The Warded Man

by Peter V. Brett

  At fifteen, Gared had been bigger than any man in the village save his father. Now, at twenty-two, he was gigantic, close to seven feet of packed muscle, hardened by long days at the axe. It was said he must have Milnese blood, for no Angierian had ever been so large.

  Word of his lie had spread throughout the village, and since then the girls had kept their distance, afraid to be alone with him. Perhaps that was why he still coveted Leesha; perhaps he would have done so regardless. But Gared had not learned the lessons of the past. His ego had grown with his muscles, and now he was the bully everyone had known he would be. The boys who used to tease him now jumped at his every word, and if he was cruel to them, he was a terror to any unwise enough to cast their eyes upon Leesha.

  Gared waited for her still, acting as if Leesha were going to come to her senses one day and realize she belonged with him. Any attempts to convince him otherwise had been met with wood-headed stubbornness.

  “You’re not local,” she heard Gared say, poking Marick hard in the shoulder, “so maybe ya haven’t heard that Leesha’s spoken for.” He loomed over the Messenger like a grown man over a young boy.

  But Marick didn’t flinch, or move at Gared’s poke. He stood stark still, his wolf eyes never leaving Gared’s. Leesha prayed he had the sense not to engage.

  “Not according to her,” Marick replied, and Leesha’s hopes fell. She started moving toward them, but already a crowd was forming around the men, denying her a clear path. She wished she had Bruna’s stick to help her clear the way.

  “Did she say words of promise to you, Messenger?” Gared demanded. “She did to me.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Marick replied. “I’ve also heard you’re the only fool in the Hollow who thinks those words mean a coreling’s piss after you betrayed her.”

  Gared roared and grabbed at the Messenger, but Marick was quicker, stepping smoothly to the side and snapping up his spear, thrusting the butt right between the woodcutter’s eyes. He whipped the spear around in a smooth motion, striking behind Gared’s knees as he staggered backward, dropping him hard on his back.

  Marick planted his spear back on the ground, standing over Gared, his wolf eyes coldly confident. “I could have used the point,” he advised. “You would do well to remember that. Leesha speaks for herself.”

  Everyone in the crowd was gawking, but Leesha continued her desperate push forward, knowing Gared, and knowing that it was not over.

  “Stop this idiocy!” she called. Marick glanced at her, and Gared used that moment to grab the end of his spear. The Messenger’s attention snapped back, and he gripped the shaft with both hands to pull the spear free.

  It was the last thing he should have done. Gared had a wood demon’s strength, and even with him lying prone, none could match it. His corded arms flexed, and Marick found himself flying through the air.

  Gared rose, and snapped the six-foot spear in half like a twig. “Let’s see how ya fight when yer not hiding behind a spear,” he said, dropping the pieces to the dirt.

  “Gared, no!” Leesha screamed, pushing past the last of the onlookers and grabbing his arm. He shoved her aside, never taking his eyes off Marick. The simple move sent her reeling back into the crowd, where she crashed into Dug and Niklas, going down in a tangle of bodies.

  “Stop!” she cried helplessly, struggling to find her feet.

  “No other man will have you,” Gared said. “You’ll have me, or you’ll end up shriveled and alone like Bruna!” He stalked toward Marick, who was only just getting his legs under him.

  Gared swung a meaty fist at the Messenger, but again, Marick was quicker. He ducked the blow smoothly, landing two quick punches to Gared’s body before retreating well ahead of Gared’s wild return swing.

  But if Gared even felt the blows, he showed no sign. They repeated the exchange, this time with Marick punching Gared full in the nose. Blood spurted, and Gared laughed, spitting it from his mouth.

  “That your best?” he asked.

  Marick growled and shot forward, landing a flurry of punches. Gared could not keep up and hardly tried, gritting his teeth and weathering the barrage, his face red with rage.

  After a few moments, Marick withdrew, standing in a catlike fighting stance, his fists up and ready. His knuckles were skinned, and he was breathing hard. Gared seemed little the worse for wear. For the first time, there was fear in Marick’s wolf eyes.

  “That all ya have?” Gared asked, stalking forward again.

  The Messenger came at him again, but this time, he was not so quick. He struck once, twice, and then Gared’s thick fingers found purchase on his shoulder, gripping hard. The Messenger tried to pull back out of reach, but he was held fast.

  Gared drove his fist into the Messenger’s stomach, and the wind exploded out of him. He struck again, this time to the head, and Marick hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.

  “Not so smug now, are ya!” Gared roared. Marick rose to his hands and knees, struggling to rise, but Gared kicked him hard in the stomach, flipping him over onto his back.

  Leesha was darting forward by then, as Gared knelt atop Marick, landing heavy blows.

  “Leesha is mine!” he roared. “And any what says otherwise will …!”

  His words were cut short as Leesha threw a full fist of Bruna’s blinding powder in his face. His mouth was already open, and he inhaled reflexively, screaming as it burned into his eyes and throat, his sinuses seizing and his skin feeling as if burned with boiling water. He fell off Marick, rolling on the ground choking and clawing at his face.

  Leesha knew she had used too much of the powder. A pinch would stop most men in their tracks, but a full fist could kill, causing people to choke on their own phlegm.

  She scowled and shoved past the gawkers, snatching a bucket of water Stefny had been using to wash potatoes. She dumped it over Gared, and his convulsions eased. He would be blind for hours more, but she would not have his death on her hands.

  “Our vows are broken,” she told him, “now and forever. I will never be your wife, even if it means dying shriveled and alone! I’d as soon marry a coreling!”

  Gared groaned, showing no sign he had heard.

  She moved over to Marick, kneeling and helping him to sit up. She took a clean cloth and daubed at the blood on his face. Already he was starting to swell and bruise.

  “I guess we showed him, eh?” the Messenger asked, chuckling weakly and wincing at the pain it brought to his face.

  Leesha poured some of the harsh alcohol Smitt brewed in his basement onto the cloth.

  “Aahhh!” Marick gasped, as she touched him with it.

  “Serves you right,” Leesha said. “You could have walked away from that fight, and you should have, whether you could have won or not. I didn’t need your protection, and I’m no more likely to give my affection to a man who thinks picking a fight is going to gain the favor of an Herb Gatherer than I am the town bully.”

  “He was the one that started it!” Marick protested.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Master Marick,” Leesha said. “I thought Messengers came smarter than that.” Marick dropped his eyes.

  “Take him to his room at Smitt’s,” she said to some nearby men, and they moved quickly to obey. Most folk in Cutter’s Hollow did, these days.

  “If you’re out of bed before tomorrow morning,” Leesha told the Messenger, “I’ll hear of it and be even more cross with you.”

  Marick smiled weakly as the men helped him away.

  “That was amazing!” Mairy gasped, when Leesha returned for her basket of herbs.

  “It was nothing but stupidity that needed stopping,” Leesha snapped.

  “Nothing?” Mairy asked. “Two men locked together like bulls, and all you had to do to stop them was throw a handful of herbs!”

  “Hurting with herbs is easy,” Leesha said, surprised to find Bruna’s words on her lips, “it’s healing with them that’s hard.”

  It was well past high sun by the time Le
esha finished her rounds and made it back to Bruna’s hut.

  “How are the children?” Bruna asked, as Leesha set her basket down. Leesha smiled. Everyone in Cutter’s Hollow was a child in Bruna’s eyes.

  “Well enough,” she said, coming to sit on the low stool by Bruna’s chair so the ancient Herb Gatherer could see her clearly. “Yon Gray’s joints still ache, but his mind is as young as ever. I gave him fresh sweetsalve. Smitt remains abed, but his cough is lessening. I think the worst is past.” She went on, describing her rounds while the crone nodded silently. Bruna would stop her if she had comment; she seldom did anymore.

  “Is that all?” Bruna asked. “What of the excitement young Keet tells me went on in the market this morning?”

  “Idiocy is more like it,” Leesha said.

  Bruna dismissed her with a wave. “Boys will be boys,” she said. “Even when they’re men. It sounds like you dealt with it well enough.”

  “Bruna, they could have killed each other!” Leesha said.

  “Oh, pfaw!” Bruna said. “You’re not the first pretty girl to have men fight over her. You may not believe it, but when I was your age, a few bones were broken on my account, as well.”

  “You were never my age,” Leesha teased. “Yon Gray says they called you ‘hag’ when he was first learning to walk.”

  Bruna cackled. “So they did, so they did,” she said. “But there was a time before then when my paps were as full and smooth as yours, and men fought like corelings to suckle them.”

  Leesha looked hard at Bruna, trying to peel back the years and see the woman she had been, but it was a hopeless task. Even with all the exaggerations and tampweed tales taken into account, Bruna was a century old, at least. She would never say for sure, answering simply, “I quit counting at a hundred,” whenever pressed.

  “In any event,” Leesha said, “Marick may be a bit swollen in the face, but he’ll have no reason not to be on the road tomorrow.”

  “That’s well,” Bruna said.

  “So you have a cure for Mistress Jizell’s young charge?” Leesha asked.

  “What would you tell her to do with the boy?” Bruna replied.

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Leesha said.

  “Are you?” Bruna asked. “I’m not. Come now, what would you tell Jizell if you were me? Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it.”

  Leesha took a deep breath. “The grimroot likely interacted poorly with the boy’s system,” she said. “He needs to be taken off it, and the boils will need to be lanced and drained. Of course, that still leaves his original illness. The fever and nausea could just be a chill, but the dilated eyes and vomit hint at more. I would try monkleaf with lady’s brooch and ground adderbark, titrated carefully over a week at least.”

  Bruna looked at her a long time, then nodded.

  “Pack your things and say your good-byes,” she said. “You’ll bring that advice to Jizell personally.”

  CHAPTER 14

  THE ROAD TO ANGIERS

  326 AR

  EVERY AFTERNOON WITHOUT FAIL, Erny came up the path to Bruna’s hut. The Hollow had six Warders, each with an apprentice, but Erny did not trust his daughter’s safety to anyone else. The little papermaker was the best Warder in Cutter’s Hollow, and everyone knew it.

  Often, he brought gifts his Messengers had secured from far-off places: books and herbs and hand-sewn lace. But gifts were not why Leesha looked forward to his visits. She slept better behind her father’s strong wards, and seeing him happy these last seven years was greater than any gift. Elona still caused him grief, of course, but not on the scale she once had.

  But today, as Leesha watched the sun cross the sky, she found herself dreading her father’s visit. This was going to hurt him deeply.

  And her, as well. Erny was a well of support and love that she drew upon whenever things grew too hard for her. What would she do in Angiers without him? Without Bruna? Would any there see past her pocketed apron?

  But whatever her fears about loneliness in Angiers, they paled against her greatest fear: that once she tasted the wider world, she would never want to return to Cutter’s Hollow.

  It wasn’t until she saw her father coming up the path that Leesha realized she’d been crying. She dried her eyes and put on her best smile for him, smoothing her skirts nervously.

  “Leesha!” her father called, holding out his arms. She fell into them gratefully, knowing that this might be the last time they played out this little ritual.

  “Is everything all right?” Erny asked. “I heard there was some trouble at the market.”

  There were few secrets in a place as small as Cutter’s Hollow. “It’s fine,” she said. “I took care of it.”

  “You take care of everyone in Cutter’s Hollow, Leesha,” Erny said, squeezing her tightly. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  Leesha began to weep. “Now, now, none of that,” Erny said, catching a tear off her cheek on his index finger and flicking it away. “Dry your eyes and head on inside. I’ll check the wards, and we can talk about what’s bothering you over a bowl of your delicious stew.”

  Leesha smiled. “Mum still burning the food?” she asked.

  “When it’s not still moving,” Erny agreed. Leesha laughed, letting her father check the wards while she laid the table.

  “I’m going to Angiers,” Leesha said when the bowls were cleared, “to study under one of Bruna’s old apprentices.”

  Erny was quiet a long time. “I see,” he said at last. “When?”

  “As soon as Marick leaves,” Leesha said. “Tomorrow.”

  Erny shook his head. “No daughter of mine is spending a week on the open road alone with a Messenger,” he said. “I’ll hire a caravan. It will be safer.”

  “I’ll be careful of the demons, Da,” Leesha said.

  “It’s not just corelings I’m worried about,” Erny said pointedly.

  “I can handle Messenger Marick,” Leesha assured him.

  “Keeping a man off you in the dark of night isn’t the same as stopping a brawl in the market,” Erny said. “You can’t leave a Messenger blind if you ever hope to make it off the road alive. Just a few weeks, I beg.”

  Leesha shook her head. “There’s a child I’m needed to treat immediately.”

  “Then I’ll go with you,” Erny said.

  “You’ll do no such thing, Ernal,” Bruna cut in. “Leesha needs to do this on her own.”

  Erny looked at the old woman, and they locked stares and wills. But there was no will in Cutter’s Hollow stronger than Bruna’s, and Erny soon looked away.

  Leesha walked her father out soon after. He did not want to go, nor did she want him to leave, but the sky was filled with color, and already he would have to trot to make it home safely.

  “How long will you be gone?” Erny asked, gripping the porch rail tightly and looking off in the direction of Angiers.

  Leesha shrugged. “That will depend on how much Mistress Jizell has to teach, and how much the apprentice she’s sending here, Vika, has to learn. A couple of years, at least.”

  “I suppose if Bruna can do without you that long, I can, too,” Erny said.

  “Promise me you’ll check her wards while I’m gone,” Leesha said, touching his arm.

  “Of course,” Erny said, turning to embrace her.

  “I love you, Da,” she said.

  “And I, you, poppet,” Erny said, crushing her in his arms. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he promised before heading down the darkening road.

  “Your father makes a fair point,” Bruna said, when Leesha came back inside.

  “Oh?” Leesha asked.

  “Messengers are men like any other,” Bruna warned.

  “Of that, I have no doubt,” Leesha said, remembering the fight in the marketplace.

  “Young master Marick may be all charm and smiles now,” Bruna said, “but once you’re on the road, he’ll have his way, no matter what your wishes, and when you reach
the forest fortress, Herb Gatherer or no, few will take the word of a young girl over that of a Messenger.”

  Leesha shook her head. “He’ll have what I give him,” she said, “and nothing more.”

  Bruna’s eyes narrowed, but she grunted, satisfied that Leesha was wise to the danger.

  There was a sharp rap at the door just after first light. Leesha answered, finding her mother standing there, though Elona had not come to the hut since being expelled at the end of Bruna’s broom. Her face was a thunderhead as she pushed right past Leesha.

  On the sunny side of forty, Elona might still have been the most beautiful woman in the village if not for her daughter. But being autumn to Leesha’s summer had not humbled her. She might bow to Erny with gritted teeth, but she carried herself like a duchess to all others.

  “Not enough you steal my daughter, you have to send her away?” she demanded.

  “Good morn to you as well, Mother,” Leesha said, closing the door.

  “You stay out of this!” Elona snapped. “The witch has twisted your mind!”

  Bruna cackled into her porridge. Leesha interposed herself between the two, just as Bruna was pushing her half-finished bowl away and wiping her sleeve across her mouth to retort. “Finish your breakfast,” Leesha ordered, pushing the bowl back in front of her, and turning back to Elona. “I’m going because I want to, Mother. And when I return, I’ll bring healing the likes of which Cutter’s Hollow has not seen since Bruna was young.”

  “And how long will it take this time?” Elona demanded. “You’ve already wasted your best breeding years with your nose buried in dusty old books.”

  “My best …!” Leesha stuttered. “Mother, I’m barely twenty!”

  “Exactly!” Elona shouted. “You should have three children by now, like your friend the scarecrow. Instead, I watch as you pull babes from every womb in the village but your own.”

  “At least she was wise enough not to shrivel hers with pomm tea,” Bruna muttered.

  Leesha whirled on her. “I told you to finish your porridge!” she said, and Bruna’s eyes widened. She looked ready to retort, then grunted and turned her attention back to her bowl.