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.
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