CHAPTER 31

HARDEN’S GROVE

334 AR

“The last way station has fallen,” Mother Jone announced.

The last, Ragen thought. The wording implied the others had fallen and the news kept from court. There had been no news from the south since Ragen’s return. Any Messenger traveling into the region of the lost stations was never heard from again.

The courtroom filled with the chatter of private discussion, but when no one spoke out, Ragen took a step forward and bowed. Euchor sighed, but he waved a hand. “Speak.”

“His Grace recognizes the Neocount of Morning.” Jone thumped her staff, and the chatter fell silent.

“Were there survivors?” Ragen asked.

“None.” Euchor’s mouth was a hard line. The way stations were instrumental in extending his reach fully below the Dividing. Angiers was his in all but name, and the Krasians were retreating before his flamework weapons. The dream of becoming king of Thesa, so close to being realized, was slipping away.

Ragen chose his next words carefully. “Your Grace, it may be time to consider evacuating Harden’s Grove.”

“Preposterous.” Count Brayan stepped out into the aisle beside Ragen. “With the road south closed, Harden’s Grove is the biggest food producer in Miln, and their crop has barely sprouted. You would have us simply surrender it?”

“Is the crop more important than the Grovers’ lives?” Ragen knew that to many at court who had investments in the Grove, the answer was yes, but as suspected, none dared voice such a cold thought. “New moon is just a few days away. If the corelings need to press to the city walls by then, they will not let the Grove stand. We must evacuate.”

“Nonsense,” Brayan said. “The Grove has survived a thousand new moons. Its wards are strong.”

“Not so strong as His Grace’s way stations,” Ragen said. “The Mountain Spears had no women and children with them, no crops to protect, yet they fell. What hope do the Grovers have?”

“What hope do any of us have if we give up our winter stores?” Brayan asked. “And who will take them in? The Grove is home to more than five hundred souls, Neocount. Will you fill Morning County with them?”

Tresha crossed her arms, and Ragen knew it was above his authority to make such a promise, but Elissa stepped forward and gave her a pinch.

Countess Tresha eyed her daughter for a moment, then cast an equally dim gaze over the room. “If the other counties are too greedy to take in their share, Morning County will see it done, and let the Creator judge.”

“The Countess of Morning is generous,” Euchor said. “But this is premature. The Count of Gold is correct. We cannot give up the Grove without a fight.”

Brayan crossed his arms in satisfaction and Ragen grit his teeth. “Your Grace, Count Brayan’s words would seem like sense, but I do not think any who have not witnessed it can appreciate how dangerous the corelings become at new moon.”

“Agreed.” Euchor thumped his bracer against the metal arm of his throne, sending a clang through the room. “The Neocount of Morning will lead the defense of Harden’s Grove.”

Ragen looked from Euchor to Brayan as he felt the jaws of the trap close. This had been their plan all along, and he’d walked into it. “I am no soldier, Your Grace.”

“You are Neocount of Morning,” Mother Jone said. “Oath-bound to raise your spear when called upon by the throne.”

“Perhaps the neocount is considering sending his aged mother-in-law in his stead,” Brayan said, and there was laughter in the court.

Ragen gave a stiff bow. “How many Mountain Spears will I command?”

“You may have two hundred,” Euchor said.

“Your Grace…” Ragen began.

“Levy your own countymen if you need more,” Euchor said. “Or better yet, the Grovers themselves.”

“Indeed,” Brayan said. “Rally the peasants like your adopted son did the Angierians. He defended Cutter’s Hollow with less than a hundred men, it is said.”

Ragen drew a deep breath, thankful Yon was not there to hear. “As Your Grace commands.”

Yon was waiting by their carriage as they exited the duke’s palace.

“I’m coming with you,” Elissa said, the moment the carriage pulled away.

“The Core, you are,” Ragen said.

“You need me,” Elissa said.

“Comin’ where?” Yon asked.

Ragen ignored him, keeping his eyes on Elissa. “Miln needs you more. This is just the beginning. The demons will lay siege to the city. Someone has to stay here and prepare.”

“Ay!” Yon cried. “Someone want to tell the rest of us what’s goin’ on?!”

“The way stations have all been destroyed,” Elissa said. “With new moon three days away, Euchor has sent Ragen to hold Harden’s Grove.”

“Hold?” Yon asked. “Ent no way to hold a place like that on new moon. Got to get those folk out.”

Elissa glared at Ragen. “Don’t you ripping die out there.”

Ragen blew out a breath. “What do you want me to say, Lissa? I’m not the Creator. Someday something’s going to kill me. Or you. It can’t stop us from trying to live right. The Grovers need me right now, and Morning County needs you. The law says we can levy a militia. Yon and his Cutters can stay and train—”

“Piss on that,” Yon cut in. “Ent lettin’ ya go off to Harden’s Grove without us.”

“This isn’t your fight, Yon,” Ragen said.

“Is,” Yon said. “Everyone’s fight. Deliverer said so himself. Don’t care if ya ride down to the Core itself. Long as I’m around yu’ll do it with Cutters at yur back.”

Ragen wanted to argue further, but he knew there would be no swaying the man, and he could not deny he felt safer knowing Yon Gray would be at his side when the fighting started.

“It isn’t going to be enough,” Elissa said. “You cannot hold Harden’s Grove with two hundred Mountain Spears and less than twenty Cutters.”

“I’ve already called reinforcements,” Ragen said as the carriage pulled into the courtyard of their manse.

Guildmaster Malcum was squeezed into armor he hadn’t worn in twenty years, standing at the head of fifty Messengers and another hundred caravan guards. All wore polished armor and carried long spears of warded steel.

Derek stood with a score of Warders. More used to a quiet workshop than the open road and naked night, these carried spears awkwardly, but Ragen knew their contribution to the defense would be greater than the warriors’, if they did their work well.

Lieutenant Woron was waiting with Sergeant Gaims.

“Are you sure you’re up to this, man?” Ragen asked. “You barely made it back alive.”

“We’re alive thanks to you,” Woron said. “Euchor called for volunteers among the Mountain Spears. Every man you brought back is coming with us.”

These men, Ragen had spoken to at court recess and expected.

He hadn’t expected Keerin.

But the herald was there in the yard, surrounded by a knot of apprentices as they struggled through the complex progressions of Halfgrip’s music. Ragen went over to him, and Keerin called a halt to the playing. “We don’t have a lot of time to rehearse, Guildmaster.”

“Euchor will fire you, if he learns…”

“I resigned,” Keerin said. “I’m going with you.”

Ragen felt a lump form in his throat. Less than a month ago, he’d despised this man. Now…He glanced at the apprentices. More than a few had fear in their eyes. “Are they ready?”

“I can’t say with honest word that I’m ready,” the Jongleur said. “My wife thinks I’m mad. But for fifteen years, I’ve been taking credit for the deeds of Arlen Bales. Night, I had my apprentices beat him for daring to speak the truth of it to a crowd.” A few of the apprentices looked at their feet at the words, but did not deny them.

“I saw what you saw on the road,” Keerin said. “The demons are coming. We started this together when we brought Arlen Bales here from Tibbet’s Brook. A good story demands we end it together, as well.”

“Nothing is ending,” Elissa said. “If you don’t think you can hold after the first night of new moon, you get those people out of there and bring them to Miln. I don’t care if they eat us out of house and home.”

“I’m no martyr,” Ragen said. “I’ve no intention of dying for Euchor’s pride.”

“Ragen,” Amon Grove said. “Thank the Creator you’ve come. Demons are nipping at the wards like they’re on tampweed. Half the town’s ready to desert after what happened to Way Station One.”

Ragen nodded, but he did not dismount, turning Twilight Dancer this way and that, surveying the area. “It may yet come to that, Amon.”

The old man gaped. “You brought almost as many soldiers as we have folk in the whole corespawned town. Sayin’ that ent enough?”

“I’m saying it would be smart to start packing bags in case we need to leave in a hurry,” Ragen said. “Nothing heavy. Just food and clothing. If we need to go, they’ll need to make the walk in a single day.”

“Night,” Amon muttered.

“That’s not the worst of it.” Ragen slipped down from the horse and pulled a map from his saddlebag, opening it so Amon could see.

“Crops’ve barely sprouted,” Ragen said. “Makes our job easier. We’ll need your plowmen to cut greatwards into your fields.”

Amon leaned in, rheumy eyes squinting, and then they suddenly widened. “That will ruin half the crop!”

“Twenty-seven percent, by our estimate,” Derek said.

“Ay, only twenty-seven?” Amon threw up his hands. “That makes it all sunny, don’t it?”

“We don’t lose that twenty-seven percent, there won’t be anyone to eat those crops, Amon,” Ragen said. “I’m not here to petition the town council. I’ve a writ from Euchor himself to levy your men and fortify this town. Do us both a favor and make it easy for me, ay? Daylight’s wasting.”

Amon eyed Yon and the column of soldiers. “Ent got much choice, do I?”

“There’s a good man,” Ragen said.

The evenly spaced wardposts in the fields and orchards were a perfect grid to work off, and the Warders quickly plotted the greatwards, directing the Grovers’ plows. Malcum’s caravan guards followed after with shovels, filling the furrows with powdered limestone, the white stone a sharp contrast to the dark soil. They took what care they could, but Ragen could tell their estimates of crop loss to trampling were low.

Lieutenant Woron had the Mountain Spears digging trenches inside the outer fence so they could fire from relative safety and succor. The inner wall was just high enough to shoot over, should they be forced to retreat.

For three days they worked, waiting at the ready each night, expecting a demon to strike that never came.

They’re waiting for new moon, Ragen realized.

The third night was the beginning of the cycle, and as the sun dipped low in the sky Ragen and Yon climbed the bell tower of the Grovers’ Holy House to look out over the defenses. The greatwards were sharp and clean, a powerful forbidding, but would it be enough?

“Know the feelin’,” Yon said as he watched Ragen pace back and forth.

“Ay?” Ragen asked. “I’m not sure I know myself.”

“Like you got an itch you can’t scratch,” Yon said. “Dreadin’ what’s to come so much yur eager to be on with it.”

“A bit,” Ragen conceded. “But what if the corelings don’t care about Harden’s Grove at all? What if they’re about to strike the walls of Miln while we’re off chasing fairy pipkins?”

Yon shrugged his heavy shoulders. “That kinda talk ent gonna help anyone. Know yur worried, but folk are lookin’ to ya right now.”

Ragen looked down again. Not at the defenses, but at the men and women working them. More than one set of eyes glanced up at him.

He straightened, forcing himself to look more confident than he felt. “What would Arlen be doing about now?”

Yon chuckled. “Givin’ one’a those speeches o’ his, tellin’ folk they’re all Deliverers or some demonshit like’at.”

“You don’t believe that?” Ragen asked.

Yon shrugged again. “Mr. Bales was always a humble feller. Folk ’preciated that. Liked bein’ told they could make a difference, ’cause Creator knows they can. But there’s only one Deliverer.”

The last of the light slipped away, and the wards on Ragen’s helm activated, his eyes slipping into wardsight as the demons began to rise.

“I’ve never been one for speeches.” Ragen turned and headed for the stairs. “Everyone knows their part.”

“Dive!” Ragen cried.

As the Mountain Spears scattered, a young Warder’s apprentice drew an impact ward that shattered the boulder before it could roll over the greatward and mar the lines. Several defenders could not get clear in time, caught in the shock wave and pummeled by stone.

Ragen did not see what else the young woman could have done, but she stood staring in horror at the men her spell had injured, too transfixed to see that another demon had gotten a bead on her.

“Cara!” Ragen raised his stylus, but she was crushed before he could form his first ward. The Warders were increasingly adept at using hora magic, but they did not yet have experience on the battlefield.

Something bashed into Ragen then, blowing the breath from him as he was borne to the ground. There was a rush of air as a stone flew past.

Yon eased off him, easily pulling Ragen in his steel armor back to his feet. “Might be best you step away from the front. Demons got ya marked.”

Indeed, every time Ragen revealed himself, the corelings seemed to fixate on him. They knew to focus fire on the Warders, but not even Derek drew the attention Ragen did. He let his warded cloak fall around him and backed slowly away until he reached the area of protection Keerin and his apprentices cast in front of the inner wall.

Three of the greatwards circling Harden’s Grove were destroyed, each next to the one before it. The demons were dismantling their defense deliberately, opening a wide field of attack instead of narrow, defensible corridors. They weren’t ready to make a full-scale push for the wall—yet—but already the defenders were hard-pressed.

The Mountain Spears had stopped firing, conserving ammunition for defense of the inner wall. Half had affixed bayonets and joined the close fighters while the rest took position at the wall.

Hundreds of Grovers followed in the fighters’ wake, using farm tools painted with wards to aid in finishing off the coreling wounded.

Already, the feedback magic had begun to tell upon some of them. Amon Grove no longer leaned on his rake. The old man swung it into a prone field demon as smoothly as his younger self might have into tough ground. Piercing wards on the tines tore through the demon’s belly.

Younger Grovers were growing overconfident as the night strength took them, stepping into active combat. Ragen might have called them brave, but he knew it was a mix of fear, adrenaline, and demon magic. A mixture that could get folk killed if they weren’t strong enough to master it.

A shock wave of magic knocked over a group of defenders. None was seriously injured, but as they struggled back to their feet a few of them stiffened, then began turning weapons on their fellows. Mountain Spears, mostly, firing flamework at Messengers on horseback, but regular folk as well began to turn rakes and hoes on people they had known all their lives.

Ragen could see the victims had lost the warded headgear that protected their minds. He scanned the area, but there was no sign of a mind demon. Just looking made him dizzy…confused.

He shook himself, raising his stylus and drawing wards to summon a wind aimed at the powdered limestone that had been shoveled into the furrows of the now inert greatward. The wind kicked up a cloud of dust, and there in the middle of it was a humanoid shape, no larger than a young man, with a bulbous, conical head.

“Mind demon!” he boomed, and drew a lectric ward, powering it with as much of his stylus’ reserve as he dared.

The bolt of lightning struck the demon dead center. The mind was knocked onto its back, the distortion field around it falling. Derek and three other Warders joined the bombardment, but a field demon scampered forward, growing with every stride. Its scales thickened into the hard carapace of a rock demon as it stood over its master and took the blows while it recovered.

“Concentrate fire!” Ragen shouted. Arrows and crank bow bolts gave the mimic a hedgehog’s spine as Warders drew freezing wards. Bullets from the Mountain Spears sent cracks spiderwebbing through the frozen armor.

Ragen emptied his stylus with one last impact ward, shattering the tortoise shell the mimic had formed, but by then it was too late. The ruin of the mimic revealed no sign of its master.

The mind had fled the field.

The change was immediately apparent in the demons—tactics shifting back to animal ferocity over organized assault, even as their resistance to Keerin and his players waned.

The Jongleurs cast an air of confusion over the compromised fields, and Yon, Malcum, and Woron were quick to capitalize on it, surging beyond the protection of the greatwards in brief sallies that left the vulnerable demons crippled or killed.

The move bought them time, but it was not enough. Before long the mind recovered, and organization returned to the enemy ranks. Another hour, and they were forced to fall back to fortify the inner wall.

Derek found him as he passed through the gate. “I sent the Warders to rest. They can’t take much more of this.” He held up his stylus in shaking fingers. “Neither can we.”

Ragen nodded. He, too, was feeling the burn of channeling too much magic. He pulled out his watch. Another hour and the sky would begin to lighten, sending the minds fleeing. Two, and even the boldest demons would begin to dissipate.

“Hold the wall!” he shouted, drawing wards to echo his words throughout the town as he raced back to the front. “Dawn is coming! Stand fast for your homes, for your families, and we will all see the sun!”

“Rock!” one of the guards cried. Ragen ran up the stairs to the walltop, seeing the rock demon readying a throw. He raised his stylus, but a wave of dizziness overtook him and he mangled the warding. The stone smashed into the gate, bending steal and shattering one of the hinges. The gate hung partially suspended, crumpled on one side.

Mountain Spears opened fire as corelings rushed the gap in the wards, but they would not hold for long.

“To the gate!” Ragen cried. He shoved the stylus into a pocket beneath his armor as Twilight Dancer was brought forward with his spear and shield.

Keerin and his apprentices appeared, but the rushing demons were not deterred by their music. They struck the weakened gate, tearing it from its remaining hinges under their combined weight.

They switched instead to another tune, this one peppered with jarring, discordant notes that left the demons off balance as the defenders charged.

Ragen lost track of time as the battle wore on. More breaches opened in the wall, and he raced Twilight Dancer from one to the next, rallying the men.

The sky was beginning to lighten when they were forced to abandon the wall and retreat to the town square where the wards still held. The Jongleurs’ music was overwhelming in the small space, and the demons, funneled between warded buildings, were easy targets.

But then a stone demon grabbed a piece of rubble and threw, hitting Ragen squarely in the chest. His armor held proof against the blow, but he was thrown from Twilight Dancer’s back, and felt his shoulder pop from the socket as he hit the ground.

His ears were ringing as he struggled to rise, the great warhorse rearing protectively over him. But then, through it all, he heard a sound more beautiful than anything he could have imagined.

A rooster crowed.

Dawn had come.

Ragen bit down hard on leather, thrashing in Malcum and Derek’s grip as Yon gave a sharp pull and twist, popping his shoulder back into its socket.

Ragen spat out the wadded glove, tasting oil and sweat, blood and ichor. “Night, Yon! How long ago was your Gatherer’s training?”

Yon shrugged. “Never had trainin’. House full of boys learns ya a thing or two about bones.”

“Creator,” Ragen groaned.

“And you’re lucky to have him,” Malcum said. “The Grove’s Gatherer and her apprentices are a little busy at the moment.”

“How soon can we be on the road?” Ragen asked. “There isn’t a moment to spare.” A Messenger on horseback could leave the Grove at dawn and reach Miln in time for a late lunch, but the Grovers were exhausted, battered, and mostly afoot. They would be lucky to reach the city by nightfall.

“We’re loading the wounded onto carts now,” Malcum said. “Think you can ride?”

Ragen nodded. “I’ll manage.”

“Good man,” Malcum said. “That monstrous stallion of yours looks strong as ever. If you set a hard pace, you can get back…”

“No,” Ragen said. “I won’t leave these people on the road without me. Twilight Dancer isn’t the only stallion charged from trampling demons on warded hooves. Set a pair of Messengers to take the road at a gallop. One to the duke, and one straight to Elissa. Tell them we’re abandoning Harden’s Grove.”

Ragen led the ragged procession up the road, carrying little more than water and the clothes on their backs. Behind them, the town that had been their home for generations lay trampled, broken, and burning.

Children too young and elderly too slow to keep the pace clung where they could to carts carrying the wounded. Ragen pushed the folk as fast as they could go, but still twilight had fallen before they had a clear look at the city.

The walls of Miln still stood, but they were battered, with rubble strewn about the base. Warders hung on harnesses from the walltop, repairing damaged symbols. The air stank of corelings left to burn in the sun.

In the distance, Ragen heard the Evening Bell. He turned back to the weary refugees. “Double-time now. They aren’t going to keep the gates open for any that aren’t in the city by dusk!”

“Gates closing!” the wall guard cried down as Ragen rode into the city at the head of the Grovers.

“You close it on these people, and I’ll pitch you right over the side!” Ragen shouted back. The Grovers were pouring through the gate, but the weary column still stretched down the road. The sky was darkening fast.

“Euchor’s orders, Neocount,” the guard said.

Ragen spat. The slowest and most vulnerable were in the back, but with the bottleneck at the gate, there was no getting back out to help astride Twilight Dancer. He forgot himself as he swung from the saddle, and his injured arm exploded with pain, losing its grip.

Yon caught him with one giant arm. “Easy, now.”

“Get the Grovers back to my manse,” he told Derek and Yon. “It will be cramped, but we can hold them all for the night and figure things out in the morning.”

“Where ya think yur goin’?” Yon asked.

“Back out to help,” Ragen said.

“Gonna make much difference with that arm?” Yon asked.

“Maybe not,” Ragen said, “but seeing the Neocount of Morning outside might make the guards think twice about shutting the gates with folk still coming in.”

Ragen forced his way through the press to the gate. The guards tried to bar his way, but Yon was there, shoving them aside like children.

There was panic outside among the Grovers. The mounted troops, Malcum’s Messengers, Derek’s Warders, and Woron’s Mountain Spears had ridden through first, carrying as many of the women and children as they could manage. The carts, overloaded with few designed for a long journey, moved at a crawl. One poor mare, pulling a cart of wounded alone, had collapsed, holding up the line.

Yon cut the harnesses, sparing a moment to mercifully drop his axe on the poor beast’s head. Then he wrapped the straps around his chest and, incredibly, began to pull the cart himself.

Ragen moved along the line, hurrying folk as best he could. A graybeard was lying on the road, a boy no more than six pulling at him, begging him to rise.

“Go on,” the man told the boy. “Find your mother and sisters inside.”

“That won’t do, Graybeard,” Ragen said. “We’re not leaving anyone behind.”

“Ankle’s twisted,” the old man said. “Get my grandson inside, I beg.”

Ragen frowned, looking at the boy. He didn’t trust his arm to carry him and hold the old man. He squatted, shifting his accent to speak like a Grover. “Up my back, boy. Quick as a squirrel, now.”

“Ent leavin’ Gramp!” the boy shouted.

“Neither am I, but we’ll all get et you don’t mind me!” Ragen barked. The boy jumped and scampered up his back. Ragen put his good arm under the old man’s armpit.

“Don’t think I—” the graybeard began.

“Shut it and get up,” Ragen cut him off with the same tone he used on the boy. It worked equally well with the old man, and with a grunt Ragen stood, lifting them both.

“Ay!” the old man cried, wincing as he took a step.

“Collapse when we’re inside,” Ragen said. Others were rushing to help, but the sun was below the horizon now. Any moment the rising would begin. He looked at the gate, but his men, even Woron and the Mountain Spears, were blocking it open as the last of them limped forward.

Mist began to seep from the ground, gathering. “Run!” Ragen cried, sheer terror bringing new strength to his failing limbs. He broke into an awkward lope, half dragging the man until Cal and Nona Cutter reached him. Cal plucked the boy from his back, and Nona threw the old man over one shoulder like a bag of apples.

The wall guards were blaring horns and struggling to close the gates. Ragen spared a glance back as he ran—the smaller corelings were fully formed now, field and flame demons racing for the open gates. He pulled the stylus from the hidden pocket in his armor and stopped running just long enough to draw a quick series of wards in the air.

It was his first warding of the night, but already the magic was like boiling water across his skin. He grit his teeth and powered the wards fully, knowing their lives depended on it.

The demons slammed against the barrier like a brick wall. It wouldn’t hold, but it bought enough time to get the last of the Grovers inside and slam the gates shut behind them.

Ragen sent the others ahead and climbed the wall with Woron, Gaims, and Yon. The view from the top was grim. Rock demons were fully formed now, searching the rubble for stones large enough to throw. The wards strengthened the stone walls, but their strength was not limitless. Sufficient bombardment would erode the protection.

The Mountain Spears didn’t give them the chance. Approaching within throwing distance put the corelings in range of the heavy cannons on the wall. The iron cannonballs had been cast with wards, and Ragen watched one punch through the chest of a rock demon and put it on its back. The creature still glowed in wardsight, but its aura went flat—dead.

Ragen looked at the stockpiles of ammunition. The piles were not high, and many of the balls were battered and scorched, obviously recovered from the previous night’s battle.

Another rock demon drew an arm back to throw, but the cannon team aimed hurriedly and missed their shot. Ragen waited until the demon was mid-throw, then drew a careful impact ward, powering it just enough to knock the stone from its talons. Still, the power jolted him like a punch to the stomach.

The demon stumbled, then turned to retrieve the missile, giving the next cannon team plenty of time to put twelve pounds of warded iron into its back.

Still the demons massed, rising in numbers that dwarfed those sent to crush Harden’s Grove. Ragen turned to Yon. “Back to the manse.”

Twilight Dancer and Yon’s giant mustang easily caught up to the refugees. Corelings could not rise through worked stone, and wards on the rooftops formed an effective net against wind demons. They should have been safe on the cobbled streets, but horns began to sound from all sides.

“What’s goin’ on?” Yon asked.

“Demons in the city,” Ragen said.

“How can that be?” Gaims asked. “We were just on the wall, and it was holding.”

“I don’t know,” Ragen said, “but keep your men at the ready.”

Woron nodded, shouting commands. His men were as exhausted as the Grovers—their ammunition spent. It would be bayonets and muscle, if they encountered resistance.

More and more horns sounded, flashes of light here and there as demons tested the wards of individual homes and buildings.

“What in the dark of night…” Ragen did not have a chance to finish the sentence as the street in front of them caved in. Grovers and soldiers tumbled down with cobbles, mortar, and dirt. Ragen, Yon, and Woron pulled up just in time, horses rearing to avoid the pitfall.

Corelings swarmed inside the hole, falling on the unfortunate folk and tearing them to pieces.

“They’re in the old sewer system!” Ragen cried.

“Aren’t they sealed and warded?” Woron asked.

“Ay,” Ragen said. “After the last time the demons tried this trick. Either Euchor’s been skimping on maintenance, or the mind demons found a way around the defenses.”

Derek and Malcum were across the divide with the bulk of the refugees. “Keep moving!” Ragen called. “We’ll catch up!”

Demons began to emerge from the sinkhole, and Ragen pulled hard on Dancer’s reins, cutting down a side street to circle around and catch Derek’s group. There was a sinkhole on the next street as well, corelings pouring out of it.

Ragen wrapped the reins around the wrist of his injured arm, trusting in Dancer to respond to his legs. He pulled his stylus and drew wards to create a temporary seal across the top of the sinkhole. The effort made him woozy, but he kicked Twilight Dancer and the stallion leapt ahead, trampling a pair of field demons from their path with his warded hooves.

Demons were attempting to breach the wards on individual buildings, but Ragen’s guild had done their work well. Without the rock and wood demons—too large to enter through the sewers—to batter through walls and doors, the lesser demons were stymied.

It was scant relief, for the corelings quickly realized the futility and went after easier prey—the refugees racing up the hill toward what Ragen prayed was the safety of his walls.

There was no sign of a mind, at least. The demons hunted with animal frenzy, not cold calculation. The coreling princes seemed reluctant to risk themselves while so many of the city’s defenses remained intact.

A squad of Mountain Spears appeared, firing their flamework weapons in staggered bursts to give their fellows time to reload. Their unwarded rounds tore through the demons, killing a few, but most corelings were more angered than injured. These men had not been tested against the corelings as Woron’s shooters had. They wasted shots on non-vital areas, and more than a few of them hit refugees with stray fire.

“Head shots and center mass!” Woron cried. He signaled his own men to skewer injured demons with their bayonets before they could heal and rise again.

But the flamework had driven the demons into a frenzy, and the Mountain Spears were unprepared for their savagery. The soldiers wore helmets, but their flamework weapons made conventional armor obsolete. Their blue-and-gray uniforms turned red with blood.

Field and flame demons ran up walls, spitting fire and leaping into the midst of a squad of soldiers. The men had no time to affix bayonets, and screamed as they were clawed and bitten. One man had his entire leg torn off; another was set ablaze, the intense heat of demonfire setting off the ammunition on his bandolier. They were thrown apart, landing bloodied on the ground, but while the flame demon shook it off and got back to its feet, the soldier did not.

Ragen spared a moment to draw a moisture ward and send it flying at the demon. The magic made his head spin and his stomach roil, but it was worth the pain when the demon’s scales started to hiss and cloud as the magic drew water from the surrounding air. Ragen kicked his horse, riding off as the demon began to writhe and shriek.

They raced through the streets, circling back to the route Derek was leading the refugees along. They spotted mounted Messengers herding folk together, leading the Grovers around the worst of the collapsed streets. Keerin covered them as best he could with a shield of music. Many of the adjacent buildings were damaged, and the demons took full advantage of the weakened wards.

A man and a woman ran screaming from one of the buildings, each carrying a small child. At their heels ran a reap of slavering field demons.

“Yon!” Ragen cried.

“On it!” Yon called, kicking his horse. Cal and Lary followed, and the three Cutters chopped through the reap, giving the family time to join the refugees.

And so it went, until at last Ragen’s manse was in sight. Demons clawed at the walls, but were thrown back again and again by the powerful wards. Even from the back of the procession, Ragen could see Elissa on the walltop, glowing bright with magic as she drew bright silver wards in the air with her stylus, breaking the coreling ranks and clearing a path for them.

The gates opened, and Ragen’s Servants came pouring out with long warded spears. They kept the formation defensive, driving demons back with jabs of the spears to clear the way for the refugees to flow into the courtyard.

The Grovers, Messengers, Warders, and soldiers filled almost every inch of the space inside the walls, but as the gates clanged shut behind them, they were finally safe.

Ragen allowed himself to fall from his horse.

“They’re still coming!” one of the wall guards called.

Ragen tried to shake off the blackness and push himself up, but Elissa, drawing wards to mend his arm, pushed him back down.

“No time to baby me, Liss,” Ragen said. “I’ve got…”

“You’ve got to rest or you’re no good to anyone.”

Much as he hated to admit it, Elissa’s words were true. The yard was spinning, and his muscles were aflame from channeling so much magic. Still, Ragen resisted. “The wards may not hold against so many. If they collapse a street outside…”

Elissa shoved him down hard. She was flush with magic, handling him like a child. “I’ll handle it.”

She called for Margrit. “Linens. All of them. The whiter the better.”

Margrit didn’t question the strange request, though Ragen could not see what good they might do.

Elissa drew a sound ward with her stylus, amplifying her voice a hundredfold. “Everyone look at your feet! Do not straddle the painted lines on the ground! If you are inside a painted section, put your hands in the air! If not, sit on the ground!”

The terrified fold did not question the commands, and quickly the greatwards painted on the cobbles took shape again. Elissa and the Warders roamed the yard, pushing and shoving folk into position.

The ward was already beginning to flicker to life when the Servants filtered out of the manse carrying white linens.

“Those standing, take linens and hold them overhead!” Elissa cried.

With that, the greatward quickly flared, Drawing ambient power and brightening the auras of everyone along its lines. Fatigue washed away from them, and they straightened, sharpening the lines further.

Outside, the demons howled as the magic brightened, then were driven back by the forbidding until they fled into the city in search of easier prey.