The Warded Man (51 page)

Rojer beamed at the gift, treating it with resin before taking up his fiddle. He put the instrument to his chin and gave it a few strokes with the new bow. It wasn’t ideal, but he grew more confident, pausing to tune once more before beginning to play.

His skillful fingers filled the air with a haunting melody that took Leesha’s thoughts to Cutter’s Hollow, wondering at its fate. Vika’s letter was almost a week gone. What would she find when she arrived? Perhaps the flux had passed with no more loss, and this desperate ordeal had been for nothing.

Or perhaps they needed her more than ever.

The music affected the Warded Man as well, she noticed, for his hands stopped their careful work, and he stared off into the night. Shadows draped his face, obscuring the tattoos, and she saw in his sad countenance that he had been comely once. What pain had driven him to this existence, scarring himself and shunning his own kind for the company of corelings? She found herself aching to heal him, though he showed no hurt.

Suddenly, the man shook his head as if to clear it, startling Leesha from her reverie. He pointed off into the darkness. “Look,” he whispered. “They’re dancing.”

Leesha looked out in amazement, for indeed, the corelings had ceased to test the wards, had ceased even to hiss and shriek. They circled the camp, swaying in time to the music. Flame demons leapt and twirled, sending ribbons of fire spiraling away from their knotted limbs, and wind demons looped and dove through the air. Wood demons had crept from the cover of the forest, but they ignored the flame demons, drawn to the melody.

The Warded Man looked at Rojer. “How are you doing that?” he asked, his voice awed.

Rojer smiled. “The corelings, they have an ear for music,” he said. He rose to his feet, walking to the edge of the circle. The demons clustered there, watching him intently. He began to walk the circle’s perimeter, and they followed, mesmerized. He stopped and swayed from side to side as he continued to play, and the corelings mirrored his movements almost exactly.

“I didn’t believe you,” Leesha apologized quietly. “You really
can
charm them.”

“And that’s not all,” Rojer boasted. With a twist and a series of sharp strokes of the bow, he turned the melody sour; once pure notes ringing out discordant and tainted. Suddenly, the corelings were shrieking again, covering their ears with their talons and scrambling away from Rojer. They drew back further and further as the musical assault continued, vanishing into the shadows beyond the firelight. “They haven’t gone far,” Rojer said. “As soon as I stop, they’ll be back.”

“What else can you do?” the Warded Man asked quietly.

Rojer smiled, as content to perform for an audience of two as he was for a cheering crowd. He softened his music again, the chaotic notes smoothly flowing back into the haunting melody. The corelings reappeared, drawn to the music once more.

“Watch this,” Rojer instructed, and changed the sound again, the notes rising high and grating, causing even Leesha and the Warded Man to grit their teeth and lean away.

The reaction of the corelings was more pronounced. They grew enraged, shrieking and roaring as they threw themselves at the barrier with abandon. Again and again the wards flared and threw them back, but the demons did not relent, smashing themselves against the wardnet in an insane attempt to reach Rojer and silence him forever.

Two rock demons joined the throng, shoving past the others and hammering at the wards as yet more added to the press. The Warded Man rose silently behind Rojer and lifted his bow.

The string hummed, and one of the heavy, thick-headed arrows exploded into the chest of the nearest rock demon like a bolt of lightning, brightening the area for a moment. Again and again the Warded Man fired into the horde, his hands a blur. The warded bolts blasted the corelings back, and the few that rose again were quickly torn to pieces by their fellows.

Rojer and Leesha stood horrified at the slaughter. The Jongleur’s bow slipped from the fiddle’s strings, hanging forgotten in his limp hand as he watched the Warded Man work.

The demons were screaming still, but it was pain and fear now, their desire to attack the wards vanished with the music. Still the Warded Man fired, again and again until his arrows were all gone. He grabbed a spear, throwing it and striking a fleeing wood demon in the back.

There was chaos now, the few remaining corelings desperate to escape. The Warded Man stripped off his robe, ready to leap from the circle to kill demons with his bare hands.

“No, please!” Leesha cried, throwing herself at him. “They’re running!”

“You would spare them?” the Warded Man roared, glaring at her, his face terrible with wrath. She fell back in fear, but she kept her eyes locked on his.

“Please,” she begged. “Don’t go out there.”

Leesha feared he might strike her, but he only stared at her, his breath heaving. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he calmed and took up his robe, covering his wards once more.

“Was that necessary?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“The circle wasn’t designed to forbid so many corelings at once,” the Warded Man said, his voice again a cold monotone. “I don’t know that it would have held.”

“You could have just asked me to stop playing,” Rojer said.

“Yes,” the Warded Man agreed, “I could have.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Leesha demanded.

The Warded Man didn’t answer. He strode out of the circle and began cutting his arrows from the demon corpses.

Leesha was fast asleep later that night when the Warded Man approached Rojer. The Jongleur, staring out at the fallen demons, gave a startled jump when the man squatted down next to him.

“You have power over the corelings,” he said.

Rojer shrugged. “So do you,” he said. “More than I ever will.”

“Can you teach me?” the Warded Man asked.

Rojer turned, meeting the man’s gimlet eyes. “Why?” he asked. “You kill demons by the score. What’s my trick compared to that?”

“I thought I knew my enemies,” the Warded Man said. “But you’ve shown me otherwise.”

“You think they may not be all bad, if they can enjoy music?” Rojer asked.

The Warded Man shook his head. “They are no patrons of art, Jongleur,” he said. “The moment you ceased to play, they would have killed you without hesitation.”

Rojer nodded, conceding the point. “Then why bother?” he asked. “Learning the fiddle is a lot of work to charm beasts you can just as easily kill.”

The Warded Man’s face hardened. “Will you teach me or not?” he asked.

“I will …” Rojer said, thinking it through, “but I want something in return.”

“I have plenty of money,” the Warded Man assured him.

Rojer waved his hand dismissively. “I can get money whenever I need it,” he said. “What I want is more valuable.”

The Warded Man said nothing.

“I want to travel with you,” Rojer said.

The Warded Man shook his head. “Out of the question,” he said.

“You don’t learn the fiddle overnight,” Rojer argued. “It’ll take weeks to become even passable, and you’ll need more skill than that to charm even the least discriminating coreling.”

“And what do you get out of it?” the Warded Man asked.

“Material for stories that will fill the duke’s amphitheater night after night,” Rojer said.

“What about her?” the Warded Man asked, nodding back toward Leesha. Rojer looked at the Herb Gatherer, her breast gently rising and falling as she slept, and the Warded Man did not miss the significance of that gaze.

“She asked me to escort her home, nothing more,” Rojer said at last.

“And if she asks you to stay?”

“She won’t,” Rojer said quietly.

“My road is no Marko Rover tale, boy,” the Warded Man said. “I’ve no time to be slowed by one who hides at night.”

“I have my fiddle now,” Rojer said with more bravery than he felt. “I’m not afraid.”

“You need more than courage,” the Warded Man said. “In the wild, you kill or be killed, and I don’t just mean demons.”

Rojer straightened, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Everyone who tries to protect me ends up dead,” he said. “It’s time I learned to protect myself.”

The Warded Man leaned back, considering the young Jongleur.

“Come with me,” he said at last, rising.

“Out of the circle?” Rojer asked.

“If you can’t do that, you’re no use to me,” the Warded Man said. When Rojer looked around doubtfully, he added, “Every coreling for miles heard what I did to their fellows. It’s doubtful we’ll see more tonight.”

“What about Leesha?” Rojer asked, rising slowly.

“Twilight Dancer will protect her, if need be,” the man said. “Come on.” He moved out of the circle and vanished into the night.

Rojer swore, but he grabbed his fiddle and followed the man down the road.

Rojer clutched his fiddle case tightly as they moved through the trees. He had made to take it out at first, but the Warded Man had waved for him to put it away.

“You’ll draw attention we don’t want,” he whispered.

“I thought you said we weren’t likely to see any corelings tonight,” Rojer hissed back, but the Warded Man ignored him, moving through the darkness as if it were broad day.

“Where are we going?” Rojer asked for what seemed the hundredth time.

They climbed a small rise, and the Warded Man lay flat, pointing downward.

“Look there,” he told Rojer. Below, Rojer could see three very familiar men and a horse sleeping within the tight confines of an even more familiar portable circle.

“The bandits,” Rojer breathed. A flood of emotions washed over him—fear, rage, and helplessness—and in his mind’s eye, he relived the ordeal they had put him and Leesha through. The mute stirred in his sleep, and Rojer felt a stab of panic.

“I’ve been tracking them since I found you,” the Warded Man said. “I spotted their fire while I was hunting tonight.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Rojer asked.

“I thought you might like a chance to get your circle back,” the Warded Man said.

Rojer looked back at him. “If we steal the circle while they’re sleeping, the corelings will kill them before they know what’s happening.”

“The demons are thin,” the Warded Man said. “They’ll have better odds than you did.”

“Even so, what makes you think I’d want to risk it?” Rojer asked.

“I watch,” the man said, “and I listen. I know what they did to you … and to Leesha.”

Rojer was quiet a long while. “There are three of them,” he said at last.

“This is the wild,” the Warded Man said. “If you want to live in safety, go back to the city.” He spat the last word like a curse.

But Rojer knew there was no safety in the city, either. Unbidden, he saw Jaycob crumple to the ground, and heard Jasin’s laughter. He could have sought justice after the attack, but he chose to flee, instead. He was forever fleeing, and letting others die in his stead. His hand searched for a talisman that was no longer there as he stared down at the fire.

“Was I wrong?” the Warded Man asked. “Shall we go back to our camp?”

Rojer swallowed. “As soon as I have what belongs to me,” he decided.

LEESHA AWOKE TO A SOFT NICKERING. She opened her eyes to see Rojer brushing down the russet mare she had purchased in Angiers, and for a moment, she dared think the last two days a dream.

But then Twilight Dancer stepped into view, the giant stallion towering over the mare, and it all came rushing back.

“Rojer,” she asked quietly, “where did my horse come from?”

Rojer opened his mouth to reply, but the Warded Man strode into the camp then, with two small rabbits and a handful of apples. “I saw your friends’ fire last night,” he explained, “and thought we would travel faster all ahorse.”

Leesha was quiet a long time, digesting the news. A dozen emotions ran through her, many of them shameful and unsavory. Rojer and the Warded Man gave her time, and she was thankful for that. “Did you kill them?” she asked at last. A cold part of her wanted him to say yes, even though it went against everything she believed; everything Bruna had taught her.

The Warded Man looked her in the eye. “No,” he said, and an immense relief flooded through her. “I scattered them long enough to steal the horse, but that was all.”

Leesha nodded. “We’ll send word of them to the duke’s magistrate with the next Messenger to pass through the Hollow.”

Her herb blanket was rolled crudely and strapped to the saddle. She pulled it off and examined it, relief washing over her as she found most of the bottles and pouches intact. They had smoked all her tampweed, but that was easy enough to replace.

After breakfast, Rojer rode the mare while Leesha sat behind the Warded Man on Twilight Dancer. They traveled swiftly, for there were clouds gathering, and threat of rain.

Leesha felt like she should have been afraid. The bandits were alive and ahead of them. She remembered the leering face of the black-bearded man and the raucous laughter of his companion. Worst of all, she remembered the terrible weight and dumb, violent lust of the mute.

She should have been afraid, but she wasn’t. Even more than Bruna, the Warded Man made her feel safe. He did not tire. He did not fear. And she knew without a doubt that no harm could ever come to her while she was under his protection.

Protection
. It was an odd feeling, needing protection, like something out of another life. She had been protecting herself for so long, she had forgotten what it was like. Her skills and wits were enough to keep her safe in civilized places, but those things meant little in the wild.

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 whirled 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.