The Desert Spear

and stood, bare feet gripping the tree limb in perfect balance. In her left hand, she gripped Harl’s knife, running her thumb absently over the wards she had carved into the bone handle. In her right, she held a single chestnut.
    A cool breeze rustled the yellowing leaves around her, and she inhaled deeply, letting the air caress her bare skin, feeling as much a part of the nighttime world as the unsuspecting demon materializing below her.
    Her waist-length brown hair had gotten in her way and was now a short, spiky remnant with only a single braided tail to recall its former length. She had discarded her dress entirely, cutting her shift into two parts: a high vest laced tightly to hold her breasts in place but open below to reveal her warded belly, and a skirt slit high on both sides to free her warded legs.
    Arlen still refused to ward her flesh for her, but she had ignored him, grinding her own blackstems. The ink stained her skin a dark brown that lasted many days before fading.
    She looked down, seeing the demon solidify at last, and flicked the chestnut. Without waiting to see if it struck its mark, she stepped off the branch into thin air, dropping silently.
    The chestnut hit the demon’s far shoulder as she fell, the heat ward she had painted onto its smooth surface blazing bright in the darkness as it sucked magic from the powerful coreling. The tough nut became superheated in an instant, and exploded with a bang.
    The rock demon was unharmed, but the flash and noise turned its head the other way just as Renna landed on its broad armored shoulder. She grabbed one of its horns with her free hand for balance and drove her knife into its throat. The wards on the blade flared, and she was rewarded with a jolt of magic and a hot gush of black ichor that covered her hand.
    She snarled and drew her arm back for another strike, but the demon howled, throwing its head back, and it was all Renna could do to hold on to its horn and keep her perch.
    She swung wildly to avoid the talons as the demon clawed and punched at its own head in an effort to dislodge her, stabbing with the knife and kicking her warded feet at whatever targets came in range. Magic bucked through her with each strike, an electric thrill that made her faster, stronger, more resilient with every touch. The wards around her eyes activated, and the night lit up with magic’s glow.
    Her blows distracted the demon, but they did little more. She could no longer access the more vulnerable eyes and throat, and she did not have the leverage to stab through its thick skull. Sooner or later, one of its wild swings would crush her. She laughed at the thrill of it.
    Sheathing her knife, Renna reached into her waistband, pulling free the long string of brook stones Cobie Fisher had given her in what seemed like another life. She whipped the necklace around the demon’s throat, letting go its horn to catch the far end as it came around. She crossed her arms and dropped down into the groove between its armored shoulder blades, hanging from the ends of the leather cord just out of the enraged coreling’s reach.
    She was slammed about but kept her grip, using her full weight to pull the warded beads tight around the demon’s throat. Renna had painted the smooth stones with wards of forbidding, and they flared to repel, the magic crushing inward from all sides.
    In moments the giant rock demon’s thrashing and thunderous footfalls became twitches and staggered steps. The string grew warm as the magic built in intensity, brightening the night.
    At last, there was a crack and a final flare before the magic winked out. The giant horned head fell free, and Renna kicked off, leaping out of the way. She landed lightly on her feet as the giant demon came crashing down next to her. She could feel the stolen magic tingling in her skin, healing every scrape and bruise received in the battle. She looked at the black demon ichor on her hands, and laughed again, winding up her beads and running off to continue the hunt.
    She had never felt so free.

    A flame demon came at her, a lone coreling hunting through the brush by the trees. Renna set her feet as it charged, waiting for the telltale inhalation.
    Flame demons always opened their attacks with a blast of firespit as soon as they were in range. The spit could set anything alight, and usually stunned their prey into helplessness while they pressed the attack with tooth and claw. But if the initial blast could be