andher mother sickly. Theyhadthefortune,though,tohave a healthy, attractivedaughter. She broughtherselfandherparentsuptwo classes when shemarriedGraig.Hetookthe

three of them into hishome, and though henever had the choicestroutes, he made enoughfor them togetbyandbehappy.”He shook his head.

“Now,though,shehasrenttopayandthreemouthstofeedonherown.Shecan’tstray far from home,either,becauseherparents

can’tdoforthemselves.”“It’sgoodofyoutohelpher,” Arlen said, feeling alittle better. “She wasprettywhenshesmiled.”“You can’t helpeveryone, Arlen,” Ragensaid, “but you shouldmake every effort to helpthose you can.” Arlennodded.They wound their way

upahilluntiltheyreacheda large manse. A gatedwall six feet highsurrounded the sprawlingproperty, and the greathouse itself was threestories high and haddozens of windows, allreflecting light from theirglass. It was bigger thanthe great hall on Boggin’sHill, and that could holdeveryoneinTibbet’sBrook

for the solstice feast. Themanseandthewallaroundit were painted withbrightly colored wards.Such a magnificent place,Arlendecided,mustbethehomeoftheduke.“Mymam had a cup of

warded glass, hard assteel,” he said, looking upat the windows as a thinman came scurrying up

frominsidethegroundstoopenthegate.“Shekeptithidden,butsometimesshetookitoutwhencompanycame, to show how itglittered.” They rode pasta garden untouched bycoreling mischief, whereseveralhandswerediggingvegetables.“This is one of the onlymanses in Miln with all

glass windows,” Ragensaidproudly.“I’dpayalotto ward them not tobreak.”“Iknowthetrick,”Arlensaid, “but you need acorelingtotouchtheglasstochargeit.”Ragen chuckled andshook his head. “Maybenot,then.”There were smaller

buildings on the groundsas well, stone huts withsmoking chimneys andpeople going to and fro,like a tiny village. Dirtychildren scampered about,and women kept watchover them while tendingtheir chores. They rode tothe stables, and a groomwas there in a second totake Nighteye’s reins. Hebowed and scraped to

Ragen as if Ragen were akinginastory.“I thought we weregoing to stop by yourhouse before visiting theduke,”Arlenasked.Ragen laughed. “This ismy house, Arlen! Do youthink I risk the open roadfornothing?”Arlenlookedbackatthehouse, his eyes bulging.

“This is all yours?” heasked.“All of it,” Ragen

confirmed.“Dukesarefreewith their coin to thosewhostaredowncorelings.”“But Graig’s house was

sosmall,”Arlenprotested.“Graigwasagoodman,”

Ragen said, “but he wasnever more than apassable Messenger. He

wascontenttomakearunto Tibbet’s Brook eachyear, and shuttle to thelocal hamlets in between.A man like that mightsupport his family, but nomore. The only reasonthere was so much profitfor Jenya was that I paidfor the extra goods I soldHogoutofmyownpurse.Graig used to have toborrowfromtheguild,and

theytookahardcut.”A tall man opened thedoor to the house with abow. He was stone-faced,wearing a faded blue coatofdyedwool.Hisfaceandclotheswereclean,asharpcontrast to those in theyard. As soon as theyentered, a boy not mucholderthanArlensprangtohis feet. He ran to a bell

rope at the base of abroad, marble stair.Chimes rang through thehouse.“Iseeyourluckhasheld

onemore time,” awomancalledamomentlater.Shehaddarkhairandpiercingblueeyes.Sheworeadeepblue gown, finer thananything Arlen had everseen, and her wrists and

throat sparkled withjewels.Hersmilewascoldassheregardedthemfromthe marble balcony abovethefoyer.Arlenhadneverseenawomansobeautifulorgraceful.“Mywife,Elissa,”Ragenadvised quietly. “A reasonto return… and a reasonto leave.” Arlen wasunsure if he was joking.

The woman did not seempleasedtoseethem.“Oneof these times, thecorelings will have you,”Elissa said as shedescended the stairs, “andIwillfinallybefreetowedmyyounglover.”“Never happen,” Ragensaidwithasmile,drawingher close for a kiss.Turning to Arlen, he

explained, “Elissa dreamsof the day when she willinheritmyfortune.Iguardagainst the corelings asmuch to spite her as toprotectmyself.”Elissa laughed, and

Arlen relaxed. “Who isthis?” she asked. “A strayto save you the work offilling my belly with achildofourown?”

“The only work ismelting your frozenpetticoats, my dear,”Ragen shot back. “May Ipresent Arlen, of Tibbet’sBrook. I met him on theroad.”“On the road?” Elissaasked.“He’sjustachild!”“I’m not a child!” Arlenshouted, then immediatelyfelt foolish. Ragen eyed

himwryly,andhedroppedhisgaze.Elissa gave no sign thatshe heard the outburst.“Doffyourarmorand findthebath,”sheorderedherhusband, “you smell likesweat and rust. I’ll see toourguest.”As Ragen left, ElissacalledaservanttoprepareArlen a snack. Ragen

seemed to have moreservants than there werepeople in Tibbet’s Brook.Theycuthimslicesofcoldham and a thick crust ofbread, with clotted creamandmilktowashitdown.Elissa watched him eat,butArlencouldn’tthinkofanything to say, and kepthisattentiononhisplate.As he was finishing the

cream,aservingwomaninadressofthesameblueasthe men’s jackets enteredand bowed to Elissa.“Master Ragen awaits youupstairs,”shesaid.“Thank you, Mother,”Elissa replied. Her facetookonastrangecastforamoment, as she absentlyran her fingers over herstomach. Then she smiled

andlookedatArlen.“Takeourguesttothebath,”sheordered,“anddon’tlethimupforairuntilyoucantellwhatcolorhisskinis.”Shelaughed and swept out oftheroom.Arlen, used to standing

in a trough and dumpingcold water over himself,was out of sorts at thesightofRagen’sdeepstone

tub. He waited as theserving woman, Margrit,poured a kettle of boilingwater in to take the chillfrom his soak. She wastall,likeeveryoneinMiln,withkindeyesandhoney-coloredhairjusthintingatgray peeking fromunderneath her bonnet.She turnedherbackwhileArlen undressed and gotintothetub.Shegaspedas

she saw the stitchedwounds on his back, andquickly moved to inspectthem.“Ow!” Arlen shouted asshepinchedtheuppermostwound.“Don’t be such a baby,”she scolded, rubbing herthumb and forefingertogether and sniffing atthem. Arlen bit down as

she repeated the processdown his back. “You’reluckier than you know,”she said at last. “WhenRagen told me you werehurt, I thought itmust bejustascratch,but this…”She tsked at him. “Didn’tyourmotherteachyounottobeoutsideatnight?”Arlen’s retort died on a

sniffle. He bit his lip,

determined not to cry.Margrit noticed, andimmediately softened hertone. “These are healingwell,” she said of hiswounds.Shetookacakeofsoap and began to gentlywash them. Arlen grittedhis teeth. “When you’redone in the bath, I’llprepare a poultice andfreshbandagesforyou.”

Arlen nodded. “Are youElissa’smother?”heasked.The woman laughed.“Creator, boy, whatevergaveyouthatidea?”“She called you‘Mother,’”Arlensaid.“Because I am,”Margritsaid proudly. “Two sonsand three daughters, oneof them soon to be aMotherherself.”Sheshook

her head sadly. “PoorElissa, all herwealth, andstill a Daughter, and heron thedark sideof thirty!Itbreakstheheart.”“Is being a mam so

important?”Arlenasked.The woman regarded

him as if he had asked ifairwere important. “Whatcould be more importantthan motherhood?” she

asked.“It’severywoman’sduty to produce childrento keep the city strong.That’swhyMothersgetthebest rations and first pickofthemorningmarket.It’swhy all the duke’scouncilors are Mothers.Menaregoodforbreakingand building, but politicsandpapersarebest left towomenwho’vebeentotheMothers’ School.Why, it’s

Mothers that vote tochoose a new duke whentheoldonepasses!”“Then why ent Elissaone?”Arlenasked.“It’s not for lack oftrying,” Margrit admitted.“I’llwagershe’sat it rightnow. Six weeks on theroadwillmakeanymanabull,andIbrewedfertilitytea and left it on her

nightstand. Maybe it willhelp, though any foolknows the best time tomakeababyis justbeforedawn.”“Thenwhy haven’t theymade one?” Arlen asked.He knew making babieshad something to dowiththegamesRennaandBenihadwantedtoplay,buthewas still vague on the

process.“Only the Creator

knows,” Margrit said.“Elissamightbebarren,oritmightbeRagen, thoughthat would be a shame.There’sashortageofgoodmen like him. Miln needshissons.”She sighed. “Elissa’s

luckyhehasn’tlefther,orgotten a child on one of

the servant girls. Creatorknows,they’rewilling.”“He would leave his

wife?”Arlenwasaghast.“Don’tlooksosurprised,

boy,” Margrit said. “Menneed heirs, and they’ll getthem any way they can.Duke Euchor is on histhird wife, and still onlydaughterstoshowforit!”She shook her head.

“Not Ragen, though. Theyfight like corelingssometimes, but he lovesElissa like the sun itself.He’d never leave. NorElissa, despite what she’sgivenup.”“Given up?” Arlen

asked.“She was a Noble, you

know,” Margrit said. “Hermother is on the Duke’s

Council. Elissa could haveserved the duke, too, ifshe’d married anotherNoble and got with child.But she married down tobewithRagen,againsthermother’s wishes. Theyhaven’t spoken since.Elissa’s Merchant now, ifwellmoneyed. Denied theMothers’ School, she’llneverholdanyposition inthe city,much less one in

theduke’sservice.”Arlen was quiet whileMargrit rinsed out hiswounds and collected hisclothes off the tiles. Shetsked as she inspected therips and stains. “I’ll mendthese as best I can whileyou soak,” she promised,and left him to his bath.Whileshewasgone,Arlentried to make sense of

everything she had toldhim, but there was toomuch he didn’tunderstand.Margrit reminded Arlen

a little of Catrin Hog,Rusco’s daughter. “She’dtellyoueverysecretintheworld,ifitletherhearherown voice a momentlonger,”Silvyusedtosay.The woman returned

laterwithfreshifill-fittingclothes. She bandaged hiswounds and helped himdress, despite his protests.Hehadtorollupthetunicsleeves to find his hands,and cuff his breeches tokeep from tripping, butArlenfeltcleanforthefirsttimeinweeks.He shared an early

supper with Ragen and

Elissa.Ragenhadtrimmedhis beard, tied back hishair, and donned a finewhite shirt with a deepblue suede jacket andbreeches.A pig had been

slaughtered on Ragen’sarrival, and the table wassoon laden with porkchops, ribs, rashers ofbacon, and succulent

sausage.Flagonsofchilledale and clear, cold waterwere served. Elissafrowned when Ragensignaled a servant to pourArlen an ale, but she saidnothing. She sipped winefrom a glass so delicateArlen was afraid herslender fingers wouldbreak it. Therewas crustybread,whiter thanhehadever seen, and bowls of

boiled turnips andpotatoes,thickwithbutter.As he looked out overthe food, his mouthwatering, Arlen couldn’thelpbut rememberpeopleoutinthecitybeggingforsomething toeat.Still,hishunger soon overcame hisguilt, and he sampledeverything,fillinghisplateagainandagain.

“Creator,whereareyouputting it all?” Elissaasked, clapping her handsin amusement as shewatched Arlen cleananother plate. “Is there achasminyourbelly?”“Ignore her, Arlen,”Ragen advised. “Womenwill fuss all day in thekitchen, yet fear to takemore than a nibble, lest

they seem indelicate.Menknow better how toappreciateameal.”“He’s right, you know,”

Elissa said with a roll ofher eyes. “Women canhardly appreciate thesubtleties of life as mendo.” Ragen started andspilled his ale, and Arlenrealized that she hadkicked him under the

table. Arlen decided helikedher.After supper a page

appeared, wearing a graytabard with the duke’sshield emblazoned on thefront. He reminded Ragenof his appointment, andthe Messenger sighed, butassured the page theywouldbealongdirectly.“Arlen is hardly dressed

to meet the duke,” Elissafussed. “One does not gobefore His Grace lookinglikeaBeggar.”“There’s nothing for it,

love,” Ragen replied. “Wehave only a few hoursbefore sunset. We canhardly have a tailor comeintime.”Elissa refused to accept

that.Shestaredattheboy

for a long moment, thensnapped her fingers,striding out of the room.She returned soon afterwith a bluedoublet and apair of polished leatherboots.“One of our pages isnear your age,” she toldArlen as she helped himinto the jacket and boots.The sleevesof thedoublet

were short, and the bootspinched his feet, but LadyElissa seemed satisfied.She ran a comb throughhishairandsteppedback.“Goodenough,”shesaidwith a smile. “Mind yourmanners before the duke,Arlen,” she counseled.Arlen, feeling awkward inthe ill-fitting clothes,smiledandnodded.

The Duke’s Keep was awarded fortresswithin thewarded fortress of Miln.The outer wall was fittedstone, over twenty feethigh, heavily warded andpatrolled by armoredspearmen. They rodethrough the gate into awide courtyard, whichcircled the palace.Dwarfing Ragen’s manse,thepalacehadfourfloors,

and towers that reachedtwice that high. Broad,sharpwardsmarkedeverystone. The windowsglitteredwithglass.Men in armor patrolled

theyard,andpages in theduke’s colors scurried toand fro. A hundred mensweated out in the yard:carpenters, masons,blacksmiths, and butchers.

Arlensawgrainstoresandlivestock, even broadgardens far larger thanRagen’s.ItseemedtoArlenthat ifhe shouldclose thegate, the duke could lastforeverinhiskeep.The noise and smell of

theyarddiedastheheavydoors of the palace closedbehindthem.Theentrancehall had a wide running

carpet, and tapestries onthe cool stonewalls. Savefor a few guards, therewere no men to be seen.Dozens of women movedabout instead, their wideskirts swishing as theywent about their business.Some were doing figureson slates, while otherspenned the results inheavy books.A few,morerichly dressed than the

rest, strolled aboutimperiously, watching theothersattheirwork.“The duke is in theaudiencechamber,”oneofthem advised. “He hasbeen expecting you forsometime.”A long line of peoplewaited outside the duke’saudience chamber. It wasmostly women holding

quills and sheaves ofpaper, but there were afew well-dressed men aswell.“Lesser petitioners,”Ragenadvised,“allhopingforaminuteof theduke’stime before the EveningBell rings and they’reescortedout.”The lesser petitionersseemedacutelyawarethat

there was little daylightleft, and openly arguedamong themselves as towhooughttogonext.Butchatterdiedastheycaughtsight of Ragen. As theMessenger walked past,bypassing the linecompletely, all thepetitioners fell silent, thenfollowed in his wake likedogs eager for a feeding.They followed right up to

the entranceway, where aglare from the guardsbrought them up short.They crowded around theentrancetolistenasRagenandArlenentered.Arlen felt dwarfed by

the audience chamber ofDuke Euchor ofMiln. Thedomedceilingoftheroomwas stories high, andensconced torches rested

on the great columnssurrounding Euchor’sthrone. Each column hadwards carved into themarble.“Greater petitioners,”

Ragen said quietly,indicating the men andwomen moving about theroom. “They tend tocluster.” He nodded to alarge group of men

standingclosetothedoor.“Merchant princes,” hesaid. “Spreading goldaround for the right tostand around the palace,sniffing for news, or aNoble to marry off theirdaughtersto.”“There”—he noddedtoward a cluster of oldwomen standing ahead ofthe Merchants—“the

Council of Mothers,waiting togiveEuchorhisday’sreports.”Closertothethronewasagroupofsandaledmeninplain brown robes,standing with quietdignity. A few spoke inmurmurs, as others tookdown their every word.“Every court needs itsHoly Men,” Ragen

explained.He pointed at last to a

swarm of richly dressedpeople buzzing about theduke,attendedbyanarmyof servants laden withtrays of food and drink.“Royals,”Ragensaid.“Theduke’s nephews andcousinsandsecondcousinsthrice removed, allclamoring for his ear and

dreaming of what willhappen if Euchor vacateshisthronewithoutanheir.Thedukehatesthem.”“Why doesn’t he send

themaway?”Arlenasked.“Because they’re

Royals,” Ragen said, as ifthatexplainedeverything.They were halfway to

the duke’s throne when atall woman moved to

intercept them. Her hairwas kept back in a clothwrap, and her face waspinched and lined withwrinkles sodeep it lookedas if wards were carvedinto her cheeks. Shemoved with archeddignity, but a little wattleof flesh beneath her chinshook of its own accord.She had Selia’s air abouther; awoman accustomed

to giving orders andhaving them obeyedwithout question. ShelookeddownatArlen andsniffed as if she hadsmelled a dung heap. HergazesnappedupatRagen.“Euchor’s chamberlain,

Jone,” Ragen mutteredwhiletheywerestilloutofearshot. “Mother, Royal,and an eighth breed of

coreling. Don’t stopwalking unless I do, orshe’ll have youwaiting inthe stableswhile I see theduke.”“Your pagewill have towait in the hall,Messenger,” Jone said,steppinginfrontofthem.“He’s not my page,”Ragen said, continuingforward. Arlen kept pace,

and the chamberlain wasforced to sacrifice herdignitytoscurryoutoftheway.“His Grace doesn’t havetimeforeverystrayoffthestreet, Ragen!” she hissed,hurryingtokeeppacewiththeMessenger.“Whoishe?”Ragen stopped, andArlen stopped with him.

He turned and glared atthe woman, leaning in.Mother Jone might havebeen tall, but Ragen wastaller, and he outweighedher thrice over. The sheermenace of his presenceshrank her backinvoluntarily.“He is who I have

chosen to bring,” he saidthrough his teeth. He

thrustasatchel filledwithletters at her, and Jonetook it reflexively. As shedid, the Merchants andMothers’ Council swarmedher, along with theTenders’acolytes.The Royals noted the

movement, and madecomments or gestures tothose next to them.Suddenly, half their

entouragebrokeaway,andArlen realized those werejust well-dressed servants.The Royals acted as ifnothing of note washappening, but theirservantsshovedashardasany to get close to thatsatchel.Jone passed the letters

ontoaservantofherownand hurried toward the

thronetoannounceRagen,though she needn’t havebothered.Ragen’sentrancehad caused enough of astirthatthemancouldnothave failed to note him.Euchor was watching astheyapproached.Thedukewasaheavysetmaninhislatefifties,withsalt-and-pepperhair andathick beard. He wore a

greentunic,freshlystainedwith grease from hisfingers, but richlyembroidered with goldthread, and a fur-linedcloak.His fingers glitteredwith rings, and about hisbrow he wore a circlet ofgold.“At last, you deign tograce us with yourpresence,” the duke called

out, though it seemed hewas speaking more to therest of the room than toRagen. Indeed, theobservationhadtheRoyalsnodding and murmuringamong themselves, andcaused several heads topop up from the clusteraroundthemail.“Wasmybusiness not pressingenough?”heasked.

Ragen advanced to thedais, meeting the duke’sgaze with a stony one ofhis own. “Forty-five daysfrom here to Angiers andback by way of Tibbet’sBrook!” he said loudly.“Thirty and seven nightsslept outside, whilecorelings slashed at mywards!”Henever tookhiseyes from the duke, butArlen knew he, too, was

speaking to the room.Most of those assembledblanchedandshudderedathiswords.“Six weeks gone from

my home, Your Grace,”Ragen said, lowering hisvoice by half, but stillcarrying it toallears.“Doyou begrudge me a bathandamealwithmywife?”The duke hesitated, his

eyes flicking about thecourt. Finally, he gave agreat booming laugh. “Ofcoursenot!”hecalled.“Anoffendeddukecanmakeaman’slifedifficult,butnothalf so much as anoffendedwife!”The tensionshatteredas

the court broke intolaughter.“Iwouldspeaktomy Messenger alone!” the

duke commanded, oncethe laughter faded. Therewere grumbles from thoseeager for news, but Jonesignaled her servant toleavewith the letters, andthattookmostofthecourtwith her. The Royalslingered a moment, untilJone cracked her handstogether. The retort madethem jump, and they filedout as quickly as dignity

wouldallow.“Stay,”Ragenmurmuredto Arlen, stopping arespectful distance fromthe throne. Jone signaledtheguards,whopulledtheheavy doors closed,remaining inside. Unlikethemenat thegate, theselooked alert andprofessional. Jone movedtostandbesideherlord.

“Don’t ever do thatbefore my court again!”Euchor growled when therestweregone.The Messenger gave a

slightbowtoacknowledgethe command, but itlooked insincere, even toArlen.Theboywasinawe.Ragenwasutterlyfearless.“There isnews fromthe

Brook,YourGrace,”Ragen

began.“The Brook?” Euchor

burstout.“Whatdo Icareabout the Brook? WhatwordfromRhinebeck?”“They’ve had a rough

winter without the salt,”Ragen went on as if thedukehadnotspoken.“Andtherewasanattack…”“Night, Ragen!” Euchor

barked. “Rhinebeck’s

answer could affect allMiln foryears tocome,sospare me birth lists andharvest counts of somemiserable littlebackwater!”Arlen gasped and drew

protectivelybehindRagen,who gripped his armreassuringly.Euchor pressed the

attack. “Did they discover

goldinTibbet’sBrook?”hedemanded.“No, my lord,” Ragenreplied,“but…”“DidSunnyPastureopena coal mine?” Euchor cuthimoff.“No,mylord.”“Didtheyrediscoverthelostcombatwards?”Ragen shook his head.

“Ofcoursenot…”“Didyouevenhaulbackenough rice to bring meprofit to cover the cost ofyour services to go thereandback?”Euchorasked.“No.”Ragenscowled.“Good,” Euchor said,rubbing his hands as if toremove the dust fromthem. “Then we need notconcern ourselves with

Tibbet’sBrook for anotheryearandahalf.”“Ayearandahalfistoo

long,” Ragen dared topersist.“Thefolkneed…”“Go for free, then,” the

dukecuthimoff,“soIcanaffordit.”When Ragen didn’t

immediately answer,Euchor smiled widely,knowing he had won the

exchange. “What wordfrom Angiers?” hedemanded.“I have a letter from

Duke Rhinebeck,” Ragensighed, reaching into hiscoat.Hedrewforthaslimtube,sealedwithwax,butthe duke waved at himimpatiently.“Justtellme,Ragen!Yes

orno?”

Ragen’s eyes narrowed.“No, my lord,” he said.“Hisanswerisno.Thelasttwo shipments were lost,along with all but ahandful of the men. DukeRhinebeckcannotaffordtosendanother.Hismencanonly log so fast, and heneeds the timber morethanheneedssalt.”The duke’s face

reddened, and Arlenthought it might burst.“Damn it, Ragen!” heshouted, slamming downhis fist. “I need thatwood!”“His Grace has decided

that he needs it more forthe rebuilding ofRiverbridge,” Ragen saidcalmly, “on the south sideoftheDividingRiver.”

DukeEuchorhissed,andhis eyes took on amurderousgleam.“This is the work ofRhinebeck’sfirstminister,”Jone advised. “Janson’sbeen trying to getRhinebeck a cut of thebridgetollsforyears.”“And why settle for acut when you can haveall?”Euchoragreed.“What

did you say I would dowhen you gave me thisnews?”Ragen shrugged. “It’snot the place of aMessenger to conjecture.Whatwouldyouhavehadmesay?”“That people inwoodenfortresses shouldn’t setfiresinothermen’syards,”Euchor growled. “I don’t

need to remind you,Ragen,howimportantthatwood is to Miln. Oursupply of coal dwindles,and without fuel, all theoreintheminesisuseless,and half the city willfreeze! I’ll torch his newRiverbridge myself beforeitcomestothat!”Ragen bowed in

acknowledgment of the

fact. “Duke Rhinebeckknows this,” he said. “Heempoweredme tomake acounteroffer.”“And that is?” Euchor

asked,raisinganeyebrow.“Materials to rebuild

Riverbridge, and half thetolls,”JoneguessedbeforeRagen could open hismouth.ShesquintedattheMessenger. “And

Riverbridge stays on theAngierian side of theDividing.”Ragennodded.“Night!” Euchor swore.

“Creator, Ragen, whosesideareyouon?”“I am a Messenger,”

Ragen replied proudly. “Itake no sides, I simplyreport what I have beentold.”

Duke Euchor surged tohis feet. “Then tell mewhatinthedarkofnightIpay you for!” hedemanded.Ragen tilted his head.“Wouldyouprefertogoinperson, Your Grace?” heaskedmildly.The duke paled at that,and did not reply. Arlencould feel the power of

Ragen’s simple comment.If possible, his desire tobecome a Messengerstrengthenedfurther.Thedukefinallynoddedinresignation.“Iwillthinkon this,” he said at last.“Thehourgrowslate.Youaredismissed.”“There is one morething, my lord,” Ragenadded,beckoningArlen to

come forward, but Jonesignaled the guards toopen the doors, and thegreater petitionersswarmed back into theroom.Theduke’sattentionwas already turned awayfromtheMessenger.Ragen intercepted Jone

as she left Euchor’s side.“Mother,” he said, “abouttheboy…”

“I’m very busy,Messenger,” Jone sniffed.“Perhaps you should‘choose’tobringhimsometime when I am less so.”Shesweptawayfromthemwith her head thrownback.One of the Merchants

approached them. He wasa bearlike man with onlyoneeye,hisothersocketa

gnarl of scarred flesh. Onhisbreastwasasymbol,aman on horseback withspear and satchel. “It’sgood to see you safe,Ragen,” the man said.“You’ll be by the guild inthe morning to give yourreport?”“Guildmaster Malcum,”

Ragen said, bowing. “I’mglad to see you. I

encountered this boy,Arlen,ontheroad…”“Between cities?” the

guildmaster asked insurprise. “You shouldknowbetter,boy!”“Several days between

cities,” Ragen clarified.“The boy wards betterthan many Messengers.”Malcum arched his oneeyebrowatthat.

“He wants to be aMessenger,” Ragenpressed.“Youcouldnotaskforamore honorable career,”MalcumtoldArlen.“HehasnooneinMiln,”Ragen said. “I thought hemight apprentice with theguild…”“Now, Ragen,” Malcumsaid,“youknowaswellas

any that we onlyapprentice registeredWarders. Try GuildmasterVincin.”“The boy can already

ward,” Ragen argued,though his tonewasmorerespectfulthanithadbeenwith Duke Euchor.Guildmaster Malcum waseven larger than Ragen,and didn’t look like he

could be intimidated bytalkofnightsoutside.“Thenheshouldn’thaveany trouble getting theWarders’ Guild to registerhim,” Malcum said,turningaway.“I’llseeyouin themorning,”hecalledoverhisshoulder.Ragen looked around,spotting another man inthe cluster of Merchants.

“Lift your feet, Arlen,” hegrowled, striding acrossthe room. “GuildmasterVincin!” he called as hewalked.The man looked up attheirapproach,andmovedaway from his fellows togreet them. He bowed toRagen,butitwasabowofrespect, not deference.Vincin had an oily black

goatee, and hair slickedstraight back. Ringsglittered on his chubbyfingers.Thesymbolonhisbreast was a keyward, award that served asfoundationtoalltheotherwardsinaweb.“What can Ido foryou,

Ragen?” the guildmasterasked.“Thisboy,Arlen,isfrom

Tibbet’s Brook,” Ragensaid, gesturing to Arlen.“An orphan from acoreling attack, he has nofamily in Miln, but hewishes to apprentice as aMessenger.”“That’s all well, Ragen,

but what’s it to do withme?” Vincin asked, nevermorethanglancingArlen’sway.

“Malcumwon’ttakehimunless he’s registered toward,”Ragensaid.“Well, that is a

problem,”Vincinagreed.“The boy can already

ward,”Ragensaid.“Ifyoucouldseeyourwayto…”Vincin was already

shaking his head. “I’msorry, Ragen, but you’renot about to convince me

that some backwaterbumpkin can ward wellenough for me to registerhim.”“Theboy’swardscutthe

arm off a rock demon,”Ragensaid.Vincin laughed. “Unless

you have the arm withyou, Ragen, you can savethat tale for theJongleurs.”

“Could you find him anapprenticeship, then?” theMessengerasked.“Can he pay the

apprenticeship fee?”Vincinasked.“He’s an orphan off the

road,”Ragenprotested.“Perhaps I can find a

WardertotakehimonasaServant,” the guildmasteroffered.

Ragen scowled. “Thanksall the same,” he said,usheringArlenaway.They hurried back to

Ragen’s manse, the sunfastsetting.ArlenwatchedasthebusystreetsofMilnemptied, people carefullychecking wards andbarring their doors. Evenwith cobbled streets andthick, warded walls,

everyone still lockedthemselvesupatnight.“I can’t believe you

talked to the duke likethat,” Arlen said as theywent.Ragen chuckled. “First

ruleofbeingaMessenger,Arlen,” he said.“Merchants and Royalsmay pay your fee, butthey’llwalkalloveryou,if

you let them.Youneed toact like a king in theirpresence,andnever forgetwhoitisriskingtheirlife.”“It worked with

Euchor,”Arlenagreed.Ragen scowled at the

name. “Selfish pig,” hespat. “He doesn’t careabout anything but hisownpockets.”“It’s okay,” Arlen said.

“The Brook survivedwithoutsalt last fall.Theycandoitagain.”“Perhaps,” Ragen

conceded, “but theyshouldn’t have to. Andyou! A good duke wouldhave askedwhy I broughta boy with me into hischamber. A good dukewould have made you awardofthethrone,soyou

didn’twindupbeggingonthe street. And Malcumwas no better! Would ithave cored him to testyour skill? And Vincin! Ifyou’d had the ripping fee,that greedy bastardwouldhave had a master toapprentice you by sunset!Servant,hesays!”“Ent an apprentice aServant?”Arlenasked.

“Not in the slightest,”Ragen said. “Apprenticesare Merchant class. Theymasteratradeandthengointo business forthemselves, or withanother master. Servantswillneverbeanythingbut,unless theymarryup, andI’ll be corespawned beforeI let them turn you intoone.”

He lapsed into silence,and Arlen, though hewasstill confused, thought itbest not to press himfurther.

It was full dark not longafter they crossed Ragen’swards, and Margritshowed Arlen to a guestroomthatwashalfthesizeof Jeph’s entire house. Atthe center was a bed so

highthatArlenhadtohoptogetin,andhavingneverslept on anything but theground or a hard strawpallet, he was shockedwhenhesankintothesoftmattress.Hedriftedofftoslumber

quickly, but awoke soonafteratthesoundofraisedvoices.Heslippedfromthebed and left his room,

following the sound. Thehalls of the great mansewere empty, the servantshaving retired for thenight. Arlen went to thetopofthestairs,thevoicesbecoming clearer. It wasRagenandElissa.“… taking him in, and

that’s final,” he heardElissasay.“Messaging’snojobforaboyanyway!”

“It’s what he wants,”Rageninsisted.Elissasnorted.“Pawning

Arlen off on someone elsewon’t alleviate your guiltoverbringinghim toMilnwhen you should havetakenhimhome.”“Demon dung,” Ragen

snapped. “You just wantsomeone to mother dayandnight.”

“Don’tyoudareturnthisbackonme!”Elissahissed.“Whenyoudecidednot totakeArlenbacktoTibbet’sBrook, you tookresponsibility for him! It’stimetoownuptothatandstop looking for someoneelsetocareforhim.”Arlen strained to hear,

but therewasno responsefromRagenforsometime.

Hewantedtogodownandbarge into theconversation. He knewElissa meant well, but hewas growing tired ofadultsplanningouthislifeforhim.“Fine,” Ragen said at

last.“WhatifIsendhimtoCob? He won’t encouragetheboytobeaMessenger.I’llputupthefullfee,and

we can visit the shopregularly to keep an eyeonhim.”“I think that’s a great

idea,” Elissa agreed, thepeevishnessgonefromhervoice. “But there’s noreason Arlen can’t stayhere, insteadof on ahardbench in some clutteredworkshop.”“Apprenticeships aren’t

meant to be comfortable,”Ragen said. “He’ll need tobe there from dawn tilldusk if he’s to masterwardcraft, and if hefollows through with hisplans to be a Messenger,he’ll need all the traininghecanget.”“Fine,”Elissahuffed,but

her voice softened amoment later. “Nowcome

put a baby in my belly,”shehusked.Arlenhurriedbacktohis

room.

As always, Arlen’s eyesopened before dawn, butfor a moment he thoughthewasstillasleep,driftingon a cloud. Then herememberedwherehewasand stretched out, feelingthe delicious softness of

the feathers stuffed intothe mattress and pillow,and the warmth of thethickquilt.The fire in theroom’s hearth had burneddowntoembers.The temptation to stayabed was strong, but hisbladder helped force himfrom the soft embrace.Heslipped to the cold floorand fetched the pots from

under the bed, as Margrithad instructed him. Hemadehiswaterinone,andwasteintheother,leavingthem by the door to becollected for use in thegardens. The soil in Milnwas stony, and its peoplewastednothing.Arlen went to thewindow.He had stared atit until his eyes drooped

the night before, but theglassstillfascinatedhim.Itlooked like nothing at all,but was hard andunyielding to the touch,likeawardnet.Hetracedafinger along the glass,making a line in themorning condensation.Remembering the wardsfrom Ragen’s portablecircle, he turned the lineinto one of the symbols.

He traced several more,breathing on the glass toclear his work and startanew.When he finished, he

pulled on his clothes andwent downstairs, findingRagen sipping tea by awindow,watching thesunriseoverthemountains.“You’reupearly,”Ragen

notedwithasmile.“You’ll

be a Messenger yet,” hesaid, and Arlen swelledwithpride.“Today I’m going to

introduce you to a friendof mine,” Ragen said. “AWarder. He taught mewhen Iwas your age, andhe’s in need of anapprentice.”“Couldn’t I just

apprentice to you?” Arlen

askedhopefully.“I’llworkhard.”Ragenchuckled.“Idon’t

doubtit,”hesaid,“butI’ma poor teacher, and spendmore time out of townthan in. You can learn alot from Cob. He was aMessenger before I wasevenborn.”Arlenbrightenedatthis.

“When can I meet him?”

heasked.“The sun’s up,” Ragen

replied. “Nothing stoppingus from going right afterbreakfast.”Soon after, Elissa joined

them in the dining room.Ragen’s servants set agrand table, with baconand ham and breadsmeared with honey, eggsand potatoes and big

bakedapples.Arlenwolfedthemealdown,eagertobeout in the city. When hefinished, he sat staring atRagen as he ate. Ragenignored him, eating withmaddening slowness asArlenfidgeted.Finally, the Messenger

put down his fork andwiped his mouth. “Oh,verywell,”he said, rising.

“We can go.” Arlenbeamed and jumped fromhisseat.“Not so fast,” Elissa

called, stopping both menshort. Arlen wasunprepared for the chordthe words struck in him,anechoofhismother,andbitbackarushofemotion.“You’re not going

anywhere until the tailor

comes for Arlen’smeasurements,”shesaid.“Whatfor?”Arlenasked.

“Margrit cleaned myclothes and sewed up alltherips.”“I appreciate the

sentiment, love,” Ragensaid in Arlen’s defense,“but there’s hardly a rushfor new clothes now thatthe interview with the

dukeispast.”“This isn’t open to

debate,” Elissa informedthem, drawing herself up.“I won’t have a guest inour housewalking aroundlookinglikeapauper.”TheMessengerlookedat

the set of hiswife’s brow,and sighed. “Let it go,Arlen,”headvisedquietly.“We’re not going

anywhere until she’ssatisfied.”The tailor arrived soonafter, a small man withnimble fingers whoinspected every inch ofArlen with his knottedstrings, carefully markingtheinformationwithchalkon a slate. When he wasfinished, he had a ratheranimated conversation

with Lady Elissa, bowed,andleft.Elissa glided over toArlen, bending to facehim. “That wasn’t so bad,was it?” she asked,straightening his shirt andbrushing thehair fromhisface. “Now you can runalongwith Ragen tomeetMaster Cob.” She caressedhis cheek, her hand cool

andsoft,andforamomentheleanedintothefamiliartouch, but then pulledback sharply, his eyeswide.Ragen caught the look,

and noted the woundedexpression on his wife’sface as Arlen backedslowlyawayfromherasifshewereademon.“IthinkyouhurtElissa’s

feelingsbackthere,Arlen,”Ragensaidas they lefthisgrounds. “She’s not mymam,” Arlen said,suppressing his guilt. “Doyou miss her?” Ragenasked. “Your mother, Imean.” “Yes,” Arlenansweredquietly.Ragen nodded, and said

no more, for which Arlenwasthankful.Theywalked

on in silence, and thestrangeness of Milnquickly took his mind offthe incident. The smell ofthe dung carts waseverywhere, as collectorswent from building tobuilding, gathering thenight’swaste.“Gah!” Arlen said,

holding his nose. “Thewhole city smells worse

than a barn stall!Howdoyoustandit?”“It’s mostly just in the

morning, as the collectorsgo by,” Ragen replied.“You get used to it. Wehad sewers once, tunnelsthat ran under everyhome, carrying the wasteaway,buttheyweresealedcenturies ago, when thecorelingsusedthemtoget

intothecity.”“Couldn’t you just dig

privypits?”Arlenasked.“Milnese soil is stony,”

Ragen said. “Those whodon’thaveprivategardensto fertilize are required toput their waste out forcollection to use in theDuke’s Gardens. It’s thelaw.”“It’sasmellylaw,”Arlen

said.Ragen laughed.

“Maybe,” he replied. “Butitkeepsus fed,anddrivesthe economy. Thecollection guildmaster’smanse makes mine looklikeahovel.”“I’m sure yours smells

better,” Arlen said, andRagenlaughedagain.At last they turned a

cornerandcametoasmallbut sturdy shop, withwards delicately etchedaround the windows andintothelintelandjambofthe door. Arlen couldappreciate the detail ofthose wards. Whoevermade them had a skilledhand.Theyenteredtoachime

of bells, and Arlen’s eyes

widenedatthecontentsofthe shop. Wards of everyshape and size, made inevery medium, filled theroom.“Waithere,”Ragensaid,

movingacrosstheroomtospeak with a man sittingon a workbench. Arlenbarely noticed him go,wandering around theroom. He ran his fingers

reverently over wardswoven into tapestry,etched into smooth riverstones, and molded frommetal. There were carvedposts for farmers’ fields,and a portable circle likeRagen’s. He tried tomemorize the wards hesaw, but there were justtoomany.“Arlen, come here!”

Ragen called after a fewminutes.Arlenstarted,andrushedover.“This is Master Cob,”Ragen introduced,gesturing to a man whowas perhaps sixty. Shortfor a Milnese, he had thelookofastrongmangoneto fat.A thickgraybeard,shot throughwithsignsofits former black, covered

his face, and his close-croppedhairwasthinatophis head. His skin waslinedandleathern,andhisgrip swallowed Arlen’shand.“Ragen tells me youwanttobeaWarder,”Cobsaid, sitting back heavilyonthebench.“No, sir,” Arlen replied.“I want to be a

Messenger.”“Sodoeseveryboyyour

age,”Cobsaid.“Thesmartones wise up before theygetthemselveskilled.”“Weren’t you a

Messenger once?” Arlenasked, confused at theman’sattitude.“I was,” Cob agreed,

liftinghissleevetoshowatattoo similar to Ragen’s.

“ItraveledtothefiveFreeCities and a dozenhamlets, and earnedmoremoney than I thought Icould ever spend.” Hepaused, letting Arlen’sconfusion grow. “I alsoearned this,” he said,lifting his shirt to showthick scars running acrosshisstomach,“andthis.”Heslipped a foot from hisshoe.Acrescentofscarred

flesh, longhealed, showedwherefourofhistoeshadbeen.“To this day,” Cob said,

“Ican’tsleepmorethananhour without startingawake, reaching for myspear.Yes,IwasaMessenger. A damned good oneandluckierthanmost,butIstillwouldnotwishitonanyone. Messaging may

seem glorious, but forevery man who lives in amanse and commandsrespect like Ragen here,there are two dozenrottingontheroad.”“I don’t care,” Arlen

said.“It’swhatIwant.”“Then I’ll make a deal

withyou,”Cob sighed. “AMessengermust be, aboveall, a Warder, so I’ll

apprentice you and teachyou to be one. When wehave time, I’ll teach youwhat I know of survivingthe road. Anapprenticeship lasts sevenyears. If you still wish tobe a Messengerthen … well, you’re yourownman.”“Seven years?” Arlen

gawked.

Cob snorted. “You don’tpickupwarding in a day,boy.”“Icanwardnow,”Arlen

saiddefiantly.“SoRagentellsme,”Cob

said.“Healsotellsmeyoudoitwithnoknowledgeofgeometry or wardtheory.Eyeballingyourwardsmaynot get you killedtomorrow, boy, or next

week, but it will get youkilled.”Arlen stomped a foot.

Sevenyearsseemedlikeaneternity,butdeepdownheknewthemasterwasright.Thepaininhisbackwasaconstant reminder that hewasn’t ready to face thecorelingsagain.Heneededthe skills this man couldteachhim.Hedidn’tdoubt

that there were dozens ofMessengerswhofelltothedemons,andhevowednotto become one of thembecause he was toostubborn to learn fromhismistakes.“All right,” he agreed

finally.“Sevenyears.”

SECTIONII

MILN

320-325AR

CHAPTER10APPRENTICE320AR

“THERE’S OUR FRIEND AGAIN,”

said Gaims, gesturing intothe darkness from their

postonthewall.“Right on time,”Woronagreed, comingupnext tohim. “What do you s’posehewants?”“Empty my pockets,”Gaimssaid,“you’llfindnoanswers.”The two guards leanedagainst the warded rail ofthe watchtower andwatched as the one-armed

rock demon materializedbeforethegate.Itwasbig,eventotheeyesofMilneseguards, who saw more ofrock demons than anyothertype.While the other demons

were still getting theirbearings, the one-armeddemon moved withpurpose, snuffling aboutthegate,searching.Thenit

straightened and struckthegate,testingthewards.Magicflaredandthrewthedemon back, but it wasundeterred. Slowly, thedemon moved along thewall, striking again andagain, searching for aweakness until it was outofsight.Hours later,acrackleofenergy signaled the

demon’s return from theopposite direction. Theguards at other posts saidthatthedemoncircledthecity each night, attackingevery ward. When itreached the gate oncemore,itsettledbackonitshaunches,staringpatientlyatthecity.Gaims and Woron were

used to this scene, having

witnessed it every nightforthepastyear.Theyhadeven begun to lookforward to it, passing thetime on their watch bybetting on how long oneArmtooktocirclethecity,orwhetherhewouldheadeastorwesttodoso.“I’m half tempted to let

’im in, just t’seewhathe’safter,”Woronmused.

“Don’t even joke aboutthat,” Gaims warned. “Ifthe watch commanderhears talk like that, he’llhave both of us in irons,quarrying stone for thenextyear.”His partner grunted.“Still,” he said, “you havetowonder…”

ThatfirstyearinMiln,histwelfth,passedquickly for

Arlen as he grew into hisrole as an apprenticeWarder. Cob’s first taskhad been to teach him toread. Arlen knew wardsneverbefore seen inMiln,and Cob wanted themcommitted to paper assoonaspossible.Arlen took to reading

voraciously, wonderinghow he had ever gotten

along without it. Hedisappearedintobooksforhours at a time, his lipsmovingslightlyatfirst,butsoonhewasturningpagesrapidly, his eyes dartingacrossthepage.Cob had no cause to

complain; Arlen workedharderthananyapprenticehe had ever known,stayinguplateinthenight

etching wards. Cob wouldoften go to his bedthinking of the full day’sworktocome,onlytofindit completed when thesun’sfirstlightfloodedtheshop.Afterlearninghisletters,

Arlen was put to workcataloguing his personalrepertoire of wards,complete with

descriptions, into a bookthe master purchased forhim. Paper was expensivein the sparsely woodedlandsofMiln,andawholebook was something fewcommoners ever saw, butCobscoffedattheprice.“Even the worst

grimoire’s worth ahundred times the paperit’swrittenon,”hesaid.

“Grimoire?” Arlenasked.“A book ofwards,” Cob

said. “Every Warder hastheirs, and they guardtheir secrets carefully.”Arlen treasured thevaluable gift, filling itspages with a slow andsteadyhand.WhenArlenhadfinished

plumbinghismemory,Cob

studied thebook inshock.“Creator,boy,doyouhaveanyideawhatthisbookisworth?”hedemanded.Arlen looked up fromtheward hewas chiselinginto a stone post, andshrugged. “Any graybeardin Tibbet’s Brook couldteachyouthosewards,”hesaid.“That may be,” Cob

replied, “but what’scommon inTibbet’sBrookis buried treasure inMiln.This ward here.” Hepointed to a page. “Can ittruly turn firespit into acoolbreeze?”Arlen laughed. “My

mam used to love thatone,”hesaid.“Shewishedthe flame demons couldcome right up to the

windows on hot summernights to cool the housewiththeirbreath.”“Amazing,” Cob said,

shaking his head. “I wantyou to copy this a fewmore times, Arlen. It’sgoing tomake you a veryrichman.”“How do you mean?”

Arlenasked.“People would pay a

fortuneforacopyofthis,”Cob said. “Maybe weshouldn’t even sell at all.We could be the mostsought-after Warders inthe city if we kept themsecret.”Arlen frowned. “It’s not

righttokeepthemsecret,”he said. “My da alwayssaid wards are foreveryone.”

“Every Warder has hissecrets, Arlen,” Cob said.“This ishowwemakeourliving.”“We make our living

etching wardposts andpainting door-jambs,”Arlen disagreed, “nothoarding secrets that cansavelives.Shouldwedenysuccortothosetoopoortopay?”

“Of course not,” Cobsaid,“butthisisdifferent.”“How?” Arlen asked.

“We didn’t have Wardersin Tibbet’s Brook. We allwarded our own homes,andthosewhowerebetterat it helped those whowereworsewithoutaskinganything in return. Whyshould we? It’s not usagainst each other, it’s us

againstthedemons!”“Fort Miln isn’t like

Tibbet’s Brook, boy.” Cobscowled.“Here,thingscostmoney. If you don’t haveanymoney,youbecomeaBeggar. Ihavea skill, likeany baker or stonemason.Whyshouldn’tIchargeforit?”Arlen sat quietly for a

time. “Cob, why ent you

rich?”heaskedatlast.“What?”“Like Ragen,” Arlenclarified. “You said youusedtobeaMessengerforthe duke. Why don’t youlive in a manse and haveservants do everything foryou?Why do you do thisatall?”Cob blew out a longbreath. “Money is a fickle

thing, Arlen,” he said.“One moment you canhavemore thanyouknowwhat to do with, and thenext … you can findyourself begging food onthestreet.”Arlen thought of thebeggarshesawonhisfirstday in Miln. He had seenmanymore since, stealingdung to burn for warmth,

sleeping in public wardedshelters,beggingforfood.“Whathappenedtoyour

money,Cob?”heasked.“I met a man who said

he could build a road,”Cobsaid.“Awardedroad,stretching from here toAngiers.” Arlen movedcloser and sat on a stool,hisattentionrapt.“They’ve tried to build

roads before,” Cob wenton,“totheDuke’sMinesinthe mountains, or toHarden’s Grove to thesouth.Shortdistances,lessthanafullday,butenoughto make a fortune for thebuilder. They alwaysfailed.Ifthere’saholeinanet, nomatter how small,corelings will find iteventually. And oncethey’rein…”Heshookhis

head.“Itoldthemanthis,but he was adamant. Hehadaplan.Itwouldwork.Allheneededwasmoney.”Cob looked at Arlen.“Every city is short ofsomething,” he said, “andhastoomuchofsomethingelse. Miln has metal andstone, but no wood.Angiers, the reverse. Bothare short of crops and

livestock, while Rizon hasmore than they need, butno good lumber or metalfortools.Laktonhasfishinabundance,butlittleelse.“I knowyoumust thinkme a fool,” he said,shaking his head, “forconsidering somethingeveryonefromthedukeondown had dismissed asimpossible, but the idea

stuck with me. I keptthinking,What ifhecould?Isn’tthatworthanyrisk?”“I don’t think you’re a

fool,”Arlensaid.“Which is why I keep

mostofyourpayintrust,”Cob chuckled. “You’dgiveitaway,sameasIdid.”“What happened to the

road?”Arlenpressed.“Corelings happened,”

Cob said. “Theyslaughtered the man andall the workers I hiredhim,burnedthewardpostsand plans … theydestroyed it all. I hadinvestedeverythinginthatroad, Arlen. Even lettingmy servants go wasn’tenoughtopaymydebts. Imade barely enoughmoney selling my mansetocleara loan tobuy this

shop, and I’ve been hereeversince.”Theysatforatime,bothof them lost in images ofwhatthatnightmusthavebeen like, both of themseeing in their mind’s eyethecorelingsdancingamidtheflamesandcarnage.“Do you still think thedream was worth therisk?”Arlenasked.“Allthe

citiessharing?”“To this day,” Cob

replied. “Even when myback aches from cartingwardposts and I can’tstandmyowncooking.”“This is no different,”

Arlen said, tapping thebook of wards. “If all theWarders sharedwhat theyknew,howmuchbetterforeveryone?Isn’tasafercity

worth losing a littleprofit?”Cobstaredathimalong

time. Then he came overand put a hand on hisshoulder. “You’re right,Arlen. I’m sorry. We’llcopy the books and sellthem to the otherWarders.”Arlen slowly began to

smile.

“What?” Cob askedsuspiciously.“Why not trade oursecrets for theirs?” Arlenasked.

The chimes rang, andElissaentered thewardingshop with a wide smile.She nodded toCob as shecarried a large basket toArlen, kissing him on thecheek. Arlen grimaced in

embarrassment and wipedhischeek,butshetooknonoticeofit.“I brought you boyssomefruit,andfreshbreadand cheese,” she said,removing the items fromthe basket. “I expectyou’ve been eating nobetterthanyouwereuponmylastvisit.”“Dried meat and hard

bread are a Messenger’sstaples,mylady,”Cobsaidwith a smile, not lookingup from the keystone hewaschiseling.“Rubbish,” Elissa

scolded. “You’re retired,Cob, and Arlen isn’t aMessengeryet.Don’ttrytoglorifyyourlazyrefusaltogo to themarket. Arlen isa growing boy, and needs

better fare.” She ruffledArlen’s hair as she spoke,smiling even as he pulledaway.“Cometodinnertonight,

Arlen,”Elissasaid.“Ragenis away, and themanse islonely without him. I’llfeedyousomething toputmeat on your bones, andyou can stay in yourroom.”

“I…don’t think I can,”Arlen said, avoiding hereyes. “Cob needs me tofinish these wardposts fortheDuke’sGardens…”“Nonsense,” Cob said,

waving his hand. “Thewardpostscanwait,Arlen.They’re not due foranother week.” He lookedup at Lady Elissa with agrin, ignoring Arlen’s

discomfort. “I’ll send himover at the Evening Bell,Lady.”Elissa flashed him asmile. “It’s settled, then,”she said. “I’ll see youtonight,Arlen.”Shekissedthe boy and swept out oftheshop.Cob glanced at Arlen,whowasfrowningintohiswork.“Idon’tseewhyyou

choose to spend yournightssleepingonapalletin the back of the shopwhen you could have awarm featherbed and awoman like Elissa to doteon you,” he said, keepinghiseyesonhisownwork.“She acts like she’s mymam,” Arlen complained,“butshe’snot.”“That’s true, she’s not,”

Cobagreed. “But it’s clearshe wants the job. Woulditbesobadtoletherhaveit?”Arlen said nothing, andCob,seeingthesadlookinthe boy’s eyes, let thematterdrop.

“You’respendingtoomuchtimeinsidewithyournoseburiedinbooks,”Cobsaid,snatching away the

volumeArlenwasreading.“When was the last timeyou felt the sun on yourskin?”Arlen’seyeswidened.InTibbet’s Brook, he hadnever spent a momentindoors when he had achoice,butaftermorethana year in Miln, he couldhardly remember his lastdayoutside.

“Go find somemischief!” Cob ordered.“Won’t kill you tomake afriendyourownage!”Arlenwalked out of thecity for the first time in ayear, and the suncomfortedhim like anoldfriend. Away from thedung carts, rottinggarbage, and sweatycrowds, the air held a

freshnesshehadforgotten.He found a hilltopoverlooking a field filledwith playing children andpulled a book from hisbag, plopping down toread.“Hey, bookmole!”someonecalled.Arlenlookeduptoseeagroup of boysapproaching, holding a

ball.“C’mon!”oneofthemcried. “Weneedonemoretomakethesideseven!”“I don’t know thegame,” Arlen said. Cobhadallbutorderedhimtoplay with other boys, buthe thought his book farmoreinteresting.“What’s to know?”another boy asked. “Youhelpyoursidegettheball

tothegoal,andtrytokeepthe other side from doingit.”Arlen frowned. “All

right,” he said,moving tojoin the boy who hadspoken.“I’mJaik,”theboysaid.

He was slender, withtousled dark hair and apinched nose. His clotheswere patched and dirty.

He looked thirteen, likeArlen. “What’s yourname?”“Arlen.”“You work for WarderCob, right?” Jaik asked.“ThekidMessengerRagenfoundontheroad?”WhenArlen nodded, Jaik’s eyeswidened a bit, as if hehadn’t believed it. He ledthewayontothefield,and

pointed out the whitepaintedstonesthatmarkedthegoals.Arlen quickly caught onto the rules of the game.Aftera time,he forgothisbook, focusing hisattention on the opposingteam.HeimaginedhewasaMessengerandtheyweredemonstryingtokeephimfrom his circle. Hours

melted away, and beforehe knew it the EveningBell rang. Everyonehurriedlygathereduptheirthings, fearful of thedarkeningsky.Arlen took his time

fetchinghisbook.Jaikranup to him. “You’d betterhurry,”hesaid.Arlen shrugged. “We

have plenty of time,” he

replied.Jaik looked at thedarkening sky, andshuddered. “You playpretty good,” he said.“Comebacktomorrow.Weplay ball most afternoons,and on Sixthdaywe go tothe square to see theJongleur.” Arlen noddednoncommittally, and Jaiksmiledandspedoff.

Arlen headed backthroughthegate,thenow-familiar stink of the cityenvelopinghim.Heturnedup the hill to Ragen’smanse.TheMessengerwasaway again, this time tofarawayLakton,andArlenwas spending the monthwith Elissa. She wouldpester him with questionsandfussabouthisclothes,but he had promised

Ragen to “keepher youngloversaway.”Margrit had assuredArlen that Elissa had nolovers.Infact,whenRagenwas away, she drifted thehallsof theirmanse likeaghost, or spent hourscryinginherbedchamber.But when Arlen wasaround, the servant said,she changed. More than

once, Margrit had beggedhim to live at the mansefull time.He refused, but,he admitted to himself ifno one else, he wasbeginning to like LadyElissafussingoverhim.

“Here he comes,” Gaimssaid that night, watchingthe massive rock demonrise from the ground.Woron joined him, and

they watched from theguard toweras thedemonsnuffledthegroundbythegate. With a howl, itbounded away from thegate to a hilltop. A flamedemon danced there, buttherockdemonknockeditviolently aside, bendinglowtotheground,seekingsomething.“Old One Arm’s in a

moodtonight,”Gaimssaidas the demon howledagainanddarteddownthehill to a small field,scurrying back and forth,hunchedover.“What do you supposehas gotten into him?”Woron asked. His partnershrugged.Thedemonleftthefield,boundingbackupthehill.

Its shrieks became almostpained, and when itreturned to the gate, itstruckatthewardsmadly,its talons sending showersof sparks as they wererepelled by the potentmagic.“Don’t see that everynight,”Woroncommented.“Shouldwereportit?”“Why bother?” Gaims

replied. “No one is goingto care about thecarryings-on of one crazydemon, and what couldthey do about it if theydid?”“Against that thing?”

Woron asked. “Probablyjustsoilthemselves.”

Pushing away from theworkbench, Arlenstretched and got to his

feet.Thesunwaslongset,and his stomach growledirritably, but the bakerwaspayingdoubletohavehis wards repaired in onenight, even though ademonhadn’tbeenspottedon the streets in Creatoronly knew how long. Hehoped Cob had leftsomething for him in thecookpot.

Arlen opened the shop’sbackdoorand leanedout,still safely within thewarded semicircle aroundthe doorway. He lookedboth ways, and assuredthat all was clear, hestepped onto the path,careful not to cover thewardswithhisfoot.The path from the backof Cob’s shop to his small

cottage was safer thanmost houses in Miln, aseries of individuallywarded squares made ofpoured stone. The stone—crete,Cobcalledit—wasascience left over from theold world, a wonderunheard of in Tibbet’sBrook but quite commoninMiln. Mixing powderedsilicate and lime withwaterandgravelformeda

muddy substance thatcould be molded andhardened into any shapedesired.It was possible to pourcrete, and, as it began toset,carefullyscratchwardsinto its soft substance thathardened into near-permanent protections.Cobhaddone this, squarebysquare,untilapathran

fromhishometohisshop.Even if one square weresomehow compromised, awalker could simplymoveto the one ahead orbehind, and remain safefromcorelings.If we could make a roadlikethis,Arlenthought,theworld would be at ourfingertips.Inside the cottage, he

found Cob hunched overhis desk, poring overchalkedslates.“Pot’swarm,”themastergrunted, not looking up.Arlen moved over to thefireplace in the cottage’ssingle room and filled abowl with Cob’s thickstew.“Creator, boy, youstarted a mess with this,”

Cobgrowled,straighteningandgesturingtotheslates.“Half theWarders inMilnare content to keep theirsecrets,evenat the lossofours,andhalfofthoseleftkeep offering moneyinstead, but the quarterthat remain have floodedmydeskwithlistsofwardsthey’rewillingtobarter.Itwill be weeks in thesorting!”

“Things will be betterfor it,”Arlen said,usingacrust of hard bread as aspoon as he sat on thefloor, eatinghungrily.Thecorn and beans were stillhard, and the potatoesmushy from overboiling,buthedidn’tcomplain.Hewas accustomed to thetough, stunted vegetablesof Miln by now, and Cobcouldneverbebotheredto

boilthemseparately.“Idaresayyou’re right,”Cob admitted, “but night!Whothoughtthereweresomanydifferentwardsrightin our own city! Half I’venever seen inmy life,andI’ve scrutinized everywardpost and portal inMiln,Iassureyou!”He held up a chalkedslate. “This one is willing

to trade wards that willmakeademonturnaroundand forget what it wasdoing for your mother’swardtomakeglassashardas steel.” He shook hishead. “And they all wantthe secrets of yourforbidding wards, boy.They’re easier to drawwithoutastraightstickandasemicircle.”

“Crutches for peoplewho can’t draw a straightline.”Arlensmirked.“Not everyone is as

gifted as you,” Cobgrunted.“Gifted?”Arlenasked.“Don’t let it go to your

head,boy,”Cobsaid,“butI’ve never seen anyonepick up warding as quickas you. Eighteen months

into your apprenticeship,and you ward like a five-yearjourneyman.”“I’ve been thinkingabout our deal,” Arlensaid.Cob looked up at himcuriously.“You promised that if Iworked hard,” Arlen said,“you’dteachmetosurvivetheroad.”

They stared at oneanotheralongwhile.“I’vekept my part,” Arlenreminded.Cob blew out a sigh. “Isuppose you have,” hesaid. “Have you beenpracticingyourriding?”heasked.Arlen nodded. “Ragen’sgroom lets me helpexercisethehorses.”

“Double your efforts,”Cob said. “A Messenger’shorse is his life. Everynightyoursteedsavesyoufromspendingoutsideisanightoutof risk.”TheoldWarder got to his feet,opening a closet andpulling out a thick rolledcloth. “On Seventhdays,when we close the shop,”he said, “I’ll coach yourriding, and I’ll teach you

tousethese.”He laid theclothonthe

floor and unrolled it,revealing a number ofwell-oiled spears. Arleneyedthemhungrily.

Cob looked up at thechimes as a young boyentered his shop. He wasabout thirteen, withtousled dark curls and afuzzofmustacheathislip

that lookedmore like dirtthanhair.“Jaik, isn’t it?” theWarder asked. “Yourfamily works the milldown by the East Wall,don’tthey?Wequotedyouonce for new wards, butthe miller went withsomeoneelse.”“That’s right,” the boysaid,nodding.

“What can I help youwith?”Cobasked. “Wouldyour master like anotherquote?”Jaik shook his head. “Ijust came to see if Arlenwants to see the Jongleurtoday.”Cobcouldhardlybelievehisears.HehadneverseenArlen speak to anyone hisown age, preferring to

spend his time workingand reading, or pesteringthe Messengers andWarders who visited theshop with endlessquestions. This was asurprise, and one to beencouraged.“Arlen!”hecalled.Arlen came out of the

shop’s back room, a bookinhishand.Hepractically

walkedintoJaikbeforehenoticedtheboyandpulledupshort.“Jaik’scometotakeyou

to see the Jongleur,” Cobadvised.“I’d like to go,” Arlen

told Jaik apologetically,“butIstillhaveto…”“Nothing that can’t

wait,” Cob cut him off.“Go and have fun.” He

tossedArlenasmallpouchof coins and pushed thetwoboysoutthedoor.

Soon after, the boys werewandering through thecrowded marketplacesurrounding the mainsquareofMiln.Arlenspenta silver star to buy meatpies from a vendor, andthen, their faces coatedwith grease, he handed

over a few copper lightsfor a pocketful of sweetsfromanother.“I’m going to be aJongleur one day,” Jaiksaid,suckingonasweetastheymadetheirwaytotheplace where the childrengathered.“Honest word?” Arlenasked.Jaik nodded. “Watch

this,”hesaid,pullingthreesmall wooden balls fromhis pockets and puttingthem into the air. Arlenlaughed a moment later,when one of the ballsstruck Jaik’s headand theothers dropped to thegroundintheconfusion.“Still got grease on myfingers,” Jaik said as theychasedaftertheballs.

“I guess,” Arlen agreed.“I’m going to register attheMessengers’Guildoncemy apprenticeship withCobisover.”“I could be your

Jongleur!” Jaik shouted.“Wecouldtestfortheroadtogether!”Arlen looked at him.

“Haveyoueverevenseenademon?”heasked.

“What,youdon’tthinkIhave the stones for it?”Jaikasked,shovinghim.“Or the brains,” Arlen

said, shoving back. Amoment later, they werescuffling on the ground.Arlenwasstillsmallforhisage, and Jaik soonpinnedhim.“Fine, fine!” Arlen

laughed.“I’llletyoubemy

Jongleur!”“Your Jongleur?” Jaik

asked, not releasing him.“More like you’ll be myMessenger!”“Partners?” Arlen

offered. Jaik smiled andoffered Arlen a hand up.Soon after, they weresittingatopstoneblocksinthetownsquare,watchingthe apprentices of the

Jongleurs’Guildcartwheeland mum, buildingexcitement for themorning’sleadperformer.Arlen’s jaw dropped

whenhe sawKeerin enterthe square. Tall and thinlikearedheadedlamppost,the Jongleur wasunmistakable. The crowderuptedintoaroar.“It’s Keerin!” Jaik said,

shakingArlen’sshoulderinexcitement. “He’s myfavorite!”“Really?” Arlen asked,surprised.“What, who do youlike?”Jaikasked.“Marley?Koy? They’re not heroeslikeKeerin!”“He didn’t seem veryheroic when I met him,”Arlensaiddoubtfully.

“You met Keerin?” Jaikasked,hiseyeswidening.“He came to Tibbet’sBrook once,” Arlen said.“He and Ragen found meon the road and broughtmetoMiln.”“Keerinrescuedyou?”“Ragen rescued me,”Arlen corrected. “Keerinjumpedateveryshadow.”“The Core he did,” Jaik

said. “Do you think he’llrememberyou?”heasked.“Can you introduce meaftertheshow?”“Maybe.” Arlen

shrugged.Keerin’s performance

startedoutmuchasithadin Tibbet’s Brook. Hejuggled and danced,warming thecrowdbeforetelling the tale of the

Returntothechildrenandpunctuating it withmummery, backflips, andsomersaults.“Sing the song!” Jaik

cried.Others in thecrowdtook up the cry, beggingKeerin to sing.He seemednot to notice for a time,until the call wasthunderous andpunctuated by the

pounding of feet. Finally,he laughed and bowed,fetching his lute as thecrowdburstintoapplause.He gestured, and Arlen

saw the apprentices fetchhats and move into thecrowd for donations.People gave generously,eager to hear Keerin sing.Finally,hebegan:

Thenightwasdark

ThegroundwashardSuccorwasleaguesaway

ThecoldwindstarkCuttingatourheartsOnlywardskeptcorelingsatbay

“Helpme!”weheardAvoiceinneedThecryofafrightenedchild

“Runtous!”Icalled“Ourcircle’swide,

Theonlysuccorformiles!”

Theboycriedout“Ican’t;Ifell!”Hiscallechoedintheblack

CatchinghisshoutIsoughttohelpBut the Messenger held meback

“Whatgoodtodie?”Heaskedme,grim“Fordeathisallyou’llfind

“Nohelpyou’llprovide’GainstcorelingclawsJustmoremeattogrind”

IstruckhimhardAndgrabbedhisspearLeapingacrossthewards

AfranticchargeStrengthbornoffearBeforetheboybecored

“Staybrave!”IcriedRunninghardhisway

“Keepyourheartstrongandtrue!”

“Ifyoucan’tstrideTowhereit’ssafeI’llbringthewardstoyou!”

IreachedhimquickButnotenoughCorelingsgatheredround

ThedemonsthickMyworkwasroughScratching wards into the

ground

AthunderousroarBoomedinthenightAdemontwentyfeettall

IttoweredforeAnd’gainstsuchmightMy spear seemed puny andsmall

Hornslikehardspears!Clawslikemyarm!Acarapacehardandblack!

AnavalanchePromisingharmThe beast moved to theattack!

TheboyscreamedscaredAndclutchedmylegClawed as I drew the lastward!

ThemagicflaredCreator’sgiftThe one force demonsabhor!

SomewilltellyouOnlythesunCan bring a rock demonharm

ThatnightIlearnedItcouldbedoneAsdidthedemonOneArm!

He ended with aflourish, and Arlen satshocked as the audienceburstintoapplause.Keerintook his bows, and the

apprenticestookinafloodofcoin.“Wasn’t that great?”Jaikasked.“That’s not how ithappened!” Arlenexclaimed.“My da says the guardstoldhimaone-armedrockdemon attacks the wardsevery night,” Jaik said.“It’slookingforKeerin.”

“Keerin wasn’t eventhere!” Arlen cried. “I cutthatdemon’sarmoff!”Jaik snorted. “Night,

Arlen! You can’t reallyexpect anyone to believethat.”Arlen scowled, standing

up and calling, “Liar!Fraud!” Everyone turnedto see the speaker, asArlen leapt off his stone

and strode toward Keerin.The Jongleur looked up,and his eyes widened inrecognition. “Arlen?” heasked, his face suddenlypale.Jaik, who’d been

runningafterArlen,pulledup short. “You do knowhim,”hewhispered.Keerin glanced at the

crowd nervously. “Arlen,

myboy,”he said,openinghis arms, “come, let’sdiscussthisinprivate.”Arlenignoredhim.“You

didn’t cut that demon’sarm off!” he screamed forall to hear. “You weren’teven there when ithappened!”There was an angry

murmur from the crowd.Keerin looked around in

fear until someone called“Get that boy out of thesquare!” and otherscheered.Keerinbrokeintoawidesmile. “Noone is going tobelieve you over me,” hesneered.“I was there!” Arlencried.“I’vegotthescarstoprove it!” He reached topull up his shirt, but

Keerinsnappedhisfingers,and suddenly, Arlen andJaik were surrounded byapprentices.Trapped, they could donothing as Keerin walkedaway, taking the crowd’sattention with him as hesnatched his lute andquickly launched intoanothersong.“Why don’t you shut it,

hey?” a burly apprenticegrowled.Theboywashalfagain Arlen’s size, and allwere older than he andJaik.“Keerin’s a liar,” Arlen

said.“A demon’s ass, too,”

the apprentice agreed,holding up the hat ofcoins.“ThinkIcare?”Jaik interposed himself.

“Noneedtogetangry,”hesaid. “He didn’t meananything…”But before he finished,

Arlen sprang forward,driving his fist into thebigger boy’s gut. As hecrumpled,Arlenwhirledtoface the rest. He bloodiedanoseor two,buthewassoon pulled down andpummeled. Dimly, he was

aware of Jaik sharing thebeating beside him untiltwo guards broke up thefight.“Youknow,”Jaiksaidas

they limped home, bloodyand bruised, “for abookmole, you’re not halfbad in a fight. If onlyyou’d pick your enemiesbetter…”“Ihaveworse enemies,”

Arlensaid, thinkingof theone-armed demonfollowinghimstill.

“It wasn’t even a goodsong,” Arlen said. “Howcould he draw wards inthedark?”“Good enough to get

into a fight over,” Cobnoted,daubingbloodfromArlen’sface.

“He was lying,” Arlenreplied, wincing at thesting.Cob shrugged. “He wasjust doing what Jongleursdo,makingupentertainingstories.”“In Tibbet’s Brook, thewhole town would comewhen the Jongleur came,”Arlensaid.“Seliasaidtheykept the stories of the old

world,passing themdownone generation to thenext.”“And so they do,” Cobsaid. “But even the bestonesexaggerate,Arlen.Ordid you really believe thefirst Deliverer killed ahundredrockdemons inasingleblow?”“I used to,” Arlen saidwith a sigh. “Now I don’t

knowwhattobelieve.”“Welcome to

adulthood,” Cob said.“Every child finds a daywhen they realize thatadults can be weak andwrong just like anyoneelse.Afterthatday,you’reanadult,likeornot.”“Ineverthoughtaboutit

that way,” Arlen said,realizinghisdayhadcome

long before. In his mind’seye, he saw Jeph hidingbehind the wards of theirporch while his motherwascored.“Was Keerin’s lie really

such a bad thing?” Cobasked. “It made peoplehappy. Itgave themhope.Hopeandhappinessareinshort supply these days,andmuchneeded.”

“Hecouldhavedoneallthat with honest word,”Arlensaid.“Butinsteadhetook credit for my deedsjusttomakemorecoin.”“Are you after truth, or

credit?” Cob asked.“Should credit matter?Isn’t the message what’simportant?”“Peopleneedmore than

a song,”Arlen said. “They

need proof that corelingscanbleed.”“You sound like aKrasianmartyr,”Cobsaid,“ready to throw your lifeawayseekingtheCreator’sparadise in the nextworld.”“I read their afterlife isfilled with naked womenand rivers ofwine.”Arlensmirked.

“Andallyouneeddotoenteristakeademonwithyou before you’re cored,”Cob agreed. “But I’ll takemy chances with this lifeallthesame.Thenextonewill find you no matterwhere you run. No sensechasingit.”

CHAPTER11BREACH321AR

“THREE MOONS SAYS HE HEADS

EAST,” Gaims said, jinglingthe silver coins as One

Armrose.“Taken,” Woron said.“He’s gone east threenights running.He’s readyforachange.”As always, the rockdemon snuffled aboutbeforetestingthewardsatthe gate. It movedmethodically, nevermissing a spot. When thegate proved secure, the

corelingmovedtotheeast.“Night,” Woron cursed.

“Iwas sure this time he’ddo something different.”Hefishedinhispocketforcoinsas the shrieksof thedemon and the crackle ofactivatedwardsdiedout.Both guardsmen looked

over the rail, the betforgotten, and saw OneArm staring at the wall

curiously. Other corelingsgathered around, but kepta respectful distance fromthegiant.Suddenly, the demonlunged forward with justtwotalonsextended.Therewas no flare from thewards, and the crack ofstone came clearly to theguards’ ears. Their bloodwentcold.

With a roar of triumph,the rock demon struckagain, this time with itswhole hand. Even instarlight, the guards sawthe chunk of stone thatcameawayinitsclaws.“The horn,”Gaims said,

gripping the rail withshaking hands. His leggrew warm, and it tookhim a moment to realize

he had wet himself.“Soundthehorn.”Therewasnomovement

next to him. He lookedover at Woron, and sawhis partner staring at therock demon with hismouth open, a single tearrunning down the side ofhisface.“Sound the ripping

horn!” Gaims screamed,

andWoronsnappedoutofhis daze, running to themountedhorn.Ittookhimseveral tries to sound anote. By then, One Armwas spinning and strikingthe wall with its spikedtail, tearing outmore andmorerockeachtime.

CobshookArlenawake.“Who…wazzat?”Arlenasked,rubbinghiseyes.“Is

itmorningalready?”“No,” Cob said. “The

horns are sounding.There’sabreach.”Arlen sat bolt upright,

his face gone cold.“Breach? There arecorelingsinthecity?”“Thereare,”Cobagreed,

“or soon will be. Up withyou!”The two scrambled to

light lamps and gathertheir tools, pulling onthick cloaks and fingerlessglovestohelpstaveoffthecold without impedingtheirwork.The horns sounded

again. “Two blasts,” Cobsaid,“oneshort,one long.Thebreach isbetweenthefirst and secondwatchposts to the east of

themaingate.”A clatter of hooves

sounded on thecobblestones outside,followedbyapoundingonthe door. They opened itto find Ragen in fullarmor, a long, thick spearinhand.Hiswardedshieldwas slung on the saddlehorn of a heavy destrier.Not a sleek and

affectionate courser likeNighteye, this beast wasbroad and ill-tempered, awarhorse bred for timeslonggone.“Elissaisbesideherself,”

the Messenger explained.“She sentme to keep youtwoalive.”Arlen frowned, but a

touch of the fear thatgripped him on waking

slippedawaywithRagen’sarrival.Theyhitched theirsturdy garron to thewardingcart,andwereoff,following the shouts,crashes, and flashes oflighttowardthebreach.The streetswere empty,

doors and shutters lockedtight, but Arlen could seecracks of light aroundthem,andknewthepeople

ofMilnwereawake,bitingnails and praying theirwards would hold. Heheard weeping, andthoughtofhowdependentthe Milnese were upontheirwall.They arrived at a sceneofutter chaos.GuardsmenandWarders laydeadanddying on the cobbledstreets, spears broken and

burning. Three bloodiedmen-at-armswrestledwithawinddemon,attemptingtopinitlongenoughforapair of Warder’sapprentices to trap it in aportable circle.Others rantoand frowithbucketsofwater, trying to smotherthe many small fires asflame demons scamperedabout in glee, settingalighteverythinginreach.

Arlen looked at thebreach, amazed that acorelingcoulddigthroughtwenty feet of solid rock.Demons jammed the hole,clawingateachothertobenexttopassintothecity.Awinddemonsqueezed

through,gettingarunningstartasitspreaditswings.Aguardhurledhisspearatit, but the missile fell

short,andthedemonflewintothecityunchallenged.A moment later, a flamedemon leapt upon thenow-unarmed guard andtorehisthroatout.“Quickly, boy!” Cob

shouted. “The guards arebuying us time, but theywon’t last long against abreach this size. We needto seal it fast!” He sprang

from the cart withsurprising agility andsnatched two portablecircles from the back,handingonetoArlen.With Ragen riding

protectively beside them,they sprinted toward thekeyward flag of theWarders’ Guild, markingtheprotectivecirclewherethe Warders had set up

their base. Unarmed HerbGatherers were tendingrows of wounded there,fearlessly darting out ofthe circle to assist menstumbling toward thesanctuary. They were ascantfewtotendsomany.Mother Jone, theduke’s

advisor, and MasterVincin, the head of theWarders’ Guild, greeted

them. “Master Cob, goodto have you …” Jonebegan.“Whereareweneeded?”

CobaskedVincin,ignoringJonecompletely.“The main breach,”

Vincin said. “Take theposts for fifteenandthirtydegrees,”hesaid,pointingtoward a stack of ward-posts.“AndbytheCreator,

be careful! There’s a devilof a rock demon there—the one that made thebreach in the first place.Theyhave it trapped fromheading further into thecity, but you’ll have tocrossthewardstogetintoposition. It’s killed threeWarders already, andCreator only knows howmanyguards.”

Cobnodded,andheandArlen headed over to thepile.“Whowasondutyatdusktonight?”heaskedastheytooktheirload.“Warder Macks and hisapprentices,” Jone replied.“Thedukewill hang themforthis.”“Then the duke is afool,”Vincinsaid.“There’sno telling what happened

out there, andMiln needsevery Warder it has andmore.”Heblewoutalongbreath.“Therewillbe fewenough left after tonight,asis.”

“Set up your circle first,”Cobsaidforthethirdtime.“When you’re safe within,set the post in its standand wait for themagnesium. It’ll be bright

asday,soshieldyoureyesuntilitcomes.Thencenteryours to the dial on themainpost.Don’ttrytolinkwiththeotherposts.Trusttheir Warders to get itright. When it’s done,drive stakes between thecobbles to hold it inplace.” “And then?” Arlenasked.“Stay in the

corespawned circle untilyou’re told to come out,”Cob barked, “no matterwhat you see, even ifyou’reinthereallnight!Isthatclear?”Arlennodded.“Good,” Cob said. Hescanned the chaos,waiting, waiting, thenshouted “Now!” and theywere off, dodging around

fires, bodies, and rubble,headingfortheirpositions.In seconds, they cleared arow of buildings and sawtheone-armedrockdemontowering over a squad ofguardsmen and a dozencorpses.Itstalonsandjawsglistenedwithbloodinthelamplight.Arlen’sbloodwentcold.He stopped short and

looked to Ragen, and theMessengermethis eye fora moment. “Must be afterKeerin,”Ragensaidwryly.Arlenopenedhismouth,

but before he could reply,Ragen screamed “Lookout!”andswipedhisspearArlen’sway.Arlen fell and dropped

his post, banging his kneebadlyonthecobblestones.

Heheard the crack as thebutt ofRagen’s spear tooka diving wind demon intheface,androlledoverintime to see the corelingcarom off theMessenger’sshield and crash to theground.Ragen trampled thecreaturewithhiswarhorseashekickedintoagallop,grabbing Arlen just as he

pickeduphispostandhalfdragging, half carryinghim over to his position.Cobhadalreadysetuphisportable circle and waspreparingthestandforhiswardpost.Arlen wasted no timesetting up his own circle,but his eyes kept flickingback to One Arm. Thedemonwasclawingat the

hastily placed wardsbefore it, trying to powerthrough. Arlen could seeweaknessesintheneteachtimeit flared,andknewitwouldnotholdforever.The rock demon sniffed

and looked up suddenly,meeting Arlen’s eyes, andthe twomatchedwills foramoment,until itbecametoo much to bear and

Arlen dropped his gaze.One Arm shrieked andredoubled its efforts tobreak through theweakeningwards.“Arlen, stop staring and

do your ripping job!” Cobscreamed, snapping Arlenoutofhisdaze.Tryinghisbest to block out theshrieksofthecorelingandthe shouting of

guardsmen, he set thecollapsible iron stand andplaced his wardpostwithin. He angled it asbest he could in the dimflickering light, thenplaced a hand over hiseyes to wait for themagnesium.The flare went off amoment later, turningnight into day. The

Wardersangledtheirpostsquicklyandstakedtheminplace. They waved withwhite cloths to signalcompletion.His work done, Arlenscanned the rest of thearea. SeveralWarders andapprentices were stillstruggling to set theirposts.Onepostwasalightwith demonfire. Corelings

were screaming andrecoiling from themagnesium, terrified thatsomehow the hated sunhad come. Guardsmensurged forward withspears,attemptingtodrivethem back past thewardposts before theyactivated. Ragen did thesame, galloping aboutupon his destrier, hispolished shield reflecting

the light and sendingcorelings scrambling awayinfear.But the false light could

not truly hurt thecorelings.OneArmdidnotrecoil as a squad ofguardsmen,emboldenedinthe light, sent a row ofspears its way. Many ofthe spear tips broke orskittered off the rock

demon’s armor, and itgrabbedatothers,yankinghard and pulling the menpastthewardsaseasilyasachildmightswingadoll.Arlen watched the

carnage in horror. Thedemonbittheheadoffoneman and flung his bodyback into the others,knocking several fromtheir feet. It squashed

another man underfoot,and sent a third flyingwitha sweepof its spikedtail. He landed hard anddidnotrise.The wards holding thedemon back were buriedbeneath the bodies andblood,andOneArmbulledforward, killing at will.Theguardsfellback,somefleeing entirely, but as

soon as they backed off,theywere forgottenas thegiant coreling chargedArlen’sportablecircle.“Arlen!” Ragenscreamed, wheeling hisdestrierabout.Inhispanicatthesightofthechargingdemon, the Messengerseemed to forget theportable circle in whichtheboystood.Hecouched

his spear and kicked thehorseintoagallop,aimingatOneArm’sback.The rock demon heardhisapproachandturnedatthelastmoment,settingitsfeet and taking the spearfull in the chest. Theweapon splintered, andwith a contemptuousswipe of its claws, thegiant demon crushed the

horse’sskull.The destrier’s headtwisted to the side and itbackpedaled into Cob’scircle, knocking him intohis wardpost and sendingit askew. Ragen had notime to untangle himself,and the animal took himdownwith it,crushinghisleg and pinning him. OneArmmovedinforthekill.

Arlen screamed andlooked for aid, but therewasnonetobefound.Cobwas clutching at hiswardpost, trying to pullhimself upright. All theother Warders around thebreach were signaling.They had replaced theburning post, and onlyCob’s remained out ofplace, but there was noone to aid him; the city

guardhadbeendecimatedin One Arm’s last assault.Even if Cob quickly fixedhispost,ArlenknewRagenwasdoomed.OneArmwason the wrong side of thenet.“Hey!” he cried,stepping from his circleand waving his arms.“Hey,ugly!”“Arlen,getback inyour

ripping circle!” Cobscreamed, but it was toolate. The rock demon’shead whipped around atthesoundofArlen’svoice.“Oh yeah, you heard,”Arlen murmured, his faceflushing hot and thenimmediately going cold.Heglancedpast theward-posts. The corelings weregrowing bold as the

magnesium began to diedown. Stepping in therewouldbesuicide.But Arlen remembered

his previous encounterswith the rock demon, andhow it jealously regardedhim as its own.With thatthought,heturnedandranpast the wardposts,catchingtheattentionofahissing flame demon. The

coreling pounced, eyesaflame, but so did OneArm, driving forward tosmashthelesserdemon.Even as it whirled backto him, Arlen was divingback past the wardposts.One Arm struck hard athim, but light flared, andit was thwarted. Cob hadrestored his post,establishing the net. One

Arm shrieked in rage,pounding at the barrier,butitwasimpenetrable.He ran to Ragen’s side.Cobswepthimintoahug,andthencuffedhimontheear.“Youeverpullastuntlikethatagain,”themasterwarned, “and I’ll breakyourscrawnyneck.”“Iwass’posedtoprotectyou …” Ragen agreed

weakly, his mouthtwitchinginasmile.

There were still corelingsloose in the city whenVincinandJonedismissedthe Warders. Theremaining guardsmenhelped theHerbGathererstransport the wounded tothecity’shospits.“Shouldn’t someone

hunt down the ones that

gotaway?”Arlenaskedasthey eased Ragen into theback of their cart. His legwassplinted,andtheHerbGatherershadgivenhimatea to numb the pain,leaving him sleepy anddistant.“To what end?” Cobasked. “It would only getthe hunters killed, andmake no difference in the

morning. Better to getinside.ThesunwilldoforanycorelingsleftinMiln.”“The sun is still hoursaway,” Arlen protested asheclimbedintothecart.“Whatdoyoupropose?”Cob asked, watchingwarily as they rode. “Yousaw the full force of theDuke’s Guard at worktonight, hundreds of men

with spears and shields.TrainedWarders, too. Didyou see a single demonkilled?Ofcoursenot.Theyareimmortal.”Arlen shook his head.“They kill each other. I’veseenit.”“They aremagic, Arlen.They can do to oneanother what no mortalweaponcan.”

“The sun kills them,”Arlensaid.“The sun is a powerbeyond you or me,” Cobsaid. “We are simplyWarders.”They turned a corner,andgasped.Anevisceratedcorpse was splayed in thestreet before them, itsbloodpaintingthecobblesred. Parts of it still

smoldered; the acridstenchofburnedfleshwasthickintheair.“Beggar,” Arlen said,

noting the ragged clothes.“Whatwashedoingoutatnight?”“Two beggars,” Cob

corrected, holding a clothover his mouth and noseas he gestured at furthercarnage not far off. “They

musthavebeenturnedoutoftheshelter.”“They can do that?”Arlenasked.“Ithoughtthepublicsheltershadtotakeeveryone.”“Onlyuntiltheyfillup,”Cob said. “Those placesare scant succor, anyhow.The men will beat eachother over food andclothes once the guards

lock them in, and theydoworsetothewomen.Manyprefertoriskthestreets.”“Why doesn’t someonedo something about it?”Arlenasked.“Everyone agrees it’s aproblem,” Cob said. “Butthe citizens say it is theduke’s problem, and theduke feels little need toprotect those who

contribute nothing to hiscity.”“So better to send the

guard home for the night,and let the corelings takecare of the problem,”Arlengrowled.Cobhadnoreply save to crack thereins, eager to get off thestreets.

Two days later, the entirecitywassummonedto the

greatsquare.Agibbethadbeen erected, and upon itstoodWarderMacks, whohadbeenondutythenightofthebreach.Euchor himself was notpresent, but Jone read hisdecree: “In the name ofDuke Euchor, Light of theMountains and Lord ofMiln,youarefoundguiltyof failing in your duties

and allowing a breach inthe wardwall. EightWarders, two Messengers,three Herb Gatherers,thirty-seven guardsmen,and eighteen citizens paidthe price for yourincompetence.”“As if making it nineWarders will help,” Cobmuttered. Boos and hissescamefromthecrowd,and

bitsofgarbagewere flungat the Warder, who stoodwithhisheaddown.“Thesentence isdeath,”

Jone said, and hoodedmentookMacks’armsandled him to the rope,putting the noose aroundhisneck.A tall, broad-shouldered

Tenderwithabushyblackbeard and heavy robes

went to him and drew award on his forehead.“May the Creator forgiveyour failing,” the HolyMan intoned, “and grantus all the purity of heartand deed to end HisPlagueandbeDelivered.”He backed away, andthe trapdoor opened. Thecrowdcheeredastheropewenttaut.

“Fools,” Cob spat. “Onelessman to fight the nextbreach.”“What did he mean?”Arlen asked. “About thePlague and beingdelivered?”“Just nonsense to keepthe crowd in line,” Cobsaid. “Best not to fill yourheadwithit.”

CHAPTER12LIBRARY321AR

ARLEN WALKED EXCITEDLY

behind Cob as theyapproachedthegreatstone

building. It wasSeventhday, and normallyhe would have beenannoyed at skipping hisspear practice and ridinglessons, but today was atreat too fine to miss: hisfirst trip to the Duke’sLibrary.Ever since he and Cobhad begun brokeringwards, his master’s

businesshadsoared,fillinga much-needed niche inthe city. Their grimoirelibrary had quicklybecome the largest inMiln, and perhaps theworld. At the same time,wordhadgottenoutabouttheir involvement insealing the breach, andneveronestomissatrend,the Royals had takennotice.

Royalswereanirritationto work with, alwaysmaking ridiculousdemands and wantingwards put where theydidn’t belong. Cobdoubled, then tripled hisprices, but it made nodifference. Having one’smanse sealed by Cob theWardmasterhadbecomeastatussymbol.

Butnow,calledupon toward the most valuablebuilding in the city,Arlenknew it had been worthevery moment. Fewcitizens ever saw insidethe library. Euchorguarded his collectionjealously, granting accessonly to greater petitionersandtheiraides.Built by the Tenders of

the Creator before beingabsorbed by the throne,thelibrarywasalwaysrunby a Tender, usually onewith no flock save theprecious books. Indeed,the post carried moreweightthanpresidingoverany Holy House save forthe Grand Holy House ortheduke’sownshrine.Theyweregreetedbyan

acolyte,andusheredtotheoffice of the headlibrarian, Tender Ronnell.Arlen’s eyes darted everywhere as they walked,takinginthemustyshelvesand silent scholars whoroamed the stacks. Notincluding grimoires, Cob’scollection had containedover thirty books, andArlen had thought that atreasure. The Duke’s

Library containedthousands, more than hecould read in a lifetime.He hated that the dukekeptitalllockedaway.Tender Ronnell was

young for the covetedposition of head librarian,still with more brown inhis hair than gray. Hegreeted them warmly andsat them down, sending a

servant to fetch somerefreshment.“Your reputation

precedes you, MasterCob,” Ronnell said, takingoffhiswire-rimmedglassesand cleaning them on hisbrown robe. “I hope youwill accept thisassignment.”“All thewards I’ve seen

so fararestill sharp,”Cob

noted.Ronnell replaced his

glasses and cleared histhroat uncomfortably.“After the recent breach,the duke fears for hiscollection,” he said. “HisGrace desires … specialmeasures.”“What kind of special

measures?” Cob askedsuspiciously. Ronnell

squirmed,andArlencouldtell that he was asuncomfortablemaking therequest as he expectedthemtobeinfillingit.Finally, Ronnell sighed.

“All the tables, benches,and shelves are to bewarded against firespit,”hesaidflatly.Cob’seyesbulged.“That

would take months!” he

sputtered. “And to whatend? Even if a flamedemon made it so deepintothecity,itcouldneverget past the wards of thisbuilding, and if it did,you’dhavegreaterworriesthanthebookshelves.”Ronnell’s eyes hardened

at that. “There is nogreater worry, MasterCob,”hesaid.“Inthat,the

duke and I agree. Youcannot imagine what welost when the corelingsburnedthelibrariesofold.We guard here the lastshreds of knowledge thattook millennia toaccumulate.”“I apologize,” Cob said.“Imeantnodisrespect.”The librariannodded.“Iunderstand. And you are

quite correct, the risk isminimal.Nevertheless,HisGrace wants what hewants. I can pay athousandgoldsuns.”Arlen ticked the math

offinhishead.Athousandsuns was a lot of money,more than they had evergottenforasinglejob,butwhen accounting for themonths of work the job

would entail, and the lossofregularbusiness…“I’m afraid I can’t help

you,” Cob said at last.“Too much time awayfrommybusiness.”“This would garner the

duke’s favor,” Ronnelladded.Cob shrugged. “I

messengeredforhisfather.That brought me favor

enough. I have little needfor more. Try a youngerWarder,” he suggested.“Someone with somethingtoprove.”“His Grace mentioned

your name specifically,”Ronnellpressed.Cob spread his hands

helplessly.“I’ll do it,” Arlen

blurted. Both men turned

to him, surprised that hehadbeensobold.“I don’t think the duke

will accept the services ofan apprentice,” Ronnellsaid.Arlen shrugged. “No

need to tellhim,”he said.“My master can plot thewards for the shelves andtables, leaving me toinscribe them.” He looked

atCobashespoke.“Ifyouhadtakenthejob,Iwouldhavecarvedhalfthewardsanyway,ifnotmore.”“An interesting

compromise,”Ronnellsaidthoughtfully.“What say you, Master

Cob?”Cob looked at Arlen

suspiciously. “I say this isa tedious job of the sort

youhate,”hesaid.“What’sin it for you, lad?” heasked.Arlensmiled.“Theduke

gets to claim thatWardmaster Cob wardedthe library,” he began.“You get a thousand suns,and I”—he turned toRonnell—“get to use thelibrarywheneverIwish.”Ronnelllaughed.“Aboy

after my own heart!” hesaid.“Haveweadeal?”heasked Cob. Cob smiled,andthemenshookhands.

Tender Ronnell led CobandArlenonaninspectionof the library. As theywent, Arlen began torealizewhatacolossaltaskhe had just undertaken.Even if he skipped themath and plotted the

wards by sight, he waslooking at the better partofayear’swork.Still, as he turned inplace, taking in all thebooks, he knew it wasworth it. Ronnell hadpromised him full access,dayornight,fortherestofhislife.Noting the look ofenthusiasm on the boy’s

face, Ronnell smiled. Hehadasuddenthought,andtookCobasidewhileArlenwas toooccupiedwithhisownthoughtstonotice.“Is the boy an

apprentice or a Servant?”heaskedtheWarder.“He’sMerchant, if that’s

what you’re asking,” Cobsaid.Ronnell nodded. “Who

arehisparents?”Cob shook his head.

“Hasn’tany;atleastnotinMiln.”“You speak for him,

then?”Ronnellasked.“I would say the boy

speaks for himself,” Cobreplied.“Is he promised?” the

Tenderasked.

Thereitwas.“You’renotthe first to ask me that,since my business rose,”Cob said. “Even some oftheRoyals have sent theirprettydaughterstosniffathim. But I don’t think theCreator has made the girlthat can pull his nose outof a book long enough tonoticeher.”“I know the feeling,”

Ronnell said, gesturing toa young girl who wassittingatoneof themanytables with half a dozenopen books scatteredbeforeher.“Mery, come here!” hecalled.Thegirl lookedup,and then deftly markedher pages and stacked herbooksbeforecomingover.ShelookedclosetoArlen’s

fourteen summers, withlargebrowneyesandlong,richbrownhair.Shehadasoft, round face, and abright smile. She wore autilitarian frock, dustyfrom the library, and shegathered the skirts,dippingaquickcurtsy.“WardmasterCob,thisis

my daughter, Mery,”Ronnellsaid.

The girl looked up,suddenly very interested.“The Wardmaster Cob?”sheasked.“Ah, you know mywork?”Cobasked.“No”—Mery shook herhead—“butI’veheardyourgrimoire collection issecondtonone.”Coblaughed.“Wemighthave something here,

Tender,”hesaid.Tender Ronnell bent tohis daughter and pointedto Arlen. “Young Arlenthere is Master Cob’sapprentice. He’s going toward the library for us.Why don’t you show himaround?”Mery watched Arlen asthe boy gazed about,oblivious to her stare. His

dirty blond hair wasuntrimmed and somewhatlong, and his expensiveclothes were rumpled andstained, but there wasintelligenceinhiseyes.Hisfeatures were smooth andsymmetrical; notunpleasing. Cob heardRonnellmutteraprayerasshe smoothed her skirtsandglidedovertohim.

Arlen didn’t seem tonotice Mery as she cameover.“Hello,”shesaid.“Hullo,” Arlen replied,

squintingtoreadtheprinton the spine of a high-shelvedbook.Mery frowned. “My

name’s Mery,” she said.“Tender Ronnell is myfather.”“Arlen,” Arlen said,

pullingabookofftheshelfand flipping through itslowly.“My father askedme toshow you around thelibrary,”Merysaid.“Thanks,” Arlen said,puttingthebookbackandwalking down a row ofshelves toa sectionof thelibrary that was roped offfrom the rest. Mery was

forced to follow, irritationflashingonherface.“She’s used to ignoring,not being ignored,”Ronnellnoted,amused.“BR,”Arlen read on thearchway over the ropedsection. “What’s BR?” hemuttered.“Before Return,” Merysaid. “Those are originalcopies of the books of the

oldworld.”Arlenturnedtoherasif

he had just noticed sheexisted.“Honestword?”heasked.“It’s forbidden to go

back there without theduke’s permission,” Merysaid,watchingArlen’sfacefall. “Of course,” shesmiled, “I am allowed, onaccountofmyfather.”

“Your father?” Arlenasked.“I’m Tender Ronnell’s

daughter,” she reminded,scowling.Arlen’s eyes widened,

andhebowedawkwardly.“Arlen,ofTibbet’sBrook,”hesaid.From across the room,

Cob chuckled. “Boy neverhadachance,”hesaid.

The months meltedtogether for Arlen as hefellintoafamiliarroutine.Ragen’s manse was closerto the library, so he sleptthere most nights. TheMessenger’s leg hadmended quickly, and hewas soon on the roadagain. Elissa encouragedArlen to treat the roomashis own, and seemed totake a special pleasure at

seeingitclutteredwithhistools and books. Theservantslovedhispresenceas well, claiming LadyElissa was less of a trialwhenhewasabout.Arlenwouldriseanhourbefore the sun, andpracticehisspearformsbylamplight in the manse’shigh-ceilingedfoyer.Whenthesunbrokethehorizon,

he slipped into the yardfor an hour of targetpractice and riding. Thiswas followedbyahurriedbreakfastwith Elissa—andRagenwhenhewasabout—beforehewasoff to thelibrary.It was still early whenhe arrived, the libraryempty save for Ronnell’sacolytes,whosleptincells

beneaththegreatbuilding.These kept their distance,intimidatedbyArlen,whothought nothing ofwalkinguptotheirmasterand speaking withoutsummonsorpermission.There was a small,isolated room designatedas his workshop. It wasjust big enough for a pairof bookcases, his

workbench, and whateverpiece of furniture he wasworking on. One of thecases was filled withpaints, brushes, andetching tools. The otherwas filled with borrowedbooks. The floor wascovered in curled woodshavings, blotched fromspilledpaintandlacquer.Arlentookanhoureach

morning to read, thenreluctantly put his bookawayandgottowork.Forweeks, hewarded nothingbutchairs.Thenhemovedon to benches. The jobtook even longer thanexpected, but Arlen didn’tmind.Merybecameawelcomesight over these months,sticking her head into his

workshop frequently toshare a smile or a bit ofgossipbefore scurryingofftoresumeherduties.Arlenhad thought theinterruptions from hiswork and study wouldgrow tiresome, but theopposite proved true. Helooked forward to seeingher, even finding hisattention wandering ondayswhenshedidnotvisit

with her usual frequency.They shared lunches onthe library’s broad roof,overlooking the city andthemountainsbeyond.Merywasdifferentfromany girl Arlen had everknown. The daughter ofthe duke’s librarian andchief historian, she waspossiblythemosteducatedgirl in the city, and Arlen

found he could learn asmuch by talking to her asin the pages of any book.But her position was alonely one. The acolyteswere even moreintimidated by her thanthey were by Arlen, andtherewas no one else herage in the library. Merywas perfectly comfortablearguingwithgray-beardedscholars,butaroundArlen

sheseemedshyandunsureofherself.Much as he felt aroundher.

“Creator,Jaik,it’sasifyouhaven’t practiced at all,”Arlen said, covering hisears.“Don’t be cruel, Arlen,”Mery scolded. “Your songwaslovely,Jaik,”shesaid.

Jaik frowned. “Thenwhyareyoucoveringyourears,too?”heasked.“Well,” she said, takingher hands away with abright smile, “my fathersays music and dancinglead to sin, so I couldn’tlisten, but I’m sure it wasverybeautiful.”Arlen laughed, and Jaikfrowned, putting his lute

away.“Try your juggling,”

Merysuggested.“Are you sure it’s not a

sin to watch juggling?”Jaikasked.“Onlyifit’sgood,”Mery

murmured, and Arlenlaughedagain.Jaik’s lute was old and

worn, never seeming tohave all its strings at one

time. He set it down andpulled colored woodenballs from the small sackhe kept his Jongleur’sequipment in. The paintwas chipped and therewere cracks in the wood.He put one ball into theair, then another, and athird.Heheldthatnumberfor several seconds, andMeryclappedherhands.

“Muchbetter!”shesaid.Jaik smiled. “Watchthis!”hesaid,reachingforafourth.Arlen and Mery bothwinced as the balls cameclattering down to thecobblestones.Jaik’s face colored.“Maybe I should practicemorewiththree,”hesaid.“You should practice

more,”Arlenagreed.“My da doesn’t like it,”Jaik said. “He says ‘ifyou’ve nothing to do butjuggle, boy, I’ll find somechoresforyou!’”“My father does thatwhen he catches medancing,”Merysaid.They looked at Arlenexpectantly. “My da usedtodothat,too,”hesaid.

“But not Master Cob?”Jaikasked.Arlen shook his head.“Why should he? I do allheasks.”“Thenwhendoyoufindtime to practicemessengering?” Jaikasked.“I make time,” Arlensaid.“How?”Jaikasked.

Arlenshrugged.“Getupearlier. Stay up later.Sneak away after meals.Whatever you need to do.Orwouldyouratherstayamilleryourwholelife?”“There’s nothing wrong

with being a miller,Arlen,”Merysaid.Jaik shook his head.

“No, he’s right,” he said.“If this is what I want, I

have to work harder.” Helooked at Arlen. “I’llpractice more,” hepromised.“Don’t worry,” Arlensaid.“Ifyoucan’tentertainthe villagers in thehamlets,youcanearnyourkeep scaring off thedemons on the road withyoursinging.”Jaik’s eyes narrowed.

Mery laughedashebeganthrowinghisjugglingballsatArlen.“A good Jongleur couldhit me!” Arlen taunted,nimbly dodging eachthrow.

“You’re reaching too far,”Cob called. To illustratehispoint,Ragenletgoonehand from his shield andgripped Arlen’s spear, just

below the tip, before hecould retract it. Heyanked, and theoverbalanced boy wentcrashingintothesnow.“Ragen, be careful,”

Elissa admonished,clutchinghershawltightlyin the chill morning air.“You’llhurthim.”“He’s far gentler than a

coreling would be, my

lady,” Cob said, loudenough for Arlen to hear.“The purpose of the longspear is to hold thedemonsbackatadistancewhile retreating. It’s adefensive weapon.Messengers who get tooaggressivewith them, likeyoung Arlen here, end updead. I’ve seen it happen.TherewasonetimeontheroadtoLakton…”

Arlen scowled. Cob wasa good teacher, but hetended to punctuate hislessons with grisly storiesof the demise of otherMessengers.Hisintentwasto discourage, but hiswords had the oppositeeffect, only strengtheningArlen’s resolve to succeedwhere those before himfailed. He picked himselfup and set his feet more

firmlythistime,hisweightonhisheels.“Enough with the long

spears,” Cob said. “Let’strytheshortones.”Elissa frowned as Arlen

placed the eight-foot-longspearonarackandheandRagen selected shorterones, barely three feetlong, with pointsmeasuring a third of their

length. These weredesigned for close-quarterfighting, stabbing insteadof jabbing. He selected ashieldaswell,andthetwoof them once again facedoffinthesnow.Arlenwastaller now, broader of theshoulder, fifteen years oldwithalean,wirystrength.Hewasdressed inRagen’sold leather armor. It wasbigonhim,buthewasfast

growingintoit.“What is the point ofthis?” Elissa asked inexasperation. “It’s not likehe’severgoingtoget thatclose to a demon and livetotellaboutit.”“I’ve seen it happen,”Cob disagreed, as hewatched Arlen and Ragenspar. “But there are otherthings than demons out

between the cities, mylady. Wild animals, andevenbandits.”“Who would attack aMessenger?” Elissa asked,shocked.RagenshotCobanangrylook,butCobignoredhim.“Messengers are wealthymen,” he said, “and theycarry valuable goods andmessages that can decide

the fate ofMerchants andRoyals alike. Most peoplewouldn’t dare bring harmtoone,but it canhappen.And animals … withcorelingscullingtheweak,only the strongestpredatorsremain.“Arlen!” the Wardercalled.“Whatdoyoudoifyou’re attacked by abear?”

Without stopping ortaking his eyes off Ragen,Arlen called back, “Longspeartothethroat,retreatwhileitbleeds,thenstrikethe vitals when it lowersitsguard.”“Whatelsecanyoudo?”

Cobcalled.“Lie still,” Arlen said

distastefully. “Bearsseldomattackthedead.”

“Alion?”Cobasked.“Medium spear,” Arlencalled, picking off a stabfromRagenwithhisshieldand countering. “Stab tothe shoulder joint andbrace as the cat impalesitself, then stab with ashortspear to thechestorside,asavailable.”“Wolf?”“I can’t listen to any

more of this,” Elissa said,storming off toward themanse.Arlen ignored her. “Agood whack to the snoutwith a medium spear willusually drive off a lonewolf,” he said. “Failingthat, use the same tacticsasforlions.”“What if there’s a packofthem?”Cobasked.

“Wolvesfearfire,”Arlensaid.“And ifyouencountera

boar?” Cob wanted toknow.Arlenlaughed.“Ishould

‘run like all the Core isafter me,’” he quoted hisinstructors.

Arlenawokeatopapileofbooks. For a moment he

wondered where he was,realizing finally that hehad fallen asleep in thelibrary again. He lookedout the window, seeingthat itwaswellpastdark.He craned his head up,making out the ghostlyshapeofawinddemonasit passed far above. Elissawouldbeupset.The histories he had

beenreadingwereancient,dating back to the Age ofScience. They told of thekingdomsoftheoldworld,Albinon, Thesa, GreatLinm,andRusk,andspokeof seas, enormous lakesspanning impossibledistances, with yet morekingdoms on the far side.It was staggering. If thebooksweretobebelieved,theworldwasbigger than

hehadeverimagined.He paged through the

open book he hadcollapsed upon, and wassurprisedtofindamap.Ashiseyesscannedtheplacenames, they widened.There, plain as could be,wastheduchyofMiln.Helookedcloser,andsawtheriver that Fort Miln usedformuchofitsfreshwater,

and the mountains thatstood at its back. Rightthere was a small star,markingthecapital.He flipped a few pages,

reading about ancientMiln.Then,asnow,itwasa mining and quarryingcity, with vassalagespanning dozens of miles.Duke Miln’s territoryincluded many towns and

villages, ending at theDividingRiver, the borderof the landsheldbyDukeAngiers.Arlen remembered hisown journey, and tracedback west to the ruins hehad found, learning thatthey had belonged to theearl of Newkirk. Almostshaking with excitement,Arlen looked further, and

found what he had beenlooking for, a smallwaterway opening into awide pond. The barony ofTibbet.Tibbet,Newkirk,andtheothers had paid tribute toMiln, who in turn withDuke Angiers owed fealtyto the king of Thesa.“Thesans,” Arlenwhispered,tryingtheword

onforsize.“We’reallThesans.”He took out a pen and

begantocopythemap.

“That name is not to bespoken again by either ofyou,” Ronnell scoldedArlenandhisdaughter.“But…”Arlenbegan.“You think this wasn’t

known?” the librarian cut

him off. “His Grace hasordered anyone speakingthe name of Thesaarrested. Do you want tospendyearsbreakingrocksinhismines?”“Why?” Arlen asked.

“What harm could itbring?”“Before the duke closed

the library,” Ronnell said,“some people were

obsessed with Thesa, andwith soliciting monies tohireMessengerstocontactlostdotsonthemaps.”“What’s wrong with

that?”Arlenasked.“The king is three

centuries dead, Arlen,”Ronnell said, “and thedukes will make warbefore they bend knee toanyone but themselves.

Talk of reunificationreminds people of thingstheyoughtnotremember.”“Better to pretend thatthe walls of Miln are theentire world?” Arlenasked.“Until the Creatorforgives us and sends hisDeliverer to end thePlague,”Ronnellsaid.“Forgives us for what?”

Arlen asked. “Whatplague?”RonnelllookedatArlen,his eyes a mix of shockand indignation. For amoment,ArlenthoughttheTender might strike him.He steeled himself for theblow.Instead, Ronnell turnedto his daughter. “Can hereallynotknow?”heasked

indisbelief.Mery nodded. “The

Tender in Tibbet’s Brookwas … unconventional,”shesaid.Ronnell nodded. “I

remember,” he said. “Hewas an acolyte whosemaster was cored, andnever completed histraining.Wealwaysmeantto send someone new…”

He strode to his desk andbegan penning a letter.“This cannot stand,” hesaid. “What plague,indeed!”He continued to

grumble,andArlentookitas a cue to edge for thedoor.“Not so fast, you two,”

Ronnell said. “I’m verydisappointedinyouboth.I

knowCobisnotareligiousman, Arlen, but this levelof negligence is reallyquite unforgivable.” HelookedtoMery.“Andyou,young lady!” he snapped.“You knew this, and didnothing?”Merylookedatherfeet.

“I’m sorry, Father,” shesaid.“And well you should

be,”Ronnellsaid.Hedrewa thick volume from hisdesk and handed it to hisdaughter.“Teachhim,”hecommanded, handing herthe Canon. “If Arlendoesn’t know the bookbackandforthinamonth,I’ll takea strap tobothofyou!”Merytookthebook,and

both of them scampered

outasquicklyaspossible.

“We got off pretty easy,”Arlensaid.“Too easy,” Meryagreed. “Father was right.I should have saidsomethingsooner.”“Don’t worry about it,”Arlen said. “It’s just abook. I’ll have it read bymorning.”

“It’s not just a book!”Mery snapped. Arlenlookedathercuriously.“It’s the word of theCreator, as penned by thefirstDeliverer,”Merysaid.Arlenraisedaneyebrow.“Honestword?”heasked.Mery nodded. “It’s notenough to read it. Youhave to live it. Everyday.It’s a guide to bring

humanityfromthesinthatbroughtaboutthePlague.”“What plague?” Arlen

askedforwhatfeltlikethedozenthtime.“The demons, of

course,” Mery said. “Thecorelings.”

Arlen sat on the library’sroof a few days later, hiseyesclosedasherecited:

And man again becamepridefulandbold,Turning ’gainstCreator andDeliverer.He chosenot to honorHimwhogavelife,Turning his back uponmorality.

Man’s science became hisnewreligion,Replacing prayer withmachineandchemic,

Healingthosemeanttodie,He thoughthimself equal tohismaker.

Brother fought brother, tobenefitnone.Evillackingwithout,itgrewwithin,Taking seed in the heartsandsoulsofmen,Blackening what was oncepureandwhite.

And so the Creator, in His

wisdom,Called down a plague uponhislostchildren,Opening the Core onceagain,To show man the error ofhisways.

Andsoitshallbe,Until the day He sends theDelivereranew.For when the Deliverercleansesman,

Corelings will have naughttofeedupon.

And lo, ye shall know theDelivererForheshallbemarkeduponhisbarefleshAnd the demons will notabidethesightAnd they shall flee terrifiedbeforehim.

“Very good!” Merycongratulated with a

smile.Arlenfrowned.“Can I ask you

something?”heasked.“Ofcourse,”Merysaid.“Do you really believe

that?” he asked. “TenderHarral always said theDeliverer was just a man.A great general, but amortal man. Cob andRagensayso,too.”Mery’s eyes widened.

“You’d best not let myfather hear you say that,”shewarned.“Do you believe the

corelings are our ownfault?” Arlen asked. “Thatwedeservethem?”“Of course I believe,”

shesaid.“ItisthewordoftheCreator.”“No,” Arlen said. “It’s a

book.Booksarewrittenby

men.IftheCreatorwantedto tell us something, whywould he use a book, andnot write on the sky withfire?”“It’s hard sometimes to

believe there’s a Creatorup there,watching,”Merysaid,lookingupatthesky,“but how could it beotherwise? The worlddidn’t create itself. What

power would wards hold,without a will behindcreation?”“AndthePlague?”Arlen

asked.Mery shrugged. “The

histories tell of terriblewars,” she said. “Maybewediddeserveit.”“Deserve it?” Arlen

demanded. “My mam didnotdeserve to die because

ofsomestupidwar foughtcenturiesago!”“Your mother wastaken?” Mery asked,touchinghisarm.“Arlen,Ihadnoidea…”Arlen yanked his armaway. “It makes nodifference,” he said,storming toward the door.“I have wards to carve,though I hardly see the

point, if we all deservedemonsinourbeds.”

CHAPTER13THEREMUSTBEMORE

326AR

LEESHA BENT IN THE GARDEN,

selecting the day’s herbs.Some she pulled from the

soilrootandstalk.Others,she snapped off a fewleaves, or used herthumbnail to pop a budfromitsstem.She was proud of thegardenbehindBruna’shut.The cronewas tooold forthe work of maintainingthe small plot, and Darsyhad failed to make theharddirtyield,butLeesha

had the touch.Nowmanyof the herbs that she andBruna had once spenthours searching for in thewild grew just outsidetheirdoor, safewithin thewardposts.“You’ve a sharp mind

andagreenthumb,”Brunahad said when the soilbirthed its first sprouts.“You’ll be a better

Gatherer than I beforelong.”The pride those wordsgave Leesha was a newfeeling. She might nevermatch Bruna, but the oldwoman was not one forkind words or emptycompliments. She sawsomething in Leesha thatothershadn’t, and the girldidnotwanttodisappoint.

Herbasketfilled,Leeshabrushedoffandrosetoherfeet, heading toward thehut—if it could even becalledahutanymore.Ernyhad refused to see hisdaughter live in squalor,sending carpenters androofers to shore up theweakwallsandreplacethefrayed thatch. Soon therewaslittle left thatwasnotnew, and additions had

more than doubled thestructure’ssize.Bruna had grumbled

about all the noise as themen worked, but herwheezing had eased nowthatthecoldandwetweresealed outside. WithLeesha caring for her, theold woman seemed to begetting stronger with thepassingyears,notweaker.

Leesha, too, was gladthe work was completed.The men had begunlooking at her differently,towardtheend.Time had given Leeshahermother’slushfigure.Itwas something she hadalways wanted, but itseemed less an advantagenow. The men in townwatchedherhungrily,and

therumorsofherdallyingwith Gared, though yearsgone, still sat in the backof many minds, makingmore than one man thinkshemightbereceptivetoalewd, whispered offer.Most of these weredissuaded with a frown,andafewwithslaps.Evinhad required a puff ofpepper and stinkweed toremind him of his

pregnantbride.Afistfulofthe blinding powder wasnow one of many thingsLeesha kept in themultitudeofpocketsinherapronandskirts.Of course, even if she

hadbeeninterestedinanyofthemenintown,Garedmade sure none could getclose to her. Any manother than Erny caught

talking to Leesha aboutmore thanHerbGatheringreceived a harsh reminderthat in the burlywoodcutter’smindshewasstill promised. Even ChildJonabrokeout ina sweatwhenever Leesha somuchasgreetedhim.Her apprenticeship

wouldbeoversoon.Sevenyears and a day had

seemed an eternity whenBruna had said it, but theyears had flown, and theend was but days away.Already, Leesha wentalone each day to callupon those in town whoneededanHerbGatherer’sservice, asking Bruna’sadvice only very rarely,when the need was dire.Brunaneededherrest.

“The duke judges anHerb Gatherer’s skill bywhether more babies aredelivered than people dieeachyear,”Brunahadsaidthat first day, “but focusonwhat’s inbetween,anda year from now thepeople of Cutter’s Hollowwon’tknowhowtheyevergot alongwithout you.” Ithad proven true enough.Bruna brought her

everywhere from thatmoment on, ignoring therequestofanyforprivacy.Her having cared for theunborn of most of thewomen in town, andbrewedpomm tea forhalfthe rest, had them soonpaying Leesha everycourtesy,andrevealingallthe failingsof theirbodiestoherwithoutathought.

But forall that, shewasstill an outsider. Thewomen talked as if shewere invisible, blabbingevery secret in the villageas freelyas if shewerenomore than a pillow in thenight.“Andsoyouare,”Bruna

said,whenLeeshadaredtocomplain.“It’snotforyouto judge their lives, only

theirhealth.Whenyouputon that pocketed apron,you swear to hold yourpeacenomatterwhatyouhear. An Herb Gathererneedstrusttodoherwork,and trust must be earned.Nosecretshouldeverpassyourlips,unlesskeepingitprevents you healinganother.”So Leesha held her

tongue, and the womenhad come to trust her.Once the women werehers, the men soonfollowed, often with theirwomen prodding at theirback. But the apron keptthem away, all the same.Leesha knew what almostevery man in the villagelooked like unclothed, buthad never been intimatewith one; and though the

women might sing herpraises and send her gifts,there was not a one shecould tell her own secretsto.Yet despite all, Leesha

hadbeenfarhappierinthelast seven years than shehad been in the thirteenbefore. Bruna’s world wasmuch wider than the oneshehadbeengroomed for

by hermother. Therewasgrief,whenshewasforcedto close someone’s eyes,but therewasalso the joyof pulling a child from itsmother and sparking itsfirstcrieswithafirmswat.Soon,herapprenticeship

would be over, andBrunawould retire for good. Tohear her speak it, shewould not live long after

that. The thought terrifiedLeesha inmoreways thanone.Bruna was her shield

and her spear, herimpenetrablewardagainstthetown.Whatwouldshedo without that ward?Leesha did not have it inher to dominate as Brunahad, barking orders andstrikingfools.Andwithout

Bruna, who would shehavethatspoketoherasaperson and not an HerbGatherer? Who wouldweather her tears andwitness her doubt? Fordoubt was a breach oftrust as well. Peopledepended on confidencefromtheirHerbGatherer.In her most privatethoughts, there was even

more. Cutter’s Hollowseemed small to her now.The doors unlocked byBruna’s lessons were noteasily closed—a constantreminder not of what sheknew, but of how muchshe did not. WithoutBruna, that journeywouldend.She entered the house,seeing Bruna at the table.

“Goodmorning,” she said.“I didn’t expect youup soearly; I would have madetea before going into thegarden.”Shesetherbasketdown and looked to thefire, seeing the steamingkettleneartoboil.“I’m old,” Bruna

grumbled, “but not soblind and crippled I can’tmakemyowntea.”

“Of course not,” Leeshasaid, kissing the oldwoman’scheek,“you’refitenough to swing an axealongsidethecutters.”ShelaughedatBruna’sgrimaceand fetched the meal forporridge.The years together had

not softened Bruna’s tone,butLeeshaseldomnoticedit now, hearing only the

affection behind the oldwoman’s grumbling, andrespondinginkind.“Youwereoutgatheringearly today,” Bruna notedas they ate. “You can stillsmell the demon stink intheair.”“Only you could besurrounded with freshflowers and complain ofthe stink,” Leesha replied.

Indeed, she kept bloomsthroughout the hut, fillingtheairwithsweetness.“Don’t change thesubject,”Brunasaid.“A Messenger came lastnight,” Leesha said. “Iheardthehorn.”“Not a moment beforesundown, too,” Brunagrunted. “Reckless.” Shespatonthefloor.

“Bruna!”Leeshascolded.“What have I told youabout spitting inside thehouse?”Thecronelookedather,

rheumy eyes narrowing.“You told me this is myripping home, and I canspit where I please,” shesaid.Leesha frowned. “I was

sure I said something

else,”shemused.“Not if you’re smarterthan your bosom makespeople think,” Bruna said,sippinghertea.Leesha let her jaw dropin mock indignation, butshewas used to farworsefrom the old woman.Bruna did and said as shepleased, andnoone couldtellherdifferently.

“So it’s the Messengerthathasyouupandaboutso early,” Bruna said.“Hopingit’s thehandsomeone?What’shisname?Theonethatmakespuppyeyesatyou?”Leesha smiled wryly.“More likewolf eyes,” shesaid.“Thatcanbegoodtoo!”the old woman cackled,

slapping Leesha’s knee.Leeshashookherheadandrosetoclearthetable.“What’s his name?”

Bruna pressed. “It’s notlikethat,”Leeshasaid.“I’m too old for this

dance,girl,”Brunasaid.“Name.”“Marick,” Leesha said,

rollinghereyes.

“Shall I brew a pot ofpomm tea for youngMarick’s visit?” Brunaasked.“Is that all anyone

thinks about?” Leeshaasked. “I like talking tohim.That’sall.”“I’mnot soblind I can’t

see that boy has more onhismindthantalk,”Brunasaid.

“Oh?” Leesha asked,crossing her arms. “HowmanyfingersamIholdingup?”Bruna snorted. “Not aone,” she said, not eventurningLeesha’sway.“I’vebeen around long enoughto know that trick,” shesaid, “just as I knowMaverick the Messengerhasn’t made eye contact

with you once in all yourtalks.”“His name is Marick,”Leeshasaidagain,“andhedoes,too.”“Onlyifhedoesn’thavea clear view of yourneckline,”thecronesaid.“You’re impossible,”Leeshahuffed.“No cause for shame,”Bruna said. “If I had paps

like yours, I’d flaunt themtoo.”“Idonotflaunt!”Leesha

shouted, but Bruna onlycackledagain.Ahorn sounded,not far

off.“That will be young

master Marick,” Brunaadvised.“You’dbesthurryandprimp.”“It’s not like that!”

Leesha said again, butBrunadismissedherwithawave.“I’llputthatteaon,just

in case,” she said. Leeshathrew a rag at the oldwoman and stuck out hertongue,movingtowardthedoor.Outside on the porch,

she smiled in spite ofherself as she waited for

the Messenger. Brunapushed her to find a mannearly as much as hermother did, but the cronedid it out of love. Shewanted only for Leesha tobe happy, and Leeshalovedherdearlyforit.Butdespite the old woman’steasing, Leesha was moreinterested in the lettersMarick carried than hiswolfeyes.

Ever since she wasyoung, she had lovedMessenger days. Cutter’sHollow was a little place,but it was on the roadbetweenthreemajorcitiesand a dozen hamlets, andbetween the Hollow’stimberandErny’spaper,itwas a strong part of theregion’seconomy.Messengers visited the

Hollow at least twice amonth, and while mostmail was left with Smitt,theydeliveredtoErnyandBruna personally,frequently waiting forreplies. Brunacorresponded withGatherers in Forts Rizonand Angiers, Lakton, andseveral hamlets. As thecrone’seyesightfailed,thetask of reading the letters

and penning Bruna’srepliesfelltoLeesha.Even from afar, Brunacommanded respect.Indeed, most of the HerbGatherers in the area hadbeen students of hers atone time or another. Heradvice was frequentlysought to cure ailmentsbeyondothers’ experience,and offers to send her

apprentices came withevery Messenger. No onewished for her knowledgetopassfromtheworld.“I’m tooold tobreak inanother novice!” Brunawould grouse, waving herhand dismissively, andLeeshawouldpenapoliterefusal,somethingshehadgottenquiteusedto.All this gave Leesha

manyopportunitiestotalkwith Messengers. Most ofthem leered at her, itwastrue, or tried to impressher with tales of the FreeCities. Marick was one ofthose.ButtheMessengers’talesstruck a chord withLeesha.Their intentmighthave been to charm theirwayintoherskirts,butthe

pictures their wordspaintedstayedwithherinherdreams.She longed towalk the docks of Lakton,seethegreatwardedfieldsof Fort Rizon, or catch aglimpse of Angiers, theforest fortress; to readtheirbooksandmeettheirHerb Gatherers. Therewere other guardians ofknowledge of the oldworld, if she dared seek

themout.She smiled as Marickcame into view. Even aways off, she knew hisgait, legs slightly bowedfrom a life spent onhorseback. The Messengerwas Angierian, barely astall as Leesha at five footseven,buttherewasaleanhardness about him, andLeesha hadn’t exaggerated

about his wolf eyes. Theyroved with predatorycalm, searching forthreats…andprey.“Ay, Leesha!” he called,

lifting his spear towardher.Leeshaliftedherhandin

greeting. “Do you reallyneedtocarrythatthinginbroad day?” she called,indicatingthespear.

“What if there was awolf?”Marickrepliedwitha grin. “How would Idefendyou?”“We don’t see a lot ofwolves in Cutter’sHollow,” Leesha said, ashe drew close. He hadlongish brown hair andeyesthecoloroftreebark.She couldn’t deny that hewashandsome.

“A bear, then,” Maricksaidashereachedthehut.“Oralion.Therearemanykinds of predator in theworld,”hesaid,eyeinghercleavage.“Of that, I am wellaware,” Leesha said,adjusting her shawl tocovertheexposedflesh.Marick laughed, easinghis Messenger bag down

onto the porch. “Shawlshavegoneoutofstyle,”headvised. “None of thewomeninAngiersorRizonwearthemanymore.”“Then I’ll wager their

dresseshavehighernecks,or their men moresubtlety,”Leeshareplied.“High necks,” Marick

agreed with a laugh,bowinglow.“Icouldbring

you a high-neckedAngierian dress,” hewhispered,drawingclose.“When would I everhave cause towear that?”Leesha asked, slippingawaybeforethemancouldcornerher.“Come to Angiers,” theMessenger offered. “Wearitthere.”Leesha sighed. “I would

likethat,”shelamented.“Perhaps you will getthe chance,” theMessenger said slyly,bowing and sweeping hisarmtoindicatethatLeeshashouldenterthehutbeforehim. Leesha smiled andwent in, but she felt hiseyes on her backside asshedid.Bruna was back in her

chair when they entered.Marick went to her andbowedlow.“YoungmasterMarick!”Brunasaidbrightly.“Whatapleasantsurprise!”“I bring you greetingsfrom Mistress Jizell ofAngiers,” Marick said.“She begs your aid in atroubling case.” Hereached into his bag and

produced a roll of paper,tiedwithstoutstring.Bruna motioned forLeesha to take the letter,and sat back, closing hereyes as her apprenticebegantoread.“Honored Bruna,Greetings from FortAngiers in the year 326AR,”Leeshabegan.“Jizellyappedlikeadog

when she was myapprentice, and shewritesthe sameway,” Bruna cuther off. “I won’t liveforever.Skiptothecase.”Leesha scanned the

page, flipping it over andlooking over the back, aswell. She was on to thesecond sheet before shefound what she waslookingfor.

“A boy,” Leesha said,“ten years old. Broughtinto the hospit by hismother, complaining ofnausea and weakness. Noother symptomsorhistoryof illness. Given grimroot,water, and bed rest.Symptoms increased overthree days, with theaddition of rash on arms,legs, and chest. Grimrootraisedtothreeouncesover

thecourseofseveraldays.“Symptoms worsened,adding fever and hard,whiteboilsgrowingoutofthe rash. Salves had noeffect. Vomiting followed.Givenheartleafandpoppyfor the pain, soft milk forthe stomach. No appetite.Does not appear to becontagious.”Bruna sat a long while,

digesting the words. Shelooked at Marick. “Haveyou seen the boy?” sheasked. The Messengernodded. “Was hesweating?”Brunaasked.“He was,” Marick

confirmed, “but shivering,too, like he was both hotandcold.”Bruna grunted. “What

color were his

fingernails?”sheasked.“Fingernail color,”Marickrepliedwithagrin.“Getsmartwithmeandyou’ll regret it,” Brunawarned.Marick blanched andnodded. The old womanquestioned him for a fewminutes more, gruntingoccasionally at hisresponses. Messengers

were known for theirsharp memories and keenobservation,andBrunadidnot seem to doubt him.Finally, she waved himintosilence.“Anythingelseofnoteintheletter?”sheasked.“She wants to send youanother apprentice,”Leesha said. Brunascowled.

“I have an apprentice,Vika, who has almostcompleted her training,”Leesha read, “as, yourletters tell, do you. If youarenotwillingtoacceptanovice, please consider anexchange of adepts.”Leeshagasped,andMarickbrokeintoaknowinggrin.“Ididn’ttellyoutostop

reading,”Brunarasped.

Leesha cleared herthroat. “Vika is mostpromising,”sheread,“andwellequippedtoseetotheneeds of Cutter’s Hollow,as well as look after andlearn from wise Bruna.Surely Leesha, too, couldlearnmuchministering tothe sick in my hospit.Please, I beg, let at leastone more benefit fromwise Bruna before she

passesfromthisworld.”Bruna was quiet a longwhile.“IwillthinkonthisawhilebeforeIreply,”shesaid at last. “Go to yourrounds in town,girl.We’llspeak on this when youreturn.” To Marick, shesaid, “You’ll have aresponsetomorrow.Leeshawillseetoyourpayment.”The Messenger bowed

and backed out of thehouse as Bruna sat backand closed her eyes.Leeshacouldfeelherheartracing, but she knewbetterthantointerruptthecroneasshesiftedthroughthe many decades of hermemoryforawaytotreatthe boy. She collected herbasket, and left to makeherrounds.

MarickwaswaitingforherwhenLeeshacameoutside.“You knewwhatwas inthat letter all along,”Leeshaaccused.“Of course,” Marickagreed. “Iwas therewhenshepennedit.”“But you said nothing,”Leeshasaid.Marick grinned. “Ioffered you a high-necked

dress,” he said, “and thatofferstillstands.”“We’ll see.” Leesha

smiled, holding out apouch of coins. “Yourpayment,”shesaid.“I’d rather you pay me

withakiss,”hesaid.“You flatter me, to say

my kisses are worthmorethangold,”Leeshareplied.“Ifeartodisappoint.”

Marick laughed. “Mydear, if I braved thedemonsofthenightalltheway from Angiers andback and returned withbut a kiss from you, IwouldbetheenvyofeveryMessenger ever to passthroughCutter’sHollow.”“Well, in that case,”Leesha said with a laugh,“IthinkI’llkeepmykisses

a little longer, inhopesofabetterprice.”“You cut me to thequick,” Marick said,clutchinghisheart.Leeshatossedhimthepouch,andhecaughtitdeftly.“MayIat leasthavethehonor of escorting theHerbGathererintotown?”he askedwith a smile.Hemade a leg and held out

his arm for her to take.Leesha smiled in spite ofherself.“We don’t do things so

quicklyintheHollow,”shesaid, eyeing the arm, “butyoumaycarrymybasket.”She hooked it on hisoutstretched arm andheaded toward town,leaving him staring afterher.

Smitt’s market wasbustling by the time theyreachedtown.Leeshalikedto select early, before thebest produce was gone,and place her order withDug the butcher beforemakingherrounds.“Good morn, Leesha,”said Yon Gray, the oldestman in Cutter’s Hollow.His gray beard, a point of

pride, was longer thanmostwomen’shair.Onceaburly cutter, Yon had lostmost of his bulk in hislatter years, and nowleanedheavilyonhiscane.“Good morn, Yon,” shereplied. “How are thejoints?”“Pain me still,” Yonreplied. “’Specially thehands.Canbarelyholdmy

canesomedays.”“Yet you find it in you

to pinch me whenever Iturn ’round,” Leeshanoted.Yoncackled. “Toanold

man like me, girlie, that’sworthanypain.”Leesha reached into her

basket, pulling forth asmall jar. “It’s well that Imade you more

sweetsalve,then,”shesaid.“You’vesavedmetheneedtobringitby.”Yon grinned. “You’re

always welcome to comeby and help apply,” hesaidwithawink.Leesha tried not to

laugh, but it was a futileeffort. Yon was a lecher,but she liked him wellenough.LivingwithBruna

had taught her that theeccentricitiesofagewereasmall price to pay forhaving a lifetime ofexperiencetodrawupon.“You’ll just have tomanage yourself, I’mafraid,”shesaid.“Bah!” Yon waved hiscane in mock irritation.“Well,youthinkonit,”hesaid. He looked toMarick

before taking his leave,giving a nod of respect.“Messenger.”Marick nodded back,and the old man movedoff.Everyone at the markethad a kind word ofgreeting for Leesha, andshe stopped to ask afterthehealthofeach,alwaysworking, even while

shopping.Though she and Bruna

hadplentyofmoney fromselling flamesticksand thelike,noonewouldtakesomuch as a klat in returnfor her selections. Brunaasked no money forhealing,andnooneaskedmoneyofher foranythingelse.Marick stood

protectively close as shesqueezed fruit andvegetableswithapracticedhand. He drew stares, butLeesha thought it was asmuchbecausehewaswithher than it was thepresence of a stranger atmarket. Messengers werecommon enough inCutter’sHollow.She caught the eye of

Keet—Stefny’s son, if notSmitt’s. The boy wasnearly eleven, and lookedmoreandmorelikeTenderMichel with each passingday. Stefny had kept herside of the bargain overthe years, and not spokenillofLeeshasinceshewasapprenticed. Her secretwas safe as far as Brunawasconcerned,butforthelife of her, Leesha could

notseehowSmittfailedtoseethetruthstaringathimfromthesuppertableeachnight.She beckoned, and Keetcame running. “Bring thisbag to Bruna once yourchores allow,” she said,handing him herselections. She smiled athimandsecretlypressedaklatintohishand.

Keet grinned widely atthe gift. Adults wouldnevertakemoneyfromanHerbGatherer, but Leeshaalways slipped childrensomething for extraservice. The lacqueredwoodencoin fromAngierswas the main currency inCutter’s Hollow, andwouldbuyRizonansweetsfor Keet and his siblingswhen the next Messenger

came.She was ready to leave

when she saw Mairy, andmoved to greet her. Herfriendhadbeenbusyoverthe years; three childrenclung toher skirtsnow.Ayoung glassblower namedBenn had left Angiers tofind his fortune in Laktonor Fort Rizon. He hadstopped in the Hollow to

ply his trade and raise afewmore klats before thenextlegofthejourney,butthen he met Mairy, andthose plans dissolved likesugarintea.Now Benn plied his

trade in Mairy’s father’sbarn, and business wasbrisk. He bought bags ofsand fromMessengers outof Fort Krasia, and turned

them into things of bothfunction and beauty. TheHollow had never had ablower before, andeveryone wanted glass oftheirown.Leesha,too,waspleased

by the development, andsoonhadBennmakingthedelicate components ofdistilleries shown inBruna’s books, allowing

her to leach the strengthfromherbsandbrewcuresfarmorepowerfulthantheHollowhadeverseen.Soon after, Benn and

Mairy wed, and beforelong, Leesha was pullingtheir first child frombetweenMairy’s legs.Twomorehadfollowedinshortorder, and Leesha lovedeachasifitwereherown.

She had been honored totears when they namedtheiryoungestafterher.“Good morning,rascals,” Leesha said,squattingdownandlettingMairy’s children fall intoher arms. She huggedthem tightly and kissedthem,slippingthempiecesofcandywrappedinpaperbefore rising. She made

the candy herself, anotherthingshehadlearnedfromBruna.“Good morning,Leesha,” Mairy said,dipping a small curtsy.Leesha bit back a frown.She andMairy had stayedclose over the years, butMairy looked at herdifferently now that shewore the pocketed apron,

and nothing seemed abletochange that.Thecurtsyseemedingrained.Still, Leesha treasured

her friendship. Saira camesecretly to Bruna’s hut,begging pomm tea, buttheir relationship endedthere. To hear thewomenin town tell it, Saira keptwell enough entertained.Halfthemeninthevillage

supposedlyknockedonherdoor at one time oranother, and she alwayshadmoremoney than thesewingsheandhermothertookincouldbring.Briannewas evenworse

insomeways.Shehadnotspoken to Leesha in thelastsevenyears,buthadabadwordtosayaboutherto everyone else. She had

taken to seeing Darsy forher cures, and herdalliances with Evin hadquickly given her a roundbelly.WhenTenderMichelhad challenged her, shehadnamedEvinthefatherrather than face the townalone.Evin had married

Brianne with her father’spitchfork at his back and

herbrotherstoeitherside,and had committedhimselftomakingherandtheir son Callenmiserableeversince.Briannehadprovenafitmother and wife, but shenever lost the weight shehad put on during herpregnancy, and Leeshaknew personally howEvin’s eyes—and hands—

wandered.Gossiphadhimknocking frequently onSaira’sdoor.“Goodmorning,Mairy,”she said. “Have you metMessenger Marick?”Leeshaturnedtointroducethe man, only to find hewasnolongeratherback.“Oh, no,” she said,seeinghim facingoffwithGaredacrossthemarket.

At fifteen, Gared hadbeenbigger thananymanin the village save hisfather. Now, at twenty-two,hewasgigantic,closeto seven feet of packedmuscle, hardened by longdaysattheaxe.Itwassaidhe must have Milneseblood, for no Angierianhadeverbeensolarge.Word of his lie had

spread throughout thevillage,andsince then thegirls had kept theirdistance,afraidtobealonewith him. Perhaps thatwas why he still covetedLeesha; perhaps he wouldhave done so regardless.ButGaredhadnotlearnedthelessonsofthepast.Hisego had grown with hismuscles, and now he wasthe bully everyone had

known he would be. Theboys who used to teasehim now jumped at hiseveryword,and ifhewascruel to them, he was aterror to any unwiseenough to cast their eyesuponLeesha.Gared waited for her

still, acting as if Leeshaweregoingtocometohersensesonedayandrealize

she belonged with him.Any attempts to convincehim otherwise had beenmet with wood-headedstubbornness.“You’re not local,” she

heard Gared say, pokingMarick hard in theshoulder, “so maybe yahaven’theardthatLeesha’sspoken for.” He loomedover the Messenger like a

grown man over a youngboy.ButMarickdidn’tflinch,or move at Gared’s poke.He stood stark still, hiswolf eyes never leavingGared’s. Leesha prayed hehad the sense not toengage.“Not according to her,”Marick replied, andLeesha’s hopes fell. She

started moving towardthem,butalreadyacrowdwas forming around themen, denying her a clearpath. She wished she hadBruna’s stick to help hercleartheway.“Did she say words ofpromise to you,Messenger?” Gareddemanded. “She did tome.”

“So I’ve heard,” Marickreplied. “I’ve also heardyou’retheonlyfool intheHollow who thinks thosewords mean a coreling’spiss after you betrayedher.”Gared roared and

grabbed at theMessenger,but Marick was quicker,stepping smoothly to theside and snapping up his

spear, thrusting the buttright between thewoodcutter’s eyes. Hewhipped the spear aroundin a smooth motion,striking behind Gared’sknees as he staggeredbackward, dropping himhardonhisback.Marickplantedhisspear

back on the ground,standing over Gared, his

wolfeyescoldlyconfident.“I could have used thepoint,” he advised. “Youwould do well toremember that. Leeshaspeaksforherself.”Everyone in the crowd

was gawking, but Leeshacontinued her desperatepush forward, knowingGared,andknowingthatitwasnotover.

“Stop this idiocy!” shecalled. Marick glanced ather, and Gared used thatmomenttograbtheendofhis spear.TheMessenger’sattention snapped back,and he gripped the shaftwithbothhandstopullthespearfree.It was the last thing heshould have done. Garedhad a wood demon’s

strength, and even withhim lying prone, nonecouldmatchit.Hiscordedarms flexed, and Marickfound himself flyingthroughtheair.Garedrose,andsnappedthe six-foot spear in halflikeatwig.“Let’sseehowya fight when yer nothidingbehindaspear,”hesaid, dropping the pieces

tothedirt.“Gared, no!” Leesha

screamed,pushingpastthelast of the onlookers andgrabbing his arm. Heshoved her aside, nevertakinghiseyesoffMarick.The simplemove sent herreeling back into thecrowd, where she crashedintoDugandNiklas,goingdowninatangleofbodies.

“Stop!” she criedhelplessly, struggling tofindherfeet.“Noothermanwillhave

you,” Gared said. “You’llhaveme, or you’ll end upshriveled and alone likeBruna!”HestalkedtowardMarick,whowasonlyjustgettinghislegsunderhim.Gared swung a meaty

fist at the Messenger, but

again,Marickwasquicker.He ducked the blowsmoothly, landing twoquick punches to Gared’sbodybeforeretreatingwellahead of Gared’s wildreturnswing.But if Gared even felt

the blows, he showed nosign. They repeated theexchange, this time withMarick punching Gared

full in the nose. Bloodspurted, and Garedlaughed, spitting it fromhismouth.“That your best?” he

asked.Marickgrowledandshot

forward, landing a flurryof punches. Gared couldnot keep up and hardlytried,grittinghisteethandweathering the barrage,

hisfaceredwithrage.After a few moments,Marickwithdrew,standinginacatlikefightingstance,his fistsupandready.Hisknuckles were skinned,and he was breathinghard. Gared seemed littletheworseforwear.Forthefirsttime,therewasfearinMarick’swolfeyes.“That all ya have?”

Gared asked, stalkingforwardagain.The Messenger came athim again, but this time,he was not so quick. Hestruck once, twice, andthen Gared’s thick fingersfound purchase on hisshoulder, gripping hard.The Messenger tried topullbackoutofreach,buthewasheldfast.

Gareddrovehisfistintothe Messenger’s stomach,andthewindexplodedoutof him. He struck again,this time to thehead, andMarickhitthegroundlikeasackofpotatoes.“Not so smug now, are

ya!” Gared roared.Marickrose to his hands andknees, struggling to rise,butGaredkickedhimhard

in the stomach, flippinghimoverontohisback.Leesha was darting

forwardby then,asGaredkneltatopMarick, landingheavyblows.“Leesha is mine!” he

roared. “And any whatsaysotherwisewill…!”Hiswordswerecutshort

as Leesha threw a full fistofBruna’sblindingpowder

inhisface.Hismouthwasalready open, and heinhaled reflexively,screaming as it burnedinto his eyes and throat,his sinuses seizing andhisskin feeling as if burnedwithboilingwater.Hefelloff Marick, rolling on theground choking andclawingathisface.Leesha knew she had

used too much of thepowder. A pinch wouldstop most men in theirtracks,butafullfistcouldkill, causing people tochoke on their ownphlegm.Shescowledandshovedpast the gawkers,snatching a bucket ofwater Stefny had beenusing to wash potatoes.

ShedumpeditoverGared,andhis convulsions eased.He would be blind forhoursmore,butshewouldnot have his death on herhands.“Our vows are broken,”she told him, “now andforever. I will never beyourwife,evenifitmeansdyingshriveledandalone!I’d as soon marry a

coreling!”Gared groaned, showing

nosignhehadheard.She moved over to

Marick, kneeling andhelpinghim to situp. Shetook a clean cloth anddaubedatthebloodonhisface. Already he wasstarting to swell andbruise.“Iguessweshowedhim,

eh?” theMessenger asked,chuckling weakly andwincing at the pain itbroughttohisface.Leesha poured some of

the harsh alcohol Smittbrewed in his basementontothecloth.“Aahhh!” Marick

gasped, as she touchedhimwithit.“Serves you right,”

Leesha said. “You couldhave walked away fromthat fight, andyou shouldhave, whether you couldhave won or not. I didn’tneed your protection, andI’mnomore likely togivemyaffectiontoamanwhothinks picking a fight isgoing to gain the favor ofan Herb Gatherer than Iamthetownbully.”

“He was the one thatstarted it!” Marickprotested.“I’m disappointed in

you, Master Marick,”Leesha said. “I thoughtMessengers came smarterthan that.” Marickdroppedhiseyes.“Take him to his room

at Smitt’s,” she said tosome nearby men, and

they moved quickly toobey.MostfolkinCutter’sHollowdid,thesedays.“If you’re out of bedbefore tomorrowmorning,” Leesha told theMessenger, “I’ll hear of itand be even more crosswithyou.”Maricksmiledweaklyasthemenhelpedhimaway.“That was amazing!”

Mairy gasped, whenLeesha returned for herbasketofherbs.“It was nothing butstupidity that neededstopping,”Leeshasnapped.“Nothing?”Mairyasked.“Twomen locked togetherlikebulls,andallyouhadto do to stop them wasthrowahandfulofherbs!”“Hurting with herbs is

easy,” Leesha said,surprised to find Bruna’swords on her lips, “it’shealing with them that’shard.”

It was well past high sunby the time Leeshafinished her rounds andmade it back to Bruna’shut.“Howarethechildren?”

Brunaasked,asLeeshaset

her basket down. Leeshasmiled. Everyone inCutter’s Hollow was achildinBruna’seyes.“Wellenough,”shesaid,

coming to sit on the lowstool by Bruna’s chair sothe ancient Herb Gatherercouldseeherclearly.“YonGray’sjointsstillache,buthis mind is as young asever. I gave him fresh

sweetsalve. Smitt remainsabed, but his cough islessening.Ithinktheworstis past.” She went on,describing her roundswhile the crone noddedsilently. Brunawould stopher if she had comment;sheseldomdidanymore.“Is that all?” Bruna

asked. “What of theexcitement young Keet

tells me went on in themarketthismorning?”“Idiocy is more like it,”Leeshasaid.Bruna dismissed herwithawave.“Boyswillbeboys,” she said. “Evenwhen they’re men. Itsoundslikeyoudealtwithitwellenough.”“Bruna, theycouldhavekilled each other!” Leesha

said.“Oh, pfaw!” Bruna said.“You’renotthefirstprettygirltohavemenfightoverher. You may not believeit, but when I was yourage, a few bones werebroken onmy account, aswell.”“You were never myage,” Leesha teased. “YonGray says they called you

‘hag’ when he was firstlearningtowalk.”Bruna cackled. “So they

did,sotheydid,”shesaid.“But there was a timebeforethenwhenmypapswereasfullandsmoothasyours,andmenfoughtlikecorelingstosucklethem.”Leesha looked hard at

Bruna, trying topeel backthe years and see the

woman she had been, butit was a hopeless task.Even with all theexaggerations andtampweed tales taken intoaccount, Bruna was acentury old, at least. Shewould never say for sure,answering simply, “I quitcounting at a hundred,”wheneverpressed.“In any event,” Leesha

said,“Marickmaybeabitswollen in the face, buthe’llhavenoreasonnottobeontheroadtomorrow.”“That’s well,” Bruna

said.“Soyouhavea cure for

Mistress Jizell’s youngcharge?”Leeshaasked.“What would you tell

her to do with the boy?”Brunareplied.

“I’msure Idon’tknow,”Leeshasaid.“Areyou?”Brunaasked.

“I’mnot.Comenow,whatwouldyoutellJizellifyouwere me? Don’t pretendyouhaven’tthoughtaboutit.”Leesha took a deep

breath. “The grimrootlikely interacted poorlywiththeboy’ssystem,”she

said.“Heneedstobetakenoff it, and the boils willneed to be lanced anddrained. Of course, thatstill leaves his originalillness. The fever andnausea could just be achill, but the dilated eyesand vomit hint at more. Iwould try monkleaf withlady’s brooch and groundadderbark, titratedcarefully over a week at

least.”Bruna looked at her alongtime,thennodded.“Pack your things andsay your good-byes,” shesaid. “You’ll bring thatadvice to Jizellpersonally.”

CHAPTER14THEROADTOANGIERS

326AR

EVERY AFTERNOON WITHOUT

FAIL, Erny came up thepath to Bruna’s hut. The

Hollow had six Warders,each with an apprentice,but Erny did not trust hisdaughter’s safety toanyone else. The littlepapermaker was the bestWarderinCutter’sHollow,andeveryoneknewit.Often, he brought giftshis Messengers hadsecuredfromfar-offplaces:booksandherbsandhand-

sewn lace. But gifts werenot why Leesha lookedforward to his visits. Sheslept better behind herfather’s strong wards, andseeing him happy theselast seven years wasgreater than any gift.Elona still caused himgrief,ofcourse,butnotonthescalesheoncehad.But today, as Leesha

watched the sun cross thesky, she found herselfdreadingher father’s visit.Thiswasgoingtohurthimdeeply.And her, as well. Ernywas awell of support andlove that she drew uponwhenever things grew toohard for her.What wouldshe do in Angierswithouthim? Without Bruna?

Would any there see pastherpocketedapron?But whatever her fears

about loneliness inAngiers,theypaledagainsthergreatestfear:thatonceshetastedthewiderworld,she would never want toreturntoCutter’sHollow.It wasn’t until she saw

her father coming up thepath that Leesha realized

she’d been crying. Shedriedher eyes andput onher best smile for him,smoothing her skirtsnervously.“Leesha!” her father

called, holding out hisarms. She fell into themgratefully, knowing thatthismightbethelasttimethey played out this littleritual.

“Iseverythingallright?”Ernyasked.“Iheard therewas some trouble at themarket.”There were few secretsin a place as small asCutter’sHollow.“It’sfine,”she said. “I took care ofit.”“You take care ofeveryone in Cutter’sHollow, Leesha,” Erny

said,squeezinghertightly.“I don’t know what we’ddowithoutyou.”Leesha began to weep.

“Now,now,noneofthat,”Erny said, catching a tearoffhercheekonhis indexfingerandflickingitaway.“Dry your eyes and headon inside. I’ll check thewards, and we can talkabout what’s bothering

you over a bowl of yourdeliciousstew.”Leesha smiled. “Mum

stillburningthefood?”sheasked.“When it’s not still

moving,” Erny agreed.Leeshalaughed,lettingherfather check the wardswhileshelaidthetable.

“I’m going to Angiers,”

Leesha said when thebowls were cleared, “tostudyunderoneofBruna’soldapprentices.”Erny was quiet a long

time. “I see,” he said atlast.“When?”“As soon as Marick

leaves,” Leesha said.“Tomorrow.”Erny shook his head.

“No daughter of mine is

spending a week on theopen road alone with aMessenger,” he said. “I’llhire a caravan. It will besafer.”“I’ll be careful of the

demons,Da,”Leeshasaid.“It’s not just corelings

I’m worried about,” Ernysaidpointedly.“IcanhandleMessenger

Marick,” Leesha assured

him.“Keeping aman off you

in the dark of night isn’tthe same as stopping abrawlinthemarket,”Ernysaid. “You can’t leave aMessenger blind if youever hope to make it offthe road alive. Just a fewweeks,Ibeg.”Leesha shook her head.

“There’s a child I’m

needed to treatimmediately.”“Then I’ll gowith you,”Ernysaid.“You’lldonosuchthing,Ernal,” Bruna cut in.“Leesha needs to do thisonherown.”Erny looked at the oldwoman, and they lockedstares andwills. But therewas no will in Cutter’s

Hollow stronger thanBruna’s, and Erny soonlookedaway.Leesha walked her

father out soon after. Hedidnotwanttogo,nordidshewanthimtoleave,butthe sky was filled withcolor, and already hewouldhavetotrottomakeithomesafely.“How long will you be

gone?” Erny asked,gripping the porch railtightly and looking off inthedirectionofAngiers.Leesha shrugged. “That

willdependonhowmuchMistress Jizell has toteach, and how much theapprentice she’s sendinghere,Vika,has to learn.Acoupleofyears,atleast.”“I suppose if Bruna can

dowithoutyouthatlong,Ican,too,”Ernysaid.“Promise me you’ll

checkherwardswhileI’mgone,” Leesha said,touchinghisarm.“Of course,” Erny said,

turningtoembraceher.“I love you, Da,” she

said.“And I, you, poppet,”

Erny said, crushing her in

his arms. “I’ll see you inthemorning,”hepromisedbefore heading down thedarkeningroad.“Your father makes a

fair point,” Bruna said,when Leesha came backinside.“Oh?”Leeshaasked.“Messengers are men

like any other,” Brunawarned.

“Of that, I have nodoubt,” Leesha said,remembering the fight inthemarketplace.“Young master Marick

may be all charm andsmiles now,” Bruna said,“but once you’re on theroad, he’ll have his way,no matter what yourwishes, and when youreach the forest fortress,

Herb Gatherer or no, fewwill take the word of ayoung girl over that of aMessenger.”Leesha shook her head.

“He’ll have what I givehim,” she said, “andnothingmore.”Bruna’s eyes narrowed,

but she grunted, satisfiedthat Leesha was wise tothedanger.

There was a sharp rap atthe door just after firstlight. Leesha answered,finding her motherstanding there, thoughElonahadnotcometothehutsincebeingexpelledatthe endofBruna’s broom.Her face was athunderheadasshepushedrightpastLeesha.On the sunny side of

forty, Elona might stillhave been the mostbeautiful woman in thevillage if not for herdaughter. But beingautumn to Leesha’ssummer had not humbledher. She might bow toErny with gritted teeth,butshecarriedherselflikeaduchesstoallothers.“Not enough you steal

my daughter, you have tosend her away?” shedemanded.“Good morn to you as

well,Mother,”Leeshasaid,closingthedoor.“You stay out of this!”

Elonasnapped.“Thewitchhastwistedyourmind!”Bruna cackled into her

porridge. Leeshainterposedherselfbetween

thetwo,justasBrunawaspushing her half-finishedbowlawayandwipinghersleeveacrosshermouthtoretort. “Finish yourbreakfast,”Leeshaordered,pushing the bowl back infront of her, and turningback to Elona. “I’m goingbecauseIwantto,Mother.And when I return, I’llbring healing the likes ofwhichCutter’sHollowhas

not seen since Bruna wasyoung.”“And how long will ittake this time?” Elonademanded. “You’vealready wasted your bestbreeding years with yournose buried in dusty oldbooks.”“My best …!” Leeshastuttered. “Mother, I’mbarelytwenty!”

“Exactly!” Elonashouted.“Youshouldhavethreechildrenbynow,likeyour friend the scarecrow.Instead, I watch as youpull babes from everywomb in the village butyourown.”“At least she was wiseenoughnot toshrivelherswith pomm tea,” Brunamuttered.

Leesha whirled on her.“I told you to finish yourporridge!” she said, andBruna’s eyeswidened. Shelooked ready to retort,then grunted and turnedher attention back to herbowl.“I’m not a brood mare,

Mother,” Leesha said.“There’s more in life formethanthat.”

“What more?” Elonapressed. “What could bemoreimportant?”“I don’t know,” Leeshasaid honestly. “But I’llknowwhenIfindit.”“And in the meantime,you leave the care ofCutter’s Hollow to a girlyou’ve never met andham-hand Darsy, whonearly killed Ande, and

halfadozensince.”“It’s only for a fewyears,” Leesha said. “Mywhole life, you called meuseless, but now I’msupposed to believe theHollow can’t get on a fewyearswithoutme?”“What if somethinghappens to you?” Elonademanded.“Whatifyou’recored on the road? What

wouldIdo?”“What would you do?”

Leesha asked. “For sevenyears,you’vebarelysaidaword to me, apart frompressing me to forgiveGared. You don’t knowanything about meanymore, Mother. Youhaven’t bothered. Sodon’tpretendnowthatmydeathwould be some great loss

toyou.IfyouwantGared’schild on your knee sobadly, you’ll have to bearityourself.”Elona’s eyes widened,

andaswhenLeeshawasawillful child, her responsewasswift.“Iforbidit!”sheshouted, her open handflyingatLeesha’sface.But Leesha was not a

childanymore.Shewasof

a size with her mother,faster and stronger. Shecaught Elona’s wrist andheld it fast. “The dayswhen your word carriedweight with me are longpast,Mother,”Leeshasaid.Elonatriedtopullaway,butLeeshaheldonabit,ifonly to show she could.When she was finallyreleased,Elonarubbedher

wristandlookedscornfullyatherdaughter.“You’llbebackoneday,Leesha,”sheswore. “Mark my words!Anditwillbemuchworseforyouthen!”“I think it’s time youleft,Mother,” Leesha said,opening the door just asMarick was raising hishand to knock. Elonasnarled and pushed past

him, stomping down thepath.“Apologies if I’m

intruding,”Marick said. “Icame for Mistress Bruna’sresponse. I’m bound forAngiersbymidmorning.”LeeshalookedatMarick.

His jaw was bruised, buthis thick tan hid it well,and the herbs she hadappliedtohissplit lipand

eye had kept the swellingdown.“You seem well

recovered,”shesaid.“Quickhealers go far in

my line of work,” Maricksaid.“Well then fetch your

horse,” Leesha said, “andreturn in an hour. I willdeliver Bruna’s responsepersonally.”

Maricksmiledwidely.

“It is good that you go,”Bruna said, when theywere alone at last.“Cutter’s Hollow holds nomore challenges for you,and you’re far too youngtostagnate.”“Ifyouthinkthatwasn’t

a challenge,” Leesha said,“then you weren’t payingattention.”

“A challenge, perhaps,”Bruna said, “but theoutcome was never indoubt. You’ve grown toostrong for the likes ofElona.”Strong, she thought. Isthat what I’ve become? Itdidn’t feel that way mostof the time, but it wastrue, none of theinhabitants of Cutter’s

Hollow frightened heranymore.Leesha gathered herbags, small and seeminglyinadequate; a few dressesand books, some money,herherbpouch,abedroll,and food. She left herpretties, the gifts herfather had given her andother possessions near toher heart. Messengers

traveled light, andMarickwould not take well tohaving his horseoverburdened. Bruna hadsaid Jizell would provideforherduringhertraining,but still, it seemedprecious little to start anewlifewith.A new life. For all thestress of the idea, itbrought excitement, as

well. Leesha had readevery book in Bruna’scollection,butJizellhadagreatmanymore, and theother Herb Gatherers inAngiers, if they could bepersuaded to share, heldmorestill.Butas thehourdrew toa close, Leesha felt as ifthe breath were beingsqueezed fromher.Where

was her father?Would henotseeheroff?“It’snearlytime,”Brunasaid.Leeshalookedupandrealizedhereyeswerewet.“We’dbestsayourgood-byes,” Bruna said. “Oddsare, we’ll never haveanotherchance.”“Bruna, what are yousaying?”Leeshaasked.“Don’tplaythefoolwith

me,girl,”Brunasaid.“Youknow what I mean. I’velivedmysharetwiceover,but I’m not going to lastforever.”“Bruna,” Leesha said, “Idon’thavetogo…”“Pfagh!”Brunasaidwitha wave of her hand.“You’vemasteredall Icanteachyou,girl,solettheseyears be my last gift to

you. Go,” she prodded,“seeand learnasmuchasyoucan.”She held out her arms,and Leesha fell into them.“Just promise me thatyou’ll look after mychildren when I’m gone.They can be stupid andwillful,butthere’sgoodinthem, when the night isdark.”

“I will,” Leeshapromised. “And I’ll makeyouproud.”“You could never do

otherwise,”theoldwomansaid.Leesha sobbed into

Bruna’s rough shawl. “I’mscared,Bruna,”shesaid.“You’d be a fool not to

be,” Bruna said, “but I’veseen a good piece of the

world myself, and I’venever seen a thing youcouldn’thandle.”Marick led his horse upthe path not long after.TheMessengerhadafreshspear inhis hand, andhiswarded shield slung overthe horn of his saddle. Ifthe pummeling he hadtaken the day beforepainedhiminanyway,he

gavenosign.“Ay, Leesha!” he calledwhen he saw her. “Readytobeginyouradventure?”Adventure.Thewordcutpast sadness and fear,sending a thrill throughher.Marick took Leesha’sbags, slinging them atophis lean Angierian courseras Leesha turned toBruna

onelasttime.“I’mtoooldforgood-byesthatlasthalfthe day,” Bruna said.“Take care of yourself,girl.”The old woman pressed

a pouch into her hands,andLeeshaheardtheclinkof Milnese coin, worth afortune in Angiers. Brunaturned and went insidebefore Leesha could

protest.She pocketed the pouchquickly.Thesightofmetalcoin this far from Milncouldtemptanyman,evenaMessenger.Theywalkedon opposite sides of thehorse down the path totown,wherethemainroadled on to Angiers. Leeshacalledtoherfatherastheypassedhishouse,butthere

was no reply. Elona sawthempassandwentinside,slamming thedoorbehindher.Leesha hung her head.She had been counting onseeing her father one lasttime. She thought of allthevillagersshesaweveryday, and how she hadn’thadtimetopartwiththemall properly. The letters

she had left with Brunaseemed woefullyinadequate.As they reached thecenter of town, though,Leesha gasped. Her fatherwas waiting there, andbehind him, lining theroad,was theentire town.They went to her one byone as she passed, somekissing her and others

pressing gifts into herhands.“Rememberuswellandreturn,”Ernysaid,andLeeshahuggedhimtightly,squeezinghereyesshut towardofftears.

“TheHollowers loveyou,”Marick remarked as theyrode through the woods.Cutter’sHollowwas hoursbehindthem,andtheday’sshadows were growing

long. Leesha sat beforehim on his courser’s widesaddle, and the beastseemedtobearitandtheirbaggagewell.“There are times,”

Leesha said, “when I evenbelieveitmyself.”“Why shouldn’t you

believe it?” Marick asked.“A beauty like the dawnwho can cure all ills? I

doubt any could help butloveyou.”Leesha laughed. “Abeautylikethedawn?”sheasked. “Find the poorJongleur you stole thatline from and tell himnevertouseitagain.”Marick laughed, hisarms tightening aroundher. “You know,” he saidin her ear, “we never

discussed my fee forescortingyou.”“I have money,” Leeshasaid, wondering how farher coin would go inAngiers.“So do I,” Maricklaughed. “I’m notinterestedinmoney.”“Then what kind ofprice did you have inmind, Master Marick?”

Leesha asked. “Is thisanotherplayforakiss?”Marick chuckled, his

wolf eyes glinting. “A kisswasthepricetobringyoua letter. Bringing yousafely to Angiers will bemuchmore…expensive.”He shiftedhishipsbehindher, and his meaning wasclear.“Always ahead of

yourself,” Leesha said.“You’llbeluckytogetthekissatthisrate.”“We’llsee,”Maricksaid.They made camp soonafter. Leesha preparedsupper while Marick setthewards.When the stewwasready,shecrumbledafew extra herbs intoMarick’s bowl beforehandingittohim.

“Eatquick,”Maricksaid,taking the bowl andshoveling a large spoonfulinto his mouth. “You’llwant to get in the tentbefore the corelings rise.Seeing them up close canbescary.”Leesha looked over atthe tent Marick hadpitched,barelybigenoughforone.

“It’s small,” he winked,“butwe’llbeabletowarmeach other in the chill ofnight.”“It’s summer,” she

remindedhim.“Yet I still feel a cold

breeze whenever youspeak,” Marick chuckled.“Perhaps we can find away to melt that.Besides”—hegesturedpast

the circle, where mistyforms of corelings hadalreadybeguntorise—“it’snotasifyoucangofar.”

Hewas stronger than her,and her struggles againsthim did as little good asherrefusals.Withthecriesof corelings as theirbackdrop, she suffered hiskisses and pawing at her,handsfumblingandrough.

And when his manhoodfailed him, she comfortedhim with soothing words,offering remedies of herband root that onlyworsenedhiscondition.Sometimes he grewangry, and shewas afraidhemight strikeher.Othertimes he wept, for whatkind of man could notspread his seed? Leesha

weathered it all, for thetrial was not too high aprice for passage toAngiers.I am saving him fromhimself, she thought eachtime she dosed his food,forwhatmanwishedtobearapist?Butthetruthwas,she felt little remorse.Shetook no pleasure in usingher skills to break his

weapon, but deep down,there was a coldsatisfaction, as if all herfemale ancestorsthroughouttheuntoldagessince the first man whoforced a woman to theground were nodding ingrimapprovalthatshehadunmanned him before hecouldunmaidenher.The days passed slowly,

with Marick’s moodshifting from sour tospoiled as each night’sfailuremounteduponhim.The last night, he drankdeep from his wineskin,and seemed ready to leapfromthecircleandletthedemonshavehim.Leesha’srelief was palpable whenshe saw the forest fortressspread out before them inthe wood. She gasped at

thesightofthehighwalls,theirlacqueredwardshardand strong, large enoughto encompass Cutter’sHollowmanytimesover.The streets of Angierswere covered with woodto prevent demons fromrising inside; the entirecity was a boardwalk.Marick tookherdeep intothecity,andsetherdown

outside Jizell’s hospit. Hegripped her arm as sheturned to go, squeezinghard,hurtingher.“What happened outbeyondthewalls,”hesaid,“staysoutthere.”“I won’t tell anyone,”Leeshasaid.“See that you don’t,”Marick said. “Because ifyoudo,I’llkillyou.”

“I swear,” Leesha said.“Gatherer’sword.”Marick grunted and

released her, pulling hardonhiscourser’sbridleandcanteringoff.A smile touched the

corners of Leesha’s mouthas shegatheredher thingsand headed toward thehospit.

CHAPTER15FIDDLEMEAFORTUNE

325AR

THERE WAS SMOKE, and fire,and a woman screamedabove the corelings’

shrieks.Iloveyou!Rojer startedawake,hisheart racing. Dawn hadbrokenoverthehighwallsof Fort Angiers, soft lightfiltering in through thecracks in the shutters. Heheldhistalismantightlyinhisgoodhandas the lightgrew,waitingforhisheartto still. The tiny doll, a

child’s creation of woodandstringtoppedwithherlockofredhair,wasallhehadleftofhismother.Hedidn’t rememberher

face, lost in the smoke,ormuch else about thatnight, but he rememberedher lastwords to him.Heheard themover and overinhisdreams.Iloveyou!

He rubbed the hairbetween the thumb andring finger of his crippledhand. Only a jagged scarremained where his firsttwo fingers had been, butbecauseofher,hehadlostnothingelse.Iloveyou!ThetalismanwasRojer’ssecretward, something hedidn’t even share with

Arrick,who had been likea father to him. It helpedhim through the longnights when darknessclosedheavilyaroundhimand the coreling screamsmadehimshakewithfear.But day had come, and

the light made him feelsafe again. He kissed thetinydollandreturnedittothe secret pocket he had

sewnintothewaistbandofhis motley pants. Justknowingitwastheremadehimfeelbrave.Hewastenyearsold.Rising from his straw

mattress, Rojer stretchedand stumbled out of thetiny room, yawning. HisheartfellashesawArrickpassedoutatthetable.Hismaster was slumped over

an empty bottle, his handwrappedtightlyarounditsneck as if to choke a fewlastdropsfromit.They both had theirtalismans.Rojer went over andpried the bottle from hismaster’sfingers.“Who? Wazzat?” Arrickdemanded, half lifting hishead.

“You fell asleep at thetableagain,”Rojersaid.“Oh,’syou,boy,”Arrick

grunted. “Thought it ’uztha’ ripping landlordagain.”“The rent’s past due,”

Rojer said. “We’re set toplay Small Square thismorning.”“The rent,” Arrick

grumbled. “Always the

rent.”“Ifwedon’tpay today,”

Rojer reminded, “MasterKeven promised he’dthrowusout.”“So we’ll perform,”

Arrick said, rising.He losthisbalanceandattemptedto catch himself on thechair, but he only servedtobringitdownontopofhimashehitthefloor.

Rojer went to help himup,butArrickpushedhimaway. “I’m fine!” heshouted,as ifdaringRojerto differ as he roseunsteadily to his feet. “Icould do a backflip!” hesaid, looking behind himto see if there was room.His eyes made it clear hewasregrettingtheboast.“Weshouldsavethatfor

the performance,” Rojersaidquickly.Arrick looked back at

him. “You’re probablyright,” he agreed, both ofthemrelieved.“Mythroat’sdry,”Arrick

said. “I’ll need a drinkbeforeIsing.”Rojer nodded, running

to fill awooden cup fromthepitcherofwater.

“Notwater,”Arricksaid.“Bring me wine. I need aclaw from thedemon thatcored me.” “We’re out ofwine,”Rojersaid.“Then run and get me

some,” Arrick ordered. Hestumbled to his purse,trippingashedidandjustbarely catching himself.Rojer ran over to supporthim.

Arrick fumbledwith thestrings a moment, thenlifted thewholepurseandslammed it back down onthe wood. There was noretort as the cloth struck,andArrickgrowled.“Notaklat!”heshoutedin frustration, throwingthepurse.Theacttookhisbalance, and he turned afull circle trying to right

himselfbeforedroppingtothefloorwithathud.Hegainedhishandsand

knees by the time Rojergottohim,butheretched,spilling wine and bile allover the floor. He madefists and convulsed, andRojer thought he wouldretch again, but after amoment he realized hismasterwassobbing.

“It was never like thiswhen I worked for theduke,” Arrick moaned.“Money was spilling frommypockets,then.”Only because the duke

paid for your wine, Rojerthought, but he was wiseenough to keep it tohimself. Telling Arrick hedrank too much was thesurestwaytoprovokehim

intoarage.He cleaned his master

up and supported theheavymantohismattress.Oncehewaspassedoutonthe straw, Rojer got a ragto clean the floor. Therewould be no performancetoday.He wondered if Master

Keven would really putthemout, andwhere they

would go if he did. TheAngierian wardwall wasstrong, but there wereholesinthenetabove,andwind demons were notunheardof.Thethoughtofa night on the streetterrifiedhim.He looked at their

meager possessions,wondering if there wassomething he could sell.

Arrick had sold Geral’sdestrierandwardedshieldwhen times had turnedsour, but the Messenger’sportablecircleremained.Itwould fetch a fair price,but Rojer would not daresell it. Arrickwould drinkand gamble with themoney, and there wouldbe nothing left to protectthem when they werefinallyputoutinthenight

forreal.Rojer, too, missed the

days when Arrick workedfor the duke. Arrick wasloved by Rhinebeck’swhores, and they hadtreated Rojer like he wastheirown.Huggedagainsta dozen perfumed bosomsa day, he had been givensweets and taught to helpthem paint and preen. He

hadn’t seen his master asmuch then; Arrick hadoften left him in thebrothelwhenhejourneyedto the hamlets, his sweetvoice delivering ducaledictsfarandwide.But the duke hadn’tcared for finding a youngboy curled in the bedwhenhestumbledintohisfavorite whore’s chambers

one night, drunk andaroused. He wanted Rojergone,andArrickwithhim.Rojerknewitwashisfaultthat they lived so poorlynow. Arrick, like hisparents, had sacrificedeverythingtocareforhim.But unlike with hisparents, Rojer could givesomethingbacktoArrick.

Rojer ran for all he was

worth, hoping the crowdwas still there. Even now,many would come to anadvertised engagement ofthe Sweetsong, but theywouldn’twaitforever.Over his shoulder he

carried Arrick’s “bag ofmarvels.” Like theirclothes,thebagwasmadefrom a Jongleur’s motleyof colored patches, faded

and threadbare. The bagwas filled with theinstrumentsofaJongleur’sart. Rojer had masteredthem all, save the coloredjugglingballs.His bare, callused feet

slapped the boardwalk.Rojerhadbootsandglovesto match his motley, buthe left them behind. Hepreferred the firm grip of

his toes to theworn solesof his bell-tipped, motleyboots, and he hated thegloves.Arrick had stuffed thefingers of the right glovewith cotton to hide theones Rojer was missing.Slender thread connectedthe false digits to theremaining ones, makingthembendasone.Itwasa

clever bit of trickery, butRojer was ashamed eachtime he pulled theconstrictive thing onto hiscrippled hand. Arrickinsistedhewearthem,buthismastercouldn’thithimfor something he didn’tknowabout.A grumbling crowdmilledabout Small SquareasRojerarrived;perhapsa

score of people, some ofthosechildren.Rojercouldremember a time whenword that ArrickSweetsong might appeardrew hundreds from allends of the city and eventhe hamlets nearby. Hewould have been singingin the temple to theCreatorthen,ortheduke’samphitheater. Now SmallSquare was the best the

guildwouldgivehim,andhecouldn’tevenfillthat.But any money wasbetterthannone.Ifevenadozen left Rojer a klatapiece, it might buyanothernight fromMasterKeven, so long as theJongleurs’ Guild did notcatch him performingwithouthismaster.Iftheydid,overduerentwouldbe

theleastoftheirtroubles.With a “Whoot!” hedancedthroughthecrowd,throwinghandfulsofdyedwingseeds from the bag.The seedpods spun andfluttered in his wake,leaving a trail of brightcolor.“Arrick’s apprentice!”onecrowdmembercalled.“The Sweetsong will be

hereafterall!”Therewasapplause,and

Rojer felt his stomachlurch. He wanted to tellthetruth,butArrick’s firstruleof jonglingwasneverto say or do anything tobreak a crowd’s goodmood.The stage at Small

Squarehadthreetiers.Theback was a wooden shell

designed to amplify soundand keep inclementweather off theperformers. There werewards inscribed into thewood,buttheywerefadedandold.Rojerwonderediftheywouldgrantsuccortohimandhismaster,shouldtheybeputouttonight.He raced up the steps,

handspringing across the

stage and throwing thecollectionhat just in frontofthecrowdwithaprecisesnapofhiswrist.Rojer warmed everycrowd for his master, andfor a fewminutes, he fellinto that routine,cartwheeling about andtelling jokes, performingmagic tricks, andmumming the foibles of

well-known authorityfigures. Laughter.Applause. Slowly, thecrowd began to swell.Thirty.Fifty.Butmoreandmore began to murmur,impatient for theappearance of ArrickSweetsong. Rojer’sstomach tightened,andhetouchedthetalismaninitssecretpocketforstrength.

Staving off theinevitable as long as hecould, he called thechildren forward to tellthem the story of theReturn. He mummed theparts well, and somenodded in approval, butthere was disappointmenton many faces. Didn’tArrick usually sing thetale?Wasn’tthatwhytheycame?

“Where is theSweetsong?” someonecalled from the back. Hewas shushed by hisneighbors, but his wordshung in the air. By thetime Rojer had finishedwith the children, therewere general grumbles ofdiscontent.“Icametohearasong!”

the same man called, and

thistimeothersnoddedinagreement.Rojer knew better than

to oblige. His voice hadnever been strong, and itcrackedwhenever he heldanoteformorethanafewbreaths. The crowdwouldturnuglyifhesang.He turned to thebagof

marvels for anotheroption, passing over the

jugglingballsinshame.Hecouldcatchandthrowwellenough with his crippledright hand, but with noindex finger to put thecorrect spin on the balland only half a hand tocatch with, the complexinterplay between bothhands when juggling wasbeyondhim.“What kind of Jongleur

can’t sing and can’tjuggle?” Arrick wouldshout sometimes. Notmuchofone,Rojerknew.He was better with theknives in the bag, butcalling audience membersup to stand by the wallwhilehe threw required aspecial license from theguild.Arrickalways choseabuxomgirltoassist,who

moreoftenthannotendedup in his bed after theperformance.“I don’t think he’scoming,” he heard thatsame man say. Rojercursedhimsilently.Manyoftheothercrowdmembers were slippingaway, as well. A fewtossedklats in thehatoutof pity, but ifRojer didn’t

do something soon, theywould never have enoughto satisfy Master Keven.His eyes settled on thefiddle case, and hesnatched itquickly, seeingthat only a few onlookersremained. He pulled outthe bow, and as always,there was a rightness intheway it fit his crippledhand. His missing fingersweren’tneededhere.

No sooner than he putbow to string,music filledthe square. Some of thosewho were turning awaystoppedtolisten,butRojerpaidthemnomind.Rojer didn’t remembermuchabouthisfather,buthehad a clearmemoryofJessum clapping andlaughingasArrickfiddled.Whenheplayed,Rojerfelt

hisfather’s love,ashedidhismother’swhenheheldhis talisman. Safe in thatlove, he let fear fall awayand he lost himself in thevibrating caress of thestrings.Usually he played onlyan accompaniment toArrick’s singing, but thistimeRojerreachedbeyondthat, letting his music fill

the space Sweetsongwould have occupied. Thefingers of his good lefthand were a blur on thefrets, and soon the crowdbegan clapping a tempofor him to weave themusic around. He playedfaster and faster as thetempo grew louder,dancing around the stageintimetothemusic.Whenhe put his foot on one of

the stepson the stageandpushed off into a backflipwithoutmissinganote,thecrowdroared.The sound broke his

trance,andhesawthatthesquare was filled, withpeople even crowdedoutside to hear. It hadbeensometimesinceevenArrickdrewsuchacrowd!Rojer almost missed a

stroke in his shock, andgrittedhisteethtoholdonto the music until itbecamehisworldagain.

“That was a goodperformance,” a voicecongratulated as Rojercounted the lacqueredwooden coins in the hat.Nearly three hundredklats! Keven would notpesterthemforamonth.

“Thank you …” Rojerbegan, but his voicecaught in his throat as helooked up. Masters Jasinand Edum stood beforehim.Guildsmen.“Where’s your master,Rojer?” Edum askedsternly. He was a masteractor andmummerwhoseplays were said to drawaudiencemembersfromas

farasFortRizon.Rojer swallowed hard,

his face flushing hot. Helooked down, hoping theywould take his fear andguilt as shame. “I … Idon’t know,” he said. “Hewassupposedtobehere.”“Drunk again, I’ll

wager,”Jasinsnorted.Alsoknown as Goldentone, anamehewas said tohave

given himself, he was asinger of some note, butmore importantly, he wasthe nephew of Janson,Duke Rhinebeck’s firstminister, and made surethe entire world knew it.“Old Sweetsong is pickledsourthesedays.”“It’s awonder he’s kepthis license this long,”Edum said. “I heard he

soiled himself in themiddle of his act lastmonth.”“That’s not true!” Rojersaid.“I’d be more worriedabout myself, if I wereyou, boy,” Jasin said,pointing a long finger inRojer’sface.“Doyouknowthe penalty for collectingmoney for an unlicensed

performance?”Rojer paled. Arrickcould losehis licenseoverthis. If the guild broughtthe matter to themagistrate as well, theycouldbothfindthemselveschopping wood withchainedankles.Edum laughed. “Don’tworry, boy,” he said. “Solong as the guild has its

cut”—hehelpedhimselftoa large portion of thewooden coins Rojer hadcollected—“I don’t thinkwe need to make furthernoteofthisincident.”Rojer knew better thanto protest as the mendividedandpocketedoverhalfthetake.Little,ifany,wouldactuallyfinditswayto the coffers of the

Jongleurs’Guild.“You’vegottalent,boy,”

Jasin said as they turnedtogo.“Youmightwanttoconsider a master withbetterprospects.Comeseeme if you tire of cleaningupafteroldSoursong.”Rojer’s disappointment

lasted only until he shookthe collection hat. Evenhalfwasmorethanhehad

ever hoped to make. Hehurried back to the inn,pausing only to make asingle stop. He made hisway to Master Keven,whosefacewasathunder-head as the boyapproached.“You’d better not behere to beg for yourmaster,boy,”hesaid.Rojer shook his head,

handing the man a purse.“My master says there’senough there for atenday,”hesaid.Keven’s surprise wasevident as he hefted thebag and heard thesatisfyingclackofwoodencoins within. He hesitateda moment, then gruntedand pocketed the pursewithashrug.

Arrick was still asleepwhen he returned. Rojerknew his master wouldnever realize the innkeephad been paid. He wouldavoidthemanassiduously,and congratulate himselfon making it ten dayswithoutpaying.He left the few

remainingcoinsinArrick’spurse. He would tell his

masterhehadfoundthemloose in the bag ofmarvels. It was rare forthat to happen sincemoney became tight, butArrick wouldn’t questionhis fortune once he sawwhat else Rojer hadbought.Rojer placed the winebottle by Arrick’s side asheslept.

ArrickwasupbeforeRojerthe next morning,checking his makeup in acracked hand mirror. Hewasn’t a young man, butneitherwashe soold thatthe tools in a Jongleur’spaintbox couldn’t makehimlookso.Hislong,sun-bleached hair was stillmore gold than gray, andhisbrownbeard,darkenedwith dye, concealed the

growingwattlebeneathhischin. The paint matchedhis tanned skin so closelythat the wrinkles aroundhis blue eyeswere all butinvisible.“Wegotluckylastnight,

m’boy,”hesaid,contortinghis face to see how thepaint held, “but we can’tavoid Keven forever. Thathairybadgerwill catchus

sooner or later, andwhenhe does, I’d like morethan …” He reached intothe purse, pulling out thecoins and flicking the lotintotheair.“…sixklatstoour name.” His handsmoved too fast to follow,snatching the coins out ofthe air and putting themintoacomfortable rhythmintheairabovehim.

“Haveyoubeenat yourjuggling,boy?”heasked.BeforeRojer couldopenhismouth to reply,Arrickflickedoneoftheklatshisway.Rojerwaswisetotheruse, but ready or not, hefelt a stab of fear as hecaught the coin in his lefthandandtosseditupintothe air. More coinsfollowed in rapid

succession, and he foughtfor control as he caughtthem with his crippledhand and tossed them totheothertobeputintotheairagain.Bythe timehehadfourcoins going, he wasterrified. When Arrickaddedafifth,Rojerhadtodancewildlytokeepthemallmoving.Arrickthought

better of tossing the sixthand waited patientlyinstead. Sure enough,Rojer fell to the floor in aclatter of coins a momentlater.Rojer cringed inanticipationofhismaster’stirade, but Arrick onlysighed deeply. “Put yourgloves on,” he said. “Weneedtogooutandfillour

purse.”Thesighcutevendeeper

thanashoutandacuffonthe ear. Anger meantArrick expected better. Asighmeanthismasterhadgivenup.“No,”hesaid.Theword

slippedoutbeforehecouldstop it, but once it hungthere in the air betweenthem, Rojer felt the

rightness of it, like the fitof thebow inhis crippledhand.Arrickblusteredthroughhis mustache, shocked attheboy’saudacity.“The gloves, I mean,”Rojer clarified, and sawArrick’s expression changefromanger to curiosity. “Idon’t want to wear themanymore.Ihatethem.”

Arrick sighed anduncorkedhisnewbottleofwine,pouringacup.“Didn’t we agree,” hesaid, pointing at Rojerwith the bottle, “thatpeoplewouldbelesslikelyto hire you if they knewyourinfirmity?”heasked.“We never agreed,”Rojer said. “You just toldme to start wearing the

glovesoneday.”Arrick chuckled. “Hate

todisillusionyou,boy,butthat’s how it is betweenmasters and apprentices.No one wants a crippledJongleur.”“So that’s all I am?”

Rojerasked.“Acripple?”“Of course not,” Arrick

said.“Iwouldn’ttradeyoufor any apprentice in

Angiers. But not everyonewill lookpastyourdemonscars to see the manwithin.Theywilllabelyouwith somemocking name,and you’ll find themlaughing at you and notwith.”“I don’t care,” Rojersaid.“Theglovesmakemefeel like a fraud, and myhand is bad enough

without the fake fingersmaking it clumsier. Whatdoes it matter why theylaugh, if they come andpayklatstodoit?”Arrick looked at him alongtime,tappinghiscup.“Letmeseethegloves,”hesaidatlast.They were black, andreached halfway up hisforearm. Bright-colored

triangles of cloth weresewn to the ends, withbellsattached.Rojertossedthem tohismasterwith afrown.Arrickcaughtthegloves,

looked at them for half amoment, and then tossedthem out the window,brushing his handstogetheras if touchingthegloves had left them

unclean.“Grab your boots and

let’s go,” he said, tossingback the remains of hiscup.“I don’t really like the

bootseither,”Rojerdared.Arricksmiledattheboy.

“Don’tpushyourluck,”hewarnedwithawink.

Guildlawallowedlicensed

Jongleurs to perform onany street corner, so longas they did not blocktraffic or hindercommerce. Some vendorsevenhired them toattractattention to their booths,or the common rooms oftaverns.Arrick’s drinking hadalienated most of thelatter, so they performed

in the street.Arrickwasalate sleeper, and the bestspots had long since beenstaked out by otherJongleurs. The space theyfound wasn’t ideal: acorner on a side street farfrom the main lanes oftraffic.“It’ll do,” Arrickgrunted. “Drum up somebusiness, boy, while I set

up.”Rojer nodded and ran

off. Whenever he found alikelyclusterofpeople,hecartwheeled by them, orwalked by on his hands,the bells sewn into hismotley ringing aninvitation.“Jongleur show!” he

cried. “Come see ArrickSweetsongperform!”

Between his acrobaticsandtheweightstillcarriedby his master’s name, hedrewafairbitofattention.Some even followed himon his rounds, clappingandlaughingathisantics.One man elbowed his

wife. “Look, it’s thecrippled boy from SmallSquare!”“Are you sure?” she

asked.“Just look at his hand!”

themansaid.Rojer pretended not to

hear,movingon in searchof more customers. Hesoon brought his smallfollowing to his master,finding Arrick juggling abutcher knife, a meatcleaver, a hand axe, asmall stool, and an arrow

in easy rhythm, jokingwith a growing crowd ofhisown.“And here comes myassistant,”Arrick called tothe crowd, “RojerHalfgrip!”Rojer was alreadyrunning forwardwhen thenameregistered.WhatwasArrickdoing?It was too late to slow,

though,soheputhisarmsout and flung himselfforward,cartwheelingintoatriplebackfliptostandafewyardsfromhismaster.Arrick snatched thebutcher knife from thedeadly array in the airbefore him and flicked itRojer’sway.Fully expecting themove, Rojer went into a

spin, catching the bluntand specially weightedknifeeasilyinhisgoodlefthand.Ashecompletedthecircuit, he uncoiled andthrew, sending the bladespinning right at Arrick’shead.Arrick, too, went into a

spin, and came out of thecircuitwiththebladeheldtightly in his teeth. The

crowdcheered,andas theblade went back up intorhythm with the otherimplements, a wave ofklatsclickedintothehat.“Rojer Halfgrip!” Arrick

called. “With only tenyears and eight fingers,he’s still deadlier with aknife than any grownman!”The crowd applauded.

Rojer held his crippledhandupforalltosee,andthe crowd ooohed andaahed over it. Already,Arrick’s suggestion hadmost of thembelievinghemadethatcatchandthrowwith his crippled hand.They would tell others,and exaggerate in thetelling. Rather than riskRojerbeinglabeledbythecrowd, Arrick had labeled

himfirst.“Rojer Halfgrip,” he

murmured, tasting thenameonhistongue.“Hup!” Arrick called,

and Rojer turned as hismaster flung the arrow athim.Heslappedhishandstogether, catching themissilejustbeforeitstruckhis face. He spun again,putting his back to the

crowd. With his goodhand, he threw the arrowbetween his legs backtoward his master, butwhenhefinishedthemoveand faced the crowd, hiscrippled right hand wasextended.“Hup!”hecalledback.Arrick feigned fear,dropping the blades hewasjuggling,butthestool

fell into his hands just intimeforthearrowtostickinitscenter.Arrickstudieditas if amazedathisowngood fortune. He flickedhis wrist as he pulled thearrow free, and it becamea bouquet of flowers,whichhebestowedon theprettiest woman in thecrowd. More coinsclatteredintothehat.

Seeing his mastermovingontomagic,Rojerran to the bag of marvelsfor the implements Arrickwould need for his tricks.Ashedid,therecameacryfromthecrowd.“Play your fiddle!” a

man called. As he did,there was a general buzzofagreement.Rojerlookedup to see the same man

who had called so loudlyfor Sweetsong the daybefore.“In themood formusic,

arewe?” Arrick asked thecrowd,notmissingabeat.He was answered with acheer, so Arrick went tothe bag and took thefiddle,tuckingitunderhischin and turning back tothe audience. But before

hecouldputbowtostring,themancriedout.“Not you, the boy!” he

bellowed. “Let Halfgripplay!”Arrick looked to Rojer,

his face a mask ofirritation as the crowdbegan chanting “Halfgrip!Halfgrip!” Finally heshrugged, handing hisapprenticetheinstrument.

Rojer took the fiddlewith shaking hands.“Never upstage yourmaster” was a ruleapprentices learned early.But the crowdwas callingforhimtoplay,andagainthebowfeltsorightinhiscrippled hand, free of thecursedglove.Heclosedhiseyes, feeling the stillnessof the strings under hisfingertips, and then

brought them to a lowhum.Thecrowdquietedashe played softly for a fewmoments, stroking thestrings like the back of acat,makingitpurr.Thefiddlecamealiveinhishands,then,andheledit out like a partner in areel, sweeping it into awhirlwind of music. Heforgot the crowd. He

forgot Arrick. Alone withhismusic,heexplorednewharmonies even as hemaintained a constantmelody, improvising intime to the tempo ofclapping that seemed aworldremoved.He had no idea how

long itwent on.He couldhave stayed in that worldforever, but there was a

sharp twang, andsomething stung his hand.Heshookhisheadtoclearit and looked up at thewide-eyed and silentcrowd.“String broke,” he said

sheepishly. He glanced athis master, who stood inthe same shock as theother onlookers. Arrickraised his hands slowly

andbegantoclap.The crowd followed

soon after, and it wasthunderous.

“You’re going to make usrich with that fiddling,boy,”Arricksaid,countingtheirtake.“Rich!”“Richenoughtopaythe

back dues you owe theguild?”avoiceasked.

They turned to seeMaster Jasin leaningagainst the wall. His twoapprentices, Sali andAbrum,stoodcloseby.Salisang soprano with a clearvoice as beautiful as shewas ugly. Arricksometimes joked that ifsheworeahornedhelmet,audiences would mistakeher for a rock demon.Abrumsangbass,hisvoice

a deep thrum that madetheplankedstreetsvibrate.Hewastallandlean,withgigantichands and feet. IfSaliwasarockdemon,hewassurelyawood.LikeArrick,MasterJasinwasanalto,hisvoicerichand pure. He woreexpensive clothes of finebluewoolandgoldthread,spurning the motley that

most of his professionwore. His long black hairand mustache were oiledandmeticulouslygroomed.Jasin was a man ofaverage size, but thatmade him no lessdangerous. He had oncestabbed a Jongleur in theeye during an argumentover a particular corner.The magistrate ruled it

self-defense, but thatwasn’thowthetalkintheapprentice room of theguildhousetoldit.“The payment of my

guildduesisnoconcernofyours, Jasin,” Arrick said,quicklydumping thecoinsinthebagofmarvels.“Your apprentice may

have talked your way outof missing that

performance yesterday,Soursong, but his fiddlecan’t succor you forever.”As he spoke, Abrumsnatched Rojer’s fiddlefrom his hands and brokeit over his knee. “Sooneror later, the guild willhaveyourlicense.”“The guild would never

giveupArrickSweetsong,”Arrick said, “but even if

they did, Jasinwould stillbe known as‘Secondsong.’”Jasin scowled, formany

in the guild already usedthatname,andthemasterwas known to fly intorages at its utterance. Heand Sali advanced onArrick, who held the bagprotectively. Abrumbacked Rojer against a

wall, keeping him fromgoingtohismaster’said.But this wasn’t the firsttime they had needed tofight to defend their take.Rojer dropped straightdown on his back, coilinglike a spring and kickingstraight up. Abrumscreamed, his normallydeep voice taking on adifferentpitch.

“I thought yourapprenticewasabass,nota soprano,” Arrick said.When Jasin and Salispared a glance to theircompanion, his quickhands darted into the bagof marvels, sending afistful of wingseedsspinning in the air beforethem.Jasinlungedthroughthe

cloud, but Arricksidestepped and trippedhim easily, bringing thebag around in a hardswing at Sali, hitting thebulky woman full in thechest.Shemighthavekepther feet, but Rojerwas inposition, kneeling behindher. She fell hard, andbefore the three couldrecover, Arrick and Rojerran off down the

boardwalk.

CHAPTER16ATTACHMENTS323-325AR

THE ROOF OF THE DUKE’S

LIBRARY in Miln was amagical place for Arlen.

On a clear day, theworldspread out below him, aworld unrestrained bywalls and wards,stretchingon into infinity.ItwasalsotheplacewhereArlenfirstlookedatMery,andtrulysawher.His work in the librarywas nearly complete, andhe would soon bereturning to Cob’s shop.

He watched the sun playover the snowcappedmountains and fall on thevalley below, trying tomemorize the sightforever, and when heturnedtoMery,hewantedtodothesameforher.Shewas fifteen, and morebeautiful by far thanmountainsandsnow.Mery had been his

closest friend for over ayear, but Arlen had neverthought more of her thanthat. Now, seeing herlimned in sunlight, coldmountain wind blowingthe long brown hair fromherfaceasshehuggedherarms against the swell ofherbosomtowardoff thechill, she was suddenly ayoung woman, and he ayoung man. His pulse

quickened at the way herskirts flared in thebreeze,edges of lace hinting ofpetticoatsbeneath.He said nothing as he

stepped forward, but shecaughtthelookinhiseyes,and smiled. “It’s abouttime,”shesaid.He reached out,

tentatively, and traced thebackofhishanddownher

cheek.Sheleanedintothetouch, and he tasted hersweet breath, kissing her.It was soft at first,hesitant, but it deepenedas she responded,becoming something withalifeofitsown,somethinghungry and passionate,something that had beenbuilding inside him forover a year without hisknowing.

Some time later, theirlipspartedwithasoftpop,andtheysmilednervously.Arms around one another,theylookedoutoverMiln,sharing in the glow ofyounglove.“You’re always staringout into the valley,”Merysaid. She ran her fingersthrough his hair, andkissedhistemple.“Tellme

what you dream about,when your eyes have thatfarawaylook.”Arlenwasquietforsome

time. “I dream of freeingthe world from thecorelings,”hesaid.Her thoughts having

gone another way, Merylaughedat theunexpectedresponse. She did notmean to be cruel, but the

sound cut at him like alash. “You think yourselfthe Deliverer, then?” sheasked. “How will you dothis?”Arlen drew away from

her a little, feelingsuddenly vulnerable. “Idon’t know,” he admitted.“I’ll start by messaging.I’ve already saved enoughmoney for armor and a

horse.”Mery shook her head.

“That will never do, ifwe’retomarry,”shesaid.“We’retomarry?”Arlen

asked in surprise, amazedat the tightness in histhroat.“What, am I not good

enough?” Mery asked,pulling away and lookingindignant.

“No! I never said …”Arlenstuttered.“Well, then,” she said.

“Messaging may bringmoney and honor, but it’stoo dangerous, especiallyoncewehavechildren.”“We’re having children

now?”Arlensqueaked.Merylookedathimasif

he were an idiot. “No, itwill never do,” she went

on, ignoring him as shethought things through.“You’ll need to be aWarder, like Cob. You’llstill get to fight demons,butyou’llbesafewithmeinstead of riding downsome coreling-infestedroad.”“I don’t want to be a

Warder,” Arlen said. “Itwas never more than a

meanstoanend.”“What end?” Meryasked. “Lying dead on theroad?”“No,” Arlen said. “Thatwon’thappentome.”“WhatwillyougainasaMessenger that you can’tasaWarder?”“Escape,” Arlen saidwithoutthinking.

Mery fell silent. Sheturned her head to avoidhis eyes, and after a fewmoments, slipped her armfrom his. She sat quietly,and Arlen found sadnessonly made her morebeautifulstill.“Escapefromwhat?”she

askedatlast.“Fromme?”Arlen looked at her,

drawninwayshewasonly

just beginning tounderstand,andhis throatcaught.Woulditbesobadto stay? What were thechancesoffindinganotherlikeMery?But was that enough?

He’dneverwanted family.Theywereattachmentshedid not need. If he hadwanted marriage andchildren,hemight aswell

have stayed in Tibbet’sBrook with Renna. He’dthought Mery wasdifferent…Arlencalledtomindthe

image that had sustainedhim for the last threeyears, seeing himselfridingdowntheroad,freeto roam. As always, thethought swelledhim,untilhe turnedto lookagainat

Mery. The fantasy fled,and all he could thinkabout was kissing heragain.“Not you,” he said,

taking her hands. “Neveryou.”Theirlipsmetagain,and for a time, histhoughts touched onnothingelse.

“I have an assignment toHarden’s Grove,” Ragen

said, referring to a smallfarminghamletafullday’sride from Fort Miln.“Would you care to joinme,Arlen?”“Ragen, no!” Elissa

cried.Arlen glared, but Ragen

grabbedhisarmbeforehecouldspeak.“Arlen,mayIhaveamomentalonewithmywife?”heaskedgently.

Arlenwipedhismouthandexcusedhimself.Ragen closed the door

after him, but Arlenrefused to let his fate bedecided out of his hands,and circled aroundthrough the kitchen,listening at the servants’entrance.The cook lookedat him, but Arlen lookedright back, and the man

kepttohisownbusiness.“He’s too young!” Elissawassaying.“Lissa, he’ll always betooyoungforyou,”Ragensaid.“Arlenissixteen,andhe’soldenoughtomakeasimpledaytrip.”“You’re encouraginghim!”“You know full wellArlen needs no

encouragement from me,”Ragensaid.“Enabling him, then,”Elissa snapped.“He’s saferhere!”“He’ll be safe enoughwith me,” Ragen said.“Isn’t it better that hemakes his first few tripswithsomeonetosupervisehim?”“I’d rather he notmake

his first few trips at all,”Elissa said acidly. “If youcared about him, you’dfeelthesame.”“Night, Lissa, it’s not

like we’ll even see ademon. We’ll reach theGrove before sunset andleaveaftersunrise.Regularfolk make the trip all thetime.”“I don’t care,” Elissa

said. “I don’t want himgoing.”“It’s not your choice,”

Ragenreminded.“I forbid it!” Elissa

shouted.“You can’t!” Ragen

shouted back. Arlen hadnever heard him raise hisvoicetoher.“Just you watch me,”

Elissa snarled. “I’ll drug

yourhorses!I’llchopeveryspear in two! I’ll throwyour armor in thewell torust!”“Take away every toolyou want,” Ragen saidthroughgrittedteeth,“andArlen and Iwill still leavefor Harden’s Grovetomorrow,on foot, ifneedbe.”“I’ll leave you,” Elissa

saidquietly.“What?”“You heard me,” shesaid. “Take Arlen out ofhere, and I’ll be gonebeforeyougetback.”“You can’t be serious,”Ragensaid.“I’ve never been moreserious in my life,” Elissasaid.“TakehimandIgo.”

Ragen was quiet a longtime.“Look,Lissa,”hesaidfinally.“Iknowhowupsetyou’ve been that youhaven’t gottenpregnant…”“Don’t you dare bring

that into this!” Elissagrowled.“Arlen is not your son!”

Ragen shouted. “Noamountofsmotheringwill

evermake it so!He isourguest,notourchild!”“Of course he’s not ourchild!” Elissa shouted.“How could he be whenyou’re out deliveringripping letters whenever Icycle?”“You knew what I waswhen you married me,”Ragenremindedher.“I know,”Elissa replied,

“and I’m realizing that Ishouldhavelistenedtomymother.”“What’sthatsupposedtomean?”Ragendemanded.“ItmeansIcan’tdothisanymore,” Elissa said,starting to cry. “Theconstant waiting,wondering if you’ll evercomehome; the scars youclaim are nothing. The

praying that the scant fewtimes we make love willconceive before I’m tooold.Andnow,this!“I knew what you were

when we married,” shesobbed, “and I thought Ihad learned to handle it.But this … Ragen, I justcan’t bear the thought oflosingyouboth.Ican’t!”AhandrestedonArlen’s

shoulder, giving him astart. Margrit stood there,a stern look on her face.“Youshouldn’tbelisteningto this,” she said, andArlen felt ashamed for hisspying. He was about toleave when he caught theMessenger’swords.“All right,” Ragen said.

“I’ll tell Arlen he can’tcome, and stop

encouraginghim.”“Really?”Elissasniffled.“Ipromise,”Ragensaid.“AndwhenIgetbackfromHarden’s Grove,” headded, “I’ll take a fewmonths off and keep youso fertilized thatsomething can’t help butgrow.”“Oh, Ragen!” Elissalaughed, and Arlen heard

herfallintohisarms.“You’re right,” Arlentold Margrit. “I had noright to listen to that.”Heswallowed theangry lumpin his throat. “But theyhad no right to discuss itinthefirstplace.”Hewentup tohis roomand began packing histhings.Bettertosleeponahard pallet in Cob’s shop

than in a soft bed thatcame at the cost of hisright to make his owndecisions.

Formonths,ArlenavoidedRagen and Elissa. Theystopped by Cob’s shopoften to see him, but hewasnottobefound.Theysent servants to makeovertures, but the resultswerethesame.

Without use of Ragen’sstable, Arlen bought hisown horse and practicedridinginthefieldsoutsidethe city. Mery and Jaikoften accompanied him,the threeof themgrowingcloser.Meryfrowneduponthepractice,buttheywereall still young, and thesimple joy of galloping ahorse about the fieldsdroveotherfeelingsaway.

Arlen worked withincreasing autonomy inCob’s shop, taking callsand new customersunsupervised. His namebecameknown inwardingcircles, and Cob’s profitsgrew. He hired servantsand took on moreapprentices, leaving thebulk of their training toArlen.

Most evenings, ArlenandMerywalkedtogether,taking in the colorsof thesky. Their kisses grewhungrier, both wantingmore, but Mery alwayspulledawaybeforeitwenttoofar.“You’ll be done withyour apprenticeship inanother year,” she keptsaying.“Wecanmarrythe

nextday, ifyouwish,andyou can ravish me everynightfromthenon.”

One morning when Cobwas away from the shop,Elissa paid a visit. Arlen,busytalkingtoacustomer,didn’t notice her until itwastoolate.“Hello, Arlen,” she saidwhenthecustomerleft.

“Hello, Lady Elissa,” hereplied.“There’s no need to besoformal,”Elissasaid.“I think informalityconfusedthenatureofourrelationship,” Arlenreplied. “I don’t want torepeattheerror.”“I’ve apologized againand again, Arlen,” Elissasaid.“Whatwillittakefor

youtoforgiveme?”“Mean it,” Arlenanswered. The twoapprentices at theworkbench looked at oneanother, then got up inunisonandlefttheroom.Elissa took no notice ofthem.“Ido,”shesaid.“You don’t,” Arlenreplied, gathering somebooks from the counter

and moving to put themaway. “You’re sorry that Ioverheard, and tookoffense.You’resorrythatIleft.Theonly thingyou’renot sorry about is whatyou did, making Ragenrefusetotakeme.”“It’s a dangerous trip,”Elissasaidcarefully.Arlen slammed downthebooks,andmetElissa’s

eyes for the first time.“I’vemadethetripadozentimes in the last sixmonths,”hesaid.“Arlen!”Elissagasped.“I’vebeen to theDuke’sMines, as well,” Arlenwent on. “And the SouthQuarries. Everywherewithin a day of the city.I’ve made my circles, andthe Messengers’ Guild’s

been courting me eversince I gave them myapplication, taking mewherever I want to go.You’ve accomplishednothing. Iwon’tbecaged,Elissa.Not by you, not byanyone.”“I neverwanted to cageyou,Arlen,onlytoprotectyou,”Elissasaidsoftly.“That was never your

place,”Arlen said, turningbacktohiswork.“Perhaps not,” Elissa

sighed, “but I only did itbecause I care. Because Iloveyou.”Arlen paused, refusing

tolookather.“Would it be so bad,

Arlen?”Elissa asked. “Cobisn’t young, and he lovesyoulikeason.Woulditbe

such a curse to take overhis shop and marry thatpretty girl I’ve seen youwith?”Arlen shook his head.“I’m not going to be aWarder,notever.”“What about when youretire,likeCob?”“I’ll be dead beforethen,”Arlensaid.“Arlen! What a terrible

thingtosay!”“Why?” Arlen asked.“It’s the truth. NoMessenger keeps workingandmanages todieofoldage.”“But if you know it’sgoingtokillyou,thenwhydoit?”Elissademanded.“Because I’d rather livea few years knowing I’mfreethanspenddecadesin

aprison.”“Milnishardlyaprison,

Arlen,”Elissasaid.“It is,” he insisted. “We

convinceourselvesthatit’sthe whole world, but itisn’t.Wetellourselvesthatthere’s nothing out therewe don’t have here, butthereis.WhydoyouthinkRagen keeps messaging?He has all the money he

couldeverspend.”“Ragen is in service totheduke.Hehasadutytodothejob,becausenooneelsecan.”Arlen snorted. “Thereare other Messengers,Elissa, andRagen looks atthe duke like he was abug. He doesn’t do it outof loyalty, or honor. Hedoes it because he knows

thetruth.”“Whattruth?”“That there’s more outthere than there is inhere,”Arlensaid.“I’m pregnant, Arlen,”Elissa said. “Do you thinkRagen will find thatsomewhereelse?”Arlen paused.“Congratulations,” he saidatlast.“Iknowhowmuch

youwantedit.”“That’s all you have tosay?”“I suppose you’ll expectRagen to retire, then. Afather can’t risk himself,canhe?”“Thereareotherwaystofightdemons,Arlen.Everybirth is a victory againstthem.”“Yousound just likemy

father,”Arlensaid.Elissa’seyeswidened.Aslong as she had knownArlen, he’d never spokenofhisparents.“He sounds like a wiseman,”shesaidsoftly.She’d said the wrongthing. Elissa knew itimmediately. Arlen’s facehardened into somethingshehadneverseenbefore;

somethingfrightening.“Hewasn’twise!” Arlen

shouted,throwingacupofbrushes to the floor. Itshattered, sending inkydroplets everywhere. “Hewas a coward! He let mymother die! He let herdie …” His face screwedup into an anguishedgrimace,andhestumbled,clenching his fists. Elissa

rushed to him, notknowing what to do orsay,onlyknowingthatshewantedtoholdhim.“He let her die becausehe was scared of thenight,” Arlen whispered.He tried to resist as herarms encircled him, butshe held on tightly as hewept.She held him a long

time, stroking his hair.Finally, she whispered,“Comehome,Arlen.”

Arlenspentthelastyearofhis apprenticeship livingwithRagenandElissa,butthe nature of theirrelationship had changed.Hewashisownmannow,andnotevenElissatriedtofight itany longer.Tohersurprise, her surrender

only brought them closer.Arlen doted on her as herbelly grew, he and Ragenschedulingtheirexcursionsso that she was neveralone.Arlen also spent a great

deal of time with Elissa’sHerb Gatherer midwife.Ragen said a Messengerneededtoknowsomethingof a Gatherer’s art, so

Arlen sought plants androotsthatgrewbeyondthecity walls for the woman,and she taught himsomethingofhercraft.Ragen stayed close toMiln in thosemonths,andwhenhisdaughter,Marya,was born, he hung up hisspear for good. He andCobspentthatentirenightdrinkingandtoasting.

Arlensatwiththem,buthe stared at his glass, lostinthought.

“We should make plans,”Mery said one evening, asshe and Arlen walked toherfather’shouse.“Plans?”Arlenasked.“For the wedding,goose,”Merylaughed.“Myfatherwould never letme

marry an apprentice, buthe’ll speakof nothing elseonceyou’reaWarder.”“Messenger,” Arlen

corrected.Merylookedathimfora

longtime.“It’stimetoputyour trips aside, Arlen,”she said. “You’ll be afathersoon.”“Whathasthatgottodo

with it?” Arlen asked.

“Lots of Messengers arefathers.”“I won’t marry aMessenger,” Mery saidflatly. “You know that.You’vealwaysknown.”“Just as you’ve alwaysknown that’s what I am,”Arlen replied. “Yet hereyouare.”“I thought you couldchange,” Mery said. “I

thought you could escapethis delusion that you’resomehow trapped, thatyou need to risk your lifeto be free. I thought youlovedme!”“Ido,”Arlensaid.“Butnotenough togivethis up,” she said. Arlenwasquiet.“How can you love meand still do this?” Mery

demanded.“Ragen loves Elissa,”Arlensaid.“It’s possible to doboth.”“ElissahateswhatRagendoes,” Mery countered.“Yousaidsoyourself.”“And yet they’ve beenmarried fifteen years,”Arlensaid.

“Is that what youcondemn me to?” Meryasked. “Sleepless nightsalone, not knowing ifyou’ll ever come back?Wondering if you’re dead,or if you’ve met someminxinanothercity?”“That won’t happen,”Arlensaid.“You’re corespawnedright itwon’t,”Mery said,

as tears began to flowdownhercheeks. “Iwon’tletit.We’redone.”“Mery, please,” Arlen

said, reaching out to her,but she drew back,evadinghisgrasp.“We have nothingmore

to say.” She whirled andranofftowardherfather’shouse.Arlenstoodtherealong

time,staringafterher.Theshadows grew long, andthe sun dipped below thehorizon,butstillhestood,even at Last Bell. Heshuffled his boots on thecobbledstreet,wishingthecorelings could risethrough the worked stoneandconsumehim.

“Arlen! Creator, what areyou doing here?” Elissa

cried,rushingtohimasheentered themanse.“Whenthe sun went down, wethought you were stayingatCob’s!”“Ijustneededsometimetothink,”Arlenmumbled.“Outsideinthedark?”Arlen shrugged. “Thecityiswarded.Therewerenocorelingsabout.”Elissaopenedhermouth

to speak, but she caughtthe look in Arlen’s eyes,andthereprimanddiedonher lips. “Arlen, what’shappened?” she askedsoftly.“ItoldMerywhatI told

you,” Arlen said, laughingnumbly.“Shedidn’ttakeitaswell.”“I don’t recall taking it

very well myself,” Elissa

said.“There you’ll find mymeaning,” Arlen agreed,heading up the stairs. Hewent to his room andthrew open the window,breathing the cold nightair and looking out intothedarkness.Inthemorning,hewentto see GuildmasterMalcum.

Marya cried before dawnthe nextmorning, but thesoundbroughtreliefratherthan irritation. Elissa hadheard stories of childrendyinginthenight,andthethought filled her withsuch terror that the childhad to be pried from herarms at bedtime and herdreams were filled withknottinganxiety.

Elissaswungherfeetoutof bed and into herslippers as she freed abreast for nursing. Maryapinched the nipple hard,but even the pain waswelcome, a sign ofstrength in her belovedchild.“That’sit,light,”shecooed, “drink and growstrong.”She paced as the child

nursed, already dreadingbeing parted from her.Ragen snored contentedlyin the bed. After only afew weeks’ retirement, hewas sleeping better, hisnightmares less frequent,and she and Marya kepthis days filled, that theroadmightnottempthim.When Marya finally let

go, she burped contently

anddozedoff.Elissakissedher and put her back intohernest,goingtothedoor.Margritwaswaitingthere,asalways.“G’morning, MotherElissa,” the woman said.The title, and the genuineaffectionwithwhichitwassaid, still filledElissawithjoy. Even though Margrithadbeenherservant,they

had never before beenpeers in the way thatcountedmostinMiln.“Heard the darling’scries,”Margrit said.“She’sastrongone.”“Ineedtogoout,”Elissasaid. “Please prepare abath and have my bluedress and ermine cloaklaid out.” The womannodded, and Elissa went

back to her child’s side.When shewasbathedanddressed, Elissa reluctantlyhanded the baby toMargrit andwent out intothe city before herhusband awoke. Ragenwould reprimand her formeddling, but Elissa knewthatArlenwasteeteringonan edge, and she wouldnot let him fall becauseshefailedtoact.

She glanced about,fearing that Arlen mightseeher as she entered thelibrary. She didn’t findMeryinanyofthecellsorstacks, but was hardlysurprised.Likemanyofthethings personal to him,Arlen did not speak ofMery often, but Elissalistened intently when hedid.Sheknewtherewasaplace that was special to

them, and knew the girlwouldbedrawnthere.ElissafoundMeryonthe

library’sroof,weeping.“Mother Elissa!” Mery

gasped, hurriedly wipingher tears. “You startledme!”“I’m sorry, dear,” Elissa

said,goingovertoher.“Ifyouwantmetogo,Iwill,but I thought you might

needsomeonetotalkto.”“Did Arlen send you?”Meryasked.“No,” Elissa replied.“But I saw how upset hewas, and knew itmust beashard foryou.” “Hewasupset?”Merysniffed.“He wandered thestreets in the dark forhours,” Elissa said. “I wasworriedsick.”

Mery shook her head.“Determinedtogethimselfkilled,”shemurmured.“I think it’s just theopposite,” Elissa said. “Ithink he’s tryingdesperately to feel alive.”Mery looked at hercuriously, and she satdownnexttothegirl.“For years,” Elissa said,“I could not understand

why my husband felt theneed to wander far fromhome, staring downcorelings and risking hislifeoverafewparcelsandpapers. He’d made moneyenough to keep us inluxury for two lifetimes.Whykeepatit?“People describe

Messengers with wordslike duty, honor, and self-

sacrifice. They convincethemselvesthatthisiswhyMessengers do what theydo.”“It’snot?”Meryasked.“For a time I thought it

was,”Elissasaid,“butIseethings more clearly now.There are times in lifewhenwefeelsoveryalivethat when they pass, wefeel … diminished. When

that happens, we’ll doalmost anything to feel soaliveagain.”“I’ve never felt

diminished,”Merysaid.“Neither had I,” Elissa

replied. “Not until Ibecame pregnant.Suddenly, I wasresponsible for a lifewithin me. Everything Iate, everything I did,

affectedit.IhadwaitedsolongthatIwasterrifiedoflosing the child, as manywomenmyagedo.”“You’re not so old,”

Meryprotested.Elissaonlysmiled.“IcouldfeelMarya’slife

pulsing withinme,” Elissacontinued, “and minepulsing in harmony. I’dnever felt anything like it.

Now,withthebabyborn,Idespair I might never feelit again. I cling to herdesperately, but thatconnection will never bethesame.”“Whatdoes thishave todo with Arlen?” Meryasked.“I’m telling you how Ithink Messengers feelwhen they travel,” Elissa

said. “For Ragen, I thinkthat the risk of losing hislife made him appreciatehow precious it is, andsparkedan instinct inhimthat would never allowhimtodie.“ForArlen,it’sdifferent.Thecorelingshavetakenalotfromhim,Mery,andheblames himself. I think,deep down, he even hates

himself. He blames thecorelings for making himfeel thatway, andonly indefying them can he gainpeace.”“Oh, Arlen,” Mery

whispered,tearsbrimminginhereyesoncemore.Elissa reached out and

touchedhercheek.“Butheloves you,” she said. “Ihear it when he talks

about you. I think,sometimes,whenhe’sbusyloving you, he forgets tohatehimself.”“Howhaveyoudone it,

Mother?” Mery asked.“How have you managedto endure all these years,marriedtoaMessenger?”Elissa sighed. “Because

Ragen is kindhearted andstrong at the same time,

and I knowhow rare thatkindofamanis.BecauseInever doubted that helovedme,andwouldcomeback. But most of all,becausethemomentsIhadwith him were worth alltheonesapart.”Sheputherarmsaround

Mery, holding the girltightly. “Give himsomething to come home

to,Mery,andIthinkArlenwill learn that his life isworth something, afterall.”“I don’twanthim to goatall,”Merysaidquietly.“I know,” Elissa agreed.“Neither do I. But I don’tthinkIcanlovehimlessifhedoes.”Mery sighed. “NeithercanI,”shesaid.

Arlen was waiting thatmorningwhenJaikleftforthemill.Hehadhishorsewith him, a bay courserwith a blackmane namedDawn Runner, and hisarmoron.“What’s this?” Jaikasked. “Off to Harden’sGrove?”“And beyond,” Arlensaid.“Ihaveacommission

from the guild tomessagetoLakton.”“Lakton!?” Jaik gaped.

“Itwill take youweeks togetthere!”“You could come with

me,”Arlenoffered.“What?”Jaikasked.“AsmyJongleur,”Arlen

said.“Arlen, I’m not ready

to…”Jaikbegan.“Cob says you learn

things best by doingthem,” Arlen cut him off.“Comewithme, andwe’lllearn together! Do youwant to work in the millforever?”Jaikdroppedhiseyesto

the cobbled street.“Milling’s not so bad,” hesaid, shifting his weight

fromfoottofoot.Arlen looked at him a

moment, and nodded.“Youtakecareofyourself,Jaik,” he said, mountingDawnRunner.“When will you be

back?”Jaikasked.Arlen shrugged. “Idon’t

know,” he said, lookingtoward the city gates.“Maybenever.”

Elissa and Mery returnedto the manse later thatmorning, to wait forArlen’s return. “Don’t givein too easily,” Elissaadvised as they walked.“Youdon’twanttogiveallyour power away. Makehim fight for you, or he’llnever understand whatyou’reworth.”“Doyou thinkhewill?”

Meryasked.“Oh,” Elissa smiled, “Iknowhewill.”“Have you seen Arlenthis morning?” Elissaasked Margrit when theyarrived.“Yes, Mother,” thewoman replied. “A fewhours ago. Spent sometimewithMarya,thenleftcarryingabag.”

“Abag?”Elissaasked.Margrit shrugged.“Prob’ly off to Harden’sGrove,orsomesuch.”Elissa nodded, notsurprised that Arlen hadchosentoleavetownforadayortwo.“He’llbegonethrough tomorrow, atleast,” she told Mery.“Come and see the babybeforeyougo.”

They headed upstairs.Elissa cooed as sheapproached Marya’s nest,eager to hold herdaughter, but she stoppedshort when she saw thefolded paper tuckedpartiallybeneaththebaby.Her hands shaking,

Elissa lifted the scrap ofparchmentandreadaloud:

DearElissaandRagen,

I have taken assignment toLaktonfromtheMessengers’Guild.Bythetimeyoureadthis, I will be on the road.I’m sorry I could not bewhateveryonewanted.Thankyouforeverything.Iwillneverforgetyou.

—Arlen

“No!” Mery cried. Sheturned and fled the room,leavingthehouseatarun.

“Ragen!” Elissa cried.“Ragen!!”Her husband came

rushingtoherside,andheshookhisheadsadlyasheread the note. “Alwaysrunning from hisproblems,”hemuttered.“Well?” Elissa

demanded.“Well, what?” Ragen

asked.

“Go and find him!”Elissa cried. “Bring himback!”Ragen fixed his wifewith a stern look, andwithout a word spokentheyargued.Elissaknewitwas a losing battle fromthestart,andsoonloweredhereyes.“Too soon,” shewhispered. “Why couldn’t

he have waited one moreday?” Ragen put his armsaround her as she startedtoweep.

“Arlen!”Merycriedassheran. All pretense of calmhad flown from her, allinterest in seemingstrong,inmaking Arlen fight. Allshe wanted now was tofindhimbeforeheleftandtell him that she loved

him, and that she wouldcontinue loving him nomatter what he chose todo.She reached the city

gate in record time,panting fromexertion,butitwastoolate.Theguardsreported that he had leftthecityhoursearlier.Mery knew in her heart

hewasnotcomingback.If

she wanted him, shewould have to go afterhim. She knew how toride.ShecouldgetahorsefromRagen,andrideafterhim. He would surelysuccor in Harden’s Grovethe first night. If shehurried, she could getthereintime.Shesprintedbacktothe

manse, terror at the

thought of losing himgiving her fresh strength.“He’s gone!” she shoutedto Elissa and Ragen. “Ineedtoborrowahorse!”Ragen shook his head.

“It’s past midday. You’llnever make it in time.You’ll get halfway there,andthecorelingswill tearyoutopieces,”hesaid.“I don’t care!” Mery

cried. “I have to try!” Shedarted for the stables, butRagencaughtherfast.Shecriedandbeatathim,buthewas stone,andnothingshe did could loosen hisgrip.Suddenly, Mery

understood what Arlenhad meant when he saidMilnwasaprison.Andsheknew what it was like to

feeldiminished.

It was late before Cobfound the simple letter,stuck in the ledger on hiscountertop. In it, Arlenapologized for leavingearly, before his sevenyears were up. He hopedCobcouldunderstand.Cobreadtheletteragainand again, memorizingevery word, and the

meanings between thelines. “Creator, Arlen,” hesaid. “Of course Iunderstand.” Then hewept.

SECTIONIII

KRASIA

328AR

CHAPTER17RUINS328AR

WHAT ARE YOU DOING, ARLEN?

he asked himself as historchlight flickered

invitingly on the stonestairs leading down intothe dark. The sun wasdipping low, and itwouldtakeseveralminutestogetback to his camp, but thestairs called to him in awayhecouldnotexplain.Cob and Ragen hadwarned him about this.The thought of treasuresthat might be found in

ruins was too much forsomeMessengers,andtheytook risks. Stupid risks.Arlenknewhewasoneofthese, but he could neverresist exploring the “lostdots on the map,” asTenderRonnellhadputit.The money he mademessaging paid for theseexcursions, sometimestaking him days from thenearestroad.Butforallhis

effort, he had found onlydregs.His thoughts flashedback to the pile of booksfrom the old world thatcrumbled todustwhenhetriedtopickthemup.Therusted blade that gashedhishandandinfecteditsobadly he felt his arm wason fire. The wine cellarthat caved in and trapped

himforthreedaysuntilhedug himself outwithout abottle to show for it.Ruinhunting never paid off,and one day, he knew, itwouldbethedeathofhim.Go back, he urged

himself.Haveabite.Checkyourwards.Getsomerest.“The night take you,”

Arlen cursed himself, andheadeddownthestairs.

But for all his self-loathing, Arlen’s heartpounded with excitement.He felt free and alivebeyond anything the FreeCitiescouldoffer.Thiswaswhy he became aMessenger.He reached the bottom

ofthestairs,anddraggedasleeve across his sweatingbrow, taking a brief pull

fromhiswaterskin.Hotasit was, it was hard toimagine that after sunsetthe desert above woulddrop to near-freezingtemperatures.Hemovedalongagrittycorridor of fitted stones,his torchlight dancingalong the walls likeshadow demons.Are thereshadow demons? he

wondered. That would bejust my luck. He sighed.Therewassomuchhestilldidn’tknow.Hehadlearnedmuchin

the last three years,soaking up knowledge ofother cultures and theirstruggles with thecorelings like a sponge. Inthe Angierian forest, hehad spent weeks studying

wood demons. In Lakton,helearnedofboatsbeyondthesmall, two-mancanoesusedinTibbet’sBrook,andpaidforhiscuriosityaboutwater demons with apuckered scar on his arm.Hehadbeenlucky,abletoplanthis feet andhaul onthe tentacle, dragging thecoreling from the water.Unable to abide the air,the nightmarish creature

had let go and slippedbeneath the surface oncemore. He spent monthsthere, learning waterwards.Fort Rizon was much

likehome, lessacity thana cluster of farmingcommunities,eachhelpingone another to ease theinevitable losses tocorelings who bypassed

thewardposts.But Fort Krasia, the

Desert Spear, was Arlen’sfavorite. Krasia of thestinging wind, where thedays burned and the coldnights brought forth sanddemonsfromthedunes.Krasia, where they still

fought.The men of Fort Krasia

had not allowed

themselves to succumb todespair. They waged anightly battle against thecorelings, locking awaytheir wives and childrenand taking up spear andnet. Their weapons, likethose Arlen carried, coulddo little to pierce thetough skin of a coreling,buttheystungthedemons,andwereenoughtoharassthem into warded traps

untilthedesertsunrosetoreduce them to ashes.Their determination wasaninspiration.But for all he hadlearned, Arlen onlyhungered for more. Everycity had taught himsomethingunknownintheothers. Somewhere outthere had to be theanswershesought.

Thus, this latest ruin.Halfburiedinsand,almostforgotten save for acrumbling Krasian mapArlen had discovered, thecity of Anoch Sun hadstood untouched forhundreds of years. Muchof the surface wascollapsedorworndownbywind and sand, but thelowerlevels,cutdeepintotheground,wereintact.

Arlen turned a corner,and his breath caught.Upahead, in the dimflickering light, he sawpittedsymbolscutintothestone pillars to either sideofthecorridor.Wards.Holding the torch close,

Arlen inspected them.They were old. Ancient.The very air about themwas stale with the weight

ofcenturies.Hetookpaperand charcoal from hissatchel to make rubbings,then, swallowing hard,continued on, lightlystirringthedustofages.Hecametoastonedoor

at the end of the hall. Itwas painted with fadedandchippedwards,fewofwhich Arlen recognized.Hepulledouthisnotebook

and copied those intactenough to be made out,thenmoved to inspect thedoor.Itwasmore a slab than

a door, and Arlen soonrealized that nothing heldit in place save its ownweight. Taking up hisspear touseasa lever,hewedged themetal tip intotheseambetweentheslab

and thewall, and heaved.The point of the spearsnappedoff.“Night!” Arlen cursed.

This far from Miln, metalwas rare and expensive.Refusing to be balked, hetook a hammer and chiselfrom his pack and hackedat the wall itself. Thesandstone cut easily, andsoonhehadcarvedanook

wide enough to work theshaft of his spear into theroom beyond. The spearwas thick and sturdy, andthis time when Arlenthrew his weight againstthe lever,he felt thegreatslabshiftslightly.Still,thewood would break beforeitmoved.Using the chisel, Arlen

priedupthefloorstonesat

the door’s base, digging adeep groove for it to tipinto. If he could shift thestone that far, its owninertia would keep it inmotion.Moving back to thespear, he heaved oncemore. The stone resisted,but Arlen persevered,grindinghisteethwiththeeffort. Finally, with a

thunderous impact, theslabtoppledtotheground,leaving a narrow gap inthewall,chokedwithdust.Arlen moved into whatappeared to be a burialchamber.Theairreekedofage,butalreadyfresherairwas flooding the chamberfromthecorridor.Holdingup his torch, he saw thatthe walls were brightly

paintedwith tiny, stylizedfigures,depictingcountlessbattles of humans againstdemons.Battles that the humans

seemedtobewinning.In the center of the

room stood an obsidiancoffin, cut roughly in theshape of aman holding aspear. Arlen approachedthe coffin, noting the

wardsalong its length.Hereachedouttotouchthem,and realized his handswereshaking.Heknewtherewaslittle

time remaining beforesunset,butArlencouldnothave turned away now ifallthedemonsintheCorerose up against him.Breathing deeply, hemoved to the head of the

sarcophagus and pushedhard, forcing the liddownsothat itwouldtilt to thefloor without breaking.Arlenknewheshouldhavecopied the wards beforetrying this, but taking thetime to copy them wouldhave meant coming backin the morning, and hesimplycouldnotwait.The heavy stone moved

slowly, and Arlen’s facereddened with the strainas he pushed, his musclesknotted and bunched. Thewallwasclosebehindhim,and he braced a footagainst it for leverage.Withascreamthatechoeddown the corridor, heshovedwith all hismight,and the cover slid off,crashingtotheground.

Arlen paid the lid nomind, staring at thecontents of the greatcoffin. The wrapped bodyinside was remarkablyintact, but it could nothold his attention. AllArlen could see was theobject clutched in itsbandaged hands. A metalspear.Sliding the weapon

reverently from thecorpse’s stubborn grasp,Arlen marveled at itslightness.Itwassevenfeetlong from tip to tip, andtheshaftwasmorethananinch in diameter. Thepoint was still sharpenough to draw bloodafter so many years. Themetal was unknown toArlen, but that fact flewfrom his thoughts as he

notedsomethingelse.The spear was warded.Allalongitssilverysurfacetheetchingsran,alevelofcraftsmanship unknown inmodern times. The wardswere unlike anything hehadeverseen.As Arlen became awareoftheenormityofhisfind,he realized, too, thedangerhewasin.Thesun

wassettingabove.Nothinghe had found here wouldmatter if he died beforebringing it back tocivilization.Snatching up his torch,

Arlen bolted out of theburial chamber andsprinted down the hall,taking the steps threeatatime. He darted throughthe maze of passages on

instinct, praying that histwistsandturnsweretrue.Finally, he saw the exit

to the dusty, half-buriedstreets, but not a sliver oflight could be seenthrough the doorway. Ashereachedtheexit,hesawthat the sky was stilltingedwithcolor.Thesunhadonlyjustset.Hiscampwas in sight, and the

corelings were justbeginningtorise.Without pausing toconsiderhis actions,Arlendropped his torch andcharged out of thebuilding, scattering thesand as he zigzaggedaround the rising sanddemons.Cousinstorockdemons,sanddemonsweresmaller

andmorenimble, but stillamong the strongest andmost armored of thecoreling breeds. They hadsmall,sharpscales,adirtyyellow almostindistinguishable from thegrit, instead of the largecharcoal gray plates oftheir rock-demon cousins,and they ran on all fourswhere rock demons stoodhunchedontwolegs.

But their faceswere thesame; rows of segmentedteeth jutted out on theirjaws like a snout, whiletheirnostrilslitsrestedfarback, just below theirlarge, lidless eyes. Thickbones from their browscurved upward and back,cutting through the scalesas sharp horns. Theirbrowstwitchedcontinuallyas they squeezed down,

displacing the ever-blowingsand.And even more

frightening than theirlarger cousins, sanddemons hunted in packs.Theywouldworktogethertoseehimcored.His heart pounding and

his discovery forgotten,Arlen moved through theruinswithincrediblespeed

and alacrity, vaultingfallenpillarsandcrumbledrock while dodging rightand left around thesolidifyingcorelings.Demons needed a

moment to get theirbearings on the surface,and Arlen took fulladvantage of that as hesprinted toward his circle.He kicked one demon in

the back of the knees,knockingitdownjustlongenoughforhimtogetpast.Another he chargeddirectly,onlytospinoutofthe way at the lastmoment, the coreling’sclaws slashing throughemptyair.He picked up speed asthe circle neared, but onedemon stood in his way,

and there was no wayaround it. The creaturewas nearly four feet tall,and its initial confusionwas past. It crouched atthe ready, directly in hispath,hissinghatred.Arlen was so close—hisprecious circle just a fewfeet away. He could onlyhopetobarrelthroughthesmaller creature and roll

into his circle before itcouldkillhim.He charged right in,instinctively stabbingwithhis new spear as hebowled the creature over.There was a flash uponimpact, and Arlen struckthe ground hard, comingup in a spray of sand andcontinuing on, not daringto look back.He leapt for

hiscircle,andwassafe.Panting with exertion,Arlen looked up at thesand demons surroundinghim, outlined in deserttwilight. They hissed andclawedathiswards,talonsbringing bright flashes ofmagic.In the flickering light,Arlen caught sight of thedemon he had crashed

into. It was slowlydragging itself away fromArlen and its fellows,leavingan inkyblack trailinthesand.Arlen’s eyes widened.Slowly, he glanced downat the spear he stillclutchedinhishands.The tip was coated indemonichor.Suppressing the urge to

laugh aloud, Arlen lookedback at the injuredcoreling. One by one, itsfellows paused in theirassault on Arlen’s wards,sniffing the air. Theyturned, glancing down atthetrailofichor,andthenattheinjureddemon.With a shriek, the packfell upon the creature,tearingitapart.

The cold of the desertnight eventually forcedArlen to take his eyes offthe metal spear. He hadlaid a fire when he madecamp earlier, so he strucksparkto itandcoaxedtheflames to life, warminghimselfandabitofdinner.Dawn Runner had beenhobbled and blanketed inhiscircle,brushedandfedbeforeArlenlefttoexplore

theruinsthatafternoon.Asithadeverynightfor

the last three years, OneArmshowedupsoonaftermoonrise, bounding overthe dunes and scatteringthe smaller corelings tostandbeforeArlen’scircle.Arlen greeted it as alwayswith a clap of his twohands.OneArmroareditshatredinreturn.

When he first left Miln,Arlen had wondered if hewould ever find a way tosleepthroughthesoundofOneArmhammeringathiswards, but it was secondnature to him now. Hiswarding circle had beenproven time and again,and Arlen maintained itreligiously, keeping theplates freshly lacqueredandtheropemended.

He hated the demon,though. The years hadbrought none of thekinship the guards on thewallofFortMilnhad felt.As One Arm rememberedwhohadcrippledit,sotoodid Arlen recall who hadgiven him the puckeredscars across his back andalmostcosthimhislife.Heremembered, too, nineWarders, thirty-seven

guardsmen, twoMessengers, three HerbGatherers, and eighteencitizens of Miln who hadlost their lives because ofit.Hegazedat thedemonnow, absently stroking hisnew spear. What wouldhappen if he struck? Theweapon had wounded asand demon. Would thewardsaffectarockdemonaswell?

It tookallhiswillpowerto resist the urge to leapfrom his circle and findout.

Arlen had hardly sleptwhen the sun drove thedemons back into theCore, but he rose withhigh spirits. Afterbreakfast, he took out hisnotebook and examinedthe spear, painstakingly

copying every ward andstudying the patterns theyformedalongtheshaftandhead.When he finished, thesun was high in the sky.Taking another torch, hewent back down into thecatacombs, makingrubbings of the wards cutinto thestone.Therewereother tombs, and he was

temptedtoignoreallsenseandexploreeveryone.Butif he stayed even anotherday, his food would runout before he reached theOasis of Dawn. He hadgambledon findingawellintheruinsofAnochSun,and indeed he had, butvegetation was scant andinedible.Arlen sighed. The ruins

had stood for centuries.Theywouldbetherewhenhe returned, hopefullywith a team of KrasianWardersathisback.By the time he cameback outside, the daywaswearing on. Arlen tooktime to exercise and feedDawn Runner, thenprepared a meal forhimself, his mind turned

inward.The Krasians would

demand proof, of course.Proof the spear could kill.They were warriors, notruin hunters, and wouldnot give up a single able-bodied man for anexpedition without goodreason.Proof,hethought.Andit

wasonlyrightthatitcome

fromhim.With barely an hourbeforesunset,Arlenbeganto ready his camp. Hehobbled his horse again,checking the portablecircle around it. Hepreparedhisten-footcircleasusual,thentookaseriesof wardstones from hisbags and began to laythem around it in a wide

outer ring some forty feetindiameter.Heplacedthestones slightly fartherapart thanusual, carefullylining them up with theirfellows. Therewas a thirdportable circle in thesaddlebags—Arlen alwayskept a spare—and he setthat one in the camp aswell,off to theside in thelargercircle,byitsedge.

When he was finished,Arlen knelt in his centercircle,thespearathisside,and breathed deeply,clearing his mind ofdistractions. He didn’twatch as the sun dippedand the sand glowed onthe horizon before goingdark.Thenimblesanddemons

rose first,andArlenheard

the wards of his outercircle spark and crackle,keeping them back.Moments later, he heardthe roar of One Arm,scattering lesser demonsfrom its path as itapproached Arlen’s outerring. Arlen ignored it,continuing to breathe, hiseyesclosed,hismindcalm.Thelackofreactionservedonly to anger the demon

further, and it struckhardagainstthewarding.Magic flared, visibleeven through his closedeyelids,butthedemondidnot immediately continueits assault. He opened hiseyes, watching One Armcock its head curiously.Arlen allowed himself ahumorlesssmile.One Arm struck the

wards again, and again itpaused. This time, thedemon let out a piercingcry and set its feet,thrusting its good arm atthewarding,talonsspread.As if it were pressingagainstawallofglass,thedemon leaned forward,shrieking against the painas it doubled and tripledthe pressure against thewards. Angry magic

spiderwebbed out fromwhere its claws met thebarrier, and as the demonpressed, the magic bowedvisiblyintheair.With a sound thatchilled even Arlen’s calmmind, the rock demonflexeditsarmoredlegsandsmashed through thewardnet,tumblingintotheinner ring. Dawn Runner

whinniedandpulledathishobble.Arlen rose as One Armdid, their eyes meeting.The weaker sand demonstried desperately toreplicate One Arm’s feat,but the wardstones werepreciselyspaced,andnoneof them could muster thestrength to cross. Theyshrieked their frustration

atthebarrierastheyborewitness to theconfrontation within thecircle.Though he had grownsince they firstmet,Arlenfelt no less dwarfed byOneArmnowthanhehadthat first, terrifying night.The rock demon stoodover fifteen feet tall fromits clawed feet to the tips

of its horns, more thantwice a man’s height.Arlenwas forced to cranehis head upward to meetthe coreling’s eyes, lockedunwaveringlyonhisown.One Arm’s snout splitwide to reveal rows ofrazor-sharp teeth, runningwithdrool,anditflexeditsdaggerliketalonsteasingly.Its armored chest was

thrown out, the blackcarapace impenetrable toknown weapons, and itsspiked tail whipped backandforth,heavyenoughtosmash a horse with asingle blow. Its body wassmoking and scorchedfrom crossing the net, butthe obvious hurt onlymade the coreling seemmore dangerous, a titanmadwithpain.

Arlen’s fingers tightenedon the metal spear as hesteppedfromthecircle.

CHAPTER18RITEOFPASSAGE

328AR

ONE ARM SHRIEKED into thenight,itsvengeancefinallyat hand. Arlen forced

himself to breathe deeply,fighting to keep his heartfrompoundingrightoutofhis chest. Even if themagic of the spear couldharm the demon—and hehadnothingmorethanhishopes that it could—itwould not be enough towin thisbattle.Heneededall hiswits about him, allhistraining.

Hisfeetslowlyslidapartinto a battle stance. Thesandwould slowhim, butitwould slowOneArmaswell.He kept eye contact,and made no suddenmoves as the corelingsavored the moment. Itsreach far exceeded hisown, evenwith the spear.Letitcometohim.Arlenfeltasifhisentire

life had been rushingtoward this momentwithout his ever realizingit.Hewasn’tsureifhewasready for this test, butafter being hounded bythis demon for more thanten years, he found thethought of putting it offany longer intolerable.Even now, he could stepback into the protectivecircle, safe from the rock

demon’s attacks.Deliberately, he movedaway from it, committinghimselftothecontest.One Arm watched him

circle,itsmuzzlecurlingina snarl. A low rumblingechoed in the coreling’sthroat. Its tail flickedfaster, and Arlen knew itwasgettingreadytostrike.With a roar, the demon

lunged, its talons splayedas they cut the air. Arlendarted straight forward,ducking the blow andmoving inside thecoreling’s reach. He kepton,goingrightbetweenitslegs, stabbing his spearinto its tail as he rolledaside. There was asatisfyingflashofmagicashe struck, and the demonhowled as the weapon

broke through its armorandpiercedflesh.Arlenwas expecting thereturnslashofthedemon’stail, but it came quickerthan he anticipated. Hethrew himself flat to theground as the appendagewhooshed by, the spikesinches from his head. Hewas up again in a flash,but One Armwas already

turning, using its tail’smomentum to speed itspivot. For all its size, thecoreling was agile andquick.One Arm struck again,

andArlencouldnotdodgein time. He whipped theshaft of his spearperpendicular to the blowin parry, but he knew thedemon was far too

powerful toblock.Hehadlet his emotions get thebetterofhim;hadenteredthis contest too soon. Hecursedhimselfforafool.But as the demon’s

talons struck the metal ofthe spear, the wardsetched along its lengthflared. Arlen hardly feltthe blow, but One Armwas deflected as if it had

struckawardedcircle.Thedemonwasthrownbackasits own power rebounded,but it recovered fast,unharmed.Arlen forced himself to

overcome his shock andmove, understanding theblessing for what it wasand determined to makethe most of it. One Armcharged him madly,

determined to powerthroughthisnewobstacle.Scattering sand as he

ran, Arlen vaulted thefallen remains of a thickstone pillar, taking shelterbehinditandpreparingtododge left or right,depending on how thedemonapproached.OneArm struck hard at

thepillar,almost four feet

in diameter, and broke itin half, throwing one sideout of its waywith a flexofitssinewyarm.Therawdisplay of power wasterrifying, and Arlenbolted for his circle,needing a moment torecover.The demon anticipated

his reaction, though, andits legs twitched,

launchingitintotheair.Itlanded in between Arlenandhissuccor.Arlenstoppedshort,andOneArmagainshriekedintriumph. It had testedArlen’s mettle, and foundhim wanting. It respectedthe spear’s bite, but therewas no fear in thecoreling’s eyes as itadvanced. Arlen gave

ground slowly,deliberately, not wantingto provoke the creaturewith a sudden move. Hebacked up as far as hecould before crossing hisouter wardstones andcoming into the reach ofthesanddemonsclusteredtowatchthebattle.One Arm saw his

predicament, and roared,

its thunderous chargeterrible to behold. Arlensethimself firmly,his legscoiled. He did not bothertoraisethespeartoblock.Instead,hecockeditback,readytostab.The rock demon’s blow

was powerful enough tocrush a lion’s skull, but itnever struck home. Arlenhadallowedthedemonto

back him into his spareportable circle, unnoticedin the sand. The wardsflaredtolife,reflectingthedemon’sattackbackon it,and Arlen was ready,leaping forward andskewering the demon inthe belly with his wardedspear.One Arm’s shriek

pierced the night, a

deafening, horrifyingsound. To Arlen, it waslikemusic.Hepulledbackon the spear, but it heldfast, caught in the rockdemon’s thick blackcarapace. He yankedagain, and this time itnearly cost himhis life asOne Arm lashed out andstruck him a glancingblow, its claws diggingdeepintohisshoulderand

chest.Arlenwas sent spinning

away, but he wrenchedhimself toward his sparecircle, collapsing in theprotective ring. As heclutched his wounds, hewatched the giant rockdemon stumble about.Againandagain,OneArmattempted to grasp thespearandpullitfreeofthe

wound, but the wardsalong its length thwartedthe demon.And all along,the magic continued towork, sparking in thewoundandsendingkillingwaves through thecoreling’sbody.Arlen allowed himself a

slight smile as One Armcollapsed to the ground,thrashing. But as he

watched the demon’sflailing slow to twitching,he felt a great emptinessgrowinsideofhim.Hehaddreamt of this momentcountless times, of how itwould feel, of what hewould say, but it wasn’tlike he imagined. Insteadof elation, he feltdepressionandloss.“That was for you,

Mam,”hewhisperedasthegreat demon ceased tomove. He tried to pictureher, desperate to feel herapproval, and he wasshocked and ashamedwhen he could notremember her face. Hescreamed, feelingwretched and small underthestars.Giving the demon a

wideberth,Arlenmadehisway back to his supplies,binding his wounds. Thestitches he made werecrooked,but theyheldhiswounds closed, and thehogroot poultice burned,the pain evidence of itsneed. Already the woundwasinfecting.He found no sleep that

night. If the pain of his

wounds and the ache ofhis heart had not beensufficient todrive slumberaway,achapterofhis lifewas about to end, and hewas determined to see itthrough.When the sun crested

the dunes, it floodedArlen’scampwithaspeedthatcouldonlybefoundinthe desert. The sand

demons had alreadymeltedaway,fleeingatthefirst hint of dawn. Arlenwinced as he stood up,making his way from thecircle to stand over OneArm,retrievinghisspear.Whereverthesun’s lighttouched, the blackcarapace smoked, thensparked and ignited. Soonthe demon’s body was a

funeral pyre, and Arlenstood watching,mesmerized. As the rockdemon collapsed intoashes soon borne on themorning wind, he sawhopeforthehumanrace.

CHAPTER19THEFIRSTWARRIOROF

KRASIA328AR

THE DESERT ROAD wasn’treallyaroadatall,simplya string of ancientsignposts, some clawedand jagged, others halfburied in sand, keeping atraveler from losing hisway. Itwasn’t all sand, asRagen had once said,though there was enoughof that towander fordaysseeingnaughtelse.Ontheoutskirts ran hundreds of

milesofhard,dust-chokedflats, with sparse bits ofdeadvegetationclingingtocracked clay, too dry torot. Apart from theshadows cast by dunes inthe seaof sand, therewasnoshelterfromthebeatingsun,sohotArlencouldnotimagine it was the samebody that brought coldlight to Fort Miln. Thewind blew continually,

and he had to cover hisfacetokeepfrominhalingsand, his throat raw anddry.The nights were worse,theheatleachingfromthegroundmoments after thesun dipped below thehorizon, welcoming thecorelings into a cold,desolateplace.Butevenhere,therewas

life. Snakes and lizardshunted tiny rodents.Carrion birds sought thecorpses of creatures slainby corelings, or thatwandered into the desertand could not find theirway back out. Therewereat least two large oases,where a large body ofwater caused thesurrounding soil to growdense with edible

vegetation, and otherswhere a trickle from therockorapoolofwaternowider than a man’s stridesupportedahostofstuntedplantsandsmallcreatures.Arlen hadwitnessed thesedesert dwellers buryingthemselves in the sand atnight, resisting the coldwith conserved heat andhiding from the demonsthatstalkedthesands.

There were no rockdemons in the desert, forthere was not enoughprey. No flame demons,because therewas little toburn. Wood demons hadno bark to blend into, nolimbs to climb. Waterdemons could not swimthrough sand, and winddemons could find noperch. The dunes anddesert flats belonged to

sand demons alone. Eventhey were sparse in thedeep desert, clusteringmostly about the oases,but the sight of a firewould draw them frommilesaround.Five weeks from Fort

RizontoKrasia,morethanhalf of it through thedesert, was more thanmany of the hardiest

Messengers cared tocontemplate. DespiteNorthern merchantsoffering exorbitant sumsforKrasiansilksandspice,few were desperate—orcrazy—enoughtogothere.For his own part, Arlen

foundthetrippeaceful.Heslept in his saddle duringthe hottest parts of theday, carefully wrapped in

loose white cloth. Hewatered his horsefrequently, and spreadtarps beneath his portablecirclesatnighttokeepthewards from becomingobscured in the sand. Hewastemptedtolashoutatthe circling sand demons,but his wound had madehis grip weak, and heknewthatshouldthespearbepulledfromhisgrasp,a

common wind might loseit in the sandmore surelythan hundreds of years inaburiedtomb.Despite the cries of the

sand demons, the nightsseemed quiet to Arlen,used to the great roars ofOne Arm. He slept morepeacefully on those nightsthan any spent outsidebefore.

For the first time in hislife, Arlen saw his pathextend beyond being aglorified errand boy. Hehadalwaysknownhewasdestined for more thanmessaging; he wasdestined to fight. But henow realized it was morethanthat:Hewasdestinedtobringotherstofight.Hewascertainhecould

duplicate the wardedspear, and was alreadypondering ways to adaptits wards to otherweapons; arrows, staves,slingstones, thepossibilitieswereendless.In all the places he hadseen, only the Krasiansrefused to live in terrorofthe corelings, and for thatreason Arlen respected

them above all. Therewere no people moredeserving of this gift. Hewould show them thespear, and they wouldsupply him witheverything he needed tobuild them weapons toturn the tide of theirnightlywar.The thoughts fled as

Arlen caught sight of the

oasis. The sand couldreflect the sky’s blue andtrick a man into rushingoff the road to water thatdidnotexist,butwhenhishorse picked up the pace,Arlen knew it was real.Dawn Runner could smellthewater.Their water had been

depleted the day before,and by the time they

reached the small pool,both Arlen and his horsewere sick with thirst. Inunison,theydroppedtheirheads to the cool water,drinkingdeeply.When they had drunk

their fill, Arlen refilledtheir waterskins and setthemintheshadebeneathone of the sandstonemonoliths standing silent

guardaroundtheoasis.Heinspected the wards cutinto the stone, findingthemintact,butwithsomesigns of wear. Theeternally blowing sandscratchedat themlittlebylittle, wearing down theedges over time. He tookout his etching tools,deepening and sharpeningthemtomaintainthenet.

While Dawn Runnergrazed on scrub grass andthe leaves of stuntedbushes, Arlen harvesteddates, figs, and other fruitfromtheoasistrees.Heatehis fill, and set the restwhere they could dry inthesun.An underground river

fedtheoasis,and inyearsbeyondmemory,men had

dugawaythesandandcutthe stone beneath, finallyreaching the runningwater.Arlendescendedthestone steps into a coolunderground chamber andcollected the nets storedthere, tossing them intothewater.Whenheleft,hecarried a satisfying catchof fish. He set aside achoicefewforhimselfandcleaned the others, salting

them and setting themalongsidethefruittodry.Taking a forked toolfrom the oasis stores, hethen searched around thestones, at last spottingtelltale grooves in thesand.Soonhehadasnakepinned with the forkedstick, and snatched it bythe tail, cracking it like awhip to kill it. There was

likely a cache of eggsnearby, but he did notsearch them out. Itwouldbedishonorabletodepletethe oasis more thannecessary. Again, he putpartofthesnakeasideforhis own uses, and set theresttodry.Inacarvednook inoneof the great sandstones,marked with the sigils of

many Messengers, Arlenretrievedacacheoftough,driedfruits,fish,andmeatleft by the previousMessenger,andrefilledhissaddlebags. Once hisharvest dried, he wouldreplenish the nook for thenext Messenger to succorhere.It was impossible to

cross the desert without

stopping at the Oasis ofDawn. The only source ofwater for over a hundredmiles, it was thedestinationofeverydeserttravelerineitherdirection.Most of these wereMessengers, and thereforeWarders, and over theyearsthatexclusivesocietyhad marked their passingon the abundantsandstone. Dozens of

names were cut into thestones; some were simplyscratched print, whileothers were masterworksof calligraphy. ManyMessengers included morethan just their names,listing the cities they hadvisited, or the number oftimestheyhadsuccoredattheOasisofDawn.On his eleventh trip

through the oasis, Arlenhad long since finishedcarving his name andthose of the living citiesandvillageshehadvisited,but he never stoppedexploring, and always hadsomething to add. Slowly,using beautiful scrollingletters, Arlen reverentlyinscribed“AnochSun”intothe list of ruins he hadseen.NootherMessenger’s

mark in the oasis madesuch a claim, and thatfilledhimwithpride.The next day, Arlen

continued to increase theoasis’ stores. It was amatter of honor amongMessengers to leave theoasisstockedbetterthanitwasfound,againstthedaywhenoneof theirnumbershould stumble in too

injured or sunstruck togatherforthemselves.Thatnight,hecomposeda letter to Cob. He hadwritten many such; theysat in his saddlebag,unsent. His words alwaysfeltinadequatetomakeupfor abandoning his duties,but this news was toogreat not to share. Heillustrated the wards on

the spear’s tip precisely,knowingCobcouldspreadthe knowledge to everyWarder in Miln in shortorder.He left the Oasis ofDawn first thing the nextmorning, headingsouthwest. For five days,he saw little more thanyellow dunes and sanddemons, but early on the

sixth, the city of FortKrasia, the Desert Spear,cameintoview,framedbythemountainsbeyond.Fromafar,itseemedjust

another dune, sandstonewalls blending with theirsurroundings. It was builtaround an oasis muchlarger than the Oasis ofDawn, fed, the ancientmaps said, by the same

great underground river.Its warded walls, carvedrather than painted, stoodproudly in the sun. Highabove the city flewKrasia’s banner, crossedspearsoverarisingsun.The guards at the gate

wore the black robes ofdal’Sharum, the Krasianwarrior caste, veiledagainst the ruthless sand.

While not as tall asMilnese, Krasians were ahead taller than mostAngierians or Laktonians,hard with wiry muscle.Arlen nodded to them ashepassed.The guards raised theirspears in return. AmongKrasianmen, this was thebarest courtesy, but Arlenhad worked hard to earn

the gesture. In Krasia, aman was judged by thenumberofscarshecarriedand alagai—corelings—hehad killed. Outsiders, orchin,astheKrasianscalledthem, even Messengers,were considered cowardswho had given up thefight, and were unworthyof any courtesy fromdal’Sharum. The word“chin”wasaninsult.

But Arlen had shockedthe Krasians with hisrequests to fight alongsidethem, and after he hadtaught their warriors newwards and assisted inmany kills, they nowcalledhimPar’chin,whichmeant “brave outsider.”He would never beconsidered an equal, butthe dal’Sharum hadstoppedspittingathisfeet,

and he had even made afewtruefriends.Through the gate,Arlen

entered the Maze, a wideinneryardbefore thewallof the city proper, filledwith walls, trenches, andpits. Each night, theirfamilieslockedsafebehindthe inner walls, thedal’Sharum engaged inalagai’sharak, Holy War

against demonkind. Theylured corelings into theMaze, ambushing andharryingthemintowardedpits to await the sun.Casualties were high, butKrasians believed thatdying in alagai’sharakassured them a place atthe side of Everam, theCreator, and went gladlyintothekillingzone.

Soon, Arlen thought, itwill be only corelings thatdiehere.Justinsidethemaingatewas the Great Bazaar,where merchants hawkedover hundreds of ladencarts, the air thick withhotKrasianspices,incense,andexoticperfumes.Rugs,bolts of fine cloth, andbeautiful painted pottery

sat besidemoundsof fruitand bleating livestock. Itwas a noisy and crowdedplace, filled with shoutedhaggling.EveryothermarketplaceArlen had ever seenteemedwithmen, but theGreatBazaarofKrasiawasfilled almost entirely withwomen, covered head totoe in thick black cloth.

Theybustledabout,sellingand buying, shouting ateach other vigorously andhanding over their worngolden coins onlygrudgingly.Jewelryandbrightclothweresoldinabundanceinthe bazaar, but Arlen hadnever seen it worn. Menhad told him the womenwore the adornments

undertheirblack,butonlytheir husbands knew forsure.Krasian men above theageofsixteenwerealmostall warriors. A small fewweredama, the HolyMenwho were also Krasia’ssecular leaders. No othervocation was consideredhonorable.Thosewhotooka craftwere calledkhaffit,

and consideredcontemptible,barelyabovewomen inKrasian society.The women did all theday-to-day work in thecity, from farming andcookingtochildcare.Theydug clay and madepottery,builtandrepairedhomes, trained andslaughtered animals, andhaggled in themarkets. Inshort, they did everything

butfight.Yet despite theirunending labor, theywereutterly subservient to themen. A man’s wives andunmarried daughters werehisproperty,andhecoulddo with them as hepleased, even kill them.Aman could take manywives, but if a woman somuch as let a man who

was not her husband lookat her unveiled, she could—andoftenwould—beputto death. Krasian womenwere consideredexpendable.Menwerenot.Without their women,Arlen knew, the Krasianmenwouldbelost,butthewomen treated men ingeneral with reverence,and their husbands with

near-worship. They cameeach morning to find thedead from the night’salagai’sharak, and wailedover the bodies of theirmen, collecting theirprecioustearsintinyvials.Water was coin in Krasia,and a warrior’s status inlife could bemeasured bythenumberof tearbottlesfilleduponhisdeath.

If a man was killed, itwas expected that hisbrothers or friends wouldtake his wives, so theywould always have amanto serve. Once, in theMaze, Arlen had held adyingwarriorwhoofferedhimhisthreewives.“Theyarebeautiful,Par’chin,”hehad assured, “and fertile.They will give you manysons. Promise you will

takethem!”Arlen promised theywould be cared for, andthenfoundanotherwillingto take them on. He wascurious about what layundertheKrasianwomen’srobes, but not enough totradehisportablecirclefora clay building, hisfreedomforafamily.Followingbehindalmost

everywomanwereseveraltan-cladchildren;thegirls’hair wrapped, the boys inrag caps. As early aseleven, the girls wouldbegintomarryandtakeonthe black clothes ofwomen, while the boyswere taken to the traininggrounds even younger.Most would take on theblack robes of dal’Sharum.Some few would come to

wear the white of dama,and devote their lives toserving Everam. Thosewho failed at bothprofessions would bekhaffit, and wear tan inshameuntiltheydied.Thewomencaughtsightof Arlen as he rodethrough the market, andbegan whispering to oneanother excitedly. He

watchedthem,amused,fornone would look him inthe eye, or approach him.They hungered for thegoods in his saddlebags—fineRizonanwool,Milnesejewels, Angierian paper,and other treasures of theNorth—buthewasaman,and worse, a chin, andthey dared not approach.Theeyesofthedamawereeverywhere.

“Par’chin!” a familiarvoice called, and Arlenturned to see his friendAbban approach, the fatmerchant limping andleaning heavily on hiscrutch.Lame since childhood,Abban was khaffit, unableto stand among thewarriors and unworthy tobe a Holy Man. He had

done well for himself,though, doing trade withMessengers from theNorth. He was clean-shaven, and wore the tancapandshirtofkhaffit,butover that he wore a richheadcloth, vest, andpantaloons of bright silk,stitched in many colors.Heclaimedhiswiveswereasbeautifulasthoseofanydal’Sharum.

“ByEveram,itisgoodtosee you, son of Jeph!”Abban called in flawlessThesan, slapping Arlen onthe shoulder. “The sunalways shines brighterwhenyougraceourcity!”Arlen wished he had

never told the merchanthis father’s name. InKrasia, the name of aman’s father was more

important thanone’s own.He wondered what theywould think if they knewhisfatherwasacoward.But he clapped Abbanon the shoulder in return,his smile genuine. “Andyou, my friend,” he said.He would never havemastered the Krasiantongue, or learned tonavigate its strange and

often dangerous culture,without the lamemerchant’said.“Come, come!” Abbansaid.“Restyourfeetinmyshade and wash the dustfrom your throat withmywater!” He led Arlen to abright and colorful tentpitchedbehindhiscartsinthebazaar.Heclappedhishands, and his wives and

daughters—Arlen couldnever tell the difference—scurried to open the flapsandtendtoDawnRunner.Arlenhad to forcehimselfnot to help as they tookthe heavily ladensaddlebags and carriedthem into the tent,knowing that the Krasiansfound the sight of a manlaboringunseemly.Oneofthewomenreachedforthe

warded spear, wrapped incloth and slung from hissaddle horn, but Arlensnatched it away beforeshe could touch it. Shebowed deeply, afraid shehadgivensomeinsult.The inside of the tentwasfilledwithcolorfulsilkpillows and intricatelywoven carpets. Arlen lefthisdustybootsbytheflap

andbreatheddeeplyofthecool,scentedair.Heeaseddown onto the pillows onthe floor as Abban’swomen knelt before himwithwaterandfruit.When hewas refreshed,Abban clapped his hands,and the women broughtthem tea and honeyedpastries. “Your tripthrough the desert passed

well?”Abbanasked.“Oh,yes.”Arlen smiled.

“Verywellindeed.”Theymadesmalltalkfor

some time afterward.Abban never failed in thisformality, but his eyeskept flicking to Arlen’ssaddlebags,andherubbedhis hands togetherabsently.“To business then?”

Arlen asked as soon as hejudgeditpolite.“Of course, the Par’chinis a busy man,” Abbanagreed, snapping hisfingers. The womenquickly brought out anarray of spices, perfume,silks, jewelry, rugs, andotherKrasiancraft.Abban examined thegoods from Arlen’s clients

in the North while Arlenperused the itemsproposed for trade.Abbanfound fault witheverything,scowling.“Youcrossed the desert just totradethislot?”heaskedindisgustwhenhewasdone.“Ithardlyseemsworththetrip.”Arlen hid his grin asthey sat and were served

fresh tea. Bidding alwaysstartedthisway.“Nonsense,” he replied.“A blind man could see Ihave brought some of thefinest treasures Thesa hastooffer.Betterbyfarthanthe sorry goods yourwomen have broughtbefore me. I hope youhave more hidden away,because”—he fingeredone

carpet, a masterwork ofweaving—“I’veseenbettercarpetsrottinginruins.”“Youwoundme!”Abbancried. “I, who give youwater and shade!WoeamI, that a guest in my tentshould treat me so!” helamented. “My wivesworked the loom day andnight to make that, usingonly the finest wool! A

better carpet you willneversee!”After that, itwasonlya

matter of haggling, andArlen had not forgottenthe lessons learnedwatching old Hog andRagen a lifetime ago. Asalways, the session endedwithbothmenactingasiftheyhadbeenrobbed,butinwardly feeling they had

gotten the better of theother.“Mydaughterswillpackup your goods and holdthem for your departure,”Abban said at last. “Willyou sup with us tonight?My wives prepare a tablenone in your North canmatch!”Arlen shook his headregretfully. “I go to fight

tonight,”hesaid.Abbanshookhishead.“Ifear you have learned ourways too well, Par’chin.Youseekthesamedeath.”Arlenshookhishead.“Ihaveno intent todie, andexpect no paradise in thenextlife.”“Ah, my friend, no oneintendstogotoEveraminthe flower of their youth,

but that is the fate thatawaits those who go toalagai’sharak.Icanrecallatime when there were asmany of us as there aregrains of sand in thedesert, but now …” Heshookhisheadsadly.“Thecity is practically empty.Wekeepthebelliesofourwives fat with children,but still more die in thenight thanareborn in the

day. If we don’t changeour ways, a decade fromnow Krasia will beconsumedbythesand.”“WhatifItoldyouIhadcome to change that?”Arlenasked.“ThesonofJeph’sheartis true,” Abban said, “buttheDamaji will not listento you. Everam demandswar,theysay,andnochin

is going to change theirminds.” The Damaji werethe city’s ruling council,made up of the highest-rankeddamaofeachofthetwelveKrasiantribes.Theyserved the Andrah,Everam’s most-favoreddama, whose word wasabsolute.Arlen smiled. “I can’tturn them from

alagai’sharak,” he agreed,“but I can help them winit.”HeuncoveredhisspearandhelditouttoAbban.Abban’s eyes widened

slightly at the sight of themagnificent weapon, buthe raised his palm andshook his head. “I amkhaffit,Par’chin.Thespearisforbiddentomyuncleantouch.”

Arlen drew the weaponback and bowed low inapology. “I meant nooffense,”hesaid.“Ha!” Abban laughed.

“Youmaybetheonlymanever to bow to me! Eventhe Par’chin need not fearoffendingkhaffit.”Arlen scowled. “Youare

aman like any other,” hesaid.

“With that attitude, youwill ever be chin,” Abbansaid, but he smiled.“You’re not the first mantoward a spear,” he said.“Without the combatwards of old, it makes nodifference.”“They are the wards ofold,” Arlen said. “I foundthis in the ruins of AnochSun.”

Abban blanched. “Youfound the lost city?” heasked. “The map wasaccurate?”“Why do you sound sosurprised?”Arlenasked.“Ithought you said it wasguaranteed!”Abban coughed. “Yes,well,” he said, “I trustedour source, of course, butno one has been there in

more than three hundredyears. Who is to say howaccuratethemapwas?”Hesmiled. “Besides, it’s notlike you were likely tocomebackforarefundifIwas wrong.” They bothlaughed.“By Everam, it is a fine

tale,Par’chin,”Abbansaidwhen Arlen finisheddescribinghisadventurein

the lost city, “but if youvalue your life, you willnot tell the Damaji thatyoulootedtheholycityofAnochSun.”“I won’t,” Arlen

promised,“butsurelytheywill see the value in thespear,regardless.”Abban shook his head.

“Even if they agree togrant you audience,

Par’chin,” he said, “and Idoubt they will, they willrefuse to see value inanything a chin bringsthem.”“You may be right,”

Arlensaid,“butIshouldatleast try. I have messagesto deliver to the Andrah’spalace,anyway.Walkwithme.”Abban held up his

crutch.“Itisalongwaytothe palace, Par’chin,” hesaid.“I’llwalk slowly,”Arlensaid, knowing the crutchhadnothingtodowiththerefusal.“You don’t want to beseen with me outside themarket,myfriend,”Abbanwarned. “That alone maycostyoutherespectyou’ve

earnedintheMaze.”“Then I’ll earn more,”Arlen said. “What good isrespect,ifIcan’twalkwithmyfriend?”Abban bowed deeply.“Oneday,”hesaid,“Iwishtoseethelandthatmakesnoblemen like the son ofJeph.”Arlen smiled. “Whenthat day comes, Abban, I

will take you across thedesertmyself.”

Abban grabbed Arlen’sarm. “Stop walking,” heordered.Arlenobeyed,trustingin

his friend though he sawnothing amiss. Womenwalked the street carryingheavy loads, and a groupof dal’Sharum walkedahead of them. Another

group was approachingfrom the other direction.Eachwasledbyadamainwhiterobes.“Kaji tribe,”Abbansaid,

pointing with his chin atthe warriors ahead ofthem. “The others areMajah.Itwouldbebestforustowaithereabit.”Arlen squinted at the

two groups. Both were

cladinthesameblack,andtheir spears were simpleand unadorned. “How canyoutellthedifference?”heasked.Abban shrugged. “How

canyounot?”hereplied.As theywatched,oneof

thedamacalledsomethingto the other. They facedoff, and began to argue.“What do you suppose

they’re arguing about?”Arlenasked.“Always the same

thing,” Abban said. “TheKaji dama believe sanddemonsresideonthethirdlayer of Hell, and winddemonsonthefourth.TheMajah say the opposite.TheEvejahisvagueonthepoint,”headded,referringtotheKrasianholycanon.

“What difference doesthatmake?”Arlenasked.“Those on the lowerlevels are furthest fromEveram’s sight,” Abbansaid,“andshouldbekilledfirst.”The dama werescreaming now, and thedal’Sharum on either sidewere clenching theirspears in rage, ready to

defendtheirleaders.“They’ll fight oneanother over whichdemonstokillfirst?”Arlenasked,incredulous.Abban spat in the dust.“The Kaji will fight theMajah over far less,Par’chin.”“But there will be realenemies to fight once thesunsets!”Arlenprotested.

Abban nodded. “Andwhenitdoes,theKajiandMajah will stand united,”he said. “As we say, ‘Bynight,my enemy becomesmy brother.’ But sunset isstillhoursaway.”One of the Kaji

dal’Sharum struck aMajahwarrior across the facewith thebuttofhis spear,knocking the man down.

Inseconds,allthewarriorson each side were lockedin combat. Their damastood off to the side,unconcerned by anduninvolvedintheviolence,continuingtoshoutatoneanother.“Why is this tolerated?”

Arlen asked. “Can’t theAndrahforbidit?”Abban shook his head.

“The Andrah is supposedto be of all tribes andnone,but in truth,hewillalways favor the tribe hewasraisedfrom.Andevenif he didn’t, not even hecan end every blood feudinKrasia.Youcan’t forbidmenfrombeingmen.”“They’re acting more

likechildren,”Arlensaid.“The dal’Sharum know

only the spear, and thedama the Evejah,” Abbanagreedsadly.Themenwerenotusingthe points of theirweapons … yet, but theviolence was escalatingquickly. If someone didnotintervene,therewouldsurelybedeath.“Don’t even think aboutit,” Abban said, gripping

Arlen’s arm as he startedforward.Arlen turned to argue,buthisfriend,lookingoverhis shoulder, gasped andfell to one knee. Heyanked on Arlen’s arm todothesame.“Kneel,ifyouvalueyourhide,”hehissed.Arlen looked around,spotting the source of

Abban’s fear. A womanwalked down the road,swathed in holy white.“Dama’ting” hemurmured.The mysterious HerbGatherers of Krasia wereseldomseen.Hecasthiseyesdownas

she passed, but did notkneel. It made nodifference; she took nonotice of either of them,

proceeding serenelytoward the melee,unnoticed until she wasalmostupon themen.Thedama blanchedwhen theysaw her, shoutingsomethingtotheirmen.Atonce,thefightingstopped,and the warriors fell overthemselves toclearapathfor the dama’ting to pass.The warriors and damaquickly dispersed in her

wake, and traffic on theroadresumedasifnothingout of the ordinary hadhappened.“Are you brave,

Par’chin, or mad?” Abbanasked,whenshewasgone.“Since when do men

kneel to women?” Arlenasked,perplexed.“Men don’t kneel to

dama’ting, but khaffit and

chin do, if they arewise,”Abban said. “Even thedama and dal’Sharum fearthem. It is said they seethefuture,knowingwhichmen will live through thenightandwhichwilldie.”Arlen shrugged. “So

what if they do?” heasked, clearly doubtful. Adama’ting had cast hisfortune the first night he

had gone into the Maze,buttherehadbeennothingabout the experience tomake him believe shecould actually see thefuture.“Tooffendadama’tingistooffendfate,”AbbansaidasifArlenwereafool.Arlen shook his head.“Wemakeourownfates,”he said, “even if the

dama’ting can cast theirbones and see them inadvance.”“Well, I don’t envy thefate you will make if youoffendone,”Abbansaid.They resumed walkingand soon reached theAndrah’s palace, anenormousdomedstructureof white stone that waslikely as old as the city

itself. Its wards werepainted in gold, andglittered in the brightsunlight that fell upon itsgreatspires.Buttheyhadnotsetfoot

on the palace steps beforea dama came rushingdown to them. “Begone,khaffit!”heshouted.“So sorry,” Abban

apologized, bowing

deeply, eyes on theground, andbackedaway.Arlenstoodhisground.“IamArlen,sonofJeph,

MessengerfromtheNorth,known as Par’chin,” hesaidinKrasian.Heplantedhis spear on the ground,and even wrapped it wasclearwhatitwas.“Ibringletters and gifts for theAndrahandhisministers,”

Arlenwenton,holdinguphissatchel.“You keep poor

company for one whospeaks our tongue,Northerner,” the damasaid, still scowling atAbban, who groveled inthedust.Anangryretortcameto

Arlen’s lips, but he bit itback.

“The Par’chin neededdirections,” Abban said tothe dirt, “I only sought toguide…”“I did not ask you tospeak, khaffit!” the damashouted, kicking Abbanhard in the side. Arlen’smuscles bunched, but awarning glare from hisfriendkepthiminplace.Thedamaturnedbackas

if nothing had happened.“I will take yourmessages,”hesaid.“The duke of Rizonasked that I deliver a giftto theDamaji personally,”Arlendared.“NotinthislifewillIleta chin and a khaffit enterthe palace,” the damascoffed.The response was

disappointing, but notunexpected. Arlen hadnever managed to see aDamaji. He handed overhis letters and packages,scowling as the damaascendedthesteps.“IamsorrytosayItold

youso,myfriend,”Abbansaid.“ItdidnothelpthatIwaswith you, but I speaktruethattheDamajiwould

not suffer an outsider intheir presence, even if hewas the duke of yourRizon himself. You wouldhave been politely askedtowait, and left forgottenonsomesilkpillowtoloseface.”Arlen gritted his teeth.

He wondered what Ragenhad donewhen he visitedthe Desert Spear. Had his

mentor tolerated suchhandling?“Nowwill you supwith

me?”Abbanasked.“Ihaveadaughter,justfifteenandbeautiful.Shewouldmakeyou a good wife in theNorth, keepingyourhomeforyouwhileyoutravel.”What home? Arlen

wondered, thinking of thetiny apartment full of

books in FortAngiers thathehadn’tbeentoinoverayear.He lookedatAbban,knowing his schemingfriendwasmoreinterestedin the trade contacts hecould make with adaughterintheNorththanin her happiness or theupkeepofArlen’shome,inanyevent.“You honor me, my

friend,” he replied, “butI’m not ready to quit justyet.”“No, I rather thoughtnot,” Abban sighed. “Isupposeyouwillgotoseehim?”“Yes,”Arlensaid.“He is nomore tolerantof my presence than thedama,”Abbanwarned.“He knows your value,”

Arlendisagreed.Abban shook his head.“Hetoleratesmyexistencebecause of you,” he said.“The Sharum Ka haswanted lessons in theNortherntongueeversinceyouwerefirstallowedintotheMaze.”“And,Abban is theonlyman in Krasiawho knowsit,” Arlen said, “making

him valuable to the FirstWarrior, despite beingkhaffit.”Abbanbowed,butlookedunconvinced.They headed for the

training grounds locatednot far from the palace.The city’s center wasneutral territory for alltribes, where theygathered to worship andprepareforalagai’sharak.

It was late afternoon,andthecampbustledwithactivity. Arlen and Abbanpassed first through theworkshops of theweaponsmiths andWarders, whose craftswere the only onesconsidered worthy ofdal’Sharum. Beyond thatstood the open grounds,wheredrillmastersshoutedandmentrained.

On the far sidewas thepalace of the Sharum Kaand his lieutenants, thekai’Sharum.Secondonlytothe immensepalaceof theAndrah, this great domehoused the most honoredof all, men who hadproven their valor on thebattlefield time and timeagain. Below the palacewas said to be a greatharem, where they might

pass on their brave bloodtofuturegenerations.There were stares andmuttered curses as Abbanlimped by on his crutch,but none dared bar theirway.Abbanwasundertheprotection of the SharumKa.They passed lines ofmen doing spear forms inlockstep, and others

practicing the brutal,efficient movements ofsharusahk, Krasian handcombat.Warriorspracticedmarksmanship or threwnetsatrunningspearboys,honing their skills for thenight’s coming battle.Deep in the midst of thiswas a great pavilion,where they found Jardirgoingoverplanswithoneofhismen.

AhmannasuHoshkaminam’Jardirwas the SharumKa of Krasia, a title thattranslated into Thesan as“First Warrior.” He was atallman,welloversixfeet,wrapped in black clothand wearing a whiteturban.InsomewayArlendid not fully understand,the title SharumKawas areligious one as well,signifiedbytheturban.

His skin was a deepcoppercolor,hiseyesdarkas his black hair, oiledback and hanging downhis neck. His black beardwasforkedandimpeccablytrimmed, but there wasnothing soft about theman. He moved like araptor,swiftandsure,andhis wide sleeves wererolledbacktorevealhard,muscular arms,

crisscrossedwithscars.Hewasnotmuchpastthirty.One of the pavilion

guards caught sight ofArlen and Abban as theyapproached, and bent towhisper in Jardir’s ear.The First Warrior turnedfrom the chalked slate hewasstudying.“Par’chin!” he called,

spreading his armswith a

smile and rising to meetthem. “Welcome back tothe Desert Spear!” Hespoke in Thesan, hisvocabulary and accentmuch improved sinceArlen’s last visit. Hecaught Arlen in a firmembrace and kissed hischeeks. “I did not knowyou had returned. Thealagai will quail in feartonight!”

Upon his first visit toKrasia, the First Warriorhad taken an interest inArlen as an oddity, ifnothing more, but theyhad bled for one anotherintheMaze,andinKrasia,thatmeanteverything.Jardir turned to Abban.“What are you doing hereamong men, khaffit?” heasked disgustedly. “I have

notsummonedyou.”“He’swithme,”Arlensaid.“He was with you,”Jardir said pointedly.Abban bowed deeply andscurried off as quickly ashislamelegwouldallow.“I don’t know why youwaste your timewith thatkhaffit, Par’chin,” Jardirspat.“Where I come from, a

man’sworth does not endwith lifting the spear,”Arlensaid.Jardir laughed. “Where

you come from, Par’chin,they do not lift the spearatall!”“Your Thesan is much

improved,”Arlennoted.Jardir grunted. “Your

chin tongue is not easy,and twice as hard for

needing a khaffit topractice it when you areaway.”HewatchedAbbanlimpaway,sneeringathisbright silks. “Look at thatone. He dresses like awoman.”Arlenglancedacrossthe

yard at a black-swathedwoman carrying water.“I’ve never seen a womandressedlikethat,”hesaid.

“Onlybecauseyouwon’tlet me find you a wifewhose veils you can lift.”Jardirgrinned.“Idoubtthedamawould

allow one of your womentomarry a tribeless chin,”Arlensaid.Jardir waved his hand.

“Nonsense,” he said. “Wehave shed blood togetherintheMaze,mybrother.If

I take you into my tribe,not even the Andrahhimself would dareprotest!”Arlen wasn’t so sureabout that, but he knewbetter than to argue.Krasians had a way ofbecoming violent if youchallenged their boasts,and it might even be so.Jardir seemed equal to a

Damaji, at least. Warriorsobeyed him withoutquestion, even over theirdama.ButArlen had no desiretojoinJardir’stribeoranyother. He made theKrasians uncomfortable; achin who practicedalagai’sharak and yet keptcompany with khaffit.Joiningatribewouldease

that discomfort, but themoment he did, hewouldbe subject to the tribe’sDamaji, embroiled in theirevery blood feud, andneverallowedtoleavethecityagain.“I don’t think I’m ready

for a wife just yet,” hesaid.“Well don’t wait too

long, or men will think

youpush’ting,” Jardir said,laughing and punchingArlen’s shoulder. Arlenwasn’tsurewhatthewordmeant, but he noddedanyway.“How long have you

been in the city, myfriend?”Jardirasked.“Only a few hours,”

Arlen said. “I justdelivered my messages to

thepalace.”“And already you come

to offer your spear! ByEveram,” Jardir cried tohis fellows, “the Par’chinmust have Krasian bloodinhim!”Hismenjoinedinhislaughter.“Walk with me,” Jardir

said, putting his arm onArlen’s shoulder andmoving away from the

others. Arlen knew Jardirwas already trying todecide where he wouldbest fit in the night’sbattle.“TheBajinlostaPitWarder last night,” hesaid. “You could fill inthere.”PitWarderswereamong

themost important of theKrasian soldiers, wardingthe demon pits used to

trap corelings, andassuring that the wardsactivatedafterthedemonsfell in. It was risky work,for if the tarps used todisguisethepitsdidn’tfallin and reveal the wardsfully, there was little toprevent a sand demonfrom climbing out andkilling the Warder as hetried to uncover them.There was only one

position with a highermortalityrate.“Push Guard, I wouldprefer,”Arlenreplied.Jardir shook his head,but he was smiling.“Always the mostdangerous duty for you,”he chided. “If you arekilled, who will carry ourletters?”Arlen understood the

sarcasm, even throughJardir’s thick accent.Lettersmeantlittletohim.Fewdal’Sharumcouldevenread.“Not so dangerous, this

night,” Arlen said. Unableto contain his excitement,heunrolledhisnewspear,holding it up to the FirstWarriorproudly.“A kingly weapon,”

Jardiragreed,“butitisthewarrior that wins throughin the night, Par’chin, notthe spear.” He put hishand on Arlen’s shoulderand looked him in theeyes. “Do not put toomuch faith in yourweapon. I have seenwarriors more seasonedthanyoupainttheirspearsandcometoabitterend.”

“I did not make it,”Arlen said. “I found it intheruinsofAnochSun.”“The birthplace of the

Deliverer?”Jardirlaughed.“The Spear of Kaji is amyth, Par’chin, and thelost city has beenreclaimedbythesands.”Arlen shook his head.

“I’ve been there,” he said.“Icantakeyouthere.”

“I amSharumKaof theDesert Spear, Par’chin,”Jardir replied. “I cannotjustpackacamelandrideoff into the sand lookingfor a city that exists onlyinancienttexts.”“I think I will convinceyou when night falls,”Arlensaid.Jardir smiled patiently.“Promisemethatyouwill

not try anything foolish,”he said. “Warded spear orno, you are not theDeliverer. Itwould be sadtoburyyou.”“Ipromise,”Arlensaid.“Good, then!” Jardirclapped him on theshoulder. “Come, myfriend, the hour growslate. You shall sup in mypalace tonight, before we

muster outside SharikHora!”

They supped on spicedmeats, ground peas, andthe paper-thin layers ofbread the Krasian womenmade by spreading wetmeal on hot, polishedrocks.Arlenhadaplaceofhonor next to Jardir,surrounded by kai’SharumandservedbyJardir’sown

wives. Arlen neverunderstood why Jardirpaidhimsomuchrespect,but after his treatment attheAndrah’spalace,itwasmostwelcome.The men begged stories

ofhim,callingforthetaleof One Arm’s crippling,though they had heard itmanytimes.AlwaysitwastalesofOneArm,orAlagai

Ka, as they called him.Rockdemonswere rare inKrasia, and as Arlencomplied,hisaudiencesatentrancedbythetale.“We built a new

scorpion after your lastvisit,Par’chin,”oneof thekai’Sharum told him asthey sipped their nectarafter the meal. “It canpunch a spear through a

sandstone wall. We willfindawaytopierceAlagaiKa’shideyet.”Arlen chuckled and

shookhishead.“I’mafraidyouwill not seeOneArmtonight,” he said, “or everagain. He has seen thesun.”The eyes of the

kai’Sharumbulged.“AlagaiKa is dead?” one asked.

“How did you managethis?”Arlensmiled.“Iwill tellyouthetaleaftertonight’svictory,” he said. Hestroked the spear next tohim gently as he did, agesture the First Warriordidnotmiss.

CHAPTER20ALAGAI’SHARAK

328AR

“GREAT KAJI, SPEAR OF

EVERAM, grant strength to

your warriors’ arms andcouragetotheirheartsthisnight, as they go forth toyourholywork.”Arlenshifteduneasilyasthe Damaji bestowed theblessings of Kaji, the firstDeliverer, on thedal’Sharum. In the North,claimingtheDelivererwasjust a mortal man mightget you in a fist-fight, but

itwasnocrime.InKrasia,such heresy waspunishable by death. Kajiwas Everam’s Messenger,cometouniteallmankindagainst the alagai. Theycalled him Shar’Dama Ka,First Warrior-Priest, andsaid he would return tounite man again one day,whentheywereworthyofSharak Ka, the First War.Any who suggested

otherwisecametoaquickandbrutalend.Arlen was not such afoolas tovoicehisdoubtsabout Kaji’s divinity, butthe Holy Men stillunnerved him. Theyalways seemed to belooking for an excuse totake offense at him, theoutsider, and givingoffense in Krasia usually

meant death for theoffender.Butwhateverdiscomfort

Arlen might feel aroundthe Damaji, he alwaysswelled at the sight ofSharikHora,theenormousdomed temple to Everam.Literallymeaning“Heroes’Bones,”SharikHorawasareminder of whathumanity was capable of,

a building dwarfing anystructure Arlen had everseen.TheDuke’sLibraryinMiln was tiny bycomparison.But Sharik Hora was

impressive for more thanitssize.Itwasasymbolofcourage beyond death, forithadbeendecoratedwiththe bleached bones ofevery warrior who had

diedinalagai’sharak. Theyran up the support beamsand framed the windows.The great altar was madeentirelyofskulls,thepewsout of leg bones. Thechalice that worshippersdrank water from was ahollowed skull resting intwo skeletal hands, itsstem the forearms, and itsbase a pair of feet. Eachgigantic chandelier was

madefromdozensofskullsand hundreds of ribs, andthe great domed ceiling,two hundred feet above,was covered in the skullsof the Krasians’ warriorancestors, looking downand judging, demandinghonor.Arlen once tried to

calculate how manywarriors decorated the

hall, but the taskdefeatedhim. All the cities andhamlets in Thesa, perhapstwo hundred fiftythousand souls, could nothave decorated a fractionof Sharik Hora. TheKrasians were numberless,once.Now all of Krasia’s

warriors, perhaps fourthousand in all, fit into

Sharik Horawith room tospare.Theygatheredtheretwice each day, once atdawnandonceatdusk,tohonor Everam; to thankHim for corelings killedthe previous night, and tobegHis strength in killingtheminthenighttocome.Most of all, though, theyprayed for the Shar’DamaKa to come again andbeginSharakKa.Toaone,

they would follow himdownintotheCoreitself.

Screams borne on thedesertwind reachedArlenin the ambush pocketwherehewaitedanxiouslyfor the corelings to come.The warriors around himshifted their feet, offeringprayers to Everam.Elsewhere in the Maze,alagai’sharakhadbegun.

They heard the reportsas the Mehnding tribepositioned on the citywalls cranked and firedtheir weapons, launchingheavy stones and giantspears into the demonranks. Some of thesestruck sand demons,killing or injuring themenoughfortheirfellowstoturn upon them, but thetrue purpose of the attack

wastoangerthecorelings,stirringthemintoafrenzy.Demons were easilyenraged, and once so,couldbeherdedlikesheepatthesightofprey.Whenthecorelingswereboiling, the outer gates ofthe city opened, disablingthe outer wardnet. Sandandflamedemonschargedthrough, wind demons

gliding above them.Severaldozenwereusuallyallowed entrance beforethe gates closed and thenetwasreestablished.Inside the gates stood a

groupofwarriors,bangingspearagainstshield.Thesemen, known as Baiters,weremostlyoldandweak,expendable, but theirhonor knew no bounds.

With shouts and whoops,they scattered at thedemons’ charge, splittingup in a prearrangedfashion to divide thedemons and lead themdeeperintotheMaze.Watchers atop theMaze

walls took down winddemons with bolas andweighted nets. As theycrashed to the ground,

Stakersemergedfromtiny,warded alcoves to pinthem before they couldfree themselves, shacklingtheir limbs to wardedstakes that werehammered into theground, preventing themfromreturningtotheCoretofleethedawn.Meanwhile, the Baiters

ran on, leading the sand

and occasional flamedemons to their end. Thedemons could run faster,but they could notnegotiate the sharp turnsof the Maze as easily asmen who knew everytwist. When a demon gottoo close, the Watchersattempted to slow it withnets. Many of theseattempts were successful.Manywerenot.

Arlen and the others inthe Push Guard tensed,hearingtheshoutsastheirBaiters approached.“Ware!” a Watcher calledfrom above. “I countnine!”Nine sand demonswere

far more than the usualtwo or three that reachedan ambush point. Baitersattempted to whittle their

numbers as they split up,so that an ambush seldomfaced more than five.Arlentightenedhisgriponthe warded spear as theeyes of the dal’Sharumwent wild withexcitement. To die inalagai’sharak was to winentryintoparadise.“Lights!” came the call

fromabove.AstheBaiters

led the demons into theambush point, theWatchers lit blazing oilfiresbeforeangledmirrors,flooding the area withlight.Caught unawares, thecorelings shrieked andrecoiled. The light couldnotharmthem,butitgavetheexhaustedBaiters timetoescape.Preparedforthe

light, they flowed withpracticedprecisionaroundthe demon pits, droppinginto shallow, wardedtrenches.The sand demonsrecovered quickly andresumed their charge,oblivious to the path theBaitershadtaken.Threeofthem ran right onto thesand-colored tarps that

covered the two widedemon pits, shrieking asthey fell into the twenty-footholes.The traps sprung, the

Push Guard shouted andchargedfromtheirambushpockets, spears leveledbetween circular, wardedshields to drive theremaining corelings intothepits.

Arlen roared past hisfears as he charged withthe others, caught up inthe beautiful madness ofKrasia. This was how heimagined the warriors ofold, shouting down theinstincttorunandhideasthey leapt into battle. Fora moment, he forgot whoandwherehewas.Butthenhisspearstruck

a sand demon and thewards flared to life,streaking silver lightninginto the creature. Itshriekedinagony,butwasswept away by the longerspears to either side ofArlen.Dazzledbytheflareof defensive wards, noneof the other men evennoticed.Arlen’s group drove the

two remaining demonsthey faced into the openpit on their side of theambush point. The pit’swards were a one-waykindknownonlyinKrasia.Corelings could enter thering,butnotescape.Underthe packed dirt of the pitfloor lay quarried stone,cutting off their path tothe Core and trappingtheminthepitsuntildawn

tookthem.Looking up, Arlen saw

the opposite side was notdoing nearly so well. Thetarphad snaggedas it fellintotheirpit,leavingsomeof the wards covered.Before the Pit Wardercould clear the block, thetwo corelings that hadfallen in climbed throughthegap,killinghim.

The Push Guard on thefar side of the ambushpoint had erupted intochaos,facedwithfivesanddemons and lacking aworking demon pit todrive them into. Therewereonly tenmen in thatunit,andthedemonswereintheirmidst,slashingandbiting.“Retreat to the pocket!”

the kai’Sharum on Arlen’ssideordered.“TheCore Iwill!”Arlencried, charging across toaidtheothergroup.Seeingan outsider display suchcourage, the dal’Sharumfollowed, the commandershoutingattheirbacks.Arlen paused only longenough to kick the tarpaway from the demon pit

and activate the circle.Barely missing a beat, heleapt into the melee, thewarded spear alive in hishand.He stabbed the first

demonintheside,andthistime the other men couldnotmisstheflashofmagicas the weapon struckhome.Thesanddemonfellto the ground, mortally

wounded, andArlen felt arush of wild energy flowthroughhim.He caught movement

outofthecornerofhiseyeand pivoted, his spear inline to block the razorteeth of another sanddemon. The defensivewards along the spear’slengthactivatedbeforethecoreling could bite down,

locking its mouth open.Arlen gave the spear asharp twist and themagicflared, snapping thecreature’sjaw.A third demon charged,but Arlen’s limbs surgedwith power. He whippedthe butt of his spearacross, and the wards onitsendshearedoffhalfthecoreling’s face. As it fell,

he dropped his shield andtwirled the spear in hishands, bringing it downhardtopiercethedemon’sheart.Arlenroaredandlookedabout for another demontofight,buttheothershadbeen driven into the pit.All about, men werestaringathiminawe.“What are we waiting

for?” he cried, charginginto the Maze. “We’vealagaitohunt!”The dal’Sharum,

chanting, “Par’chin!Par’chin!”followed.Their first encounter

was a wind demon thatswooped in, tearing thethroat fromoneofArlen’sfollowers. Before thecreature could climb

skyward again, Arlenthrew his spear, blastingthrough the coreling’shead with a shower ofsparks and dropping it totheground.Arlen retrieved his

weapon and ran on, thewild magic of the spearsweepinghimalong likeaberserkeroutoflegend.AshisbandscouredtheMaze,

theirnumbersgrew,andasArlen slew demon afterdemon, more and moretook up the chant of“Par’chin!Par’chin!”Forgotten were the

warded ambush pocketsandescapepits.Gonewasthefearandrespectofthenight. With his metalspear, Arlen seemedinvulnerable, and the

confidence he exudedwaslikeadrugtotheKrasians.

Flushed with the thrill ofvictory,Arlen felt as if hehad broken from achrysalis, made anew bythe ancient weapon. Hefelt no fatigue, though hehad been running andfighting for hours. He feltno pain, though he boremanyscrapesandcuts.His

thoughts were focusedonly on the nextencounter,thenextdemonto kill. Each time he feltthe surge of magic punchthroughacoreling’sarmor,the same thought rang inhis head. Every man musthaveone.Jardir appeared beforehim,andArlen,coveredindemon ichor, thrust the

spear high to salute theFirst Warrior. “SharumKa!” he cried. “No demonwill escape your Mazealivetonight!”Jardirlaughed,thrustinghis own spear into the airin response. He came andembraced Arlen like abrother.“I underestimated you,Par’chin,”hesaid.“Iwon’t

dosoagain.”Arlen smiled. “You saythat every time,” hereplied.Jardirnoddedtothetwosand demons Arlen hadjust slain. “This time, forsure,” he promised,returningthegrin.Thenheturned to the menfollowingArlen.“Dal’Sharum!” he called,

gesturing to the deadcorelings.“Gatherupthesefilthythingsandhaulthematop the outer wall! Oursling teams need targetpractice! Let the corelingsbeyond the walls see thefolly of attacking FortKrasia!”A cheer rose from themen,andtheyhastenedtohis bidding. As they did,

Jardir turned to Arlen.“TheWatchersreportthereis stillbattle inoneof theeasternambushpoints,”hesaid. “Have you any fightleftinyou,Par’chin?”Arlen’s smile was feral.“Lead the way,” hereplied, and the two menran off, leaving the otherstotheirwork.They sprinted for some

time, out to one of thefarthestedgesoftheMaze.“Justahead,”Jardircalled,as they banked around asharp corner into anambush point. Arlen gaveno thought to the quiet,his head filled with thestomp of his feet and thepoundingofhisblood.But as he turned thecorner,alegshotoutfrom

the side, hooking his footandsendinghimsprawlingtotheground.Herolledashe struck, keeping a gripon his precious weapon,but by the time heregainedhisfeet,menhadblocked the point’s onlyexit.Arlen looked around in

confusion, seeing no signof demons or fighting. He

hadfoundanambush,butit was not for thecorelings.

CHAPTER21ONLYACHIN328AR

SHARUM MOVED IN TO

SURROUND ARLEN: Jardir’s

elite.Arlenknewthemall,men he had supped andlaughed with that veryevening,andfoughtbesidemanytimesbefore.“What is this?” Arlenasked, though inhisheartheknewfullwell.“The Spear of KajibelongsinthehandsoftheShar’Dama Ka,” Jardirreplied as he approached.

“Youarenothe.”Arlenclutchedthespear

as if afraid it might flyfrom his hands. The menthat closed on him werethe same warriors he hadeaten with a few hoursbefore, but there was nofriendship in their eyesnow.Jardirhaddonewellinseparatinghimfromhissupporters.

“It need not be thisway,” Arlen said, backingaway until the demon pitatthepoint’scenterwasathis heels. Distantly, henoted the hiss of a sanddemontrappedwithin.“I can make more ofthese,” he went on. “Onefor every dal’Sharum.That’swhyIcame.”“We’re capable of doing

that ourselves.” Jardirsmiled, a cold split to hisbearded face. His teethflashed in the moonlight.“Youcannotbeoursavior.Youareonlyachin.”“I don’t want to fight

you,”Arlensaid.“Thendon’t,myfriend,”

Jardir said softly. “Giveme theweapon, takeyourhorse, and go with the

dawn,nevertoreturn.”Arlen hesitated. He had

no doubtKrasia’sWarderscould replicate the spearaswellashe.Innotimeatall,theKrasianscouldturnthetideoftheirHolyWar.Thousands of lives saved,thousands of demonskilled. Did it matter whotookthecredit?But there was more at

stake than just credit. Thespear was a gift not forKrasia, but for all men.Would the Krasians sharetheir knowledge withothers? If this scene wasanything to go by, Arlenthoughtnot.“No,” he said. “I thinkI’ll have to keep it a littlelonger. Let me make onefor you, and I’ll go.You’ll

never see me again, andyou’ll have what youwant.”Jardir snapped his

fingers, and the menclosedinonArlen.“Please,” Arlen begged.

“I don’t want to hurt anyofyou.”Jardir’s elite warriors

laughed at that. They hadall devoted their lives to

thespear.ButsohadArlen.“The corelings are the

enemy!” he screamed asthey charged. “Not me!”But even as he protested,he spun, diverting twospear tips with a twist ofhis weapon and kickinghardintotheribsofoneofthe men, sending himcrashing into another. He

doveintotherush,comingupintheirmidst,whirlinghis spear like a staff,refusingtousethepoint.He cracked the end

across one warrior’s face,feeling his jaw break, anddropped low as hefollowed through,smashing the metal spearlike a club into anotherman’sknee.Aspearthrust

cut the air just abovehimas the warrior droppedscreamingtotheground.But unlike when he

fought the corelings, theweapon now felt heavy inArlen’s hands, the endlessenergy that had drivenhim through the Mazeextinguished.Againstmen,it was just a spear. Arlenplanted it on the ground

and leapt into theair inahigh kick to a man’sthroat. The butt of thespear struck another’sstomach, doubling himover. The point gashed athirdman’s thigh, makinghim drop his weapon toclutch the wound. Arlenretreated from theresponding press, puttingthe demon pit at his backsotheycouldnotsurround

him.“Again I underestimateyou, though I promised Iwouldnot,”Jardirsaid.Hewaved, and more mencameforwardtoaddtothepress.Arlen fought hard, butthe outcomewas never indoubt. A shaft struck thesideofhis head, knockinghim down, and the

warriors fell on himsavagely, raining blowsuponhimuntilheletgoofthespeartocoverhisheadwithhisarms.As quickly as that, the

beatingstopped.Arlenwashauled to his feet, hishands pinned behind himby two thickly muscledwarriors, as he watchedJardir bend over and pick

up his spear. The FirstWarrior clutched his prizetightlyandlookedArlenintheeyes.“I am truly sorry, my

friend,” he said. “I wishthere could be anotherway.”Arlen spat in his face.

“Everam is watching yourbetrayal!”heshouted.Jardir only smiled,

wiping the spittle away.“Do not speak of Everam,chin. I am his SharumKa,not you. Without me,Krasiafalls.Whowillmissyou,Par’chin?Youwillnotfill so much as a singletearbottle.”He looked to the men

holdingArlen.“Throwhimintothepit.”

Arlen had not recovered

from the shock of impactwhen Jardir’s own finespear dropped down tostick quivering in the dirtinfrontofhim.Lookingupthesheertwenty-footwallsofthepit,hesawtheFirstWarrior looking down onhim.“You lived with honor,

Par’chin,”Jardirsaid,“andso you may keep it in

death. Die fighting, andyou will awaken inparadise.”Arlensnarled,lookingat

the sand demon on theother side of the pit as itrose into a crouch. A lowgrowl issued from itsmuzzleasitbaredrowsofrazor-sharpteeth.Arlen rose to his feet,

ignoring the pain in his

bruised muscles. Hereached slowly for thespear, keeping his eyeslocked with the demon’s.His stance, neitherthreatening nor fearful,confusedthecreature,anditpacedbackandforthonallfours,unsure.It was possible to kill a

sand demon with anunwarded spear. Their

small lidless eyes,normally protected by thebony ridgesof theirbrow,went wide when theypounced. A precise thrustto that one vulnerablespot, if driven hard intothe brain beyond, couldkill the creature instantly.But demons healed withmagical speed, and animprecise thrust, or onethat did not penetrate

fully,wouldonlyenrageitfurther. Without a shield,in the dim light of themoonandoillampsabove,itwas a nearly impossibletask.While the demonpuzzled out his behavior,Arlenbegantoslowlydragthe point of the spear inthedirt,scratchinglinesofwardingdirectlyinfrontof

him, the coreling’s mostlikely path. The creaturewouldquicklyfinditswayaround, but it might buyhimtime.Strokebystroke,hecutthesymbolsintothedirt.The sand demon drifted

back to the pit walls,wheretheshadowsthrownby the lamplight abovewere greatest. Its tan

scales blended with theclay, making it nearlyinvisible. Only its wide,black eyes stood out,reflecting the scant lightbackathim.Arlen saw the attack

before it came. Thedemon’s corded musclesbunchedandtwitchedasittampeddownitshindlegs.He carefully positioned

himself behind hiscompletedwardsand thenbrokeeye contact, as if insubmission.With a growl thaterupted into a roar, thecoreling launched itself athim,morethanahundredpoundsof talon, fang,andarmored muscle. Arlenwaited until it struck thewards,andassoonasthey

flaredtolifehethrusthardat the exposed eyes, thedemon’s momentumaddingpowertohisblow.Watching from above,theKrasianscheered.Arlen felt the spearpoint dig in, but notdeeply enough before thethrust and the flare ofmagic threw the creatureback across the pit,

shrieking in pain. Arlenglanced at the spear, andsaw the point had brokenoff. He saw it glinting inthe moonlight from thedemon’seyeasitshookoffits pain and got its feetbackunderit.Itclawedatits face, and the pointcame free. Already thebleedinghadstopped.The coreling growled

low and began to slithertoward him, crawling onits belly across the pit’sfloor. Arlen let it stalk,racing to complete hissemicircle. The demonpounced again, and againthe makeshift wardsflared, stopping it cold.Arlen thrust again, thistime attempting to drivethe broken point of thespeardownitsmawtothe

more vulnerable flesh ofits throat. The corelingwas too quick, catchingArlen’s spear in its jawsand pulling it from hisgrasp as it was thrownbackagain.“Night,” Arlen cursed.His circle was far fromcomplete, andwithout thespear, he had no hope offinishingit.

Recovering from theblow,thesanddemonwascompletely unprepared asArlen leapt from behindhis wards and tackled it.Above, the spectatorsroared.The coreling scratched

and bit, but Arlen wasquicker, maneuveringbehind it to put hisforearmsunderitsarmpits,

locking his fingers behindits head. He drew himselfuptohisfullheight,liftingthe demon from theground.Arlen was larger and

heavier than the sanddemon, but he could notmatch thesinewystrengthof the coreling as itthrashed. Its muscles feltlike thecablesused in the

quarries of Miln, and itsback claws threatened tocuthis legs toribbons.Heswung the creature about,slamming it into the wallof the pit. Before it couldrecover from the impact,he drew back andslammeditagain.Hisgripwasweakeningagainstthepowerful creature’sonslaught, sohe threwhisweight about one more

time, hurling it into hiswards. Magic brightenedthe pit, jolting the demonon impact, and Arlensnatchedup the spearanddarted back behind hiswards before it couldrecover.The enraged demonlaunched itself at thewards repeatedly, butArlen quickly completed a

makeshift semicircle withthe pit wall at his back.There were holes in thenet, but he hoped theywere too small for thedemontofindandsqueezethrough.But hope failed a

moment later, as thecoreling leapt onto thepitwall,itstalonsdiggingintothe clay. It moved along

thesideofthewalltowardArlen, bared fangs wetwithdrool.Arlen’shastywardswere

weak, with a short radiusof protection, not muchhigher than the demoncould jump. It wouldn’ttake the coreling long torealize it could climbabovethem.Steeling himself, Arlen

placed his foot over theward nearest the wall,cutting off its magic. Hekept his foot an inch offthefloor,soasnottoscuffthe marking. He waiteduntil the demon leapt,then stepped back,uncoveringtheward.Thedemonwashalfway

across when the netreactivated, banishing

corelingfleshfromitsline.Half the creature fell intothecirclewithArlen.Halfdropped with a thumpoutside.Even severed from itshindquarters, the corelingclawedandbitatArlenashe scrambled away,keeping it back with hisspear. He crossed thewards, trapping the sand

demon’s torso in thesemicircle, still twitchingasitoozedblackichorintothedirt.Arlen looked up, seeingtheKrasiansstaringathimopen-mouthed.Hescowledand snapped the spearover his knee. Inspired bythe demon, he jabbed thebroken end high into thesoftclayofthepitwall.He

pulled hard, his bicepsbulging, and as he begantorise,heswunghisotherarm up, sticking thespear’s broken headfartherupthewall.Hand over hand, Arlenclimbed the twenty-footwallofthepit.Hegavenothought to what laybehind, or what waitedabove.Hefocusedonlyon

the task at hand, ignoringthe burning strain of hismuscles, the tearingofhisflesh. As he crested theedge of the pit, theKrasians backed away,their eyes wide. Many ofthem invoked Everam andtouched their foreheadsand hearts, while othersdrew wards in the air toprotectthemasifhewereademonhimself.

His limbs like jelly,Arlenstruggledtohisfeet.He looked at the FirstWarrior through blurryeyes. “If you want medead,” he growled, “you’llhave to kill me yourself.There are no morecorelings left in the Mazetodoyourworkforyou.”Jardir took a stepforward,buthesitatedata

murmur of disapprovalfrom some of his men.Arlenhadprovenhimselfawarrior. Killing him nowwouldnotbehonorable.Arlen was counting onthat, but before the menhad time to think itthrough, Jardir snappedforward, striking him onthetemplewiththebuttofthewardedspear.

Arlen was knocked tothe ground, his headringing and the worldspinning, but he spat andput his hands underhimself, pushing hardagainst the ground toregain his feet. He lookedup, only to see Jardirmoving again. He felt themetalspearstrikehisface,andknewnomore.

CHAPTER22PLAYTHEHAMLETS

329AR

ROJER DANCED AS THEY

WALKED, four brightlypainted wooden balls

orbitinghishead.Jugglingstanding still was beyondhim, but Rojer Halfgriphad a reputation tomaintain, and so he hadlearned to work aroundthe limitation, movingwith fluid grace to keephis crippled hand inposition to catch andthrow.Evenatfourteenhewas

small, barely passing fivefeet, with carrot-red hair,green eyes, and a roundface, fair and freckled.Heducked and stretched andturned full circles,his feetmoving in tempowith theballs. His soft, split-toedbootswerecoveredindustfrom the road, and thecloud he kicked up hungaround them, makingevery breath taste of dry

dirt.“Is it even worth it, ifyoucan’tstaystill?”Arrickasked irritably. “You looklike an amateur, and youraudiences won’t care forbreathing dirt any morethanIdo.”“I won’t be performingintheroad,”Rojersaid.“In the hamlets youmay,” Arrick disagreed,

“there are no boardwalksthere.”Rojermissedabeat,and

Arrick stopped as the boyfranticallytriedtorecover.Heregainedcontroloftheballseventually,butArrickstilltsked.“With no boardwalks,

how do they stop demonsrising inside the walls?”Rojerasked.

“No walls, either,”Arricksaid.“Maintaininganet around even a smallhamletwouldtakeadozenWarders. If a village hastwo and an apprentice,they count themselveslucky.”Rojer swallowed back

the taste of bile in hismouth, feeling faint.Screamsoveradecadeold

rang out in his head, andhestumbled,fallingonhisbackside as balls raineddown on him. He slappedhis crippled hand againstthedirtangrily.“Best leave juggling tome and focus on otherskills,”Arricksaid.“Ifyouspent half the timepracticing singing as youdojuggling,youmightlast

three notes before yourvoicebreaks.”“You always said, ‘A

Jongleur who can’t juggleis no Jongleur at all,’”Rojersaid.“Never mind what I

said!”Arricksnapped.“Doyou think Jasin rippingGoldentone juggles?You’vegottalent.Oncewebuild your name, you’ll

have apprentices to juggleforyou.”“Why would I want

someone to do my tricksfor me?” Rojer asked,picking up the balls andslipping them into thepouch at his waist. As hedid, he caressed thereassuring lump of histalisman, tucked safelyaway in its secret pocket,

drawingstrength.“Because petty tricks

aren’twherethemoneyis,boy,”Arrick said,drawingon his ever-presentwineskin. “Jugglers makeklats. Build a name, andyouearnsoftMilnesegold,like I used to.” He drankagain, more deeply thistime.“Buttobuildaname,you have to play the

hamlets.”“Goldentone never

playedthehamlets,”Rojersaid.“Exactly my point!”

Arrick shouted,gesticulating wildly. “Hisunclemightbeabletopullstrings in Angiers, but hehas no sway in thehamlets. When we makeyourname,we’regoing to

buryhim!”“He’s no match for

Sweetsong and Halfgrip,”Rojersaidquickly,placinghis master’s name first,though the buzz on thestreets of Angiers of latehadthemreversed.“Yes!” Arrick shouted,

clicking his heels anddancingaquickjig.Rojer had deflected

Arrick’s irritation in time.His master had becomeincreasingly prone to fitsof rage over the last fewyears, drinking more andmore as Rojer’s moonwaxedandhisownwaned.His songwasno longer sosweet,andheknewit.“How far to CricketRun?”Rojerasked.“We should be there by

lunchtime tomorrow,”Arricksaid.“I thought the hamlets

couldonlybeadayapart,”Rojerasked.Arrick grunted. “The

duke’s decree was thatvillages stand no fartherapartthanamanonagoodhorse might go in a day,”he said. “A fairbit fartherthanyougetonfoot.”

Rojer’shopesfell.Arrickreally meant to spend anight on the road withnothingbetweenthemandthe corelings but Geral’sold portable circle, whichhadn’t seen use in adecade.But Angiers was no

longer entirely safe forthem. As their popularitygrew, Master Jasin had

taken a special interest inthwarting them. Hisapprentices had brokenArrick’s arm the yearprevious, and stolen thetakemore than once aftera big show. Between thatand Arrick’s drinking andwhoring, he and Rojerrarely had two klats toclicktogether.Perhapsthehamletscouldindeedofferbetterfortune.

Making a name in thehamlets was a rite ofpassage forJongleurs,andhad seemed a grandadventurewhiletheyweresafeinAngiers.NowRojerlooked at the sky andswallowedhard.

Rojer sat on a stone,sewingabrightpatchontohis cloak. Like his otherclothes, the original cloth

hadlongsincewornaway,replacedapatchata timeuntil only the patchesremained.“Settup th’circle when

yur done, boy,” Arricksaid, wobbling a bit. Hiswineskin was nearlyempty.Rojerlookedatthesetting sun and winced,movingquicklytocomply.The circle was small,

only ten feet in diameter.Just big enough for twomen to lie with a firebetweenthem.Rojerputastake at the center of thecamp and used a five-footstringhookedtoittodrawasmoothcircleinthedirt.He laid theportablecircleout along its perimeter,using a straightstick toinsure that the wardedplates lined up properly,

buthewasnoWarder,andcouldn’t be sure he haddoneitright.When he was finished,Arrick stumbled over toinspecthiswork.“Looksh right,” hismaster slurred, barelyglancing at the circle.Rojer felt a chill on hisspine and went overeverything again to be

sure, and a third time, tobe positive. Still, he wasuneasy as he built a fireand prepared supper, thesundippingeverlower.Rojer had never seen ademon. At least, not thathe remembered clearly.Theclawedhand thathadburst through his parents’doorwasetchedforeverinhis mind, but the rest,

eventhecoreling thathadcrippled him, was only ahaze of smoke and teethandhorn.Hisbloodrancoldasthe

woods began to cast longshadows on the road. Itwasn’t long before aghostlikeformroseupoutofthegroundnotfarfromtheir fire. The wooddemonwasnobiggerthan

an average man, withknobbedandbarklike skinstretched hard over wirysinew. The creature sawtheir fire and roared,throwing back its hornedheadandrevealingrowsofsharp teeth. It flexed itsclaws, limbering them forkilling.Othershapesflittedon the edge of thefirelight, slowlysurroundingthem.

Rojer’s eyes flicked toArrick, who was drawinghard on his wineskin. Hehadhopedthathismaster,who had slept in portablecircles before, might becalm, but the fear inArrick’s eyes saiddifferently.Withashakinghand, Rojer reached intohis secretpocketand tookout his talisman, grippingittightly.

The wood demonlowered its horns andcharged, and somethingsurfacedinRojer’smind,amemory long suppressed.Suddenly he was threeyears old, watching overhis mother’s shoulder asdeathapproached.It all came back to himin that instant. His fathertaking up the poker and

standing his ground withGeral to buy time for hismother and Arrick toescape with him. Arrickshoving them aside as heran to the bolt-hole. Thebite that took his fingers.Hismother’ssacrifice.Iloveyou!Rojer gripped the

talisman, and felt hismother’sspiritaroundhim

like a physical presence.He trusted it to protecthim more than the wardsas the coreling bore downonthem.The demon struck thewards hard. Rojer andArrickboth jumpedas themagic flared. Geral’s webwasetchedinsilverfireinthe air for a brief instant,and the coreling was

thrownback,stunned.Relief was short-lived.The sound and light drewthe attention of otherwoodies,andtheychargedin turn, testing the netfromallsides.But Geral’s lacqueredwards held fast. One byoneoringroups,thewooddemonswerethrownback,forced to circle angrily,

searching in vain forweaknesses.But even as corelings

continued to throwthemselves at him, Rojer’smindwasinanotherplace.Again and again he sawhis parents die, his fatherburned and his motherdrowningtheflamedemonbefore shoving him intothe bolt-hole. And over

and over, he saw Arrickshovethemaside.Arrick had killed his

mother. As surely as if hehaddonethedeedhimself.Rojerbroughtthetalismantohis lips, kissingher redhair.“What’s that you’re

holding?” Arrick askedsoftly, when it becameclearthedemonscouldnot

breakthrough.Atanyothertime,Rojerwould have felt a stab ofpanic at his talisman’sdiscovery,buthewasinadifferent place now,reliving a nightmare anddesperately trying to sortout what it meant. Arrickhad been like a father tohim for over ten years.Could these memories

reallybetrue?He opened his hand,letting Arrick see the tinywoodendollwithitsbrightred hair. “My mum,” hesaid.Arrick looked sadly atthedoll,andsomethinginhis expression told Rojerallheneededtoknow.Hismemory was true. AngrywordscametoRojer’slips,

and he tensed, ready tocharge his master, throwhimfromthecircleandletthecorelingshavehim.Arrick lowered his eyes

and cleared his throat,beginning to sing. Hisvoice, soured by years ofdrink, took on somethingof its old sweetness as hesang a soft lullaby, onethat tickled Rojer’s

memoryjustasthesightofthe wood demon had.Suddenly he rememberedhow Arrick had held himintheverycircletheynowsat in, singing the samelullaby as Riverbridgeburned.Like his talisman, the

songwrappeditselfaroundRojer, remindinghimhowsafe it hadmade him feel

thatnight.Arrickhadbeena coward, itwas true, buthe had honored Kally’srequest to take care ofhim, though it had costhim his royal commissionandruinedhiscareer.He tucked his talisman

away in its secret pocketand stared out into thenight as images over adecade old flashed in his

mind and he trieddesperately to make senseofthem.Eventually, Arrick’ssinging trailed off, andRojer pulled himself fromcontemplationand fetchedtheir cooking utensils.They fried sausages andtomatoesinasmallskillet,eating them with hard,crustybread.Aftersupper,

they practiced. Rojer tookout his fiddle, and Arrickwet his lips with the lastdrops from his wineskin.They faced one another,doing their best to ignorethe corelings stalkingaboutthecircle.Rojerbegantoplay,andallhisdoubtsandfearsfellaway as the vibration ofthe strings became his

world. He caressed amelody forth, and noddedwhenhewasready.Arrickjoined him with a softhum, waiting for anothernod before beginning tosing.Theyplayed thus forsome time, falling into acomfortable harmonyhonedbyyearsofpracticeand performance. Muchlater, Arrick broke offsuddenly,lookingaround.

“What is it?” Rojerasked.“I don’t think a demonhasstruck thewardssincewestarted,”Arricksaid.Rojer stopped playing,lookingout intothenight.It was true, he realized,wondering how he hadn’tnoticed it before. Thewood demons werecrouched about the circle,

motionless, but as Rojermet the eyes of one, itsprangathim.Rojer screamed and fellbackasthecorelingstruckthe wards and wasrepelled. All around themthemagicflaredastherestof the creatures shook offtheirdazeandattacked.“It was the music!”Arrick said. “The music

heldthemback!”Seeingtheconfusedlookon the boy’s face, Arrickcleared his throat, andbegantosing.His voice was strong,and carried far down theroad, drowning out thedemon roars with itsbeautiful sound,but itdidnothing to keep thedemons at bay. On the

contrary, the corelingsshriekedallthelouderandclawedatthebarrier,asifdesperatetosilencehim.Arrick’s thick eyebrowsfurrowed, and he changedtune, singing the last songhe and Rojer had beenpracticing, but thecorelings still swiped atthewards.Rojerfeltastabof fear. What if the

demons found a weaknessin the wards, like theyhad…“Thefiddle,boy!”Arrick

called. Rojer lookeddumblydownatthefiddleand bow still clutched inhis hands. “Play it, fool!”Arrickcommanded.But Rojer’s crippled

hand shook, and the bowtouched string with a

piercing whine, likefingernails on slate. Thecorelings shrieked, andbacked a step away.Emboldened, Rojer playedmore jarring and sournotes, driving the demonsfarther and farther off.They howled and putclawed hands to theirheadsasifinpain.But they did not flee.

The demons backed awayfromthecircleslowlyuntilthey found a tolerabledistance. There theywaited, black eyesreflectingthefirelight.The sight chilledRojer’sheart. They knew hecouldn’tplayforever.

Arrick had not beenexaggeratingwhenhesaidthey would be treated as

heroesinthehamlets.ThepeopleofCricketRunhadnoJongleursoftheirown,and many rememberedArrickfromhistimeastheduke’s herald, a decadegone.There was a small inn

for housing cattle driversand produce farmersheading to and fromWoodsend and Shepherd’s

Dale, and they werewelcomed there andgivenfree room and board. Thewhole town showed up towatch them perform,drinking enough ale tomore than repay theinnkeep. In fact,everything wentflawlessly, until it cametimetopassthehat.

“An ear of corn!” Arrick

shouted, shaking it inRojer’s face. “Whar wesposatodowi’that?”“We could always eatit,” Rojer offered. Hismaster glared at him andcontinuedtopace.Rojer had liked CricketRun. The people therewere simple and good-hearted,andknewhowtoenjoy life. In Angiers,

crowds pressed close tohear his fiddle, noddingand clapping, but he hadneverseenfolksoquicktodance as the Runners.Before his fiddle washalfwayfromitscase,theywere backing up, makingroom. Before long, theywere reeling and spinningandlaughinguproariously,embracing his music fullyand flowing wherever it

tookthem.They cried withoutshame at Arrick’s sadballads, and laughedhystericallyattheirbawdyjokesandmummery.Theywere, in Rojer’sestimation,everythingonecouldaskinanaudience.When the act was over,chants of “Sweetsong andHalfgrip!”were deafening.

Theywere inundatedwithoffers of lodging, and thewineandfoodoverflowed.Rojer was swept behind ahaystack by a pair ofraven-eyed Runner girls,sharing kisses until hisheadspun.Arrickwaslesspleased.“How could I have

forgotten what it waslike?”helamented.

He was referring, ofcourse, to the collectionhat. Therewas no coin inthe hamlets, or littleenough. What there waswent for necessities, seedandtoolsandwardposts.Apair of wooden klatssettled to the bottom ofthe hat, but that wasn’tevenenoughtopayforthewine Arrick had drunk onthe journey from Angiers.

For the most part, theRunners paid in grain,with theoccasionalbagofsaltorspicethrownin.“Barter!”Arrickspattheword like a curse. “Novintner in Angiersh willtake payment in bagsh ofbarley!”TheRunnershadpaidinmorethanjustgrain.Theygave gifts of salted meat

andfreshbread,ahornofclottedcreamandabasketoffruit.Warmquilts.Freshpatches for their boots.Whatever good or servicethey could spare wasoffered with gratitude.Rojerhadn’t eaten sowellsince the duke’s palace,and for the life of him hecould not understand hismaster’s distress. Whatwascoinfor, ifnottobuy

the very things that theRunners gave inabundance?“Leasht they hadwine,”Arrick grumbled. Rojereyedtheskinnervouslyashis master took a pull,knowing it would onlyamplify Arrick’s distress,but he said nothing. Noamount of wine coulddistressArrick somuchas

the suggestion that heshould not drink so muchwine.“I liked it there,” Rojerdared. “I wish we couldhavestayedlonger.”“What d’you know?”Arrick snapped. “You’rejussa stupid boy.” Hegroaned as if in pain.“Woodsend’ll be nobetter,” he lamented,

looking down the road,“and Sheepshagger’sDale’ll be worsht of all!What wash I thinking,keepingthisstupidcircle?”He kicked at the

precious plates of theportable circle, knockingthe wards askew, but hedid not seem to notice orcare, stumbling drunkenlyaboutthefire.

Rojer gasped. Sunsetwas mere moments away,but he said nothing,darting over to the spotand frantically correctingthe damage, glancingfearfullyatthehorizon.He finished not amoment too soon. Thecorelings rose as he wasstill smoothing the rope.He fell back as the first

coreling leapt at him,crying out as the wardsflaredtolife.“Damn you!” Arrickscreamedatademonas itchargedhim.ThedrunkenJongleurstuckhischinoutindefianceandcackledasthe coreling smashedagainstthewardnet.“Master, please,” Rojerbegged, taking Arrick’s

arm and pulling himtoward the center of thering.“Oh, Halfgrip knowshbesht, now?” he sneered,yankinghisarmawayandalmostfallingdownintheprocess. “Poor drunkShweetsong dun’t knowt’keep away from corelingclawsh?”“It’snotlikethat,”Rojer

protested.“Then wha’s it like?”Arrickdemanded.“Y’thinktha’ ’cos the crowds cheeryur name that y’d beanythingwithoutme?”“No,”Rojersaid.“Damn right,” Arrickmuttered,pullingagainonhis skin and stumblingaway.Rojer’s throat tightened,

and he reached into hissecret pocket for histalisman. He rubbed thesmooth wood and silkyhairwithhisthumb,tryingtocalluponitspower.“Tha’s right, call yer

mum!” Arrick shouted,turning back and pointingat the little doll. “F’getwho raised you, whotaught you everything

y’know! I gave upmy lifeforyou!”Rojer gripped histalisman tighter, feelinghis mother’s presence,hearingherlastwords.Hethought again of howArrick had shoved her tothe ground, and an angrylumpformedinhisthroat.“No,” he said. “You weretheonlyonewhodidn’t.”

Arrick scowled andadvanced on the boy.Rojershrankback,butthecirclewassmall,andtherewas nowhere to go.Outsidethecircle,demonspacedhungrily.“Gimme that!” Arrickshouted angrily, grabbingatRojer’shands.“It’s mine!” Rojer cried.They struggled for a

moment, but Arrick waslarger and stronger, andhad two full hands. Hesnatched the talismanaway at last and threw itintothefire.“No!” Rojer shouted,

diving toward the flames,butitwastoolate.Theredhair ignited immediately,andbeforehecouldfindatwig to fish the talisman

out, the wood caught.Rojerknelt inthedirtandwatched it burn,dumbfounded. His handsbegantoshake.Arrick ignored him,stumbling up to a wooddemon that was hunchedat the circle’s edge,clawingat thewards. “It’syour fault thish happenedt’me!”he screamed. “Your

faultIwashshaddledwithanungratefulboyandlostmycommishon!Yoursh!”Thecorelingshriekedathim, revealing rows ofrazor-sharp teeth. Arrickroared right back,smashing his wineskinover the creature’s head.The skin burst, sprayingthem both with blood-redwineandtannedleather.

“Mywine!”Arrickcried,realizingsuddenlywhathehad done. He moved tocross the wards as if hecould in some way undothedamage.“Master, no!” Rojer

cried. He dove into atumble, reaching up withhis good hand to grabArrick’s ratty ponytail ashe kicked at the backs of

his master’s knees. Arrickwas yanked back awayfromthewardsandlandedheavily atop hisapprentice.“Get’cher handsh offa

me!” Arrick cried, notrealizing that Rojer hadjust saved his life. Hegripped the boy’s shirt ashe lurched to his feet,shoving him right out of

thecircle.Coreling and humanalikefrozeinthatmoment.Awareness dawned onArrick’s face even as awood demon shrieked intriumph and tampeddown, launching itself attheboy.Rojer screamed and fellback, having no hope ofgetting back across the

wardsintime.Hebroughtup his hands in a feebleattempt to fend thecreatureoff,butbeforethecoreling struck, there wasa cry, and Arrick tackledthe demon, knocking itaway.“Getbacktothecircle!”Arrick cried. The demonroared and struck backhard, launching the

Jongleur through the air.He bounced as he hit theground, a flailing limbsnagging the rope of theportablecircleandpullingthe plates out ofalignment.All around the clearing,

other corelings began torace to the breach. Theywere both going to die,Rojer realized. The first

demon made to charge athim again, but againArrick grabbed at it,turningitaside.“Your fiddle!” he cried.

“You can drive themback!” As the words lefthis lips, though, thecoreling’s talons dug deepinto his chest, and he spitathickbubbleofblood.“Master!” Rojer

screamed. He glanced athisfiddledoubtfully.“Save yourself!” Arrick

gasped just before thedemontoreouthisthroat.

Bythetimedawnbanishedthe demons back to theCore,thefingersofRojer’sgood hand were cut andbleeding. Itwasonlywithgreat effort that hestraightened them and

releasedthefiddle.He had played throughthelongnight,coweringinthe darkness as the firedied, sending discordantnotes into the air to keepat bay the corelings heknew were waiting in theblack.There had been nobeauty, no melody to fallinto as he played, just

screeches and dissonance;nothing to turn histhoughts from the horroraround him. But now,looking at the scatteredbits of flesh and bloodycloth that were all thatremained of his master, anewhorror struck, andhefelltohisknees,retching.Afteratime,hisheavingeased,andhestaredathis

cramped and bloodyhands, willing them tostop shaking. He feltflushed and hot, but hisface was cold in themorning air, drained ofblood. His stomachcontinuedtoroil,buttherewas nothing left in it toexpel.Hewipedhismouthwith a motley sleeve andforcedhimselftorise.

He tried to collectenough of Arrick to bury,but there was little to befound.A clump of hair. Aboot, torn open to get atthe meat within. Blood.Corelings disdainedneitherbonenoroffal,andtheyhadfedinafrenzy.TheTenders taught that

corelings ate their victimsbody and soul, but Arrick

hadalwayssaidHolyMenwere bigger liars thanJongleurs, and his mastercould spin a whopper.Rojer thought of histalisman, and the feelingof his mother’s spirit itbrought. How could hefeel her if her soul hadbeenconsumed?He looked to the cold

ashesofthefire.Thelittle

doll was there, blackenedand split, but it crumbledawayinhishands.Notfaraway, lying in the dirt,were the remains ofArrick’s ponytail. Rojertook the hair, more graythan gold now, and put itinhispocket.He would make a new

talisman.

Woodsend came into sight

well beforedusk,much toRojer’s relief. He didn’tthink he had the strengthto last another nightoutside.He had thought ofturning back to CricketRun and begging passagewith a Messenger back toAngiers,butitwouldhavemeant explaining whathappened, and Rojer

wasn’t ready for that.Besides, what was therefor him in Angiers?Without a license, hecouldn’t perform, andArrick had made enemiesof any that might havecompleted hisapprenticeship. Better tokeepontotheendsoftheworld, where no onewould know him and theguildcouldnotreach.

Like Cricket Run,Woodsend was filled withgood, solid folk whowelcomedaJongleurwithopen arms, too pleased toquestion the fortune thathadbroughtanentertainertotheirtown.Rojer accepted their

hospitality with gratitude.Hefeltafraud,claimingtobeaJongleurwhenhewas

only an unlicensedapprentice,buthedoubtedthe Enders would caremuchif theyknew.Wouldtheyrefusetodancetohisfiddle, or laugh less at hismummery?But Rojer didn’t dare

touch the colored balls inthe bag of marvels, andbegged off from song. Heflipped instead, tumbling

and hand walking, usingeverything in hisrepertoire to hide hisinadequacies.The Enders didn’t press

him, and thatwas enoughfornow.

CHAPTER23REBIRTH328AR

THE BRIGHT SUN BROUGHT

Arlen back toconsciousness. Sand stuck

tohis face ashe liftedhisheadandspitgritfromhismouth. Struggling to hisknees, he looked around,butallhesawwassand.They had carried himoutontothedunesandlefthimtodie.“Cowards!” he cried.“Lettingthedesertdoyourwork does not absolveyou!”

He quivered on hisknees, trying to find thestrengthtostandwhilehisbody screamed at him toliebackdownanddie.Hisheadwasspinning.Hehadcometohelpthe

Krasians. How could theybetrayhimlikethis?Don’t lie to yourself, a

voice in his head said.You’ve done your share of

betrayal.Youranfromyourfather when he needed youmost.AbandonedCobbeforeyour apprenticeshipwas up.Left Ragen and Elissawithout so much as anembrace.AndMery…“Who will miss you,Par’chin?” Jardir hadasked.“Youwillnotfillsomuch as a single tearbottle.”Andhewasright.

If he were to die here,Arlenknew, theonlyoneswho were likely to noticewould bemerchants moreconcerned with a loss ofprofitthanhislife.Perhapsthiswaswhathedeservedfor abandoning everyonewho had ever loved him.Perhaps he should just liedownanddie.His knees buckled. The

sand seemed to pull athim, calling him to itsembrace.Hewas about togive in when somethingcaughthiseye.A few feet away, a skin

of water rested in thesand. Had Jardir’sconscience gotten thebetter of him, or had oneof his men looked backand taken pity on the

betrayedMessenger?Arlen crawled to theskin, clutching it like alifeline. Someone mightmournhimafterall.But it made littledifference. Even if hereturned toKrasia,noonewould believe a chin overtheSharumKa.OnJardir’sword, the dal’SharumwouldkillArlenwithouta

thought.So you should let them

keep the spear you riskedyour life for? he askedhimself. Let them keepDawnRunner,yourportablecircles, and everything elseyouown?The thought had Arlen

clutchingathiswaist,andherealizedwithreliefthathehadnotlosteverything.

There, still safe, was thesimple leather bag hecarried when fighting inthe Maze. In it he kept asmallwardingkit,hisherbpouch … and hisnotebook.The notebook changed

everything. Arlen had losthis other books, but all ofthem together were notworth this one. Since the

dayheleftMiln,Arlenhadcopiedeverynewwardhehad learned into hisnotebook.Including those on the

spear.Let them keep the ripping

thing, theywant itsomuch,Arlen thought. I can makeanother.With a heave, he

broughthimselftohisfeet.

He took thewarm skin ofwaterandallowedhimselfa short pull, then put itover his shoulder andclimbed to the top of thenearestdune.Shielding his eyes, he

could see Krasia like amirage in the distance,giving him bearings tohead for the Oasis ofDawn. Without his horse,

the trip would mean aweek of sleepingunwarded in the desert.His water would be gonelong before then, but hedoubted it would matter.The sand demons wouldget him before he died ofthirst.

Arlen chewed hogroot ashe walked. It was bitterand made his stomach

churn,buthewascoveredindemonscratches,and ithelped keep them frominfecting. Besides, withoutfood, even nausea waspreferable to pangs ofhunger.He drank sparingly,though his throatwas dryandswollen.His shirtwastied around his head toward off the sun, leaving

his back vulnerable. Hisskin was blotched yellowandblue from thebeatinghe had taken, and burnedred atop that. Every stepwasagony.Arlen keptmoving until

thesunwasnearlyset.Hefelt as if he hadmade noprogress at all, but thelonglineoftracksblowingaway behind him showed

a surprising distancecovered.Night came, bringing

corelings and bitter cold.Either was enough to killhim, so Arlen hid fromboth, burying himself inthe sand to preserve bodyheat and hide from thedemons. He tore a sheetfrom his notebook, rollingthe paper into a slender

breathingtube,butstillhefelt as if he weresuffocating as he lay,terrified that the corelingsmight find him.When thesun rose and warmed thesand, he dug free of hissandy grave and stumbledon,feelingasifhehadnotrestedatall.So it went, day after

day, night after night. He

grew weaker as the dayswentbywithoutfood,rest,or more than a splash ofwater. His skin crackedand bled, but he ignoredthe damage and walkedon. The sun beat downwith increasing weight,and the flat horizon grewnocloser.At some point, he lost

his boots. He wasn’t sure

how or when. His feetwerescrapedrawfromthehot sand, bleeding andblistered. He tore thesleeves from his shirt tobindthem.He fell with increasing

frequency, sometimesgetting right back to hisfeet, other times passingout and rising minutes orhours later.Sometimes,he

would fall and continuetumblingallthewaydownadune.Exhausted,hetookit as a blessing, savinghimselfpainfulsteps.By the time the water

ranout,hehad lost countofthedays.Hewasstillonthedesertpath,buthadnoideahowfartherewasyetto go. His lips were splitanddry,andevenhiscuts

and blisters had ceased toooze,asifalltheliquidinhisbodyhadevaporated.He fell again, andstruggled to find a reasontogetbackup.

Arlen awoke with a start,his face wet. It wasnighttime,andthatshouldhave filled him withterror, but he lacked thestrengthtofear.

He looked down, andsawthathisfacehadbeenresting on the edge of thepoolintheOasisofDawn,hishandinthewater.He wondered how hehadgottentobethere.Hislastmemory…hehadnoideawhathislastmemorywas. The trip through thedesert was a blur, but hedidn’t care. He had made

it. That was all thatmattered. Within thewarded obelisks of theoasis,hewassafe.Arlen drank greedily

from the pool. A momentlater, he vomited it up,and forced himself to sipslowlyafterthat.Whenhisthirst was quenched, heclosed his eyes again, andslept soundly for the first

timeinoveraweek.When he woke, Arlen

raided the oasis’ stores.There were supplies aswell as food: blankets,herbs,asparewardingkit.Too weak to forage, hespent several days simplyeating the dried stores,drinking cool water, andcleansing his wounds. Bythen,hewasabletogather

fresh fruit. After a week,he found the strength tofish. Two, he could standandstretchwithoutpain.The oasis had storesenough to get him out ofthe desert. He might behalfdeadwhenhecrawledfrom the scorched clayflats,buthewouldbehalfalive,aswell.Therewereahandfulof

spears in the oasis’ stores,but compared to themagnificentmetalweaponhe had lost, sharpenedwood seemed woefullyinadequate. Withoutlacquer to harden thesymbols, carved wardswould mar with the firstthrust through hardcorelingscales.What, then? He had

wards that could burn thelifefromdemons,butwhatgoodwere theywithout aweapontoaffixthemto?He considered painting

stones with the attackwards. He could throwthem, or even press themagainst the corelings byhand…Arlenlaughed.Ifhewas

goingtogetthatclosetoa

demon, he might as wellpaint thewardsrightontohishands.His laughterdied as thethoughtgerminated.Couldit work? If so, he wouldhave a weapon no onecould steal, one nocoreling couldknock fromhis grasp or catch himwithout.Arlen took out his

notebook, studying thewards on the spear’s tip,andthoseatitsbutt.Thosewere the offensive wards;the wards on the shaftwere defensive. He notedthatthewardsonthebuttdid not form a line bylinkingwithothers,asdidthe wards along the edgeof the tip. They stoodalone, the same symbolrepeated around the

circumferenceofthespear,and on the flat of its end.Perhapsthedifferencewasone of cutting versusbludgeoning.Asthesundippedlower,

Arlen copied thebludgeoning ward in thedirt, over and over, untilhe felt confident. He tooka brush and a paint bowlfrom his warding kit,

carefullypaintingthewardonto the palm of his lefthand.Heblewon it softlyuntilitwasdry.Painting his right hand

was trickier, but Arlenknewfromexperiencethatwith concentration, hecould ward equally wellwithhis left hand, thoughittooklonger.As darkness descended,

Arlen gently flexed hishands, making sure themovement would notcrack or peel the paint.Satisfied, he went to thestoneobelisksthatwardedthe oasis, watching thedemons circle the barrier,smelling prey just beyondtheirreach.The first coreling tocatch sight of him was a

specimen of no particularnote: a sand demon aboutfour feet in length, withlong arms and bunched,muscular legs. Its barbedtail slithered back andforth as it met Arlen’seyes.A moment later, itlaunched itself at thewardnet.Asit leapt,Arlensteppedasideand reached

out,partiallycoveringtwowards. The net broke andthe coreling tumbled pasthim, confused at the lackof resistance. He quicklydrew his hand back,reestablishing the net.Whatever happened, thedemonwould not survive.Either it would perishfightingArlen,or itwouldkillhimanddiewhen thesun rose and it could not

escape theheavilywardedoasis.Thedemonrighteditself

andturnedback,hissingasit bared rows of teeth. Itcircled, its cordedmusclestensing as its tail flickedsharply. Then, with acatlike roar, it pouncedagain.Arlen met it head-on,

holding his hands with

palmsout,hisarmslongerthan the demon’s. Thecreature’s scaled cheststruckthewards,andwitha flash and a howl ofagony, the coreling wasthrownback. It struck theground hard, and Arlencould see thin wisps ofsmoke rising from thepoint of contact. Hesmiled.

The demon got back toits feet and began circlingagain, this time morecautiously. It wasunaccustomed to preyfighting back, but it soonregained its courage,leapingtotheattackagain.Arlen caught thecoreling’s wrists and fellback, kicking it in thestomach and flipping it

over him. As he madecontact, the wards flared,and he could feel themagic working. It did notburn him, though thecoreling’s flesh sizzled atthetouch,buttherewasatingle of energy in hishands, as if they had lostcirculation and goneprickly. The feeling shotuphisarmslikeashiver.

They both rose quickly,and Arlen returned thecoreling’s growl with oneof his own. The demonlicked at its scorchedwrists, trying to soothethem,andArlencould seegrudging respect in itseyes. Respect and fear.This time, he was thepredator.His confidence was

almost the death of him.The demon shrieked andlunged, and this time,Arlenwas too slow. Blacktalons raked across hischest as he tried to twistoutoftheway.He punched out indesperation, forgettingthatthewardswereonhispalms. His knucklesscraped against the

coreling’s gritty scales,tearing skin, but the blowhad little effect. With abackhandedswat,thesanddemonsenthimsprawlingtotheground.The nextmomentsweredesperate, as Arlenscrambled and rolled toavoid its slashing claws,razor teeth, and whippingspiked tail. He started to

rise,but thedemoncoiledand pounced on him,bearing him back to theground.Arlenmanaged toget his knee betweenthem,holdingthecreatureback, but its hot, fetidbreath washed across hisfaceasitsfangsclosednotaninchfromhisface.Arlen bared his ownteeth in as he boxed the

demon’sears.Thecorelingshrieked in pain as thewards flared, but Arlenheld on tightly. Smokebegan to drift from thegrip as the lightbrightened. The demonthrashed madly, clawstearing at him in adesperate attempt toescape.But Arlen had it now,

and he would not let go.Everymomentheheldon,the tingling in his palmsgrew in intensity, as ifgaining momentum. Hesqueezed his handstogether, andwas amazedwhen they grew closer, asif the creature’s skull wassoftening,liquefying.The coreling’s assault

slowed,andArlenrolledto

theside,reversingthepin.The demon’s claws closedweakly about his arms,trying to pull them away,butitwasnouse.With a final flex of hismuscles,Arlenbroughthishands together, crushingthe coreling’s head in anexplosionofgore.

CHAPTER24NEEDLESANDINK

328AR

ARLEN COULDN’T SLEEP THAT

NIGHT, though it was notfrom the throbbing of his

wounds.Allhislifehehaddreamt of the heroes inJongleurs’ tales, donningarmor and fightingcorelings with wardedweapons. When he foundthe spear, he thought thatdream was within hisgrasp, but when hereached for it, it slippedthroughhisfingersandhestumbled into somethingnew.

Nothing, not even thatnightintheMazewhenhehad felt invincible, couldcompare with thesensation of facing acoreling on its own termsand feeling the tingle inhis flesh as his magicburned its life away. Hehungered for that feelingagain,andthathungerputall his former desires in anewlight.

Lookingbackathisvisitto Krasia, Arlen realizedthat it wasn’t asmagnanimous as he hadbelieved.Whateverhehadtold himself, he hadwanted tobemore thanaweaponsmith, or onefighter among many. Hehad wanted glory. Fame.Hehadwantedtogodowninthehistoriesasthemanwho had given men back

thefight.AstheDeliverer,even?The thought disturbed

him. For the salvation ofhumanity to meananything, for it to last, ithad to come fromeveryone, not just oneman.But did humanity even

wanttobesaved?Didtheydeserve it? Arlen didn’t

know anymore. Men likehisfatherhadlostthewillto fight, content to hidebehindwards,andwhathehad seen in Krasia, whathe now saw in himself,made Arlenwonder aboutthosewhohadnot.There could never be

peace between Arlen andthe corelings. He knew inhishearthecouldneversit

safebehindhiswards andlet them dance in peacenow that he had anotherchoice. But who wouldstand by his side andfight?Jephhadstruckhimat the idea. Elissa hadscolded him. Mery hadshunnedhim.TheKrasianshadtriedtokillhim.Ever since the night hehad seen Jeph watch his

wife be cored from thesafety of his porchwards,Arlen had known that thecorelings’ greatest weaponwas fear. What he hadn’tunderstood was that feartook many forms. For allhis attempts to proveotherwise, Arlen wasterrifiedofbeingalone.Hewanted someone, anyone,to believe inwhat hewasdoing. Someone to fight

with,andfor.But there was no one.

He saw that now. If hewantedcompanionship,hewould have to slink backto the cities and accept iton their terms. If hewantedto fight,hehadtodoitalone.The sense of power and

elation, so fresh in hismind, faded.Hecurledup

slowly,grippinghisknees,and stared out over thedesert, looking for a roadwheretherewasnone.

Arlen rose with the sunandpadded to thepool torinse his wounds. He hadstitched and poulticedthem before beddingdown,butonecouldneverbe too careful withwounds from a coreling.

As he splashed the coolwater on his face, histattoocaughthiseye.All Messengers had

tattoos,marking their cityof origin. Itwas a symbolof how far they hadtraveled. Arlenremembered that first daywhen Ragen showed himhis, the city in themountains that graced the

flag of Miln. Arlen hadmeant to get that sametattoowhen he completedhis first job.Hewent to atattooist, ready to bemarked forever aMessenger, but he hadhesitated. Fort Miln washome to him in manyways,butitwasnotwherehehadcomefrom.Tibbet’s Brook had no

flag, so Arlen took thecrest of Earl Tibbethimself,lushfieldssplitbya stream that fed a smalllake.Thetattooisttookhisneedlesandimprintedthatreminder of home onArlen’s shoulder for alltime.For all time. The notionlingered in Arlen’s mind.He had watched the

tattooistclosely.Theman’sart was not so differentfrom that of a Warder:precise markings,painstakingly placed withno room for error. Therewere needles in Arlen’sherbpouch,andinkinhiswardingkit.Arlen started a small

fire, recalling everymoment spent with the

tattooist. He passed hisneedles through theflames,andpouredabitofthick, viscous ink into asmall bowl. He wrappedthread about the needlesto prevent them frompiercing too deeply, andcarefully studied thecontours of his left hand,noticingeverywrinkleandshiftas it flexed.Whenhewas ready, he took a

needle, dipped it in theink,andsettowork.It was slow going. He

was forced to pausefrequently to wipe hispalm clear of blood andexcessink.Hehadnothingbut time, though, so heworkedwithcare,hishandsteady.Bymidmorning,hewas satisfied with hiswarding. He poulticed the

hand and wrapped itcarefully, thenwent aboutreplenishing the oasis’stores.Heworkedhardtherest of the day, and theday after that, knowingthat he would need asmuch as he could carrybeforeheleft.

Arlen remained in theoasis for another week,warding his skin in the

mornings and gatheringfoodintheafternoons.Thetattoos on his palmshealed rapidly, but Arlendid not stop there.Remembering the skinnedknuckles from punchingthe sand demon, hewarded those of his lefthand,waitingonly for thescabs on his right to fallaway before he did thoseaswell.Nocorelingwould

evershrugawayoneofhispunchesagain.As he worked, he ran

throughhisbattlewiththesand demon repeatedly,remembering how itmoved, its strength andspeed, the nature of itsattacks, and the signalsthat heralded them. Hemade careful notes of hisrecollections, studying

themandconsideringhowhis reactions could havebeen better. He could notaffordtostumbleanymore.TheKrasians had honedthe brutal yet precisemovesofsharusahkintoanart form. He began toadapt the moves, and theplacement of his tattoos,so the two would act asone.

When Arlen finally leftthe Oasis of Dawn, heignored the path entirely,cutting straight across thesand toward the lost cityof Anoch Sun. He took asmuch dried food as hecould carry. Anoch Sunhad a well, but no food,andheplannedtobethereforsometime.Even as he left, Arlen

knewthathiswaterwouldnot lastall theway to thelostcity.Spareskinsattheoasis were few, and itmighttakeasmuchastwoweekstoreachthecityonfoot. His water wouldn’tlastaweek.But never once did he

look back. There’s nothingbehind me, he thought. Icanonlygoforward.

Asduskspreaddarknessacrossthesand,Arlentooka deep breath andcontinued on, notbotheringtosetcamp.Thestars were clear over thecloudless desert, and itwaseasytokeephissenseofdirection;easier,infact,thanitwasduringtheday.There were few

corelings so far out in the

desert. They tended tocongregate where therewas prey, and prey wasscarceonthebarrensands.Arlenwalked for hours inthe cold moonlight beforea demon caught his scent.He heard its cries longbefore the creatureappeared, but he did notflee, for he knew it couldtrack him, nor did he tryto hide, for he had much

farthertogothatnight.Hestood his ground as thesand demon cameboundingoverthedunes.When Arlen met thecreature’sgazecalmly,thecoreling paused, confused.Itgrowledathim,clawingthe sand, but Arlen onlysmiled. It roared achallenge, but Arlen didnotreactatall.Instead,he

focused on hissurroundings: the flashesof movement in theperipheryofhisvision;thewhisper of the wind andthe scrape of sand; thescent upon the cold nightair.Sand demons hunted in

packs. Arlen had neverseen one of them alonebefore, and he doubted

this one was now. Sureenough, while hisattention had been fixedupon the snarling,shrieking creature beforehim,twomoredemons,assilentasdeath,hadcircledaround to either side,nearly invisible in thedarkness. Arlen pretendednot to notice them,keeping eye contact withthecorelinginfrontofhim

as it drew closer andcloser.The attack came, asexpected, not from theposturing sand demonbeforehim,butfromthoseoff to the sides.Arlenwasimpressed with thecunning the corelingsshowed.Outonthesands,he supposed, where onecould see far in every

direction and the slightestsoundcouldcarrymilesonthewind, itwasnecessaryto develop instincts formisdirection when on thehunt.ButwhileArlenhadnot

yet become the hunter,neither was he easy prey.As the two sand demonsleapt at him from eitherside, foretalons reaching,

hedarted forward, towardthe demon that had beenservingasthedistraction.The two attacking

demons veered off, barelyavoidinga collision,whilethe other backed away insurprise. It was fast, butnot as fast as Arlen’s lefthook. The wards on hisknuckles flared, a sizzlingblow that rocked the

demon back on its heels,but Arlen did not stopthere.Hesnappedhisrighthand onto the coreling’sface, pressing the wardtattooed on his palmagainst its eyes. Thewardactivated,burning,andthecreature shrieked andlashedoutblindly.Anticipating the move,Arlen threw himself

backward. He hit theground ina rollandcameback up a few feet awayfrom theblinded creature,facing the other twocorelingsas they launchedthemselveshisway.Again, Arlen wasimpressed. Not to befooled twice, the corelingsdid not attack in unison,staggering their strikes so

he could not play themagainstoneanother.The tactic worked

against the demons,though, for it allowedArlen to focus upon themone at a time.As the firstreached for him, hesteppedrightup,insideitsgrasp, and boxed its ears.The explosion of magiccollapsedthedemontothe

sand, where it shriekedand writhed in agony,clutchingatitshead.The second demon was

close behind the first, andArlen had no time tododge or strike. Instead,rememberinganothertrickfromthelastencounter,hecaught the creature’swrists and threw himselfonto his back, kicking

upward. The sharp scalesof the sand demon’sabdomen cut through thewrappings on his feet andintothefleshbeneath,butit did not prevent Arlenfrom using the creature’sownmomentum to hurl itaway. The one he hadblinded continued to flailabout, but it was littlethreat.

Before the throwndemon could recover,Arlen pounced on the onewrithing on the ground,digging his knees into itsbackandignoringthepainas its scales cut into him.He caught the corelingabout the throat with onehand, and pressed theotherhardintothebackofitshead.Hefeltthemagicbeginning to build, but

was forced to relinquishhishold too soon inorderto roll out of the way asthecorelinghehadthrownreneweditsassault.Arlen came back to hisfeet, and he and the sanddemoncircledoneanotherwarily. It charged, andArlenbenthisknees,readyto sidestep the slashingclaws, but the demon

stoppedshort,snappingitsstout, powerful frameaboutlikeawhip.Itsthicktail collided with Arlen’sside, sending himsprawling.He hit the ground androlled to the side just intime as the heavy, ridgedend of the tail thuddedinto the sand where hishead had been. He rolled

back, narrowly avoidingthenextblow.Asthesanddemonretracteditstailforanother strike, Arlenmanaged to grasp it. Hesqueezed,feelingthewardtingle in his palm, thengrow warm as the magicgathered. The demonhowled and thrashed, butArlenheldfast,lockinghisother hand just below thefirst. He quickstepped to

keep out of reach as themagic intensified, finallyburning right through thetail, popping the ridgedend off in an ichoroussplatter.Arlenwasthrownbytheseverance, and thecoreling, free again,whirled on him andattacked.Arlencaughtoneofitswristsinhislefthand

andjabbedhisrightelbowinto the creature’s throat,but the unwarded blowhad little effect. Thedemon flexed its sinewyarms, and Arlen againfound himself flyingthroughtheair.Asthecreaturepounced,Arlen called upon his lastreserves of strength andmetithead-on,lockinghis

hands around its throatand bearing it backward.The coreling’s talonsripped at his arms, butArlen’s limbswere longer,and it could not reach hisbody. They struck theground hard, and Arlenbrought his knees up tothe coreling’s arm joints,pinning the limbswithhisweight as he continued tochoke, feeling the magic

swell with every passingsecond.The coreling thrashed

about, but Arlen onlysqueezed harder, burningthroughitsscalesandintothe vulnerable fleshbeneath. Bones cracked,andhisfistsclosed.He rose from the now-

headless demon, andlooked to the others. The

one whose ears he hadboxed was crawlingweakly away, its will forthe fight gone. The blinddemon had vanished, butArlen was untroubled bythat fact. He didn’t envythe crippled creature itstripbacktotheCore.Mostlikely, its fellows wouldtearittopieces.He finished off the

demon limpingpathetically in the sand,bandagedhiswounds,andthen, after a short rest,picked up his roll ofprovisions and headed ontowardAnochSun.

Arlen traveled night andday,takinghissleepintheshadowoftheduneswhenthe sun was highest. Ononly twoothernightswas

he forced to fight; onceagainst another pack ofsand demons, and onceagainst a lone winddemon. The others hepassedunmolested.Without the weight of

the sun upon him, hecovered more distance bynightthanbyday.Hewaswindburned and raw byhis seventhdayoutof the

oasis,hisfeetblisteredandbleeding and his watergone, but new strengthflowed into him as AnochSuncameintoview.Arlenrefilledhisskinsatone of the few workingwells,drinkingdeeply,andthen set to warding thebuilding that led into thecatacombs where he hadfound the spear. In some

of the nearby collapsedbuildings,wooden supportbeams were left exposed,and in the dryness of thedesert, they remainedintact. Arlen harvestedthese, along with thesparse scrub brush, forfires.Thethreetorchesleftat the oasis and thehandful of candles in hiswardingkitwouldnotlastlong, and there was no

naturallightbelow.He rationed hisdwindling supply of foodcarefully. The edge of thedesert, and the nearesthopeofmore,wasatleastfive days fromAnoch Sunonfoot,perhapsthreeifhetraveledatnightaswellasday. That didn’t give himmuch time, and therewasalottodo.

Forthenextweek,Arlenexplored the catacombs,carefully copying newwards wherever he foundthem. He found more ofthestonecoffins,butnonecontained weapons likethe first one he’d found.Still, there was anabundance of wardsetched upon the coffinsandpillars,andmorewerepainted into stories upon

thewalls. Arlen could notread the pictograms, buthe understood much fromthe body language andexpressions on thesequential images. Theworks were so intricatethat he could make outsome of the wards on theweapons the warriorscarried.There were new breeds

ofcorelingsinthepictures,aswell.Aseriesofimagesshowed men killed bydemons that lookedhuman,savefortheirteethand claws. One centralimage showed a thincorelingwithspindlylimbsand a scrawny chest, itshead enormous for itsbody, standing before ahost of demons. Thecorelingfacedoffagainsta

robed man who stoodbefore a like number ofhumanwarriors.Thefacesof the twowere contortedas if in a contest of wills,but they stoodwell apart.Ahalooflightsurroundedthem, as their respectivearmieslookedon.Perhaps most strikingabout the image, themanheldnoweapon.The light

emanating from himseemedtobe fromawardpainted—tattooed?—uponhis forehead.Arlen lookedtothenextimage,andsawthedemonanditshostfleeasthehumansraisedtheirspearsintriumph.Arlen copied the ward

from the man’s foreheadcarefully into hisnotebook.

Days passed, and fooddwindled. If he stayed inAnoch Sun any longer, hewould starve before hefoundmore.Hedecidedtoleaveat first light forFortRizon. Once he reachedthecity,hecouldsecureabank note against hisaccounts to cover a horseandsuppliestoreturn.But it galled him to

leave having barelyscratched the surface ofAnoch Sun. Many tunnelshad collapsed, requiringtime to dig through, andthere were many morebuildings that might haveentrances to undergroundchambers. The ruins heldthe key to destroyingdemonkind, and this wasthe second time hisstomachhadforcedhimto

abandonthem.Thecorelingsrosewhile

he was lost in thought.They came in numbers toAnoch Sun, despite thelackof prey.Perhaps theythought the buildingsmight one day attractmoremen,orperhapstheytook pleasure indominating a place thathadoncestoodindefiance

oftheirkind.Arlen rose and walkedto the edge of his wards,watching the corelingsdance in the moonlight.His stomach rumbled, andhe wondered, not for thefirst time,at thenatureofdemons. They weremagical creatures,immortal and inhuman.They destroyed, but they

did not create. Even theircorpses burned awayinstead of rotting to feedthe soil. But he had seenthem feed, seen them shitandpiss.Was their natureentirelyoutsidethenaturalorder?A sand demonhissed athim. “What are you?”Arlen asked, but thecreatureonlyswipedatthe

wards, growling infrustration and stalkingawaywhentheyflared.Arlenwatched itgo,histhoughts dark. “To theCorewithit,”hemuttered,leaping out from theprotection of his wards.Thecorelingturnedjustintime to take a blow fromArlen’s warded knuckles.His punches struck the

unsuspecting creature likethunderbolts. Before itknewwhat had hit it, thedemonwasdead.Other corelingsapproached at the sound,but they moved warily,andArlenwasabletodartback to the building andcover his wards longenough to drag his victimthrough.

“Let’s see if you can’tgivesomethingback,afterall,” Arlen told the deadcreature. Using cuttingwardspaintedontoasharppiece of obsidian, heopened up the sanddemon, surprised to findthat beneath the hardarmor its flesh was asvulnerable as his. Themuscle and sinew wastough, but not so much

more than that of anybeast.The stench of thecreature was terrible. Theblack ichor that served asits blood stank so badlythat Arlen’s eyes tearedand he gagged. Holdinghis breath, he cut meatfrom the creature, andshook it vigorously toremove the excess fluid

before setting it over hissmall fire. The ichorsmoked and eventuallyburnedaway, the smell ofthe cooking fleshbecomingtolerable.When it was cookedthrough,Arlenheldupthedark, foul meat, and theyearsmeltedaway,castinghim back to Tibbet’sBrook, and the words of

Coline Trigg. He hadcaughtafishthatday,butits scales were brown andsickly, and the HerbGatherer had made himthrow it back. “Never eatsomethingthatlookssick,”Coline had said. “Whatyou put in your mouthbecomesapartofyou.”Willthisbecomeapartof

me, too? hewondered. He

looked at the meat,mustered his nerve, andputitinhismouth.

SECTIONIV

CUTTER’SHOLLOW

331–332AR

CHAPTER25ANEWVENUE331AR

THE RAIN INCREASED to asteady pour, and Rojerpickeduphispace,cursing

his luck. He had beenplanning to leaveShepherd’s Dale for sometime, but hadn’t expectedittobeundersuchhurriedand unpleasantcircumstances.Hesupposedhecouldn’tblame the shepherd. True,the man spent more timetending to his flock thanhis wife, and it was she

who made the advance,but coming home early tobeattherainandfindingaboy inbedwithyourwifedidn’ttendtoputmeninareasoningmood.In a way, he was

thankful for the rain.Without it, themanmightwell have raised half themen in the Dale to givechase. Dalesmen were a

possessive lot; probablybecausetheirwomenwereoftenleftalonewhiletheytook their precious herdsto graze. The shepherdswere serious folk, abouttheirherdsandabouttheirwives.Interferewitheitherone…After a frantic chasearound the room, theshepherd’s wife had

jumped upon herhusband’sback,restraininghimlongenoughforRojerto snatch up his bags anddart out the door. Rojer’sbags were always packed.Arrick had taught himthat.“Night,”hemuttered,as

his boot sucked into athick mud puddle. Thecold andwet seeped right

inthroughthesoftleather,buthedarednot stopandtrytobuildafirejustyet.He drew his motley

cloak tighter, wonderingwhy he always seemed tobe running fromsomething. Over the lasttwo years, he had movedon almost every season,living in Cricket Run,Woodsend,andShepherd’s

Dale three times each, atleast, but he still felt likeanoutsider.Mostvillagerswent their whole liveswithout ever leaving theirtown, and were foreverattempting to persuadeRojertodothesame.Marry me. Marry mydaughter. Stay at my innand we’ll paint your nameover the door to attract

custom. Keep me warmwhile my husband’s afield.Helpusharvestandstaythewinter.They said it a hundred

ways, but they all meant,“Give up the road andplantrootshere.”Every time it was said,

Rojerfoundhimselfontheroad. It was nice to bewanted, but as what? A

husband? A father? Afarmhand? Rojer was aJongleur,andhecouldnotimagine being anythingelse. The first time heliftedafingeratharvestorhelped chase down a lostsheep he knew he wouldbe starting down a roadthat would quickly makehimotherwise.He touched the golden-

haired talisman in itssecret pocket, feelingArrick’s spirit watchingover him. He knew hewould feel his master’sdisappointment keenly ifhe ever put his motleyaside. Arrick had died aJongleur,andRojerwould,too.True to Arrick’s words,

thehamletshadsharpened

Rojer’sskills.Twoyearsofconstant performing hadmade him into more thanjusta fiddlerandtumbler.Without Arrick to lead,Rojer had been forced tobroadenandgrow,comingupwithinnovativewaystoentertain alone. He wasconstantlyperfectingsomenew magic trick or bit ofmusic, but asmuch as histricksandfiddling,hehad

become known for hisstorytelling.Everyone in thehamlets

loved a good story,especially one that told offaraway places. Rojerobliged, telling of placeshe’d seen and places hehadn’t,townsthatsatoverthenexthillandonesthatexisted only in hisimagination. The stories

grew bigger with everytelling, his characterscoming alive in people’sminds as they went ontheir adventures. JakScaletongue, who couldspeak to corelings, andwas forever tricking thestupid beasts with falsepromises. Marko Rover,who crossed the Milnesemountains and found arichlandontheotherside

where corelings wereworshippedlikegods.Andof course, the WardedMan.The duke’s Jongleurs

passed through thehamlets to make decreeseveryspring,andthelatesthad told tales of a feralman who wandered thewilderness, killing demonsandfeastingontheirflesh.

He claimed it was honestword froma tattooistwhohad put wards on theman’s back, and thatothers had confirmed thetale. The audience’sattention had been rapt,and when folk had askedRojer to retell the storyanother night, he hadobliged, addingembellishments all hisown.

Listeners loved to askquestions and attempt tocatchhimincontradiction,but Rojer delighted in thedance of words, keepingthebumpkinsconvincedofhisoutlandishtales.Ironically, the most

difficult boast to sell wasthat he could make thecorelings dance with hisfiddle. He could have

proved it at any time, ofcourse, but asArrick usedto say, “The moment yougetuptoproveonething,you’llbeexpectedtoprovethemall.”Rojer looked up at the

sky. I’ll be playing for thecorelings soon enough, hethought. It had beenovercast all day, and wasgetting steadily darker. In

the cities, where highwallsmadeitsothatmostpeopleneversawanactualcoreling,itwasbelievedtobe a tampweed tale thattheycouldriseunderdarkclouds, but living outsidethe walls in the hamletsfor two years had taughtRojer better. Most wouldwait until full sunset torise,butifthecloudsgrewthick enough, a few bold

demons would test thefalsenight.Cold andwet and inno

mood to take the risk, hecast about for a suitablecampsite.He’dbeluckytomake Woodsend the nextday.Morelikely,hewouldbetwonightsontheroad.The thought made hisstomachchurn.AndWoodsendwouldbe

nobetterthantheDale.OrCricket Run, for thatmatter.Soonerorlater,hewould get some womanwithchild,orworse,fallinlove, and before he knewit,hewouldonlybetakinghis fiddle from its caseonfestival days. Until heneeded to barter it to fixtheploworbuyseed,thatwas. Then he would bejustlikeeveryoneelse.

Oryoucouldgohome.Rojer often thought ofreturning to Angiers, butwas forever coming upwith reasons to put it offanother season. After all,what did the city have tooffer? Narrow streets,choked with people andanimals, wooden planksinfusedwith the stench ofmanure and garbage.

Beggars and thieves andthe ever-present worryaboutmoney. People whoignored each other as anart.Normal people, Roger

thought, and sighed.Villagers were alwaysseeking to knoweverything about theirneighbors, and openedtheir homes to strangers

without a thought. It wascommendable, but Rojerwasacityboyatheart.Returning to Angiers

would mean dealing withthe guild again. AnunlicensedJongleur’sdayswere numbered, but aguildsman in goodstanding’s business wasassured. His experience inthe hamlets should be

enough to win him alicense, especially if hefound a guildsman tospeak for him. Arrick hadalienated most of those,but Rojer might find oneto take pity on him uponhearing of his master’sfate.He found a tree thatgavesomeshelterfromtherain, and after setting up

his circle, managed tocollect enough dry tinderfrombeneathitsboughstostartasmallfire.Hefeditcarefully,butthewindandwet extinguished it beforelong.“Bugger the hamlets,”Rojer said as the darknessenveloped him, brokenonly by the occasionalflareofmagicasademon

testedhiswards.“Buggerthemall.”

Angiers hadn’t changedmuch since he’d beengone. It seemed smaller,but Rojer had been livingin wide-open places forsometime,andhadgrowna few inches since he hadbeen there last. He wassixteen now, a man byanyone’s standards. He

stood outside the city forsome time, staring at thegate and wondering if hewasmakingamistake.He had a little coin,sifted carefully from hiscollection hat over theyears and hoarded againsthis return, and some foodin his pack. It wasn’tmuch, but it would keephimoutofthesheltersfor

afewnightsatleast.IfallIwantisafullbellyandaroof, Icanalwaysgoback to the hamlets, hethought. He could headsouth to Farmer’s Stumpand Cutter’s Hollow, ornorth, to where the dukehadrebuiltRiverbridgeonthe Angierian side of theriver.If,hetoldhimselfagain,

musteringhiscourageandwalkingthroughthegate.He found an inn that

was cheap enough, andunpacked his best motley,heading back out as soonas he was changed. TheJongleurs’Guildhousewaslocated near the center oftown, where its residentscould easily makeengagementsinanypartof

the city. Any licensedJongleur could live in thehouse, provided they tookthe jobs assigned to themwithout complaint, andpaidhalf their earnings totheguild.“Fools,” Arrick called

them. “Any Jongleurwilling to give half histake for a roof and threecommunal servings of

gruel isn’t worthy of thename.”Itwastrueenough.OnlytheoldestandleastskilledJongleurs lived in thehouse, ready to take thejobs others turned down.Still, it was better thandestitution, and safer thanpublic shelters. Thewardson the guildhouse werestrong, and its residents

less apt to rob oneanother.Rojer headed for theresidences, and a fewinquiries soon had himknocking on a particulardoor.“Eh?” the old manasked, squinting into thehallasheopenedhisdoor.“Who’sthat?”“Rojer Halfgrip, sir,”

Rojer said, and seeing norecognition in the rheumyeyes, added, “I wasapprentice to ArrickSweetsong.”The confused look

soured in an instant, andthe man moved to closethedoor.“MasterJaycob,please,”

Rojer said, placing hishandonthedoor.

Theoldmansighed,butmadenoefforttoclosethedoor as he moved backinto the small chamberand sat down heavily.Rojer entered, closing thedoorbehindthem.“What is it you want?”

Jaycob asked. “I’m an oldman and don’t have timeforgames.”“I need a sponsor to

apply for a guild license,”Rojersaid.Jaycobspatonthefloor.

“Arrick’s become a deadweight?” he asked. “Hisdrinking slowing downyour success, so you’releaving him to rot andstrikingoutonyourown?”He grunted. “Fitting.S’what he did to me,twenty-fiveyearsago.”

He looked up at Rojer.“But fitting or no, if youthink I’m to help in yourbetrayal…”“Master Jaycob,” Rojersaid,holdinguphishandsto forestall the comingtirade, “Arrick is dead.Cored on the road toWoodsend, two yearsgone.”

“Keep your back straight,

boy,” Jaycob said as theywalked down the hall.“Remember to look theguildmaster in the eye,and don’t speak untilyou’respokento.”He had already saidthesethingsadozentimes,butRojeronlynodded.Hewas young to get his ownlicense, but Jaycob saidtherehadbeensomeinthe

guild’s history who wereyounger still. Itwas talentandskillthatwouldwinalicense,notyears.It wasn’t easy to get anappointment with theguildmaster, even with asponsor.Jaycobhadn’thadthe strength toperform inyears, and while theguildsmen were politelyrespectful of his advanced

years, he was moreignored than venerated inthe office wing of theguildhouse.The guildmaster’ssecretaryleftthemwaitingoutside his office forseveralhours,watching indespair as otherappointments came andwent. Rojer sat with hisbackstraight, resisting the

urge to shift or slump, asthelightfromthewindowslowlycrossedtheroom.“GuildmasterChollswillsee you now,” the clerksaid at last, and Rojersnappedback toattention.He stood quickly, lendingJaycobahand tohelp theoldmantohisfeet.The guildmaster’s officewaslikenothingRojerhad

seen since his time in theduke’spalace.Thickwarmcarpet covered the floors,patterned and bright, andelaborate oil lamps withcolored glass hung fromthe oak walls betweenpaintings of great battles,beautifulwomen, and stilllifes. His desk was darkpolished walnut, withsmall, intricate statuettesfor paperweights,

mirroring the largerstatues on pedestalsthroughout the room.Behind the desk was thesymbol of the Jongleurs’Guild, three colored balls,inalargesealonthewall.“I don’t have a lot oftime, Master Jaycob,”Guildmaster Cholls said,notevenbotheringtolookup from the sheaf of

papersonhisdesk.Hewasa heavy man, fiftysummers at least, dressedin the embroidered clothof a merchant or noble,rather than Jongleur’smotley.“This one isworth your

time,” Jaycob said. “Theapprentice of ArrickSweetsong.”Cholls lookedupat last,

if only to glance askew atJaycob.“Didn’trealizeyouand Arrick were still intouch,” he said, ignoringRojerentirely.“Heardyoubrokeonbadterms.”“The years have a wayof softening such things,”Jaycobsaidstiffly,ascloseto a lie as he was willingtogo.“I’vemademypeacewithArrick.”

“Itseemsyou’retheonlyone,” Cholls said with achuckle.“Mostof themenin this building would assoon throttle the man aslookathim.”“They’dbea little late,”Jaycob said. “Arrick isdead.”Cholls sobered at that.“I’m saddened to hearthat,” he said. “Every one

of us is precious. Was itthedrink,intheend?”Jaycob shook his head.

“Corelings.”The guildmaster

scowled, and spat into abrass bucket by his deskthat seemed there for nootherpurpose. “Whenandwhere?”heasked.“Twoyears,ontheroad

toWoodsend.”

Cholls shook his headsadly. “I recall hisapprentice was somethingof a fiddler,” he said atlast,glancingRojer’sway.“Indeed,” Jaycobagreed. “That andmore. Ipresent to you RojerHalfgrip.”Rojerbowed.“Halfgrip?” theguildmaster asked, withsudden interest. “I’ve

heard tales of a Halfgripplaying the Westernhamlets.Thatyou,boy?”Rojer’s eyes widened,buthenodded.Arrickhadsaid that reputationscarried quickly from thehamlets, but it was still ashock.Hewondered if hisreputationwasgoodorill.“Don’t let it go to yourhead,” Cholls said, as if

reading his mind. “Yokelsexaggerate.”Rojer nodded, keepingeye contact with theguildmaster. “Yes, sir. Iunderstand.”“Well then, let’s get onwith this,” Cholls said.“Showmewhatyouhave.”“Here?” Rojer askeddoubtfully. The officewaslargeandprivate,butwith

its thick carpets andexpensive furniture, ithardly seemed suited totumbling and knifethrowing.Cholls waved at himimpatiently. “Youperformed with Arrick foryears, so I’ll accept thatyou can juggle and sing,”he said. Rojer swallowedhard. “Earning a license

means showing a focusskillbeyondthosebasics.”“Fiddle him, boy, just

like you did me,” Jaycobsaid confidently. Rojernodded. His hands shookslightly as he took hisfiddle from its case, butwhen his fingers closedabout the smooth wood,the fearwashedaway likedustinabath.Hebeganto

play, the guildmasterforgottenashefellintothemusic.Heplayeda shortwhilebefore a shout broke themusic’s spell. His bowslipped from the strings,and in the silence thatfollowed, a voicethundered outside thedoor.“No, I will not wait for

someworthless apprenticeto finish his test! Moveaside!”Therewere soundsofascufflebeforethedoorburst open and MasterJasin stormed into theroom.“I’m sorry,Guildmaster,” the clerkapologized, “he refused towait.”Cholls waved the clerk

away as Jasin stormed upto him. “You gave theDuke’s Ball to Edum?” hedemanded. “That’s beenmy performance for tenyears! My uncle will hearofthis!”Cholls stoodhisground,

arms crossed. “The dukehimself requested thechange,” he said. “If youruncle has a problem,

suggesthe take itupwithHisGrace.”Jasin scowled. It wasdoubtful even FirstMinister Janson wouldintercede with the dukeoveraperformanceforhisnephew.“Ifthat’sallyoucametodiscuss, Jasin, you’ll havetoexcuseus,”Chollswenton. “Young Rojer here is

testingforhislicense.”Jasin’s eyes snappedover toRojer, flaringwithrecognition. “I see you’veditched the drunk,” hesneered. “Hope you didn’ttrade him for this oldrelic.”HethrusthischinatJaycob. “The offer stands,youwant towork forme.Let Arrick beg for yourscrapsforachange,eh?”

“Master Arrick wascored on the road twoyearsago,”Chollssaid.Jasin glanced back at

the guildmaster, thenlaughed out loud.“Fabulous!” he cried.“That news makes up forlosingtheDuke’sBall,andtospare!”Rojerhithim.He didn’t even realize

what he’d done until hewas standing over themaster, his knucklestinglingandwet.He’d feltthe brittle crunch as hisfiststruckJasin’snose,andhe knew his chances ofwinning his license werenow gone, but at thatmoment,hedidn’tcare.Jaycobgrabbedhimandpulled him back as Jasin

surged to his feet,swingingwildly.“I’ll kill you for thad,youlittle…!”Cholls was betweenthem in an instant. Jasinthrashed in his grasp, buttheguildmaster’sbulkwasmore than enough torestrain him. “That’senough,Jasin!”hebarked.“You’re not killing

anyone!”“Yousawwhadhedid!”Jasin cried, as bloodstreamedfromhisnose.“And I heard what yousaid!”Chollsshoutedback.“Iwas tempted to hit youmyself!”“How ab I subbosed tosig tonide?” Jasindemanded. His nose hadalready begun to swell,

andhiswordsbecamelessunderstandablewitheverymoment.Cholls scowled. “I’ll getsomeone to perform inyour stead,” he said. “Theguild will cover the loss.Daved!” The clerk stuckhis head in the door.“EscortMasterJasin toanHerb Gatherer, and havethebillsenthere.”

Daved nodded, movingtoassist Jasin.Themastershoved him away. “Thididn’t ober,” he promisedRojerasheleft.Cholls blew out a long

breath as the door closed.“Well, boy, you’ve goneanddoneitnow.That’sanenemy Iwouldn’twishonanyone.”“He was already my

enemy,” Rojer said. “Youheardwhathesaid.”Cholls nodded. “I did,”he said, “but you stillshould have restrainedyourself.Whatwillyoudoif a patron insults younext?Orthedukehimself?Guildsmencan’tgoaroundpunching anyone thatangersthem.”Rojer hung his head. “I

understand,”hesaid.“You’ve just cost me afair bit of coin, though,”Cholls said. “I’ll bethrowing money andprime performances atJasin for weeks to keephim appeased, and withthat fiddling of yours, I’dbea foolnot tomakeyouearnitback.”Rojer looked up

hopefully.“Probationary license,”

Cholls said, taking a sheetof paper and a quill.“You’re only to performunder the supervisionofamaster of the guild, paidfromyourtake,andhalfofyour gross earnings willcome to this office until Iconsider your debt closed.Understood?”

“Absolutely, sir!” Rojersaideagerly.“And you’ll hold yourtemper,” Cholls warned,“or I’ll tearupthis licenseand you’ll never performinAngiersagain.”

Rojer worked his fiddle,butoutofthecornerofhiseye he was watchingAbrum, Jasin’s burlyapprentice. Jasin usually

hadoneofhisapprenticeswatching Rojer’sperformances.Itmadehimuneasy,knowing that theywere watching him fortheir master, who meanthim only ill, but it hadbeen months since theincident in theguildmaster’s office, andnothing had ever seemedtocomeofit.MasterJasinhadrecoveredquicklyand

was soon performingagain, raking in accoladesateveryhigh-societyeventinAngiers.Rojer might have dared

to hope the episode wasbehindthem,savethattheapprentices came backalmost every day.Sometimes it was Abrumthewooddemonlurkinginacrowd,andothersitwas

Sali the rock demonsippingadrinkatthebackof a tavern, but howeverinnocuous they mightseem, it was nocoincidence.Rojer ended his

performance with aflourish,whippingthebowfromhisfiddleintotheair.He took his time to bow,straightening just in time

to catch it. The crowdburst into applause, andRojer’s sharp ears caughttheclinkofmetalcoins inthe hat as Jaycob movedabout the crowd with it.Rojer couldn’t suppress asmile.Theoldmanlookedalmostspry.He scanned thedispersing crowd as theycollected their equipment,

but Abrum had vanished.Still, they packed upquickly and took aroundabout path to theirinn to make sure theycould not be easilyfollowed. The sun wassoontoset,andthestreetswere emptying rapidly.Winter was on the wane,but the boardwalks stillheld patches of ice andsnow, and few stayed out

unless they had businessto.“Even without Cholls’

cut, the rent is paid withdays to spare,” Jaycobsaid, jingling the pursewiththeirtake.“Whenthedebt’spaid,you’llberich!”“We’ll be rich,” Rojer

corrected, and Jaycoblaughed, kicking his heelsand slapping Rojer on the

back.“Look at you,” Rojer

said, shaking his head.“What happened to theshuffling and half-blindold man that opened hisdoor to me a fewmonthsgone?”“It’s performing again

that’s done it,” Jaycobsaid, giving Rojer atoothlessgrin.“IknowI’m

not singing or throwingknives, but even passingthe hat has gotten mydusty blood pumping likeithasn’t intwentyyears. Ifeel I could even …” Helookedaway.“What?”Rojerasked.“Just…”Jaycobsaid,“I

don’t know, spin a tale,perhaps? Or play dimwhile you throw punch

linesmyway? Nothing tostealyourshine…”“Of course,” Rojer said.“Iwouldhaveasked,butIfelt I was imposing toomuch already, draggingyou all over town tosupervise myperformances.”“Boy,” Jaycob said, “Ican’t remember the lasttimeI’vebeensohappy.”

They were grinning asthey turned a corner andwalked right into Abrumand Sali. Behind them,Jasin smiled broadly. “It’sgood to see you, myfriend!” Jasin said, asAbrum clapped Rojer’sshoulder. The windsuddenly exploded fromRojer’sstomach,thepunchdoubling him over andknockinghimtothefrozen

boardwalk. Before hecouldrise,Salideliveredaheavykicktohisjaw.“Leave him alone!”

Jaycob cried, throwinghimself at Sali. The heavysoprano only laughed,grabbing him andswinginghimhardagainstthewallofabuilding.“Oh, there’s plenty for

you too, old man!” Jasin

said, as Sali landed heavyblows to his body. Rojercould hear the crunch ofbrittlebone,andtheweak,wetgaspsthatescapedthemaster’slips.Onlythewallheldhimupright.The wooden planks

beneath his hands werespinning, but Rojerwrenched himself to hisfeet, holding his fiddle by

theneckwithbothhands,swinging the makeshiftclub wildly. “You won’tget away with this!” hecried.Jasin laughed. “Who

willyougoto?”heasked.“Will the city magistratestake the obviously falseaccusations of a pettystreet performer over thewordofthefirstminister’s

nephew?Go to the guard,andit’syouthey’llhang.”Abrumcaughtthefiddle

easily,twistingRojer’sarmhard as he drove a kneeinto his crotch. Rojer felthis arm break even as hisgroin caught fire, and thefiddlecamedownhardonthe back of his head,shattering as it hammeredhim to the boardwalk

again.Even through theringing in his ears, Rojerheard Jaycob’s continuedgrunts of pain. Abrumstoodoverhim,smilingasheliftedaheavyclub.

CHAPTER26HOSPIT332AR

“AY, JIZELL!” Skot cried asthe old Herb Gatherercame to him with her

bowl. “Why not let yourapprentice take the taskfor once?” He nodded atLeesha, changing anotherman’sdressing.“Ha!” Jizell barked. Shewas a heavyset woman,withshortgrayhairandavoice thatcarried.“If I lether give the ragbaths, I’dhavehalfofAngierscryingplaguewithinaweek.”

Leesha shook her headas the others in the roomlaughed, but she wassmiling as she did. Skotwas harmless. He was aMessenger whose horsehad thrown him on theroad. Lucky to be alive,especiallywithtwobrokenarms, he had somehowmanagedtotrackdownhishorse and get back in thesaddle.He had nowife to

care for him, and so theMessengers’ Guild hadproduced the klats to puthim up in Jizell’s hospituntil he could do forhimself.Jizell soaked her rag inthewarm,soapybowlandlifted theman’s sheet, herhand moving with firmefficiency. The Messengergave a yelp as she was

finishing up, and Jizelllaughed. “Just as well Igive the baths,” she saidloudly, glancing down.“We wouldn’t want todisappointpoorLeesha.”Theothers in their beds

all had a laugh at theman’s expense. It was afull room, and all were alittlebed-bored.“Ithinkshe’dlikelyfind

it in different form thanyou,” Skot grumbled,blushing furiously, butJizellonlylaughedagain.“Poor Skot has a shine

onyou,”JizelltoldLeeshalater, when they were inthe pharmacy grindingherbs.“A shine?” laughed

Kadie, one of the youngerapprentices. “He’s not

shining, he’s in loooove!”The other apprentices inearshotburstintogiggles.“I thinkhe’scute,”Ronivolunteered.“You think everyone iscute,” Leesha said. Roniwas just flowering, andboy-crazed. “But I hopeyouhavebetter taste thantofall foramanthatbegsyouforaragbath.”

“Don’t give her ideas,”Jizell said. “Roni had herway, she’d be rag-bathingevery man in the hospit.”The girls all giggled, andevenRonididn’tdisagree.“At least have the

decency to blush,” Leeshatold her, and the girlstitteredagain.“Enough! Off with you

giggleboxes!” Jizell

laughed. “I want a wordwithLeesha.”“Most every man that

comes in here shines onyou,”Jizellsaidwhentheywere gone. “It wouldn’tkill you to talk to oneapartfromaskingafterhishealth.”“You sound like my

mum,”Leeshasaid.Jizell slammed her

pestle down on thecounter. “I sound like nosuch thing,” she said,having heard all aboutElona over the years. “Ijustdon’twantyou todiean old maid to spite her.There’s no crime in likingmen.”“I like men,” Leesha

protested.“Not that I’ve seen,”

Jizellsaid.“So I should have

jumpedtoofferSkotaragbath?”Leeshaasked.“Certainly not,” Jizell

said.“Atleast,notinfrontof everyone,” she addedwithawink.“Now you sound like

Bruna,” Leesha groaned.“It will take more thancrudecommentstowinmy

heart.”RequestslikeSkot’swere nothing new toLeesha. She had hermother’s body, and thatmeantagreatdealofmaleattention, whether sheinviteditornot.“Then what does it

take?” Jizell asked. “Whatmancouldpassyourheartwards?”“A man I can trust,”

Leesha said. “One I cankiss on the cheek withouthimbraggingtohisfriendsthenextdaythathestuckmebehindthebarn.”Jizell snorted. “You’llsooner find a friendlycoreling,”shesaid.Leeshashrugged.“I think you’re scared,”Jizell accused. “You’vewaitedsolongtoloseyour

flower thatyou’ve takenasimple,naturalthingeverygirl does and built it upinto some unscalablewall.”“That’s ridiculous,”

Leeshasaid.“Isit?”Jizellasked.“I’ve

seenyouwhenladiescomeaskingyouradviceonbedmatters, grasping andguessing as you blush

furiously. How can youadvise others about theirbodies when you don’tevenknowyourown?”“I’m quite sure I know

what goes where,” Leeshasaidwryly.“You know what I

mean,”Jizellsaid.“What do you suggest I

do about it?” Leeshademanded. “Pick some

manatrandom,justtogetitoverwith?”“If that’swhat it takes,”

Jizellsaid.Leeshaglaredather,but

Jizell met the gaze anddidn’t flinch. “You’veguarded that flower solongthatnomanwilleverbe worthy to take it inyour eyes,” she said.“What good is a flower

hiddenawayfornoonetosee? Who will rememberitsbeautywhenitwilts?”Leesha let out a choked

sob,andJizellwasthereinan instant, holding hertightly as she cried.“There,there,poppet,”shesoothed, stroking Leesha’shair,“it’snotasbadasallthat.”

After supper, when the

wards were checked andthe apprentices sent totheir studies, Leesha andJizell finally had time tobrewapotofherbteaandopen the satchel from themorning Messenger. Alamp sat on the table, fullandtrimmedforlonguse.“Patients all day and

letters all night,” Jizellsighed. “Thank light Herb

Gatherersdon’tneedsleep,eh?”Sheupendedthebag,spillingparchmentalloverthetable.They quickly separated

out correspondencemeantfor the patients, and thenJizell grabbed a bundle atrandom, glancing at thehail. “These are yours,”she said, passing thebundle to Leesha and

snatchinganotherletteroffthepile,whichsheopenedandbegantoread.“This one’s fromKimber,” she said after amoment. Kimber wasanother of Jizell’sapprentices sent abroad,this one to Farmer’sStump, a day’s ride south.“The cooper’s rash hasgotten worse, and spread

again.”“She’s brewing the teawrong; I just know it,”Leesha groaned. “Shenever lets it steep longenough,andthenwondersatherweakcures.IfIhaveto go to Farmer’s Stumpand brew it for her, I’llgivehersuchathumping!”“She knows it,” Jizelllaughed. “That’s why she

wrotetomethistime!”The laughter was

infectious, and Leeshasoon joined in. Leeshaloved Jizell. She could beashardasBrunawhentheoccasion demanded, butshe was always quick tolaugh.Leesha missed Bruna

dearly, and the thoughtturned her back to the

bundle. It was Fourthday,when the weeklyMessenger arrived fromFarmer’s Stump, Cutter’sHollow, and points south.Sure enough, the hail ofthe first letter in the stackwas in her father’s neatscript.There was a letter from

Vika, as well, and Leesharead that one first, her

hands clenchingas alwaysuntil shewas assured thatBruna, older than ancient,wasstillwell.“Vika’sgivenbirth,”shenoted. “A boy, Jame. Sixpoundselevenounces.”“Isthatthethird?”Jizellasked.“Fourth,” Leesha said.Vika had married ChildJona—TenderJona,now—

not long after arriving inCutter’s Hollow, andwastedno time inbearinghimchildren.“Notmuchchanceofhercoming back to Angiers,then,”Jizelllamented.Leesha laughed. “Ithought that was givenafterthefirst,”shesaid.It was hard to believeseven years had passed

since she and Vikaexchanged places. Thetemporary arrangementwas proving permanent,which didn’t entirelydispleaseLeesha.Regardless of what

Leesha did, Vika wouldstay in Cutter’s Hollow,and seemed better likedthere than Bruna, Leesha,and Darsy combined. The

thought gave Leesha asenseoffreedomsheneverdreamt existed. She’dpromisedtoreturnonedayto ensure the Hollow hadtheGathereritneeded,butthe Creator had seen tothat for her. Her futurewasherstochoose.Herfatherwrotethathehad caught a chill, butVikawastendinghim,and

he expected to recoverquickly. The next letterwasfromMairy;hereldestdaughter already floweredand promised, Mairywould likely be agrandmother soon. Leeshasighed.There were two moreletters in the bundle.Leesha corresponded withMairy,Vika,andherfather

almosteveryweek,buthermother wrote less often,and oftentimes in a fit ofpique.“All well?” Jizell asked,

glancingup fromher ownreading to see Leesha’sscowl.“Just my mum,” Leesha

said, reading. “The tonechanges with her humors,but the message stays the

same: ‘Come home andhave children before yougrow too old and theCreator takes the chancefrom you.’” Jizell gruntedandshookherhead.Tucked in with Elona’s

letter was another sheet,supposedly from Gared,though themissivewas inher mother’s hand, forGaredknewnoletters.But

whateverpainsshetooktomake it seem dictated,Leesha was sure at leasthalf the words were hermother’s alone, and mostlikely the other half aswell. The content, aswithhermother’s letters, neverchanged. Gared was well.Gared missed her. Garedwaswaitingforher.Garedlovedher.

“My mother must thinkme very stupid,” Leeshasaidwrylyassheread,“tobelieve Gared would evereven attempt a poem,much less one that didn’trhyme.”Jizell laughed, but itdiedprematurelywhenshesaw that Leesha had notjoinedher.“What if she’s right?”

Leesha asked suddenly.“Dark as it is to thinkElona right aboutanything, I do wantchildrenoneday,andyoudon’t need to be an HerbGatherer to know thatmydays to do it are fewerahead than behind. Yousaid yourself I’ve wastedmybestyears.”“ThatwashardlywhatI

said,”Jizellreplied.“It’s true enough,”

Leesha said sadly. “I’veneverbothered to look formen; they always had awayoffindingmewhetherI wanted it or not. I justalwaysthoughtonedayI’dbe found by one that fitinto my life, rather thanexpecting me to fit intohis.”

“We all dream thatsometimes, dear,” Jizellsaid, “and it’s a niceenough fantasy once in awhile,whenyou’restaringat the wall, but you can’thangyourhopesonit.”Leesha squeezed the

letter in her hand,crumplingitabit.“So you’re thinking of

going back and marrying

thisGared?”Jizellasked.“Oh, Creator, no!”Leesha cried. “Of coursenot!”Jizell grunted. “Good.You’ve saved me thetrouble of thumping youonthehead.”“Muchasmybellylongsfor a child,” Leesha said,“I’lldieamaidbeforeIletGared give me one.

Problem is, he’d have atany other man in theHollowthattried.”“Easily solved,” Jizellsaid.“Havechildrenhere.”“What?”Leeshaasked.“Cutter’s Hollow is ingood hands with Vika,”Jizell said. “I trained thegirl myself, and her heartistherenowinanyevent.”She leaned in, putting a

meatyhandatopLeesha’s.“Stay,” she said. “MakeAngiers your home andtakeover thehospitwhenIretire.”Leesha’s eyes widened.Sheopenedhermouth,butnosoundcameout.“You’ve taught me asmuch as I’ve taught youthese years,” Jizell wenton. “There’s no one else I

trust to run my business,even if Vika returnedtomorrow.”“I don’t know what tosay,”Leeshamanaged.“No rush to sayanything,” Jizell said,patting Leesha’s hand. “Idaresay I don’t plan toretire any day soon. Justthinkonit.”Leesha nodded. Jizell

opened her arms, and shefell into them, embracingthe older woman tightly.As they parted, a shoutfrom outside made themjump.“Help! Help!” someonecried. They both glancedatthewindow.Itwaspastdark.Opening one’s shuttersat night in Angiers was a

crime punishable bywhipping, but Leesha andJizellgaveitnothoughtasthey threw open the bar,seeing a trio of cityguardsmen running downthe boardwalk, two ofthem each carryinganotherman.“Ay, the hospit!” thelead guard called, seeingthe shutters open on the

lamplit room. “Open yourdoors! Succor! Succor andhealing!”Asone,LeeshaandJizellboltedforthestairs,nearlytumbling down in theirhastetogettothedoor.Itwas winter, and thoughthe city’sWarders workeddiligently to keep thewardnetclearofsnow,ice,and dead leaves, a few

wind demons invariablyfound their way in eachnight, hunting homelessbeggars and waiting forthe occasional fool thatdareddefycurfewandthelaw. Awind demon coulddroplikeasilentstoneandthen spread its talonedwings in a sudden snap,eviscerating a victimbefore grasping the bodyin its rear claws and

swoopingawaywithit.They made it to thelanding and threw openthe door, watching as themen approached. Thelintels were warded; theyand their patients weresafe enough even withoutthedoor.“What’s happening?”Kadie cried, sticking herheadoutover thebalcony

at the top of the stairs.Behind her, the otherapprentices were pouringoutoftheirroom.“Put your aprons backon and get down here!”Leesha ordered, and theyoungergirlsscrambledtoobey.The men were still aways off, but runninghard. Leesha’s stomach

clenched as she heardshrieks in the sky. Therewere wind demons about,drawn to the light andcommotion.But the guards were

closing the distance fast,and Leesha dared to hopethat they would make itunscatheduntiloneof themenslippedonapatchofice and went down hard.

Hescreamed,andthemanhe was carrying tumbledtotheboardwalk.The guard still with aman over his shouldershouted something to theother, and put his headdown, picking up speed.The unburdened manturnedandrushedbacktohisfallencomrade.A sudden flap of

leathery wings was theonly warning before thehead of the hapless guardflew free of his body,rolling across theboardwalk. Kadiescreamed. Before bloodeven began to spurt fromthe wound, the winddemon gave a shriek andlaunchedskyward,haulingthe dead man’s body intotheair.

The laden guard passedthe wards, hauling hischarge to safety. Leeshalooked back to theremainingman, strugglingtorise,andherbrowset.“Leesha, no!” Jizellcried,grabbingather,butLeesha stepped nimblyaside and bolted out ontotheboardwalk.She ran in sharp zigzag

as the shrieks of winddemons rang out in thecold air above. Onecoreling attempted a diveattack anyway andmissedher completely, if only bya few inches. It tumbledinto theboardwalkwith acrash, but quickly righteditself, its thick hideunharmed by the impact.Leeshaspunaway,hurlingafistfulofBruna’sblinding

powder into its eyes. Thecreature roared in pain,andLeesharanon.“Savehim,notme!”the

guard called as she drewnear, pointing to the stillform lying on theboardwalk. The guard’sanklewasatanoddangle,clearly broken. Leeshaglancedat theother form,prone on the boardwalk.

She could not carry themboth.“Not me!” the guardcalled again as she drewclose.Leesha shook her head.“I’ve a better chance ofgettingyou to safety,” shesaid, in a tone thatbrooked no debate. Shegot under his arm andheaved.

“Keep low,” the guardgasped. “Windies are lessapttodiveatthingslowtotheground.”Shehunchedasmuchasshe could, staggeringunder the big man’sweight, and knew theywerenotgoing tomake itat the shuffling pace, lowornot.“Now!” Jizell cried, and

Leesha looked up to seeKadie and the otherapprentices run out ontotheboardwalk,holdingtheedges of white sheetsabove their heads. Theflutteringclothwasalmosteverywhere, making itimpossible for the winddemonstopickatarget.Under this cover,

MistressJizellandthefirst

guard came rushing up tothem.JizellhelpedLeeshaas the guard fetched theunconscious man. Feargave them all strength,and they covered theremaining distancequickly,retreatingintothehospit and barring thedoor.

“This one’s dead,” Jizellsaid, her voice cold. “I’d

wagerhe’sbeengoneoveranhour.”“I almost sacrificedmyself for a dead man?”theguardwith thebrokenankle exclaimed. Leeshaignored him, moving overtotheotherinjuredman.Withhisround,freckledface and slender form, heseemedmoreaboythanaman. He had been badly

beaten, but he wasbreathing, and his heartwas strong. Leeshainspected him swiftly,cutting away his brightpatchwork clothes as sheprobed for broken bonesand searched for thesources of the blood thatsoakedhismotley.“Whathappened?”Jizell

askedtheinjuredguard,as

she inspected thebreak inhisankle.“We were headin’ infrom last patrol,” theguard said throughgrittedteeth. “Found these two,Jongleurs by their look,lyin’ on the walk. Must’abeen robbedafter a show.Theywasbothalive,butinabadway. Itwasdarkbythen, but neither of them

looked like they’d last thenight without a Gathererto tend them. Iremembered this hospit,and we ran hard as wecould, tryin’ to stayundereaves, outta sight fromwindies.”Jizell nodded. “You didtherightthing,”shesaid.“Tell that to poorJonsin,” the guard said.

“Creator, what will I tellhiswife?”“That’s a worry for themorrow,” Jizell said,liftingaflasktotheman’slips.“Drinkthis.”Theguardlookedatherdubiously.“Whatisit?”heasked.“It will put you tosleep,” Jizell said. “I needto set your ankle, and I

promise you, you don’twant to be awake when Ido.”The guard quaffed thepotionquickly.Leeshawascleaningoutthe younger one’swoundswhen he started awakewith a gasp, sitting up.One of his eyes wasswollenshut,buttheotherwas a bright green, and

darted about wildly.“Jaycob!”hecried.He thrashedwildly, and

it took Leesha, Kadie, andthe last guard to wrestlehimbackdown.Heturnedhis one piercing eye onLeesha. “Where isJaycob?” he asked. “Is heallright?”“Theoldermanwhowas

found with you?” Leesha

asked,andhenodded.Leesha hesitated,pickingherwords,butthepausewasanswerenough,and he screamed,thrashingagain.Theguardpinned him hard, lookinghimintheeyes.“Did you see who didthistoyou?”heasked.“He’s in nocondition …” Leesha

began,butthemancutheroffwithaglare.“I lost a man tonight,”hesaid.“Idon’thavetimeto wait.” He turned backto the boy. “Well?” heasked.The boy looked at himwith eyes filling withtears.Finally,heshookhishead,but theguarddidn’tlet up. “You must have

seen something,” hepressed.“That’s enough,” Leesha

said, grabbing the man’swristsandpullinghard.Heresistedforamoment,andthen let go. “Wait in theother room,” she ordered.Hescowled,butcomplied.The boy was weeping

openly when Leeshaturned back to him. “Just

put me back out into thenight,”hesaid,holdingupa crippled hand. “I wasmeant to die a long timeago, and everyone thattries to save me ends updead.”Leeshatookthecrippledhand in hers and lookedhim in the eye. “I’ll takemy chances,” she said,squeezing. “We survivors

have to look out for oneanother.”Sheputtheflaskof sleeping draught to hislips, and held his hand,lending him strength untilhiseyesslippedclosed.

Thesoundoffiddlingfilledthe hospit. Patientsclapped their hands, andthe apprentices danced asthey went about theirtasks. Even Leesha and

Jizellhadaspringintheirstep.“To think young Rojer

was worried he had nowaytopay,”Jizell saidasthey prepared lunch. “I’vehalfamind topayhim tocome entertain thepatientsafterhe’sbackonhisfeet.”“The patients and the

girls love him,” Leesha

agreed.“I’ve seen you dancing

when you think no one islooking,”Jizellsaid.Leesha smiled.Whenhe

wasn’tfiddling,Rojerspuntales that had theapprentices clustered atthe foot of his bed, ortaughtthemmakeuptrickshe claimed came from theduke’s own courtesans.

Jizell mothered himconstantly, and theapprentices all shined anddotedonhim.“An extra-thick slice ofbeefforhim,then,”Leeshasaid, cutting themeatandlaying it on a platteralready overladen withpotatoesandfruit.Jizellshookherhead.“Idon’tknowwherethatboy

putsit,”shesaid.“Youandthe others have beenstuffing him for a fullmoon and more, and he’sstillthinasareed.”“Lunch!” she bellowed,and the girls filtered in tocollect the trays. Ronimoved directly for theoverladen one, but Leeshaswept it out of reach. “I’lltake this one myself,” she

said, smiling at the looksof disappointment aroundthekitchen.“Rojer needs to take a

break and eat something,notspinprivatetaleswhileyou girls cut his meat,”Jizell said. “You can allfawnonhimlater.”“Intermission!” Leesha

called as she swept intothe room, but she needn’t

have bothered. The bowslipped from the fiddlestrings with a squeak themoment she appeared.Rojer smiled and waved,knocking over a woodencup as he tried to set hisfiddle aside. His brokenfingers and arm hadmendedneatly,buthislegcasts were still on strings,and he could not easilyreachthebedstand.

“You must be hungrytoday,” she laughed,setting the tray across hislap and taking the fiddle.Rojer looked at the traydubiously, smiling up ather.“I don’t suppose you

could help me cut?” heasked, holding up hiscrippledhand.Leesha raised her

eyebrows at him. “Yourfingers seem nimbleenough when you workyour fiddle,” she said.“Why are they deficientnow?”“Because I hate eatingalone,”Rojerlaughed.Leeshasmiled,sittingonthe side of the bed andtaking the knife and fork.She cut a thick bite of

meat, dragging it throughthe gravy and potatoesbefore bringing it up toRojer’s mouth. He smiledat her, and a bit of gravyleaked from his mouth,makingLeeshatitter.Rojerblushed, his fair cheeksturningasredashishair.“I can lift the forkmyself,”hesaid.“Youwantmetojustcut

up the meat and leave?”Leesha asked, and Rojershookhisheadvigorously.“Then hush,” she said,lifting another forkful tohismouth.“It’s not my fiddle, you

know,” Rojer said,glancing back to theinstrument after a fewmoments of silence. “It’sJaycob’s.Minewasbroken

when…”Leesha frowned as he

trailedoff.Aftermorethanamonth,hestillrefusedtospeak of the attack, evenwhen pressed by theguard. He’d sent for hisfewpossessions,butsofaras she knew, he hadn’teven contacted theJongleurs’ Guild to tellthemwhathadhappened.

“It wasn’t your fault,”Leesha said, seeing hiseyes go distant. “Youdidn’tattackhim.”“I might as well have,”

Rojersaid.“What do you mean?”

Leeshaasked.Rojer looked away. “I

mean … by forcing himfrom retirement. He’d stillbealiveif…”

“You said he told youcoming out of retirementwasthebestthingthathadhappenedtohimintwentyyears,” Leesha argued. “Itsounds like he livedmorein that short time thanhewouldhave inyears spentin that cell in theguildhouse.”Rojer nodded, but his

eyes grew wet. Leesha

squeezed his hand. “HerbGatherersseedeathoften,”she toldhim. “Noone, noone, ever goes to theCreator with all theirbusiness complete. We allget a different length oftime, but it needs to beenough,regardless.”“It just seems to comeearly for the people whocross my path,” Rojer

sighed.“I’ve seen it come earlyforagreatmanywhohavenever heard of RojerHalfgrip,” Leesha said.“Would you like toshoulder the blame fortheirdeaths,aswell?”Rojerlookedather,andshepressedanotherforkfulintohismouth.“Itdoesn’tserve the dead to stop

living yourself, out ofguilt,”shesaid.

Leesha had her hands fullof linens when theMessenger arrived. Sheslipped the letter fromVika into her apron, andleft the rest for later. Shefinished putting away thelaundry,butthenagirlranuptotellherapatienthadcoughedblood.After that,

she had to set a brokenarm, and give theapprentices their lesson.Beforesheknewit,thesunhad set, and theapprentices were all inbed. She turned thewicksdown to a dim orangeglow, and made a lastsweepthroughtherowsofbeds, making sure thepatients were comfortablebefore she went upstairs

for the night. She metRojer’seyesasshepassed,and he beckoned, but shesmiled and shook herhead. She pointed to him,then put her handstogether as if praying,leaned her cheek againstthem,andclosedhereyes.Rojer frowned, but she

winked at him and kepton, knowing he wouldn’t

follow.Hiscastshadcomeoff, but Rojer complainedof pain and weaknessdespitethecleanmend.At the endof the room,she took the time to pourherself a cup of water. Itwas a warm spring night,and thepitcherwasdampwith condensation. Shebrushed her hand againsther apron absently to dry

it,andtherewasacrinkleofpaper. She rememberedVika’s letter and pulled itout,breakingthesealwithher thumb and tilting thepage toward the lamp asshedrank.A moment later, shedropped her cup. Shedidn’t notice, or hear theceramic shatter. Sheclutched the paper tightly

andfledtheroom.

Leeshawassobbingquietlyin the darkened kitchenwhenRojerfoundher.“Are you all right?” he

asked quietly, leaningheavilyonhiscane.“Rojer?” she sniffed.

“Whyaren’tyouinbed?”Rojer didn’t answer,

coming to sit beside her.

“Bad news from home?”heasked.Leesha looked at him a

moment, then nodded.“That chill my fathercaught?” she asked,waiting for Rojer to nodhis recollection beforegoing on. “He seemed toget better, but it cameback with a vengeance.Turns out it was a flux

that’srunfromoneendofthe Hollow to the other.Most seem to be pullingthroughit,buttheweakerones …” She began toweepagain.“Someone you know?”

Rojer asked, cursinghimself as he said it. Ofcourseitwassomeonesheknew. Everyone kneweveryoneinthehamlets.

Leesha didn’t notice theslip. “My mentor, Bruna,”she said, fat teardropsfalling onto her apron. “Afew others, as well, andtwo children I never hadthechancetomeet.Overadozen in all, and morethan half the town stilllaid up. My father worstamongstthem.”“I’msorry,”Rojersaid.

“Don’tfeelsorryforme;it’smyfault,”Leeshasaid.“What?”Rojerasked.“I should have beenthere,” Leesha said. “Ihaven’t been Jizell’sapprentice in years. Ipromised to return toCutter’s Hollow when mystudiesweredone.IfIhadkeptmy promise, I wouldhave been there, and

perhaps…”“IsawthefluxkillsomepeopleinWoodsendonce,”Rojer said. “Would youlike to add those to yourconscience? Or those thatdie in this very city,because you can’t tendthemall?”“That’snotthesameandyouknowit,”Leeshasaid.“Isn’t it?” Rojer asked.

“You said yourself that itdoes nothing to serve thedead if you stop livingyourselfoutofguilt.”Leesha looked at him,

hereyesroundandwet.“Sowhatdoyouwantto

do?” Rojer asked. “Spendthe night crying, or startpacking?”“Packing?” Leesha

asked.

“I have a Messenger’sportable circle,” Rojersaid. “We can leave forCutter’s Hollow in themorning.”“Rojer, you can barely

walk!”Leeshasaid.Rojer liftedhiscane,set

it on the counter, andstood. He walked a bitstiffly,butunaided.“Been faking to keep

yourwarmbedanddotingwomen a bit longer?”Leeshaasked.“Inever!”Rojerblushed.

“I’m … just not ready toperformyet.”“But you’re fit to walk

all the way to Cutter’sHollow?”Leeshaasked.“Itwouldtakeaweekwithoutahorse.”“I doubt I’ll need to do

anybackflipsontheway,”Rojersaid.“Icandoit.”Leeshacrossedherarmsandshookherhead.“No.Iabsolutelyforbidit.”“I’m not someapprentice you canforbid,”Rojersaid.“You’re my patient,”Leeshashotback,“and I’llforbid anything that puts

your healing in jeopardy.I’ll hire a Messenger totakeme.”“Goodluckfindingone,”Rojer said. “The weeklyman south will have lefttoday, and at this time ofyear, most of the otherswillbebooked. It’ll costafortunetoconvinceonetodrop everything and takeyou to Cutter’s Hollow.

Besides, I can drivecorelings away with myfiddle. No Messenger canofferyouthat.”“I’m sure you could,”

Leesha said, her tonemaking it clear she wassureofnosuchthing,“butwhat I need is a swiftMessenger’s horse, not amagicfiddle.”Sheignoredhis protests, ushering him

backtobed,andthenwentupstairstopackherthings.

“So you’re sure aboutthis?”Jizellaskedthenextmorning.“I have to go,” Leesha

said. “It’s too much forVika and Darsy to handlealone.”Jizell nodded. “Rojer

seems to think he’s taking

you,”shesaid.“Well he’s not,” Leesha

said. “I’m hiring aMessenger.” “He’s beenpacking his things allmorning,”Jizellsaid.“He’sbarely healed,” Leeshasaid.“Bah!” Jizell said. “It’s

near three moons. Ihaven’t seen him use hiscane all morning. I think

it’s been nothing morethanareasontobearoundyouforsometime.”Leesha’s eyes bulged.

“YouthinkthatRojer…?”Jizellshrugged.“I’mjust

saying,itisn’teverydayaman comes along who’llbrave corelings for yoursake.”“Jizell, I’m old enough

to be his mother!” Leesha

said.“Bah!” Jizell scoffed.“You’reonlytwenty-seven,and Rojer says he’stwenty.”“Rojer says a lot ofthings that aren’t so,”Leeshasaid.Jizellshruggedagain.“You sayyou’renothinglike my mum,” Leeshasaid, “but youboth find a

way to turn every tragedyintoadiscussionaboutmylovelife.”Jizellopenedhermouthto reply, but Leesha heldup a hand to stay her. “Ifyou’ll excuse me,” shesaid, “I have a Messengerto hire.” She left thekitchen in a fume, andRojer, listening at thedoor, barely managed to

getoutofherwayandoutofsight.

Between her father’sarrangements and herearnings from Jizell,LeeshawasabletoacquireapromissorynotefromtheDuke’s Bank for onehundredfiftyMilnesesuns.It was a sum beyond thedreams of Angierianpeasantry, but Messengers

didn’t risk their lives forklats.She’dhopeditwouldbe enough, but Rojer’swordsprovedprophetic,oracurse.Spring trade was on in

full, and even the worstMessengers hadassignments. Skotwas outof the city, and thesecretary at theMessengers’ Guild flat-out

refused to help her. Thebest they could offer wasnext week’s man south, afullsixdaysaway.“I could walk there in

that time!” she shouted attheclerk.“Then I suggest you get

started,” the man saiddryly.Leesha bit her tongue

and stomped off. She

thoughtshewouldlosehermind if she had towait aweektoleave.Ifherfatherdiedinthatweek…“Leesha?”avoicecalled.She stopped short, turningslowly.“It is you!” Marickcalled, striding up to herwithhisarmsoutspread.“Ididn’t realize you werestill in the city!” Shocked,

Leesha let him embraceher.“What are you doing inthe guildhouse?” Marickasked, backing up to eyeherappreciatively.Hewasstill handsome, with hiswolfeyes.“Ineedanescorttotakeme back to Cutter’sHollow,”shesaid.“There’sa flux sweeping the town,

andtheyneedmyhelp.”“I could take you, I

suppose,”Maricksaid.“I’llneed to call a favor tocover my run toRiverbridgetomorrow,butthat should be easyenough.”“I have money,” Leesha

said.“You know I don’t take

money for escort work,”

Maricksaid, leeringatheras he swept in close.“There’sonlyonepaymentthat interests me.” Hishand reached around tosqueeze her buttock, andLeesharesistedtheurgetopull away. She thought ofthe people that neededher,andmore,shethoughtof what Jizell had saidabout flowersnoone saw.Perhaps it was the

Creator’s plan that sheshould meet Marick thisday. She swallowed hardandnoddedathim.Marick swept Leesha

intoashadowedalcoveoffthe main hall. He pushedher against the wallbehind a wooden statueand kissed her deeply.After a moment, shereturned the kiss, putting

her arms around hisshoulders, his tonguewarminhermouth.“I won’t have that

problemthistime,”Marickpromised, takingherhandandplacing it onhis rigidmanhood.Leeshasmiledtimidly.“I

could come to your innbeforedark,”shesaid.“Wecould … spend the night,

andleaveinthemorning.”Maricklookedfromsideto side, and shook hishead. He pushed heragainst the wall again,reaching down with onehandto unbuckle his belt.“I’ve waited for this toolong,” he grunted. “I’mready now, and I’m notlettingitgetaway!”“I’m not doing it in a

hallway!” Leesha hissed,pushing him back.“Someonewillsee!”“No one will see,”Marick said, pressing inand kissing her again. Heproducedhisstiffmember,and startedpullingupherskirts. “You’re here, likemagic,” he said, “and thistime, so am I.Whatmorecouldyouwant?”

“Privacy?”Leeshaasked.“Abed?Apairofcandles?Anything!”“A Jongleur singing

outside the window?”Marickmocked,hisfingersprobing between her legsto find her opening. “Yousoundlikeavirgin.”“I am a virgin!” Leesha

hissed.Marick pulled away, his

erection still in his hand,and looked at her wryly.“Everyone in Cutter’sHollow knows you stuckthat ape Gared a dozentimes at least,” he said.“Are you still lying aboutitafterallthistime?”Leesha scowled and

drove her knee hard intohiscrotch,stormingoutofthe guildhouse while

Marick was still groaningontheground.

“Noonewouldtakeyou?”Rojeraskedthatnight.“NooneIwouldn’thave

to bed in exchange,”Leesha grunted, leavingout that she had indeedbeenwillingtogothatfar.Even now, she worriedthat she’d made a hugemistake. Part of her

wished she had just letMarick have his way, butevenifJizellwasrightandhermaidenheadwasn’tthemost precious thing in allthe world, it was surelyworthmorethanthat.She scrunched up hereyes too late,only servingto squeeze out the tearsshe sought to prevent.Rojer touched her face,

andshelookedathim.Hesmiled and reached out,producing a brightlycolored handkerchief as iffromher ear. She laughedin spite of herself, andtook the kerchief to dryhereyes.“I could still take you,”he said. “I walked all theway from here toShepherd’s Dale. If I can

do that, I can get you toCutter’sHollow.”“Truly?” Leesha asked,

sniffing. “That’s not justone of your JakScaletongue stories, likebeing able to charmcorelings with yourfiddle?”“Truly,”Rojersaid.“Whywouldyoudothat

forme?”Leeshaasked.

Rojer smiled, takingherhand in his crippled one.“We’re survivors, aren’twe?” he asked. “Someoneonce told me thatsurvivorshave to lookoutforoneanother.”Leesha sobbed, and

huggedhim.

Am I going mad? Rojerasked himself as they leftthe gates of Angiers

behind. Leesha hadpurchased a horse for thetrip, but Rojer had noriding experience, andLeesha little more. He satbehind her as she guidedthe beast at a pace barelyfaster than they couldwalk.Even then, the horse

jarred his stiff legspainfully, but Rojer did

not complain. If he saidanythingbefore theywereout of sight of the city,Leesha would make themturnback.Whichiswhatyoushould

do anyway, he thought.You’re a Jongleur, not aMessenger.But Leesha needed him,

andheknewfromthefirsttime he saw her that he

could never refuse heranything. He knew shesaw him as a child, butthat would change whenhebroughtherhome. Shewould see therewasmoretohim; thathecould takecareofhimself,andheraswell.Andwhatwas there forhim in Angiers, anyway?Jaycobwas gone, and the

guildlikelythoughthewasdead, as well, which wasprobably for the best. “Ifyou go to the guard, it’syou they’ll hang,” Jasinhad said, but Rojer wassmartenoughtoknowthatifGoldentoneeverlearnedhe was alive, he wouldnevergetthechancetotelltales.He looked at the road

ahead,though,andhisgutclenched. Like CricketRun, Farmer’s Stump wasjust a day away onhorseback, but Cutter’sHollowwasmuch farther,perhaps four nights evenwith the horse. Rojer hadneverspentmorethantwonights outside, and thatjust the once. Arrick’sdeath flashed inhismind.Could he handle losing

Leesha,too?“Are you all right?”

Leeshaasked.“What?”Rojerreplied.“Your hands are

shaking,”Leeshasaid.He looked at his hands

onherwaist,andsawthatshe was right. “It’snothing,” he managed. “Ijust felt a chill out ofnowhere.”

“I hate that,” Leeshasaid, but Rojer barelyheard. He stared at hishands, trying towill themtostillness.You’re an actor! he

scoldedhimself.Actbrave!He thought of Marko

Rover, the brave explorerin his stories. Rojer haddescribed the man andmummed his adventures

somany times, every traitand mannerism wassecond nature to him. Hisback straightened, and hishandsceasedtoshake.“Letmeknowwhenyougettired,”hesaid,“andI’lltakeoverthereins.”“I thought you’ve neverridden before,” Leeshasaid.“You learn things by

doing them,” Rojer said,quoting the line MarkoRover used whenever heencountered somethingnew.Marko Rover was neverafraid to do things he’dneverdonebefore.

With Rojer at the reins,theymadebettertime,buteven so, theybarelymadeit to Farmer’s Stump

before dusk. They stabledthe horse and made theirwaytotheinn.“You a Jongleur?” the

innkeep asked, taking inRojer’smotley.“Rojer Halfgrip,” Rojer

said, “out of Angiers andpointswest.”“Never heard of you,”

the innkeep grunted, “butthe room’s free if you put

onashow.”Rojer looked to Leesha,

and when she shruggedand nodded, he smiled,pulling out his bag ofmarvels.Farmer’s Stump was a

small cluster of buildingsand houses, all connectedby warded boardwalks.Unlike any other villageRojerhadeverbeento,the

Stumpers went outside atnight, walking freely—ifhastily—from building tobuilding.The freedom meant a

full taproom, whichpleased Rojer well. Heperformed for the firsttime inmonths,but it feltnatural, and he soon hadthe entire room clappingand laughing at tales of

Jak Scaletongue and theWardedMan.Whenhereturnedtohis

seat, Leesha’s face was alittle flushed with wine.“Youwerewonderful,”shesaid. “I knew you wouldbe.”Rojer beamed, and was

about to say somethingwhen a pair ofmen cameover, bearing ahandful of

pitchers.Theyhandedoneto Rojer, and another toLeesha.“Just a thanks for theshow,” the leadman said.“Iknowitentmuch…”“It’s wonderful, thankyou,” Rojer said. “Please,join us.” He gestured tothe empty seats at theirtable.Thetwomensat.“What brings you

through the Stump?” thefirst man asked. He wasshort, with a thick blackbeard.Hiscompanionwastaller,burlier,andmute.“We’re heading to

Cutter’s Hollow,” Rojersaid. “Leesha is an HerbGatherer, going to helpthemfighttheflux.”“Hollow’s a long way,”

the man with the black

beard said. “How’ll youlastthenights?”“Don’tfearforus,”Rojersaid. “We have aMessenger’scircle.”“Portable circle?” theman asked in surprise.“Thatmust’a cost a prettypile.”Rojer nodded. “Morethanyouknow,”hesaid.“Well, we won’t keep

you from yer beds,” theman said, he and hiscompanionrisingfromthetable. “You’ll want anearly start.” They movedaway,goingtojoinathirdman at another table asRojer and Leesha finishedtheirdrinksandheadedtotheirroom.

CHAPTER27NIGHTFALL332AR

“LOOK AT ME! I’m aJongleur!” said one of themen, plopping the belled

motley cap on his headand prancing around theroad. The black-beardedman barked a laugh, buttheir third companion,larger than both of themcombined, said nothing.Allweresmiling.“I’d like to know whatthat witch threw at me,”the black-bearded mansaid. “Dunked my whole

head in the stream,and itstill feels likemy eyes areon fire.” He held up thecircle and the reins of thehorse, grinning. “Still, aneasy take like that onlycomesalongoncea’life.”“Be months before we

need t’work again,” theman in the motley capagreed, jingling the purseofcoins,“andnotascratch

onus!”Hejumpedupandclickedhisheels.“Maybenotascratchonyou,” chuckled the black-bearded man, “but I’ve afewonmyback!Thatarsewasworthnearlyasmuchas the circle, even if thatdustshe threwinmyeyesmade it so I could barelyseewhatwentwhere.”Theman in the motley cap

laughed, and their giantmute companion clappedhishandswithagrin.“Should’ve taken her

with us,” the man in themotleycapsaid.“Getscoldinthatmiserablecave.”“Don’t be stupid,” the

black-bearded man said.“We got a horse and aMessengercircle,now.Wedon’t need to stay in the

cave no more, and that’sbest.Word in the Stump’sthat the duke’s noticin’themjustleavingthetowngettin’ hit. We go southfirst thing come morning,before we’ve gotRhinebeck’sguardsonourheels.”The men were so busy

with theirdiscussion, theydidn’t notice the man

riding down the roadtoward them until he wasjustadozenyardsaway.Inthe waning light, heseemed wraithlike,wrapped in flowing robesand astride a dark horse,moving in the shadow ofthe trees beside the forestroad.Whentheydidtakenoteofhim, themirthon their

faces fell away, replacedwith looks of challenge.The black-bearded mandroppedtheportablecircletothegroundandpulledaheavy cudgel from thehorse, advancing on thestranger.Hewassquatandthickly set, with thinninghair above his long,unkempt beard. Behindhim, the mute raised aclub the size of a small

tree, and the man in themotley cap brandished aspear,theheadnickedandburred.“This here’s our road,”

the black-bearded manexplained to the stranger.“We’re fine to share, like,butthere’satax.”In answer, the stranger

steppedhishorsefromtheshadows.

A quiver of heavyarrows hung from hissaddle,thebowstrungandin easy reach. A spear aslongasa lancerestedinaharness on the other side,aroundedshieldbesideit.Strapped behind his seat,several shorter spearsjutted, their pointsglittering wickedly in thesettingsun.

Butthestrangerreachedfor no weapon, merelylettinghishoodslipbackabit. The men’s eyeswidened, and their leaderbacked away, scooping uptheportablecircle.“Might let you pass just

the once,” he amended,glancing back at theothers.Eventhegianthadgone pale with fear. They

kept their weapons ready,butcarefullyedgedaroundthegianthorseandbackeddowntheroad.“We’d best not see you

on this road again!” theblack-bearded man called,when they were a safedistanceaway.The stranger rode on,

unconcerned.

Rojer fought his terror astheir voices receded. Theyhad told him they wouldkill him if he tried to riseagain.Hereached intohissecret pocket to take holdof his talisman, but all hefound were some brokenbits of wood and a clumpof yellow-gray hair. Itmust have broken whenthemutekickedhiminthegut. He let the remnants

fall fromhis numb fingersintothemud.The sound of Leesha’s

sobs cut into him,makinghim afraid to look up. Hehad made that mistakebefore,whenthegianthadgottenoffhisbacktotakehis turnwith Leesha. Oneof the others had quicklytaken his place, usingRojer’sbackasabench to

watchthefun.There was little

intelligence in the giant’seyes, but if he lacked thesadismof his companions,hisdumblustwasaterrorin itself; the urges of ananimal in the body of arockdemon.IfRojercouldhaveremovedtheimageofhim atop Leesha from hismind by clawing out his

eyes, he would not havehesitated.He had been a fool,

advertising their path andvaluables like that. Toomuch time spent in theWestern hamlets haddulled his natural, city-breddistrustofstrangers.Marko Rover wouldn’t

have trusted them, hethought.

But that wasn’t entirelytrue. Marko was forevergetting tricked or clubbedon the head and left fordead. He survived bykeepinghiswitsafterward.He survives because it’s a

story and you control theending, Rojer remindedhimself.But the image ofMarko

Rover picking himself up

and dusting himself offstuck with him, andeventually, Rojer gatheredhisstrengthandhisnerve,forcing himself to hisknees. Pain shot throughhim, but he did not thinkthey had broken anybones.His left eyewas soswollen he could barelyseeoutofit,andhetastedblood in his mouth fromhis thickened lip. He was

covered in bruises, butAbrumhaddoneworse.But there were no

guardsmen, this time, tohaul him to safety. Nomother or master to putthemselves in a demon’spath.Leesha whimpered

again, and guilt shookhim.Hehadfoughttosaveher honor, but they had

been three, all armed andstronger than him. Whatcouldhehavedone?Iwishthey’dkilledme,hethought to himself,slumping.Better dead thantohaveseen…Coward, a voice in theback of his head snarled.Getup.Sheneedsyou.Rojer staggered to hisfeet, looking around.

Leesha was curled up inthedirtof the forest road,sobbing, without even thestrength to cover hershame. Therewas no signofthebandits.Of course, it hardlymattered. They had takenhis portable circle, andwithout it he and Leeshawere as good as dead.Farmer’s Stump was

almost a full day behindthem, and there wasnothingaheadontheroadfor several days’ walk. Itwould be dark in littlemorethananhour.Rojer ran to Leesha’s

side, falling to his kneesbeside her. “Leesha, areyou all right?” he asked,cursing himself for thecrack in his voice. She

neededhimtobestrong.“Leesha, please answer

me,”hebegged,squeezinghershoulder.Leesha ignored him,

curleduptight,shakingasshe wept. Rojer strokedher back and whisperedcomfort to her, subtlytugging her dress backdown.Whatever place hermind had retreated to in

order to withstand theordeal, she was reluctanttoleaveit.Hetriedtoholdher in his arms, but sheshoved him violentlyaway, curling right backup,wrackedwithtears.Leaving her side, Rojerpicked through the dirt,gatheringwhat few thingshad been left them. Thebandits had dug through

their bags, taking whatthey wanted and tossingthe rest, mocking anddestroying their personaleffects. Leesha’s clothinglay scattered in the road,and Rojer found Arrick’sbrightly colored bag ofmarvels trampled in themuck.Muchofwhatithadcontained was taken orsmashed. The paintedwooden juggling balls

werestuckinthemud,butRojerleftthemwheretheylay.Off the road where the

mute had kicked it, hespied his fiddle case, anddared to hope they mightsurvive.Herushedovertofindthecasebrokenopen.The fiddle itself wassalvageable with a littletuning and some new

strings, but the bow wasnowheretobefound.Rojer looked as long ashe dared, throwing leavesand underbrush in everydirection with mountingpanic, but to no avail. Itwas gone. He put thefiddleback in its caseandspreadoutoneofLeesha’slong skirts, bundling thefew salvageable items

within.A strong breeze brokethe stillness, rustling theleaves of the trees. Rojerlooked up at the settingsun,andrealizedsuddenly,in a way he had notbefore, that they weregoing to die. What did itmatterifhehadabowlessfiddle and some clotheswith him when it

happened?Heshookhishead.They

weren’t dead yet, and itwas possible to avoidcorelingsforanight,ifyoukept your wits. Hesqueezed his fiddle casereassuringly. If they livedthrough the night, hecould cut off a lock ofLeesha’s hair and make anew bow. The corelings

couldn’t hurt them if hehadhisfiddle.To either side of the

road, the woods loomeddark and dangerous, butRojer knew corelingshunted men above allother creatures. Theywould stalk the road. Thewoods were their besthope to find a hidingplace,orasecludedspotto

prepareacircle.How? that hated voiceasked again. You neverbotheredtolearn.He moved back toLeesha,kneelinggentlybyher side. She was stillshuddering,cryingsilently.“Leesha,” he said quietly,“we need to get off theroad.”Sheignoredhim.

“Leesha,weneedtofindaplacetohide.”Heshookher. Still no response.“Leesha, the sun issetting!”The sobbing stopped,and Leesha raised wide,frightened eyes. Shelooked at his concerned,bruised face, and her facescrewed up as her cryingresumed.

But Rojer knew he hadtouchedherforamoment,and refused to let thatgo.He could think of fewthings worse than whathad happened to her, butgetting torn apart bycorelingswasoneofthem.He gripped her shouldersandshookherviolently.“Leesha,youneedtoget

ahold of yourself!” he

shouted. “If we don’t finda place to hide soon, thesun is going to find usscattered all over theroad!”It was a graphic image,

intentionallyso,andithadthe desired effect asLeesha came up for air,gasping but no longercrying. Rojer dried hertearswithhissleeve.

“What are we going todo?” Leesha squeaked,grippinghisarmspainfullytight.Again,Rojercalledupon

theimageofMarkoRover,and this time it camereadily.“First,we’regoingto get off the road,” hesaid, sounding confidentwhen he was not.Sounding as if he had a

plan when he did not.Leesha nodded, and lethim help her stand. Shewinced inpain, and it cutrightthroughhim.With Rojer supportingLeesha, they stumbled offthe road and into thewoods. The remaininglightdroppeddramaticallyunder the forest canopy,and the ground crackled

beneath their feet withtwigs and dry leaves. Theplace smelled sickly sweetwith rotting vegetation.Rojerhatedthewoods.Hescouredhismind forthe tales of people whohad survived the nakednight, sifting for wordswith a ring of truth,searching for something,anything, that could help

them.Caves were best, thetales all agreed. Corelingspreferred to hunt in theopen, and a cave witheven simple wards acrossthe front was safer thanattempting to hide. Rojercould recall at least threeconsecutivewardsfromhiscircle. Perhaps enough towardacavemouth.

But Rojer knew of nocaves nearby, and had noidea what to look for. Hecast about helplessly, andcaught the sound ofrunning water.Immediately, he pulledLeesha in that direction.Corelingstrackedbysight,sound, and smell. Barringtrue succor, the best waytoavoidthemwastomaskthose things. Perhaps they

coulddig into themudonthewater’sbank.But when he found thesourceofthesound,itwasonly a trickling streamwith no bank to speak of.Rojer grabbed a smoothrock from the water andthrew it, growling infrustration.He turned back to findLeesha squatting in the

ankle-deepwater,weepingagain as she scooped uphandfuls and splashedherself. Her face. Herbreasts.Betweenherlegs.“Leesha, we have togo …” he said, reachingout to take her arm, butshe shrieked and pulledaway, bending for morewater.“Leesha, we don’t have

time for this!” hescreamed, grabbing herand yanking her to herfeet. He dragged her backinto thewoods,havingnoidea what he was lookingfor.Finally he gave up,spotting a small clearing.There was nowhere tohide, so their only hopewas to ward a circle. He

let Leesha go and movedquickly into the clearing,brushing away a bed ofrotting leaves to find thesoft,moistdirtbeneath.Leesha’s blurry eyes

slowly came into focus asshe watched Rojerscraping leaves from theforest floor. She leanedheavilyona tree,her legsstillweak.

Only minutes ago, shehad thought that shewould never recover fromher ordeal, but thecorelings about to risewere too immediate athreat, and she found,almostgratefully,thattheykept her mind fromreplayingherassaultagainand again, as it had beensince the men had takentheirspoilsandleft.

Her pale cheeks weresmudged with dirt andstreaked with tears. Shetried to smooth her torndress,toregainsomesenseof dignity, but the achebetween her legs was aconstantreminderthatherdignity was scarredforever.“It’s almost dark!” shemoaned. “What are we

goingtodo?”“I’lldrawacircle in the

dirt,”Rojersaid.“Itwillbeall right. I’ll makeeverything all right,” hepromised.“Do you even know

how?”sheasked.“Sure… I guess,” Rojer

said unconvincingly. “Ihad that portable one foryears. I can remember the

symbols.” He picked up astick, and started toscratch lines in the dirt,glancing up to thedarkening sky again andagainasheworked.He was being brave forher. Leesha looked atRojer, and felt a stab ofguilt for getting him intothis. He claimed to betwenty,but sheknew that

for a lie with years tospare. She should neverhavebroughthimalongonsuchadangerousjourney.He lookedmuch likehehad the first time shehadseen him, his face puffyand bruised, blood oozingfrom his nose andmouth.He wiped at it with hissleeveandpretendeditdidnotaffecthim.Leeshasaw

through the act easily,knewhewas as frantic asshe, but his effort wascomforting,nonetheless.“I don’t think you’redoingthatright,”shesaid,lookingoverhisshoulder.“It’ll be fine,” Rojersnapped.“I’m sure the corelingswillloveit,”sheshotback,annoyed by his dismissive

tone,“sinceitwon’thinderthem in the least.” Shelooked around. “We couldclimb a tree,” shesuggested.“Corelings can climbbetterthanwecan,”Rojersaid.“What about findingsomeplace to hide?” sheasked.“We looked as long as

wecould,”Rojersaid.“Webarely have time to makethis circle, but it shouldkeepussafe.”“Idoubtit,”Leeshasaid,

looking at the shaky linesinthedirt.“If only I had my

fiddle…”Rojerbegan.“Not that pile of dung

again,” Leesha snapped,sharp irritation rising to

drivebackhumiliationandfear.“It’sonethingtobragto the apprentices in thelight of day that you cancharm demons with yourfiddle, but what do yougain in carrying a lie toyourgrave?”“I’m not lying!” Rojerinsisted.“Have it your way,”Leeshasighed,crossingher

arms.“It will be all right,”Rojersaidagain.“Creator, can’t you stoplying,evenforamoment?”Leesha cried. “It’s notgoing to be all right andyou know it. Corelingsaren’tbandits,Rojer.Theywon’t be satisfied withjust …” She looked downat her torn skirts, and her

voicetrailedoff.Rojer’s face screwed up

in pain, and Leesha knewshe had been too harsh.Shewanted to lash out atsomething,anditwaseasyto blame Rojer and hisinflatedpromises forwhathappened. But in herheart, she knew it wasmoreherfaultthanhis.HeleftAngiersforher.

She looked at thedarkening sky andwondered if she wouldhave time to apologizebefore they were torn topieces.Movement in the treesand scrub behind themsent them both whirlingaround in fear. A man,swathed in gray robes,stepped into the clearing.

Hisfacewashiddenintheshadows of his hood, andthough he carried noweapons,Leeshacouldtellfrom his bearing that hewas dangerous. If Marickwasawolf,thismanwasalion.She steeled herself,ravishment fresh in hermind, and honestlywondered for a moment

which would be worse:another rape, or thedemons.Rojer was up in an

instant, grabbing her armand thrusting her behindhim. He brandished thestick before him like aspear,hisfacetwistedinasnarl.The man ignored them

both, moving over to

inspectRojer’scircle.“Youhave holes in your netthere,there,andthere,”hesaid, pointing, “and this,”he kicked the dirt by onecrude symbol, “this isn’tevenaward.”“Canyoufix it?”Leeshaasked hopefully, pullingfreefromRojer’sgraspandmovingtowardtheman.“Leesha, no,” Rojer

whispered urgently, butsheignoredhim.The man didn’t evenglance her way. “There’sno time,” he replied,pointing to the corelingsalready beginning to riseattheedgeoftheclearing.“Oh, no,” Leeshawhimpered, her facedrainingofcolor.The first to solidifywas

awinddemon.Ithissedatthe sight of them andcrouched as if to spring,but the man gave it notime.AsLeeshawatchedinamazement, he leapt rightat the coreling, grabbingitsarmstopreventitfromspreading its wings. Thedemon’s flesh hissed andsmokedathistouch.The wind demon

shrieked and opened itsmaw, filled with needle-sharp teeth. The mansnapped his head back,flippingoffhishood, thendrove forward, slammingthe top of his bald headinto the coreling’s snout.There was a flash ofenergy, and the demonwas thrown backward. Itstruck the ground,stunned.Themanstiffened

his fingers, driving theminto the coreling’s throat.There was another flash,andblackichoreruptedinaspray.Themanturnedsharply,

wiping the ichor from hisfingers as he strode pastRojer and Leesha. Shecould see his face now,though there was littlehuman about it. His head

was completely shaved,even his eyebrows, and inplaceofthelosthairweretattoos. They circled hiseyes and rested atop hishead, lined his ears andcovered his cheeks, evenrunningalonghis jawandaroundhislips.“My camp is near,” hesaid, ignoring their stares.“Come with me if you

wanttoseethedawn.”“What about thedemons?”Leeshaasked,astheyfellinbehindhim.Asif to accentuate her point,a pair of wood demons,knobby and barklike, roseuptoblocktheirpath.The man pulled off hisrobe, stripping down to aloincloth, and Leesha sawthat the tattoos were not

limitedtohishead.Wardsranalonghisripplingarmsand legs in intricatepatterns, with larger onesonhiselbowsandknees.Acircle of protectioncovered his back, andanother large tattoo stoodat the center of hismuscularchest.Everyinchofhimwaswarded.“The Warded Man,”

Rojer breathed. Leeshafound the name dimlyfamiliar.“I’llhandlethedemons,”theman said. “Take this,”he ordered, handingLeeshahisrobe.He sprinted at thecorelings, tumbling into asomersault and uncoilingto strike both demons inthe chest with his heels.

Magic exploded from theblow, blasting the wooddemonsfromtheirpath.The race through thetrees was a blur. TheWarded Man set a brutalpace, unhindered by thecorelings that leapt atthem from all sides. Awood demon sprang atLeesha from the trees, butthemanwasthere,driving

a warded elbow into itsskull with explosive force.AwinddemonswoopedintoslashitstalonsatRojer,but the Warded Mantackled it away, punchingright through one of itswings,groundingit.BeforeRojercouldthank

him,theWardedManwasoff again, picking theirpath through the trees.

Rojer helped Leesha keepup, untangling her skirtswhen they caught in thebrush.They burst from the

trees,andLeeshacouldseea fire across the road: theWarded Man’s camp.Standing between themand succor, though,was agroup of corelings,includingamassive,eight-

foot-tallrockdemon.The rock demon roaredandbeatitsthick,armoredchestwithgiganticfists,itshorned tail lashing backand forth. It knocked theother corelings aside,claimingthepreyforitself.The Warded Manshowed no fear as heapproached the monster.He gave a high-pitched

whistle, and set his feet,ready to spring when thedemonattacked.But before the rockdemon could strike, twomassive spikes burst fromits breast, sizzling andsparking with magic. TheWarded Man struckquickly, driving hiswarded heel into thecoreling’s knee and

collapsing the monster totheground.As it fell, Leesha saw a

monstrous black formbehindit.Thebeastkickedaway, pulling its hornsfree, and then reared upwith awhinny, driving itshooves into the coreling’sbackwithathunderclapofmagic.The Warded Man

charged the remainingdemons, but the corelingsscattered at his approach.Aflamedemonspatfireathim, but themanheld uphis spread hands, and theblastbecameacoolbreezeas it passed through hiswarded fingers. Shakingwith fear, Rojer andLeesha followed him intohiscamp,steppingintohiscircle of protection with

enormousrelief.“Twilight Dancer!” the

Warded Man called,whistling again. The greathorse ceased its attack onthe prone demon andgalloped after them,leapingintothering.Likeitsmaster,Twilight

Dancer looked likesomething out of anightmare. The stallion

was enormous, bigger byfar than any horse Leeshahadeverseen.Itscoatwasthick, shining ebony, andits body was armored inwardedmetal.Thebardingabout its head had beenfitted with a long pair ofmetal horns, etched withwards, and even its blackhooves had been carvedwith the magic symbols,painted silver. The

towering beast lookedmoredemonthanhorse.Hanging from its blackleather saddle werevarious harnesses forweapons, including a yewbow and a quiver ofarrows, long knives, abola,andspearsofvariouslengths. A polished metalshield, circular andconvex, was hooked over

the saddle horn, ready tobe snatched up in aninstant. Itsrimwasetchedwithintricatewards.Twilight Dancer stood

quietlyastheWardedManchecked it for wounds,seemingunconcernedwiththe demons that lurkedjustafewfeetaway.Whenhe was assured that hismountwas unharmed, the

Warded Man turned backto Leesha and Rojer, whostood nervously in thecenter of the circle, stillreeling from the events ofthelastfewminutes.“Stokethefire,”theman

toldRojer.“I’vesomemeatwe canput on, and a loafof bread.” He movedtoward his supplies,rubbingathisshoulder.

“You’re hurt,” Leeshasaid, coming out of hershock and rushing over toinspect his wounds. Therewasacutonhisshoulder,and another, deeper gashonhis thigh.His skinwashard,andcrisscrossedwithscars, giving it a roughtexture,butnotunpleasantto the touch. Therewas aslight tingle in herfingertips as she touched

him, like static from acarpet.“It’s nothing,” the

Warded Man said.“Sometimesacorelinggetslucky and catches a talonon flesh before the wardsdriveitaway.”Hetriedtopullaway,reachingforhisrobe,butshewasnottobeputoff.“No wound from a

demon is ‘nothing,’”Leeshasaid.“SitdownandI’ll dress these,” sheordered,usheringhimovertositagainstalargestone.Intruth,shewasalmostasfrightened of the man asshe was of the corelings,but she had dedicated herlife tohelping the injured,andthefamiliarworktookher mind away from thepain that still threatened

toconsumeher.“I’ve an herb pouch inthat saddlebag,” the mansaid, gesturing. Leeshaopened thebagand foundthepouch.Shebenttothefire’s light as she rootedthroughthecontents.“I don’t suppose youhave any pomm leaves?”sheasked.Theman looked at her.

“No,” he said. “Why?There’splentyofhogroot.”“It’s nothing,” Leesha

mumbled. “I swear, youMessengers seem to thinkthat hogroot is a cure foreverything.” She took thepouch, along with amortar and pestle and askin of water, and kneltbeside the man, grindingthe hogroot and a few

otherherbsintoapaste.“What makes you think

I’m a Messenger?” theWardedManasked.“Whoelsewouldbeout

ontheroadalone?”Leeshaasked.“I haven’t been a

Messenger in years,” theman said, not flinching atall as she cleaned out thewounds and applied the

stinging paste. Rojernarrowed his eyes as hewatched her spread thesalveonhisthickmuscles.“Are you an Herb

Gatherer?” the WardedManasked,asshepassedaneedle through the fireandthreadedit.Leeshanodded,butkept

her eyes on her work,brushing a thick lock of

hairbehindherearasshesettostitchingthegashinhis thigh. When theWarded Man made nofurther comment, sheflickedhereyesuptomeethis. They were dark, thewards around the socketsgivingthemagaunt,deep-set look. Leesha couldn’thold that gaze for long,andquicklylookedaway.

“I’m Leesha,” she said,“and that’s Rojer makingsupper. He’s a Jongleur.”The man nodded Rojer’sway,butlikeLeesha,Rojercouldnotmeethisgazeforlong.“Thank you for savingour lives,” Leesha said.The man only grunted inresponse. She pausedbriefly,waiting forhim to

return the introduction,but he made no effort todoso.“Don’t you have a

name?”sheaskedatlast.“NoneI’veusedinsome

time,”themananswered.“But you do have one,”

Leesha pressed. The manonlyshrugged.“Well then what shall

wecallyou?”sheasked.

“I don’t see that youneedtocallmeanything,”themanreplied.Henotedthat her work wasfinished, and pulled awayfrom her touch, againcovering himself fromhead to foot in his grayrobes. “You owe menothing. I would havehelped anyone in yourposition.TomorrowI’llseeyou safely to Farmer’s

Stump.”Leesha looked to Rojer

by the fire, then back attheWardedMan.“Wejustleft the Stump,” she said.“WeneedtogettoCutter’sHollow. Can you take usthere?” The gray hoodshookbackandforth.“Going back to the

Stumpwill costusaweekatleast!”Leeshacried.

The Warded Manshrugged. “That’s not myproblem.”“We can pay,” Leesha

blurted. The man glancedat her, and she lookedawayguiltily.“Notnow,ofcourse,” she amended.“We were attacked bybandits on the road. Theytook our horse, circle,money, even our food.”

Her voice softened. “Theytook … everything.” Shelookedup.“ButonceIgetto Cutter’s Hollow, I’ll beabletopay.”“I have no need ofmoney,” the Warded Mansaid.“Please!”Leeshabegged.“It’surgent!”“I’m sorry,” theWardedMansaid.

Rojer came over tothem, scowling. “It’s fine,Leesha,” he said. “If thiscold heart won’t help us,we’llfindourownway.”“What way is that?”Leeshasnapped.“Thewayof being killed while youattempttoholdoffdemonswithyourstupidfiddle?”Rojer turned away,stung, but Leesha ignored

him, turning back to theman.“Please,” she begged,

grabbing his arm as he,too,turnedawayfromher.“A Messenger came toAngiers three days agowith word of a flux thatspread through theHollow. It’skilledadozenpeople so far, includingthegreatestHerbGatherer

that ever lived. TheGatherers left in the towncan’t possibly treateveryone. They need myhelp.”“Soyouwantme tonot

only put aside my ownpath, but to go into avillagerifewithflux?”theWarded Man asked,sounding anything butwilling.

Leesha began to weep,falling toherkneesas sheclutchedathis robes. “Myfather is very sick,” shewhispered. “If I don’t gettheresoon,hemaydie.”The Warded Man

reached out, tentatively,and put a hand on hershoulder. Leesha wasunsure of how she hadreached him, but she

sensed that she had.“Please,”shesaidagain.TheWardedMan staredatherforalongtime.“Allright,”hesaidatlast.

Cutter’s Hollow was sixdays’ ride from FortAngiers, on the southernoutskirts of the Angierianforest. The Warded Mantold them it would takefour more nights to reach

the village. Three, if theypressed hard and madegood time. He rodealongside them, slowinghis great stallion to theirpaceonfoot.“I’m going to scout upthe road,” he said after awhile. “I’ll be back in anhourorso.”Leeshafeltastabofcoldfear as he kicked his

stallion’s flanks andgalloped off down theroad. The Warded Manscaredheralmostasmuchas the bandits or thecorelings, but at least inhis presence she was safefromthoseotherthreats.She hadn’t slept at all,

andher lip throbbed fromallthetimesshehadbittenittokeepfromcrying.She

hadscrubbedeveryinchofherself after they fellasleep, but still she feltsoiled.“I’veheardstoriesofthis

man,” Rojer said. “Spun afew myself. I thought hewasonlyamyth,buttherecan’t be two men paintedlike that, who killcorelings with their barehands.”

“You called him theWardedMan,”Leeshasaid,remembering. Rojernodded. “That’s what he’scalled in the tales.Nooneknows his real name,” hesaid. “I heardof himoverayearagowhenoneoftheduke’s Jongleurs passedthrough the Westernhamlets. I thought hewasjust an ale story, but itseemstheduke’smanwas

tellingtrue.”“What did he say?”

Leeshaasked.“That the Warded Man

wanders the naked night,hunting demons,” Rojersaid. “He shuns humancontact, appearing onlywhen he needs suppliesand paying with ancientgold. From time to time,you hear tales of him

rescuing someone on theroad.”“Well, we can bearwitness to that,” Leeshasaid. “But if he can killdemons, why has no onetriedtolearnhissecrets?”Rojer shrugged.“Accordingtothetales,noonedares. Even thedukesthemselves are terrified ofhim, especially after what

happenedinLakton.”“What happened?”Leeshaasked.“Thestorygoes that thedockmastersofLaktonsentspies to steal his combatwards,” Rojer said. “Adozenmen, all armedandarmored. Those he didn’tkillwerecrippledforlife.”“Creator!” Leeshagasped, covering her

mouth. “What kind ofmonster are we travelingwith?”“Some say he’s part

demon himself,” Rojeragreed, “the result of acoreling raping a womanontheroad.”He started suddenly,his

facecoloringasherealizedwhat he’d said, but histhoughtlesswordshad the

opposite effect, breakingthe spell of her fear.“That’s ridiculous,” shesaid,shakingherhead.“Others say he’s no

demon at all,” Rojerpressed on, “but theDelivererhimself, come tolift the Plague. Tendershave prayed to him andbeggedhisblessings.”“I’d sooner believe he’s

halfcoreling,”Leeshasaid,though she sounded lessthansure.They traveled on in

uncomfortable silence. Aday ago, Leesha had beenunable to get a moment’speace from Rojer, theJongleur constantly tryingto impress her with histales and music, but nowhe kept his eyes down,

brooding. Leesha knew hewas hurting, and part ofher wanted to offercomfort, but a bigger partneeded comfort of herown. She had nothing togive.Soon after, the WardedMan rode back to them.“You two walk too slow,”he said, dismounting. “Ifwewant to saveourselves

afourthnightontheroad,we’ll need to cover thirtymilestoday.Youtworide.I’llrunalongside.”“You shouldn’t berunning,” Leesha said.“You’ll tear the stitches Iputinyourthigh.”“It’s all healed,” theWarded Man said. “Justneededanight’srest.”“Nonsense,”Leeshasaid,

“that gash was an inchdeep.” As if to prove herpoint, she went over tohim and knelt, lifting theloose robe away from hismuscular,tattooedleg.But when she removed

the bandage to examinethe wound, her eyeswidened in shock. New,pink flesh had alreadygrown to knit the wound

together, her stitchespoking from otherwisehealthyskin.“That’s impossible,” she

said.“It was just a scratch,”

the Warded Man said,sliding a wicked bladethrough the stitches andpicking them out one byone. Leesha opened hermouth, but the Warded

ManroseandwentbacktoTwilight Dancer, takingthereinsandholdingthemouttoher.“Thank you,” she said

numbly, taking the reins.Inonemoment,everythingshe knew about healinghad been called intoquestion. Who was thisman?Whatwashe?Twilight Dancer

cantered down the road,and the Warded Man ranalongside in long, tirelessstrides,easilykeepingpacewiththehorseasthemilesmelted away under hiswarded feet. When theyrested, it was from Rojerand Leesha’s desire andnot his. Leesha watchedhim subtly, searching forsigns of fatigue, but therewere none. When they

made camp at last, hisbreath was smooth andregular as he fed andwateredhishorse,evenassheandRojergroanedandrubbed the aches fromtheirlimbs.

There was an awkwardsilenceaboutthecampfire.It waswell past dark, butthe Warded Man walkedfreely about the camp,

collecting firewood andremoving TwilightDancer’sbarding,brushingthegreatstalliondown.Hemoved from the horse’scircletotheirownwithouta thought to the wooddemonslurkingabout.Oneleapt at him from thecoverofthebrush,buttheWardedManpaidnomindas it slammed into thewardsbarelyaninchfrom

hisback.While Leesha prepared

supper, Rojer limpedbowlegged around thecircle, attempting to walkoff the stiffness of a day’shardriding.“I think my stones are

crushed from all thatbouncing,”hegroaned.“I’ll have a look, if you

like,” Leesha said. The

WardedMansnorted.Rojer looked at her

ruefully. “I’llbeall right,”hemanaged,continuingtopace.Hestoppedsuddenlya moment later, staringdowntheroad.They all looked up,

seeing the eerie orangelightof the flamedemon’smouth and eyes longbefore the coreling itself

came into sight, shriekingand running hard on allfours.“Howisitthattheflame

demons don’t burn theentire forestdown?”Rojerwondered, watching thetrailing wisps of firebehindthecreature.“You’re about to find

out,” the Warded Mansaid. Rojer found the

amusement in his voiceevenmore unsettling thanhisusualmonotone.The words were barelyspoken before howlsheraldedtheapproachofapack of wood demons,three strong, barrelingdown the road after theflamedemon.Oneofthemhad another flame demonhanging limply from its

jaws,drippingblackichor.So occupied was theflame demon withoutrunning its pursuers, itfailed to notice the otherwooddemonsgatheringinthe scrub at the edges ofthe road until onepounced, pinning thehapless creature andeviscerating it with itsback talons. It shrieked

horribly, and Leeshacovered her ears from thesound.“Woodies hate flame

demons,”theWardedManexplained when it wasover, his eyes glinting inpleasureatthekill.“Why?”Rojerasked.“Because wood demons

are vulnerable todemonfire,” Leesha said.

The Warded Man lookedupather insurprise, thennodded.“Then why don’t the

flamedemonsset themonfire?”Rojerasked.The Warded Man

laughed. “Sometimes theydo,” he said, “butflammable or no, thereisn’t a flame demon alivethat’s a match in a fight

with a wood demon.Woodies are second onlyto rock demons instrength, and they’renearly invisiblewithin thebordersoftheforest.”“The Creator’s Great

Plan,” Leesha said.“Checksandbalances.”“Nonsense,” theWarded

Man countered. “If theflame demons burned

everything away, therewould be nothing left forthem to hunt. Naturefound a way to solve theproblem.”“Youdon’tbelieveinthe

Creator?”Rojerasked.“We have enough

problems already,” theWarded Man answered,andhisscowlmadeitclearthat he had no desire to

pursuethesubject.“There are some thatcall you the Deliverer,”Rojerdared.The Warded Mansnorted. “There’s noDeliverer coming to saveus, Jongleur,” he said.“Youwantdemonsdeadinthisworld,youhavetokillthemyourself.”Asifinresponse,awind

demon bounced offTwilightDancer’swardnet,fillingtheareawithabriefflash of light. The stalliondug at the dirt with hishooves,as ifeager to leapfrom the circle and dobattle, but he stayed inplace, waiting for acommandfromhismaster.“How is it the horsestands so unafraid?”

Leesha asked. “EvenMessengers stake downtheir horses at night tokeep them from bolting,butyoursseemstowanttofight.”“I’ve been training

Twilight Dancer since hewas foaled,” the WardedMan said. “He’s alwaysbeenwarded,sohe’sneverlearned to fear corelings.

His sire was the biggest,most aggressive beast Icould find, and his damthesame.”“But he seemed so

gentlewhenwerodehim,”Leeshasaid.“I’ve taught him to

channel his aggressiveurges,” the Warded Mansaid, pride evident in hisnormallyemotionlesstone.

“He returns kindness, butifhe’sthreatened,orIam,he’ll attack withouthesitation. He oncecrushedtheskullofawildboar that would havegoredmeforsure.”Finished with the flame

demons,thewooddemonsbegan to circle thewards,drawing closer and closer.The Warded Man strung

hisyewbowand tookouthis quiver of heavy-tippedarrows,butheignoredthecreatures as they slashedat the barrier and werethrown back. When theyfinished their meal, heselected an unmarkedarrowandtookanetchingtool from his warding kit,slowly inscribing the shaftwithwards.

“If we weren’t here…”Leeshaasked.“I would be out there,”the Warded Mananswered, not looking upather.“Hunting.”Leeshanodded,andwasquiet for a time,watchinghim. Rojer shifteduncomfortably at herobviousfascination.“Have you seen my

home?”sheaskedsoftly.TheWardedManlooked

athercuriously,butmadenoreply.“Ifyou’vecomefromthe

south, you must’ve comethrough the Hollow,”Leeshasaid.TheWardedMan shook

his head. “I give thehamlets awide berth,” hesaid. “The first person to

seemerunsoff,andbeforelong I’m met by a clusterof angry men withpitchforks.”Leesha wanted to

protest, but she knew thepeople of Cutter’s Hollowwould act much as hedescribed. “They’re onlyafraid,”shesaidlamely.“I know,” the Warded

Man said. “And so I leave

them in peace. There’smore to the world thanhamlets and cities, and ifthe price of one is losingtheother…”Heshrugged.“Let people hide in theirhomes, caged likechickens.Cowardsdeservenobetter.”“Thenwhydidyousave

us from the demons?”Rojerasked.

The Warded Manshrugged. “Because you’rehuman and they’reabominations,” he said.“And because youstruggled to survive, rightuptothelastminute.”“What else could we

havedone?”Rojerasked.“You’d be amazed how

many just lie down andwait for the end,” the

WardedMansaid.

Theymade good time thefourth day out fromAngiers. Neither theWarded Man nor hisstallion seemed to knowfatigue, Twilight Dancereasily paced his master’slopingrun.When they finallymadecampforthenight,Leeshamadeathinsoupfromthe

Warded Man’s remainingstores, but it barely filledtheirbellies.“Whatarewegoingtodoforfood?”sheaskedhim,asthelastofitvanished down Rojer’sthroat.The Warded Man

shrugged. “I hadn’tplanned for company,” hesaid as he sat back,carefully painting wards

ontohisfingernails.“Two more days ofriding isa longway togowithout food,” Rojerlamented.“You want to cut thetrip in half,” the WardedMan said, blowing on anail to dry it, “we couldtravel by night, as well.Twilight Dancer canoutrunmostcorelings,and

Icankilltherest.”“Toodangerous,”Leeshasaid. “We’ll do Cutter’sHollow no good if we allget killed. We’ll just havetotravelhungry.”“I’m not leaving thewards at night,” Rojeragreed, rubbing hisstomachregretfully.The Warded Manpointed to a coreling

stalking the camp. “Wecouldeatthat,”hesaid.“You can’t be serious!”

Rojercriedindisgust.“Just the thought is

sickening,”Leeshaagreed.“It’s not so bad, really,”

themansaid.“You’ve actually eaten

demon?”Rojerasked.“Idowhat Ihave to, to

survive,”themanreplied.“Well, I’m certainly not

goingtoeatdemonmeat,”Leeshasaid.“Me neither,” Rojer

agreed.“Verywell,”theWarded

Man sighed, getting upand taking his bow, aquiver of arrows, and alongspear.Hestrippedoffhis robe, revealing his

warded flesh, and movedto the edge of the circle.“I’ll see what I can huntup.”“You don’t need to…!”

Leeshacalled,butthemanignored her. A momentlater,hehadvanishedintothenight.It was more than an

hour before he returned,carrying a plump pair of

rabbits by the ears. Hehanded the catch toLeesha,andreturnedtohisseat, picking up the tinywardingbrush.“You make music?” he

askedRojer,who had justfinished re-stringing hisfiddleandwaspluckingatthe strings, adjusting thetensions.Rojer jumped at the

comment. “Y-yes,” hemanaged.“Will you play

something?” the WardedMan asked. “I can’tremember the last time Iheardmusic.”“I would,” Rojer said

sadly, “but the banditskicked my bow into thewoods.”Themannoddedandsat

in thought a moment.Then he stood suddenly,producing a large knife.Rojershrankback,buttheman just steppedbackoutof the circle. A wooddemon hissed at him, butthe Warded Man hissedrightback,andthedemonshiedaway.He returned soon after

with a supple length of

wood, shearing the barkwith his wicked blade.“How long was it?” heasked.“E-eighteen inches,”

Rojerstuttered.The Warded Man

nodded,cuttingthebranchto the appropriate lengthand walking over toTwilight Dancer. Thestalliondidnotreactashe

cut a length of hair fromits tail. He notched thewood and tied thehorsehairflatandthickonone side.He knelt next toRojer,bendingthebranch.“Tellmewhenthetensionis right,” he said, andRojerlaidthefingersofhiscrippledhandon the hair.Whenhewassatisfied,theWardedMantiedtheotherendandhandedittohim.

Rojerbeamedatthegift,treating it with resinbeforetakinguphisfiddle.He put the instrument tohischinandgave ita fewstrokeswiththenewbow.It wasn’t ideal, but hegrew more confident,pausingtotuneoncemorebeforebeginningtoplay.His skillful fingers filled

the air with a haunting

melody that took Leesha’sthoughts to Cutter’sHollow, wondering at itsfate. Vika’s letter wasalmostaweekgone.Whatwould she find when shearrived? Perhaps the fluxhad passed with no moreloss, and this desperateordeal had been fornothing.Or perhaps they needed

hermorethanever.The music affected theWarded Man as well, shenoticed, for his handsstoppedtheircarefulwork,and he stared off into thenight.Shadowsdrapedhisface,obscuringthetattoos,and she saw in his sadcountenance that he hadbeen comely once. Whatpain had driven him to

this existence, scarringhimself and shunning hisownkindforthecompanyof corelings? She foundherselfachingtohealhim,thoughheshowednohurt.Suddenly, the man

shook his head as if toclear it, startling Leeshafrom her reverie. Hepointed off into thedarkness. “Look,” he

whispered. “They’redancing.”Leesha looked out in

amazement, for indeed,thecorelingshadceasedtotest thewards,hadceasedeven to hiss and shriek.They circled the camp,swaying in time to themusic.Flamedemonsleaptand twirled, sendingribbons of fire spiraling

away from their knottedlimbs, and wind demonslooped and dove throughtheair.Wooddemonshadcreptfromthecoveroftheforest, but they ignoredthe flame demons, drawntothemelody.TheWardedManlooked

at Rojer. “How are youdoing that?” he asked, hisvoiceawed.

Rojer smiled. “Thecorelings,theyhaveanearfor music,” he said. Herosetohisfeet,walkingtotheedgeofthecircle.Thedemons clustered there,watching him intently.Hebegan to walk the circle’sperimeter, and theyfollowed, mesmerized. Hestopped and swayed fromside to side as hecontinuedtoplay,andthe

corelings mirrored hismovementsalmostexactly.“I didn’t believe you,”

Leesha apologized quietly.“You really can charmthem.”“And that’s not all,”

Rojerboasted.Withatwistand a series of sharpstrokes of the bow, heturned the melody sour;once pure notes ringing

outdiscordantandtainted.Suddenly, the corelingswere shrieking again,covering their ears withtheir talons andscrambling away fromRojer. They drew backfurther and further as themusical assault continued,vanishingintotheshadowsbeyondthefirelight.“Theyhaven’t gone far,” Rojersaid. “As soon as I stop,

they’llbeback.”“Whatelsecanyoudo?”

the Warded Man askedquietly.Rojer smiled, as content

toperformforanaudienceof two as he was for acheering crowd. Hesoftened his music again,thechaoticnotessmoothlyflowing back into thehaunting melody. The

corelings reappeared,drawn to the music oncemore.“Watch this,” Rojer

instructed, and changedthesoundagain, thenotesrising high and grating,causing even Leesha andthe Warded Man to grittheirteethandleanaway.The reaction of the

corelings was more

pronounced. They grewenraged, shrieking androaring as they threwthemselves at the barrierwith abandon. Again andagainthewardsflaredandthrew them back, but thedemons did not relent,smashing themselvesagainst the wardnet in aninsane attempt to reachRojer and silence himforever.

Tworockdemonsjoinedthe throng, shoving pasttheothersandhammeringat the wards as yet moreadded to the press. TheWarded Man rose silentlybehindRojerandliftedhisbow.Thestringhummed,andone of the heavy, thick-headed arrows explodedinto the chest of the

nearest rock demon like abolt of lightning,brightening the area for amoment. Again and againtheWardedManfiredintothe horde, his hands ablur. The warded boltsblastedthecorelingsback,and the few that roseagainwerequicklytorntopiecesbytheirfellows.Rojer and Leesha stood

horrified at the slaughter.TheJongleur’sbowslippedfrom the fiddle’s strings,hanging forgotten in hislimp hand as he watchedtheWardedManwork.The demons were

screaming still, but it waspain and fear now, theirdesire to attack thewardsvanished with the music.StilltheWardedManfired,

again and again until hisarrows were all gone. Hegrabbed a spear, throwingit and striking a fleeingwooddemonintheback.There was chaos now,

the few remainingcorelings desperate toescape. The Warded Manstrippedoffhisrobe,readyto leap from the circle tokill demons with his bare

hands.“No, please!” Leesha

cried, throwing herself athim.“They’rerunning!”“You would spare

them?” the Warded Manroared, glaring at her, hisface terrible with wrath.She fell back in fear, butshe kept her eyes lockedonhis.“Please,” she begged.

“Don’tgooutthere.”Leesha feared he might

strike her, but he onlystared at her, his breathheaving. Finally, afterwhat seemed an eternity,hecalmedandtookuphisrobe, covering his wardsoncemore.“Was that necessary?”

she asked, breaking thesilence.

“The circle wasn’tdesignedtoforbidsomanycorelings at once,” theWarded Man said, hisvoice again a coldmonotone. “I don’t knowthatitwouldhaveheld.”“You could have just

askedmetostopplaying,”Rojersaid.“Yes,” the Warded Man

agreed,“Icouldhave.”

“Thenwhy didn’t you?”Leeshademanded.TheWardedMan didn’t

answer. He strode out ofthe circle and begancuttinghisarrowsfromthedemoncorpses.

Leesha was fast asleeplater that night when theWarded Man approachedRojer. The Jongleur,staring out at the fallen

demons, gave a startledjump when the mansquatted down next tohim.“You have power over

thecorelings,”hesaid.Rojer shrugged. “So do

you,”hesaid.“MorethanIeverwill.”“Canyouteachme?”the

WardedManasked.Rojer turned, meeting

the man’s gimlet eyes.“Why?”heasked.“Youkilldemons by the score.What’smy trick comparedtothat?”“I thought I knew my

enemies,”theWardedMansaid. “But you’ve shownmeotherwise.”“Youthinktheymaynot

be all bad, if they canenjoymusic?”Rojerasked.

TheWardedMan shookhis head. “They are nopatrons of art, Jongleur,”hesaid.“Themomentyouceasedtoplay,theywouldhave killed you withouthesitation.”Rojernodded,conceding

the point. “Then whybother?” he asked.“Learning the fiddle is alot of work to charm

beasts you can just aseasilykill.”The Warded Man’s facehardened. “Will you teachmeornot?”heasked.“I will …” Rojer said,thinking it through, “but Iwantsomethinginreturn.”“I have plenty ofmoney,” the Warded Manassuredhim.Rojer waved his hand

dismissively. “I can getmoney whenever I needit,” he said. “What Iwantismorevaluable.”The Warded Man saidnothing.“I want to travel withyou,”Rojersaid.TheWardedMan shookhis head. “Out of thequestion,”hesaid.“You don’t learn the

fiddle overnight,” Rojerargued.“It’lltakeweekstobecomeevenpassable,andyou’llneedmoreskillthanthat to charm even theleast discriminatingcoreling.”“And what do you get

out of it?” the WardedManasked.“Materialforstoriesthat

will fill the duke’s

amphitheater night afternight,”Rojersaid.“What about her?” the

Warded Man asked,nodding back towardLeesha.RojerlookedattheHerb Gatherer, her breastgentlyrisingandfallingasshe slept, and theWardedMan did not miss thesignificanceofthatgaze.“Sheaskedme toescort

her home, nothing more,”Rojersaidatlast.“And if she asks you to

stay?”“She won’t,” Rojer said

quietly.“My road is no Marko

Rover tale, boy,” theWardedMansaid.“I’venotime to be slowed by onewhohidesatnight.”“Ihavemyfiddlenow,”

Rojer said with morebravery than he felt. “I’mnotafraid.”“You need more than

courage,”theWardedMansaid.“Inthewild,youkillor be killed, and I don’tjustmeandemons.”Rojer straightened,

swallowingthelumpinhisthroat. “Everyone whotriestoprotectmeendsup

dead,”hesaid.“It’s timeIlearnedtoprotectmyself.”TheWardedManleaned

back, considering theyoungJongleur.“Comewithme,”hesaid

atlast,rising.“Out of the circle?”

Rojerasked.“If you can’t do that,

you’re no use tome,” theWarded Man said. When

Rojer looked arounddoubtfully, he added,“Every coreling for milesheard what I did to theirfellows. It’s doubtful we’llseemoretonight.”“What about Leesha?”

Rojerasked,risingslowly.“Twilight Dancer will

protect her, if need be,”theman said. “Come on.”Hemovedoutofthecircle

and vanished into thenight.Rojer swore, but he

grabbed his fiddle andfollowed the man downtheroad.Rojerclutchedhisfiddle

casetightlyastheymovedthrough the trees. He hadmadetotakeitoutatfirst,but the Warded Man hadwaved for him to put it

away.“You’ll draw attention

we don’t want,” hewhispered.“I thought you said we

weren’t likely to see anycorelings tonight,” Rojerhissed back, but theWardedMan ignoredhim,moving through thedarkness as if it werebroadday.

“Where are we going?”Rojer asked for whatseemed the hundredthtime.They climbed a small

rise, and theWardedManlay flat, pointingdownward.“Look there,” he told

Rojer. Below, Rojer couldsee three very familiarmen and a horse sleeping

withinthetightconfinesofan even more familiarportablecircle.“The bandits,” Rojerbreathed. A flood ofemotionswashedoverhim—fear, rage, andhelplessness—and in hismind’s eye, he relived theordeal they had put himand Leesha through. Themute stirred in his sleep,

and Rojer felt a stab ofpanic.“I’vebeentrackingthemsince I found you,” theWarded Man said. “Ispotted their fire while Iwashuntingtonight.”“Why did you bringmehere?”Rojerasked.“I thought you mightlike a chance to get yourcircle back,” the Warded

Mansaid.Rojer looked back at

him.“Ifwestealthecirclewhile they’re sleeping, thecorelings will kill thembefore they know what’shappening.”“The demons are thin,”

the Warded Man said.“They’ll have better oddsthanyoudid.”“Even so, what makes

you think I’dwant to riskit?”Rojerasked.“Iwatch,”themansaid,

“andI listen. Iknowwhatthey did to you…and toLeesha.”Rojer was quiet a long

while. “There are three ofthem,”hesaidatlast.“This is the wild,” the

WardedMan said. “If youwant to live in safety, go

back to the city.” He spatthelastwordlikeacurse.But Rojer knew there

was no safety in the city,either. Unbidden, he sawJaycob crumple to theground, and heard Jasin’slaughter. He could havesought justice after theattack, but he chose toflee, instead. He wasforeverfleeing,andletting

othersdieinhisstead.Hishand searched for atalisman that was nolonger there as he stareddownatthefire.“Was I wrong?” the

WardedManasked. “Shallwegobacktoourcamp?”Rojer swallowed. “As

soon as I have whatbelongs to me,” hedecided.

CHAPTER28SECRETS332AR

LEESHA AWOKE TO A SOFT

NICKERING. She opened hereyes to seeRojerbrushing

down the russet mare shehad purchased in Angiers,and for a moment, shedared think the last twodaysadream.But then TwilightDancer stepped into view,thegiant stallion toweringover the mare, and it allcamerushingback.“Rojer,” she askedquietly, “where did my

horsecomefrom?”Rojer opened hismouth

to reply, but the WardedMan strode into the campthen, with two smallrabbits and a handful ofapples.“Isawyourfriends’fire last night,” heexplained, “and thoughtwe would travel faster allahorse.”Leeshawasquiet a long

time,digestingthenews.Adozen emotions ranthroughher,manyofthemshameful and unsavory.RojerandtheWardedMangavehertime,andshewasthankfulforthat.“Didyoukill them?” she asked atlast. A cold part of herwanted him to say yes,even though it wentagainst everything shebelieved;everythingBruna

hadtaughther.TheWardedManlooked

her in the eye. “No,” hesaid, and an immenserelief floodedthroughher.“I scattered them longenough to steal the horse,butthatwasall.”Leesha nodded. “We’ll

send word of them to theduke’smagistratewith thenext Messenger to pass

throughtheHollow.”Her herb blanket was

rolled crudely andstrappedtothesaddle.Shepulleditoffandexaminedit, reliefwashing over heras she found most of thebottlesandpouchesintact.They had smoked all hertampweed, but that waseasyenoughtoreplace.After breakfast, Rojer

rode the mare whileLeesha sat behind theWarded Man on TwilightDancer. They traveledswiftly, for there wereclouds gathering, andthreatofrain.Leesha felt like sheshould have been afraid.Thebanditswerealiveandahead of them. Sheremembered the leering

face of the black-beardedman and the raucouslaughterofhiscompanion.Worst of all, sheremembered the terribleweight and dumb, violentlustofthemute.She should have been

afraid, but she wasn’t.EvenmorethanBruna,theWardedManmadeherfeelsafe. He did not tire. He

didnotfear.Andsheknewwithout a doubt that noharm could ever come toher while she was underhisprotection.Protection.Itwasanodd

feeling, needingprotection, like somethingout of another life. Shehad been protectingherselfforsolong,shehadforgottenwhatitwaslike.

Her skills and wits wereenoughtokeephersafeincivilized places, but thosethings meant little in thewild.The Warded Man

shifted, and she realizedshe had tightened herhands around his waist,pressingclose tohimwithher head resting on hisshoulder.Shepulledaway,

so caught up in herembarrassment that shealmostdidn’tseethehand,lying in the scrub at thesideoftheroad.When she did, she

screamed.TheWardedManpulled

up, and Leesha practicallyfell off the horse, rushingto the spot. She brushedthe weeds aside, gasping

as she realized the handwasn’t attached toanything;bittencleanoff.“Leesha, what is it?”

Rojer cried, as he and theWardedManrantoher.“Weretheycampednear

here?” Leesha asked,holdinguptheappendage.TheWardedMan nodded.“Take me there,” Leeshaordered.

“Leesha, what goodcould…”Rojerbegan,butshe ignored him, keepingher eyes locked on theWardedMan.“Take. Me. There,” shesaid. The Warded Mannodded, putting down astakeandtying themare’sreinstoit.“Guard,” he said toTwilight Dancer, and the

stallionnickered.They found the camp

soonafter,awashinbloodand half-eaten bodies.Leesha lifted her apron tocover her mouth againstthe stench. Rojer retchedandranfromtheclearing.But Leesha was no

stranger to blood. “Onlytwo,” she said, examiningthe remains with feelings

toomixedforhertobegintosort.The Warded Man

nodded. “The mute ismissing,” he said. “Thegiant.”“Yes,”Leeshasaid.“And

thecircleaswell.”“Thecircle,aswell,”the

WardedManagreedafteramoment.

The heavy cloudscontinued to gather astheymade theirway backto the horses. “There’s aMessenger cave ten milesup the road,” the WardedMan said. “If we presshard and skip lunch, weshould make it therebefore the rain comes.We’ll have to take refugeuntilthestormpasses.”

“The man who killscorelings with his barehands is afraid of a littlerain?”Leeshaasked.“If the cloud is thick

enough, corelings mightrise early,” the WardedMansaid.“Since when are you

afraid of corelings?”Leeshapressed.“It’s stupid and

dangerous to fight in therain,” the Warded Mansaid. “Rain makes mud,and mud obscures wardsandruinsfooting.”Theywerebarelysettled

in the cave before thestorm struck. Drenchingsheets of rain turned theroad to mud and the skywent dark, save for thesharp strikes of lightning.

Thewindhowledatthem,punctuated by roaringthunder.Muchofthecavemouth

was warded already,symbols of power etcheddeeply into the rock, andthe Warded Man quicklysecured the rest with acache of wardstones leftwithin.As the Warded Man

predicted, a few demonsroseearlyinthefalsedark.Hewatchedgrimlyastheycreptout fromthedarkestparts of the wood,relishing their earlyreleasefromtheCore.Thebrief flashes of lightoutlined their sinuousforms as they frolicked inthewet.They tried tobreak into

the cave, but the wardsheld strong. Those thatventured too closeregrettedit,greetedwithajab from the scowlingWardedMan’sspear.“Whyareyousoangry?”Leesha asked, drawingbowlsandspoonsfromherbag as Rojer worked tolightasmallfire.“Bad enough they come

atnight,”theWardedManspat. “They’ve no right totheday.”Leesha shook her head.

“You’d be happier if youcould acceptwhat is,” sheadvised.“I don’t want to be

happy,”hereplied.“Everyone wants to be

happy,” Leesha scoffed.“Where’sthecookpot?”

“Inmybag,”Rojersaid.“I’llgetit.”“No need,” Leesha said,

rising. “Mind the fire. I’llfetchit.”“No!” Rojer cried, but

evenasheleapttohisfeet,he saw he was too late.Leesha drew forth hisportablecirclewithagasp.“But…”shestammered,

“they took this!” She

looked at Rojer, and sawhis eyes flick to theWarded Man. She turnedto him, but could readnothing in the shadowsofhiscowl.“Is someone going toexplain?”shedemanded.“We … got it back,”Rojersaidlamely.“I know you got itback!” Leesha shouted,

whipping the coil of ropeand wooden plates to thecavefloor.“How?”“I took it when I tookthe horse,” the WardedMan said suddenly. “Ididn’t want it on yourconscience, so I kept itfromyou.”“Youstoleit?”“They stole it,” theWarded Man corrected. “I

took it back.” Leeshalooked at him for a longtime. “You took it atnight,” she said quietly.The Warded Man saidnothing.“Were they using it?”

Leesha demanded throughgrittedteeth.“The road is dangerous

enough without suchmen,” the Warded Man

replied.“You murdered them,”Leesha said, surprised tofind her eyes filling withtears.Findtheworsthumanbeing you can, her fatherhad said, and you’ll stillfind something worse bylooking out the window atnight. No one deserved tobe fed to a coreling. Noteventhem.

“How could you?” sheasked.“I murdered no one,”theWardedMansaid.“Asgoodas!”The man shrugged.“They did the same toyou.”“That makes it right?”Leeshacried.“Lookatyou!You don’t even care! Twomendeadatleast,andyou

sleep no worse! You’re amonster!” She sprang athim, trying to beat himwith her fists, but hecaught her wrists, andwatched impassively asshestruggledwithhim.“Why do you care?” he

asked.“I’manHerbGatherer!”

she screamed. “I’ve takenan oath! I’ve sworn to

heal,butyou”—shelookedat him coldly—“all you’resworntodoiskill.”After a moment, the

fight left her and shepulled away. “You mockwhat I am,” she said,slumpingdownandstaringat the cave floor forseveral minutes. Then shelookedupatRojer.“You said ‘we,’” she

accused.“What?” the Jongleurasked, trying to appearconfused.“Before,” she clarified.“You said ‘wegot itback.’Andthecirclewasinyourbag. Did you go withhim?”“I…”Rojerstalled.“Don’t you lie to me,Rojer!”Leeshagrowled.

Rojer’s eyes dropped tothe floor.Afteramoment,henodded.“Hewastellingthetruthbefore,” Rojer admitted.“Allhetookwasthehorse.While they weredistracted,Itookthecircleandyourherbs.”“Why?” Leesha asked,hervoicecrackingslightly.Thedisappointmentinher

tone cut the youngJongleurlikeaknife.“You know why,” Rojer

repliedsomberly.“Why?” Leesha

demandedagain.“Forme?For my honor? Tell me,Rojer. Tell me you killedinmyname!”“Theyhadtopay,”Rojer

said tightly. “They had topay for what they did. It

wasunforgivable.”Leeshalaughedoutloud,

though there was nohumor in the sound.“Don’t you think I knowthat?” she shouted. “Doyou think I saved myselffor twenty-seven years togive my flower to a gangofthugs?”Silencehunginthecave

foralongmoment.Apeal

ofthundercuttheair.“Saved yourself …”

Rojerechoed.“Yes, corespawn you!”

Leesha shrieked, angrytearsstreakingherface.“Iwas a virgin! Does eventhat justify giving men tothecorelings?”“Giving?” the Warded

Manechoed.Leesha whirled on him.

“Of course giving!” sheshouted. “I’m sure yourfriends the demons wereoverjoyed at your littlepresent. Nothing pleasesthem more than havinghumans to kill. With sofewofusleft,we’reararetreat!”TheWarded Man’s eyeswidened, reflecting thefirelight. It was a more

human expression thanLeesha had ever seen onhis face, and the sightmade her momentarilyforget her anger. Helooked utterly terrified,and backed away fromthem, all the way to thecavemouth.Just then, a corelingthrew itself against thewardnet, filling the cave

withaflashofsilverlight.The Warded Man whirledand screamed at thedemon, a sound unlikeanything Leesha had everheard, but one sherecognizedall thesame.Itwasavocalizationofwhatshe had felt inside whenshe had been pinned, thatterrible evening on theroad.

The Warded Mansnatched up one of hisspears, hurling it out intothe rain. There was anexplosion of magic as itstruckthedemon,blastingitintothemud.“Damn you!” theWarded Man roared,ripping off his robes andleaping out into thedownpour. “I swore I

would give you nothing!Nothing at all!” Hepouncedonawooddemonfrombehind,crushingittohim.Themassivewardonhis chest flared, and thecoreling burst into flame,despite the pouring rain.He kicked away as thecreatureflailedabout.“Fightme!” theWardedMan demanded of the

others,plantinghis feet inthemud.Corelingsleapttooblige,slashingandbiting,but theman fought like ademon himself, and theywere flung away likeautumn leaves against thewind.From the rear of thecave, Twilight Dancerwhinniedandpulledathishobble,trainedtofightby

his master’s side. Rojermovedtocalmtheanimal,looking to Leesha inconfusion.“He can’t fight themall,” Leesha said. “Not inthe mud.” Already, manyof the man’s wards weresplatteredwithmuck.“He means to die,” shesaid.“What should we do?”

Rojerasked.“Your fiddle!” Leesha

cried.“Drivethemaway!”Rojer shook his head.

“The wind and thunderwould drownme out,” hesaid.“We can’t just let him

kill himself!” Leeshascreamedathim.“You’re right,” Rojer

agreed. He strode over to

the Warded Man’sweapons, taking a lightspear and the wardedshield. Realizing what hemeant to do, Leeshamovedtostophim,buthestepped out of the cavebefore she could reachhim, rushing to theWardedMan’sside.A flamedemonspat fireat Rojer, but it fizzled in

therainandfellshort.Thecoreling leapt at him, butheliftedthewardedshieldand the creature wasdeflected. Hisconcentration in front, hedidn’t see the other flamedemonbehindhimuntil itwas too late. The corelingsprang, but the WardedMan snatched the three-foot-tall demon right outoftheair,hurlingitaway,

its flesh sizzling at histouch. “Get inside!” themanordered.“Not without you!”

Rojer shot back. His redhair was soaked andmatted tohis face,andhesquinted in the wind andpelting rain, but he facedtheWardedMan squarely,notbackingdownaninch.Twowooddemonsleapt

for them, but the WardedMan dropped to the mud,sweepingRojer’slegsfromunder him. The slashingclaws missed as theJongleur fell, and theWarded Man’s fists drovethe creatures back. Othercorelings were gathering,though, attracted by theflashes of light and thesoundsofbattle.Toomanytofight.

TheWardedManlookedatRojer,lyinginthemud,and the madness left hiseyes.He held out a hand,and the Jongleur took it.The two of them dartedbackintothecave.

“What were youthinking?” Leeshademanded, tying off thelastofthebandages.“Bothofyou!”

Rojer and the WardedMan, bundled in blanketsbythefire,saidnothingasshe berated them. After atime, she trailed off,preparingahotbrothwithherbs and vegetables andhanding it to themwordlessly.“Thank you,”Rojer saidquietly, the firstwords hehadspokensincereturning

tothecave.“I’m still angry withyou,” Leesha said, notmeetinghiseyes.“Youliedtome.”“I didn’t,” Rojerprotested.“You kept things fromme,” Leesha said. “It’s nodifferent.”Rojerlookedatherfora

time. “Why did you leaveCutter’s Hollow?” heasked.“What?” Leesha asked.

“Don’tchangethesubject.”“Ifthesepeoplemeanso

much to you that you’rewilling to risk anything,endure anything, to gethome,” Rojer pressed,“whydidyouleave?”“My studies …” Leesha

began.Rojershookhishead.“Iknow something aboutrunning away fromproblems,Leesha,”hesaid.“There’s more to it thanthat.”“Idon’t see that it’sanyof your business,” Leeshasaid.“ThenwhyamIwaitingout a rainstorm in a cave

surroundedbycorelingsinthe middle of nowhere?”Rojerasked.Leeshalookedathimforlong moments, thensighed, her will for thefight fading. “I supposeyou’ll be hearing about itsoonenough,”Leeshasaid.“The people of Cutter’sHollow have never beenvery good at keeping

secrets.”She told them

everything. She didn’tmean to,but the coldanddamp cave became aTender’s confessional ofsorts,andonceshebegan,thewords overflowed; hermother,Gared,therumors,herflighttoBruna,herlifeasanoutcast.TheWardedMan leaned forward and

opened his mouth at themention of Bruna’s liquiddemonfire,buthecloseditagain and sat back,choosingnottointerrupt.“So that’s it,” Leeshasaid. “I’dhoped to stay inAngiers, but it seems theCreatorhasanotherplan.”“You deserve better,”theWardedMansaid.Leesha nodded, looking

at him. “Why did you goout there?” she askedquietly, pointing her chintowardthecavemouth.The Warded Manslumped, staring at hisknees.“Ibrokeapromise,”hesaid.“That’sall?”Helookedupather,andforonce,shedidn’tseethetattooslininghisface,only

his eyes, piercing her. “Iswore I would never givethem anything,” he said.“Noteventosavemyownlife.Butinstead,I’vegiventhemeverythingthatmademehuman.”“You didn’t give them

anything,” Rojer said. “Iwas the one that took thecircle.” Leesha’s handstightenedonherbowl,but

shesaidnothing.TheWardedMan shookhis head. “I facilitated it,”he said. “I knew how youfelt. Giving them to youwas the same as givingthemtothecorelings.”“They would havecontinued to prey on theroad,” Rojer said. “Theworld is better withoutthem.”

The Warded Mannodded. “But that’s noexcuse for giving them todemons,”hesaid.“Icouldas easily have taken thecircle—killed themeven—face-to-face,inthelightofday.”“So you went out theretonight out of guilt,”Leesha said. “Why all thetimes before? Why this

waroncorelings?”“Ifyouhaven’tnoticed,”the Warded Man replied,“thecorelingshavebeenatwar with us for centuries.Is it so wrong to take thefighttothem?”“You think yourself theDeliverer, then?” Leeshaasked.The Warded Manscowled. “Waiting for the

Deliverer has lefthumanity crippled forthree hundred years,” hesaid. “He’s a myth. He’snot coming, and it’s timepeoplesawthatandbeganstanding up forthemselves.”“Myths have power,”Rojer said. “Don’t be soquicktodismissthem.”“Since when are you a

man of faith?” Leeshaasked.“I believe in hope,”

Rojer said. “I’ve been aJongleurallmylife,andifI’ve learned one thing intwenty-three years, it’sthat the stories people cryfor,theonesthatstaywiththem, are the ones thatofferhope.”“Twenty,” Leesha said

suddenly.“What?”“You told me you weretwenty.”“DidI?”“You’re not even that,areyou?”sheasked.“Iam!”Rojerinsisted.“I’m not stupid, Rojer,”Leesha said. “I’ve notknown you three months,

andyou’ve grownan inchin that time. No twenty-year-old does that. Whatareyou?Sixteen?”“Seventeen,” Rojersnarled. He threw downhis bowl, spilling theremaining broth. “Doesthatpleaseyou?YouwererighttotellJizellyouwerenearly old enough to bemymother.”

Leesha stared at him.She opened her mouth tosay something sharp, butclosed it again. “I’msorry,”shesaidinstead.“And you, Warded

Man?” Rojer asked,turning to him. “Will youadd‘tooyoung’toyourlistof reasonswhyI shouldn’ttravelwithyou?”“I became a Messenger

at seventeen,” the manreplied, “and I wastraveling much youngerthanthat.”“And how old is theWarded Man?” Rojerasked.“The Warded Man wasbornintheKrasiandesert,four summers ago,” hereplied.“And the man beneath

thewards?” Leesha asked.“Howoldwashewhenhedied?”“It doesn’t matter howmany summers he had,”theWardedMansaid.“Hewas a stupid, naive child,withdreamstoobigforhisowngood.”“Is that why he had todie?”Leeshaasked.“He was killed. And

yes.”“What was his name?”

Leeshaaskedquietly.The Warded Man was

quietalongtime.“Arlen,”he said finally. “His namewasArlen.”

CHAPTER29INTHEPREDAWNLIGHT

332AR

WHEN THE WARDED MAN

AWOKE, the storm hadbroken temporarily, but

graycloudshungheavyinthe sky, promising morerain to come. He lookedinto the cave, his wardedeyes easily piercing thedark, and made out thetwo horses and thesleeping Jongleur. Leesha,however,wasmissing.It was early still; thefalse light before truesunrise. Most of the

corelingshadlikelyfledtothe Core long since, butwith theheavy cloud, onecould never be sure. Herose to his feet, tearingaway thebandagesLeeshahad tied the night before.The wounds were allhealed.The Herb Gatherer’s

pathwaseasytofollowinthe thick muck, and he

found her not far off,kneeling on the groundpicking herbs. Her skirtswere hiked up far aboveher knees to keep themfrom the mud, and thesight of her smoothwhitethighsmadehimflush.Shewas beautiful in thepredawnlight.“You shouldn’t be outhere,” he said. “The sun’s

notyetrisen.It’snotsafe.”Leesha looked at him,

and smiled. “Are you in aposition to lecture me onputtingmyselfindanger?”she asked with a raisedeyebrow. “Besides,” shewentonwhenhemadenoreply, “what demon couldharmmewithyouhere?”The Warded Man

shrugged, squatting beside

her. “Tampweed?” heasked.Leesha nodded, holding

up the rough-leafed plantwith thick,clusteredbuds.“Smoked from a pipe, itrelaxes the muscles,inducing a feeling ofeuphoria. Combined withskyflower, I can use it tobrew a sleeping potionstrongenoughtoputdown

anangrylion.”“Would that work on ademon?” theWardedManasked.Leesha frowned. “Don’tyoueverthinkofanythingelse?”sheasked.TheWardedManlookedhurt. “Don’t presume toknowme,” he said. “I killcorelings,yes,andbecauseof that, Ihave seenplaces

no livingman remembers.Shall I recite poetry I’vetranslated from ancientRusk? Paint for you themuralsofAnochSun?Tellyou ofmachines from theold world that could dotheworkoftwentymen?”Leesha laid a hand on

hisarm,andhefellsilent.“I’m sorry,” she said. “Iwas wrong to judge. I

know something of theweight of guarding theknowledge of the oldworld.”“It’s no hurt,” the

WardedMansaid.“That doesn’t make it

right,” Leesha said. “Toanswer your question, Ihonestly don’t know.Corelingseatandshit,soitreasons they can be

drugged. My mentor saidthe Herb Gatherers of oldtook great tolls in theDemon War. I have someskyflower. I can brew thepotion when we get toCutter’s Hollow, if youlike.”The Warded Man

nodded eagerly. “Can youbrew me something else,aswell?”heasked.

Leesha sighed. “Iwonderedwhenyouwouldask that,” she said. “Iwon’t make you liquiddemonfire.”“Whynot?” theWarded

Manasked.“Becausemencannotbe

trustedwith the secrets offire,” Leesha said, turningtofacehim.“IfIgiveittoyou,youwilluseit,evenif

it means setting half theworldonfire.”TheWardedManlooked

ather,andmadenoreply.“Andwhat do you need

itfor,anyway?”sheasked.“You already have powersbeyond anything a fewherbs and chemics cancreate.”“I’m just a man …” he

began,butLeeshacuthim

off.“Demonshit,” she said.“Your wounds heal inminutes, and you can runas fast as a horse all daywithout breathing hard.You throw wood demonsaround as if they werechildren, and you see inthedarkasifitwerebroadday. You’re not ‘just’anything.”

The Warded Mansmiled. “There’s no hidingfromyoureyes,”hesaid.Something about the

wayhesaiditsentathrillthroughLeesha.“Wereyoualways this way?” sheasked.He shook his head. “It’s

the wards,” he said.“Wardsworkby feedback.Doyouknowthisword?”

Leesha nodded. “It’s inthe books of old-worldscience,”shesaid.The Warded Man

grunted. “Corelings arecreatures of magic,” hesaid. “Defensive wardssiphon off some of thatmagic, using it to formtheir barrier. The strongerthe demon, the strongerthe force that repels it.

Offensive wards work thesame way, weakening thecorelings’armorevenasitstrengthens the blow.Inanimate objects cannothold the charge long, anditdissipates.Butsomehow,every time I strike ademon,oronestrikesme,Iabsorb a little of itsstrength.”“I felt the tingle that

firstnight,whenItouchedyourskin,”Leeshasaid.The Warded Man

nodded. “When I wardedmyflesh,itwasn’tonlymyappearance thatbecame…inhuman.”Leesha shook her head,

taking his face in herhands.“ourbodiesarenotwhatmakeushuman,”shewhispered. “You can take

your humanity back, ifonly you wish it.” Sheleaned closer, and kissedhimsoftly.He stiffenedat first,but

the shock wore off, andsuddenly he was kissingher back. She closed hereyes and opened hermouth to him, her handscaressing the smoothnessof his shaved head. She

could not feel the wards,only his warmth, and hisscars.We both have scars, she

thought. His are just laidbaretotheworld.She leaned backward,

pulling him with her.“We’ll get muddy,” hewarned.“We’re already muddy,”

she said, falling onto her

backwithhimatopher.

BloodpoundedinLeesha’sears as the Warded Mankissed her. She ran herhands over his hardmuscles and opened herlegs,grindingherhipsintohis.Let this be my first time,shethought.Thosemenaredead and gone, and he canerasetheirmarkfromme,as

well. I do this because Ichooseit.Butshewasafraid.Jizellwas right, she thought. Inever should have waitedthislong.Idon’tknowwhatto do. Everyone thinks IknowwhattodoandIdon’tandhe’s going to expectmeto know because I’m anHerbGatherer…Oh, Creator, what if I

can’t please him? sheworried. What if he tellssomeone?She forced the thought

from her head.He’ll nevertell. That’swhy it has to behim. It’s meant to be him.He’s just like me. Anoutsider. He’s walked thesameroad.She fumbled with his

robes, untying the

loincloth hewore beneathand releasing him. Hegroanedasshetookhiminherhandandpulled.He knows I was a virgin,

she reminded herself,hiking her skirts. He ishardandIamwetandwhatelseistheretoknow?“What if I get youwith

child?”hewhispered.“I hope you do,” she

whispered back, takinghimandpullinghiminsideher.What else is there toknow? she thought again,and her back arched inpleasure.

ShockhittheWardedManas Leesha kissed him. Ithad been only momentssince he admired herthighs, but he had never

dreamed she might sharethe attraction. That anywomanwould.He stiffenedmomentarily, paralyzed,butasalwayswhenhewasin need, his body tookoverforhim,wrappingherinacrushingembraceandreturningthekisshungrily.How long since he hadlastbeenkissed?Howlong

since that night he hadwalked Mery home andbeen told she could neverbeaMessenger’swife?Leeshafumbledwithhis

robes, and he knew thatshe meant to take thingsfurther than he had evergone before. Fear grippedhim,anunfamiliarfeeling.Hehadnoideawhattodo;how to please a woman.

Was she expecting him tohave the experience shelacked? Was she countingthat his skill in battlewould translate here aswell?But perhaps it would,for even as his thoughtsraced, his body continuedof its own accord, actingon instincts ingrained intoeverylivingthingsincethe

dawn of time. The sameinstinctsthatcalledhimtofight.But this wasn’t somebattle.Thiswassomethingelse.Is she the one? thethought echoed in hishead.Why her, and notRenna? If he had beenanyoneotherthanwhohe

was, he would have beenmarried almost fifteenyears now, raising a hostof children. Not for thefirsttime,animageflashedinhismindofwhatRennamightlooklikenow,inthefull flower of herwomanhood, his and hisonly.Whyher,andnotMery?

Mery, whom he would

have married, had sheconsented to be aMessenger’s wife. HewouldhavetiedhimselftoMiln for love, just asRagenhad.Hewouldhavebeen better off if he hadmarriedMery.Hesawthatnow. Ragenwas right. HehadElissa…An image of Elissa

flashed in his mind as he

pulled the top of Leesha’sdress down, exposing hersoftbreasts.Thetimehe’dseen Elissa free her breastto nurse Marya, andwished just for a momentthat he could suckle thererather than the child. Hehad felt ashamedafterward, but that imagealways remained fresh inhismind.

Was Leesha the onemeantforhim?Didsuchathingexist?Hewouldhavescoffed at the notion anhourago,buthelookedatLeesha,sobeautifulandsowilling, so understandingofwhohewas.Shewouldunderstand if he wasclumsy, if he didn’t knowquite where to touch orhow to stroke. A muddybit of ground in the

predawn light was no fitmarriage bed, but at themoment it seemed betterthan the featheredmattressinRagen’smanse.But doubt niggled at

him.It was one thing to risk

himself in the night; hehadnothinglefttolose,noone left to mourn him. Ifhe died, hewould not fill

so much as a single tearbottle. But could he takethose risks, if Leesha waswaiting for him in safesuccor?Would he give upthe fight; become like hisfather? Become soaccustomed to hiding thathe could not stand up forhisown?Childrenneedtheirfather,

heheardElissasay.

“What if I get youwithchild?” he whisperedbetween kisses, notknowing what he wantedhertosay.“I hope you do,” she

whisperedback.She pulled at him,

threatening to pull aparthis entire world, but shewas offering somethingmore,andhegraspedatit.

And then he was insideher,andhefeltwhole.

For a moment, there wasnothing in the world butthepoundingofbloodandthe slide of skin on skin;their bodies easilymanagingthetaskassoonas their minds let go. Hisrobe was flung aside. Herdress was a crumplearound her midsection.

They squirmed andgrunted in the mudwithout a thought toanything but one another.Until the wood demonstruck.Thecorelinghadstalkedthem quietly, drawn bytheir animal sounds. Itknewdawnwas close, thehatedsunsoontorise,butthesightofsomuchnaked

flesh aroused its hunger,and it leapt, seeking toreturntotheCorewithhotblood on its talons andfreshmeatinitsjaws.The demon struck hardat the Warded Man’sexposed back. The wardsthere flared, throwing thecoreling back andslammingthelovers’headstogether.

Agile and undeterred,thewooddemonrecoveredquickly,coilingasitstruckthe ground and springingagain. Leesha screamed,but the Warded Mantwisted, grasping theleading talons in hishands. He pivoted, usingthe creature’s ownmomentum to hurl it intothemud.

He did not hesitate,pulling away from Leeshaand pressing theadvantage. Hewas naked,butthatmeantnothing.Hehad been fighting nakedsince he first warded hisflesh.He spun a full circuit,driving his heel into thecoreling’s jaw. There wasno flare of magic, his

wardscoveredinmud,butwith his enhancedstrength,thedemonmightas well have been kickedby Twilight Dancer. Itstumbled back, and theWarded Man roared andadvanced, knowing fullwell the damage it coulddo if given a moment torecover.Thecorelingwasbigfor

itsbreed, standingnear toeightfeet,andstrengthforstrength, theWardedManwas overmatched. Hepunched and kicked andelbowed, but there wasmud everywhere, andalmost all his wards werebroken. Barklike armortorehisskin,andhisblowsweretonolastingeffect.The coreling spun,

whipping its tail into theWarded Man’s stomach,blasting the breath fromhisbodyandthrowinghimdown. Leesha screamedagain,andthesounddrewthe demon’s attention.With a shriek, it launcheditselfather.The Warded Man

scrambled after the beast,grabbing its trailing ankle

just before it could reachher. He pulled hard,tripping the demon, andtheywrestledfranticallyinthe mud. Finally, hemanaged to hook his legunder its armpit andaround its throat, lockingwith his other leg as hesqueezed. With bothhands, he held one of itslegs bent, preventing thedemonfromrising.

The coreling thrashedandclawedathim,buttheWardedManhad leveragenow, and the creaturecould not escape. Theyrolled about for longmoments, locked together,before the sun finallycrested the horizon andfound a break in theclouds. The barklike skinbegan to smoke, and thedemon thrashed harder.

The Warded Mantightenedhisgrip.Just a few moments

more…But then something

unexpectedhappened.Theworld around him seemedto grow misty;insubstantial.Hefeltapullfrom deep below theground, and he and thedemonbegantosink.

A path opened to hissenses,andtheCorecalledtohim.Horror and revulsionfilled him as the corelingdragged him down. Thedemonwasstillsolidinhisgrip,eveniftherestoftheworld had become only ashadow.Helookedup,andsaw the precious sunfadingaway.

He grasped at the sightlikealifeline,releasinghisleglock and pulling hardon the demon’s leg,draggingitbackuptowardthe light. The corelingstruggledmadly,butterrorgavetheWardedMannewstrength, and with asoundless cry ofdetermination, he hauledthe creature back to thesurface.

The sun was there togreet them, bright andblessed, and the WardedMan felt himself becomesolidagainas thecreatureburst into flames. Itclawed at the ground, buthehelditfast.Whenhefinallyreleasedthe charred husk, he wasoozing blood everywhere.Leesha ran to him, but he

pushed her away, stillreeling in horror. Whatwashe, thathecould finda path down into theCore? Had he become acoreling himself? Whatkind of monster would achild of his tainted seedturnouttobe?“You’re hurt,” sheobjected, reaching forhimagain.

“I’ll heal,” he said,pulling away. The gentle,loving voice he had usedjust minutes before wasgonenow,backtothecoldmonotone of the WardedMan. Indeed, many of hissmaller cuts and scrapeswere already crustingover.“But …” Leesha

protested, “what

about…?”“I made my choice alongtimeago,andIchosethe night,” the WardedMansaid.“ForamomentIthought I could take itback,but…”Heshookhishead. “There’s no goingbacknow.”He picked up his robe,heading for the small coldstreamnearby towashhis

wounds.“Corespawn you!”Leesha cried at his back.“You and your madobsession!”

CHAPTER30PLAGUE332AR

ROJERWASSTILLASLEEPwhenthey returned. Theychanged their muddy

clothes silently, backs toone another, and thenLeesha shookRojer awakewhile the Warded Mansaddled the horses. Theyate a cold breakfast insilence, and were on theroad before the sun hadrisen far. Rojer rodebehind Leesha on hermare, the Warded Manaloneonhisgreatstallion.The sky was heavy with

cloud,promisingmoreraintocome.“Shouldn’t we have

passed a Messengerheaded north by now?”Rojerasked.“You’re right,” Leesha

said. She looked up anddowntheroad,worried.The Warded Man

shrugged. “We’ll reachCutter’s Hollow by high

sun,”he said. “I’ll seeyouthere,andbeonmyway.”Leesha nodded. “I thinkthat’sbest,”sheagreed.“Just like that?” Rojerasked.The Warded Maninclined his head. “Youwere expecting more,Jongleur?”“After all we’ve beenthrough? Night, yes!”

Rojercried.“Sorry to disappoint,”

the Warded Man replied,“but I’ve business toattend.”“Creatorforbidyougoa

night without killingsomething,” Leeshamuttered.“But what about what

we discussed?” Rojerpressed. “Me traveling

withyou?”“Rojer!”Leeshacried.“I’ve decided it’s a bad

idea,” the Warded Mantold him. He glanced atLeesha. “If your musiccan’t kill demons, it’s nousetome.I’mbetteroffonmyown.”“I couldn’t agreemore,”

Leesha put in. Rojerscowled at her, and her

cheeks burned. Hedeservedbetter,sheknew,but she could offer nocomfort or explanationwhen itwas takingallherstrength to hold backtears.She had known theWarded Man for what hewas. As much as she’dhoped otherwise, she hadknownhisheartmightnot

stayopenforlong,thatallthey might have was amoment. But oh, she hadwanted that moment! Shehadwanted to feel safe inhis arms, and to feel himinsideher.Shestrokedherbelly absently. If he hadseeded her and she hadfound herself with child,she would have cherishedit, never questioningwhomthefathermightbe.

But now … there werepomm leaves enough inher stores for what mustbedone.Theyrodeon insilence,

thecoldnessbetweenthempalpable.Beforelong,theyturned a bend and caughttheir first glimpse ofCutter’sHollow.Even from a distance,

they could see the village

wasasmokingruin.

Rojer held on tightly asthey bounced along theroad. Leesha had kickedinto a gallop upon seeingthe smoke, and theWardedManfollowedsuit.Even in the damp, firesstill burned hungrily inCutter’s Hollow, castingbillows of greasy blacksmoke into the air. The

town was devastated, andagain Rojer found himselfreliving the destruction ofRiverbridge. Gasping forbreath, he squeezed hissecret pocket beforeremembering that histalisman was broken andlost.Thehorsejerked,andhe snapped his hand backto Leesha’s waist to keepfrombeingthrown.

Survivors could be seenwandering about like antsin the distance. “Whyaren’t they fighting thefires?” Leesha asked, butRojer merely held on,havingnoanswer.They pulled up as they

reached the town, takinginthedevastationnumbly.“Some of these have beenburning for days,” the

Warded Man noted,nodding toward theremains of once-cozyhomes. Indeed, many ofthebuildingswerecharredruins,barelysmoking,andothers still were cold ash.Smitt’s tavern, the onlybuilding in townwith twofloors,hadcollapsedinonitself, some of the beamsstill ablaze, and otherbuildings were missing

roofsorentirewalls.Leesha took in the

smudgedandtear-streakedfaces as she rode deeperinto town, recognizingevery one. All were toooccupied with their owngrief to take notice of thesmall group as theypassed. She bit her lip tokeepfromcrying.In the center of town,

the townspeople hadcollected the dead.Leesha’s heart clenched atthe sight: at least ahundred bodies, withouteven blankets to coverthem. Poor Niklas. Sairaand her mother. TenderMichel. Steave. Childrenshe had never met, andelders she had known allher life. Some wereburned, and others cored,

but most had not a markonthem.Fluxed.Mairy knelt by the pile,

weeping over a smallbundle. Leesha felt herthroat close up, butsomehow managed to getdown from her horse andapproach, laying a handonMairy’sshoulder.“Leesha?” Mairy asked

in disbelief. A moment

later she surged to herfeet, wrapping the HerbGatherer in a tight hug,sobbinguncontrollably.“It’s Elga,” Mairy cried,

referring to her youngest,a girl not yet two.“She…she’sgone!”Leesha held her tightly,

cooing soothing sounds aswords failed her. Otherswere taking note of her,

but kept a respectfuldistance while Mairypouredouthergrief.“Leesha,” they

whispered. “Leesha’scome.ThanktheCreator.”Finally, Mairy managed

to collect herself, pullingback and lifting hersmudged and filthy aprontodaubathertears.“What’s happened?”

Leeshaasked softly.Mairylooked at her, eyes wide,and tears filled themagain. She trembled,unabletospeak.“Plague,”saidafamiliar

voice, and Leesha turnedto see Jona approaching,leaningheavilyonacane.His Tender’s robes hadbeen cut away from oneleg,thelowerhalfsplinted

and wrapped tight inbandages stained withblood. Leesha embracedhim, glancingmeaningfullyattheleg.“Broken tibia,” he said,waving his handdismissively. “Vika’s seento it.”His facegrewdark.“It was one of the lastthings she did, before shesuccumbed.”

Leesha’s eye’s widened.“Vika’s dead?” she askedinshock.Jona shook his head.“Not yet, at least, but theflux has got her, and thefever has her raving. Itwon’tbe long.”He lookedaround. “It may not belongforanyofus,”hesaidin a low voice meant forLeesha alone. “I fear

you’ve chosen an ill timefor your homecoming,Leesha, but perhaps thattoo is the Creator’s plan.Had you waited anotherday, theremight not havebeen a home for you tocometo.”Leesha’s eyes hardened.

“I don’t want to hear anymore nonsense like that!”she scolded. “Where is

Vika?”Sheturnedacircle,taking in the small crowd.“Creator, where iseveryone?”“TheHolyHouse,” Jona

said. “The sick are allthere. Those that haverecovered,orbeenblessednot to fall prey at all, areoutcollectingthedead,ormourningthem.”“Thenthat’swherewe’re

going,” Leesha said,tucking herself underJona’sarmtosupporthimas theywalked. “Now tellme what’s happened.Everything.”Jona nodded. His facewas pale, his eyes hollow.Hewas dampwith sweat,and had obviously lost agreat deal of blood,suppressing his pain only

with great concentration.Behind them, Rojer andtheWardedMan followedsilently, along with mostof the other villagerswhohadseenLeesha’sarrival.“The plague startedmonths ago,” Jona began,“butVikaandDarsysaiditwas just a chill, andthought little of it. Somethat caught it, the young

and strong, mostly,recovered quickly, butothers took to their bedsfor weeks, and someeventually passed. Still, itseemedasimpleflux,untilit began to strengthen.Healthy people began totake ill rapidly, reducedovernighttoweaknessanddelirium.“Thatwaswhenthefires

started,” he said. “Peoplecollapsing in their homeswithcandlesand lamps inhand,ortoosicktoseetotheir wards. With yourfather and most of theother Warders in sickbed,nets began to fail all overtown, especially with allthe smoke and ash in theairmarring everyward insight. We fought the firesasbestwecould,butmore

andmorepeoplefelltothesickness,andthereweren’tenoughhands.“Smitt collected thesurvivors in a fewwardedbuildings as far from thefires as possible, hopingfor safety in numbers, butthatjustspreadtheplaguefaster. Saira collapsed lastnight during the storm,knockingoveranoil lamp

and starting a fire thatsoonhadthewholetavernablaze. The people had toflee into the night…”Hechoked, and Leeshastroked his back, notneedingtohearmore.Shecould well imagine whathadhappenednext.TheHolyHousewasthe

only building in Cutter’sHollow made wholly of

stone,andhadresistedtheflaming ash in the air,standinginprouddefianceoftheruins.Leeshapassedthrough the great doors,and gasped in shock. Thepews had been cleared,and almost every inch offloor covered in strawpalletswithonlythebarestspace between them.Perhaps two hundredpeople lay there groaning,

manybathedinsweatandthrashing about as others,weak with sicknessthemselves, tried torestrain them. She sawSmitt passed out on apallet,andVikanotfaroff.Two more of Mairy’schildren, and others, somany others. But therewasnosignofherfather.A woman looked up at

them as they entered. Shewas prematurely gray andlooked haggard anddrawn, but Leesha knewherblockyframeinstantly.“Thank the Creator,”Darsy said, catching sightof her. Leesha let go ofJona, and moved quicklyto speak with her. Afterseveral minutes, shereturnedtoJona.

“Does Bruna’s hut stillstand?”sheasked.Jona shrugged. “So far

as I know,” he said. “Noone has been there sinceshe passed. Almost twoweeksnow.”Leesha nodded. Bruna’s

hut was far from thevillageproper,shieldedbyrows of trees. It wasdoubtful the soot had

brokenitswards.“I’llneedto go there and getsupplies,” she said,stepping back outside. Itwas beginning to rainagain, the sky bleak andbereftofhope.Rojer and the Warded

Man were there, alongwithaclusterofvillagers.“Itisyou,”Briannesaid,

rushing up to embrace

Leesha. Evin stood not farback,holdingayounggirlin his arms with Callen,grown tall though he wasnotyetten,nexttohim.Leesha returned the

embrace warmly. “Hasanyone seen my father?”sheasked.“He’s home, where you

should be,” came a voice,and Leesha turned to see

her mother approach,Gared at her heel. Leeshadid not know whether tofeel relief or dread at thesight.“You come to check oneveryone but your ownfamily?”Elonademanded.“Mum, I only just …”Leesha began, but hermothercutheroff.“Only this and only

that!” Elona barked.“Always a reason to turnyour back on your bloodwhen it suits you! Yourpoor father is findingdeath’s succor, and I findyouhere…!”“Who’s with him?”Leeshainterrupted.“His apprentices,” Elonasaid.Leesha nodded. “Have

them bring him herewiththeothers,”shesaid.“I’ll do no such thing!”Elona cried. “Take himfrom the comfort of afeathered bed for aninfested straw pallet in aroom rife with plague?”ShegrabbedLeesha’sarm.“You’llcomeseehimnow!You’rehisdaughter!”“Don’tyouthinkIknow

that?” Leesha demanded,snatching her arm away.Tears ran down hercheeks, and she made noefforttobrushthemaside.“DoyouthinkIthoughtofanythingelseasIdroppedeverything and leftAngiers? But he’s not theonly person in town,Mother! I can’t abandoneveryonetotendoneman,evenifheismyfather!”

“You’re a fool if youthink these people entdead already,” Elona said,drawing gasps from thecrowd. She pointed to thestone walls of the HolyHouse. “Will those wardshold back the corelingstonight?” she asked,drawing everyone’sattention to the stone,blackened by smoke andash. Indeed, there was

barelyawardvisible.She drew close toLeesha, her voicelowering.“Ourhouseisfarfrom the others,” shewhispered. “Itmay be thelastwardedhomeinallofCutter’s Hollow. It can’thold everyone, but it cansave us, if you comehome!”Leesha slappedher. Full

in the face. Elona wasknockedintothemud,andsat there dumbfounded,pressing her hand to herreddening cheek. Garedlooked ready to rushLeesha and carry her off,but she checked himwithacoldglare.“I’m not going to hideawayandleavemyfriendsto the corelings!” she

shouted.“We’llfindawayto ward the Holy House,and make our stand here.Together! And if demonsshould dare come and trytotakemychildren,Ihavesecrets of fire that willburn them from thisworld!”My children, Leesha

thought, in the suddensilencethatfollowed.AmI

Brunanow,tothinkofthemso? She looked around,taking in the scared andsooty faces, not a onetakingcharge,andrealizedforthefirsttimethatasfaras everyone wasconcerned, shewas Bruna.ShewasHerbGathererforCutter’s Hollow now.Sometimes that meantbringing healing, andsometimes…

Sometimes it meant adashofpepperintheeyes,or burning awooddemonin your yard. TheWardedMancameforward.Peoplewhispered at the sight ofhim, a robed and hoodedspecter hardly noticed amomentbefore.“Wooddemonswon’tbeall you face,” he said.“Flame demons will

delight in your fire, andwind demons soar aboveit.Therazingofyourtownmight even have calledrock demons down fromthe hills. They will bewaiting when the sunsets.”“We’reallgoingtodie!”

Andecried,andLeeshafeltpanic building in thecrowd.

“Whatdoyoucare?”shedemanded of the WardedMan. “You’ve kept yourpromise and seenushere!Get on your core-spawnedscaryhorseandbeonyourway!Leaveustoourfate!”But the Warded Manshook his head. “I sworean oath to give thecorelings nothing, and Iwon’tbreakitagain.I’llbe

damnedtotheCoremyselfbeforeIgivethemCutter’sHollow.”Heturnedto thecrowd,and pulled back his hood.Thereweregaspsof shockand fear, and, for amoment, the rising panicwas arrested. TheWardedMan seized on thatmoment. “When thecorelingscometotheHoly

Housetonight,Iwillstandand fight!” he declared.There was a collectivegasp, and a flare ofrecognitioninmanyofthevillagers’ eyes. Even here,theyhadheardthetalesofthe tattooed man whokilleddemons.“Will any of you standwithme?”heasked.Themen lookedateach

other doubtfully. Womentook theirarms, imploringthemwiththeireyesnottosayanythingfoolish.“What can we do, ’ceptget cored?” Ande called.“Entnothingthatcankillademon!”“You’re wrong,” theWarded Man said, andstrode over to TwilightDancer, pulling free a

wrapped bundle. “Even arockdemoncanbekilled,”he said, unwrapping along, curved object andthrowing it into the mudinfrontofthevillagers.It was three feet long

from itswide broken baseto its sharp point, smoothand colored an uglyyellow-brown,likearottentooth. As the villagers

stared openmouthed, aweak ray of sun brokefrom the overcast sky,striking it. Even in themud, the length began tosmoke, sizzling away thefresh droplets of drizzlethatstruckit.In a moment, the rockdemon’s horn burst intoflame.“Every demon can be

killed!” the Warded Mancried, pulling a wardedspear from TwilightDancer and throwing it tostick in the burning horn.Therewasaflash,andthehornexplodedinaburstofsparks like a festivalflamework.“MercifulCreator,”Jonasaid, drawing a ward inthe air. Many of the

villagersfollowedsuit.The Warded Man

crossed his arms. “I canmake weapons that bitethe corelings,” he said,“but they are worthlesswithout arms to wieldthem, so I ask again,whowillstandwithme?”There was a long

moment of silence. Then,“Iwill.” TheWardedMan

turned, looking surprisedto see Rojer come andstandbyhisside.“And I,” YonGray said,stepping forward. Heleanedheavilyonhiscane,but there was harddetermination in his eyes.“More’n seventyyears I’vewatched ’em come andtake us, one by one. Iftonight’st’bemylast,then

I’ll spit in a coreling’s eyeaforetheend.”The other Hollowersstood dumbfounded, butthen Gared steppedforward.“Gared, you idiot, whatare you doing?” Elonademanded, grabbing hisarm, but the giant cuttershrugged off her grip. Hereached out tentatively

and pulled the wardedspear free from the dirt.Helooked,lookinghardatthe wards running alongitssurface.“My da was cored last

night,” he said in a low,angry tone. He clutchedtheweaponandlookedupat the Warded Man,showing his teeth. “I aimt’takehisdue.”

His words spurredothers.Onebyoneand ingroups, some of them infear, some in anger, andmanymoreindespair, thepeople of Cutter’s Hollowrose up to meet thecomingnight.“Fools,” Elona spat, andstormedoff.

“You didn’t need to dothat,” Leesha said, her

arms wrapped around theWarded Man’s waist asTwilight Dancer raced uptheroadtoBruna’shut.“What good is a madobsession,ifitdoesn’thelppeople?”hereplied.“I was angry thismorning,” Leesha said. “Ididn’tmeanthat.”“You meant it,” theWarded Man assured her.

“And you weren’t wrong.I’vebeensooccupiedwithwhatIwasfightingagainst,I’d forgotten what I wasfightingfor.AllmylifeI’vedreamed of nothing butkilling demons, but whatgood is it to kill corelingsoutinthewild,andignorethe ones that hunt meneverynight?”They pulled up at the

hut, and theWardedManleapt down and held ahand out to her. Leeshasmiled, and let him assisther dismount. “The houseis still intact,” she said.“Everything we needshouldbeinside.”Theywent into the hut,andLeeshameant toheadstraight for Bruna’s stores,but the familiarity of the

place struckherhard. Sherealized she was nevergoing to see Bruna again,never hear her cursing orscold her for spitting onthe floor, never again tapherwisdomorlaughatherribaldry. That part of herlifewasover.But there was no time

fortears,soLeeshashovedthe feelings aside and

strode to the pharmacy,picking jars and bottlesandshovingsomeintoherapron, handing others tothe Warded Man, whopacked them quickly andloaded them on TwilightDancer.“I don’t see why youneeded me for this,” hesaid.“I shouldbewardingweapons. We only have a

fewhours.”Shehandedhimthelastof the herbs, and whenthey were safely stowed,led him to the center ofthe room, pulling up thecarpet, revealing atrapdoor.TheWardedManopened it for her,revealing wooden stepsleading down intodarkness.

“Should I fetch acandle?”heasked.“Absolutelynot!”Leesha

barked.The Warded Man

shrugged. “I can see wellenough,”hesaid.“Sorry, I didn’tmean to

snap,” she said. Shereached into the manypockets of her apron,producing two small

stoppered vials. Shepouredthecontentsofoneinto the other and shookit, producing a soft glow.Holding the vial aloft, sheled them down the mustysteps into a dusty cellar.The walls were packeddirt, wards painted ontothe support beams. Thesmallspacewasfilledwithstorage crates, shelves ofbottles and jars, and large

barrels.Leesha went to a shelfand lifted a box offlamesticks. “Wooddemons can be hurt byfire,” she mused. “Whataboutastrongdissolvent?”“I don’t know,” theWarded Man said. Leeshatossedhimtheboxandgotdown on her knees,rummaging through some

bottlesonalowshelf.“We’ll find out,” she

said, passing back a largeglass bottle full of clearliquid. The stopper wasglass as well, held tightlyinplacewithatwistednetofthinwire.“Greaseandoilwillsteal

their footing,” Leeshamuttered,stillrummaging.“Andburnhotandbright,

even in the rain …” Shehandedhimapairofcuredclayjugs,sealedinwax.More items followed.

Thundersticks, normallyused to blow free unrulytree stumps, and a box ofBruna’s celebrationflamework: festivalcrackers, flamewhistles,andtossbangs.Finally, at the back of

the cellar, she broughtthem to a large waterbarrel.“Open it,” Leesha toldtheWardedMan.“Gently.”He did so, finding fourceramic jugs bobbingsoftly in the water. Heturned to Leesha andlooked at her curiously.“That,” shesaid,“is liquiddemonfire.”

Twilight Dancer’s swift,warded hooves had themdown to Leesha’s father’shouse in minutes. Again,Leeshawasstruckhardbynostalgia, and again, sheshoved the sentimentaside. How many hoursuntil sunset? Not enough.Thatwassure.The children and theelderly had begun to

arrive, gathering in theyard. Brianne and Mairyhad already put them towork collecting tools.Mairy’s eyes were hollowas she watched thechildren. It had not beeneasy to convince her toleave her two children attheHolyHouse,butatlastreason prevailed. Theirfather was staying, and ifthings went badly, the

otherchildrenwouldneedtheirmother.Elonastormedoutofthe

houseastheyarrived.“Is this your idea?” she

demanded. “Turning myhouseintoabarn?”Leesha pushed right

past, the Warded Man ather side. Elona had nochoicebuttofallinbehindthem as they entered the

house. “Yes, Mother,” shesaid. “Itwasmy idea.Wemay not have space foreveryone,but thechildrenand elderly who haveavoided the flux thus farshould be safe here,whateverelsehappens.”“Iwon’t have it!” Elona

barked.Leesha whirled on her.

“Youhavenochoice!”she

shouted. “You were rightthat we have the onlystrongwards left in town,so you can either sufferhere in a crowded house,orstandandfightwiththeothers. But Creator helpme,theyoungandtheoldarestayingbehindFather’swardstonight.”Elona glared at her.“Youwouldn’tspeaktome

so, if your father werewell.”“If he were well, hewould have invited themhimself,” Leesha said, notbackingdownaninch.Sheturnedherattentionto the Warded Man. “Thepaper shop is throughthosedoors,”shetoldhim,pointing. “You shouldhave space to work, and

my father’swarding tools.Thechildrenarecollectingeveryweaponintown,andwillbringthemtoyou.”The Warded Man

nodded,andvanishedintotheshopwithoutaword.“Whereintheworlddid

you find that one?” Elonaasked.“He saved us from

demons on the road,”

Leesha said, going to herfather’sroom.“I don’t know if it will

do any good,” Elonawarned,puttingahandonthe door. “Midwife Darsysays it’s in the Creator’shandsnow.”“Nonsense,”Leeshasaid,

entering the room andimmediately going to herfather’s side. He was pale

anddampwith sweat,butshe did not recoil. Sheplaced a hand to hisforehead,andthenranhersensitive fingers over histhroat, wrists, and chest.While she worked, sheasked her motherquestions about hissymptoms, how long theyhad been manifest, andwhat she and MidwifeDarsyhadtriedsofar.

Elonawrung her hands,but answered as best shecould.“Manyof theothers are

worse,”Leeshasaid.“Daisstrongerthanyougivehimcreditfor.”For once, Elona had no

belittlingretort.“I’ll brew a potion for

him,” Leesha said. “He’llneedtobedosedregularly,

atleasteverythreehours.”She tookaparchmentandbegan writing instructionsinaswifthand.“You’renotstayingwithhim?”Elonaasked.Leesha shook her head.“There’s near to twohundred people in theHolyHouse thatneedme,Mum,” she said, “many ofthemworseoffthanDa.”

“They have Darsy tolook after them,” Elonaargued.“Darsy looks as if shehasn’t slept since the fluxstarted,” Leesha said.“She’s dead on her feet,and even at her best, Iwouldn’t trust her curesagainstthissickness.Ifyoustay with Da and followmy instructions, he’ll be

more likely to see thedawnthanmostinCutter’sHollow.”“Leesha?” her father

moaned.“S’thatyou?”Leesha rushed to his

side,sittingontheedgeofthe bed and taking hishand. “Yes, Da,” she said,her eyes watering, “it’sme.”“You came,” Erny

whispered,his lips curlinginto a slow smile. Hisfingers squeezed Leesha’shandweakly.“Iknewyouwould.”“Of course I came,”

Leeshasaid.“But you have to go,”

Erny sighed.When Leeshagave no reply, he pattedher hand. “Heard whatyou said. Go do what

needsbedone.Justseeingyou has given me newstrength.”Leesha half sobbed, but

triedtomaskitasalaugh.Shekissedhisforehead.“Is it bad as all that?”

Ernywhispered.“A lot of folk are going

to die tonight,” Leeshasaid.Erny’s hand tightened

on hers, and he sat up abit. “Then you see to itthatit’snomorethanneedbe,”hesaid.“I’mproudofyouandIloveyou.”“I loveyou,Da,”Leeshasaid, hugging him tightly.She wiped her eyes andlefttheroom.

Rojer tumbled about thetiny aisle of themakeshifthospit as he pantomimed

the daring rescue theWarded Man hadperformed a few nightsearlier.“But then,” hewent on,“standing between us andthe camp,was the biggestrock demon I’ve everseen.” He leapt atop atableandreachedhisarmsinto the air, waving themtoshowtheywerestillnot

high enough to do thecreaturejustice.“Fifteen feet tall, it

was,” Rojer said, “withteeth like spears and ahorned tail that couldsmashahorse.LeeshaandIstoppedupshort,butdidtheWardedManhesitate?No!Hewalkedon,calmasSeventhday morning, andlooked the monster right

intheeyes.”Rojer enjoyed the wide

eyessurroundinghim,andhesitated, letting the tensesilence build beforeshouting “Bam!” andclapping his handstogether. Everyonejumped. “Just like that,”Rojer said, “the WardedMan’shorse,blackasnightand seeming likeademon

itself, slammed its hornsthrough the demon’sback.”“The horse had horns?”

an old man asked, raisinga gray eyebrow as thickand bushy as a squirreltail. Propped up in hispallet, the stump of hisright leg soaked hisbandagesinblood.“Oh, yes,” Rojer

confirmed, sticking fingersup behind his ears andgetting coughing laughs.“Great ones of shiningbright metal, strapped onby its bridle and sharplypointed,etchedwithwardsof power! The mostmagnificent beast youhave ever seen, it is! Itshooves struck the beastlikethunderbolts,andasitsmote the demon to the

ground, we ran for thecircle,andweresafe.”“Whataboutthehorse?”onechildasked.“The Warded Man gavea whistle”—Rojer put hisfingers to his lips andemitted a shrill sound—“and his horse camegalloping through thecorelings, leapingover thewardsandintothecircle.”

He clapped his handsagainst his thighs in agalloping sound and leapttoillustratethepoint.The patients wereriveted by his tale, takingtheir minds off theirsickness and theimpending night. More,Rojer knew hewas givingthem hope. Hope thatLeesha could cure them.

HopethattheWardedMancouldprotectthem.Hewishedhecouldgive

himselfhope,aswell.

Leesha had the childrenscrub out the big vats herfatherused tomakepaperslurry,usingthemtobrewpotions on a larger scalethan she had everattempted. Even Bruna’sstoresquicklyranout,and

she passed word toBrianne, who had thechildren ranging far andwideforhogrootandotherherbs.Frequently, her eyes

flicked to the sunlightfiltering through thewindow,watchingitcrawlacrosstheshop’sfloor.Thedaywaswaning.Not far off, theWarded

Man worked with similarspeed, his hand movingwith delicate precision ashe painted wards ontoaxes, picks, hammers,spears, arrows, andslingstones. The childrenbroughthimanythingthatmight possibly be used asa weapon, and collectedthe results as soon as thepaintdried,pilingthemincartsoutside.

Everysooften,someonecamerunningintorelayamessage to Leesha or theWarded Man. They gaveinstructions quickly,sendingtherunneroffandturningbacktotheirwork.With only a pair ofhours before sunset, theydrove the carts backthrough the steady rain tothe Holy House. The

villagers stopped work atthe sight of them, comingquickly to help Leeshaunload her cures. A fewapproached the WardedMantoassistunloadinghiscart, but a look from himturnedthemaway.Leesha went to him,carryingaheavystonejug.“Tampweed andskyflower,” she said,

handing it tohim. “Mix itwith the feed of threecows,andseethattheyeatit all.” The Warded Mantookthejugandnodded.Assheturnedtogointo

theHolyHouse,hecaughther arm. “Take this,” hesaid, handing her one ofhispersonal spears. Itwasfive feet long, made fromlight ash wood. Wards of

power were etched intothemetaltip,sharpenedtoa wicked edge. The shaft,too, was carved withdefensivewards,lacqueredhardand smooth, thebuttcappedinwardedsteel.Leesha looked at it

dubiously, making nomovetotakeit.“Justwhatdo you expect me to dowiththat?”sheasked.“I’m

anHerb…”“Thisisnotimetorecite

the Gatherer’s oath,” theWardedMansaid,shovingthe weapon at her. “Yourmakeshift hospit is barelywarded. If our line fails,that spearmaybe all thatstands between thecorelings and yourcharges. What will youroathdemandthen?”

Leesha scowled, but shetook the weapon. Shesearched his eyes forsomething more, but hiswardswere back in place,and she could no longersee his heart. She wantedto throw down the spearandwraphiminherarms,but she could not bear toberebuffedagain.“Well…goodluck,”she

managedtosay.The Warded Mannodded. “And to you.”Heturned to attend his cart,and Leesha stared afterhim,wantingtoscream.

TheWardedMan’smusclesunclenched as he movedaway. It had taken all hiswill to turn his back onher, but they couldn’tafford to confuse one

anothertonight.Forcing Leesha from hismind, he turned histhoughts to the comingbattle. The Krasian holybook, the Evejah,contained accounts of theconquests ofKaji, the firstDeliverer. He had studiedit closely when learningtheKrasiantongue.The war philosophy of

Kaji was sacred in Krasia,and had seen its warriorsthrough centuries ofnightly battle with thecorelings.Therewere fourdivine laws that governedbattle: Be unified inpurpose and leadership.Do battle at a time andplace of your choosing.Adapt towhat you cannotcontrol, and prepare therest. Attack in ways the

enemy will not expect,finding and exploitingtheirweaknesses.A Krasian warrior was

taught frombirth that thepath to salvation lay inkillingalagai.WhenJardircalled for them to leapfrom the safety of theirwards,theydidsowithouthesitation, fighting anddying secure in the

knowledge that they wereservingEveramandwouldbe rewarded in theafterlife.TheWardedMan feared

the Hollowers would lackthesameunityofpurpose,failing to committhemselves to the fight,but watching as theyscurried to and fro,readying themselves, he

thought he might perhapsbe underestimating them.Even in Tibbet’s Brook,everyone came and stoodbytheirneighbors inhardtimes.Itwaswhatkeptthehamletsaliveandthriving,despite their lack ofwarded walls. If he couldkeep them occupied, keepthem from despairingwhen the demons rose,perhaps they would fight

asone.If not, everyone in theHolyHousewoulddiethisnight.The strength of Krasia’sresistance was due asmuchtoKaji’ssecondlaw,choosing terrain,as itwasthe warriors themselves.The Krasian Maze wascarefully designed to givethe dal’Sharum layers of

protection, and to funnelthe demons to places ofadvantage.One side of the Holy

House faced the woods,where wood demons heldsway,andtwomore facedthe wrecked streets andrubble of the town. Toomany places for corelingsto take cover or hide. Butpast the cobbles of the

main entrance lay thetownsquare. If theycouldfunnel the demons there,theymighthaveachance.They were unable to

clean the greasy ash offthe rough stone walls ofthe Holy House and wardit in the rain, so thewindows and great doorshad been boarded andnailed shut, hasty wards

chalked onto the wood.Ingress was limited to asmall side entrance, withwardstones laid about thedoorway. The demonswouldhaveaneasiertimegettingthroughthewall.The very presence of

humans out in the nakednight would act as amagnet to demons, butnevertheless, the Warded

Man had taken pains tofunnel the corelings awayfrom the building andflanks, so that the path ofleast resistance woulddrive them to attack fromthe far end of the square.At his direction, thevillagers had placedobstaclesaroundtheothersides of the Holy House,and interspersed hastilymade wardposts, signs he

hadpaintedwithwardsofconfusion. Any demoncharging past them toattack the walls of thebuilding would forget itsintent, and inevitably bedrawn toward thecommotion in the townsquare.BesidethesquareononesidewasadaypenfortheTender’s livestock. It was

small, but its newwardposts were strong. Afewanimalsmilledaroundthe men erecting a roughshelterwithin.The other side of thesquare had been dugwithtrenches quickly fillingwith mucky rainwater, tourgeflamedemonstotakeaneasierpath.Leesha’soilwasathicksludgeatopthe

water.The villagers had done

well in enacting Kaji’sthird law, preparation.Steady rain hadmade thesquareslick,athinfilmofmud forming on the hardpacked dirt. The WardedMan’s messenger circleswere set about thebattlefield as he haddirected,pointsofambush

andretreat,andadeeppithadbeendugandcoveredwithamuddy tarp.Thick,viscous grease was beingspreadonthecobbleswithbrooms.And the fourth law,

attacking the enemy in away they would notexpect,wouldtakecareofitself.Thecorelingswouldnot

expect them to attack atall.“I did as you asked,” a

mansaid,approachinghimasheponderedtheterrain.“Eh?” the Warded Man

said.“I’mBenn,sir,”theman

said. “Mairy’s husband.”The Warded Man juststared. “The glassblower,”he clarified, and the

WardedMan’s eyes finallylitwithrecognition.“Let’s see, then,” hesaid.Benn produced a smallglass flask. “It’s thin, likeyou asked,” he said.“Fragile.”The Warded Mannodded. “How many didyou and your apprenticeshave time to make?” he

asked.“Three dozen,” Bennsaid. “May I ask whatthey’refor?”TheWardedMan shookhis head. “You’ll see soonenough,” he said. “Bringthem, and find me somerags.”Rojer approached himnext. “I’ve seen Leesha’sspear,”hesaid.“I’vecome

formine.”TheWardedMan shook

his head. “You’re notfighting,” he said. “You’restaying inside with thesick.”Rojerstaredathim.“But

youtoldLeesha…”“To give you a spear is

to rob you of yourstrength,”theWardedMancut him off. “Your music

would be lost out in thedinoutside,butinside,it’llprove more potent than adozen spears. If thecorelings break through,I’m counting on you tohold them back until Iarrive.”Rojer scowled, but he

nodded, and headed intotheHolyHouse.Others were already

waiting for his attention.The Warded Man listenedto reports on theirprogress, assigning furthertasks that were leapt toimmediately. The villagersmoved with hunchedquickness,likeharesreadytofleeatanymoment.No sooner than he had

sentthemoff,Stefnycamestorming up to him, a

group of angry women ather back. “What’s thisabout sending us up toBruna’s hut?” the womandemanded.“The wards there are

strong,” the Warded Mansaid.“Thereisnoroomforyou in the Holy House orLeesha’sfamilyhome.”“We don’t care about

that,” Stefny said. “We’re

goingtofight.”TheWardedManlookedat her. Stefny was a tinywoman, barely five feet,andthinasareed.Shewaswell into her fifties; herskin was thin and rough,likewornleather.Eventhesmallest wood demonwouldtoweroverher.But the look inhereyestold him it didn’t matter.

Shewas going to fight nomatter what he said. TheKrasians might not allowwomen to fight, but thatwastheirfailing.Hewouldnot deny any who werewilling to stand in thenight.He took a spear offhis cart and handed it toher. “We’ll find you aplace,”hepromised.Expecting an argument,

Stefny was taken aback,but she took the weapon,nodding once andmovingaway. The other womencame in turn, and hehandedaspeartoeach.The men came at once,

seeing the Warded Manhandingoutweapons.Thecutterstooktheirownaxesback,lookingatthefreshlypainted wards dubiously.

No axe blow had everpenetrated a wooddemon’sarmor.“Won’tneedthis,”Gared

said, handing back theWardedMan’sspear.“Ientone for spinning a stickaround,butIknowhowtoswingmyaxe.”One of the cutters

brought a girl to him,perhaps thirteen summers

old. “My name’s Flinn,sir,” the cutter said. “Mydaughter Wonda huntswith me sometimes. Iwon’t have her out in thenaked night, but if ya letherhaveabowbehindthewards, you’ll find her aimistrue.”TheWardedManlooked

at the girl. Tall andhomely, she had taken

afterherfatherinsizeandstrength. He went toTwilight Dancer andpulled down his own yewbow and heavy arrows. “Iwon’tneed these tonight,”hesaidtoher,andpointedto a high window at theapex of the Holy House’sroof. “See if you can pryloose enough boards toshoot from there,” headvised.

Wonda took the bowand ran off. Her fatherbowedandbackedaway.Tender Jona limped outtomeethimnext.“You should be inside,and off that leg,” theWarded Man said, nevercomfortable around HolyMen. “If you can’t carry aloadordigatrench,you’reonlyinthewayouthere.”

Tender Jona nodded. “Ionlywantedtohavealookatthedefenses,”hesaid.“They should hold,” the

Warded Man said withmore confidence than hefelt.“They will,” Jona said.

“The Creator would notleave those in His housewithoutsuccor.That’swhyHesentyou.”

“I’m not the Deliverer,Tender,” theWardedMansaid, scowling. “No onesent me, and nothingabouttonightisassured.”Jonasmiledindulgently,

thewayanadultmightatthe ignorance of a child.“It’s coincidence, then,thatyoushowedupinourmoment of need?” heasked. “It’s not for me to

sayifyouaretheDelivereror not, but you are here,just like every one of us,because the Creator putyou here, and He hasreason for everything Hedoes.”“He had a reason for

fluxing half your village?”theWardedManasked.“I don’t pretend to see

the path,” Jona said

calmly, “but I know it’sthere all the same. Oneday, we’ll look back andwonder how we evermissedit.”

Darsy was squattingwearily by Vika’s side,trying to coolher feverishbrow with a damp cloth,when Leesha entered theHolyHouse.Leesha went straight to

them, taking the clothfrom Darsy. “Get somesleep,”shesaid,seeingthedeep weariness in thewoman’s eyes. “The sunwillsetsoon,andwe’llallneed our strength then.Go. Rest while you stillcan.”Darsy shook her head.“I’ll restwhen I’m cored,”she said. “Till then I’ll

work.”Leesha considered her a

moment,thennodded.Shereachedintoherapronandpulledout adark, gummysubstance wrapped inwaxedpaper.“Chewthis,”shesaid.“You’llfeelcoredtomorrow,but itwillkeepyou alert through thenight.”Darsy nodded, taking

the gum and popping itinto her mouth whileLeesha bent to examineVika.Shetookaskinfromaround her shoulder,pulling the stopper. “Helpher situpabit,” she said,andDarsycomplied,liftingVika so that Leesha couldgive her the potion. Shecoughed a bit out, butDarsymassagedherthroat,helping her swallow until

Leeshawassatisfied.Leesha rose to her feetandscannedtheseeminglyendless mass of pronebodies. She had triagedanddealtwiththeworstoftheinjuredbeforeheadingout to Bruna’s hut, buttherewereplentyofhurtsstill in need of mending,bonestosetandwoundstosew, not to mention

forcing her potions downdozens of unconsciousthroats.Given time, she was

confident she could drivethefluxoff.Perhapsafewhad progressed too far,and would remain sicklyor pass, but most of herchildrenwouldrecover.If they made it through

thenight.

Shecalledthevolunteerstogether, distributingmedicine and instructingthem on what to expectanddowhenthewoundedfrom outside began tocome.

Rojerwatched Leesha andthe others work, feelingcowardly as he tuned hisfiddle.Inside,heknewtheWarded Man was right:

thatheshouldworktohisstrengths, as Arrick hadalways said. But that didnot make hiding behindstone walls while othersstoodfastfeelanybraver.Not long ago, the

thought of putting downhisfiddletopickupatoolhadbeenabhorrent,buthehad grown tired of hidingwhileothersdiedforhim.

If he lived to tell it, heimagined “The Battle ofCutter’sHollow”wouldbea tale that outlived hischildren’s children. Butwhat of his own part?Playing the fiddle fromhiding was a deed hardlyworth a line, let alone averse.

CHAPTER31THEBATTLEOFCUTTER’SHOLLOW

332AR

AT THE FOREFRONT OF THE

SQUARE stood the cutters.

Chopping trees andhauling lumber had leftmostofthemthickofarmandbroadofshoulder,butsome, likeYonGray,werewell past their prime, andothers, like Ren’s sonLinder,hadnotyetgrowninto their full strength.They stood clustered inoneoftheportablecircles,gripping the wet hafts oftheir axes as the sky

darkened.Behind the cutters, the

Hollow’sthreefattestcowshad been staked in thecenter of the square.HavingconsumedLeesha’sdrugged meal, theyslumbered deeply on theirfeet.Behindthecowswasthe

largestcircle.Thosewithincould not match the raw

muscle of the cutters, buttheyhadgreaternumbers.Nearly half of them werewomen, someas youngasfifteen. They stood grimlyalongside their husbands,fathers,brothers,andsons.Merrem,Dugthebutcher’sburlywife, held awardedcleaver, and looked wellreadytouseit.Behind them lay the

covered pit, and then thethirdcircle,directlybeforethegreatdoorsoftheHolyHouse, where Stefny andthe others too old or frailto run about the muddysquarestoodfastwithlongspears.Each one was armed

with a warded weapon.Some, those with theshortestreach,alsocarried

roundbucklersmade frombarrel lids, painted withwards of forbiddance. TheWarded Man had madeonly oneof those, but theothers had copied it wellenough.At the edge of the day

pen’s fence, behind thewardposts, stood theartillery,childrenbarelyintheir teens, armed with

bows and slings. A fewadultshadbeengivenoneof the preciousthundersticks, or one ofBenn’s thin flasks, stuffedwith a soaked rag. Youngchildren held lanterns,hoodedagainsttherain,tolight the weapons. Thosewho had refused to fighthuddled with the animalsunder the shelter behindthem, which shielded

Bruna’s festival flameworkfromtherain.More than a few, like

Ande, had gone back ontheir promise to fight,accepting the scorn oftheir fellows as they hidbehind the wards. As theWardedManrodethroughthesquareastrideTwilightDancer, he saw otherslooking toward the pen

longingly, fear etched ontheirfaces.There were screams as

the corelings rose, andmany took a stepbackward, their resolvefaltering. Terrorthreatened to defeat theHollowersbeforethebattleeven began. A few tipsfrom the Warded Man onwhere and how to strike

were meager against theweight of a lifetime offear.The Warded Man

noticedBennshaking.Oneofhispantlegswassoakedand clinging to histwitching thigh, and notfrom the rain. Hedismounted and stoodbeforetheglassblower.“Why are you out here,

Benn?” he asked, raisinghis voice so others couldhear.“M-my d-daughters,”

Benn said, nodding backtoward theHolyHouse. Itlooked as if the spear heheld was going to vibraterightoutofhishands.The Warded Man

nodded. Most of theHollowers were there to

protect their loved oneslying helpless in the HolyHouse. If not, they wouldall be in the pen. Hegestured to the corelingsmaterializing in thesquare. “You fear them?”heasked,louderstill.“Y-yes,” Benn managed,

tearsmixingwith the rainon his cheeks. A glanceshowed others nodding as

well.The Warded Manstripped off his robes.None of the people hadseen him unclad before,and their eyeswidened asthey took in the wardstattooedovereveryinchofhisbody.“Watch,”hetoldBenn, but the commandwasmeantforall.He stepped from the

circle, striding up to aseven-foot-tall wooddemon that was justbeginning to solidify. Helooked back, meeting theeyesofasmanyHollowersas he could. Seeing themwatching intently, heshouted,“Thisiswhatyoufear!”Turning sharply, the

Warded Man struck hard,

smashing the flat of hishandagainstthecoreling’sjaw, knocking the demondown in a flash of magicjust as it became fullysolid. The corelingshrieked in pain, but itrecovered quickly, coilingon its tail to spring. Thevillagers stoodopenmouthed, their eyeslocked on the scene, suretheWardedManwouldbe

killed.The wood demon

lunged, but the WardedMan kicked off a sandaland spun, kicking upinsidethecoreling’sreach.Hiswardedheel struck itsarmored chest with athunderclap, and thedemon was sent reelingagain, its chest scorchedandblackened.

A smaller wood demonlaunched itself at him ashestalkedhisprey,buttheWarded Man caught itsarm and twisted himselfbehind its back, jabbinghiswardedthumbsintoitseyes.Therewasasmokingsizzle, and the corelingscreamed,staggeringawayandclawingatitsface.As the blind coreling

stumbled about, theWarded Man resumed hispursuitof the firstdemon,meeting its next attackhead-on. He pivoted andturned the coreling’smomentum against it,latching on as it stumbledpasthimandwrappinghiswarded arms around itshead. He squeezed,ignoringthedemon’sfutileattempts to dislodge him,

andwaitedasthefeedbackbuilt in intensity. Finally,withaburstofmagic, thecreature’s skull collapsed,andtheyfelltothemud.The other demons kept

their distance as theWardedManrosefromthecorpse, hissing andsearching for a sign ofweakness. The WardedMan roared at them, and

those closest took a stepbackfromhim.“Itisnotyouthatshouldfear them, Benn theglassblower!” the WardedMancalled,hisvoicelikeahurricane. “It is they thatshouldfearyou!”None of the Hollowersmade a sound, but manyfelltotheirknees,drawingwards in the air before

them. He walked back upto Benn, who was nolonger shaking.“Remember that,”hesaid,usinghisrobestowipethemud from his wards, “thenext time they clutch atyourheart.”“Deliverer,” Bennwhispered, and othersbegan to mumble thesame.

TheWardedMan shookhis head sharply,rainwaterflyingfree.“Youare the Deliverer!” heshouted,pokingBennhardinthechest.“Andyou!”hecried, spinning to roughlyhaulakneelingmantohisfeet. “All of you areDeliverers!” he bellowed,sweepinghisarmsoverallwhostoodinthenight.“Ifthe corelings fear a

Deliverer,letthemquailata hundred of them!” Heshook his fist, and theHollowersroared.The spectacle kept the

newly formed demons atbay for amoment, issuinglowgrowlsastheystalkedback and forth. But theirpacing soon slowed, andonebyonetheycrouched,muscles bunching up as

theytampeddown.TheWardedManlookedto the left flank, hiswarded eyes piercing thegloom. Flame demonsavoided the water-filledtrench, but wood demonsapproached that way,heedlessofthewet.“Light it,” he called,pointingtothetrenchwithathumb.

Bennstruckaflamestickwith his thumb, shieldingthe tiny blaze from thewind and rain as hetouchedittothewickofaflamewhistle. As the wicksizzled and sparked, Bennuncoiled, flinging ittowardthetrench.Halfwaythroughitsarc,thewickburneddownandajetof fireexplodedfrom

one end of theflamewhistle. The thick-wrapped paper tube spunrapidly in blazingpinwheel,emittingahigh-pitchedwhine as it struckthe oil sludge in thetrench.Wood demons shrieked

as the water about theirknees burst into flame.Theyfellback,beatingthe

fire in terror, splashingoiland only spreading theflames.Flame demons cried outin glee as they leapt intothe fire, forgetting thewater that lay beneath.TheWardedMansmiledattheir cries as the waterboiled.The flames filled thesquare with flickering

light,andthereweregaspsfromthecuttersatthesizeof the host before them.Wind demons cut the sky,adroit even in the windand rain. Lissome flamedemonsdartedabout,eyesand mouths glowing red,silhouetting the hulkingrock demons that stalkedtheedgesofthegathering.And wood demons. Somanywooddemons.

“S’like the trees of theforesthaverisenup’gainstthe axemen,” Yon Graysaid in awe, and many ofthe cutters nodded inhorror.“Ent met a tree yet I

can’t chop down,” Garedgrowled,holdinghisaxeatthe ready. The boastfiltered through the rank,andtheothercuttersstood

taller.The corelings soon

foundtheirwill,leapingatthecutters, talons leading.The wards of their circlestopped them short, andthe cutters drew back toswing.“Hold!”theWardedMan

cried. “Remember theplan!”The men checked

themselves, letting thedemonshammerthewardsin vain. The corelingsflowed around the circle,looking for a weakness,and the cutterswere soonlost fromview in a sea ofbarklikeskin.Itwasaflamedemonnolarger than a cat that firstspotted the cows. Itshrieked, leaping onto the

backofoneoftheanimals,talons digging deep. Thecow woke and bleated inpain as the tiny corelingtoreoutapieceofhideinitsjaws.The sound made theother corelings forget thecutters. They fell on thecows in an explosion ofgore, tearing the animalsto pieces. Blood sprayed

high into the air, mixingwith the rain beforesplashing down in themud. Even a wind demonswoopeddowntosnatchachunk of meat beforeleapingbackintotheair.In a twinkling, the

animals were devoured,though none of thecorelings seemed satisfied.They moved toward the

next circle, slashingat thewards and drawing sparksofmagicintheair.“Hold!”theWardedMan

calledagain,asthepeoplearound him tensed. Heheld his spear back,watching the demonsintently.Waiting.But then he saw it. A

demonstumbled,losingitsbalance.

“Now!” he roared, andleapt from the circle,stabbing right through ademon’shead.TheHollowersscreamed

a primal cry and charged,falling upon the druggedcorelings with abandon,hackingand stabbing.Thedemons shrieked, butthanks to Leesha’s potion,their response was

sluggish.Asinstructed,theHollowersworkedinsmallteams, stabbing demonsfrom behind when theyturned their attentiontoward another. Wardedweapons flared, and thistime it was demon ichorthatarcedintotheair.Merremchoppedawooddemon’s arm clean offwith her cleaver, and her

husband Dug stabbed hisbutcher’s knife deep intoits armpit. The winddemon that had eaten thedrugged meat camecrashing down into thesquare,andBenndrovehisspearintoit,twistinghardas thewarded head flaredhottopiercethecoreling’shide.Demon claws could not

penetrate thewardon thewoodenshields,andwhentheshieldbearers sawthis,they gained confidence,strikingharderstillagainstthedazedcorelings.But not all the demonshad been drugged. Thoseinthebackincreasedtheirpress to get forward. TheWarded Man waited untiltheiradvantageofsurprise

waned, then cried,“Artillery!”The children in the pengave a great cry, placingflasks in their slings andlaunching them at thehorde of demons in frontof the cutters’ circle. Thethin glass shattered easilyagainst thebarklikearmorof the wood demons,coatingtheminliquidthat

clungdespitetherain.Thedemons roared, but couldnot penetrate thewardposts of the smallpen.While the corelingsraged, the lanternbearersran to and fro, touchingthe flames to rag-wrappedarrowheads dipped inpitch and the wicks ofBruna’s flamework. They

didnotfireasoneastheyhadbeeninstructed,butitmade little difference.With the first arrow, theliquid demonfire explodedacross thebackof awooddemon, and the creaturescreamed, thrashing intoanother and burning it aswell.Festivalcrackers,tossbangs, and flamewhistlesjoined the volley ofarrows, frightening some

demons with light andsound,andignitingothers.The night lit up as thedemonsburned.Oneflamewhistlehittheshallowrut in frontof thecutters’ circle, whichstretched the fullwidthofthe square. The spark litthe liquid demonfirewithin, and the fell brewburst into an intense fire,

setting severalmorewooddemons alight and cuttingthe rest off from theirfellows.But between the circles

and away from theflamework, the battleraged fiercely. Thedrugged demons fellquickly, but their fellowswere uncowed by thearmed villagers. Teams

were breaking up, andsome of the Hollowerswere taken by fear andstumbled back, giving thecorelings an opening topounce.“Cutters!” the WardedMan cried as he spit aflamedemononhisspear.With theirbacks secure,Gared and the othercutters roared and leapt

from their circle, pressingthe demons attacking theWardedMan’s group frombehind. Even withoutmagic, wood demon hidewas as thick and gnarledas old bark, but cuttershacked through bark allday, and the wards ontheir axes drained awaythe magic thatstrengtheneditfurther.

Gared was the first tofeel the jolt as the wardstapped into the demons’magic,usingthecorelings’own power against them.The shock ranup thehaftof his axe and made hisarms tingle as a splitsecond of ecstasy ranthroughhim.Hestruckthedemon’s head clean offand howled, charging thenextoneinline.

Pressed frombothsides,thedemonswerehithard.Centuries of dominancehad taught them thathumans,whentheyfoughtat all, were not to befeared, and they wereunprepared for theresistance. High in thewindow of the HolyHouse’s choir loft, Wondafired her bow withfrightening accuracy,

every warded arrowheadstrikingdemonfleshlikeaboltoflightning.But the smell of bloodwas thick in the air, andthe cries of pain could beheard formilesaround. Inthe distance, corelingshowled in answer to thesound. Reinforcementswouldsooncome,andthehumanshadnone.

Itwasn’tlongbeforethedemons recovered. Evenwithouttheirimpenetrablearmor, few humans couldever hope to stand toe totoe with a wood demon.Thesmallestofthedemonswere closer to Gared instrength than to a normalman.Merremchargedaflamedemon the size of a large

dog, her cleaver alreadyblackened with demonichor. She held her shieldout defensively, hercleaver arm cocked backandready.The coreling shriekedand spat fire at her. Shebrought up her shield toblock, but the wardpainted there had nopower over fire, and the

wood exploded intoflames. Merrem screamedas her arm ignited,droppingandrollinginthemud. The demon leapt ather, but her husband Dugwas there to meet it. Theheavy butcher gutted theflame demon like a hog,butscreamedhimselfasitsmolten blood struck hisleather apron, setting italight.

A wood demon duckeddown to all fours underEvin’s wild axe swing,springingupwhenhewasoffguardandbearinghimto the ground. Hescreamedasthejawscamefor him, but there was abark, and his wolfhoundscrashed into the demonfrom the side, knocking itaway. Evin recoveredquickly,choppingdownon

thepronecoreling,thoughnotbeforeitdisemboweledoneofthegiantdogs.Evincried in rage and hackedagain before whirling tofind another foe, his eyeswild.Just then, the trench ofdemonfireburnedout,andthe wood demons trappedon the far side began toadvanceagain.

“Thundersticks!” theWarded Man cried, as hetrampled a rock demonunder Twilight Dancer’shooves.Atthecall, theeldestof

hisartillerytookoutsomeof the precious andvolatile weapons. Therewerelessthanadozen,forBruna had been niggardlyin their making, lest the

powerfultoolsbeabused.Wicks flared, and thestickswerelaunchedattheapproaching demons. Onevillager dropped his rain-slick stick in themudandbent quickly to snatch itup, but not quicklyenough. The thunderstickwent off in his hands,blowinghimandhislamp-bearer to pieces in a blast

of fire as the concussiveforce knocked severalothers in the pen to theground,screaminginpain.Oneofthethundersticksexplodedbetweenapairofwood demons. Both werethrown down, twistedwrecks. One, its barklikeskin aflame, did not rise.Theother,extinguishedbythemud,twitchedandput

a talon under itself as itstruggled to rise. Already,its fell magic was healingitswounds.Another thunderstick

sailed at a nine-foot-tallrockdemon,whichcaughtit inatalonandleanedinclose, peering at thecurious object as it wentoff.Butwhenthesmokehad

cleared, the demon stoodunfazed,andcontinuedontowardthevillagersinthesquare. Wonda plantedthree arrows in it, but itshrieked and came on, itsangeronlydoubled.Gared met it before itreached the others,returning its shriekwith aroarofhisown.Theburlycutter ducked under its

first blow and planted hisaxe in its sternum,glorying in the rush ofmagic that ran up hisarms. The demoncollapsed at last, andGaredhadtostandatopitto pull hisweapon free ofitsthickarmor.Awinddemon swoopedin,itshookedtalonsnearlycuttingFlinninhalf.From

the choir loft window,Wonda gave a cry andkilledthecorelingwithanarrowtotheback,butthedamagewasdone,andherfathercollapsed.A swipe from a wooddemon took Ren’s headclean off, launching it farfromhisbody.Hisaxefellintothemuck,evenashissonLinderhackedthearm

fromtheoffendingdemon.Near the pen on theright flank, Yon Graywasstruckaglancingblow,butitwasenough todrop theold man to the ground.The coreling stalked himas he clutched the mud,trying to rise, but Andegave a choked cry andleaptfromthewardedpen,grabbing Ren’s axe and

buryingitinthecreature’sback.Othersfollowedhislead,

their fear forgotten,leaving the safety of thepen to take up theweaponsofthefallenortodrag the wounded tosafety. Keet stuffed a raginto the last of thedemonfire flasks, lightingit and hurling it into the

face of a wood demon tocover his sisters as theypulledamanintothepen.The demon burst intoflames, and Keet cheereduntil a flame demon leaptatop the immolatedcoreling, shrieking in gleeas it basked in the fire.Keetturnedandran,butitleapt onto his back andborehimdown.

The Warded Man waseverywhere in the battle,killing some demons withhis spear, and otherswithonly bare hands and feet.TwilightDancerkeptcloseto him, strikingwith hoofand horn. They burst inwherever the fightingwasthickest, scattering thecorelingsandleavingthemas prey for the others.Helost count of how many

timeshekeptdemonsfromlanding a killing blow,lettingtheirvictimsregaintheirfeetandreturntothefight.In thechaos,agroupof

corelings stumbledthrough the center lineandpastthesecondcircle,steppingontothetarpandfalling onto the wardedspikes laid at the bottom

of the pit. Most of themtwitched wildly, impaledon the killing magic, butoneofthedemonsavoidedthe spikes and clawed itswaybackoutofthepit.Awarded axe took its headbefore it could return tothefightorflee.But the corelings keptcoming, and once the pitwas revealed, they flowed

smoothly around it. Therewasacry,andtheWardedManturnedtoseeaharshfightforthegreatdoorsofthe Holy House. Thecorelings could smell thesickandweakwithin,andwere in a frenzy to breakthrough and begin theslaughter. Even thechalked wards were gonenow,washed away by theever-presentrain.

The thick grease spreadon thecobblesoutside thedoorsslowedthecorelingssomewhat. More than onefell on its tail, or skiddedintothewardsofthethirdcircle.Buttheyflexedtheirclaws,diggingintosecuretheir footing, andcontinuedon.Thewomenatthedoors

stabbed out from the

safety of their circle withtheirlongspears,andheldtheir own for a moment,but Stefny’s spearheadcaught fast in the gnarledskin of one demon, andshe was yanked outward,her trailing foot catchingthe rope of the portablecircle. In an instant, thewards fell out ofalignment, and the netcollapsed.

TheWardedManmovedwithallthespeedhecouldmuster, taking the twelve-foot-wide pit in a singleleap,butevenhecouldnotmove fast enough toprevent the slaughter.Bodies were being flungabout in bloody abandonwhenhecamecrashingin,attackingwildly.When the melee was

over, he stood pantingwith the few survivingwomen,Stefny,amazingly,among them. She wassplattered with ichor, butseemednonetheworseforwear,hereyesfullofharddetermination.A great wood demoncharged them, and theyturned as one to standfirm, but the coreling

crouched justoutof reachand sprang, clearing themfully to reach the stonewalloftheHolyHouse.Itsclawsfoundeasypurchasebetween the piled stones,anditclimbedoutofreachbefore the Warded Mancould catch its swingingtail.“Look out!” theWarded

Man called toWonda, but

the girl was too intent onaiming her bow, and didnot hear until it was toolate. The demon caughther in its clawsand threwherbackoveritsheadasifshe were nothing but anuisance.TheWardedManran hard and skiddedacrossthegreaseandmudonhis knees, catchingherbloody and broken bodybefore it struck the

ground,butashedid, thedemon pulled itselfthrough the open windowandintotheHolyHouse.TheWardedManranfor

thesideentrance,butthenskidded to a halt as heturnedthecorner,hiswaybarredbyadozendemonsstanding dazed by hiswards of confusion. Heroared, leaping into their

midst, but he knew hewouldnevermakeitinsideintime.

The stone walls of theHoly House echoed withscreams of pain, and thecries of the demons justoutside the doors hadeveryone in the HolyHouse on edge. Inside,some wept openly, orrocked slowly back and

forth, shaking with fear;someravedandthrashed.Leesha fought to keepthem calm, speakingsoothingwordstothemostreasonable and druggingthe least, keeping themfromtearingtheirstitches,orhurting themselves inafeverishrage.“Iamfittofight!”Smittinsisted, thebig innkeeper

dragging Rojer across thefloor as the poor Jongleurtried in vain to restrainhim.“You’re not well!”

Leesha shouted, rushingover. “You’ll be killed ifyou go out there!” As shewent, she emptied a smallbottle into a rag. Pressedto his face, the fumeswould put him down

quickly.“MyStefnyisoutthere!”

Smitt cried. “My son anddaughters!” He caughtLeesha’s arm as shereachedoutwiththecloth,shoving her violentlyaside. She tumbled intoRojer,andthetwoofthemwentdowninatangle.Hereachedforthebaronthemaindoors.

“Smitt, no!” Leeshacried. “You’ll let them inandgetusallkilled!”But the fever-mad

innkeeper was heedless ofherwarning, grabbing thebar in two hands andheaving.Darsy grabbed his

shoulder, spinning himaroundtocatchherfistonhis jaw. Smitt twisted

aroundoncemorewiththeforce of the blow, andcollapsedtotheground.“Sometimes the direct

approach works betterthan herbs and needles,”DarsytoldLeesha,shakingthestingfromherhand.“IseewhyBrunaneeded

astick,”Leeshaagreed,thetwoofthemduckingunderSmitt’s arms to haul him

back to his pallet. Beyondthedoors,soundsofbattleraged.“Sounds like all thedemons in the Core aretrying to get in,” Darsymuttered.There was a crashabove, and a scream fromWonda. The choir loftrailing shattered, andbeams of wood came

crashing down, killing theone unfortunate mandirectly below andwoundinganother.Ahugeshape dropped into theirmidst,howlingasitlandedon another patient andtore out her throat beforesheevenknewwhatstruckher.Thewooddemonrosetoits full height, huge and

terrible, and Leesha felther heart stop. She andDarsy froze, Smitt a deadweightbetweenthem.ThespeartheWardedManhadgivenher leanedagainstawall, far from reach, andeven if she had it in herhands, she doubted itwoulddomuchtoslowthegiant coreling. Thecreature shrieked at them,andshefeltherkneesturn

towater.But then Rojer was

there, interposing himselfbetween them and thedemon. The corelinghissed at him, and heswallowed hard. Everyinstinct told him to runand hide, but instead hetuckedhisfiddleunderhischin, and brought bow tostring, filling the Holy

House with a mournful,hauntingmelody.The coreling hissed at

theJongleurandbared itsteeth, long and sharp ascarving knives, but Rojerdid not slow his playing,and thewooddemonheldits ground, cocking itshead and staring at himcuriously.After a few moments,

Rojer began to rock fromside to side. The demon,its eyes locked on thefiddle, began to do thesame.Encouraged, Rojer tooka single step to the left.Thedemonmirroredhim.He stepped back to theright,andthecorelingdidthesame.Rojer went on, walking

aroundthewooddemonina slow, wide arc. Themesmerized beast turnedas he went, until it wasfacing away from theshocked and terrifiedpatients.By then, Leesha had setSmitt down and retrievedher spear. It seemed littlemore than a thorn, thedemon’s reach far longer,

but she stepped forwardnonetheless, knowing shewould never get a betterchance. She gritted herteethandcharged,buryingthe warded spear in thecoreling’sbackwithallhermight.There was a flash of

power and a burst ofecstasy as the magic ranup her arms, and then

Leesha was thrown back.Shewatchedasthedemonscreamed and thrashedabout, trying to dislodgethe glowing spear stillsticking from its back.Rojer dodged aside as itcrashed into the greatdoors in its death throes,breaking open the portalevenasitfelldead.Demons howled with

glee and charged theopening, but they weremet by Rojer’s music.Gone was the soothing,hypnotizing melody,replaced by sharp andjarringsoundsthathadthecorelings clawing at theirears as they stumbledbackward.“Leesha!” The side door

opened with a crash, and

Leesha turned to see theWarded Man, awash indemon ichor and his ownblood,burstintotheroom,looking about frantically.He saw the wood demonlying dead, and turned tomeet her eyes. His reliefwaspalpable.She wanted to throw

herself into his arms, buthe turnedandcharged for

the shattered doors. Rojeralone held the entrance,his music holding thedemons back as surely asany wardnet. TheWardedMan shoved the wooddemon’s corpse aside,pulling the spear free andthrowingitbacktoLeesha.Thenhewasgoneintothenight.Leesha looked out upon

the carnage in the square,and her heart clenched.Dozensofherchildren laydead and dying in themud, even as the battlecontinuedtorage.“Darsy!” she cried, andwhen the woman rushedto her side, they ran outinto the night, pullingwoundedinside.Wonda lay gasping on

the ground when Leeshareached her, her clothestornandbloodywherethedemon had clawed her. Awooddemonchargedthemas she and Darsy bent tolift her, but Leesha pulleda vial fromher apron andthrew it, shattering thethin glass in its face. Thedemon shrieked as thedissolvent ate away itseyes, and the two Herb

Gatherers hurried awaywiththeircharge.They deposited the girl

inside and Leesha shoutedinstructions to one of herassistants before runningout again. Rojer stood atthe entrance, thescreeching of his fiddleforming a wall of soundthat held the way clear,shielding Leesha and the

others who began to dragthewoundedinside.

The battle waxed andwaned through the night,letting those villagers tootiredtogoonstaggerbackto their circles or into theHoly House to catch theirbreath or gulp down aswallow of water. Therewas an hour when not ademon couldbe seen, and

another after that when apack thatmusthavecomerunning from miles awayfelluponthem.The rain stopped atsome point, but no onecould recall quite when,too preoccupied withattacking the enemy andhelping thewounded. Thecutters formed a wall atthe great doors, andRojer

roamedthesquare,drivingdemons back with hisfiddle as the woundedwerecollected.By the timedawn’s firstlight peeked over thehorizon, the mud of thesquare had been churnedintoa foul stewofhumanblood and demon ichor,bodiesandlimbsscatteredeverywhere.Many jumped

in fright as the sun struckthedemoncorpses,settingtheir flesh alight. Likebursts of liquid demonfirealloverthesquare,thesunfinished the battle,incinerating the fewdemonsthatstilltwitched.TheWardedManlooked

out at the faces of thesurvivors, half his fightersat least, and was amazed

at the strength anddetermination he saw. Itseemed impossible thatthese were the samepeople who were sobroken and terrified lessthan a day before. Theymight have lost many inthe night, but theHollowers were strongerthanever.“Creator be praised,”

Tender Jona said,staggering out into thesquare on his crutch,drawing wards in the airas the demons burned inthe morning light. Hemade his way to theWarded Man, and stoodbeforehim.“This is thanks to you,”

hesaid.TheWardedMan shook

his head. “No. You didthis,”hesaid.“Allofyou.”Jona nodded. “We did,”

he agreed. “But onlybecause you came andshowed us the way. Canyoustilldoubtthis?”The Warded Man

scowled. “Forme toclaimthis victory as my owncheapens the sacrifice ofall that died during the

night,”hesaid.“Keepyourprophecies, Tender. Thesepeopledonotneedthem.”Jona bowed deeply. “Asyouwish,”hesaid,buttheWarded Man sensed thematterwasnotclosed.

CHAPTER32CUTTER’SNOMORE

332AR

LEESHA WAVED AS ROJER andthe Warded Man rode up

thepath.Shesetherbrushback in its bowl on theporchastheydismounted.“You learnquickly,” theWardedMan said, comingup to study thewards shehad painted on the rails.“Thesewouldholdahordeofcorelingsatbay.”“Quickly?” Rojer asked.“Night, that’s undersaid.It’snotbeenamonthsince

she couldn’t tell a windwardfromaflame.”“He’sright,”theWarded

Man said. “I’ve seen five-year journeyman Warderswhoselinesweren’thalfsoneat.”Leesha smiled. “I’ve

always been a quickstudy,”shesaid.“Andyouand my father are goodteachers.IonlywishIhad

botheredtolearnsooner.”The Warded Manshrugged. “Would thatweall could go back andmake decisions based onwhatwastocome.”“I think I’d have livedmy whole life different,”Rojeragreed.Leesha laughed,ushering them inside thehut. “Supper’s almost

ready,” she said, headingfor the fire. “How did thevillage council meetinggo?”sheasked,stirringthesteamingpot.“Idiots,” the Warded

Mangrumbled.She laughed again.

“Thatwell?”“The council voted to

changethevillagenametoDeliverer’s Hollow,” Rojer

said.“It’s only a name,”

Leesha said, joining themat the table and pouringtea.“It’s not the name that

bothers, it’s the notion,’”theWardedMansaid.“I’vegottenthevillagerstostopcallingmeDeliverertomyface, but I still hear itwhispered behind my

back.”“Itwillgoeasierforyouif you just embrace it,”Rojersaid.“Youcan’tstopa story like that. By now,every Jongleur north oftheKrasiandesertistellingit.”TheWardedMan shookhis head. “I won’t lie andpretend to be somethingI’mnottomakelifeeasier.

If I’d wanted an easylife…”Hetrailedoff.“What of the repairs?”

Leesha asked, pulling himback to them as his eyeswentdistant.Rojer smiled. “With the

Hollowers back on theirfeet thanks to your cures,itseemsanewhousegoesup every day,” he said.“You’ll be able to move

back into the villagepropersoon.”Leesha shook her head.

“Thishut is all I have leftofBruna.Thisismyhomenow.”“This far from the

village, you’ll be outsidethe forbiddance,” theWardedManwarned.Leesha shrugged. “I

understand why you laid

out the new streets in theform of a warding,” shesaid, “but there arebenefits to being outsidetheforbiddance,aswell.”“Oh?” the Warded Man

asked, raising a wardedbrow.“What benefit could

there be to living on landthat demons can set footon?”Rojerasked.

Leesha sipped her tea.“Mymumrefusestomove,too,” she said. “Saysbetween your new wardsand the cutters runningabout chopping everydemon in sight, it’s aneedlessbother.”The Warded Man

frowned. “Iknow it seemslike we have the demonscowed, but if thehistories

of the Demon Wars areanything to go by, theywon’t stay that way.They’ll be back in force,andIwantCutter’sHollowtobeready.”“Deliverer’s Hollow,”

Rojer corrected, smirkingat the Warded Man’sscowl.“With you here, it will

be,” Leesha said, ignoring

Rojer and sipping at hertea. She watched theWarded Man carefullyovertherimofhercup.When he hesitated, shesether cupdown. “You’releaving,” she said.“When?”“When the Hollow isready,” the Warded Mansaid,notbotheringtodenyher conclusion. “I’ve

wasted years, hoardingwards that can make theFree Cities that in morethan name. I owe it toevery city and hamlet inThesa to see to it theyhave what they need tostandtallinthenight.”Leesha nodded. “We

want to help you,” shesaid.“You are,” the Warded

Man said. “With theHollow in your hands, Iknow itwill be safewhileI’maway.”“You’ll need more than

that,” Leesha said.“Someone to teach otherGatherers to makeflamework and poisons,and to treat corelingwounds.”“Youcouldwriteallthat

down,” the Warded Mansaid.Leesha snorted. “And

give a man the secrets offire?Notlikely.”“I can’t write fiddling

lessons, in any event,”Rojer said, “even if I hadletters.”The Warded Man

hesitated, then shook hishead. “No,” he said. “The

two of youwill only slowmedown. I’ll beweeks inthe wilds, and you don’thave the stomach forthat.”“Don’t have the

stomach?” Leesha asked.“Rojer,closetheshutters,”sheordered.Bothmen looked at her

curiously.“Doit,”sheordered,and

Rojer rose to comply,cuttingoffthesunlightandfilling thehutwithadarkgloom.Leeshawasalreadyshaking a vial of chemics,bathing herself in aphosphorescentglow.“Thetrap,”shesaid,and

theWardedManliftedthetrapdoor down to thecellarwherethedemonfirehad been kept. The scent

ofchemicswasthickintheairthatescaped.Leesha led the way

down into the darkness,her vial held high. Shemoved to sconces on thewall, adding chemics toglass jars, but theWardedMan’s warded eyes, ascomfortable in utterdarkness as in clear day,had already widened

before the light filled theroom.Heavy tables had beenbrought down into thecellar, and there, spreadoutbeforehim,werehalfadozen corelings in variousstatesofdissection.“Creator!” Rojer cried,gagging. He ran back upthe stairs, and they couldhearhimgaspingforair.

“Well, perhaps Rojerdoesn’t have the stomachyet,” Leesha concededwithagrin. She lookedattheWardedMan.“Didyouknow that wood demonshave two? Stomachs, Imean. One stacked atopthe other, like anhourglass.” She took aninstrument, peeling backlayersofthedeaddemon’sfleshtoillustrate.

“Their hearts are off-center,downtotheright,”she added, “but there’s agap between their thirdandfourthribs.Somethingamanlookingtodeliverakilling thrust shouldknow.”TheWardedManlooked

on in amazement. Whenhe looked back at Leesha,itwasasifhewereseeing

her for the first time.“Where did you getthese…?”“A word to the cutters

yousenttopatrolthisendof the Hollow,” Leeshasaid.“Theywerehappytoobligemewithspecimens.And there’s more. Thesedemons have no sexorgans.They’reallneuter.”TheWardedManlooked

atherinsurprise.“Howisthatpossible?”heasked.“It’snotthatuncommonamong insects,” Leeshasaid. “There are dronecastes for labor anddefense, and sexed castesthatcontrolthehive.”“Hive?” the WardedManasked.“YoumeantheCore?”Leeshashrugged.

The Warded Manfrowned. “There werepaintings in the tombs ofAnoch Sun; paintings ofthe First DemonWar thatdepicted strange breeds ofcorelings I have neverseen.”“Not surprising,” Leeshasaid. “We know so littleaboutthem.”She reached out, taking

hishands.“Allmylife,I’vefelt like I was waiting forsomething bigger thanbrewing chill cures anddelivering children,” shesaid.“Thisismychancetomakeadifference tomorethan just a handful ofpeople.Youbelievethere’sawarcoming?RojerandIcanhelpyouwinit.”The Warded Man

nodded, squeezing herhands in return. “You’reright,” he said. “TheHollow survived that firstnight as much because ofyou and Rojer as me. I’dbe a fool not to acceptyourhelpnow.”Leesha stepped forward,reaching into his hood.Her handwas cool on hisface,andforamoment,he

leanedintoit.“Thishut isbig enough for two,” shewhispered.His eyes widened, andshefelthimgotense.“Why does that terrifyyou more than facingdowndemons?”sheasked.“AmIsorepulsive?”TheWardedMan shookhis head. “Of course not,”hesaid.

“Thenwhat?”sheasked.“I won’t keep you fromyourwar.”The Warded Man was

quiet forsometime.“Twowouldsoonbecomethree,”hesaidatlast,lettinggoofherhands.“Is that so terrible?”

Leeshaasked.TheWardedMantooka

deepbreath,movingaway

to another table, avoidingher eyes. “That morningwhen I wrestled thedemon…”hesaid.“I remember,” Leesha

prompted, when he didnotgoon.“The demon tried to

escape back to the Core,”hesaid.“And tried to take you

with it,” Leesha said. “I

saw you both go misty,and slip beneath theground.Iwasterrified.”The Warded Mannodded. “No more thanme,”hesaid.“ThepathtotheCoreopeneduptome,calling me, pulling medown.”“Whatdoesthathavetodowithus?”Leeshaasked.“Because it wasn’t the

demon, it was me,” theWardedMan said. “I tookcontrol of the transition;dragged the demon backuptothesun.Evennow,Ican feel the pull of theCore. If I let myself, Icould slip down into itsinfernal depths with theothercorelings.”“The wards …” Leeshabegan.

“It’s not the wards,” hesaid, shaking his head.“I’m telling you it’s me.I’ve absorbed toomuchoftheirmagicovertheyears.I’m not even humananymore. Who knowswhat kind of monsterwould spring from myseed?”Leesha went to him,

taking his face in her

hands as she had thatmorning they made love.“You’re a good man,” shesaid,hereyeswellingwithtears.“Whateverthemagichas done to you, it hasn’tchangedthat.Nothingelsematters.”She leaned in to kiss

him, but he had hardenedhis heart to her, and heldherback.

“It matters to me,” hesaid. “Until Iknowwhat Iam,Ican’tbewithyou,oranyone.”“Then I’ll discoverwhat

you are,” Leesha said. “Iswearit.”“Leesha,” he said, “you

can’t…”“Don’tyoutellmewhat

I can’t do!” she barked.“I’ve had enough of that

from others to last alifetime.”Hehelduphishands insubmission.“I’msorry,”hesaid.Leesha sniffed, andclosedherhandsoverhis.“Don’tbe sorry,” she said.“This is a condition todiagnose and cure, likeanyother.”“I’m not sick,” the

WardedMansaid.Shelookedathimsadly.“I know that,” she said,“butitseemsyoudon’t.”

Out in the Krasian desert,therewasastirringonthehorizon. Lines of menappeared, thousand uponthousand,swathedinlooseblack cloth drawn abouttheir faces towardoff thestinging sand. The

vanguardwascomposedoftwo mounted groups, thesmaller riding light, quickhorses, and the largerupon powerful humpedbeasts suited to desertcrossings. They werefollowed by columns offootmen,andthey,inturn,by a seemingly endlesstrainofcartsandsupplies.Each warrior carried aspear etched with an

intricatepatternofwards.At their head rode aman dressed all in white,atopasleekchargerofthesame color. He raised ahand, and the hordebehind him halted andstood in silence to gazeupon the ruins of AnochSun.Unlike the wood andironspearsofhiswarriors,

this man carried anancientweaponmadeofabright,unknownmetal.Hewas Ahmann asuHoshkamin am’Jardir, buthis people had not usedthatnameinyears.They called himShar’Dama Ka, theDeliverer.

EndBookI

IfyouenjoyedTheWardedMan,

besurenottomisstherivetingsequel:

THEDESERTSPEARby

PeterVBrett

Just as humanity hasbeguntoclawitswaybackfrom the brink ofextinction,anewbreedofdemon has risen from the

Core, more powerful thanany seen before. Itspurpose: to crush thehumanresistancebefore itcan truly take hold. Nowold allegiances must betested and new alliancesformed if any are tosurvivethenight…

Here’saspecialpreview.

333ARWINTER

ITWASTHENIGHTbeforenewmoon, during the darkesthourswheneventhatbaresliver had set. In a smallpatch of true darknessbeneath the thick boughsofaclusteroftrees,anevilessenceseepedupfromthe

Core.The darkmist coalescedslowly intoapairof giantdemons, their roughbrown skin knobbed andgnarled like tree bark.Standing nine feet at theshoulder, their hookedclaws dug at the frozenscrub and pine of theforest flooras they sniffedat the air. A low rumble

soundedintheirthroatsasblack eyes scanned theirsurroundings.Satisfied, they moved

apartandsquattedontheirhaunches,coiledandreadyto spring. Behind them,thepatchof truedarknessdeepened, corruptionblackening the forest bedasanotherpairofetherealshapesmaterialized.

These were slender,barely five feet tall, withsoft charcoal flesh quiteunlike the gnarled armorof their larger brethren.On the ends of delicatefingers and toes, theirclawsseemedfragile—thinand straight like awoman’s manicured nail.Their sharp teeth wereshort,onlyasinglerowsetinasnoutlessmouth.

Their heads werebloated,with huge, lidlesseyes and high, conicalcraniums. The flesh overtheir skulls was knobbedand textured, pulsingaround the vestigial nubsofhorns.For long moments, thetwo newcomers stared ateach other, foreheadsthrobbing, as a vibration

passed in the air betweenthem.One of the larger

demons caught movementin the brush and reachedout with frighteningquickness to snatch a ratfrom its cover. Thecoreling brought therodent up close, studyingit curiously. As it did, thedemon’s snout became

ratlike, nose and whiskerstwitchingasitgrewapairof long incisors. Thecoreling’s tongue slitheredouttotesttheirsharpness.One of the slender

demons turned to regardit, forehead pulsing. Witha flick of its claw, themimic demon evisceratedtheratandcastitaside.Atthe command of the

coreling princes, the twomimics changed shape,becoming enormous winddemons.Theminddemonshissed

as they left the patch oftruedarknessandstarlightstruck them. Their breathfogged with the cold, butthey gave no sign ofdiscomfort,leavingclawedfootprintsinthesnow.The

mimics bent low, and thecorelingprinceswalkeduptheir wings to take perchon their backs as theyleaptintothesky.They passed over many

drones as they wingednorth.Bigandsmall,theseall cowered until thecoreling princes passed,only to follow thecall leftvibratingintheirwake.

Themimics landedonahigh rise, and the minddemons slid down to theground,takinginthesightbelow.Avastarmyspreadout on the plain, whitetents dotting the landwhere the snow had beentrampled to mud andfrozensolid.Greathumpedbeasts of burden stoodhobbled in circles ofpower,coveredinblankets

against the cold. Thewards around the campwere strong, and sentries,their faces wrapped inblack cloth, patrolled itsperimeter. Even from thisdistance,theminddemonscould sense the power oftheirwardedweapons.Beyond the camp’swards, the bodies ofdozens of drones littered

the field, waiting for theday star to burn themaway.Flame drones were the

first to reach the risewhere the princes waited.Keeping a respectfuldistance, they began todance in worship,shriekingtheirdevotion.Another throb, and the

drones quieted. The night

grewdeathlysilentevenasa great demon hostgathered,drawntothecallof the coreling princes.Wood and flame dronesstood side by side, theirracial hatred forgotten, aswinddronescircled in theskyabove.Ignoring the

congregation, the minddemonskept theireyeson

the plain below, theircraniums pulsing. After amoment,oneglancedtoitsmimic, imparting itsdesires, and the creature’sflesh melted and swelled,taking the form of amassive rock demon.Silently, the gathereddrones followed it downthehill.On the rise, the two

princes and the remainingmimic waited. Andwatched.

When they were close tothe camp, still under thecover of darkness, themimic slowed and wavedtheflamedronesahead.The smallest and

weakestofcorelings,flamedrones glowed about the

eyes and mouth from thefires within them. Thesentries spotted themimmediately but thedrones were quick, andbefore the sentries couldraise an alarm they wereupon the wards, spittingfire.The firespit fizzled

where it struck thewards,but at the mind demons’

bidding, the dronesfocused instead on thepiled snow outside theperimeter, their breathinstantly turning it toscalding steam. Safebehind the wards, thesentries were unharmed,but ahot, thick fog arose,stinging their eyes andtainting the air eventhroughtheirveils.

One of the sentries ranoff through the camp,ringing a loud bell. As hedid, the others dartedfearlessly beyond thewards to skewer thenearest flame demons ontheirwardedspears.Magicsparked as the weaponspunched through theirsharp,overlappingscales.Other drones attacked

from the sides, but thesentriesworked inunison,their warded shieldscovering one another asthey fought. Shouts couldbe heard inside the campasotherwarriorsrushedtojoininthebattle.But under cover of foganddark,themimic’shostadvanced. One momentthe sentries’ cries were of

victory, and the next theywere of shock as thedemons emerged from thehaze.Themimictookthefirst

human it encounteredeasily,sweepingtheman’sfeet away with its heavytail and snatching aflailing leg as he fell. Thehapless warrior was liftedaloftbythelimb,hisspine

crackedlikeawhip.Thoseunlucky warriors whofacedthemimicnextwerebeaten down by the bodyoftheirfallencomrade.The other drones

followed suit, with mixedsuccess. The few sentrieswere quicklyoverwhelmed, but manydrones were slow to takeadvantage, wasting

precious time rending thedead bodies rather thanpreparing for the nextwaveofwarriors.More and more of theveiled men flowed out ofthe camp, falling quicklyintoranksandkillingwithsmooth, brutal efficiency.The wards on theirweaponsandshieldsflaredrepeatedlyinthedarkness.

Upontherise,theminddemonswatchedthebattleimpassively, showing noconcern for the dronesfalling to the enemyspears. There was a throbinthecraniumofoneasitsent a command to itsmimiconthefield.Immediately, the mimichurledthecorpseintooneof the wardposts around

thecamp,smashing itandcreating a breach. Up ontherise,therewasanotherthrob, and the othercorelings broke off fromengaging thewarriors andpoured through the gapintotheenemycamp.Left off balance, the

warriors turned back tosee tents blazing as flamedronesscurriedabout,and

hear the screams of theirwomenandchildrenasthelarger corelings brokethrough charred andscorchedinnerwards.The warriors cried outand rushed to their lovedones, all semblance oforderlost.Inmomentsthetight, invincible units hadfragmented into thousandsofseparatecreatures,little

morethanprey.Itseemedasifthecampwould be overrun andburned to the ground, butthen a figure appearedfrom the central pavilion.Hewas clad in black, likethewarriors,buthisouterrobe, head-wrap, and veilwere the purest white. Athis brow was a circlet ofgold,andinhishandswas

a great spear of shiningmetal.Thecorelingprinceshissedatthesight.There were cries at the

man’sapproach.Theminddemons sneered at theprimitive grunts and yelpsthat passed forcommunication amongmen,butthemeaningwasclear. The others weredrones.Thisonewastheir

mind.Underthedominationof

the newcomer, thewarriorsrememberedtheircastes and returned totheir previous cohesion. Aunit broke off to seal theouterbreach.Another twofought fire. One moreushered the defenseless tosafety.Thus freed, the

remainder scoured thecamp, and the dronescould not long standagainst them. In minutesthe camp was as litteredwithcorelingbodiesasthefield outside. The mimic,still disguised as a rockdemon,was soon theonlycoreling left, too quick tobe taken by spear butunable to break throughthewallofshieldswithout

revealingitstrueself.Therewas a throb fromthe rise, and the mimicvanished into a shadow,dematerializing andseeping out of the campthrough a tiny gap in thewards.Theenemywasstillsearching for it when themimicreturnedtoitsplacebyitsmaster’sside.The two slender

corelings stood atop therise for several minutes,silent vibrations passingbetween them. Then, asone, the coreling princesturned their eyes to thenorth, where the otherhuman mind was said tobe.Oneoftheminddemons

turned to its mimic,kneeling back in the form

ofagiganticwinddemon,and walked up itsextended wing. As itvanished into the night,theremainingminddemonturned back to regard thesmolderingenemycamp.