Peter Brett - The Daylight War

Arlen led Twilight Dancer through the camp, his back stiff as he looked in the lost and tired eyes of the people. They started when they caught sight of his warded face, and began to whisper among themselves, but none had the courage to approach him as he passed.

They came to the shelter for the sick, and Renna choked on the sight like it was demon meat. Almost two dozen folk spread out on narrow cots, covered in bloody bandages, filthy and reeking. Two of the patients had soiled themselves, and another was covered in her own sick. None of them looked apt to recover.

One frazzled woman attempted vainly to tend them all. Her grey hair was pulled in a tight bun, and her narrow face pinched. She wore no pocketed apron on her worn dress.

‘Creator, they don’t even have a proper Gatherer,’ Arlen whispered.

‘My wife, Evey,’ Varley grunted. ‘She ent an Herb Gatherer, but serves as one, for those in need.’ Evey looked up, and her eyes widened in shock as she took in Arlen’s and Renna’s warded skin.

Arlen went to his saddlebag and fetched his herb pouch. ‘I’ve some Gatherer’s art, particularly when it comes to coreling wounds. Like to help if I might.’

Evey fell to her knees. ‘Oh, please, Deliverer! We’ll do anything!’

Arlen’s brows knit in sudden anger. ‘You can start by not acting the fool!’ he snapped. ‘I ent no Deliverer. I’m Arlen Bales out of Tibbet’s Brook, and I’m just looking to help as I can.’

Evey looked as if he had slapped her. Her pale cheeks grew a bright red, and she got quickly to her feet. ‘I’m sorry … I don’t know what came over me …’

Arlen reached out, squeezing her shoulder. ‘You don’t have to explain. Know the ale stories the Jongleurs spin about me. But I’m here to tell you I’m a man like any other. Just learned some old world tricks folk these days have forgotten.’

Evey nodded, finally looking him in the eye and relaxing.

‘’Bout sixty miles north of here is the village of Deadwell,’ Arlen told Varley. ‘I can draw you a good map, with places you can camp along the way marked off.’

‘Why should they want us at Deadwell more’n anywhere else?’ Varley asked.

‘’Cause there ent no one in Deadwell any more,’ Arlen said. ‘Corelings got in and killed every man, woman, and child there. But we just been there, and swept the place good. Might be cramped at first, but it’s got everything you need to start a new life. Just make sure you brick up the well, and dig a fresh one.’

Varley gaped at him. ‘You’re just … giving us a village?’

Arlen nodded. ‘Used to go there a lot. Place was special to me. I’d like it to be a home to good folk again.’ He gave Varley a pointed look. ‘Folk that take a dim view of banditry.’

Varley seemed unconvinced. ‘Canon says, Trust not the man who offers all you desire just when you need it most. ’

Arlen smiled. ‘Creator abandoned you, but Tender Varley can’t stop quoting Canon?’

Varley chuckled. ‘World’s full of contradictions.’

‘Deadwell ent gonna do you any worse than you already are,’ Arlen said. ‘Your wards are weak. Could see that just passing through.’

Varley nodded and spat. ‘Ent got so much as a Hedge Warder outside a hospit cot. Folk are just warding their carts and tents as best they can.’

Arlen nodded to Renna. ‘This here’s Renna Tanner, my intended. She’s a fair hand at warding. I’d like you and your men to take her around the camp. Help her see if she can’t grant you more succour.’

Evey bowed to Renna. ‘It’s a real blessing, you doing this for us.’

Renna smiled and grabbed Arlen’s arm. ‘Excuse us a minute.’ She turned and dragged Arlen back between the horses.

‘What are you playing at, Arlen Bales?’ she demanded. ‘Had to fight tooth and nail for you to let me ward my own backside, and now you trust me to ward this whole camp?’

Arlen looked at her. ‘Saying you ent up to it? I shouldn’t trust you?’

Renna put her hands on her hips. ‘Din’t say any such thing.’

‘Then why we talkin’ about this?’ Arlen asked. ‘Light’s wastin’, and you need to shore up them wards any way you can. Bully folk and slap the fool out of them if you have to, but get it done. Take a few spears and some warded arrows, to give to those as can use them.’

Renna blinked. No one had ever trusted her to ward more than the barn before. Or given her any responsibility, really, beyond milking the cow and making supper. Now, without a wave, Arlen was trusting her to be Selia Barren to these people.

Love you, Arlen Bales.

Renna quickly saw the wards were even worse than they feared. There was no proper circle around the camp at all. The Oatingers had spread haphazardly through the clearing, each of their carts, wagons, and tents individually warded, with varying levels of skill. The best of them were barely adequate.

‘How many folk you losing every night?’ she asked.

Varley spat. ‘Too many. And more each night.’

‘Only gets worse every night you stay in one place,’ Renna said. ‘Big camp like this, smell of fear and blood in the air, will draw corelings like ants to an apple core.’

Varley swallowed. ‘Don’t like the sound of that.’

‘Shouldn’t,’ Renna said. ‘You get these people on the road to Deadwell tomorrow, whatever it takes.’ She stopped in front of one cart, surrounded by wardposts staked into the ground.

‘Been seein’ a lot of these posts,’ Renna said.

Varley nodded. ‘Our Warder made them before he was cored. Used to be enough to surround the camp, but we’ve lost a few and ent been able to replace ’em.’

Renna nodded. ‘Pull them all, if you please, and bring them over to the edge of the clearing.’ She pointed. ‘We’ll circle the biggest wagons and put the posts in the gaps in between. Whole camp needs to squeeze in tight to fit inside.’

‘Folk ent gonna take kindly to us pulling up their wards,’ Varley said.

Renna gave him a hard look. ‘Don’t care what they like, greybeard, or you. ’Less you want to lose more folk tonight, you best mind me ’tween now and sunset.’

Varley’s bushy eyebrows widened, and he took his hat off again, twisting it in his hands. ‘Ay, all right.’

‘I’ll need paint,’ Renna said. ‘Any stain will do, darker the better, and a lot of it. And posts this high.’ She held up a hand parallel to the ground. ‘Many as you can put together. Take axes to live trees if you got to. They only need to last till you make Deadwell.’

‘Donn,’ Varley said. ‘Collect posts. Anyone argues, you send ’em to me.’ Donn nodded, picked a few men, and left. ‘Brice,’ Varley said. ‘Paint. Now.’ The man ran off, and Varley turned to the rest of his men. ‘Fresh posts. Rip apart anything you need to.’ He looked back at Renna expectantly.

‘Wagons need to be in place before I start planting posts,’ Renna said, ‘and that means right now.’

Varley nodded, moving off to speak to the owner of one of the carts, pointing.

‘That will practically put us in the midden!’ she complained.

‘You want the midden, or a coreling’s belly?’ Varley replied.

It was almost dark when Renna returned to Arlen. Some of the patients in the makeshift hospit seemed to be resting more comfortably, but many still suffered horribly. Arlen knelt by a cot, holding a young girl’s hand. Her other arm ended before the elbow in a bandage soaked through with brownish yellow pus. Half her face was scabbed and oozing from firespit burns, still angry and red. Her skin had a grey pallor, and her breathing was shallow. Her eyes were closed.

‘Demon fever,’ Arlen said without looking up at her approach. ‘Flame demon bit her arm off and left an awful infection. Gave her what cures I know, but the sickness is far enough along I doubt it’ll even slow.’