The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy

Behind the cutters, the Hollow’s three fattest cows had been staked in the centre of the square. Having consumed Leesha’s drugged meal, they slumbered deeply on their feet.

Behind the cows was the largest circle. Those within could not match the raw muscle of the cutters, but they had greater numbers. Nearly half of them were women, some as young as fifteen. They stood grimly alongside their husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons. Merrem, Dug the butcher’s burly wife, held a warded cleaver, and looked well ready to use it.

Behind them lay the covered pit, and then, the third circle, directly before the great doors of the Holy House, where Stefny and the others too old or frail to run about the muddy square stood fast with long spears.

Each one was armed with a warded weapon. Some, those with the shortest reach, also carried round bucklers made from barrel lids, painted with wards of forbiddance. The Painted Man had made only one of those, but the others had copied it well enough.

At the edge of the day pen’s fence, behind the wardposts, stood the artillery, children barely in their teens, armed with bows and slings. A few adults had been given one of the precious thundersticks, or one of Benn’s thin flasks, stuffed with a soaked rag. Young children held lanterns, hooded against the rain, to light the weapons. Those who had refused to fight huddled with the animals under the shelter behind them, which shielded Bruna’s festival flamework from the rain.

More than a few, like Ande, had gone back on their promise to fight, accepting the scorn of their fellows as they hid behind the wards. As the Painted Man rode through the square astride Twilight Dancer, he saw others looking towards the pen longingly, fear etched on their faces.

There were screams as the corelings rose, and many took a step backwards, their resolve faltering. Terror threatened to defeat the Hollowers before the battle even began. A few tips from the Painted Man on where and how to strike were meagre against the weight of a lifetime of fear.

The Painted Man noticed Benn shaking. One of his pants legs was soaked and clinging to his twitching thigh, and not from the rain. He dismounted and stood before the glassblower.

‘Why are you out here, Benn?’ he asked, raising his voice so others could hear.

‘M-my d-daughters,’ Benn said, nodding back towards the Holy House. It looked as if the spear he held was going to vibrate right out of his hands.

The Painted Man nodded. Most of the Hollowers were there to protect their loved ones lying helpless in the Holy House. If not, they would all be in the pen. He gestured to the corelings materializing in the square. ‘You fear them?’ he asked, louder still.

‘Y-yes,’ Benn managed, tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks. A glance showed others nodding as well.

The Painted Man stripped off his robes. None of the people had seen him unclad before, and their eyes widened as they took in the wards tattooed over every inch of his body. ‘Watch,’ he told Benn, but the command was meant for all.

He stepped from the circle, striding up to a seven-foot-tall wood demon that was just beginning to solidify. He looked back, meeting the eyes of as many Hollowers as he could. Seeing them watching intently, he shouted, ‘This is what you fear!’

Turning sharply, the Painted Man struck hard, smashing the flat of his hand against the coreling’s jaw, knocking the demon down in a flash of magic just as it became fully solid. The coreling shrieked in pain, but it recovered quickly, coiling on its tail to spring. The villagers stood open-mouthed, their eyes locked on the scene, sure the Painted Man would be killed.

The wood demon lunged, but the Painted Man kicked off a sandal and spun, kicking up inside the coreling’s reach. His warded heel struck its armoured chest with a thunderclap, and the demon was sent reeling again, its chest scorched and blackened.

A smaller wood demon launched itself at him as he stalked his prey, but the Painted Man caught its arm and twisted himself behind its back, jabbing his warded thumbs into its eyes. There was a smoking sizzle, and the coreling screamed, staggering away and clawing at its face.

As the blind coreling stumbled about, the Painted Man resumed his pursuit of the first demon, meeting its next attack head-on. He pivoted and turned the coreling’s momentum against it, latching on as it stumbled past him and wrapping his warded arms around its head. He squeezed, ignoring the demon’s futile attempts to dislodge him, and waited as the feedback built in intensity. Finally, with a burst of magic, the creature’s skull collapsed, and they fell to the mud.

As the Painted Man rose from the corpse, the other demons kept their distance, hissing and searching for a sign of weakness. The Painted Man roared at them, and those closest took a step back from him.

‘It is not you that should fear them, Benn the glassblower!’ the Painted Man called, his voice like a hurricane. ‘It is they that should fear you!’

None of the Hollowers made a sound, but many fell to their knees, drawing wards in the air before them. He walked back up to Benn, who was no longer shaking. ‘Remember that,’ he said, using his robes to wipe the mud from his wards, ‘the next time they clutch at your heart.’

‘Deliverer,’ Benn whispered, and others began to mumble the same.

The Painted Man shook his head sharply, rainwater flying free. ‘No. You are the Deliverer!’ he shouted, poking Benn hard in the chest. ‘And you!’ he cried, spinning to roughly haul a kneeling man to his feet. ‘All of you are Deliverers!’ he bellowed, sweeping his arms over all who stood in the night. ‘If the corelings fear a Deliverer, let them quail at a hundred of them!’ He shook his fist, and the Hollowers roared.

The spectacle kept the newly-formed demons at bay for a moment, issuing low growls as they stalked back and forth. But their pacing soon slowed, and one by one they crouched, muscles bunching up as they tamped down.

The Painted Man looked to the left flank, his warded eyes piercing the gloom. Flame demons avoided the water-filled trench, but wood demons approached that way, heedless of the wet.

‘Light it,’ he called, pointing to the trench with a thumb.

Benn struck a flamestick with his thumb, shielding the tiny blaze from the wind and rain as he touched it to the wick of a flamewhistle. As the wick sizzled and sparked, Benn uncoiled, flinging it towards the trench.

Halfway through its arc, the wick burned down and a jet of fire exploded from one end of the flamewhistle. The thick-wrapped paper tube spun rapidly in blazing pinwheel, emitting a high-pitched whine as it struck the oil sludge in the trench.

Wood demons shrieked as the water about their knees burst into flame. They fell back, beating the fire in terror, splashing oil and only spreading the flames.

Flame demons cried out in glee as they leapt into the fire, forgetting the water that lay beneath. The Painted Man smiled at their screams as the water boiled.

The flames filled the square with a flickering light, and there were gasps from the cutters at the size of the host before them. Wind demons cut the sky, adroit even in the wind and rain. Lithesome flame demons darted about, eyes and mouths glowing red, silhouetting the hulking rock demons that stalked the edges of the gathering. And wood demons, so many wood demons.

‘S’like the trees of the forest have risen up ’gainst the axemen,’ Yon Gray said in awe, and many of the cutters nodded in horror.

‘Ent met a tree yet I can’t chop down,’ Gared growled, holding his axe at the ready. The boast filtered through the rank, and the other cutters stood taller.

The corelings soon found their will, leaping at the cutters, talons leading. The wards of their circle stopped them short, and the cutters drew back to swing.

‘Hold!’ the Painted Man cried. ‘Remember the plan!’

The men checked themselves, letting the demons hammer the wards in vain. The corelings flowed around the circle, looking for a weakness, and the cutters were soon lost from view in a sea of barklike skin.

It was a flame demon no larger than a cat that first spotted the cows. It shrieked, leaping onto the back of one of the animals, talons digging deep. The cow woke and bleated in pain as the tiny coreling tore out a piece of hide in its jaws.

The sound made the other corelings forget the cutters. They fell on the cows in an explosion of gore, tearing the animals to pieces. Blood sprayed high into the air, mixing with the rain before splashing down in the mud. Even a wind demon swooped down to snatch a chunk of meat before leaping back into the air.

In a twinkling, the animals were devoured, though none of the corelings seemed satisfied. They moved towards the next circle, slashing at the wards and drawing sparks of magic in the air.

‘Hold!’ the Painted Man called again, as the people around him tensed. He held his spear back, watching the demons intently. Waiting.

But then he saw it. A demon stumbled, losing its balance.

‘Now!’ he roared, and leapt from the circle, stabbing right through a demon’s head.

The Hollowers screamed a primal cry and charged, falling upon the drugged corelings with abandon, hacking and stabbing. The demons shrieked, but thanks to Leesha’s potion, their response was sluggish. As instructed, the Hollowers worked in small teams, stabbing demons from behind when they turned their attention towards another. Warded weapons flared, and this time it was demon ichor that arced into the air.

Merrem chopped a wood demon’s arm clean off with her cleaver, and her husband Dug stabbed his butcher’s knife deep into its armpit. The wind demon that had eaten the drugged meat came crashing down into the square, and Benn drove his spear into it, twisting hard as the warded head flared hot to pierce the coreling’s hide.

Demon claws could not penetrate the ward on the wooden shields some carried, and when the shield-bearers saw this, they gained confidence, striking harder still against the dazed corelings.

But not all the demons had been drugged. Those in the back increased their press to get forward. The Painted Man waited until their advantage of surprise waned for a moment, then cried, ‘Artillery!’

The children in the pen gave a great cry, placing flasks in their slings and launching them at the horde of demons in front of the cutters’ circle. The thin glass shattered easily against the barklike armour of the wood demons, coating them in liquid that clung despite the rain. The demons roared, but could not penetrate the wardposts of the small pen.

While the corelings raged, the lantern bearers ran to and fro, touching the flames to rag-wrapped arrowheads dipped in pitch and to the wicks of Bruna’s flameworks. They did not fire as one as they had been instructed, but it made little difference. With the first arrow, the liquid demonfire exploded across the back of a wood demon, and the creature screamed, thrashing into another, spreading the blaze. Festival crackers, tossbangs, and flamewhistles joined the volley of arrows, frightening some demons with light and sound, and igniting others. The night lit up as the demons burned.

One flamewhistle hit the shallow rut in front of the cutters’ circle, which stretched the full width of the square. The spark ignited the liquid demonfire within, and the fell-brew burst into an intense fire, setting several more wood demons alight, and cutting the rest off from their fellows.

But between the circles and away from the flamework, the battle raged fiercely. The drugged demons fell quickly, but their fellows were uncowed by the armed villagers. Teams were breaking up, and some of the Hollowers were taken by fear and stumbled back, giving the corelings an opening to pounce.