asked its master as he approached.
‘Shadow heels when he wants to, and no time other,’ Evin replied. ‘Good to have you back, sir.’
‘How’re Brianne and the boys?’ Arlen asked, prising the giant dog back.
‘Boys’re shootin’ up like weeds,’ Evin said. ‘Callen will be a Cutter himself soon, and Brianne’s got another one growin’ in her belly. Been prayin’ on a girl this time around.’ He looked at Arlen expectantly.
Arlen sighed. ‘Babe is what it is, Evin. Ent convinced there’s a Creator at all, much less one that takes my messages. Just hope if it’s a girl she gets her looks from her mam.’
Everyone looked at him in shock, as if unable to believe Arlen had made a joke, but then Evin barked a laugh, and the others joined in, the tension broken.
Darsy cleared her throat, catching Arlen’s eye and nodding to the killing field where Renna saw the count heading their way. He was wiping at his mouth with a silk kerchief, but his stride was determined. At his back were two fighters, a man and a woman.
‘Dug and Merrem Butcher,’ Arlen murmured to Renna. ‘Used to be real butchers, till the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow.’
The Butchers were both heavyset, with thick arms crisscrossed with scars and burns on their faces. Dug was bald and sweaty, wearing a thick leather butcher’s apron reinforced with underplating and spattered with demon ichor. Like Darsy, Merrem wore loose pantaloons that gave the appearance of skirts. Her leather corset was armoured like Dug’s apron and equally ichor-splattered. Either one of them looked strong enough to toss a cow. The heavy cleavers on their belts were little different from the one Harl used when he slaughtered a hog, but these were heavily warded, and Renna doubted they’d been used for butchering in some time.
They walked proudly, like Speakers on the way to town council. The rest of the Cutters drifted in their wake, covered in blood, sweat, and demon ichor, glowing fiercely with magic. All of them towered over Renna, giving her the feeling they were standing in a ring of trees. They whispered excitedly among themselves, pointing at Arlen and drawing wards in the air. By way of contrast, the Wooden Soldiers quickly fell into neat lines at the count’s back, backs straight and spears in hand, ready to kill for their prince at a moment’s notice.
Count Thamos was not as tall as the Hollowers, but he more than made up for it in his bright armour, polished and glowing powerfully with magic.
‘No one in the Hollow has forgotten what you’ve done,’ Darsy said quickly, before the count was in earshot. ‘The Cutters will go where the Painted Man tells them and nowhere else.’
Arlen nodded. ‘This “Painted Man” business is the first thing I mean to clear up.’
Thamos stopped a respectful distance from Arlen and stood haughtily while a smaller man Renna had not noticed appeared before him. The man wore armour and kept a short spear strapped to his back, but he did not have the look of a fighter. Both weapon and armour looked more ornamental than functional. His hands were smooth, likely more used to a quill than a spear. His tabard was embroidered with two emblems, a throne overgrown with ivy and a wooden soldier. He bowed.
‘May I present His Highness Count Thamos of Cutter’s Hollow, Marshal of the Wooden Soldiers, brother to Duke Rhinebeck of Angiers, and Lord of all the lands and peoples between the River Angiers and the southern border.’
Thamos looked at Arlen, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. Renna knew nothing of courtly manners, but she knew a rub when she saw one. She smiled, eager to watch Arlen break the man.
But to her surprise, Arlen bowed deeply. ‘Count Thamos,’ he said loudly, so all could hear. ‘Thank you for bringing aid and succour to the refugees suffering on your lands. You honour the Hollow by standing with the Cutters in the night.’
Thamos’ eyes narrowed, as if waiting for the hook, but Arlen only bowed again. ‘We were never properly introduced,’ he said, looking up to take in Darsy, the Butchers, and all the crowd. ‘Ent been introduced to any of you, really. I’m Arlen Bales, out of Tibbet’s Brook.’
Utter silence fell over the crowd at the words. Renna looked around and saw everyone holding their breath, waiting on his next words.
The silence only lasted a few seconds, though it seemed far longer. Then everyone began talking at once, a cacophony too great to make out the words of any one person. Even the Wooden Soldiers began to chatter in the ranks.
Thamos glanced to Dug Butcher, who turned back to look at the crowd. ‘Shut it!’ he barked, cutting through the din. ‘This ent some Jongleur’s show!’ Immediately, the noise died down to a few mutterings, but Renna could see folk biting their tongues. It wouldn’t last long.
Thamos pursed his lips, digesting Arlen’s words. ‘Tibbet’s Brook,’ he grunted. ‘So you’re Milnese, after all. Beholden to Euchor.’ He spat the name as if it were poison.
Arlen shrugged. ‘Lines on a map may say so, but truer is Euchor never gave a rip about Tibbet’s Brook, and the folk there returned the favour. I grew up in the Brook, ay, but I’m my own man.’ He met the count’s eyes. ‘Euchor no more tells me what to do than you.’
Thamos squinted and they locked stares. The count had killed several demons in the battle, and he and his armour glowed fiercely with Core magic. Renna could see the halo around him pulse with his breath, and knew the count would be inhumanly fast. Incredibly strong. And that the magic was screaming at him to attack.
She might have been concerned, but for all his power, the count was facing Arlen Bales. The tattoos on his skin were glowing fiercely now. Renna did not know if it was intentional, but the effect it had on the crowd was clear. Many of the Cutters began murmuring and drawing wards in the air.
The count and Arlen postured like two dogs presenting over a bitch, but Arlen had bigger teeth, and the loyalty of the pack. All around them, Cutters adjusted their grips on their tools, and the Wooden Soldiers shifted nervously.
Arlen ignored the tension, breaking the stare with a disarming smile. He turned to Renna, bowing and sweeping a hand at her in a smooth, practised gesture. He might not wait on proper manners most of the time, but it was clear he knew them.
‘My apologies for not introducing my companion,’ he said. ‘This is Renna Tanner, also from Tibbet’s Brook.’ He stood, looking up over Thamos’ head to the Cutters clustered around them. ‘And my promised.’
Again Renna saw the collective jaw of the crowd drop, but this time she felt her own fall with them. His saying it aloud, in front of these people, made it seem far more real than it had just a moment before. She was promised to Arlen Bales. Again.
This time, Thamos was quicker to recover, moving to Renna and bowing, taking her hand and kissing it smoothly. ‘An honour to meet you, Miss Tanner. Let me be first to offer my congratulations.’
Renna knew from Jongleur’s pantomime that gentlemen kissed ladies’ hands in the Free Cities, but she’d never so much as seen it done. She stiffened, not having the slightest idea how to respond. She felt her face colour, and was thankful for the cover afforded by the night.
‘Th-Thank you,’ she managed at last.
Thamos rose and turned back to Arlen. ‘Now,’ he said in a low voice, ‘if you’re quite finished making the bumpkins gasp, might we have a word or two in private?’
Arlen nodded, and the count’s manservant escorted the leaders to a large pavilion of heavy canvas at the centre of the warded section of clearing. Inside, the tent was richly appointed with warm fur carpets, a four-poster bed, and a great table surrounded by a dozen chairs. At its head was what Renna could only describe as a throne, a heavy thing of polished wood with a high back and great ivy-carved armrests. It was the biggest chair she’d ever seen, and dwarfed every other seat in the room. Haloed in magic and wearing his bright armour, Thamos looked like nothing more than the Creator himself as he took the seat, sitting in judgement over the proceedings.
A