Copyright

HarperVoyager

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © Peter V. Brett 2018

Ward artwork designed by Lauren K. Cannon, copyright © Peter V. Brett

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Cover texture © Shutterstock.com

Peter V. Brett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008234126

Ebook Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008234133

Version: 2018-10-02

Dedication

For John Brett Jr. 1970–97 It gets easier, but it never gets easy.

‘Know Messengers are in short supply, Leesha.’ Renna’s voice was unusually timid. ‘But if you could spare one for Tibbet’s Brook …’

‘We sent one immediately after the attack,’ Leesha said. ‘But Tibbet’s Brook is a long journey, even on warded horseshoes.

Renna grunted. ‘Even on a straight round trip, it will be new moon again by the time you get an answer.’

Again the dice clattered.

Inevera breathed. ‘I see a village entire, dancing like puppets to a demon’s strings. I see brother killing sister, father killing son.

‘I see an empty cradle.’

Map

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prophecy

Map

Chapter 1: Greatward

Chapter 2: The Square Girls’ Club

Chapter 3: The Hive

Chapter 4: Far as We Need

Chapter 5: The Vote

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

1
Greatward
334 AR Summer

Selia shifted, wrapping her arms tighter around the body next to her. Smooth skin with hard muscle beneath, warm like a crock filled with fresh-baked cookies. She put her nose into the thick braid of hair and inhaled. The scent was euphoric.

Selia’s eyes popped open.

‘Night, girl!’ She gave Lesa a shove to wake her. ‘Fell asleep again!’

Selia glanced at the window, where a faint glow shone through the shutter slats of her house. ‘Nearly sun-up. You’ve got to get—!’

‘Shhhhhh.’ Lesa reached a hand behind her, stroking Selia’s face until her calloused fingers settled gently on Selia’s lips. ‘Mam and Da went up to Jeph Bales’ farm to help prepare. Never know I ent been home.’

Lesa snuggled back into the feathered pillow, quickly falling back to sleep. Selia drew a deep breath and curled around her, attempting the same. Lesa was right.

But Selia had never been good at sleeping when there were problems to worry at. Lesa’s parents might be away, but she was still living under their roof. The young woman had barely twenty summers, while Selia was laying stores against her sixty-ninth winter. Lying with another woman was already enough to ignite town gossip. Taking a lover less than a third her age might see folk strip her of the Speaker’s gavel – if they didn’t just put her out in the night and have done.

Even as Selia squeezed her eyes shut, the sight of Renna Tanner, staked in Town Square for the demons, remained.

No. We don’t do that any more.

But Selia remembered how quickly Jeorje had turned the town against Renna, and he had far more reason to want Selia staked than some barley-headed farm girl.

Selia’s arm, tucked beneath Lesa, grew numb. The woman’s heat had them both sweating, a sticky bond to their skin. Too uncomfortable to sleep, Selia began the slow process of working her arm free without waking her partner.

Already, she was planning the day. Lesa’s family wasn’t the only one to head up to Jeph Bales’ farm. It was new moon, and Jeph had called the town council to meet on his property that night.

It was an unusual request for the council to meet outside Town Square – not to mention at night. But there were rumours about what Jeph was building on his farm, and all wanted to know the truth of it.

Selia didn’t need to guess. Arlen Bales paid his father a visit last moon. She knew this because that same night, Renna Tanner had materialized in Selia’s yard, catching her and Lesa with their skirts up.

The Brook’s prodigal children brought grave warnings. Smart demons. Shape changers. Corelings working in concert, dismantling wards like Baleses reaping a field. Tibbet’s Brook was still coming to grips with fighting even ‘normal’ demons. The battle wards were spreading, but few had tested themselves against the night. Folk weren’t prepared for what was coming.

Selia slipped from the bed, quietly padding to the washbasin. Lesa’s scent clung to her, evidence of their indiscretion. Renna had stayed hidden until Selia sent Lesa away, and offered no judgement over the tea and cookies, but it was a reminder of how careless they had become.

Folk used to call you Barren, Renna told her, but tonight’s got me wonderin’ they got it wrong.

If Selia and Lesa didn’t stop, it was only a matter of time before the town found out. She feared the grey-beards might already be recalling old rumours and making guesses.

Selia splashed her face. The water was cold, shocking away the last vestiges of sleep. She looked at her reflection in the same silvered mirror she’d used for almost seventy years, but the face staring back was only dimly familiar – a faded memory brought back to life.

The deep lines in her face had shallowed to nothing. Her once-white hair was yellow at the roots and growing. That hair was a rarity in the Brook, a gift from her father Edwar, a Milnese Messenger who decided to make Tibbet’s Brook his home.

Selia looked at her hands. The once-translucent skin was now thick and tough, spots of age melting away into sun-browned flesh.

She straightened, but there wasn’t so much as a twinge as her back aligned. No ache in her shoulders and knees. No sparks of pain as her knuckles flexed.

Next to the basin, within easy reach, was the spear Arlen Bales had given her. She brushed her fingertips over the delicate wards carved into its length, shivering in remembrance of the rush of magic that travelled up its shaft when she struck her first demon with it. The power was wild – intoxicating. In its grip she moved with strength and speed that were … inhuman, fighting with animal passion.

The feeling of invincibility faded soon afterwards, but a bit of the strength lingered. She woke the next day feeling stronger than she had in years.

Selia had killed many demons since, leading the Town Square militia to victory after victory. Corelings were slowly being cleansed from every yard and field in the Brook.

The rush of magic was addictive, as many folk were learning. Even Selia was caught in its grip. It did more than strengthen the body; it heightened passion as well.

She drew her hand back from the weapon as if it had suddenly grown hot, and looked back at Lesa, snoring contentedly.

Any fool who’d seen a Jongleur’s show knew magic came with a price.

‘Out of bed, lazy girl.’ Selia gave Lesa a shove. ‘Tea is hot and there will be the Core to pay if you let it get cold.’

Lesa flung back the covers, shameless as she slipped out of bed and bent to pick up her trousers. She glanced up, smiling as she caught Selia staring.

Selia snatched the blouse from her bedpost and threw it at the girl, but she was smiling too. ‘Get dressed while I take the butter cookies from the oven.’

Lesa entered the kitchen soon after. Even with her back turned, Selia could tell the young woman was reaching for the batter-covered spoon resting in the mixing bowl. Without looking up, Selia snatched the spoon and used it to swat the back of Lesa’s hand.

‘Ow!’ Lesa snatched her hand away.

‘Licking the spoon’s a reward, not a privilege.’ Selia laid a plate of cookies on the windowsill to cool. ‘Set the table and pour the tea. Yesterday’s batch is in the crock.’

Lesa held up a fist, turning it to show the batter splashed across the back. Then she deliberately licked it clean.

Selia raised the spoon threateningly, and Lesa laughed, darting to the cookie crock on the table. ‘Forget sometimes, you’re still Old Lady Barren.’

Selia raised a brow. ‘That what children call me now?’

Lesa coloured. ‘Din’t mean …’

Selia waved the apology away. ‘What will your young friends say, when they learn you’ve been sleeping in Old Lady Barren’s bed?’

Lesa winked. ‘Ent done much sleeping.’

‘Know what I mean,’ Selia said.

‘You say “when” like it’s written somewhere folk are gonna find out,’ Lesa said.

‘Live to be an old lady, you’ll learn folk find everything out eventually.’

Lesa threw up her hands. ‘So what if they do? You’re Speaker for the Brook, and every night you go out and kill corelings to keep folk safe. Town couldn’t do without you. And I done everything my parents ever asked, and got demon scars to show what I’ve given this town. Who cares, folk find out we’re square girls?’

Selia winced at the term. ‘Where did you hear that? Do you even know what it means?’

Lesa shrugged. ‘Everyone knows. Means girls who kiss girls.’

Selia bit her tongue. ‘Schoolyard talk’s changed since I was teaching.’

Lesa blinked. ‘You were schoolmam?’

‘No.’ Selia shook her head. ‘That was Lory, my mother.’

Lesa splashed tea as she dunked a cookie, cramming it into her mouth before it had time to soften. Crumbs sprayed as she spoke. ‘Want to hear all about her.’

Selia swatted the air with the wooden spoon. ‘Ent story time. Sun’s coming up. Finish your tea and head out the back before someone sees you. Take Dyer’s Way.’

Lesa wrinkled her nose. The alley behind Dyer’s shop where Jan kept his chemical vats stank, discouraging casual traffic. The perfect path for one wishing to be unseen.

‘Don’t want to go,’ Lesa said. ‘Just tell folk I came at dawn to escort you.’

‘Since when do I need an escort to walk down the street to Town Square?’ Selia gave Lesa the look. Her wrinkles might have smoothed away, but her grey hair still carried weight in the Brook.

‘Ay, Speaker.’ Lesa wiped her mouth and left without another word.

You’ll pay for that later. Selia let out a breath of relief when the door closed behind the girl. Another moment successfully stolen. How many more would they have?

Her appetite lost, Selia set the cookies aside and took out her writing kit, continuing a series of letters to kin in Fort Miln. There hadn’t been a Messenger for over a year, but sooner or later one would come, and her father taught her better than to be unprepared.

After an hour she packed the fresh cookies and went to the stable where Butter, her spirited gelding, waited. Her father’s old Messenger armour was stowed in the saddlebags she slung from Butter’s back. The Smiths removed some plates and shifted others, hammering until it all fit her, but the smell of oil, steel, and old sweaty leather still reminded Selia of Edwar. There was comfort knowing the same metal that succoured her father on his journeys now protected her.

His shield was goldwood covered in a layer of fine Milnese steel, defensive wards still strong after decades of use and fifty years above the mantel. Only his spear hung there now, the fine weapon no match for the one Arlen Bales gifted her.

Selia led her horse down the road to Town Square. She was thankful for her discretion when she saw Tender Harral, Meada Boggin and Coline Trigg already waiting in the square with the militias. It would not have done for so many to see her arrive with Lesa.

Meada’s son Lucik was with them, along with his wife Beni, and nearly a dozen men and women from Boggin’s Hill. Their round shields had two concentric rings of wards, with a frothing mug of ale painted at their centre. The Boggins wore boiled armour with wards burned into the leather, and kept their warded spears close to hand.

The change magic wrought on Selia was more pronounced, but any fool could see the power at work here, too. Folk she’d known their whole lives were changing in noticeable ways. Tender Harral’s armour was hung from an acolyte’s horse, but he kept spear and Canon close. Muscles strained the sleeves of his once-loose robe.

Meada’s grey hair was streaked with brown. She led the Boggin militia in clearing the demons from Boggin’s Hill, but had since given her spear to her son. Lucik was always a strapping boy, but he’d added fifty pounds of muscle in recent months. A quiet lad, he was fierce when fighting corelings.

‘Speaker.’ Lucik dropped his eyes when he noticed Selia’s gaze. Fierce in battle, yes, but still loyal as a pup.

‘Good boy.’ She resisted the urge to scratch him behind the ears.

Meada snorted as Lucik’s ears coloured. ‘Good to see you, Speaker.’

‘And you, Meada. Sorry I ent been up the hill recently.’ As she spoke, Selia’s eyes scanned the assembled Square militia, mounted five wide and five deep. Twenty-five of her best fighters to keep the peace and stand guard when the sun set. The wards on their wooden shields were a perfect square, a map of Tibbet’s Brook painted in the centre of its succour.

‘Don’t think on it,’ Meada said. ‘Creator knows you’ve been busy clearing corelings out of town, and it’s got everyone feeling sunnier.’

‘Credit for that goes to a lot of folk, you and your son included.’ Selia spotted Lesa in her assigned place in the second row of the formation – close enough to see, but far enough to mask any hint of favouritism. Normally Lesa would meet her eyes and give Selia a private smile, but today the girl had her eyes studiously forward.

She was still upset.

Perhaps that’s best, while the council meets.

‘Brine sent word not to wait on the Cutters,’ Harral said. ‘They’ll come in their own time. Hog left at dawn with a dozen store security.’

Selia harrumphed. ‘Store security’ Hog called them, but they were fast becoming his personal army. The Square militia was all volunteers, men and women with normal day lives, coming out to fight for their town when the sun set. Most made and warded their own weapons and equipment, with varying degrees of quality.

Hog’s store security all wore armour of thick leather, studded with warded silver. Their matching spears were of the finest quality, etched expertly with wards. The three concentric ward circles on their steel-covered shields had in their centre a painting of the original General Store Hog built when he first came to Tibbet’s Brook.

Store security pulled their weight in town, keeping the square clear of demons and aiding the militia in culling corelings from valuable land, but there was no illusion about whom they answered to.

‘Let’s not waste time, then.’ Selia mounted and they set off north.

Jeph’s farm was already bustling when they arrived. Hog’s pavilion was set, his thick-armed daughters, Dasy and Catrin, selling food and ale. Security was still unloading carts, and Hog himself carried a keg in each arm.

‘Night,’ Coline said. ‘He looks thirty again.’

Hog had always been robust, but he carried more than sixty winters, and in recent years it had begun to show. But, as with Selia, the seasons had melted away with the lines on his face. His hair and beard were coal-black, any last vestiges of grey trimmed away. Thick curls grew on his crown where not long ago there had been bare skin.

‘It’s unnatural,’ Coline said. Harral grunted in agreement. Even Meada was nodding.

Selia turned to them, raising an eyebrow.

‘That’s different and you know it, Speaker,’ Coline said. ‘You’re out every night, riskin’ your life to keep folk safe. Ent the same as payin’ store security to drag you a chained-up demon every Fifthday to suck on like a skeeter.’

‘Ay, maybe,’ Selia said. ‘But Hog’s always pulled his weight with this town. I’d have run him out for a cheat long ago if he hadn’t.’

‘Ay,’ Meada agreed. ‘But don’t forget he voted Renna Tanner into the night because he thought it was better for business.’

Coline dropped her eyes, losing bluster. For, of course, she had voted Renna out, too. No one, not even Selia, had entirely forgiven her for it.

‘Creator plans our trials as well as our triumphs,’ Harral cut in. ‘Could be He put Hog here to cast that vote. Might be that’s what brought the Deliverer to heal our divisions.’

‘If that Messenger was the Deliverer I’ll eat my cookie crock,’ Selia said. ‘Didn’t heal a corespawned thing. Brook’s more divided than ever.’

‘That, too, is the Creator’s plan,’ Harral said. ‘Brook’s been evening a long while. Might be it needed to get dark before the dawn.’

Selia wrinkled her nose. ‘Can’t know the Creator’s plan, my da used to say, but we do know He’s not going to come down from Heaven to carry the mail.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Coline asked.

‘Means we own our problems.’ Selia locked eyes with the Herb Gatherer. ‘And our choices.’

Coline flinched and dropped her eyes. ‘Ay, Speaker.’

Jeph Bales was showing off his new greatward like a prize pig at the summer Solstice festival. Bales’ property was one massive ward of protection now, formed by fences, shrubs, hedges, stone paths, and curve-roofed storage sheds, not to mention the barley fields, manicured from the straight rows of their original planting. Simple shapes flowed seamlessly into one another, creating something altogether more complex. Folk walked around eyes agog as they waited for a turn to climb the watchtower to see the greatward from above.

Jeph broke away from a group of guests when he noticed Selia arrive. ‘Speaker.’

‘You’re a Speaker now too, Jeph Bales,’ Selia reminded him. ‘You can call me Selia.’

Jeph shook his head. ‘Ent ready for that. Not looking to lead this town.’

‘Ready or not, Jeph Bales, that’s what you’re doing. There’s more to leading than fancy words. Folk need an example, and you’ve impressed everyone with this monstrosity you’ve built.’

‘Wait till sunset,’ Jeph said.

There was a shout, and they saw Mack Pasture storming away from Hog, who had his arms crossed. Behind him, two store security guards loomed.

Mack headed their way and Selia sighed. Pasture had become a thorn in everyone’s side since he was voted off the council as Speaker for the farms in favour of Jeph.

‘Everything all right, Pasture?’ Selia called.

‘No, it corespawned ent!’ Mack cried. ‘Hog won’t sell me a warded spear on credit.’

‘Could have had your own,’ Jeph said, ‘you’d had the stones to stand when the Messenger came.’ There was no divide in town deeper than those who wanted to protect Renna Tanner and those who voted her into the night.

‘Din’t need it,’ Mack snapped, ‘till Hog bought the old Tanner farm and sent store security to sweep the property. Sent all the corelings runnin’ my way, scarin’ the cattle and apt to overload the wards. And now he won’t so much as rent me a spear.’

Selia pursed her lips. She had little more sympathy for Mack than Jeph, but her father’s advice sounded in her head.

Town Speaker speaks for everyone, not just the folk they like.

‘I’ll have the militia out tomorrow night to start clearing your property,’ Selia promised.

Next to arrive was Brine Broadshoulders with his adopted son Manie Cutter. Selia remembered the boy, shivering at her table the night corelings breached the wards of the Cluster by the Woods in 319 AR. Manie was a man grown now, tall and heavily muscled, with a warded axe mattock strapped to his back. He and his father led a score of giant Cutters onto Jeph’s property.

It was afternoon before the Fishers made their way up the road. Raddock Lawry, their Speaker, was older than Selia, his thick beard stark white, face deep with crags.

Raddock’s eyes widened when he saw Selia. She’d shed decades since he saw her last, now looking much as she had when Raddock tried to court her, fifty years ago. ‘Guess it shouldn’t surprise me you’ve exploited the unnatural too, Selia.’

Selia felt a flash of anger. ‘I’ve done nothing but stand up for this town when you and yours were too stubborn.’

So much for speaking for everyone. Anger came easily where Raddock was concerned.

‘Punishing Fishers is how you stand up for the town, Speaker?’ Garric Fisher was not so old, taller than Selia and half again her weight. He leaned in, trying to intimidate, but Selia hadn’t scared easily when she was old and her bones ached. She sure as the Core didn’t now.

‘Ent punishing anyone.’ Selia’s eyes flicked over his stance, deciding how best to put him on the ground without breaking anything. ‘Been sending militia to keep Fishing Hole safe, like we agreed.’

‘Ay, for the Duke’s tithe worth of fish!’ Raddock growled. ‘While your militia bullies and robs us.’

Selia blinked. ‘Come again?’

‘Drunk on demon magic and looking down on regular folk,’ Raddock said. ‘Garric’s got Boggins pissing on his fence and leaving demonshit on his doorstep. Other night, someone staked a coreling in my yard. Turned into a rippin’ bonfire when the sun came up.’

None of this was surprising. The Fishers had turned Tibbet’s Brook on its head last year, and a lot of folk resented them for it. Raddock wasn’t wrong about what magic did to folk, whetting emotions already sharp.

She blew a breath through her nostrils. ‘Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Raddock. I’ll put a stop to that nonsense straight away.’

‘Stopping it ent enough, Selia,’ Raddock said. ‘Want to see some punishment. Stam Tailor had Maddy Fisher below decks in her father’s boat!’

Selia clenched a fist, imagining she was squeezing Stam’s throat. ‘Girl wasn’t willing?’

‘Don’t matter!’ Raddock snapped. ‘She’s thirty summers his junior! It’s an abomination.’

Selia’s eyes flicked to Lesa, and this time the girl met the look proudly. She stood with the rest of the Square militia, all of them ready to pounce if the Fishers got out of hand. Raddock caught the glance, taking in the militia with a scowl. The Fishers brought a dozen men with them, but both sides knew they were no match for warriors who killed demons each night.

‘Maddy’s got nineteen summers, Raddock,’ Selia said. ‘Ent for you to say who she should be kissing.’

‘What about her da?’ Raddock demanded. ‘Tried to break it up and Stam blacked his eye.’

Selia pursed her lips. ‘I’ll have a talk with Stam and get to the bottom of it. If it’s like you say, he’ll make it right.’

‘Needs more than talk, Selia,’ Raddock said. ‘Law calls for a whippin’ in the square.’

Selia shook her head. ‘Last time we tied someone up in the square, whole town turned upside down. We’re better than that.’

‘Always an excuse why Fishers don’t get justice,’ Raddock sneered. ‘Ent even botherin’ to pretend the town council means spit any more.’

‘No one’s saying that,’ Selia said. ‘But we don’t take every dispute to the council, Raddock. Might be this can settle if Stam apologizes, does right by Maddy, and makes some fresh sails for Fishing Hole.’

‘Don’t want rippin’ sails,’ Raddock growled.

‘Of course not,’ Selia said. ‘All you ever want is blood, Raddock. Ent changed in fifty years.’

Raddock’s face tightened, wrinkles becoming fissures on the craggy landscape. ‘Don’t want blood, Selia. All I ever want is respect, but that’s always been too much to ask.’

Not for the first time, Selia’s hand itched to punch him in the mouth. After all he’d done when they were young. How dare he?

‘Fisher’s got a point, Selia.’

Selia turned to see Jeorje Watch had arrived with fifty armed Watchmen. They wore their traditional garb – bleached white shirts under suspendered black pants, tall black boots, black jackets and wide-brimmed hats. The jackets were bulkier than a year ago, sewn with plates of warded glass to absorb coreling blows. Their hats were likewise armoured, secured by heavy straps.

Coran Marsh was at Jeorje’s side, pushed in his wheeled chair by his eldest son Keven. Big as Lucik Boggin, Keven had been killing demons since the night the Messenger gave his father a spear, but though his body had failed, Coran’s mind remained sharp, and it was to him the Marshes answered.

It was more than a moon since Southwatch annexed Soggy Marsh, but it was still disturbing to see Marshes and Watches standing together. Combined, those boroughs counted nearly four hundred of the thousand or so folk who called the Brook home. A dozen Marsh militia marched with the Watches, carrying thin, warded fishing spears.

But it was Jeorje who led them. The oldest person in the Brook by two decades, Jeorje looked not a day over thirty. His thin wisps of white hair had been replaced with a thick mat of nut brown, his leathern skin smooth once more. His coat was off, the sleeves of his bleached white shirt rolled over meaty forearms. Thick muscled biceps and chest looked ready to split the seams.

He wore no armour, not even a hat, and carried no shield. The cane he used to stomp to make a point was like a sceptre now, covered in intricate warding, with a sheathed speartip at the narrow end. Selia had watched Jeorje beat corelings to death with that cane.

Selia fixed him with the look, though it never affected Jeorje the way it did others. ‘Ent one to talk, Jeorje. Hear tell you just married Mena Watch last month. Girl ent seen twenty summers.’

‘Married, Selia,’ Jeorje said. ‘I don’t dishonour women’s families by luring them into fornication.’

‘Just into your harem,’ Selia quipped. ‘Mena is your … sixth?’

‘Seventh.’ There was pride in Jeorje’s voice. ‘A holy number. And my wife Trena arranged the match with Mena’s family personally. I didn’t lure her in secret and steal her virtue.’

‘Only bought it from her da,’ Selia muttered.

Jeorje ignored the words. ‘Stam Tailor has ever been a burden on this town, given to drink and poor choices.’

Jeorje might be a hypocrite, but he was not without a point. Plenty of folk liked getting drunk on festival days or at night after the wards were checked, but Stam was seldom sober, and someone was always cleaning his mess, one way or the other. He’d taken the rush of magic over drink, but addiction was addiction.

A burden on this town. It wasn’t the first time Selia heard Jeorje use those words, and it always led to the same place.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Council’s all here now. Send someone to fetch Maddy and I’ll send for Stam. We’ll hear their case and vote tonight.’

It was an empty promise. Hog and Coline were still paying for their votes against Renna Tanner, and Mack had been replaced by Jeph. With those votes turned, the council would never support the Fishers’ calls for blood again.

Selia saw a fleeting smile twitch Jeorje’s lips, and she realized he had never wanted the vote. He wanted to be seen supporting the Fishers when she was against.

‘You need not depend on Town Square for protection from corespawn,’ Jeorje told Raddock. ‘Southwatch can offer better.’

Selia flexed her knuckles. Adding Fishing Hole would only give Jeorje three council votes out of ten, but half the Brook’s population would answer to him. If that happened, the council really would become obsolete, and Selia would be lucky to avoid being staked in the square herself.

‘Talk about it on your own time,’ Jeph cut in loudly. ‘I called this meeting, and the sun’s settin’.’

It was crowded atop the watchtower with all ten Speakers and Keven Marsh – who had carried his father up the ladder. Private squabbles died away as they took in Jeph’s greatward, clearly visible from above. The symbol brightened as shadows lengthened. By sunset the ward was glowing softly, illuminating all Jeph’s property.

Jeph pointed. ‘Led a couple Wanderers that way last night.’

Demons came in all shapes and sizes, but folk in the Brook lumped them into two groups: Regulars and Wanderers. Regulars tended to haunt the same paths, imprinting on an area and almost never leaving. Wanderers hunted where sound and spoor led, ranging wide and without pattern.

Corelings always rose in the same spot they used to flee the sun the night before. As the dark strengthened, black mist vented from the ground like smoke, coalescing into a pair of field demons.

The demons caught sight of people wandering Jeph’s yard and tamped their paws to pounce. Folk screamed and fell back, warriors moving forward to put a wall of shields between the demons and the townsfolk.

But as the demons leapt, they were thrown back as the greatward flashed like a bolt of lightning, turning night into day for the barest instant.

Jeph put two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Jeph Young, his eldest son, appeared with a bow, expertly putting a warded shaft into one of the demons. It yelped and collapsed. Its fellow shrieked and clawed at the forbidding, leaving streaks of magic in the air where the claws scraped against the greatward.

The other Bales children appeared with slingshots, peppering the second coreling with warded stones that sparked and bit against its armour. The demon hunched down and attempted to flee, but Jeph Young had another arrow nocked by then, taking it in the back. The downed demon kept kicking until Jeph Young put it down for good with his third shot.

Everyone was impressed by the spectacle. Folk down in the yard gave a cheer, and there was chatter in the watchtower among the Speakers. Only Jeorje was silent, eyes glittering. No doubt he had come more for politicking than magic, but there was power in Jeph’s greatward, and Selia knew the leader of Southwatch would covet it.

And why shouldn’t he? The greatwards could make their town’s succour a permanent thing. Folk could sleep sound in the night, and tend fields without fear of demons burning them just before harvest. Yet something in that covetous look left Selia unsettled.

When all had ample time for a look, Jeph led them back down to the yard and up onto his porch to address the folk. All eyes were on him, something Jeph Bales had never cared for, but he met those eyes boldly tonight, filled with a sense of purpose Selia had never seen before.

‘Messenger taught me a bit of warding before he left last year.’ No one needed to ask whom Jeph meant. There was only one Messenger who came bearing wards. ‘Been experimentin’ and you can see the results for yourself. Ent no test for these wards. Nothin’ to prove. Any as want them can have them. Messenger said they were to be spread far and wide. Said, ’gainst the corelings, we’re all on the same side.’

There was excited chatter in the crowd at that, but also doubt. Jeph’s greatward was ambitious. Many would not feel up to constructing their own when regular wards had done well enough for them thus far.

‘That ent all.’ Jeph’s words drowned in the buzz of the crowd.

‘Silence.’ Jeorje didn’t shout, but the soft-spoken word was loud, penetrating the din. He thumped his cane on the porch boards for emphasis, and folk froze like cats caught on the kitchen counter.

Jeph didn’t miss a beat, raising his own voice. ‘Messenger told me about corelings we ent seen yet – ones that only come out when the night is darkest. Shape changers that can look like friends and trick folk into stepping beyond the wards. Smart demons that can steal thoughts right outta your head and lead lesser corelings like hounds. Said we need to step up our forbiddings, and gave us the wards to do it. Everyone needs to learn ’em, from the schoolhouse slate to the last elder.’

Hog, prewarned, stepped forward. ‘For those that don’t want to wait on lessons, or ent got a steady warding hand, we’ve got mind wards as stamps, pendants, hat brims, even plates you can glue on your favourite helmet.’

‘How much you gonna charge for a set o’ them plates, Hog?’ Mack Pasture shouted.

Hog crossed his arms. ‘Twenty credits.’

The crowd gasped. Twenty credits could feed a family of five for a month. The Brook was prospering as never before, but few in town had that much to spare.

‘Always a cheat!’ Mack screamed. ‘Even when Messenger says we’re all on the same side!’

There were nods through the crowd, even some of Selia’s own militia. Hog’s greed was ever getting the better of him.

Selia thumped her spear on the porch, much as Jeorje had. ‘Ten.’

The word bit through the anger in the crowd, all eyes turning towards her. She kept her chin high as Hog scowled, daring him to contradict her.

Rusco Hog was no fool. This wasn’t the first time he’d faced an angry crowd, and without Selia to put out the fire he’d have been strung up as a thief long since. He swallowed his grimace and gave a sharp, shallow nod.

‘Ten.’ Jeorje thumped his cane, and Selia too had to swallow a grimace. Any time he could not get the first word, Jeorje was sure to get the last, making every ruling of the town council appear to be his own personal judgement.

He met her look much as she’d met Hog’s, calmly daring her to contradict him in front of a crowd.

There was nothing Selia could say without sounding petulant and weak, and Jeorje knew it. Folk outside Southwatch might not like the Speaker, but they were all afraid of him. Old Man Watch held folk to an impossible standard and was quick to punish when they fell short.

‘Council better rule on every price in the General Store,’ Mack called. ‘Elsewise he’ll mark up everythin’ else to make up the loss.’

Hog lifted a finger, and store security moved to surround him, glowering at any who stepped close. ‘Don’t want to shop at my store, Mack Pasture, ent forcing you.’

‘Don’t matter!’ Jeph’s shout signalled the end of his patience. ‘Don’t want to pay Hog, Pasture? Learn to draw the rippin’ wards yourself! Just said they were free for all.’

‘Why did the Messenger give all this to you, Jeph Bales, and not the council?’ Raddock Lawry asked loudly. ‘All this talk of demons that look like folk and read minds sounds like a Jak Scaletongue story.’

‘Might be Scaletongue ent just an ale story,’ Jeph said.

‘Don’t answer the question. Why you, Bales?’ Raddock wasn’t well liked outside his borough, but his white beard was respected, especially when so few of them remained in the Brook. On hearing the question, the crowd wanted an answer, too.

Jeph straightened, meeting Raddock’s eye. ‘Because the Messenger was Arlen Bales. My son.’

Even Raddock Lawry and Mack Pasture had nothing to shout in the stunned silence that followed. The Messenger was a revered figure in the Brook. Half the folk thought he was the Deliverer come again, and the rest were still thinking it over. Only a fool would be first to speak.

Jeorje thumped his cane, eyes hard, but whether it was religious fervour or threatening a rival, Selia could not say.

‘All know my wife, Silvy, was cored.’ Jeph pointed to a spot in the yard. ‘Right there.’

Folk standing on the spot shifted uneasily, edging away as if it were cursed.

‘What folk don’t know is that I stood right here,’ he stomped a foot on the porch, ‘safe behind the wards, and watched it happen.’

The crowd gave a collective gasp.

‘Din’t have battle wards back then. Din’t think I could do anythin’ but die, I went out into a yard full of demons.’ Jeph shook his head. ‘But Arlen din’t see it that way. Din’t see anythin’, ’cept his mam in trouble. Ran into the yard and knocked a flame demon off Silvy with a milk bucket and dragged her behind the wards of the pig pen to wait out the night.’

Selia saw Jeph’s muscles clench, knuckles whitening as he gripped the porch rail.

‘When his mam died two days later, Arlen couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive me. Creator my witness, can’t blame him for that. Ran off and caught Messenger Ragen on his way back to Miln, made his way in the Free Cities.’

‘Why’d he come back?’ someone shouted.

‘Found the battle wards, my boy,’ Jeph said. ‘Came back to make sure what happened to his mam never happened again. But that ent all.’ He turned, meeting the eyes of Raddock Lawry and Garric Fisher. ‘Arlen and Renna Tanner were promised back in 319 AR, just before Arlen ran off. Both of us saw first-hand how Harl Tanner treated his daughters. Locked his girls in the outhouse at night when they were wilful, and put hands on them like they were his wives. That’s why I took Ilain back with me.’

‘Din’t stop you takin’ her to your bed before Silvy’s side was cool,’ Garric growled. ‘Reckon she witched you with those big bubbies just like Renna Tanner did my son.’

‘Remember Arlen brought Renna back to my farm, Fisher,’ Jeph said. ‘Sat right here and told me she and Cobie wanted to be together, just like the Tender said. Harl killed Cobie, and Renna killed Harl for it before he could kill her next.’

‘And if the little skink had minded her da, they’d all be alive,’ Garric snapped. ‘This town’s had enough scandal from Tanner whores.’

Lucik Boggin stiffened, eyes flicking to Beni. He turned back to Garric, eyes alight, but Jeph stayed him with a hand. Never a brave man, Jeph moved purposefully down the porch steps towards Garric, and the crowd fell back, clearing a path between the two men.

‘Jeph Bales, you get back on this porch!’ Selia snapped.

‘You may be Town Speaker, but this is my borough and my property, Selia.’ Jeph never took his eyes off Garric. ‘Thank you to keep out of this.’

Jeorje thumped his cane. ‘Men have a right to satisfaction.’ The words were neutral so that whatever the outcome, Jeorje could support it as his own – or the Creator’s – judgement.

Jeph kept a firm stride, but Garric, taller and heavier, stood his ground. ‘Say that again,’ Jeph growled when they were nose to nose.

Garric shrank back at the words, but Selia could see him dropping his shoulder and setting his feet.

She tensed, ready to cry out or leap from the porch, but something in Jeph’s posture stayed her. Her father used to teach boxing to the children in Town Square, and Jeph seemed to remember his lessons. When Garric swung his roundhouse punch, Jeph caught the blow on his curled left arm and then jabbed, stunning the Fisher while a right cross crumpled his nose.

Garric stumbled back but kept his feet. He might have remained in the fight, but Jeph stayed on the attack, stepping in and adding hooks to Garric’s body that folded him over and blasted the wind from his lungs. Garric lunged forward, wrapping his meaty arms around Jeph and attempting to twist him to the ground, but Jeph planted his left foot, stopping them cold, and used Garric’s hold against him, keeping the Fisher in place to take Jeph’s right knee to the chest.

Jeph shoved Garric back and heel-kicked him into the crowd of Fishers surrounding their fighting space. He kept his fists up, but Garric was either unable or unwilling to rise. Jeorje, no doubt hoping for a very different outcome, gave a slight shake of his head.

Coline Trigg ran from the porch, shoving past him to tend to Garric. His broken nose was bleeding freely and had already begun to swell.

‘Core’s gotten into you, Jeph Bales?’ Coline shrieked. ‘So ashamed of your cowardice you need to act like a demon?’

‘Ent a coreling, but I’m through bein’ a coward.’ Jeph raised a finger at Coline. ‘And you ent got a right to talk down. Known your gatherin’ half as well as you claim, my Silvy would’ve lived and none of this happened.’

‘That ent fair,’ Coline said.

‘Ay,’ Jeph said loudly. ‘Life ent fair sometimes. Wern’t fair to my family, or to Cobie Fisher. Ent been fair to the Tanner girls – but that ends tonight. Any that don’t like it can get off my property.’

‘Sayin’ your son’s the Deliverer?’ Raddock moved to stand over Coline and Garric, keeping the crowd’s eyes on his injured kin. ‘Left Fishing Hole behind on purpose?’

‘No one’s sayin’ anything of the sort,’ Selia cut in. ‘Fishers left yourselves behind when you set a girl out to be cored without so much as letting her say her piece. Ent too late to see that and go back to the ways things used to be.’

Raddock glared at her. ‘Ent the first time folk’ve been divided over a girl gettin’ cored, is it, Speaker?’

Selia stiffened at the words.

‘Yet here you are, right in the middle of it again.’ Raddock glanced at Selia’s militia. ‘Wonder whose life you’ll ruin this time?’

Selia clenched a fist, and it was all she could do not to wade in and pummel the old man much as Jeph had Garric. Her militia, too young to know what Raddock was talking about, looked at each other in confusion, but Selia wasn’t fooled. Raddock hadn’t been looking at all the fighters – just the women.

‘Ask your elders!’ Raddock shouted as Garric was put on a stretcher and the Fishers took their leave.

Jeorje threw Selia a look that was part disgust and partly a deeper hatred. She readied herself, but he said nothing, brushing past her to lead the Watches and Marshes down the road after the Fishers.

Others lingered on Jeph’s property, but they kept their distance as the remaining Speakers gathered.

Meada laid a hand on Selia’s arm. ‘Wern’t your fault, Selia, no matter what Lawry says.’

‘What’d he mean, ask your elders?’ Jeph said.

Selia sighed. ‘You ent the only coward with a secret, Jeph Bales. They ever talk about the Square Girls’ Club in the schoolyard when you were a boy?’

Jeph blushed. ‘Ay, but what’s that got to—’

‘I was the one started it.’

2
The Square Girls’ Club
284 AR

The sun had chased the demons away, but it was still dark in the shadows under the picnic awning behind the schoolhouse. Selia pressed Deardra Fisher against the wall, kissing her hungrily.

Deardra, more than willing, gripped Selia’s hair, threatening to pull the pins free. Selia’s heart beat like the feet of schoolchildren at afternoon bell. These stolen moments were what she lived for. Her hand slid down Deardra’s back, gripping her bottom through her skirts and pulling her even closer.

‘We—’ Deardra gasped between kisses. ‘We need to calm down. Bell’s going to ring any moment, and Raddock will come looking if we’re not there.’

‘Let him look,’ Selia said.

Deardra put her hands on Selia’s breasts. Selia tried to lean in, but Deardra pushed her back instead. ‘Fine sight that would be, his sister out behind the school kissing his promised.’

Selia crossed her arms. ‘Raddock and I ent promised.’

‘Good as,’ Deardra said. ‘Da’s going to ask Edwar any day now.’

Selia felt a talon in her gut, like a demon trying to claw its way free. ‘Don’t want to marry Raddock.’

‘Creator, why not?’ Deardra asked. ‘He’s sure to be Speaker for Fishing Hole when Da retires. Ent a man in the Brook with better prospects.’

‘Got prospects of my own.’ Selia smiled, leaning back in for another kiss. ‘Don’t need a man. Got Deardra Fisher.’

Deardra pulled away. ‘Night, Selia. Square Girls’ Club is fun, but it’s just till we find husbands. Ent got but two members anyway.’

Selia gave a tight smile, trying to hide how the words stung.

Deardra reached out, stroking Selia’s arm. ‘Din’t mean—’

Her words broke off as both girls started from the sound of the great bell atop the schoolhouse.

There was a sound of scrabbling feet on the gravel of the yard – young Harl Tanner running barefoot past them and into the school.

Deardra’s eyes went wide. ‘You don’t think …’

‘What’s it matter?’ Selia pulled free of Deardra’s grasp and smoothed her dress. ‘Just fun till we find husbands, ay?’

‘Creator, Selia,’ Deardra snapped. ‘You know what—’

‘Harl Tanner ent been on time for school a day in his life.’ Selia turned to head for the door. ‘Ent no way he got here early enough to peep on us.’

Raddock was waiting at the steps when they turned the corner. ‘Where have you two been? Schoolmam’s waiting.’ A cacophony of children filled the great classroom.

‘Just checking the wards.’ Selia could not keep a snip from her tone at his assumption it was any of his business what she did with her time. He was only a few summers older than her, and they weren’t promised, whatever the Fishers might think.

Selia’s mother Lory was waiting by the front desk with fifteen-year-old Meada Boggin and a young woman so beautiful Selia’s breath caught. Deardra glanced at her, noticing the look with a frown. In a town as small as Tibbet’s Brook it was rare to meet someone for the first time, but the woman was in the conservative black skirts and high-necked white blouse and bonnet of Southwatch. They had their own school and Holy House in Southwatch, and some folk went their whole lives without visiting Town Square apart from Solstice festivals.

‘About time,’ Lory said. ‘Full house today. Asked Meada to throw in with the younger students.’

It was Sixthday – market day – and harvest season. The schoolhouse was packed this time of year while parents went to the square to shop. For many children in Tibbet’s Brook, market day was their only schooling each week, and Selia’s mother worked hard to make it count. Most children learned warding at home, but few had letters, or maths past counting livestock.

‘This is Anjy Watch.’ Lory gestured to the young woman. ‘She’ll be staying in the room upstairs for a few seasons, helping teach the Watches who come for market day. Selia, will you show her—’

‘Of course,’ Selia blurted.

‘Wonder what’s wrong with her,’ Deardra snipped, ‘Watches want to be rid of her for a few seasons?’

‘Looking for a husband,’ Raddock guessed. ‘Watches send the pretty ones sometimes, when they want to hook strong young backs to add to their numbers.’

‘Ent that pretty,’ Deardra muttered.

Lory rapped her straightstick on the desk, and the din of children quieted. ‘Everyone fetch your slates.’

There was chaos as dozens of dirty children, many of them barefoot, bustled around the slate piles and fetched chalk from the dusty bin, streaking dirty coveralls and skirts with the white powder.

The students in from Southwatch were the exception. Their white shirts and blouses were clean and bright, boots and shoes polished to shine. There were no patches or holes in their charcoal-grey trousers and skirts. Each had their own slate, chalk held ready without a sign of it on their clothes.

The Watches sat quietly in neat rows, eyes on the schoolmam, and Lory rose to the occasion, teaching advanced reading and mathematics to the older students while Selia and the other teaching assistants broke the rest into groups for more remedial lessons.

Anjy took the younger Watch children. Selia watched a bit longer than was proper, pulling her eyes away and turning back to her group hoping no one noticed. ‘You have one hundred and fifty cattle.’

‘Ent got half that many,’ Mack Pasture said.

‘Figuratively,’ Selia explained patiently. ‘Imagine you have one hundred and fifty cattle.’

Mack closed his eyes, brow knotting as he struggled to envision such wealth. He began to smile. ‘All right.’

Selia fought the urge to roll her eyes. ‘You sell ten per cent of them. How many do you have left?’

The smile left Mack’s face. He opened one eye, as if reluctant to let his imagined cattle go. ‘One hundred … forty?’

‘One thirty-five, idjit,’ Harl Tanner spat.

‘That’s enough out of you, Harl Tanner!’ Selia snapped. ‘What did I tell you would happen, you spat on the schoolhouse floor again?’

Harl’s face went deathly pale. ‘Ay, please. Don’t tell my da. It’ll be the outhouse for sure!’

Selia didn’t know the term, but she could guess its meaning well enough. Young Harl was more apt to instil fear than feel it. If he was afraid of his father, there was good reason. ‘Then that floor had best be scrubbed clean.’

Harl was on his knees with a bucket and brush when Lory rang the bell and the other children spilled out into the yard.

Raddock and the other teaching assistants came to stand by Selia as the children filed past. ‘You should tell his father anyway.’

Selia thrust her chin Harl’s way. ‘Why, when the threat of it is enough to pull the wood?’

‘Da says lessons don’t set in without a trip to the woodshed,’ Raddock said.

‘Tanners call it the outhouse,’ Selia said.

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