The Warded Man

by Peter V. Brett

  The Warded Man shifted, and she realized she had tightened her hands around his waist, pressing close to him with her head resting on his shoulder. She pulled away, so caught up in her embarrassment that she almost didn’t see the hand, lying in the scrub at the side of the road.

  When she did, she screamed.

  The Warded Man pulled up, and Leesha practically fell off the horse, rushing to the spot. She brushed the weeds aside, gasping as she realized the hand wasn’t attached to anything; bitten clean off.

  “Leesha, what is it?” Rojer cried, as he and the Warded Man ran to her.

  “Were they camped near here?” Leesha asked, holding up the appendage. The Warded Man nodded. “Take me there,” Leesha ordered.

  “Leesha, what good could …” Rojer began, but she ignored him, keeping her eyes locked on the Warded Man.

  “Take. Me. There,” she said. The Warded Man nodded, putting down a stake and tying the mare’s reins to it.

  “Guard,” he said to Twilight Dancer, and the stallion nickered.

  They found the camp soon after, awash in blood and half-eaten bodies. Leesha lifted her apron to cover her mouth against the stench. Rojer retched and ran from the clearing.

  But Leesha was no stranger to blood. “Only two,” she said, examining the remains with feelings too mixed for her to begin to sort.

  The Warded Man nodded. “The mute is missing,” he said. “The giant.”

  “Yes,” Leesha said. “And the circle as well.”

  “The circle, as well,” the Warded Man agreed after a moment.

  The heavy clouds continued to gather as they made their way back to the horses. “There’s a Messenger cave ten miles up the road,” the Warded Man said. “If we press hard and skip lunch, we should make it there before the rain comes. We’ll have to take refuge until the storm passes.”

  “The man who kills corelings with his bare hands is afraid of a little rain?” Leesha asked.

  “If the cloud is thick enough, corelings might rise early,” the Warded Man said.

  “Since when are you afraid of corelings?” Leesha pressed.

  “It’s stupid and dangerous to fight in the rain,” the Warded Man said. “Rain makes mud, and mud obscures wards and ruins footing.”

  They were barely settled in the cave before the storm struck. Drenching sheets of rain turned the road to mud and the sky went dark, save for the sharp strikes of lightning. The wind howled at them, punctuated by roaring thunder.

  Much of the cave mouth was warded already, symbols of power etched deeply into the rock, and the Warded Man quickly secured the rest with a cache of wardstones left within.

  As the Warded Man predicted, a few demons rose early in the false dark. He watched grimly as they crept out from the darkest parts of the wood, relishing their early release from the Core. The brief flashes of light outlined their sinuous forms as they frolicked in the wet.

  They tried to break into the cave, but the wards held strong. Those that ventured too close regretted it, greeted with a jab from the scowling Warded Man’s spear.

  “Why are you so angry?” Leesha asked, drawing bowls and spoons from her bag as Rojer worked to light a small fire.

  “Bad enough they come at night,” the Warded Man spat. “They’ve no right to the day.”

  Leesha shook her head. “You’d be happier if you could accept what is,” she advised.

  “I don’t want to be happy,” he replied.

  “Everyone wants to be happy,” Leesha scoffed. “Where’s the cookpot?”

  “In my bag,” Rojer said. “I’ll get it.”

  “No need,” Leesha said, rising. “Mind the fire. I’ll fetch it.”

  “No!” Rojer cried, but even as he leapt to his feet, he saw he was too late. Leesha drew forth his portable circle with a gasp.

  “But …” she stammered, “they took this!” She looked at Rojer, and saw his eyes flick to the Warded Man. She turned to him, but could read nothing in the shadows of his cowl.

  “Is someone going to explain?” she demanded.

  “We … got it back,” Rojer said lamely.

  “I know you got it back!” Leesha shouted, whipping the coil of rope and wooden plates to the cave floor. “How?”

  “I took it when I took the horse,” the Warded Man said suddenly. “I didn’t want it on your conscience, so I kept it from you.”

  “You stole it?”

  “They stole it,” the Warded Man corrected. “I took it back.” Leesha looked at him for a long time. “You took it at night,” she said quietly. The Warded Man said nothing.

  “Were they using it?” Leesha demanded through gritted teeth.

  “The road is dangerous enough without such men,” the Warded Man replied.

  “You murdered them,” Leesha said, surprised to find her eyes filling with tears. Find the worst human being you can, her father had said, and you’ll still find something worse by looking out the window at night. No one deserved to be fed to a coreling. Not even them.

  “How could you?” she asked.

  “I murdered no one,” the Warded Man said.

  “As good as!”

  The man shrugged. “They did the same to you.”

  “That makes it right?” Leesha cried. “Look at you! You don’t even care! Two men dead at least, and you sleep no worse! You’re a monster!” She sprang at him, trying to beat him with her fists, but he caught her wrists, and watched impassively as she struggled with him.

  “Why do you care?” he asked.

  “I’m an Herb Gatherer!” she screamed. “I’ve taken an oath! I’ve sworn to heal, but you”—she looked at him coldly—“all you’re sworn to do is kill.”

  After a moment, the fight left her and she pulled away. “You mock what I am,” she said, slumping down and staring at the cave floor for several minutes. Then she looked up at Rojer.

  “You said ‘we,’” she accused.

  “What?” the Jongleur asked, trying to appear confused.

  “Before,” she clarified. “You said ‘we got it back.’ And the circle was in your bag. Did you go with him?”

  “I …” Rojer stalled.

  “Don’t you lie to me, Rojer!” Leesha growled.

  Rojer’s eyes dropped to the floor. After a moment, he nodded.

  “He was telling the truth before,” Rojer admitted. “All he took was the horse. While they were distracted, I took the circle and your herbs.”

  “Why?” Leesha asked, her voice cracking slightly. The disappointment in her tone cut the young Jongleur like a knife.

  “You know why,” Rojer replied somberly.

  “Why?” Leesha demanded again. “For me? For my honor? Tell me, Rojer. Tell me you killed in my name!”

  “They had to pay,” Rojer said tightly. “They had to pay for what they did. It was unforgivable.”

  Leesha laughed out loud, though there was no humor in the sound. “Don’t you think I know that?” she shouted. “Do you think I saved myself for twenty-seven years to give my flower to a gang of thugs?”

  Silence hung in the cave for a long moment. A peal of thunder cut the air.

  “Saved yourself …” Rojer echoed.

  “Yes, corespawn you!” Leesha shrieked, angry tears streaking her face. “I was a virgin! Does even that justify giving men to the corelings?”

  “Giving?” the Warded Man echoed.

  Leesha whirled on him. “Of course giving!” she shouted. “I’m sure your friends the demons were overjoyed at your little present. Nothing pleases them more than having humans to kill. With so few of us left, we’re a rare treat!”

  The Warded Man’s eyes widened, reflecting the firelight. It was a more human expression than Leesha had ever seen on his face, and the sight made her momentarily forget her anger. He looked utterly terrified, and backed away from them, all the way to the cave mouth.

  Just then, a coreling threw itself against the wardnet, filling the cave with a flash of silver light. The Warded Man whirle
d and screamed at the demon, a sound unlike anything Leesha had ever heard, but one she recognized all the same. It was a vocalization of what she had felt inside when she had been pinned, that terrible evening on the road.

  The Warded Man snatched up one of his spears, hurling it out into the rain. There was an explosion of magic as it struck the demon, blasting it into the mud.

  “Damn you!” the Warded Man roared, ripping off his robes and leaping out into the downpour. “I swore I would give you nothing! Nothing at all!” He pounced on a wood demon from behind, crushing it to him. The massive ward on his chest flared, and the coreling burst into flame, despite the pouring rain. He kicked away as the creature flailed about.

  “Fight me!” the Warded Man demanded of the others, planting his feet in the mud. Corelings leapt to oblige, slashing and biting, but the man fought like a demon himself, and they were flung away like autumn leaves against the wind.

  From the rear of the cave, Twilight Dancer whinnied and pulled at his hobble, trained to fight by his master’s side. Rojer moved to calm the animal, looking to Leesha in confusion.

  “He can’t fight them all,” Leesha said. “Not in the mud.” Already, many of the man’s wards were splattered with muck.

  “He means to die,” she said.

  “What should we do?” Rojer asked.

  “Your fiddle!” Leesha cried. “Drive them away!”

  Rojer shook his head. “The wind and thunder would drown me out,” he said.

  “We can’t just let him kill himself!” Leesha screamed at him.

  “You’re right,” Rojer agreed. He strode over to the Warded Man’s weapons, taking a light spear and the warded shield. Realizing what he meant to do, Leesha moved to stop him, but he stepped out of the cave before she could reach him, rushing to the Warded Man’s side.

  A flame demon spat fire at Rojer, but it fizzled in the rain and fell short. The coreling leapt at him, but he lifted the warded shield and the creature was deflected. His concentration in front, he didn’t see the other flame demon behind him until it was too late. The coreling sprang, but the Warded Man snatched the three-foot-tall demon right out of the air, hurling it away, its flesh sizzling at his touch. “Get inside!” the man ordered.

  “Not without you!” Rojer shot back. His red hair was soaked and matted to his face, and he squinted in the wind and pelting rain, but he faced the Warded Man squarely, not backing down an inch.

  Two wood demons leapt for them, but the Warded Man dropped to the mud, sweeping Rojer’s legs from under him. The slashing claws missed as the Jongleur fell, and the Warded Man’s fists drove the creatures back. Other corelings were gathering, though, attracted by the flashes of light and the sounds of battle. Too many to fight.

  The Warded Man looked at Rojer, lying in the mud, and the madness left his eyes. He held out a hand, and the Jongleur took it. The two of them darted back into the cave.

  “What were you thinking?” Leesha demanded, tying off the last of the bandages. “Both of you!”

  Rojer and the Warded Man, bundled in blankets by the fire, said nothing as she berated them. After a time, she trailed off, preparing a hot broth with herbs and vegetables and handing it to them wordlessly.

  “Thank you,” Rojer said quietly, the first words he had spoken since returning to the cave.

  “I’m still angry with you,” Leesha said, not meeting his eyes.

  “You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t,” Rojer protested.

  “You kept things from me,” Leesha said. “It’s no different.”

  Rojer looked at her for a time. “Why did you leave Cutter’s Hollow?” he asked.

  “What?” Leesha asked. “Don’t change the subject.”

  “If these people mean so much to you that you’re willing to risk anything, endure anything, to get home,” Rojer pressed, “why did you leave?”

  “My studies …” Leesha began.

  Rojer shook his head. “I know something about running away from problems, Leesha,” he said. “There’s more to it than that.”

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your business,” Leesha said.

  “Then why am I waiting out a rainstorm in a cave surrounded by corelings in the middle of nowhere?” Rojer asked.

  Leesha looked at him for long moments, then sighed, her will for the fight fading. “I suppose you’ll be hearing about it soon enough,” Leesha said. “The people of Cutter’s Hollow have never been very good at keeping secrets.”

  She told them everything. She didn’t mean to, but the cold and damp cave became a Tender’s confessional of sorts, and once she began, the words overflowed; her mother, Gared, the rumors, her flight to Bruna, her life as an outcast. The Warded Man leaned forward and opened his mouth at the mention of Bruna’s liquid demonfire, but he closed it again and sat back, choosing not to interrupt.

  “So that’s it,” Leesha said. “I’d hoped to stay in Angiers, but it seems the Creator has another plan.”

  “You deserve better,” the Warded Man said.

  Leesha nodded, looking at him. “Why did you go out there?” she asked quietly, pointing her chin toward the cave mouth.

  The Warded Man slumped, staring at his knees. “I broke a promise,” he said.

  “That’s all?”

  He looked up at her, and for once, she didn’t see the tattoos lining his face, only his eyes, piercing her. “I swore I would never give them anything,” he said. “Not even to save my own life. But instead, I’ve given them everything that made me human.”

  “You didn’t give them anything,” Rojer said. “I was the one that took the circle.” Leesha’s hands tightened on her bowl, but she said nothing.

  The Warded Man shook his head. “I facilitated it,” he said. “I knew how you felt. Giving them to you was the same as giving them to the corelings.”

  “They would have continued to prey on the road,” Rojer said. “The world is better without them.”

  The Warded Man nodded. “But that’s no excuse for giving them to demons,” he said. “I could as easily have taken the circle—killed them even—face-to-face, in the light of day.”

  “So you went out there tonight out of guilt,” Leesha said. “Why all the times before? Why this war on corelings?”

  “If you haven’t noticed,” the Warded Man replied, “the corelings have been at war with us for centuries. Is it so wrong to take the fight to them?”

  “You think yourself the Deliverer, then?” Leesha asked.

  The Warded Man scowled. “Waiting for the Deliverer has left humanity crippled for three hundred years,” he said. “He’s a myth. He’s not coming, and it’s time people saw that and began standing up for themselves.”

  “Myths have power,” Rojer said. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss them.”

  “Since when are you a man of faith?” Leesha asked.

  “I believe in hope,” Rojer said. “I’ve been a Jongleur all my life, and if I’ve learned one thing in twenty-three years, it’s that the stories people cry for, the ones that stay with them, are the ones that offer hope.”

  “Twenty,” Leesha said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “You told me you were twenty.”

  “Did I?”

  “You’re not even that, are you?” she asked.

  “I am!” Rojer insisted.

  “I’m not stupid, Rojer,” Leesha said. “I’ve not known you three months, and you’ve grown an inch in that time. No twenty-year-old does that. What are you? Sixteen?”

  “Seventeen,” Rojer snarled. He threw down his bowl, spilling the remaining broth. “Does that please you? You were right to tell Jizell you were nearly old enough to be my mother.”

  Leesha stared at him. She opened her mouth to say something sharp, but closed it again. “I’m sorry,” she said instead.

  “And you, Warded Man?” Rojer asked, turning to him. “Will you add ‘too young’ to your list of reasons why I shouldn’t travel with you?”

&
nbsp; “I became a Messenger at seventeen,” the man replied, “and I was traveling much younger than that.”

  “And how old is the Warded Man?” Rojer asked.

  “The Warded Man was born in the Krasian desert, four summers ago,” he replied.

  “And the man beneath the wards?” Leesha asked. “How old was he when he died?”

  “It doesn’t matter how many summers he had,” the Warded Man said. “He was a stupid, naive child, with dreams too big for his own good.”

  “Is that why he had to die?” Leesha asked.

  “He was killed. And yes.”

  “What was his name?” Leesha asked quietly.

  The Warded Man was quiet a long time. “Arlen,” he said finally. “His name was Arlen.”

  CHAPTER 29

  IN THE PREDAWN LIGHT

  332 AR

  WHEN THE WARDED MAN AWOKE, the storm had broken temporarily, but gray clouds hung heavy in the sky, promising more rain to come. He looked into the cave, his warded eyes easily piercing the dark, and made out the two horses and the sleeping Jongleur. Leesha, however, was missing.

  It was early still; the false light before true sunrise. Most of the corelings had likely fled to the Core long since, but with the heavy cloud, one could never be sure. He rose to his feet, tearing away the bandages Leesha had tied the night before. The wounds were all healed.

  The Herb Gatherer’s path was easy to follow in the thick muck, and he found her not far off, kneeling on the ground picking herbs. Her skirts were hiked up far above her knees to keep them from the mud, and the sight of her smooth white thighs made him flush. She was beautiful in the predawn light.

  “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. “The sun’s not yet risen. It’s not safe.”

  Leesha looked at him, and smiled. “Are you in a position to lecture me on putting myself in danger?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Besides,” she went on when he made no reply, “what demon could harm me with you here?”

  The Warded Man shrugged, squatting beside her. “Tampweed?” he asked.

  Leesha nodded, holding up the rough-leafed plant with thick, clustered buds. “Smoked from a pipe, it relaxes the muscles, inducing a feeling of euphoria. Combined with skyflower, I can use it to brew a sleeping potion strong enough to put down an angry lion.”