Rojer lifted his fiddle as the sounds of the demons reached his ears. They would need to come through New Rizon to strike at Cutter’s Hollow, and with most of the town destroyed, the easiest path was through the town square.

It was simple to use that fact to enhance his call. Come this way! his music told the corelings. It is quicker! It is easier! There is prey!

And indeed there was. Him.

The demons responded. Dozens at first, striking at his wards with flashes of magic. The number quickly swelled to hundreds, then thousands. They filled the square, and still his call went out, drawing them to him. Soon he and Coliv were lost in a sea of teeth and scales, unable to see anything else.

Corelings crawled over one another, fighting among themselves for the privilege of attacking his wards. But the worn portable circle had been well made, and it turned their attacks back on them, the field only growing stronger as more and more of them fed it with their magic.

But then the inevitable happened. The swirling mass of corelings parted to allow wood demons to advance, these carrying giant clubs made from the trunks of trees. It would be a simple matter for them to smash Rojer and Coliv to pulp and knock his circle out of alignment.

But Coliv was ready, producing a twisted ram’s horn, hollowed and polished. He put the horn to his lips and blew a long note.

At the sound, shutters slammed open around the square, archers appearing in the windows and atop the roofs of the ruined buildings. They did not hesitate, opening fire into the mass of corelings. The demons were packed so tightly it was impossible to miss, but a few of the most skilled marksmen were sure to put down the wood demons threatening Rojer. He saw one of Wonda’s unmistakable shafts appear in one of the demons’ eyes just before it fell.

Demons charged the doorways to the buildings, but they were doused in spray pumped from barrels on the floors above. A moment later torches followed, igniting the liquid demonfire and setting them ablaze.

Another horn sounded. ‘Now,’ Coliv said, never one to waste words. He set his ladder and climbed quickly, taking a weighted line and throwing it to a third-floor window.

Rojer stopped playing, shoving his fiddle into the bag of marvels slung over his shoulder. He ran up the ladder almost as nimbly as Coliv, grabbing onto the Watcher as he leapt. Men in the window pulled at the line as they tucked their legs and swung, feeling the puff of air as snatching talons just missed them.

They slammed into the blackened wall of the building, smashing some of the weakened wood, but Coliv was already climbing to the window, hauling Rojer who clung to his shoulders.

They escaped just in time as Count Thamos and Gared led a charge of heavy horse into the press. Rojer looked sadly at the spot where they had once stood, now trampled by hundreds of steel-shod hooves.

‘Gonna miss that circle,’ he said.

Renna paced back and forth, hating that she was forced to wait while battle was met. But as they had with Arlen, the demons knew her on sight now, and abandoned all other pursuits when she was beyond the wards.

The Hollowers were in full rout when they returned, running hard before a swarm of corelings. At least a third of the archers who had stationed themselves in the square did not return. Thamos’ cavalry appeared to have fared even worse, with many horses carrying two, and still hundreds missing. They gave cover to the footmen, but the horsemen, too, were fleeing, their spears mostly gone as they laid about with warded axe and hammer. Coliv had Rojer slung over his shoulder as he ran.

They flowed around Renna as she stood alone at the border, breathing deeply as she felt the magic pooled at her feet. When they were clear, she Drew.

Ignoring the lesser demons, Renna focused on the rocks, drawing heat and impact wards, targeting the gaps in their stony carapaces. She blasted shoulders and knees, less concerned with killing the demons than with crippling them and preventing them from hurling their deadly projectiles.

She lasted longer tonight, but quickly reached her limit, feeling dizzy as the magic burned at her from the inside.

Still the demons came on. She fell to one knee, bracing herself with a hand on the cobbles, and Drew again.

Leesha could feel her muscles knotting tighter the closer the sounds of battle came to the hospit of Cutter’s Hollow. There were too many wounded to move, and where would they move them if the Corelings’ Graveyard fell?

For now, the greatward was secure. Shaped by wide cobbled streets, thick low walls, and huge swathes of land, the ward would require hours of bombardment to weaken sufficiently for demons to gain access – and even then, there were wards on the hospit and other safe zones. It was unlikely the demons could destroy it all in a night.

But they don’t need to, she reminded herself. They just need to do more damage than we can repair in a month. Then as soon as the moon wanes again, they’ll come finish the job.

Outside she heard the explosions as the last of her flamework was used, and boulders fell like rain. Every crash was a stab of pain in her eye. The headaches had returned with a vengeance with the new moon, but there was nothing for it but to endure. She could not afford to take the strong drugs needed to counter them, and neither she nor Thamos was in any state to attempt the alternative solution.

Leesha was not used to feeling so helpless. She wanted desperately to be outside, helping in some way, but what could she hope to do? Her Gatherer’s art was already in play, the Cutters using the last of her flamework, acid, and sleeping draughts. She could risk herself helping wounded on the field, but to what end? They poured into her hospit at a steady rate, more than enough to fill the hands of all the Gatherers and apprentices.

She looked around the main hall, beds and the floor between filled with moans of pain, white bandages and red splotches. The most stable had been sent to the Holy House in Tender Hayes’ care, but the hospit was still at capacity.

Leesha caught Amanvah’s eye, and the young dama’ting nodded. Leesha knew she was no happier to be trapped inside, but her fighting hora had been depleted battling the mimic, and she and Sikvah were needed here. The Krasians healed differently than she had been taught, but Leesha could not deny their skill at treating battle wounds.

There was a shout and the door to the hospit slammed open, admitting Coliv. Leesha could see at a glance from the coloured silk that he was carrying Rojer. The Jongleur’s carrot hair was matted red with blood.

Leesha ran to him, but Amanvah got there first, cradling his head to inspect the damage as Coliv laid him down. Sikvah moved to bar the way.

‘I don’t have time for this demonshit, Sikvah,’ Leesha said, moving to shove the younger woman aside.

But Sikvah was faster, grabbing her arm and twisting it. Leesha found herself spun around and propelled away from them, barely managing to quickstep and keep her feet.

‘See to the others,’ Sikvah said in her heavily accented Thesan. ‘We will tend our husband.’

Leesha drew breath to argue, but just then the rest of the wounded reached the hospit, and it was all she and the other women could do to find space for them and triage.

The sounds of battle drew too close for comfort as they worked. The demons were at the border, which meant Renna Tanner was their last real line of defence. Leesha knew the woman would do her best, but it wasn’t yet midnight. Could she hold back the entire Core till dawn?

The hospit shook as something huge struck the ground out front.

Apparently not.