The new moon left the cave mouth dark as pitch. Barely more than a fissure, it gaped like an open wound from a rocky outcropping on a forgotten hill. The space within narrowed tightly but never truly ended, leading to an endless maze of cracks and tunnels, some cramped and others opening into huge caverns, all the way down to the core of the world. Here, even starlight failed to give faint glow, and there was true darkness.

From out of that darkness came something darker still, a corruption beyond the absence of light. It flowed like ink, coating the cave floor in oily blackness and spilling out into the night. There along the hill, forms rose from the stain, growing tall as they branched out, solidifying into a stand of six trees that stood around the cave mouth like teeth.

A great stalagmite formed at the centre of the cave, coalescing into an enormous mimic demon. Row upon row of teeth formed along its massive jaws, and its limbs ended in great talons. The rest of its body, sharp in some places and smooth in others, flowed like the coils of a snake, never truly settling.

The coreling studied the area intently, then slithered to take up position at the rear of the cave. There it kept watch as the Royal Consort took form.

He was slight, and hunched as if weighed by the massive head atop his small and slender body. His horns were vestigial, and pulsed like the smooth bumps and ridges flowing up the charcoal skin of his cranium. His nails and teeth were sharp, but more like needles compared with the massive rending instruments of the mimic.

Not that the consort had need of such things. The bodies and senses of his mimics were mere extensions of his own. He saw through their eyes and killed with their claws, tasted the surface air through their nostrils. It was cold and bland, almost devoid of magic, burned clean each cycle by the hated day star. At court, the air was hot thick and heavy with the magic radiating from the Core, every breath delicious and brimming with power.

Instinctively, the demon Drew magic from the fissure, a wellspring of power leading all the way to the source. He filled himself with it, suffused with power, then moved to the cave mouth. He squinted in the dim starlight, feeling a slight drain of power, like a soft breeze stealing the barest touch of heat.

The cave was high in the rocky hills, and afforded a wide view of the surface. To the southwest and northeast, humans were swarming, their breeding grounds overflowing as they relished their newfound strength. Even many miles away, the consort could sense the magic they were collecting. It took the barest effort to take over the rudimentary consciousness of wind drones in the areas, collecting more information.

The results were impressive. It usually took humans millennia to build back this kind of strength, especially with the drones culling them for sport. All this, in barely a turning.

He had thought the initial reports culled from the less-than-trustworthy memories of drones nothing more than an anomaly, and sent two minor princelings to deal with the matter. Their reports had been disturbing. Humans in three of the local breeding grounds had regained both the fighting wards and spirit, two things thought crushed beyond repair. With their drones strengthening, human minds were beginning to form. The Queen had no desire to make humans extinct what would her minds feed upon? but neither could this insurgence be tolerated.

But the princelings, eager for the favour of consort and Queen, had assured him they would have little trouble killing the minds and scattering their armies before their corruption could spread to the other breeding grounds. Their last report had them moving to strike.

And then, nothing.

The entire mind court had waited on their return, but there was only silence, and the growing realization of the unthinkable. That they failed was obvious, but that alone was not disgrace enough to prevent their return. Not when the Core could restore their power and replenish their drones, allowing them to return even stronger. The answer was far more ominous.

They had not simply failed, they had been destroyed.

The princelings had been young weak by the standards of their brethren but still cunning and cautious, in full control of their magic where the humans played with it like hatchlings drawing their first wards. How could they have been so utterly defeated?

The Queen had raged when the truth became clear. Every prince, from the weakest to the strongest, was a potential mate and precious to her, especially now. Her fury, and the incoherence with which she expressed it, made clear what his brethren had known for some time she was close to laying, and soon the entire court would tear itself asunder as the princes fought for the right to imprint upon her egg sac.

The consort hated the surface, and hated more having to come here now. He should be at court, attending the Queen and keeping his rivals at bay, not up here tending stock that had forgotten it was food. But the Queen had demanded he go himself, and though her mind was confused this far in her cycle, it was still powerful enough to compel any demon fool enough to refuse her if she did not kill them with a casual stroke of her claws. She owned him utterly, and he hated her for it.

He reached out, searching for the minds of the other coreling princes that had risen on the moonless night, many miles distant. Three to the north and three south; the consort had persuaded the Queen to send his greatest rivals to the surface with him to do his bidding as he put down the rebellion.

It was a risk. The farther the princes were from the Queen, the less her power over them. With every hour that passed, they would have more freedom to disobey her commands and those of her consort. The fighting would make them stronger and more experienced, and amid the battle they might even take the opportunity to strike at one another. Feasting on the mind of a rival could double a prince's power, perhaps even enough for one to grow bold enough to strike at him. They could even strike in unison. Few things could make the more powerful coreling princes work together, much less conspire to kill one of their own, but unseating a consort when a mating was near was one of them. The consort was stronger than any of them, but he was not stronger than all of them.

But for all the risks, it was better to remove them from court entirely. The Queen was bloated with eggs, and at any time she could croon her laying, sending them all into a frenzy to be the first to her side.

It was for this reason the consort had chosen the cave to direct the battle from. With the most direct path to the Core for a thousand miles, he could Draw powerfully enough to repel any assault, and march prisoners back down for its personal larder. If it came, he would hear the Queen's call before the others on the surface, and be able to return to court faster.

He still would not be the first to her side, but the Queen would not choose instantly, and the consort had fought off challenges before. He was old, older than almost all the others combined, and the magic in his veins older still. He had fed on many minds, first his father, uncles, and brothers, then his sons and grandsons as subsequent matings came and went. He had cunning to match his raw power, and thousands of years of experience to draw upon.

He closed his eyes, cranium throbbing as he touched the minds of his generals. They were even less pleased than he, cut off from the Core's magic limited to what they could store within themselves and draw from vents and their subordinates. Enough to be a match for almost anything on the surface, but not without becoming vulnerable to their brethren. All were wary as they linked their surface thoughts with the consort.

He transmitted the senses of his wind drone spies, and immediately reports from the others began to flood his mind, feeding the results of their own drones' reconnaissance. Battlegrounds were quickly chosen and preparations under way.

The consort withdrew from their minds, letting his generals conduct the details. A steady stream of information poured in as their efforts went on. The very air hummed with it.

Again he focused on the land in front of him, peering out from his guarded cave. How many centuries had passed since he last felt the need to visit the surface? He breathed in its stink with his own nostrils, and with it came a scent that moistened his teeth.

Humans.

It took only a moment for the consort to pinpoint them, not even needing the use of drones. The small village, far from the travelled paths, had hidden itself well from the bloodshed that came with any unification, but though its wards of protection were strong, there were no mind wards. He was able to slip into the consciousness of the villagers as easily as a mimic might take their shape.

With a pulse of command, every male, female, and juvenile in the village stopped whatever it was doing and quietly gathered as much food and water as they could carry, then walked out beyond the protection of the village's wards, joining the others as they silently followed the demon's call.

The path they followed was thick with drones, drawn to the consort's presence like magic to a ward, but the humans marched unmolested through the thick forest and up the high hill. Soon they stood gathered before the cave mouth, staring blankly.

It was a simple matter to single out their leader, though this one was no mind. Unresistant, he stumbled towards his doom. One of the mimics grabbed him, growing a curved claw to sever the human's neck, letting the rest of the body fall. It came forward, peeling open the skull to present it to its master.

The consort slipped his delicate talons into the skull, scooping out the sweet meat and shovelling it into his mouth. The meat was tough, veined with the meaningless needs and wants of its kind, traits long since bred from the consort's personal larder. He had forgotten how different surface stock could taste, and savoured every thought and emotion of the man's lifetime as he licked the sticky fluid from his teeth.

He looked to the other humans, over two hundred of them, and felt a rush of pleasure. What would his brethren at court pay for a taste of the surface?

His cranium pulsed as he impressed his will deeper into the minds of the humans, imparting upon them precise instructions. One by one, they shouldered their burdens and began squeezing into the fissure at the back of the cave. As they passed, he imparted a touch of his scent upon them so that no creature, demon or otherwise, would dare molest them on their long march down to the Core.

It was late in the afternoon, the last day before new moon, as Leesha watched Araine's royal armourer go about Wonda's final fitting.

Leesha had spent many sleepless nights working on it, adding to the already powerful forbidding wards of strength, speed, and misdirection. If she stood still, coreling eyes would slide off her the way men's eyes slid off a woman's face when her dress was cut low. The suit would Draw upon ambient magic as well as that of corelings that attacked her, and the slivers of demon bone she had worked into the lacquer would act as batteries when those other sources were lacking.

She had powered Wonda's bow in the same way, as well as Gared's gauntlets, his axe and machete. Whatever her feelings for the man, Gared would be in the thick of the fighting tonight, and she had no misconceptions of whose side she was on in the coming conflict. He would be able to crush diamonds in his fists, and his already formidable weapons would bite as never before.

But for all these wardings, she had used only the bones of common wood demons. The desiccated arm and stub of horn from the mind demon she kept safe, save for the tiny claws little more than a pampered noblewoman's fingernail that she used to power the wards in their helms. No coreling prince would slip into their minds as had been done to her. She shuddered at the memory.

'Truly breathtaking,' Thamos said, coming into the fitting room. 'My Wooden Soldiers will gnash their teeth in envy.'

Wonda blushed, dropping her eyes as she always did at the sight of the handsome count. Wonda was never far from Leesha's side, and was privy to her every secret, including the nights she spent with the count. But more than that, Wonda was a girl unused to the kind of male attention that Thamos lavished on every woman in his presence, regardless of age or beauty.

Makes you feel like you're the only one in the room, Leesha thought, looking at him and suppressing a shy smile herself.

'Thanks, Yur Highness.' Wonda attempted to bow, but the armourer pulled hard on her stays.

'Keep still,' he grunted.

Wonda blushed deeper, but Thamos pretended not to notice. 'I am told to expect our mistress to be even bolder than Darsy Cutter in the night.'

'I'll keep her safe,' Wonda promised.

'Of that I have no doubt.' Thamos smiled, but Leesha saw him tighten his lips. He did indeed have doubts, and had argued them long and hard with Leesha in private. His eyes flicked to a private alcove, and she moved off to speak with him alone.

'I wish you would reconsider,' he said. 'Stay by my side in the battle. My Wooden Soldiers ...'

'Would form a ring around me five men thick, and keep me from my business,' Leesha said. 'They, and you, need their attention on the demons, not on protecting me.' She smiled. 'Wonda and I have been at this a lot longer than you.'

Thamos' face soured, but he could not disagree. 'It's not just the demons I worry about. My spies report that since our ... since the wedding night, many of the Krasians have been grumbling about you and making threats.'

'That reminds me,' Leesha said. 'The Sharum will have their weapons returned when they arrive at muster tonight.'

'What?!' Thamos sputtered. 'Did you not hear what I just-'

'It is irrelevant,' Leesha said. 'We need every able-bodied warrior ready tonight, and the Sharum have already proven they can kill with or without their weapons. Their religion forbids they attack anyone during Waning. Only demons need fear them. After the moon begins to wax once more, they will surrender them again.'

'I forbid it,' Thamos said.

Leesha smiled. 'It is already done, Highness. None of the Hollowers will support you if you try to disarm them again now.'

Thamos shook his head, laughing helplessly. 'You are an impossible woman, Leesha Paper.'

'Are you sure you wouldn't prefer one of the insipid ladies at court as your countess?' Leesha asked.

Thamos' predatory grin returned. 'Not for an instant.'

Rojer watched as Hary Roller held his conductor's wand aloft, holding the final note. The Jongleurs and apprentices had been practising the Song of Waning almost nonstop ever since they recovered from Arlen and Renna's wedding. If Rojer's performance at the celebration hadn't been impetus enough, then his demonstration out beyond the greatwards the following night surely was.

Most of the players weren't ready yet. Hary had proven a fine teacher, learning the song quickly and working tirelessly to pass it on, but only the most skilled of the Jongleurs had been able to master the more complex arrangements in the time given them.

They had tested their abilities last night with mixed results. Many of the Jongleurs could affect the demons much as Rojer once had mesmerizing them; driving them to dance or follow him, to flee or attack. They could even walk unmolested in the night, so long as they kept the underlying tune.

But they could not improvise, nor could they actually hurt the demons in the way he, Amanvah, and Sikvah could.

Some of that power was the sheer volume that Rojer's trio could produce with their hora magic, but Rojer could hear in the other Jongleurs' music that however loud it might grow, a demon would recover instantly the moment the sound stopped. Only Kendall seemed to have anything approaching the knack, and even she still had a long way to go.

Hary closed a fist and the players stopped in perfect sync, then fell into disarray. Some began talking to their fellows, or tuning instruments, or packing them in cases. Hary came over to where Rojer was standing. 'Sound great, don't they?'

Rojer nodded. 'Good enough for less than two weeks' practice. Just pray it's enough.'

Hary grunted. 'Word of advice, if you want to be a teacher, Rojer. A pat on the back encourages more than a frowning nod.'

Not according to Arrick, Rojer thought, but he put a smile on his face and waved at the players as they rested. 'Well done, all! Have a stretch. It's going to be a long night.'

He turned back to Hary. 'Sorry. Everyone is on edge today.'

'Is this "Waning" really so bad?' Hary asked. 'Been through many a new moon without thinking twice. Even spent a couple on the road, back when I was making my name in the hamlets.'

Rojer shrugged. 'Might be a big production for an empty house,' he admitted. 'Night, I hope so. But if what Leesha and the Painted Man say is true and those smart demons they killed have family that's going to come looking for them tonight, we're going to need every bit of help we can get.' He tugged at the hood of his warded cloak. Leesha had stitched mind wards into the hem, but he had drawn one on his forehead with Jongleur's paint regardless, and the other Jongleurs had followed suit.

'This song of yours is that and more,' Hary assured. 'You act disappointed because we're not shattering rock demons with it, but already we can protect ourselves and others, not to mention give the fighters a winning edge.'

Rojer shook his head, though the smile for the players' benefit never left his face. 'An edge perhaps, but not a winning one. No music is going to keep the demons fazed once someone hits one of them with an axe.'

'Still,' Hary said, 'can't believe you just gave the song out for nothing.'

'What was I supposed to do?' Rojer asked. 'Hold it ransom while my friends die?'

Hary shook his head. 'Of course not. But the count offered you a job as herald, and that's no small thing. Lot of men would kill for that offer.'

Men have, Rojer thought, glancing at Hary. The Jongleurs in Angiers knew how to mind their manners when Royals were about, and were happy to take commissions when offered, but talk in the guild hall was seldom loyal to the ivy throne. Rhinebeck was generally reviled for his laws and taxes. 'Being royal herald didn't work out too well for my master, if you recall.'

'It wasn't Arrick that kept the duke from getting his pecker wet by sleeping in the bed of his favourite doxy,' Hary reminded. 'That's apt to put a fire in any man, much less a Royal. You're lucky you didn't get the sticking meant for her.'

Rojer kept his mask in place. He wasn't surprised Hary knew the details of Arrick's fall from grace. Jongleurs were notorious gossips, especially when it came to one another.

'You could have haggled like your man Gared, even if you didn't want the herald job,' Hary went on. 'He got a barony just by asking. A barony! Duchy is on the rise, boy, you mark my words. And Hollow County's going to be its centre. Don't want to be late to the casting call.'

'Ay,' Rojer said, 'but what's Angiers ever done for me? Rhinebeck had one swelling go to waste, and threw my master away like garbage. Left us a performance away from starving on the street. Who's to say he or this new count won't do the same to Gared, or me, when the fighting's done?'

'Got no more love of the duke than you,' Hary said, 'but you're young, and maybe you didn't know your master as well as you'd like to think. I knew him long before you were born, and Arrick Sweetsong was never a man to care a whit for anyone other than himself. The drink made him sloppy, and his pride in his position made him quick to turn up his nose at anyone who had nothing to offer. Duke was looking for an excuse to break his contract long before you got caught in the brothel.'

Rojer opened his mouth, ready to angrily defend his master, but the words caught in his throat. He knew Arrick's failings well.

'To be honest,' Hary said, 'none of us could ever understand why he kept taking care of you.'

Rojer chuckled. 'It wasn't all dancing and song when the crowd broke.'

Hary nodded. 'Ay, I'm sure he was a right coreling when he was in his cups, but he stood by you, even when it would have been better for his career to let you go. Remember when Tom Fiddle offered to take you on?'

'Arrick broke his nose,' Rojer said. He shook his head. 'Didn't want to go with Tom, anyway. Says he searches his apprentices' pockets to make sure they're not hiding klats, but everyone knows he's just going for a grope.'

Hary nodded again. 'Ay, but Tom had connections. That punch cost Arrick a lot of work. Like the one you gave Jasin Goldentone when he laughed that your master was dead.'

'You heard about that?' Rojer asked, his mask slipping in his shock.

Hary laughed. 'Hear? Boy, it was the talk of the guild hall for months! You might not be Arrick's blood, but in some ways you're the spitting image.'

'Don't know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult,' Rojer said. Punching Jasin had got his guild sponsor, Master Jaycob, killed, and had left Rojer in Leesha's hospit, beaten till he could taste death's breath on his lips. She had pulled him back, but at the time, and several times since, he wished she had just let him go.

Hary shrugged. 'Not sure how I meant it.' He winked. 'If he was in your motley right now, Arrick would be pushing for his own county.'

'Why settle?' Rojer asked. 'I'm married to the daughter of the demon of the desert, and best friends with the ripping Deliverer. My firstborn should be king.'

Hary stared at him for a moment, trying to determine if he was serious. At last, he began to laugh, and Rojer joined him. It felt good to laugh in the face of death, and both men gave it free rein, howling till their sides hurt.

When it was over, Rojer sighed. 'Let's focus on keeping everyone alive for the next few nights. If we can do that, there's twenty-seven more days to worry about how the Royals should reward me.'

Renna watched as Arlen moved for the Jongleurs' sound shell. It had been days since he had slept, but he stubbornly refused her attempts to convince him of the necessity. Even today, when he needed to be at his best.

'Ent resting while there's work to be done,' he told her, and she knew from his tone that he had his back up. Arlen Bales could set his heels as deep as any mule.

But there had been work aplenty, and now, with barely an hour to dusk and thanks in no small part to him, it was all done or as done as it was going to be. The net of greatwards was weak in places, but it was active and linked, each ward distributing power to the others. No coreling, even a mind demon, could set foot in Hollow County, or fly less than a mile above it.

A hush went through the crowd as Arlen took centre stage. It wasn't everyone in Hollow County most were already at their posts, protecting workers who would be piling fortifications to strengthen the weaker sections of the greatwards right up to sunset and beyond. But the leaders were all there, waiting on Arlen's final words.

Cutters, seasoned and raw, stood at attention. Most were the thick-armed men that grew so abundantly in the Hollow, but there were many with features that spoke of faraway places. There were also hundreds of women, many clad in tapered pantaloons and vests similar to the one Wonda wore beneath her armour. Most carried bows and stroked the fletching of their warded arrows the way they might caress a lover. All wore bandannas painted with mind wards.

Backs straight, the Wooden Soldiers sat mounted on sleek coursers. Their long spears had been fitted with special grips to allow them to be used as lances. Shorter stabbing spears hung from harnesses in easy reach. Count Thamos, resplendent in his enamelled armour, towered over them atop his heavy destrier, its barding warded glass over fitted wood.

Kaval's Sharum, armed once more with spear and shield, stood in a neat square. Renna watched them, half expecting trouble, but they seemed the most disciplined of all.