But then a stone demon grabbed a piece of rubble and threw, hitting Ragen squarely in the chest. His armor held proof against the blow, but he was thrown from Twilight Dancer’s back, and felt his shoulder pop from the socket as he hit the ground.
His ears were ringing as he struggled to rise, the great warhorse rearing protectively over him. But then, through it all, he heard a sound more beautiful than anything he could have imagined.
A rooster crowed.
Dawn had come.
—
Ragen bit down hard on leather, thrashing in Malcum and Derek’s grip as Yon gave a sharp pull and twist, popping his shoulder back into its socket.
Ragen spat out the wadded glove, tasting oil and sweat, blood and ichor. “Night, Yon! How long ago was your Gatherer’s training?”
Yon shrugged. “Never had trainin’. House full of boys learns ya a thing or two about bones.”
“Creator,” Ragen groaned.
“And you’re lucky to have him,” Malcum said. “The Grove’s Gatherer and her apprentices are a little busy at the moment.”
“How soon can we be on the road?” Ragen asked. “There isn’t a moment to spare.” A Messenger on horseback could leave the Grove at dawn and reach Miln in time for a late lunch, but the Grovers were exhausted, battered, and mostly afoot. They would be lucky to reach the city by nightfall.
“We’re loading the wounded onto carts now,” Malcum said. “Think you can ride?”
Ragen nodded. “I’ll manage.”
“Good man,” Malcum said. “That monstrous stallion of yours looks strong as ever. If you set a hard pace, you can get back…”
“No,” Ragen said. “I won’t leave these people on the road without me. Twilight Dancer isn’t the only stallion charged from trampling demons on warded hooves. Set a pair of Messengers to take the road at a gallop. One to the duke, and one straight to Elissa. Tell them we’re abandoning Harden’s Grove.”
—
Ragen led the ragged procession up the road, carrying little more than water and the clothes on their backs. Behind them, the town that had been their home for generations lay trampled, broken, and burning.
Children too young and elderly too slow to keep the pace clung where they could to carts carrying the wounded. Ragen pushed the folk as fast as they could go, but still twilight had fallen before they had a clear look at the city.
The walls of Miln still stood, but they were battered, with rubble strewn about the base. Warders hung on harnesses from the walltop, repairing damaged symbols. The air stank of corelings left to burn in the sun.
In the distance, Ragen heard the Evening Bell. He turned back to the weary refugees. “Double-time now. They aren’t going to keep the gates open for any that aren’t in the city by dusk!”
—
“Gates closing!” the wall guard cried down as Ragen rode into the city at the head of the Grovers.
“You close it on these people, and I’ll pitch you right over the side!” Ragen shouted back. The Grovers were pouring through the gate, but the weary column still stretched down the road. The sky was darkening fast.
“Euchor’s orders, Neocount,” the guard said.
Ragen spat. The slowest and most vulnerable were in the back, but with the bottleneck at the gate, there was no getting back out to help astride Twilight Dancer. He forgot himself as he swung from the saddle, and his injured arm exploded with pain, losing its grip.
Yon caught him with one giant arm. “Easy, now.”
“Get the Grovers back to my manse,” he told Derek and Yon. “It will be cramped, but we can hold them all for the night and figure things out in the morning.”
“Where ya think yur goin’?” Yon asked.
“Back out to help,” Ragen said.
“Gonna make much difference with that arm?” Yon asked.
“Maybe not,” Ragen said, “but seeing the Neocount of Morning outside might make the guards think twice about shutting the gates with folk still coming in.”
Ragen forced his way through the press to the gate. The guards tried to bar his way, but Yon was there, shoving them aside like children.
There was panic outside among the Grovers. The mounted troops, Malcum’s Messengers, Derek’s Warders, and Woron’s Mountain Spears had ridden through first, carrying as many of the women and children as they could manage. The carts, overloaded with few designed for a long journey, moved at a crawl. One poor mare, pulling a cart of wounded alone, had collapsed, holding up the line.
Yon cut the harnesses, sparing a moment to mercifully drop his axe on the poor beast’s head. Then he wrapped the straps around his chest and, incredibly, began to pull the cart himself.
Ragen moved along the line, hurrying folk as best he could. A graybeard was lying on the road, a boy no more than six pulling at him, begging him to rise.
“Go on,” the man told the boy. “Find your mother and sisters inside.”
“That won’t do, Graybeard,” Ragen said. “We’re not leaving anyone behind.”
“Ankle’s twisted,” the old man said. “Get my grandson inside, I beg.”
Ragen frowned, looking at the boy. He didn’t trust his arm to carry him and hold the old man. He squatted, shifting his accent to speak like a Grover. “Up my back, boy. Quick as a squirrel, now.”
“Ent leavin’ Gramp!” the boy shouted.
“Neither am I, but we’ll all get et you don’t mind me!” Ragen barked. The boy jumped and scampered up his back. Ragen put his good arm under the old man’s armpit.
“Don’t think I—” the graybeard began.
“Shut it and get up,” Ragen cut him off with the same tone he used on the boy. It worked equally well with the old man, and with a grunt Ragen stood, lifting them both.
“Ay!” the old man cried, wincing as he took a step.
“Collapse when we’re inside,” Ragen said. Others were rushing to help, but the sun was below the horizon now. Any moment the rising would begin. He looked at the gate, but his men, even Woron and the Mountain Spears, were blocking it open as the last of them limped forward.
Mist began to seep from the ground, gathering. “Run!” Ragen cried, sheer terror bringing new strength to his failing limbs. He broke into an awkward lope, half dragging the man until Cal and Nona Cutter reached him. Cal plucked the boy from his back, and Nona threw the old man over one shoulder like a bag of apples.
The wall guards were blaring horns and struggling to close the gates. Ragen spared a glance back as he ran—the smaller corelings were fully formed now, field and flame demons racing for the open gates. He pulled the stylus from the hidden pocket in his armor and stopped running just long enough to draw a quick series of wards in the air.
It was his first warding of the night, but already the magic was like boiling water across his skin. He grit his teeth and powered the wards fully, knowing their lives depended on it.
The demons slammed against the barrier like a brick wall. It wouldn’t hold, but it bought enough time to get the last of the Grovers inside and slam the gates shut behind them.
Ragen sent the others ahead and climbed the wall with Woron, Gaims, and Yon. The view from the top was grim. Rock demons were fully formed now, searching the rubble for stones large enough to throw. The wards strengthened the stone walls, but their strength was not limitless. Sufficient bombardment would erode the protection.
The Mountain Spears didn’t give them the chance. Approaching within throwing distance put the corelings in range of the heavy cannons on the wall. The iron cannonballs had been cast with wards, and Ragen watched one punch through the chest of a rock demon and put it on its back. The creature still glowed in wardsight, but its aura went flat—dead.
Ragen looked at the stockpiles of ammunition. The piles were not high, and many of the balls were battered and scorched, obviously recovered from the previous night’s battle.
Another rock demon drew an arm back to throw, but the cannon team aimed hurriedly and missed their sh
ot. Ragen waited until the demon was mid-throw, then drew a careful impact ward, powering it just enough to knock the stone from its talons. Still, the power jolted him like a punch to the stomach.
The demon stumbled, then turned to retrieve the missile, giving the next cannon team plenty of time to put twelve pounds of warded iron into its back.
Still the demons massed, rising in numbers that dwarfed those sent to crush Harden’s Grove. Ragen turned to Yon. “Back to the manse.”
Twilight Dancer and Yon’s giant mustang easily caught up to the refugees. Corelings could not rise through worked stone, and wards on the rooftops formed an effective net against wind demons. They should have been safe on the cobbled streets, but horns began to sound from all sides.
“What’s goin’ on?” Yon asked.
“Demons in the city,” Ragen said.
“How can that be?” Gaims asked. “We were just on the wall, and it was holding.”
“I don’t know,” Ragen said, “but keep your men at the ready.”
Woron nodded, shouting commands. His men were as exhausted as the Grovers—their ammunition spent. It would be bayonets and muscle, if they encountered resistance.
More and more horns sounded, flashes of light here and there as demons tested the wards of individual homes and buildings.
“What in the dark of night…” Ragen did not have a chance to finish the sentence as the street in front of them caved in. Grovers and soldiers tumbled down with cobbles, mortar, and dirt. Ragen, Yon, and Woron pulled up just in time, horses rearing to avoid the pitfall.
Corelings swarmed inside the hole, falling on the unfortunate folk and tearing them to pieces.
“They’re in the old sewer system!” Ragen cried.
“Aren’t they sealed and warded?” Woron asked.
“Ay,” Ragen said. “After the last time the demons tried this trick. Either Euchor’s been skimping on maintenance, or the mind demons found a way around the defenses.”
Derek and Malcum were across the divide with the bulk of the refugees. “Keep moving!” Ragen called. “We’ll catch up!”
Demons began to emerge from the sinkhole, and Ragen pulled hard on Dancer’s reins, cutting down a side street to circle around and catch Derek’s group. There was a sinkhole on the next street as well, corelings pouring out of it.
Ragen wrapped the reins around the wrist of his injured arm, trusting in Dancer to respond to his legs. He pulled his stylus and drew wards to create a temporary seal across the top of the sinkhole. The effort made him woozy, but he kicked Twilight Dancer and the stallion leapt ahead, trampling a pair of field demons from their path with his warded hooves.
Demons were attempting to breach the wards on individual buildings, but Ragen’s guild had done their work well. Without the rock and wood demons—too large to enter through the sewers—to batter through walls and doors, the lesser demons were stymied.
It was scant relief, for the corelings quickly realized the futility and went after easier prey—the refugees racing up the hill toward what Ragen prayed was the safety of his walls.
There was no sign of a mind, at least. The demons hunted with animal frenzy, not cold calculation. The coreling princes seemed reluctant to risk themselves while so many of the city’s defenses remained intact.
A squad of Mountain Spears appeared, firing their flamework weapons in staggered bursts to give their fellows time to reload. Their unwarded rounds tore through the demons, killing a few, but most corelings were more angered than injured. These men had not been tested against the corelings as Woron’s shooters had. They wasted shots on non-vital areas, and more than a few of them hit refugees with stray fire.
“Head shots and center mass!” Woron cried. He signaled his own men to skewer injured demons with their bayonets before they could heal and rise again.
But the flamework had driven the demons into a frenzy, and the Mountain Spears were unprepared for their savagery. The soldiers wore helmets, but their flamework weapons made conventional armor obsolete. Their blue-and-gray uniforms turned red with blood.
Field and flame demons ran up walls, spitting fire and leaping into the midst of a squad of soldiers. The men had no time to affix bayonets, and screamed as they were clawed and bitten. One man had his entire leg torn off; another was set ablaze, the intense heat of demonfire setting off the ammunition on his bandolier. They were thrown apart, landing bloodied on the ground, but while the flame demon shook it off and got back to its feet, the soldier did not.
Ragen spared a moment to draw a moisture ward and send it flying at the demon. The magic made his head spin and his stomach roil, but it was worth the pain when the demon’s scales started to hiss and cloud as the magic drew water from the surrounding air. Ragen kicked his horse, riding off as the demon began to writhe and shriek.
They raced through the streets, circling back to the route Derek was leading the refugees along. They spotted mounted Messengers herding folk together, leading the Grovers around the worst of the collapsed streets. Keerin covered them as best he could with a shield of music. Many of the adjacent buildings were damaged, and the demons took full advantage of the weakened wards.
A man and a woman ran screaming from one of the buildings, each carrying a small child. At their heels ran a reap of slavering field demons.
“Yon!” Ragen cried.
“On it!” Yon called, kicking his horse. Cal and Lary followed, and the three Cutters chopped through the reap, giving the family time to join the refugees.
And so it went, until at last Ragen’s manse was in sight. Demons clawed at the walls, but were thrown back again and again by the powerful wards. Even from the back of the procession, Ragen could see Elissa on the walltop, glowing bright with magic as she drew bright silver wards in the air with her stylus, breaking the coreling ranks and clearing a path for them.
The gates opened, and Ragen’s Servants came pouring out with long warded spears. They kept the formation defensive, driving demons back with jabs of the spears to clear the way for the refugees to flow into the courtyard.
The Grovers, Messengers, Warders, and soldiers filled almost every inch of the space inside the walls, but as the gates clanged shut behind them, they were finally safe.
Ragen allowed himself to fall from his horse.
—
“They’re still coming!” one of the wall guards called.
Ragen tried to shake off the blackness and push himself up, but Elissa, drawing wards to mend his arm, pushed him back down.
“No time to baby me, Liss,” Ragen said. “I’ve got…”
“You’ve got to rest or you’re no good to anyone.”
Much as he hated to admit it, Elissa’s words were true. The yard was spinning, and his muscles were aflame from channeling so much magic. Still, Ragen resisted. “The wards may not hold against so many. If they collapse a street outside…”
Elissa shoved him down hard. She was flush with magic, handling him like a child. “I’ll handle it.”
She called for Margrit. “Linens. All of them. The whiter the better.”
Margrit didn’t question the strange request, though Ragen could not see what good they might do.
Elissa drew a sound ward with her stylus, amplifying her voice a hundredfold. “Everyone look at your feet! Do not straddle the painted lines on the ground! If you are inside a painted section, put your hands in the air! If not, sit on the ground!”
The terrified fold did not question the commands, and quickly the greatwards painted on the cobbles took shape again. Elissa and the Warders roamed the yard, pushing and shoving folk into position.
The ward was already beginning to flicker to life when the Servants filtered out of the manse carrying white linens.
“Those standing, take linens and hold them overhead!” Elissa cried.
With that, the greatward quickly flared, Drawing ambient power and brightening the auras of everyone along its lines. Fatigue washed away from them, and they straightene
d, sharpening the lines further.
Outside, the demons howled as the magic brightened, then were driven back by the forbidding until they fled into the city in search of easier prey.
CHAPTER 32
BLIZZARD AND QUAKE
334 AR
Again Ragen was pulled from darkness, this time with a gentle shake. He opened his eyes to see Elissa, bathed in dawn light. He smiled despite the pounding in his head.
“How long?”
“You’ve been asleep all night, love.” Elissa reached out and stroked his beard. “I wish you could stay that way, but we’ve been summoned to court.”
Ragen’s muscles were still stiff and sore, but he managed to roll out of bed and push himself up onto his feet. He still wore the padded jerkin and leathers from beneath his armor, stinking of sweat and blood.
“Do I have time for a bath?”
“There’s no water, I’m afraid,” Elissa said. “The Grovers have already eaten the larder bare and drunk the wells dry.”
“There was nowhere else to go, Liss.”
Elissa put a soft hand on his cheek, kissing him. “Of course not. You did the right thing, but we can’t succor so many without aid.”
“We can do another night if we must,” Ragen said, “even if we all do without food, water, and baths.”
Elissa nodded, gesturing to a small tray by the door. “Margrit did manage to set aside something for us. Eat.”
Ragen set himself in front of the tray, drinking right from the pitcher and shoving bread into his mouth. He turned as Elissa headed for the door. “Where are you going?”
“Euchor has ordered the Mothers’ Council to gather apart from his court,” Elissa said, “so they will not be trapped in one place come nightfall.”
“Where?” Ragen asked.
“Count Brayan’s manse.”
—
Derek was waiting in the courtyard of Euchor’s keep with Malcum when Ragen and Yon arrived.
“They won’t even let me in to see her,” Derek growled. “My own ripping wife! My own corespawned son! Brayan’s got his keep locked tighter than Mother Jone’s arse.”