The Daylight War (92 page)

‘I need a distraction,’ Rojer said. ‘Renna, your cloak is intact. Can you draw them off for a moment?’

‘Ay,’ Renna said, ‘but they won’t all follow me.’

‘I can make them,’ Rojer said.

‘Spit on that plan,’ Gared said. ‘I ent running and letting you …’ But before he could finish the sentence, Renna leapt at the ring, tackling one of the field demons and stabbing it repeatedly as they rolled across the ground. She sprang to her feet unharmed, while the demon laboured for breath on the ground. Already it was healing.

‘Run!’ Rojer called to her, and she did, dashing barefoot to one of the piles of rocks, leaping nimbly from stone to stone until she made the top.

Rojer changed his music accordingly.
She’s getting away
,
it said,
chase
her! There are plenty to take the others!

With that command, the demons all leapt after Renna, claws scrabbling on the hard stone as they climbed after her. A few paused, looking back with something that went beyond their normal instinct, but the distraction had done its job as Rojer herded Gared to another spot and laid down layer after layer of confusion. He brought more and more of the enchanted fiddle to bear, increasing the volume until the music thrummed in the air, making himself and Gared impossible to pinpoint.

Renna waited atop the pile of stones as long as she could, delivering warded kicks that sent demons flying off the pile with explosions of magic. They landed hard, but quickly rolled back to their feet, shaking off the blows and attempting to regain their wits.

When she saw them safe, Renna crouched and sprang, leaping an amazing thirty feet to land atop one of the massive dirt mounds the rock demons had created with their digging. She sank slightly into the loose soil on impact, but seemed none the worse for wear.

But before she could cloak herself once more, a wind demon gave a shriek, plummeting out of the sky at her. Renna turned to face it, tensed and ready, but the demon did something Rojer had never seen. It threw open its wings against the dive, pulling up short, and spat a bolt of lightning at her.

The night lit up with the blinding flash. Rojer snapped his eyes shut, but not fast enough to prevent himself from being dizzied. He struggled to keep playing as bright flashes of colour danced across the inside of his eyelids. When he opened them again, he saw Renna lying on the ground, having fallen more than a dozen feet. There was smoke drifting from her, and the air smelled of burned flesh and ozone. Amazingly, she was struggling to her feet, growing steadier as she did. Her glow was still bright to his warded eyes, and he imagined she was healing in the same way demons had.

Got
to
learn
that
trick
,
he thought.

Two field demons pounced on Renna before she could recover fully. Gared gave a roar, charging to her aid. Once he was more than a few feet from Rojer and his fiddle, the demons took note of him, but not in time to avoid his first deadly swings. Axe in one hand and machete in the other, he batted the demons away from the fallen woman, leaving deep gashes in their scaled flesh. He was standing protectively over her in an instant, carving out room for her to get her feet under her.

Already the demons Gared had struck were back on their feet, healing quickly, much as Renna had. More came running, but these kept safely out of the range of Gared and Renna’s weapons. More and more field demons arrived, the reap encircling the two. Soon the entire area swarmed with them, a mass of writhing, scaled flesh, glowing bright with magic.

But even with these overwhelming odds, the demons did not attack. They kept in constant motion, forcing Gared and Renna to stand back-to-back, weapons at the ready, waiting for an assault that never came.

Trapped.

But trapped for what? Rojer looked around. Winged demons circled overhead, but did not seem inclined to dive. The rock and wood demons continued to dig, oblivious.

Something
worse
is
coming.
Rojer had all too good an idea what that might be.

He considered. Even with the
hora
magic amplifying his music, he was not sure he could drive off so many demons, but even if he could manage it despite their increased resistance tonight, the fleeing corelings would trample right over his friends in the process.

He took a deep, calming breath, thankful he had ordered his wives to stay behind.

‘Amanvah,’ he said into the chinrest of his fiddle. ‘I know I haven’t been the best husband, but never once have I regretted taking you and Sikvah to wife. You have honoured me as wives should, and helped show me my own worth. If I don’t make it back, remember me when you sing.’

She could not reply, but perhaps that was just as well. Rojer dropped the melody that made him invisible and began a new one, his enchanted fiddle carrying the tune to every coreling ear.

Here
I
am
,
the music told them.
Weak
and
defenceless. And you are so very, very hungry.

For a moment, nothing happened; then suddenly every coreling face snapped his way. Hundreds of black eyes fixed on him. Whatever influence the mind demon had over the drones, they could not deny their nature. They shrieked and leapt his way, long claws extended and teeth snapping the air.

Rojer turned and ran, faster than he ever had in his life. All the while he kept playing, calling the demons after him.

Arlen stood still as stone, watching the woods. He tried to Draw, but the ambient magic was faint, and the current flowed away from him, pulled by some unseen force. His Knowings yielded nothing.

They seemed to have been gone an eternity, but in truth he knew it was only minutes. His sharp ears caught the roaring of demons over the background noise and he tensed, but the sound was followed quickly by Rojer’s music. He waited.

Long
as
that
music’s playing, they’re safe
,
he thought.
But
if
it
stops …

There was a great flash in the cloudless sky. Arlen knew the signature of a lightning demon when he saw it. Even in the places they ranged most people thought the rare demons just a tampweed tale, and Arlen had never seen one in Angiers. Local Warders didn’t even bother including lightning wards in their circles.

The
minds
can
summon
any
breed
,
he realized, and felt their chances of survival dip still further. How would the Cutters fare against the blunt, butting heads of clay demons, or the coldspit of snow demons that could shatter steel? The acid
muck of swamp demons? Those whose shields and armour
Arlen or Leesha had warded personally would have some protection, but he knew all too well how poorly common warded armour withstood the talons and spit of those rare breeds.

But Gared and Renna had the right wards, and Rojer was still playing …

In fact, the music was getting louder, the sound rapidly approaching, accompanied by the roaring of what seemed a thousand corelings. He saw Rojer appear from the woods, running as fast as his legs could carry him. His aura was one of pure terror, held in tight check by the rhythm of his playing. An instant later Arlen saw why as a seemingly endless stream of field demons raced out of the trees after him.

They put on speed when they reached open ground, but Rojer stopped short before they could overtake him, changing his tune to the harsh, jarring sounds Arlen had heard him use so many times before. Amplified by the fiddle’s magic, the sound struck the reap like a physical blow, scattering the demons in a wave around him.

Arlen dematerialized, and for the split second he was in the between-state, he felt the thrumming of mind demons’ power in the air, and knew Renna had been right. He might meet the will of one of them in that state, but two or more could well prove his undoing.

But there was no time for the coreling princes to attack him as he re-formed an instant later at Rojer’s side and the mind wards around his shaved head reactivated. Arlen picked up the Jongleur like a toddler and leapt, clearing the distance back to the greatward in two great bounds.

‘Where are the others?’ he demanded, but before Rojer could answer, there was a cry, and Arlen looked up to see Renna, covered in demon ichor and glowing bright with magic, leaping through the swarm of field demons, Gared Cutter slung over her shoulder like a sack of flour.

Renna landed on a field demon’s back with a flash of magic, and when she leapt away, the demon did not rise again. Arlen rushed out again, drawing field wards in the air as he cleared a path for them. After a moment they crossed, Renna leaping onto the open way as Arlen got behind her to cover their retreat. He caught the nearest field demon by its hind leg and used it as a club to bash away its fellows. The demon’s flailing claws cut into their scales like no mortal weapon could.

The smell of ichor was thick in the air, and Arlen had to suppress a wave of hunger such as he had not felt in years. He wanted to bite down on the demon sizzling in his warded grasp, tearing through its armour to taste the soft meat beneath.

He shook his head violently, resisting the base instinct long enough to hurl the demon into the reap and run back to the greatward where Renna was gently laying Gared on the ground. The giant Cutter’s aura was flat. He was alive but unconscious.

‘What happened?’ Arlen asked.

‘Just a knock to the head,’ Renna said, easing Gared’s helmet off. ‘He saved my life.’

‘Or delayed you dying,’ Rojer said. Arlen turned to him and saw the Jongleur’s mask had slipped, the terror that still coloured his aura evident in his expression. ‘The demons are building a greatward of their own.’

So that was why the ambient magic had been drawn away. ‘Corespawn me for a fool!’ Arlen shouted. He let his atoms slide apart and leapt skyward, floating at the upper edge of the greatward’s protection as he looked out over the land. As Rojer had said, there, barely a mile away, glowed a greatward unlike any symbol Arlen had ever seen. It wasn’t anywhere near the size of one of the Hollow’s greatwards, but already the demon ward was active.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arlen saw something more and turned, his horror growing. Flickering lines of connection were forming as the demon greatward linked to another off to the southeast, near New Rizon. He turned a full circle and saw demons digging a third, off to the southwest by the fledgling borough of Lakdale. This demon ward was incomplete, but already it was beginning to Draw. It would link with the others in only minutes.

Even Arlen’s new senses could not pierce the veil of the demon wards – magic flowed in, but not back out. And yet he could feel the three coreling princes, perched like spiders at the centre of a web. And all the while, the rock and wood demons continued to dig, strengthening the wards and making them increasingly permanent.

Arlen dropped back down, landing easily beside Renna and Rojer. ‘Not just one. There’s three of the ripping things, each with a mind at its centre.’

‘Creator,’ Rojer muttered.

‘Need to tell the count,’ Arlen said.

Renna nodded. ‘I’ll get the horses.’

Arlen shook his head. ‘Too slow.’

Renna looked at him, worry on her face. ‘Floating and healing the sick is bad enough. You do this …’

‘Can’t be helped, Ren,’ Arlen said. ‘The rest of you ride hard back to the graveyard. Maybe we’ll have something resembling a plan by then.’ With that, he dissipated.

Immediately Arlen felt the pull of the greatward. Like blood pumping through a heart, all the power of the wardnet flowed to and from the keyward of Cutter’s Hollow. Instead of drawing on that power, he allowed himself to fall into its stream, instantly materializing at the centre of the Corelings’ Graveyard.

It happened in the blink of an eye, easy for anyone to miss, but with the crowds gathered in the graveyard, there were still many who saw, and Arlen could hear their shouts of surprise flowing through the rest of the assembly.