The Warded Man

could keep them occupied, keep them from despairing when the demons rose, perhaps they would fight as one.
    If not, everyone in the Holy House would die this night.
    The strength of Krasia’s resistance was due as much to Kaji’s second law, choosing terrain, as it was the warriors themselves. The Krasian Maze was carefully designed to give the dal’Sharum layers of protection, and to funnel the demons to places of advantage.
    One side of the Holy House faced the woods, where wood demons held sway, and two more faced the wrecked streets and rubble of the town. Too many places for corelings to take cover or hide. But past the cobbles of the main entrance lay the town square. If they could funnel the demons there, they might have a chance.
    They were unable to clean the greasy ash off the rough stone walls of the Holy House and ward it in the rain, so the windows and great doors had been boarded and nailed shut, hasty wards chalked onto the wood. Ingress was limited to a small side entrance, with wardstones laid about the doorway. The demons would have an easier time getting through the wall.
    The very presence of humans out in the naked night would act as a magnet to demons, but nevertheless, the Warded Man had taken pains to funnel the corelings away from the building and flanks, so that the path of least resistance would drive them to attack from the far end of the square. At his direction, the villagers had placed obstacles around the other sides of the Holy House, and interspersed hastily made wardposts, signs he had painted with wards of confusion. Any demon charging past them to attack the walls of the building would forget its intent, and inevitably be drawn toward the commotion in the town square.
    Beside the square on one side was a day pen for the Tender’s livestock. It was small, but its new wardposts were strong. A few animals milled around the men erecting a rough shelter within.
    The other side of the square had been dug with trenches quickly filling with mucky rainwater, to urge flame demons to take an easier path. Leesha’s oil was a thick sludge atop the water.
    The villagers had done well in enacting Kaji’s third law, preparation. Steady rain had made the square slick, a thin film of mud forming on the hard packed dirt. The Warded Man’s messenger circles were set about the battlefield as he had directed, points of ambush and retreat, and a deep pit had been dug and covered with a muddy tarp. Thick, viscous grease was being spread on the cobbles with brooms.
    And the fourth law, attacking the enemy in a way they would not expect, would take care of itself.
    The corelings would not expect them to attack at all.
    “I did as you asked,” a man said, approaching him as he pondered the terrain.
    “Eh?” the Warded Man said.
    “I’m Benn, sir,” the man said. “Mairy’s husband.” The Warded Man just stared. “The glassblower,” he clarified, and the Warded Man’s eyes finally lit with recognition.
    “Let’s see, then,” he said.
    Benn produced a small glass flask. “It’s thin, like you asked,” he said. “Fragile.”
    The Warded Man nodded. “How many did you and your apprentices have time to make?” he asked.
    “Three dozen,” Benn said. “May I ask what they’re for?”
    The Warded Man shook his head. “You’ll see soon enough,” he said. “Bring them, and find me some rags.”
    Rojer approached him next. “I’ve seen Leesha’s spear,” he said. “I’ve come for mine.”
    The Warded Man shook his head. “You’re not fighting,” he said. “You’re staying inside with the sick.”
    Rojer stared at him. “But you told Leesha …”
    “To give you a spear is to rob you of your strength,” the Warded Man cut him off. “Your music would be lost out in the din outside, but inside, it’ll prove more potent than a dozen spears. If the corelings break through, I’m counting on you to hold them back until I arrive.”
    Rojer scowled, but he nodded, and headed into the Holy House.
    Others were already waiting for his attention. The Warded Man listened to reports on their progress, assigning further tasks that were leapt to immediately. The villagers moved with hunched quickness, like hares ready to flee at any moment.
    No sooner than he had sent them off, Stefny came storming up to him, a group of angry women at her back. “What’s this about sending us up to Bruna’s hut?” the woman demanded.
    “The wards there are strong,” the Warded Man said.