Leesha clinked her glass with his. ‘So it was.’

Gared was overseeing the Cutters’ muster in the Corelings’ Graveyard when Arlen found him.

‘Evening, Baron,’ he said.

Gared looked at him, embarrassment in his aura. ‘Don’t feel right, you callin’ me that, sir.’

‘General?’ Arlen asked, smiling.

‘Night, I think that’s worse,’ Gared said.

‘No better than you callin’ me sir,’ Arlen said. ‘Think you got half a decade on me. So how about we drop the formalities? I’ll call you Gared and you call me Arlen.’

The embarrassment turned to actual fear. Gared started to shake his head, but Arlen put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’ve got demons on one side and corelings on the other, Gar. Either I’m just folk and ent too good to be called my proper name, or I’m the ripping Deliverer and you got to do as I say.’

Gared rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Guess when you put it that way, ent got a choice.’

‘Arlen,’ Arlen said.

‘Arlen,’ Gared repeated.

Arlen slapped his shoulder. ‘Didn’t burn your tongue, did it? Walk with me a spell. Got something to show you.’

Gared nodded, and they set off to the private spot where Renna waited with Rockslide. She kept a firm hold on the stallion’s thick braided leather reins, though he seemed to have stopped struggling, at last. It had taken a long time, and several broken reins, before Rockslide came to accept that Renna, who was a tenth his mass, was strong enough to hold him immobile.

Gared stopped short at the sight of the magnificent animal, letting out a low whistle. ‘He’s even bigger’n Twilight Dancer.’

‘Rockslide is Dancer’s sire,’ Arlen said. ‘Only horse I ever saw built on your scale, Gared Cutter, and I don’t think there’s anyone else strong enough to break him. Cutters managed to get him into a saddle, but none of them has been able to keep the seat.’

‘Don’t let Arlen scare you,’ Renna said, handing Gared the reins. ‘Rocky’s sweet as can be. Just gotta understand him.’

‘Ay?’ Gared asked. He reached out to stroke the horse’s neck, but Rockslide turned a glare his way, and he thought better of it.

‘Ay,’ Renna said. ‘Rocky’s been locked behind the wards for years, but he was meant to run free in the night.’

‘Know what that’s like,’ Gared said.

Renna nodded. ‘Don’t put him behind walls or tolerate him acting the fool and he’ll friend you. And with the wards I cut into his hooves, he’ll kick in the skull of any demon so much as looks at you funny.’

‘Like the sound of that.’ Gared met Rockslide’s eyes. The horse tried to pull back, but though Gared was not as strong as Renna, he was still the strongest man Arlen had ever met. His thick arm bunched and the reins creaked, but Rockslide’s head did not move as Gared laid a hand on his neck. After a moment, the stallion relaxed again.

‘Don’t deserve this,’ Gared said.

‘Ent for you to decide what folk give you,’ Arlen said. ‘You earned that horse ten times over.’

‘Din’t just mean the horse,’ Gared said. ‘All of it. Count has men making me a coat of arms. Me! Gared rippin’ Cutter.’ He shook his head. ‘Feels like I’m about to be caught in a lie and sent back to choppin’ trees. Need you to tell me what you want me to do.’

‘Want you to man up and think for yourself,’ Arlen said. ‘Like it or not, you’re Baron of Cutter’s Hollow now. Your job is to look out for the people under you first, and be the count’s man second. He asks you to do something you don’t think is right, you follow your conscience.’

‘Don’t want all that responsibility,’ Gared said. ‘Ent clever or anything, and my conscience gets me into trouble, oft as not.’

‘Don’t need to be clever to know right from wrong,’ Arlen said, ‘and I know all about being saddled with responsibilities you don’t want. But life ent fair, Gared Cutter. Won’t always be someone around to tell you what to do.’

22

New Moon
333 AR AutumnFirst Night of New Moon

The new moon left the cave mouth dark as pitch. Barely more than a fissure, it gaped like an open wound from a rocky outcropping on a forgotten hill. The space within narrowed tightly but never truly ended, leading to an endless maze of cracks and tunnels, some cramped and others opening into huge caverns, all the way down to the core of the world. Here, even starlight failed to give faint glow, and there was true darkness.

From out of that darkness came something darker still, a corruption beyond the absence of light. It flowed like ink, coating the cave floor in oily blackness and spilling out into the night. There along the hill, forms rose from the stain, growing tall as they branched out, solidifying into a stand of six trees that stood around the cave mouth like teeth.

A great stalagmite formed at the centre of the cave, coalescing into an enormous mimic demon. Row upon row of teeth formed along its massive jaws, and its limbs ended in great talons. The rest of its body, sharp in some places and smooth in others, flowed like the coils of a snake, never truly settling.

The coreling studied the area intently, then slithered to take up position at the rear of the cave. There it kept watch as the Royal Consort took form.

He was slight, and hunched as if weighed by the massive head atop his small and slender body. His horns were vestigial, and pulsed like the smooth bumps and ridges flowing up the charcoal skin of his cranium. His nails and teeth were sharp, but more like needles compared with the massive rending instruments of the mimic.

Not that the consort had need of such things. The bodies and senses of his mimics were mere extensions of his own. He saw through their eyes and killed with their claws, tasted the surface air through their nostrils. It was cold and bland, almost devoid of magic, burned clean each cycle by the hated day star. At court, the air was hot – thick and heavy with the magic radiating from the Core, every breath delicious and brimming with power.

Instinctively, the demon Drew magic from the fissure, a wellspring of power leading all the way to the source. He filled himself with it, suffused with power, then moved to the cave mouth. He squinted in the dim starlight, feeling a slight drain of power, like a soft breeze stealing the barest touch of heat.

The cave was high in the rocky hills, and afforded a wide view of the surface. To the southwest and northeast, humans were swarming, their breeding grounds overflowing as they relished their newfound strength. Even many miles away, the consort could sense the magic they were collecting. It took the barest effort to take over the rudimentary consciousness of wind drones in the areas, collecting more information.

The results were impressive. It usually took humans millennia to build back this kind of strength, especially with the drones culling them for sport. All this, in barely a turning.

He had thought the initial reports – culled from the less-than-trustworthy memories of drones – nothing more than an anomaly, and sent two minor princelings to deal with the matter. Their reports had been disturbing. Humans in three of the local breeding grounds had regained both the fighting wards and spirit, two things thought crushed beyond repair. With their drones strengthening, human minds were beginning to form. The Queen had no desire to make humans extinct – what would her minds feed upon? – but neither could this insurgence be tolerated.