The Daylight War

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.

Loveyou, 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 blackmarket?’ Renna asked. ‘They only open at night?’

Arlen smiled, but there was little humour in it. ‘Guess you could say that. Blackmarket 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. And 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.’