CHAPTER 4

RAGEN AND ELISSA

334 AR

“Night.” Ragen pulled up short as the thick woods to either side of the warded Messenger road ended abruptly. It was nearing dusk, but there was light still. “We passed through less than a year ago, and this was miles of woodland.”

“Cutters’ axes swing day and night,” Briar said. The boy was on foot, somehow keeping pace with the horses.

Even atop his saddle, Ragen could smell Briar. Elissa had him bathing now, but all the hogroot the boy ate had gotten into his sweat. The scent protected him from demons at night, but it made him stand out to everyone else.

“They didn’t just clear the land,” Elissa said. “There are entire towns that weren’t there before.”

“Greatwards, too,” Briar said. “Cories can’t touch the Hollow.”

“Creator be praised.” Elissa blew out a breath. “I set out from Miln to have a taste for once of the naked night. Now I’ve had my fill. I’m ready for walls, a bath, and a feathered bed.”

“Walls make you soft,” Briar said. “Forget what’s out there.”

“I daresay I’ll have no trouble remembering,” Ragen said. They had been making their way out of Lakton for weeks via ill-used Messenger ways. Ragen had maps, but since the great Messenger road was built, many of the old trails had been reclaimed by the wetlands.

But the road was too dangerous. After the Battle of Docktown, the Krasians sent an army to take the Monastery of Dawn. The monastery was the most defensible spot Ragen had ever seen short of Lakton itself. He and Shepherd Alin had thought to hold out for weeks, but even those great walls were no match for Krasian laddermen. There was hand-fighting on the walls the first day, and they had been forced to flee to the docks.

Krasian privateers harried them for miles, but could not keep pace with Captain Dehlia and the Sharum’s Lament. They lost sight of the pursuers long enough to send boats out to a tiny fishing village to the north where they could begin the trek back to Miln.

The Krasians were conquering every village near the Messenger road, so Ragen had taken his charges overland, through out-of-the-way hamlets and along trails that were little more than dim memories of a path. They made valuable contacts along the way, and sent Euchor reports whenever possible, though Creator knew if any of them made it to him.

Ragen shook his head as they approached the first greatward. “I remember when Cutter’s Hollow was a hamlet with less than three hundred people. Now it’s home to a hundred thousand, by some estimates.”

“All because of Arlen,” Elissa said.

“You really knew him?” Briar asked. “Warded Man?”

“Knew him?” Ragen laughed. “We practically raised him. Like a son to us.” Briar looked up at him, and Ragen reached down, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. Briar tended to flinch at intimate contact, but this he allowed, even leaning into it a bit. “Like you’ve become, Briar.”

“In another life, you might have called him brother.” Elissa choked on the words. “But now Arlen is gone.”

“Ent,” Briar said.

“What’s that, boy?” Ragen asked.

“Folk saw him,” Briar said. “When Krasians first came. He was on the road, helping.”

“There were rumors,” Elissa said.

Ragen reached over to take her hand. “People tell ale stories, Briar.”

Briar shook his head. “Different folk, different places, same story. Drew wards in the air and cories burst into flame.”

“Do you think…” Elissa asked.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Ragen said, though he hadn’t dared believe it himself. “Boy’s too stubborn to die.”

Elissa laughed, sniffling.

She looked up suddenly. “Do you hear singing?”

“There.” Ragen had the distance lens to his eye, whatever he saw lost in the gloom to Elissa.

“What is it?” Elissa asked.

Ragen passed Elissa the lens. “Looks like a funeral procession.”

In the lens, Elissa could see a fiddle-playing Jongleur, flanked by two singing Krasian women in bright, colorful robes. Behind the Krasian women were a Tender and a finely dressed woman, followed by their attendants and six Cutters bearing a wooden litter on their wide shoulders.

Hundreds followed in their wake, voices joined in song. They were led by a bright patchwork troupe of Jongleurs.

“The Jongleur at the lead,” Elissa said, moving the lens back to the front. “Might that be Arlen’s friend? The fiddle wizard, Rojer Halfgrip?”

“Not unless Arlen didn’t notice that Halfgrip is a woman with two hands,” Ragen said. Elissa looked closer and saw he was right. The three in front were all women.

Elissa studied the women. Their music was eerily clear, carried on the night air as if by magic. “Why would a funeral procession be heading to the edge of the greatwards?”

“Kill seven cories,” Briar said.

Elissa looked at him. “Whatever for?”

“It’s a Krasian ritual,” Ragen said. “They believe killing seven demons—one for each pillar of Heaven—honors and guides a departing spirit down the lonely path.”

“The lonely path?” Elissa asked.

“Path that leads to the Creator.” Briar’s voice tightened. “And His judgment.”

They stepped off the road as the procession reached them, blending into the crowd as it passed. The Mistress of the Hollow held a rod in her hand that looked to be a slender bone covered in gold plate, etched with wards. As they went, she used it to draw light wards that hung in the air like silver script. Then she gave a flick of her wrist and they shot high into the sky and burst into brilliance, hanging in the air to illuminate the procession.

“Ragen,” Elissa said quietly.

“I see.” Ragen had heard of the demon bone magic of the Krasians, but didn’t truly understand it until now. If demon bones held magic after the coreling died, it meant any skilled Warder could do what the mistress just did.

And few in Miln were as skilled as the Warders’ Guildmaster and his wife.

The procession stopped at a great clearing, and the trio at the lead left the road, going to stand at its center. They changed their song, and demons appeared at the outskirts, drawn to the sound. Elissa gripped Ragen’s arm with sharp fingernails, but neither of them could utter a word.

A few in the crowd cried out when the corelings were almost upon them, but again the music shifted, and demon claws dug great furrows in the ground as they pulled up short.

The fiddler kept her tune, holding the center of the clearing free of demons as the Krasian women circled, driving some of the demons away with shrieks, even as they kept others bound in place until there was only one of each breed.

It was incredible, the level of control the players had. Elissa had never seen anything like it. Even Arlen’s stories of Halfgrip the fiddle wizard paled in comparison.

“We must take this power to Miln,” Elissa said.

“Ay,” Ragen said.

“Halfgrip wrote music on paper,” Briar said. “Seen Jongleurs with it.”

Elissa nodded. “I’ll find the Jongleurs’ Guildmaster and pay whatever it takes to get a copy.”

“Ent s’posed to charge,” Briar said. “Halfgrip said all could share.”

“You don’t suppose…” Elissa’s eyes flicked to the pall, seeing a crossed fiddle and bow embroidered on the cloth.

“Night,” she whispered.

Leesha’s eyes were drawn by the sound of thundering footfalls. A twenty-foot rock demon appeared on the far side of the clearing, brushing winter-barren trees aside like reeds as it stepped from the woods.

The Cutters closed ranks behind the demon, trapping the seven demons in the clearing and preventing others from entering. Their warded cutting tools hung over their shoulders, unused this night. They stood guard with voices alone.

The song was Keep the Hearthfire Burning, an old woodcutting chantey every Hollower knew. Hearthfire was meant to keep cutters’ tools in sync while they worked. Leesha remembered the night Rojer first heard it. He hummed the tune for days after, working the melody on his fiddle. The changes he made were subtle, but somehow her friend worked his special magic into the music.

Now the first verse of Keep the Hearthfire Burning kept the Cutters marching in step while keeping demons at bay. The second drew the enemy in close, and the third disoriented corelings as the axes fell upon them.

“Still keeping us safe,” Leesha whispered.

“What’s that, mistress?” Wonda asked.

“Rojer’s protecting us, even now,” Leesha said.

“Course he is,” Wonda said. “Creator wouldn’t have taken Rojer if his work wern’t done.”

Leesha had never been comfortable with the idea of a Creator so involved in who lived and who died. What was the point of Gathering if it were so? Nevertheless, the thought of Rojer in Heaven was a comforting one.

There were seven demons in all, one for each pillar in the Krasian Heaven. A flame demon danced around the rock’s feet. There was a spindly-armed bog demon and a long-limbed wood demon. A field demon, sleek and low to the ground. A squat stone demon lumbered, and above in the sky a wind demon circled.

Amanvah and Sikvah ceased their singing, and Kendall lowered her fiddle. The priestess raised a hand. “Jaddah.”

“That’s my cue.” Wonda passed Leesha her bow, rolling her loose sleeves as she strode to the center of the clearing. The wards stained onto her arms glowed softly.

Wonda chose the bog demon, skittering in before it could snatch her in its arms. The demon was not flexible enough to strike in close, and she landed a series of blows, accentuated by the impact wards on her fists and elbows. A warded boot heel sent the demon stumbling back, and she moved in quick, stomping the demon’s knee and putting it on its back.

She moved in close again, falling atop the coreling and pinning it, raining blows down upon its head. The demon flailed, but after a time its movements were only reflex responses to her continuing blows. Her wards glowed brighter and brighter until the demon’s head cracked open.

“Avash,” Amanvah said when Wonda at last stepped back, covered in ichor that sizzled on her wards.

Gared stepped forward then. His axe was slung, but he wore his great warded gauntlets, and he chose the ten-foot-tall wood demon as his gift to Heaven. He wasn’t as graceful and quick as Wonda, but the demon was immediately on the defensive, stumbling back under his thunderous blows. It lasted less time than the bog demon.

“Umas.” Amanvah named the third pillar of Heaven as she called Rojer’s apprentices, led by Hary Roller, into the clearing. The Jongleurs chose the field demon, driving the coreling into a frenzy with their music before setting it on the stone demon.

The field demon leapt upon the stone demon, claws raking, but they could not penetrate the heavy armor. The stone demon batted the field demon to the ground and smashed its skull with a heavy talon.

Amanvah caught Leesha’s eye. “Rahvees.”

Leesha drew a breath, stepping forward and raising her hora wand at the stone demon. She drew silver wards in the air with quick, sharp script. Cold wards froze it in place, ichor turning solid in the demon’s veins. Lectricity wards shocked through the beast, racking it with pain.

“For you, Rojer.” Leesha drew impact wards, and the demon shattered.

“Kenji.”

Kendall stepped forward, raising bow to string. She drew the flame demon to her effortlessly, coaxing the beast to draw firespit into its mouth. Then she changed her song, forcing the demon to swallow it.

Flame demon scales were impervious to heat, but the same could not be said of their insides. The demon choked and fell onto its back, thrashing as its insides burned.

Kendall picked up the tempo as she circled the coreling, notes becoming hard and discordant. The flamer whined and cried, curling into a protective ball as Kendall played faster and faster. Her bow became a blur as she raised her head away from the fiddle’s chinrest. The music grew so loud, Leesha’s eardrums throbbed even beneath the wax she and the other mourners wore.

At last the flame demon gave a final throe and lay still. Kendall let her music die away as Amanvah pointed to the wind demon in the sky. “Ghanith.”

Sikvah took her turn, calling to the demon. It circled down, talons leading to snatch the tiny girl up and sweep away into the sky with her.

But as it drew close, Sikvah touched her throat and gave such a cry the demon pulled up short, flapped wildly, and then fell to the ground, dead. Sikvah turned to her sister-wife, bowing. “Horzha.”

Amanvah’s colored silks billowed in the breeze as she sauntered up to the rock demon, beginning to sing the Song of Waning. Her voice rose alone in the night, holding the rock demon in its grip.

Louder and louder she sang as she circled the rock. She had a hand to her throat, working the magic of her choker. It grew so loud that Leesha had to cover her ears, and she saw folk half a mile up the road doing likewise as they watched. Leesha felt she could almost see the vibration in the air as the resonance grew.

And then, abruptly, there was a great crack, and the rock demon fell, striking the ground with a boom.

“Honored husband, Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Hollow.” Amanvah’s voice carried unnaturally far. “Rojer of the Half Grip, disciple of Arrick of the Sweetest Song, let our sacrifice summon a seraph to guide you on the lonely path to Everam, where you shall sup at His table until there is need for your spirit to return to Ala once more.”

Leesha walked beside Amanvah as they entered the Corelings’ Graveyard. Sikvah and Kendall were two steps behind them, followed by Tender Jona and Cutters bearing Rojer to the pyre.

The Straw Gatherers had done their work well. Rojer’s handsome face was serene, showing nothing of the violence of his death. He was clad in bright silk motley and looked as if he might leap to his feet at any moment and begin playing a reel.

He lay on a bed of axe handles crossed over the broad shoulders of Gared, Wonda, and half a dozen handpicked Hollowers. Dug and Merrem Butcher. Smitt. Darsy. Jow and Evin Cutter.

Folk filled the Graveyard, packing the cobbles before the pyre and stretching down the road in every direction. All roads in Cutter’s Hollow led here, to the center of the greatward.

The pyre had been built in front of the bandshell that had been Rojer’s place of power. Gared and Wonda were weeping openly as they laid Rojer on the great platform over the pile of kindling.

Amanvah, Sikvah, and Kendall fell to their knees on the stage, wailing and sobbing with dramatic flair as young Krasian girls scraped the tears from their cheeks into tiny bottles of warded glass.

Leesha wanted to weep. She had often sought solace in tears, and wept over Rojer many times in private over the last few weeks. But now, before all the gathered people of the Hollow, she felt as if she had nothing left to give. Thamos, dead. Arlen gone, and Ahmann’s fate uncertain. And now Rojer. Would it be her fate to bury every man she loved?

After a time, Amanvah recovered herself and got to her feet, looking out over the crowd as she activated her choker. “I am Amanvah vah Rojer vah Ahmann am’Inn am’Hollow, First Wife to Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Hollow. My husband was son-in-law to Shar’Dama Ka, but there was no denying that he, too, was touched by Everam. We burn his body according to your custom, but in Krasia, sharik hora, the bones of heroes, are honored above all others. My honored husband’s bones will be taken from the remains, lacquered, and encased in warded glass to consecrate the new temple to the Creator here on the sacred ground of the Corelings’ Graveyard.”

Kendall began a slow, mournful song, and Amanvah began to sing. Sikvah joined her, the trio wrapping the crowd in their music as easily as they charmed corelings.

As she sang, Amanvah produced the tiny skull of a flame demon and pointed it at the pyre, fingers sliding across the wards to activate the magic. A blast of flame shot from the jaws, setting the wood beneath the pyre alight. The Straw Gatherers had filled the body with chemics and sawdust, and it blazed quickly, shining over the crowd as they stood entranced by the Krasian funeral song.

When it was over, Leesha took the stage, clearing her throat. She did not have a choker like the princess, but there was magic in the bandshell as well, carrying her words far into the night.

Still Leesha’s tears would not come, and no doubt the mourners were wondering at the sight. Why isn’t she crying? Didn’t she love him? Doesn’t she care?

She took a deep breath. “Rojer made me promise that if this day ever came, I’d have singing and dancing, and toss the speeches in the flames with him.”

There was scattered laughter.

“It’s honest word.” Leesha produced a folded paper. “He even wrote it down.” She opened the paper, reading.

Leesha, I plan to live long enough to dazzle my great-grandchildren with magic tricks, but we both know life doesn’t always go according to plan. If I should die, I’m counting on you to make sure my funeral isn’t some boring, depressing affair. Tell everyone I was great, sing a sad song while you light the pyre, then tell Hary to spin a reel and order folk to shut up and dance.

Leesha folded the paper, slipping it into a pocket of her dress. “I wouldn’t be here if not for Rojer Halfgrip. I daresay many of us wouldn’t. More than once, his music was the last line of the Hollow’s defense, giving us time to regroup, to find our feet, to catch our breath.

“When Arlen Bales fell from the sky at new moon, it was Rojer’s fiddle that lured the coreling hordes into ambush after ambush, allowing us to hold the night.

“But that’s not how I remember him best,” Leesha went on. “Rojer was the one who was always ready with a joke when I was sad, or an ear when I needed one. He could be my conscience one moment, and turn a backflip the next. When problems mounted and everything seemed too much to bear, Rojer could just take out his fiddle and soothe it all away.

“That was his magic. Not drawing wards or throwing lightning. Not seeing the future or healing wounds. Rojer Inn saw into hearts, human and demon, and spoke to them with his music. I’ve never known anyone like him, and I don’t expect I shall again.

“Rojer was great.” She choked, putting a hand to her mouth, and suddenly found her tears. Amanvah herself rushed forward, catching the drops before they fell from her cheek.

Leesha took a moment to compose herself, then turned to the leader of the Jongleurs in the bandshell. “Hary, it’s time for that reel.”

Elissa drank and danced with the Hollowers all night. Ragen swung Elissa about like he hadn’t since they courted, and even Briar took a turn—the boy surprisingly light on his feet and quick to pick up the steps. The three of them laughed until their faces hurt, feeling safe and joyful for the first time in Creator only knew how long.

As the night wore on, Jongleurs broke off, luring revelers back to their own boroughs just as Halfgrip once lured the corelings, and there was cheer and laughter throughout the Hollow.

There were groans throughout the taproom of Smitt’s Inn as dawn light filtered in the windows. There were trays piled high with eggs, bacon, and bread, pitchers of water, and a bucket at the end of every table for retching. One patron was not quick enough, emptying his stomach onto the floor. The sight of it made Elissa’s own stomach roil, but she took deep breaths, focusing on the water pitcher until the room stopped spinning.

Stefny, the innkeeper’s wife, was there before the man finished with a damp cloth to wipe his mouth and a mop to shove in his hands when he was clean. The man wisely set to cleaning his mess.

“You all right?” Stefny asked Elissa. “I know the look. See one lose it and others are quick to follow.”

“I’ll manage,” Elissa said, sipping at her water.

Stefny nodded. “Ent much business getting done today. Mistress Leesha sent word she’ll receive you on the morrow.” She sniffed, eyes flicking to Briar. “Time enough to rest up and have a proper bath before going to court.”

Briar frowned. The boy, bless him, had the resilience of youth, and looked fitter than the rest of them. He’d finished two helpings of breakfast and now got to his feet. “Come find you tomorrow morning.”

“There’s room—” Stefny began.

“Don’t like walls,” Briar cut in. “Got a briarpatch in the Gatherers’ Wood.” Without another word, he was out the door.

The water had long since cooled, but Elissa was still soaking in the bath when Ragen returned to the room the next morning.

“Turns out Smitt’s the local banker, as well,” Ragen said. “Once he sobered a bit, our name was enough to get a line of credit to fund our journey back to Miln. Be a few weeks before we can hire hands and get supply, but things should go smoothly from here.”

“From your lips to the Creator’s ear,” Elissa said. “I was beginning to think the children would be grown by the time we returned.”

“Hard to plan for an invasion,” Ragen said. “If there’s a Creator, I’d say He’s done His part just seeing us through.”

As promised, Briar was waiting on the porch when they had readied themselves. He still smelled of hogroot, but the dirt was gone, at least. Elissa had seen him swim in freezing ponds and streams without so much as a shiver, but it saddened her nevertheless to see him this way. Ragen had hoped to take the boy back home with them, and Elissa dreamed of teaching him the pleasures of a bath and a clean set of clothes, but both of them knew now it was only a fantasy. Briar was Briar, and that wasn’t going to change. The path that made him who he was could not be unwalked.

There were guards everywhere in the countess’ keep, a surprising number of them female, though no less armored and intimidating than the men. Milnese were tall, but Hollowers tended to be broad, as well. Their fine clothes walked them past the outer security, but surprisingly it was Briar that got them into the inner chambers.

“Briar!” There was a shout, and all three of them spun to see the Baron of Cutter’s Hollow looming over them. Briar tensed, but he accepted the hand the giant man stuck out at him. The baron yanked, pulling him into a great bear hug.

Briar scrambled back out of reach when he let go, and the man turned to Ragen and Elissa, staring openmouthed at the scene. “Boy saved my life. Night, lost count of the lives he’s saved.”

“You’da killed that corie,” Briar said.

The baron shrugged. “Ay, maybe, but it would’ve taken a chunk of me with it.”

“For a boy that lives in the woods, he seems to make a lot of powerful friends.” Ragen put out a hand, and he and Gared clasped forearms. “Ragen, Warders’ Guildmaster of Fort Miln.” He swept a hand next to him. “This is my wife, Mother Elissa, daughter of Countess Tresha of Morning County in Miln, and head of the Milnese Warding Exchange.”

Elissa couldn’t remember the last time she’d needed to curtsy, but the move was ingrained still. “A pleasure to meet you, Baron.”

“Lord Arther’s got his hands full today,” Gared said. “Sent me to fetch ya for Mistress Leesha.” He led them through a series of halls, past the formal receiving rooms, and into a residential wing. “Mistress had a babe this past week. Likes to keep it close.”

“I’m surprised she’s seeing us at all, if it’s been just a week,” Elissa said.

“Briar says yur important, so yur important,” Gared said as they came up to a door guarded by one of the biggest women Elissa had ever seen. Even indoors, she had a bow over her shoulder and a small quiver of arrows on her hip.

“ ’Scuse me a minute. Need to make sure she ent…” His face reddened. “Feedin’ or anythin’.”

Elissa swallowed her smile. Men could face demons and Krasians and everything else the world could throw at them, but a suckling babe was still too much for many of them to bear witness to.

He spoke to the guard, and she slipped inside, returning a moment later with permission to enter. The office was spacious, with great windows, their heavy curtains thrown back to let in the morning sun. The Mistress of the Hollow was seated on a throne behind a gigantic desk of carved and polished goldwood, but she rose as they entered, coming around to embrace Briar, heedless of his dirty clothes and ever-present smell. She held him a long time, kissing the top of his head, and Elissa knew then this was a woman she could trust.

Briar looked up as they parted, seeing the cradle in the back corner of the room behind the desk. “That…?”

“Olive,” the countess said. “My daughter.”

A wide smile broke out on Briar’s face. “Can I…?”

“Of course,” the countess said. “But quietly now. I’ve only just gotten her to sleep.” She turned to the others as Briar crept over, silent as a cat.

“Welcome to the Hollow, Mother, Guildmaster. Will you take tea?”

“Thank you, my lady,” Elissa said, reaching for her skirts.

The countess waved dismissively as she led them to couches around a tea table. “Please, call me Leesha. Briar’s told me what you’ve done for the Laktonians. There’s no need for formality here.”

“We did what any in our position would have,” Ragen said, “for all the good it did.”

“Most in your position would have fled home, not spent the better part of the year helping refugees and the resistance,” Leesha said as a servant poured the tea. “And I think the folk building the borough of New Lakton would say you did quite a bit of good.”

“You’ve done your research, mistress,” Elissa said.

“I like to be informed,” Leesha said.

“Our condolences for your loss,” Ragen said. “Halfgrip’s fame extended to Miln and beyond. The power your people held in the night with his songs was…staggering.”

“We would like to take the music back to Miln,” Elissa said. “It could safeguard travelers, caravans…”

Leesha nodded. “Of course. Nothing would honor Rojer’s memory more than spreading his music far and wide. We’ll send written music back with you for your Jongleurs.”

Elissa bowed. “Thank you, mistress. That is most gracious.”

“It’s the least we can do, considering our friend in common,” Leesha said.

Elissa raised an eyebrow. “Briar?”

Leesha shook her head. “The boy Ragen found on the road many years ago, and you raised as your own. Arlen Bales.”

Gared dropped his teacup, and it shattered on the floor.

“Do you think he’s still alive?” Elissa asked.

“Course he is,” Baron Cutter said. “Deliverer, ent he?”

“No one in all the world loves Arlen Bales more than I,” Elissa said. “He was a brilliant boy, and he grew into an amazing man. But I’ve dried his tears and cleaned his sick. Argued when he was stubborn and seen him err. Saw the hurts he carried and how he blamed himself for them. I don’t know if I can ever see him as the Deliverer.”

“It’s irrelevant in any event,” Leesha said. “Deliverer or no, he’s set the world on a path we all need to walk.”

“That ent the Deliverer’s job, dunno what is,” Wonda said. “I’ll eat my bow and the quiver besides, he ent alive. Folk seen him on the road, helping those fleeing Lakton.”

“No one saw his face,” Leesha said. “That could as easily have been Renna.”

“Arlen’s wife,” Elissa said. There were many regrets in her life, but missing the wedding cut deep. If any man deserved a bit of happiness in his life, it was Arlen Bales.

“Night, that’s right,” Ragen said. “Didn’t think any woman could settle that boy down. What’s she like?”

A pained look flickered over Leesha’s face, and Elissa gave him a subtle kick. Arlen had spoken of Leesha and what they shared—a spark doused by fear and panic.

Ragen lacked subtlety, but he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t the first time Arlen Bales had fled a woman offering something too joyful for his tortured soul to bear. What kind of woman had finally reached him?

“Renna Bales saved my life,” Gared said. “Saved us all, when the Deliverer fell.”

“Fell?” Ragen asked. “Over the cliff with the demon of the desert?”

The baron shook his head. “ ’Fore that. When the minds came for the Hollow on new moon. Went out with Rojer and Renna to scout, and we found a world of trouble. Mind demons were digging greatwards of their own.”

“Night,” Ragen said. “Corelings can ward?”

“Only the minds, it seems,” Leesha said, “but their warding makes ours look like a child’s scrawl.”

“Fought like mad, but there were too many of ’em,” the baron went on. “Only made it back slung over Renna’s shoulder. Rojer told Mr. Bales what we saw and he jumped into the sky.”

“What?” Elissa asked.

“Took off like a bird,” Wonda said. “Thousands saw him, floating in the sky, throwin’ lightning at the demons like the Creator Himself.”

Ragen looked to Elissa. “How’s that possible?”

“He was Drawing off the greatward,” Leesha said. “Pulling massive amounts of power and throwing it at the demon wards before they could activate fully. But even a greatward has limits.”

“One moment he was glowin’ like the sun, then…” Wonda blew a breath. “Out like a candle. Fell and cracked like an egg on the cobbles.”

Elissa gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.

“Thought everythin’ was lost then,” Gared said. “No one was givin’ up, but there wern’t much hope. But then Renna Bales stepped up. Held the last line when every defense was broke. Held it until Mr. Bales came back to us. Two o’ them held hands as the tide came in, and threw it back into the night.”

“Ent dead,” Wonda said. “Man who can walk away from that…”

Leesha pursed her lips, then nodded to herself, getting to her feet. “Bar the door, Gar. Wonda, the curtains.”

Ragen, Elissa, and Briar watched in confusion as they were locked into the room and cloaked in darkness. Leesha unlocked a drawer in her desk, producing what looked like a large piece of obsidian, but they could well guess what it was, even before she fitted it into a slot on the wall and a wardnet sprang up around them. It circled the room and crisscrossed the ceiling and floor, casting them all in gentle wardlight.

“No sound will escape the room.” Leesha returned to her seat, taking her teacup and sipping thoughtfully. “What I say here must never be repeated.”

“Swear by the sun,” Gared said.

“Course, mistress,” Wonda added. Briar grunted his agreement.

Ragen took Elissa’s hand. “You have our word.”

“Renna Bales came to me the night we learned the Krasians attacked Lakton,” Leesha said. “She told me Arlen is alive.”

“Knew it!” Wonda burst, even as Gared roared a laugh, bringing his hands together in a resounding smack.

“Creator be praised,” Ragen whispered, but Elissa said nothing, knowing there was more.

“She also told me they would not come again,” Leesha said. “They’d become too powerful, and were drawing the minds’ attention to the Hollow, just as Ahmann was doing in Krasia. We needed time to grow our defenses, and so he left to give us that.”

“Said it himself,” Gared said. “Told Jardir he was the last piece of business before he took the fight to the Core.”

“What does that mean?” Ragen asked.

“Arlen can mist as the demons do,” Leesha said. “Renna, too, the last time I saw her. He told me he could hear the Core calling to him, could slip down into it like a coreling at dawn.” She shook her head sadly. “But he didn’t seem to think much of his chances if he tried.”

“Better chance’n any of us,” Gared said.

Ragen kept his composure, but he was squeezing Elissa’s hand so hard it hurt. She laid her other hand gently atop his, and his tension eased. “Gared’s right. How many times has Arlen cheated death? He’ll turn up again, just when we’ve given up, and start the worry afresh.”

Ragen laughed. “Ay, that’s my boy.”

“In the meantime, we need to do as he asked, and grow strong,” Leesha said. “Not something we can do if we’re more concerned with killing one another than the corelings.”

“We didn’t bring that fight, mistress,” Ragen said. “The Krasians believe Sharak Ka is coming, and the Evejah tells them the only hope mankind has to survive is for all the world to kneel before the Skull Throne.”

“They brought the fight,” Leesha agreed, “but it’s been brewing for years. Euchor didn’t build his flamework weapons and train men in their use overnight.”

“No,” Ragen agreed. “He’s long had his eye on subjugating the ivy throne and reuniting Thesa under his rule, but he would never have struck first.”

“The question then,” Leesha said, “is will he be content to stop at Angiers now that he has it, or will he use the Krasians as an excuse to press south and claim all the Free Cities as his own?”

Elissa exchanged another look with Ragen. “He will press. And expect you to follow and thank him for the privilege. The Hollow is too powerful for him to suffer at his doorstep when Angiers gives him a claim to it.”

“Gettin’ tired of folk who ent ever bled for the Hollow marchin’ in and expecting us to bow and scrape,” Gared said.

“You won’t have to,” Leesha said. “Euchor’s weapons won’t work as well here as he thinks.”

“Because of you,” Elissa said. “Because of your magic.”

Leesha nodded. “I have wardings that can render their chemics inert. Flamework weapons are not welcome in my lands.”

“Will you teach us something of this bone magic, and how the hora is preserved?” Elissa asked.

Gared and Wonda looked to their mistress, but Leesha did not hesitate. “Of course. After all, who do you think taught me?”

She looked to Ragen. “I know you have retired as a Royal Messenger, Guildmaster, but I beg you take one last commission and act as my voice in Miln before His Grace, Duke Euchor.”

Ragen bowed. “I would be honored, mistress. His Grace will be expecting a full report from us upon our return. You have my word I will hold secrets given me in confidence, and negotiate in good faith on your behalf.”

Leesha bowed in return. “The honor is mine. We can discuss details in the coming days. For now, I invite the three of you to transfer your belongings here to my keep.”

“Thank you, mistress,” Elissa said. “We gladly accept.”

“S’fine,” Briar said. “Got a briarpatch in Gatherers’ Wood.”

Leesha looked up at that. “You’re sleeping in my wood?”

“Ay,” Briar said.

“Do you know my Warded Children?” Leesha asked.

Briar nodded. “Seen ’em lots of times. Live in the night like me. Brave, but…” He searched for a word. “Angry.”

“Will you look in on them for me tonight?” Leesha asked. “I’ve been away some time, and would like to know what I can expect when I visit them.”

Briar nodded. “Ay.”