The Daylight War

by Peter V. Brett

  Just as the spearman lunged, Arlen shoved the greybeard away. The man put his spear horizontally over Arlen’s head, meaning to come up under his chin in a choke. Arlen grabbed the shaft, bending forward with a twist that turned all the man’s momentum against him, flipping him over to land heavily on his back. Arlen, now holding the spear in one hand, put his foot on the man’s chest and looked at the others.

  In the struggle, his hood had come down, and the men gaped at the sight. ‘The Painted Man,’ Brice said, and all the bandits began to mutter among themselves.

  After a moment, the greybeard remembered himself. ‘So you’re the one everyone says is the Deliverer.’ He squinted. ‘You don’t look like the Deliverer to me.’

  ‘Never said I was,’ Arlen said. ‘I’m Arlen Bales out of Tibbet’s Brook, and I ent gonna deliver anything but a whipping to anyone doesn’t start acting neighbourly right quick.’

  The greybeard looked at him, and then around at his men. He waved a hand and they put their weapons up, all staring at Arlen, who glared back at them like Renna’s mam when she’d caught the girls at mischief and was readying a scolding.

  Even the greybeard couldn’t weather that stare for long. He wiped the sweat from his weathered brow again, wringing his hat in his hands. ‘Ent gonna apologize,’ he said. ‘I got mouths to feed, and folk in need of proper succour. Done some things I’m not proud of to get by, but it ent from greed or malice. A man tends to forget himself when he’s been on the road a long time with nowhere to go.’

  Arlen nodded. ‘Know what that’s like. What’s your name?’

  ‘Varley Oat,’ the greybeard said.

  Arlen nodded at the surname. ‘You’re out of Oating, then? Three days’ north of Fort Rizon, past the Yellow Orchards?’

  Varley’s eyes widened, but he nodded. ‘You come a long way from Oating, Varley,’ Arlen said. ‘How long you been on the road?’

  ‘Nigh three seasons. Since the Krasians took Fort Rizon,’ Varley said. ‘Knew the desert rats would come for us next, so I told folk to pack up everything they owned and set off right away.’

  ‘You Town Speaker?’ Arlen asked.

  Varley laughed. ‘I was the Tender.’ He shrugged. ‘Guess I still am, after a fashion, though I been doubting there’s anyone watching from above.’

  ‘Know that feeling, too,’ Arlen said.

  ‘Whole village of Oating left together,’ Varley went on. ‘Six hundred of us. We had Herb Gatherers, Warders, even a retired Messenger to guide us. Plenty of supplies. Honest word, we started with more than we could carry. But that changed quick.’

  ‘Always does,’ Arlen said.

  ‘Desert rats came quickly,’ Varley said, ‘and their scouts were everywhere. Lost a lot of folk to the running, and a lot more to the winter. Krasians stopped chasing us eventually, but no one felt safe until we got to Lakton.’

  ‘But Lakton wouldn’t have you,’ Arlen guessed.

  Varley shook his head. ‘We were looking a bit shabby by then. Folk would look the other way for a bit if we camped for a week in a fallow field or fished a bit in their pond, but no one was looking to take five hundred new folk into their town. Someone would accuse us of stealing something, and before you know it, whole town comes out with rakes and hoes to run us out.

  ‘Went on from there to the Hollow, where they’re taking in Rizonans by the thousand, but folk there were chewing bark and digging bugs just to fill their bellies, and the Cutters roam the refugee camps, looking for recruits to get themselves killed in the naked night. Some of us lost everything to the Krasians, and they want us to start fightin’ demons? Won’t be no one left.’

  ‘So you set off north,’ Arlen said.

  Varley shrugged. ‘Seemed like the wisest course. I still had nigh three hundred folk to look after. Hollowers gave us a couple of warded spears and what help they could. Farmer’s Stump wasn’t half so kind, and the bastards in Fort Angiers turned us away at spearpoint. Heard there might be work up Riverbridge way, but that place was no better. Packed full. So now we’re here, and got nowhere else.’

  ‘Show me your camp,’ Arlen said. The bandit looked at him for a moment, then nodded and turned to his men. The cart was out of the mud in an instant, and they were soon travelling off road through a narrow pass in the trees. Arlen dismounted, leading Twilight Dancer by the reins. Renna did the same, laying a hand on Promise’s strong neck to guide her. The mare stomped and snorted when any of the men drew near, but she was growing used to Renna’s touch.

  It was over an hour before the Oatingers’ camp came in sight, hidden well away from the road. Renna’s eyes widened at the ragtag collection of crudely patched tents and covered wagons, thick with the stench of sweat and human waste. Perhaps two hundred souls were gathered there. Varley’s men, ragged themselves, were the pick of the lot.

  Women, children, and elderly stumbled about the camp, exhausted, filthy, and half starved. Many wore bandages, and most feet were wrapped in rags. Everyone was working – repairing and warding tattered and meagre shelters, tending gruel pots, airing laundry and scraping dishes, gathering firewood, preparing wardposts, tending scrawny livestock. The only idle were the sick and the wounded, housed under a poorly constructed rain shelter. Their moans of pain could be heard clear across the camp.

  Arlen led Twilight Dancer through the camp, his back stiff as he looked in the lost and tired eyes of the people. They started when they caught sight of his warded face, and began to whisper among themselves, but none had the courage to approach him as he passed.

  They came to the shelter for the sick, and Renna choked on the sight like it was demon meat. Almost two dozen folk spread out on narrow cots, covered in bloody bandages, filthy and reeking. Two of the patients had soiled themselves, and another was covered in her own sick. None of them looked apt to recover.

  One frazzled woman attempted vainly to tend them all. Her grey hair was pulled in a tight bun, and her narrow face pinched. She wore no pocketed apron on her worn dress.

  ‘Creator, they don’t even have a proper Gatherer,’ Arlen whispered.

  ‘My wife, Evey,’ Varley grunted. ‘She ent an Herb Gatherer, but serves as one, for those in need.’ Evey looked up, and her eyes widened in shock as she took in Arlen’s and Renna’s warded skin.

  Arlen went to his saddlebag and fetched his herb pouch. ‘I’ve some Gatherer’s art, particularly when it comes to coreling wounds. Like to help if I might.’

  Evey fell to her knees. ‘Oh, please, Deliverer! We’ll do anything!’

  Arlen’s brows knit in sudden anger. ‘You can start by not acting the fool!’ he snapped. ‘I ent no Deliverer. I’m Arlen Bales out of Tibbet’s Brook, and I’m just looking to help as I can.’

  Evey looked as if he had slapped her. Her pale cheeks grew a bright red, and she got quickly to her feet. ‘I’m sorry … I don’t know what came over me …’

  Arlen reached out, squeezing her shoulder. ‘You don’t have to explain. Know the ale stories the Jongleurs spin about me. But I’m here to tell you I’m a man like any other. Just learned some old world tricks folk these days have forgotten.’

  Evey nodded, finally looking him in the eye and relaxing.

  ‘’Bout sixty miles north of here is the village of Deadwell,’ Arlen told Varley. ‘I can draw you a good map, with places you can camp along the way marked off.’

  ‘Why should they want us at Deadwell more’n anywhere else?’ Varley asked.

  ‘’Cause there ent no one in Deadwell any more,’ Arlen said. ‘Corelings got in and killed every man, woman, and child there. But we just been there, and swept the place good. Might be cramped at first, but it’s got everything you need to start a new life. Just make sure you brick up the well, and dig a fresh one.’

  Varley gaped at him. ‘You’re just … giving us a village?’

  Arlen nodded. ‘Used to go there a lot. Place was special to me. I’d like it to be a home to good folk again.’ He gave Varley a pointed look. ‘Folk
that take a dim view of banditry.’

  Varley seemed unconvinced. ‘Canon says, Trust not the man who offers all you desire just when you need it most.’

  Arlen smiled. ‘Creator abandoned you, but Tender Varley can’t stop quoting Canon?’

  Varley chuckled. ‘World’s full of contradictions.’

  ‘Deadwell ent gonna do you any worse than you already are,’ Arlen said. ‘Your wards are weak. Could see that just passing through.’

  Varley nodded and spat. ‘Ent got so much as a Hedge Warder outside a hospit cot. Folk are just warding their carts and tents as best they can.’

  Arlen nodded to Renna. ‘This here’s Renna Tanner, my intended. She’s a fair hand at warding. I’d like you and your men to take her around the camp. Help her see if she can’t grant you more succour.’

  Evey bowed to Renna. ‘It’s a real blessing, you doing this for us.’

  Renna smiled and grabbed Arlen’s arm. ‘Excuse us a minute.’ She turned and dragged Arlen back between the horses.

  ‘What are you playing at, Arlen Bales?’ she demanded. ‘Had to fight tooth and nail for you to let me ward my own backside, and now you trust me to ward this whole camp?’

  Arlen looked at her. ‘Saying you ent up to it? I shouldn’t trust you?’

  Renna put her hands on her hips. ‘Din’t say any such thing.’

  ‘Then why we talkin’ about this?’ Arlen asked. ‘Light’s wastin’, and you need to shore up them wards any way you can. Bully folk and slap the fool out of them if you have to, but get it done. Take a few spears and some warded arrows, to give to those as can use them.’

  Renna blinked. No one had ever trusted her to ward more than the barn before. Or given her any responsibility, really, beyond milking the cow and making supper. Now, without a wave, Arlen was trusting her to be Selia Barren to these people.

  Love you, Arlen Bales.

  Renna quickly saw the wards were even worse than they feared. There was no proper circle around the camp at all. The Oatingers had spread haphazardly through the clearing, each of their carts, wagons, and tents individually warded, with varying levels of skill. The best of them were barely adequate.

  ‘How many folk you losing every night?’ she asked.

  Varley spat. ‘Too many. And more each night.’

  ‘Only gets worse every night you stay in one place,’ Renna said. ‘Big camp like this, smell of fear and blood in the air, will draw corelings like ants to an apple core.’

  Varley swallowed. ‘Don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘Shouldn’t,’ Renna said. ‘You get these people on the road to Deadwell tomorrow, whatever it takes.’ She stopped in front of one cart, surrounded by wardposts staked into the ground.

  ‘Been seein’ a lot of these posts,’ Renna said.

  Varley nodded. ‘Our Warder made them before he was cored. Used to be enough to surround the camp, but we’ve lost a few and ent been able to replace ’em.’

  Renna nodded. ‘Pull them all, if you please, and bring them over to the edge of the clearing.’ She pointed. ‘We’ll circle the biggest wagons and put the posts in the gaps in between. Whole camp needs to squeeze in tight to fit inside.’

  ‘Folk ent gonna take kindly to us pulling up their wards,’ Varley said.

  Renna gave him a hard look. ‘Don’t care what they like, greybeard, or you. ’Less you want to lose more folk tonight, you best mind me ’tween now and sunset.’

  Varley’s bushy eyebrows widened, and he took his hat off again, twisting it in his hands. ‘Ay, all right.’

  ‘I’ll need paint,’ Renna said. ‘Any stain will do, darker the better, and a lot of it. And posts this high.’ She held up a hand parallel to the ground. ‘Many as you can put together. Take axes to live trees if you got to. They only need to last till you make Deadwell.’

  ‘Donn,’ Varley said. ‘Collect posts. Anyone argues, you send ’em to me.’ Donn nodded, picked a few men, and left. ‘Brice,’ Varley said. ‘Paint. Now.’ The man ran off, and Varley turned to the rest of his men. ‘Fresh posts. Rip apart anything you need to.’ He looked back at Renna expectantly.

  ‘Wagons need to be in place before I start planting posts,’ Renna said, ‘and that means right now.’

  Varley nodded, moving off to speak to the owner of one of the carts, pointing.

  ‘That will practically put us in the midden!’ she complained.

  ‘You want the midden, or a coreling’s belly?’ Varley replied.

  It was almost dark when Renna returned to Arlen. Some of the patients in the makeshift hospit seemed to be resting more comfortably, but many still suffered horribly. Arlen knelt by a cot, holding a young girl’s hand. Her other arm ended before the elbow in a bandage soaked through with brownish yellow pus. Half her face was scabbed and oozing from firespit burns, still angry and red. Her skin had a grey pallor, and her breathing was shallow. Her eyes were closed.

  ‘Demon fever,’ Arlen said without looking up at her approach. ‘Flame demon bit her arm off and left an awful infection. Gave her what cures I know, but the sickness is far enough along I doubt it’ll even slow.’

  The pain in his voice cut at her, but she embraced the feeling and let it pass. There was work to be done still.

  Arlen looked out at the others in the sick tent. ‘Might be I saved a couple, but I’m out of herbs and most are beyond my skill in any event.’ He sighed. ‘In the sunlight, at least.’

  ‘Your rooster strutting this afternoon was bad enough,’ Renna said. ‘You start healing folk in the night and there’ll be no end to this Deliverer business.’

  Arlen looked at her, and she saw his face was streaked with tears. ‘What would you have me do? Leave these folk to die?’

  Renna looked at him, and her resolve weakened. ‘Course not. Just sayin’ there’s a price.’

  ‘Always a price, Ren,’ Arlen said. ‘This is all my fault.’ He swept his hand out over the Oatingers’ camp. ‘Made this happen.’

  Renna raised an eyebrow. ‘How’s that? You drove these people from their homes?’

  Arlen shook his head. ‘Woke the demon that did. Never should have brought the spear to Krasia. Never should have trusted Jardir.’

  ‘What spear? Who’s Jardir?’ Renna asked.

  ‘Mind demon was willing to kill to answer those questions,’ Arlen said. ‘Sure you want to know?’

  ‘Killin’ is all demons ever do,’ Renna said, and pointed to the mind demon ward painted in blackstem on her forehead. ‘And those bigheaded bastards ent ever gettin’ inside my skull again.’

  Arlen nodded. ‘Jardir is the leader of the Krasian people. Met him a long time ago, and we became friends. Night, friends don’t even cover it. Taught me half what I know, and saved my life more’n once. Couldn’t have loved him more he was my own brother.’ Arlen clenched a fist. ‘And all along, he had a ripping knife to my back.’

  ‘What happened?’ Renna asked.

  ‘Bought a black market map to a lost city in the desert, said to be the home of Kaji,’ Arlen said.

  ‘What’s black market?’ Renna asked. ‘They only open at night?’

  Arlen smiled, but there was little humour in it. ‘Guess you could say that. Black market means the people I bought it from stole it.’

  Renna frowned. ‘That don’t sound like the Arlen Bales I know.’

  ‘Ent proud of it,’ Arlen said, ‘but had dealings with a lot of shady folk since I left Tibbet’s Brook. Folk to make what Varley’s doin’ seem honest. When you’re out beyond the wards, sometimes shady folk are all there are.’

  Renna grunted. ‘So you got a map to this Kaji place. Then what?’

  ‘Kaji ent a place,’ Arlen said. ‘He was a man. The last general from the demon wars. The Deliverer, if you believe such things.’

  Renna laughed. ‘You, Arlen Bales, went huntin’ the Deliverer? Now I know you’re spinning an ale story.’

  ‘Wasn’t hunting the Deliverer,’ Arlen snapped. ‘Was hunting his wards. A
nd I found ’em, Ren. Deliverer or no, I found Kaji’s tomb and rescued his spear. The ancient battle wards, means to fight the corelings, brought back to the world! Took it to Jardir, and he had the nerve to say I stole it. That it belonged to him. Offered to make him a copy, down to the last ward, but that wasn’t good enough.’

  Arlen inhaled deeply, breathing in rhythm for a few moments as he centred himself. It was ironic that a Krasian meditation technique gave solace here, but Renna was glad for it nevertheless.

  ‘What’d he do?’ she asked after a moment.

  ‘Took the spear in the night,’ Arlen said. ‘Laid a trap and smiled as his men threw me in a demon pit to be cored. Now he’s come north, meaning to enslave us all for a new demon war.’

  ‘So kill him and have done,’ Renna said. ‘World’s better off without some folk.’

  Arlen sighed. ‘Sometimes I think that I’m the one the world would be better off without.’

  ‘Say again?’ Renna asked. ‘You can’t seriously be comparing yourself to that …’

  ‘Ent excusing Jardir,’ Arlen said. ‘But try as I might, can’t help but think none of this would have happened, not to you, the Rizonans, or anyone, if I’d just kept our promise and stayed on the farm. Everyone’s looking to me to put things right, but how can I, when I’m the one made it all wrong?’

  Renna gritted her teeth and slapped him in the face. Arlen recoiled, looking at her in shock. Evey and some of the patients looked up at the sound, but Renna ignored them.

  ‘Don’t you go looking surprised, Arlen Bales,’ she said. ‘You’re the one told me to slap the fool out of any not helping shore the wards, and it’s almost dark. You ent done nothing but true by anyone I seen, and we don’t got time for another lick of this nonsense.’

  Arlen shook his head as if to clear it, and then suddenly he was smiling at her. ‘Love you, Renna Tanner.’

  Renna felt a thrill rush through her, but embraced the feeling and let it pass. There was business to attend to. ‘Scrounged and made enough posts to go three-quarters of the way around the camp. Had to draw wards in the dirt to close the circuit.’