Arlen smiled. ‘Course I came back, Jow Cutter.’

‘They said you abandoned us,’ Jow whispered, ‘but I never lost faith.’

Arlen’s mouth tightened, but he bent and lifted the man like a child, carrying him to the safety of the warded circle. There was a Tender there, an older man with a beard the grey of a rain cloud. Over his plain brown robes he wore a thick surplice emblazoned with wards of protection surrounding the crooked staff symbol of his order. The man caught sight of Arlen and his eyes widened, but he came in quickly with an acolyte by his side, taking Jow and bringing him to a warded tent, its flaps bearing the Tenders’ staff. His eyes never left Arlen as they went, and he reappeared from the tent moments later carrying a staff of polished goldwood carved with wards, watching from the safety of the circle.

The battle was dying down now, and the prince, who had leapt from fray to fray, suddenly found himself without an opponent. He looked around frantically, panting, but when there was no threat to be found he gave a great shudder, suddenly leaning heavily on his spear. His men were by his side in an instant, crowding around him and blocking him from sight. Renna could make out the sound of his retching from within the ring of armoured backs.

‘Always like this,’ Darsy said. ‘There’s no one fiercer than the count when his blood is up, but it’s slow to rise, and drops like a falling tree.’

‘Ent nothin’ to be ashamed of,’ Arlen said. ‘Felt that way myself plenty of times. Fact he’s out in the night at all says a lot …’ He paused. ‘Count?’

Darsy nodded. ‘Came with a fancy royal decree naming him “Lord of Cutter’s Hollow and All of Its Environs”, along with a train of carts a mile long. Soldiers, too. More than a thousand, with bowmen aplenty, to fortify against the Krasians. They already started building him a fort. Folk were so thankful for the food and blankets they didn’t argue, especially with you and Leesha gone off to Creator knows where.’

‘So you just handed him the Hollow?’ Arlen asked.

‘Din’t have a lot of choice,’ Darsy said. ‘But it ent been so bad. Thamos mostly lets folk who know their business go to, and none can deny the aid he’s brought, or the hope he’s given to folk who ent got naught else.’

The fighting was over, but Renna could still see Arlen’s training as the Cutters went through the clearing methodically, confirming their kills. Demons healed magically fast, and even against warded weapons they could recover in minutes from anything short of death or dismemberment. More than one seeming-dead demon lying in the field shrieked when the Cutters approached, slashing at them or trying to escape. These were quickly pinned, thrashing wildly as the Cutters began cutting at the thick armoured ridges around their necks. Taking the head of even a small wood demon took a few strokes of the axe, and even Samm Saw had to put his back into the task.

Renna came to stand by Arlen and the women, eyeing their dizzying warded cloaks.

‘You warded their cloaks, too?’ she asked Arlen, dreading his answer.

Darsy turned suddenly, noticing Renna for the first time, particularly the state of her dress, or lack thereof. She glanced at Renna’s shoulders, and her nostrils flared. She grabbed the edge of Renna’s cloak and held it up so she could see it better in the light, then turned to Arlen with a look of indignation and put a meaty finger in his face.

‘You gave your Cloak of Unsight away?! Do you know how Mistress Leesha slaved over it? More than her own! You didn’t even thank her, and ent worn it once! Now you just piss it away—’

‘Ay, you stupid cow!’ Renna shouted, snatching the edge of her cloak back and moving to interpose herself between the two of them. ‘Don’t you talk to him like that!’

‘Or what?’ Darsy demanded, looming over Renna and bending so their noses practically touched. ‘This doesn’t concern you, girl, so shut your mouth or you’ll go over my knee.’

Darsy might have been a Herb Gatherer, but Renna knew a fighter when she saw one. She was more than a head taller than Renna and had a heavy frame, packed muscle and not fat. She wore the same floppy pantaloons as the other fighting women, and her heavy warded knife curved inward like a scythe. It would serve equally in hewing thick herb stalks or the limbs of a demon. Its handle was well worn.

But none of that seemed to matter as Renna grabbed her by the throat and began to squeeze. Darsy struggled, her mannishly thick hands pulling at Renna’s arm, but she might as well have been pulling at a bar of steel. She swung a heavy fist, but Renna diverted the blow easily, locking on to Darsy’s wrist and yanking her arm straight, using the limb to increase her leverage. Darsy went red in the face, the veins in her neck distending.

‘That’s enough, Ren!’ Arlen snapped, grabbing her arms. He squeezed hard, and both her grips lost strength. He pulled her aside as easily as a cat that had jumped on the counter to sniff the butchering block.

‘She started the fire,’ Renna growled, struggling against his iron grip much as Darsy had against hers. ‘You saw.’

‘Ay,’ Arlen agreed quietly. ‘She did. But that ent call to kill someone. Or were they right to try and stake you back in the Brook?’

Like he’d dumped a cold bucket on her head, Renna stopped struggling immediately. He was right, of course. Few would deny that Harl Tanner got what was coming to him when Renna stabbed him with his own knife, but this Darsy Cutter was no Harl.

Still, a part of her screamed for the woman’s blood. Renna breathed deeply, embracing the feeling and letting it pass. Arlen felt her relax and let her go immediately.

‘You all right?’ he asked Darsy, who was gasping and rubbing her throat.

‘Fine,’ Darsy croaked.

Arlen nodded, a sharp gesture. ‘Then keep to mind that what I do with my own property ent any of your corespawned business. Don’t think Leesha would care to hear you gossipmongering over her relations, either.’

‘Ay,’ Darsy coughed. ‘Think maybe you’re right at that.’ She turned to Renna. ‘My mum tried to beat some manners into me, but she never managed the task.’

Renna grunted. ‘Guess I wasn’t quite neighbourly, myself.’

The girl cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to her. She was perhaps seventeen summers and pretty, but up close Renna saw thick scars coming up over the neckline of her blouse. She had been near death once. Very near. And she could charm corelings with her music. Renna might have doubted Arlen’s stories about the red-haired Jongleur, but this she had seen with her own eyes.

Arlen smiled and bowed to the girl. ‘Your fiddling’s gotten better, Kendall. Looks like Rojer’s been working you and the other apprentices hard.’

Kendall looked at the ground, and there was a sadness in her eyes.

‘Rojer’s been gone for months,’ Darsy said, her voice still hoarse, but getting stronger. ‘Went to Rizon with Mistress Leesha. And the rest of his apprentices are more interested in playing reels than fighting demons.’ She gave Kendall a gentle punch on the shoulder. ‘But not our little fiddle witch. Worth a dozen men with spears, she is.’ Kendall kept her eyes down, but Renna could see her pale skin flush, and a thin smile crept onto her lips.

‘How long’s Leesha been gone?’ Arlen asked.