The Warded Man ran for the side entrance, but then skidded to a halt as he turned the corner, his way barred by a dozen demons standing dazed by his wards of confusion. He roared, leaping into their midst, but he knew he would never make it inside in time.

The stone walls of the Holy House echoed with screams of pain, and the cries of the demons just outside the doors had everyone in the Holy House on edge. Inside, some wept openly, or rocked slowly back and forth, shaking with fear; some raved and thrashed.

Leesha fought to keep them calm, speaking soothing words to the most reasonable and drugging the least, keeping them from tearing their stitches, or hurting themselves in a feverish rage.

“I am fit to fight!” Smitt insisted, the big innkeeper dragging Rojer across the floor as the poor Jongleur tried in vain to restrain him.

“You’re not well!” Leesha shouted, rushing over. “You’ll be killed if you go out there!” As she went, she emptied a small bottle into a rag. Pressed to his face, the fumes would put him down quickly.

“My Stefny is out there!” Smitt cried. “My son and daughters!” He caught Leesha’s arm as she reached out with the cloth, shoving her violently aside. She tumbled into Rojer, and the two of them went down in a tangle. He reached for the bar on the main doors.

“Smitt, no!” Leesha cried. “You’ll let them in and get us all killed!”

But the fever-mad innkeeper was heedless of her warning, grabbing the bar in two hands and heaving.

Darsy grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around to catch her fist on his jaw. Smitt twisted around once more with the force of the blow, and collapsed to the ground.

“Sometimes the direct approach works better than herbs and needles,” Darsy told Leesha, shaking the sting from her hand.

“I see why Bruna needed a stick,” Leesha agreed, the two of them ducking under Smitt’s arms to haul him back to his pallet. Beyond the doors, sounds of battle raged.

“Sounds like all the demons in the Core are trying to get in,” Darsy muttered.

There was a crash above, and a scream from Wonda. The choir loft railing shattered, and beams of wood came crashing down, killing the one unfortunate man directly below and wounding another. A huge shape dropped into their midst, howling as it landed on another patient and tore out her throat before she even knew what struck her.

The wood demon rose to its full height, huge and terrible, and Leesha felt her heart stop. She and Darsy froze, Smitt a dead weight between them. The spear the Warded Man had given her leaned against a wall, far from reach, and even if she had it in her hands, she doubted it would do much to slow the giant coreling. The creature shrieked at them, and she felt her knees turn to water.

But then Rojer was there, interposing himself between them and the demon. The coreling hissed at him, and he swallowed hard. Every instinct told him to run and hide, but instead he tucked his fiddle under his chin, and brought bow to string, filling the Holy House with a mournful, haunting melody.

The coreling hissed at the Jongleur and bared its teeth, long and sharp as carving knives, but Rojer did not slow his playing, and the wood demon held its ground, cocking its head and staring at him curiously.

After a few moments, Rojer began to rock from side to side. The demon, its eyes locked on the fiddle, began to do the same.

Encouraged, Rojer took a single step to the left. The demon mirrored him.

He stepped back to the right, and the coreling did the same.

Rojer went on, walking around the wood demon in a slow, wide arc. The mesmerized beast turned as he went, until it was facing away from the shocked and terrified patients.

By then, Leesha had set Smitt down and retrieved her spear. It seemed little more than a thorn, the demon’s reach far longer, but she stepped forward nonetheless, knowing she would never get a better chance. She gritted her teeth and charged, burying the warded spear in the coreling’s back with all her might.

There was a flash of power and a burst of ecstasy as the magic ran up her arms, and then Leesha was thrown back. She watched as the demon screamed and thrashed about, trying to dislodge the glowing spear still sticking from its back. Rojer dodged aside as it crashed into the great doors in its death throes, breaking open the portal even as it fell dead.

Demons howled with glee and charged the opening, but they were met by Rojer’s music. Gone was the soothing, hypnotizing melody, replaced by sharp and jarring sounds that had the corelings clawing at their ears as they stumbled backward.

“Leesha!” The side door opened with a crash, and Leesha turned to see the Warded Man, awash in demon ichor and his own blood, burst into the room, looking about frantically. He saw the wood demon lying dead, and turned to meet her eyes. His relief was palpable.

She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but he turned and charged for the shattered doors. Rojer alone held the entrance, his music holding the demons back as surely as any wardnet. The Warded Man shoved the wood demon’s corpse aside, pulling the spear free and throwing it back to Leesha. Then he was gone into the night.

Leesha looked out upon the carnage in the square, and her heart clenched. Dozens of her children lay dead and dying in the mud, even as the battle continued to rage.

“Darsy!” she cried, and when the woman rushed to her side, they ran out into the night, pulling wounded inside.

Wonda lay gasping on the ground when Leesha reached her, her clothes torn and bloody where the demon had clawed her. A wood demon charged them as she and Darsy bent to lift her, but Leesha pulled a vial from her apron and threw it, shattering the thin glass in its face. The demon shrieked as the dissolvent ate away its eyes, and the two Herb Gatherers hurried away with their charge.

They deposited the girl inside and Leesha shouted instructions to one of her assistants before running out again. Rojer stood at the entrance, the screeching of his fiddle forming a wall of sound that held the way clear, shielding Leesha and the others who began to drag the wounded inside.

The battle waxed and waned through the night, letting those villagers too tired to go on stagger back to their circles or into the Holy House to catch their breath or gulp down a swallow of water. There was an hour when not a demon could be seen, and another after that when a pack that must have come running from miles away fell upon them.

The rain stopped at some point, but no one could recall quite when, too preoccupied with attacking the enemy and helping the wounded. The cutters formed a wall at the great doors, and Rojer roamed the square, driving demons back with his fiddle as the wounded were collected.

By the time dawn’s first light peeked over the horizon, the mud of the square had been churned into a foul stew of human blood and demon ichor, bodies and limbs scattered everywhere. Many jumped in fright as the sun struck the demon corpses, setting their flesh alight. Like bursts of liquid demonfire all over the square, the sun finished the battle, incinerating the few demons that still twitched.

The Warded Man looked out at the faces of the survivors, half his fighters at least, and was amazed at the strength and determination he saw. It seemed impossible that these were the same people who were so broken and terrified less than a day before. They might have lost many in the night, but the Hollowers were stronger than ever.

“Creator be praised,” Tender Jona said, staggering out into the square on his crutch, drawing wards in the air as the demons burned in the morning light. He made his way to the Warded Man, and stood before him.