The Warded Man

by Peter V. Brett

  “Gonna tell him they’s promised?” Harl asked. Arlen’s breath caught.

  “No reason not to,” Jeph said.

  Harl grunted. “Reckon you should wait till t’morrer,” he said. “While yur alone on the road. Sometime boys cause a scene when they’s first told. It kin hurt a girl’s feelin’s.”

  “You’re probably right,” Jeph said. Arlen wanted to scream.

  “Know I am,” Harl said. “Trust a man with daughters; they’ll get upset over any old thing, ent that right, Lainie?” There was a smack, and Ilain yelped. “But still,” Harl went on, “you kin do them no hurt that a few hours of cryin’ won’t solve.”

  There was a long silence, and Arlen started to edge back toward the barn door.

  “I’m off t’bed,” Harl grunted. Arlen froze. “See’n how Silvy’s in yur bed tonight, Lainie,” he went on, “you c’n sleep with me after you scrape the bowls and round up the girls.”

  Arlen ducked behind a workbench and stayed there as Harl went to the privy to relieve himself and then went into his room, closing the door. Arlen was about to creep back to the barn when Ilain spoke.

  “I want to go, too,” she blurted, just after the door closed.

  “What?” Jeph asked.

  Arlen could see their feet under the curtain from where he crouched. Ilain came around the table to sit next to his father.

  “Take me with you,” Ilain repeated. “Please. Beni will be fine once Lucik comes. I need to get away.”

  “Why?” Jeph asked. “Surely you have enough food for three.”

  “It’s not that,” Ilain said. “It doesn’t matter why. I can tell Da I’ll be out in the fields when you come for Renna. I’ll run down the road, and meet you there. By the time Da realizes where I’ve gone, there’ll be a night between us. He’ll never follow.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Jeph said.

  “Your farm is as far from here as there is,” Ilain pleaded. Arlen saw her put her hand on Jeph’s knee. “I can work,” she promised. “I’ll earn my keep.”

  “I can’t just steal you away from Harl,” Jeph said. “I’ve no quarrel with him, and I’m not about to start one.”

  Ilain spat. “The old wretch would have you think I’m sharing his bed because of Silvy,” she said quietly. “Truer is he raises his hand to me if I don’t join him every night after Renna and Beni are off to bed.”

  Jeph was silent a long time. “I see,” he said at last. He made a fist, and started to rise.

  “Don’t, please,” Ilain said. “You don’t know what he’s like. He’ll kill you.”

  “I should just stand by?” Jeph asked. Arlen didn’t understand what the fuss was. So what if Ilain slept in Harl’s room?

  Arlen saw Ilain move closer to his father. “You’ll need someone to take care of Silvy,” she whispered. “And if she should pass”—she leaned in further, and her hand went to Jeph’s lap the way Beni had tried to do to Arlen—“I could be your wife. I would fill your farm with children,” she promised. Jeph groaned.

  Arlen felt nauseous and hot in the face. He gulped, tasting bile in his mouth. He wanted to scream their plan to Harl. The man had faced a coreling for his daughter, something Jeph would never do. He imagined Harl would punch his father. The image was not displeasing.

  Jeph hesitated, then pushed Ilain away. “No,” he said. “We’ll get Silvy to the Herb Gatherer tomorrow, and she’ll be fine.”

  “Then take me anyway,” Ilain begged, falling to her knees.

  “I’ll … think about it,” his father replied. Just then, Beni and Renna burst in from the barn. Arlen rose quickly, pretending he had just entered with them as Ilain hurriedly stood. He felt the moment to confront them slip past.

  After putting the girls to bed and producing a pair of grimy blankets for Arlen and Jeph in the main room, Ilain drew a deep breath and went into her father’s room. Not long after, Arlen heard Harl grunting quietly, and the occasional muffled yelp from Ilain. Pretending not to hear it, he glanced over at Jeph, seeing him biting his fist.

  Arlen was up before the sun the next morning, while the rest of the house slept. Moments before sunrise, he opened the door, staring at the remaining corelings impatiently as they hissed and clawed the air at him from the far side of the wards. As the last demon in the yard went misty, he left the house and went to the big barn, watering Missy and Harl’s other horses. The mare was in foul temper, and nipped at him. “Just one more day,” Arlen told her as he put her feed bag on.

  His father was still snoring as he went back into the house and knocked on the doorframe of the room shared by Renna and Beni. Beni pulled the curtain aside, and immediately Arlen noted the worried looks on the sisters’ faces.

  “She won’t wake up,” Renna, who was kneeling by Arlen’s mother, choked. “I knew you wanted to leave as soon as the sun rose, but when I shook her …” She gestured toward the bed, her eyes wet. “She’s so pale.”

  Arlen rushed to his mother’s side, taking her hand. Her fingers were cold and clammy, but her forehead burned to the touch. Her breathing came in short gasps, and the rotting stink of demon sickness was thick about her. Her bandages were soaked with brownish yellow ooze.

  “Da!” Arlen cried. A moment later, Jeph appeared with Ilain and Harl close behind.

  “We don’t have any time to waste,” Jeph said.

  “Take one’a my horses t’go with yours,” Harl said. “Switch ’em when they tire. Push hard, and you should reach Mey by afternoon.”

  “We’re in your debt,” Jeph said, but Harl waved the thought away.

  “Hurry, now,” he said. “Ilain will pack you something to eat on the road.”

  Renna caught Arlen’s arm as he turned to go. “We’s promised now,” she whispered. “I’ll wait on the porch every dusk till you’re back.” She kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were soft, and the feel of them lingered long after she pulled away.

  The cart bumped and jerked as they raced along the rough dirt road, pausing only once to rotate the horses. Arlen looked at the food Ilain had packed as if it were poison. Jeph ate it hungrily.

  As Arlen picked at the grainy bread and hard, pungent cheese, he started to think that maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe he hadn’t overheard what he thought he had. Maybe Jeph hadn’t hesitated in pushing Ilain away.

  It was a tempting illusion, but Jeph shattered it a moment later. “What do you think of Harl’s younger daughter?” he asked. “You spent some time with her.” Arlen felt as if his father had just punched him in the stomach.

  “Renna?” Arlen asked, playing innocent. “She’s okay, I guess. Why?”

  “I spoke to Harl,” his father said. “She’s going to come live with us when we go back to the farm.”

  “Why?” Arlen asked.

  “To look after your mam, help around the farm, and … other reasons.”

  “What other reasons?” Arlen pressed.

  “Harl and I want to see if you two will get along,” Jeph said.

  “What if we don’t?” Arlen asked. “What if I don’t want some girl following me around all day asking me to play kissy with her?”

  “One day,” Jeph said, “you might not mind playing kissy so much.”

  “So let her come then,” Arlen said, shrugging his shoulders and pretending not to know what his father was getting at. “Why is Harl so eager to be rid of her?”

  “You’ve seen the state of their farm; they can barely feed themselves,” Jeph said. “Harl loves his daughters very much, and he wants the best for them. And what’s best is marrying them while they’re still young, so he can have sons to help him out and grandchildren before he dies. Ilain is already older than most girls who marry. Lucik Boggin is going to come out to help on Harl’s farm starting in the fall. They’re hoping he and Beni will get along.”

  “I suppose Lucik didn’t have any choice, either,” Arlen grumbled.

  “He’s happy to go, and lucky at that!” Arlen’s father sna
pped, losing his patience. “You’re going to have to learn some hard lessons about life, Arlen. There are a lot more boys than girls in the Brook, and we can’t just fritter our lives away. Every year, we lose more to dotage and sickness and corelings. If we don’t keep children coming, Tibbet’s Brook will fade away just like a hundred other villages! We can’t let that happen!”

  Arlen, seeing his normally placid father seething, wisely said nothing.

  An hour later, Silvy started screaming. They turned to find her trying to stand up right there in the cart, clutching at her chest, her breath coming in loud, horrid gasps. Arlen leapt into the back of the cart, and she gripped him with surprisingly strong hands, coughing thick phlegm onto his shirt. Her bulging, bloodshot eyes stared wildly into his, but there was no recognition in them. Arlen screamed as she thrashed about, holding her as steadily as he could.

  Jeph stopped the cart and together they forced her to lie back down. She thrashed about, screaming in hoarse gasps. And then, like Cholie, she gave a final wrack, and lay still.

  Jeph looked at his wife, and then threw his head back and screamed. Arlen nearly bit through his lip trying to hold back his tears, but in the end he failed. They wept together over the woman.

  When their sobs eased, Arlen looked around, his eyes lifeless. He tried to focus, but the world seemed blurry, as if it wasn’t real.

  “What do we do now?” he asked finally.

  “We turn around,” his father said, and the words cut Arlen like a knife. “We take her home and burn her. We try to go on. There’s still the farm and the animals to care for, and even with Renna and Norine to help us, there’s going to be some hard times ahead.”

  “Renna?” Arlen asked incredulously. “We’re still taking her with us? Even now?”

  “Life goes on, Arlen,” his father said. “You’re almost a man, and a man needs a wife.”

  “Did you arrange one for both of us?” Arlen blurted.

  “What?” Jeph asked.

  “I heard you and Ilain last night!” Arlen screamed. “You’ve got another wife all ready! What do you care about Mam? You’ve already got someone else to take care of your thingie! At least, until she gets killed too, because you’re too scared to help her!”

  Arlen’s father hit him; a hard slap across the face that cracked the morning air. His anger faded instantly, and he reached out to his son. “Arlen, I’m sorry …!” he choked, but the boy pulled away and jumped off the cart.

  “Arlen!” Jeph cried, but the boy ignored him, running as hard as he could for the woods off to the side of the road.

  CHAPTER 3

  A NIGHT ALONE

  319 AR

  ARLEN RAN THROUGH THE WOODS as fast as he could, making sharp, sudden turns, picking his direction at random. He wanted to be sure his father couldn’t track him, but as Jeph’s calls faded, he realized his father wasn’t following at all.

  Why should he bother? he thought. He knows I have to come back before nightfall. Where else could I go?

  Anywhere. The answer came unbidden, but he knew in his heart that it was true.

  He couldn’t go back to the farm and pretend everything was all right. He couldn’t watch Ilain claim his mother’s bed. Even pretty Renna, who kissed so softly, would only be a reminder of what he had lost, and why.

  But where could he go? His father was right about one thing. He couldn’t run forever. He would have to find succor before dark, or the coming night would be his last.

  Going back to Tibbet’s Brook was not an option. Whoever he sought succor from would drag him home by the ear the next day, and he’d be switched for the stunt with nothing to show.

  Sunny Pasture, then. Unless Hog was paying them to carry something, almost no one from Tibbet’s Brook ever went there, unless they were Messengers.

  Coline had said Ragen was heading to Sunny Pasture before returning to the Free Cities. Arlen liked Ragen, the only elder he’d ever met who didn’t talk down to him. The Messenger and Keerin were a day and more ahead of him, and mounted, but if he hurried, perhaps he could catch them in time and beg passage to the Free Cities.

  He still had Coline’s map, strung around his neck. It showed the road to Sunny Pasture, and the farms along the way. Even deep in the woods, he was pretty sure which way was north.

  At midday he found the road, or rather the road found him, cutting straight across the woods ahead of him. He must have lost his sense of direction in the trees.

  He walked on for a few hours, but he saw no sign of a farm, or the old Herb Gatherer’s home. Looking at the sun, his worry increased. If he was walking north, the sun should be off to his left, but it wasn’t. It was right in front of him.

  He stopped and looked at the map, and his fears were confirmed. He wasn’t on the road to Sunny Pasture, he was on the road to the Free Cities. Worse, after the road split off from the path to Sunny Pasture, it went right off the edge of the map.

  The idea of backtracking was daunting, especially with no way to know if he could make it to succor in time. He took a step back the way he had come.

  No, he decided. Going back is Da’s way. Whatever happens, I’m going forward.

  Arlen started walking again, leaving both Tibbet’s Brook and Sunny Pasture behind. Each step was lighter and easier than the one before.

  He walked for hours more, eventually leaving the trees behind and entering grassland: wide, lush fields untouched by plow or grazing. He crested a hilltop, breathing deeply of the fresh, untainted air. There was a large boulder jutting from the ground, and Arlen scrambled atop it, looking out at a wide world that had always been beyond his reach. There was no sign of habitation, no place to seek succor. He was afraid of the coming night, but it was a distant feeling, like knowing you would grow old and die one day.

  As the afternoon turned to evening, Arlen began looking for places to make his stand. A copse of trees held promise; there was little grass beneath them, and he could draw wards in the dirt, but a wood demon might climb one of the trees, and drop into his warding ring from above.

  There was a small, stony hillock free of grass, but when Arlen stood atop it, the wind was strong, and he feared it might mar the wards, rendering them useless.

  Finally, Arlen came to a place where flame demons had set a recent blaze. New buds had yet to pierce the ash, and a scuff of his foot found hard dirt beneath. He cleared the ash from a wide area and began his warding circle. He had little time, so he kept it small, not wanting his haste to make him careless.

  Using a sharp stick, Arlen drew the sigils in the dirt, gently blowing away loose scrapings. He worked for over an hour, ward by ward, stepping back frequently to assure himself that they were aligned properly. His hands, as always, moved with confidence and alacrity.

  When he finished, Arlen had a circle six feet in diameter. He checked the wards three times, finding no error. He put the stick in his pocket and sat at the circle’s center, watching the shadows lengthen and the sun dip low, setting the sky awash with color.

  Perhaps he would die tonight. Perhaps not. Arlen told himself it did not matter. But as the light waned, so too did his nerve. He felt his heart pounding, and every instinct told him to leap to his feet and run. But there was nowhere to run to. He was miles away from the nearest place of succor. He shivered, though it was not cold.

  This was a bad idea, a tiny voice whispered in his mind. He snarled at it, but the brave front did little to loosen his knotting muscles as the last rays of the sun winked out, and he was bathed in darkness.

  Here they come, that frightened voice in his head warned, as the wisps of mist began to rise from the ground.

  The mist coalesced slowly, demon bodies gaining substance as they slipped from the ground. Arlen rose with them, clenching his small fists. As always, the flame demons came first, scampering about in delight, trailing flickering fire as they went. These were followed by the wind demons, which immediately ran and spread their leathery wings, leaping into the air. Last came the rock de
mons, laboriously hauling their heavy frames from the Core.

  And then the corelings saw Arlen and howled with delight, charging the helpless boy.

  A swooping wind demon struck first, raking its hooked wing claws to tear out Arlen’s throat. Arlen screamed, but sparks flew as the talons struck his wards, deflecting the attack. Momentum carried the demon on, and its body slammed into the shield only to be hurled back in a shimmering burst of energy. The creature howled as it struck the ground, but it pulled itself upright, twitching as energy danced across its scales.

  Next came the nimble flame demons, the largest no bigger than a dog. They skittered forward, shrieking, and began clawing at the shield. Arlen flinched each time the wards flared, but the magic held. When they saw that Arlen had woven an effective net, they spat fire at him.

  Arlen was wise to the trick, of course. He had been warding since he was old enough to hold a stick of charcoal, and he knew the wards against firespit. The flames were turned as effectively as the claws. He didn’t even feel the heat.

  Corelings gathered to the spectacle, and each flash of light as the wards activated showed Arlen more and more of them: a fell horde, eager to flay the flesh from his bones.

  More wind demons swooped in, and were thrown back by the wards. The flame demons, too, began to hurl themselves at him in frustration, accepting the stinging burn of the magic in hope of powering their way through. Again and again they were thrown back. Arlen ceased to flinch. He began to scream curses at them, shoving his terror aside.

  His defiance only enraged the demons further. Unused to being taunted by their prey, they doubled their efforts to penetrate the wards as Arlen shook his fists and made rude gestures he had seen the adults in Tibbet’s Brook make to Hog’s back sometimes.

  This was what he feared? This was what humanity lived in terror of? These pathetic, frustrated beasts? Ridiculous. He spat, and the spit sizzled on a flame demon’s scales, trebling its fury.

  There was a hush from the howling creatures then. In the flickering light of the flame demons, he saw the coreling host part, clearing a path for a rock demon that stomped toward him, its footsteps like an earthquake.