Briar drew near his patch, but he never went directly to the entrance. He circled, checking the defences. Like Mistress Leesha, he preferred stinks to snares, urging demons gently away. A few shoots of hogroot, transplanted and allowed to grow wild, were enough to turn a stalking demon onto another path.
Other scents had a similar effect on humans. Even the brave souls living in the Gatherers’ Wood hesitated to step into a patch of skunkweed, or a place reeking of rot. In one place, a diverted stream turned the path into sucking mud that woodies and humans alike would avoid.
Everything seemed in order, until he found a fresh snare. It was an area he’d littered months ago with animal carcasses stuffed with hogroot. Unlike plants and diverted streams, some deterrents had to be maintained. The carcasses were gone and Briar saw signs demons had returned to the area.
The trap was a good example of the craft, evidence that at least one of the Painted Children had claimed this place as a hunting ground. The child knew enough to use the deterrents around the Briarpatch to herd the demon into the path of the hidden snare. The loop lay in a shallow groove dug into the soil, covered lightly with the natural detritus of the forest bed.
The rope had been rubbed with sap and dirtied, leaved twigs stuck along its length to give the impression of natural vine as it disappeared into the branches of a wintergreen tree. Briar had to climb the boughs to find the net holding the counterweights.
Even the wary might be caught in so cleverly hidden a trap, but Briar knew this part of the wood intimately, and the snare stood out to him as if ablaze. It was discomfiting – so close to where he laid his head – but it made Mistress Leesha’s request all the easier to fulfil. At dusk, the hunter would be positioned and waiting. All Briar had to do was watch.
Briar woke to darkness in his sleeping hole, but after a decade living without wards, he could sense the approaching night like a chill.
It was no great space, but every time he returned, Briar dug a little more, added a vent, or shored the packed dirt. The walls and floor were lined with tough, dried hogroot stalks – comfortable to lie upon and resistant to water. Even if the entrance was discovered, the scent would keep cories from investigating further.
Stretching, he listened carefully, checking his spyholes one by one. When he was confident no one was about, Briar lifted the trap just enough to slither into the centre of his hogroot patch.
As its name implied, the roots of the plant were aggressive, knitting a thick sod that pulled up like a carpet. He quickly and carefully smoothed the trap back down, strewing leaves to obscure the faint impression.
Here and there Briar snapped off leaves as he made his way through the patch, leaving minimal sign of his harvest. Some he ate, filling his pockets with the rest. There was another trapdoor away from the sleeping den where he made his water and squatted out his night soil.
Making his way to the snare, he was surprised to see the hunter in plain sight, not bothering to hide as she waited by the rope with a ready knife.
Mistress Leesha said Stela Inn wasn’t much older than him, but she was taller, looking more a grown woman than he felt a man. Magic had made her body hard, and she wore little to cover it. A loincloth. A binding around her breast. A leather headband.
Her bare skin was inked with wards. The pattern started on her feet, winding up her calves and thighs, twisting about her midsection, then slithering down her arms. Looking at her, Briar felt his chest tighten and his face heat.
He shook it off, circling the area. He expected to find other hunters in hiding to assist, but after several minutes he became convinced Stela was alone.
It was curious. In his experience, the Children hunted as a pack. This was something new.
Slipping quietly behind her, Briar shimmied up the far side of the tree holding the counterweights. From its boughs he could study Stela while keeping view of the surrounding area.
She carried neither spear nor shield, though a number of pouches and ornaments hung beside the knife sheath on her belt. Stela froze as full dark fell, but made no other effort to conceal herself.
There was an unmistakable crunch as the wood demon that claimed this part of the forest lumbered down the path Stela had laid with fresh carcasses. Briar kept expecting her to hide, but she remained in plain sight. Did she mean to use herself to bait the trap?
But as the corie approached, it showed no sign it saw her. The wards on Stela’s flesh had taken on a soft glow, and the demon’s eyes slid past like she wasn’t there.
It was a good trick. The corie moved past her, oblivious as it stepped into the snare.
Stela moved fast, kicking the back of the corie’s knee, driving it into the ground. She spun like a dancer, whipping her knife through the rope that held the counterweight. Laden with heavy stones, the net dropped and the noose caught the woodie at the knee, yanking it to swing upside down. Stela had measured well. The demon’s flailing talons scraped the air just above the ground.
Stela tamped down as the corie’s body swung her way, eyes hard as she watched its claws. When it swung back in, she shot forward, slapping its branch-like arm aside to step inside its guard. Close in, she delivered a quick combination of punches and elbows, blows flashing with magic. Before it could recover, she push-kicked it back out of reach.
She skittered back and forth three more times, controlling the battlespace fully as she kept the corie disorientated, hitting it again and again.
But wood demons were strong, their armour thick. She could cause the demon pain and some temporary hurt, but its magic would heal those quickly unless she brought her endgame. Briar glanced at the knife, still sheathed on her belt.
She’s charging her wards, he realized. The symbols glowed a little brighter each time she struck, and instead of tiring, Stela seemed to get faster, stronger. She floated in, changing her combinations and skittering away before the demon could land a blow in return. She treated it like the practice dummy Briar’s father had built in their yard to train his sons in sharusahk.
Patterns began to emerge, telling Briar much about Stela. Her reach, how she moved, the language of her body. Useful to know if he ever needed to fight her.
Everam, never let it be so, he prayed. Stela grew fiercer with the brightness of her wards. Soon each blow lit the darkness like a bolt of lightning, the thunderous report echoing through the trees.
It seemed she would beat the woodie to death, but the demon still thrashed when the light and sound drew unwanted attention. Briar watched as a field demon clawed its way up into one of the surrounding trees with a vantage not much different from his own. Its eyes tracked her movements as Briar had, seeking the pattern.
The corie tamped its haunches. Briar knew well how far fieldies could leap. In one bound it could be on her back.
As the demon sprang, Briar gave a cry, throwing his shield. The corie looked up at the sound a split second before the shield struck, wards flaring as it knocked the demon away. Stela looked up, too, eyes widening as she saw Briar drop from the tree.
Stela stepped out of reach of the swinging wood demon. The snared corie took the opportunity to swipe at the rope, but there were tiny wardplates tied along its length, sparking to deflect its talons.
The knife was in Stela’s hand now, but again she froze in place, wards glowing. The demons blinked at her, eyes unable to focus. After a moment she took three quick, sliding steps to the left. The cories’ eyes searched where she had last been.
But while Stela was safe, the demons had no trouble seeing Briar, who had foolishly dropped into their midst, meaning to rush to her aid.
The field demon pounced, and Briar didn’t have time to bring the point of his spear to bear. He gave the corie a good whack with the shaft, knocking it aside as