CHAPTER 21

NEOCOUNTY

334 AR

Elissa and her mother sat straight upright, chins high, staring at nothing through the carriage windows. There was peace between them, but it was a fragile thing.

Sunrise Hall loomed before them, and Elissa felt like a child again passing through its great gate. The hall was a remnant of the old world, partially destroyed in the Return and rebuilt some hundred years later by the first Count of Morning.

The servants all turned out for Elissa’s arrival. First in line was Mother Soren, who had been Elissa’s governess some thirty years past. Elissa remembered her from a child’s perspective as a looming, powerful woman, but in her sunset years she looked small and frail.

“Mother Elissa, my darling, welcome home.” Soren spread her arms, and Elissa fell into them, embracing her tightly. She had been stern, but more a parent than Tresha. There were other eager faces in the crowd, some of them childhood friends, and others beloved house workers. These people were more her family than her mother and elder sisters, married off to local barons while she was still a child.

“I’ve missed you,” Elissa said as Tresha was helped down from the carriage by the driver. Mother Soren and the other Servants stiffened, eyes quickly out front. From there Elissa and her mother walked in silence down a solemn line of stone faces.

Moments later they were alone in the parlor. The room was just as Elissa remembered it—clean to the point of sterility, and stifling with lectric heat. Mother Tresha was always cold.

The room was empty, but Elissa could see Servants had just been there. Steam was coming from the teakettle, sitting in precise formation with two freshly filled porcelain cups. Thin sandwiches and other bite-sized food had been laid out in a pattern, each its own island on the sterile marble tabletop.

Two crystal glasses stood in triangle point with a crystal ice bucket. Vapor still curled from the neck of the open bottle of Rizonan summer wine within. The glasses were already poured. A silver bell, polished to a sheen, waited in case they need anything more.

Elissa smiled, recognizing the Head Servant’s work. “Mother Kath is older than Soren but still artful and invisible.”

“Servants should be invisible, unless you need something.” Tresha went directly to her favored chair and sat down. A porcelain plate already sat on the table next to her with the countess’ preferred sandwiches and a cup of milked and doubtlessly oversweetened tea. “I don’t want them hovering around me all day and night.”

What a sad, lonely way to live, Elissa was wise enough not to say. She reached for the wine.

“They’re not as excited to see me as they are you, of course.” Tresha reached for a tiny sandwich, sitting in a bed of delicate folded paper to keep her fingers pristine. She ate it like a bird in neat, snapping bites. The paper alone cost more than most Servants earned.

“Perhaps if you bothered to learn their names.” Elissa had somehow already drained her glass and reached for the other one. Her mother raised an eyebrow at her, but Elissa ignored it.

“I know their names.” Tresha crumpled the paper. “Who do you think has paid their wages all these years? But what do I know? You left your own children with your Servants for nearly a year.”

“Is that what you’re mad about now?” Elissa asked. “What difference would it have made? You let the Servants raise me.”

Tresha whipped a hand at her. “And look how that turned out.”

“You’ve never seen Marya and Arlen outside of a Solstice dinner.” Elissa managed to keep her voice calm, though her mother was testing her limits. “Suddenly you want them hovering around you, day and night?”

“Of course not,” Tresha snapped. “But I know board members of all the great academies. I could have…”

“Taken them in only long enough to pack them off to school,” Elissa said. “You’ve never really wanted to know them. Or me.”

Tresha took her tea and blew on it. Elissa blinked. “You’re letting that go? The last time I spoke like that, you broke a plate over my head.”

Tresha sighed and sipped her tea. “It took you long enough, but you’re a Mother now. I can’t treat you like a Daughter anymore. Come and sit with me.”

Elissa did, and for a time it was much like the carriage ride, sipping her wine and staring at nothing as her mother ate finger sandwiches in silence. Elissa finished her second glass and rose to pour a third.

“I can ring,” Tresha said.

“I can pour wine without help, Mother. I learned all sorts of things while the Servants raised me.” The barb came without her even intending it. She was more like her mother than she wanted to admit.

The clink of cup on saucer showed her mother’s irritation. “You should be glad your father’s not alive to hear you speak that way to me.”

“When Father was alive, I didn’t have to,” Elissa said.

“Of course, your father was Creator-sent.” Tresha laughed. “Just like your adopted son. Just like the Messenger you fell for. Do you think every man you care for is the Deliverer, dear?”

Elissa snorted, but then her eyes widened as she recognized the pattern on her glass. “The good crystal? I thought this was only for when Royals came visiting.”

“You are Royal,” Tresha said.

“That’s not what you told me when I married Ragen.” Elissa raised her voice to a screech. “Marry that dirty road rat, and I’ll disown you! See how you enjoy life as a Merchant!”

“I never did it,” Tresha said.

“Eh?” Elissa stopped mid-sip.

“Disowned you,” the countess clarified. “No papers were signed, no documents filed. Can you imagine the scandal?”

Elissa could hardly believe her ears. She glanced at the cup in her hand. Had she already finished that third cup of wine? “So you’re telling me that all these years…”

“You’ve lived a Merchant’s life by choice,” Tresha clarified. “All you ever needed to do to come home was apologize.”

Elissa ground her teeth. “Apologize for what? Ragen is a good man! He’s worth both the idiot barons you married my sisters to ten times over!”

Tresha set her cup and saucer on the table and stood, all rigid posture, even if she was shorter than Elissa now. “You’re right.”

“Ay, what?” Elissa asked.

“I apologize,” Tresha said. “Ragen has proven to be a far better husband than I imagined.”

Elissa stood in stunned silence for a moment, then looked around the room. “No wonder you didn’t want anyone hovering to hear.”

“I can admit when I am wrong.” Tresha flicked a speck of dust from her dress. “Enjoy it while you can, dear. I daresay you may not live long enough to see it happen twice.”

Elissa shook her head. “I should have known you’d never disown your own daughter.”

Tresha laughed. “Disown? No. Disinherit? Certainly.”

“I never wanted to be countess,” Elissa said.

“And your sisters wanted it too much,” Tresha replied. “Only they haven’t a brain between them. I’d rather let the title revert to the crown to be doled out to any fool Euchor owes a favor than let one of them have it. You’re the only one of my blood to make something of herself.”

“Creator, Mother!” Elissa snapped. “Can you not just say you missed me? That you want to know your grandchildren? Is your pride as high as the city wall?”

“If mine is a wall, then yours is a mountain,” Tresha said. “We’ve lost years over this little spat. Years we won’t get back. Magic may be shrinking your crow’s-feet, but the years continue to weigh on me. I’m a dying old woman, and set in my ways.”

Elissa felt something shock through her, turning and taking her mother’s arm. “What do you mean? You’re not that…”

Tresha cackled. “Finish that thought, I beg! Tell me your heart’s honest word, and I will tell you mine.”

They stared at each other awhile, then mutually dropped their eyes.

“What is it?” Elissa asked. “Have you seen a Gatherer?”

“Cancer,” Tresha said. “And ay, I’ve had the best minds in Miln marching through my gates and combing through the Library for months.”

She went back to her favored chair and sat down.

“There are none in the world more learned than Milnese Gatherers,” Elissa said. “But what they can do pales in comparison with the healers in Krasia and the Hollow.”

Tresha shook her head. “I want nothing to do with your demon magic.”

“It’s not demon magic,” Elissa said. “It’s just magic. It comes from the Core. The demons have simply evolved to absorb it.”

Tresha raised her brow. “Do you have proof?”

Elissa took a deep breath. “There is evidence, but not proof. We are still learning…”

“I won’t be some gambled experiment, with my holy spirit as the wager,” Tresha said. “Test your theories on wounded fighters, if you must. Test them on Beggars and Servants. But not me. I’ve lived my share, and I’m tired, Lissa.”

She reached out, bony fingers cold on Elissa’s hand. “Your names are on the lips of everyone in Miln. Rich is as good as Royal, and there are few men richer than Ragen. With a fistful of coins and a few strokes of the pen, I can announce you both as my heirs, and not even Euchor himself could stop it.”

Elissa laid a hand over her mother’s, trying to lend her some warmth. “My sisters would hate me.”

“Hah!” Tresha said. “They hate you already! And me. Those two and their greedy husbands live on hate like it was bread. They hate everyone beneath them for being low, and everyone above for being high. They hate the sun and clouds in equal measure. Let them have their hate. I won’t trust Sunrise Hall or the people of Morning County to them.”

Elissa felt her legs weaken, and sat down. “I…I’ll have to talk to Ragen.”

“Of course,” Tresha waved it away like a fly. “But we both know he would have to be on tampweed to turn this down.”

She sipped her tea. “Trust me. It’s easier to get things done when you’ve an entire county behind you. Take your birthright. If you truly care about this city and the people in it, you can do more for them in the duke’s court than at your Warding Exchange.”

Elissa looked down instinctively, stroking the silver stylus that hung from her belt. Could she, or was there another path in store for her?

Tresha noted the movement. “If not for that, then do it so I can spend my last months with my ripping grandchildren!”

Elissa smiled, and suddenly it all seemed clear. “As the countess wishes.”

The organ was beginning to thrum as Ragen made it to the top of the hill to the Great Library and Cathedral of Miln. Soon it would begin the song of dusk, calling the last hour before curfew.

It would play again at sunset, at dawn, and at midday. The mountains that formed the Cathedral’s backdrop provided a sort of Jongleur’s shell, echoing the music back so loudly the entire city could hear it.

The Library was one of the few remaining structures of the old world. The one library in all Thesa that had survived the Return intact, protecting the knowledge within while the demons burned the old world around them.

There were ruins of the old world everywhere, if you knew where to look, but there were only a few structures still in use in the Free Cities. That the Great Library of Miln was the grandest of them was a fact any schoolchild could recite, but most of the students and Tenders moving across the great steps were used to the sight, never having seen its comparison.

Ragen had. The Great Cathedral of Angiers. The Monastery of Dawn. The Temple of the Horizon. Only Sharik Hora outstripped it in size, but even that could not match the Library’s sheer aesthetic beauty, soaring up into the twin mountains at its back, a reminder to all who should approach that while knowledge was power, it was a gift from an even greater Power above.

It was said that Sharik Hora’s true power was within its walls, the place adorned with the bones of fallen warriors. Ragen, a chin, was never allowed to see it from the inside. But how could any bones compare to the priceless knowledge protected within? Knowledge that had kept Miln the greatest power in Thesa for so many years.

A sprawling campus surrounded it, housing both the Mothers’ and Gatherers’ schools, as well as other institutions of science and learning. The Acolytes’ School was housed in the Cathedral’s cellars, which burrowed deep into the hill.

The hilltop had no walls, ringed with thirty-foot stone statues of the Guardians, dukes of Miln since the king of Thesa was slain in the Return. The shields and armor of the Guardians, as well as the great marble bases, were inscribed with powerful church wards.

Church wards were different from those the Warders’ Guild traded. They were more beautiful and complex, and wove nets of incredible power. Such wards not only would bar a demon entrance but could reflect the force of any attack back upon the coreling—and in some cases reverse it. Ragen had once seen a flame demon hawk firespit onto church wards, only to have the blazing phlegm bounce back and land on its face, freezing where it touched. The demon had shrieked and run into the night. Demons had been known to literally beat themselves to death against a skilled Tender’s warding.

Together the ring of statues formed the most impenetrable net in Miln. If the rest of the city fell, this place would be their last hope.

But in the moment, all that paled in comparison with the organ, rising to life. Ragen meant to go directly into the Library, but found himself drawn to its power.

The Cathedral was filled with worshippers, and there were glances and whispers at his passing. Mothers, Gatherers, and Tenders alike pretended not to stare. To escape, he flashed his guildmaster pin for access to the high balcony where the organist sat, overlooking the crowded nave. Far below he could see Tender Ronnell finishing services.

The organist was not an acolyte or even a Tender, but Ronnell’s daughter, Mother Mery. Ragen watched as her skillful fingers rolled down the levels of keys as effortlessly as a stream flowed over stones. Shoes lay beneath the bench as she worked the pedals with bare, nimble feet.

The sound gathered in the nave, rising to the domed ceiling a hundred feet above, painted like the mountain sky. The song was one that had thrummed through him, from bones to balls, since his earliest memories. He felt tears welling in his eyes, realizing how close he had come in recent months to never hearing it again.

Mery finished her playing, reverently covering the organ’s keys. She was putting on her shoes as Ragen approached.

“That was beautiful,” he said.

“Guildmaster Ragen!” Mery gave a little hop and fell back onto the bench, one shoe flying.

Ragen caught the shoe on reflex, kneeling to hold it for her to slip her foot into. “Just Ragen, unless you insist I call you Mother.”

Mery shook her head. “Of course not. We haven’t spoken in many years. I didn’t want to presume.”

“Years make no difference,” Ragen said. “You were under our roof enough when you were young that Elissa and I will always consider you family.”

Mery blushed and dropped her eyes. “Thank you, Guil…Ragen. That means a lot to me.”

“Your playing brought tears to my eyes,” Ragen said. “I did not realize it was you, all these years.”

“I only play the services my father celebrates,” Mery said. “Every acolyte is trained at the organ, but it does not begin until they take first orders at fourteen summers. My father taught me from his lap starting before I could reach the pedals.”

“I daresay it shows,” Ragen said. “I’ve heard the choir sing in the Temple of the Horizon, and the dama calling prayers from the minarets of Sharik Hora, but nothing to shake the ground and resonate in the bones like the organ of Miln with a skilled player.”

“Thank you,” Mery said.

“All those years,” Ragen chuckled, “you listening to Jaik struggle to carry a tune…”

“Biting my lip.” Mery giggled. “I knew then he was not serious about becoming a Jongleur. It was Arlen who wanted so desperately to believe.”

The name was a cold wind blowing between them. The smile left Mery’s lips. “What brings you to the Library? I’ve seen the private collection at your manse, and it is not lacking.”

“I’m here to see your father,” Ragen said. “I have a message for him.”

“I can take it if you wish,” Mery said. “There’s only an hour before sunset, and I’m sure you’re eager to return home after so many months abroad.”

“Indeed I am,” Ragen agreed. “But this message is of a personal nature, and addressed to your father, alone. It was entrusted to me by Countess Paper of the Hollow, and I am duty-bound as Messenger to put it in his hand and no other.”

“Of course.” Mery got to her feet. “I can take you to him.” Ragen could see the gears turning behind her eyes. He was taking a chance, trusting even her.

Ronnell’s office was high above the stacks in the adjoining Library, along a narrow balcony that let the Librarian look down over the tens of thousands of paper charges in his care.

Ronnell had not yet returned when Mery pushed Ragen inside and closed the door. “You said it came from Countess Paper in the Hollow. Is there news of Arlen? More than in the official account?”

Her sudden intensity made Ragen shift uneasily. “Of a sort, but I cannot…”

“Who sent the letter?” Mery demanded.

“Mery, I can’t—”

“Who?!” she cut in just as Tender Ronnell entered the room.

The Tender looked at Ragen in shock. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Guildmaster Ragen has a secret message from the Hollow.” Mery crossed her arms in a way that reminded him of Elissa when she set herself. “One he did not see fit to mention at court.”

Ragen’s eyes flicked to Mery. “May we speak privately, Ronnell?”

Ronnell recognized the look on his daughter’s face and gave a resigned shake of his head. “I have no secrets from my daughter.”

Ragen sighed, pulling the sealed envelope from his jacket pocket. “It is a letter from Arlen Bales.”

Mery’s mouth fell open, and Ronnell rocked back a step. “How is this possible? We are told he fell from a cliff in the battle against Ahmann Jardir. Does he yet live?”

Ragen held up his hands. “I could not say. This letter was written shortly before he left to challenge the demon of the desert. I am told he wrote several such, to be delivered in the event of his death. It was entrusted to Mistress Leesha, who entrusted it to me.” Ronnell’s eyes widened and took on a covetous gleam as he reached for the letter.

“Night!” Mery exclaimed, causing Ronnell to snatch his hand back. “As if Arlen hasn’t caused enough trouble, now he’s sending letters from the grave?”

Ronnell reached out and took her arm. “Perhaps it’s best you give the guildmaster and me a moment.”

“No,” Mery said. “Now that I know there’s a letter from him, I need to see it.”

“I understand.” Ronnell tightened his grip on her elbow as he moved her toward the door. “But I fear your attachment to Arlen clouds your judgment. Allow us a moment to—”

Mery yanked from his grip. “Like night I will. If you try to kick me out, I’ll go right to Jone.” She looked over to Ragen. “No doubt she and the Mothers’ Council will have many questions about why neither you nor Mother Elissa mentioned this letter while you were being debriefed at court.”

Ragen scowled. “Will you reveal your own part in this so-called conspiracy, as well?”

Mery looked at him in surprise. “What?”

“I know Arlen revealed himself to you, before his meeting with the duke,” Ragen said. “He told us what happened.”

Ronnell looked to his daughter. “Is this true?”

Mery’s eyes flicked down, staring at the thick carpet. “He came to see Jaik, I think, not knowing we were married. He…ran when I answered the door.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ronnell asked.

“I’m so sorry,” Mery said. “I…I chased him into the streets. Knocked his hood away, and saw what he’d done to himself. He’s…unhinged, Father. You saw him. How he…mutilated himself. How he’d rather live out among the demons than with his own kind. He’s a madman. To think I meant to marry him…”

“But you didn’t betray his trust,” Ragen noted. “It was months before the duke got word of his identity. What do you think they will do if they discover you knew all along?”

“Are you threatening my daughter?” Ronnell demanded, putting his arms around her as she began to weep.

“Of course not,” Ragen said. “But this is a Holy House of Learning, so let us speak only honest word. You said you and your daughter had no secrets, but that isn’t entirely true, is it? She had one from you, and you still have one from her.”

Mery looked up. “Father?”

Ronnell let go of her and stuck his head outside to scan the terrace. He pulled the thick goldwood doors shut and lifted an ancient key from the ring on his belt. The click of the lock echoed through the room.

Ronnell looked at his daughter. “He came to me, too.”

Mery gaped. “What?”

“After he met the duke and cracked the floor,” Ronnell said, “Arlen Bales visited me here, in this room. He told me he had already given the combat wards to Ragen, and dared me to tell His Grace, giving him time to suppress them or to rescind his offer of succor to the refugees from Rizon.”

“It wasn’t fair of him to put you in such a position,” Mery said.

“It was,” Ronnell said. “He asked me to choose between tending my flock and my liege’s pride. Between standing in the Creator’s light, or hiding in shadow.”

“That does not make us accomplices to his crimes,” Mery argued.

Ronnell shook his head. “His Grace would think otherwise. But even if not, what I did next was a crime most grave.”

Mery said nothing, just staring.

“His Grace’s copy of Weapones of the Olde Wyrld was not damaged by a leak in the ceiling,” Ronnell said quietly.

“That almost cost your position,” Mery said. “It took a week and a score of scribes to re-create. Father, tell me you did not…”

“I gave it to him,” Ronnell said.

“Why?” Mery demanded.

“Because he is the Deliverer.” Ronnell strode to his desk, snatching his Canon from its pedestal. He opened to a marked page and began to read. “For he shall be marked upon his bare flesh, and the demons will not abide the sight, and they shall flee terrified before him.” He snapped the book shut.

“The Creator didn’t mark him,” Mery argued. “He did that to himself. Anyone could have.”

“But anyone did not, until the coming of Arlen Bales,” Ronnell said. “He was the first.”

Mery shook her head. “I believe in the Canon, Father. I believe in the Plague, and that one day a Deliverer will come. But I will be corespawned before I believe it is Arlen Bales.”

“Do not speak blasphemy in this holy place!” Ronnell barked, and Mery dropped her eyes. “I know this is difficult for you, but I have bent my every thought to it for nearly a year, and I believe it with my heart and soul. Arlen Bales is the Deliverer, sent by the Creator to end the Plague. Think of his miracles.”

Even Ragen raised an eyebrow at that. “Miracles?”

“He withstood the naked night as a boy, cutting the arm from a rock demon.”

“I heard that story a thousand times from his own lips,” Mery said. “It was luck that saved him, and his own stupidity that put him at risk.”

“He brought us warded glass, and built the exchange that Ragen sits atop,” Ronnell added.

“They ward differently in the hamlets,” Mery said. “All he did was write them down and sell them.”

“He saved the Hollow,” Ronnell said. “Flew in the sky by many accounts, throwing lightning from his hands and saving thousands.”

“Demonshit,” Mery said. “Those are ale stories. Tampweed tales to dress up a battle.”

“He slew the demon of the desert,” Ronnell said.

“The only truly good thing he’s done,” Mery said. “Throwing them both from a cliff.”

“Enough!” Ragen barked. “You may be a Mother now, Mery, but you ate at my table when you were just a Daughter. Did I ever show you the slightest disrespect?”

Mery shook her head. “I apologize. That was…unkind of me.”

“Unkind doesn’t begin to cover it,” Ragen said. “I’m sorry Arlen broke your heart when he left. He broke ours, too. But you knew the kind of man he was. I won’t have you spinning lies into his life.”

The words shook Mery, and for a moment she had no response, torn between loyalties. As a Mother, she was bound to the council; as a daughter, to her father. But as herself?

Ragen held up the letter again. “Do you wish to keep speculating, or do you wish to read in his own words?”

Ronnell took the letter and Mery moved close as he broke the seal. Ragen had never thought they looked much alike, but as both tilted their heads at precisely the same angle to read, the resemblance was uncanny.

Summer, 333 AR

Tender Ronnell,

I am not a believer.

I never believed the corelings to be a plague sent from Heaven. Never believed a loving Creator could inflict such horror upon people. Never believed in a Deliverer. Waiting for another to solve our problems only lets them fester.

But these last years have taught me I do believe in something. I believe it is time for humanity to stand. I believe we can cast off the demons and take back our world.

They know we are getting stronger. They know, and they are massing. There will be blizzards and quakes in the coming months. You and Ragen have magic to defend against them, but it will take more than wards. It will take belief. Belief that we must put aside our differences and unite against the corelings. Belief that every life matters, and that we fight not just for ourselves, but to succor those who cannot.

My friend Rojer discovered a way to forbid demons without wards. If the Creator exists and speaks to anyone, it is him. Enclosed find sheets of his music to teach your choir the Song of Waning. With it, even the weak can have power. Use it when new moon comes and times are darkest.

Tomorrow I go to battle Ahmann Jardir. I do not know if I will survive, but I believe it doesn’t matter. What’s been started is bigger than me.

Arlen Bales

“There, in his own words.” Mery flicked the paper with a finger. “He is not the Deliverer.”

Ronnell shook his head. “His words make no difference. The Deliverer is an agent of change. He cannot serve his function if he believes in the old ways. He is here to show us the new.”

“This is nonsense,” Mery said. “Blizzards and quakes? Magical choirs? Arlen has always had delusions of grandeur, but this is too much to believe.”

“You think it coincidence that demons were tracking us on the road back to Miln?” Ragen asked. “That they crushed the way stations between here and Angiers, killing dozens of Mountain Spears? Ask the survivors if there was magic in Keerin’s music those nights.”

Mery looked at her father. “What will you do?”

“Speak to the choirmaster,” Ronnell said. “Order my Tenders and acolytes to begin using the new wards I’ve taught them.”

He looked down at the paper in his hands. “And I have a sermon to write.”

“Would we have to live with her?”

Elissa laughed at Ragen’s guarded response to the news. “No, but we’ll need to meet with her regularly. My mother will retain her full title and Sunrise Hall during the transition. Power will not transfer to us fully until her death. We can decide then if we wish to move my family’s two-hundred-year-old seat of power.”

Ragen made a face. “I thought you hated the place.”

“I hated my mother,” Elissa said. “For a long time, she and that hall were one and the same. But now…”

“Do we get titles?” Ragen asked.

Elissa smiled. “You would be Guildmaster Ragen, Neocount of Morning.”

Ragen let out a slow whistle. “I do like the sound of that. Can your mother leave you leadership of the council?”

Elissa shook her head. “Only a majority vote of Mothers can do that. More reason to start the transition early.”

Ragen sighed. “A good thing Derek just became fabulously wealthy. He might be the only one in Miln I’d sell my home to.”

Elissa put her arms around him, and he held her until there was a knock at the door.

“Yes?” Elissa called.

Margrit entered. “Begging your pardon, but the Messengers have arrived.”

“Thank you for answering my call.” Ragen strode down the lines of men in the yard. As Malcum warned, nearly every Messenger in Miln was there, along with the fittest men and women of the Warders’ Guild.

“For too many years, Messengers have been forced to cower inside our circles at night, unable to defend ourselves if the demons broke through.” There were a lot of familiar faces in the ranks, including some who had long since retired, drawn by rumors of the rejuvenating power of magic.

Ragen selected one of the spears Elissa had infused with hora, holding it up and manipulating the net with his fingers to make the wards glow brightly in the twilit courtyard. “Those days are over.” He thumped the spear on the flagstones as gasps ran through the crowd.

“Each of you will be given a warded weapon, and training to use it. Keep it close at night. Even when you are behind the wards. Even behind Miln’s walls. Even in your homes.”

There were more than just Messengers and Warders watching. A skeptical-looking group of Gatherers led by Mistress Anet stood to one side, Keerin and his apprentices to another. Even Tender Ronnell had broken curfew with a handpicked group of Tenders and acolytes to observe.

Mother Mery was absent.

“We going to be fightin’ in our bedrooms?” one Messenger asked. She was gray and leather-skinned, years retired.

“I pray to the Creator not,” Ragen said. “Nor will any of you be pressed to go into the night looking for trouble. I have no intention of doing that, either.”

He pointed the glowing spear at his walls. “But Miln’s walls were breached once not so long ago, and the demons are growing stronger. One by one, Euchor’s way stations fall silent. Make no mistake, the corelings are coming to Fort Miln. There will be blizzards and quakes. We need to be ready for them.”